#I would rather them not process something than charge me so fucking much

[pixiis-blog]

.

#I absolutely fucking dispise my bank #I am trying to keep myself afloat through the dry season at work #because no one wants to go to escape rooms in the summer #and I keep getting dinged with $35 overdraft fees over and over and FUCKING OVER AGAIN #for like $1 #or $5 #for fucks sake just let it sit #I have asked them to instead just let things bounce #I would rather them not process something than charge me so fucking much #I'm $125 overdrawn for about $15 worth of transactions I couldn't cover #because these assholes refuse to bounce a payment #once again I'd rather they BOUNCE THE FUCKING PAYMENT than charge me these rediculous fucking overdraft fees #just fucking kill me already #my organs might be enough to pay off my debts at this point #fuck me I guess #pixii speaks #vent

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#331

“Well, well, well.  Lookie here.  When I heard that there was a faggot in the woods behind the rest area shithouse taking load after load in the early morning, I didn’t give it a second thought.  I figured it was one of those San Francisco flag waving faggots passing through.  It wasn’t until my truck driving buddy sent me a video of you getting plowed by this farmer looking guy and you were begging him to breed you right after you took my buddy’s load in your cunt and he pissed in your face.  I had to see for myself.  And here you are….

“You are handcuffed, naked, on your knees, head bowed, and crying like a total bitch.  You know something’s up when I didn’t bring you in to the station, but rather took you here.  You have been kneeling in that position for twenty minutes processing what’s going to happen to you.  Well, let me tell you.

“Normally, had you been one of those faggots from the city, your ass would have been hauled in.  But you are local, granted from the other side of the mountain pass. Yeah, I grabbed your clothes including your ID after I handcuffed you and placed you naked in the back of my squad car.  After a quick search through my systems and then some independent internet searches I see you are a 52-year-old divorced father of four, three of which are on their own and the fourth lives with your ex-wife across the state.  Being 6’ 4”, it’s obvious from the pile of hairy beef kneeling in front of me that your 320-pounds mostly comes from a long history of working as foreman at Hilbert construction after twelve years as a Sargent in the Marine Corps. Your ID says your name is Doyle Allen Delong, but I see you like to go by Allen or even more informally your initials, DAD to your crew.

“I did find that twenty years ago you were arrested for public sexual indecency at a public bathroom outside San Diego, but that charge got dropped.  Interesting.

“Now I bet due to the torrential rain last night and the rain forecasted for this afternoon, construction has come to a halt today.  That gave you the opportunity to be a cumdump for truck drivers beginning their day, and you made a bee line here.  Now did I get any of that wrong?...

“Your silence speaks volumes.  And I am assuming you are invoking your right to remain silent.  Well let me address your rights here.  You have none.  You ain’t being arrested…. 

“Well that changed your demeanor.  Look up.  Look at me.  Yeah, I figured as much.  You are still hungry for cock, and you are salivating staring at my cock.  Well bitch, you are going to get it.  This isn’t some random spot I pulled you out of my cruiser.  This is the backside of my property.  Behind you and over the hill is my stable, and then another hill to my home.  Since your work day went to shit, you have the entire day to spend buck naked in my stable like a beast that needs to be broken.

“I don’t need to ask your permission; your hard on tells me everything I need to know.  Damn!  That is one giant pecker you have there.  Too bad it’s going to be ignored for the rest of the day.  When I approached you spread over that fallen tree, I saw you had your cock and balls tucked under your belly so no one can see.  I bet you did that so that no one would pay attention to it.   I don’t think you can fit into my biggest cock cage.  Fuck, you are leaking. 

“Damn, this is some slimy leak.  So you like being naked on your knees, hands cuffed behind you, your dick betraying an idea of you being any type of alpha male.  I bet it kills you to be a foreman, bossing your men around knowing they are more of a man than you.  I bet you fantasize about them pulling a train on you.  I was a First Lieutenant in the Army.  I know that you Marines are all alike.  Either you are a sadistic bastard or the most depraved cumdump animal.  Either you want to control, or you want to be controlled.  There’s hardly a middle ground.

“You haven’t said one damned thing yet.  You know it’s true.  You know you want to be under the control of a natural superior, one who will put you in your place and expect you to remain there.

“I assume you have no plans for this weekend.  If you do, you will be canceling them.  You are going to be my beast, my animal.  I’ll lock a hood on you, and a remote-controlled shock collar made explicitly to control animals.  I have about 8 to 10 guys that I will invite over to use you.  Your cunt and toilet mouth will be used continually throughout the weekend. 

“So will your cock.  I think I'm changing what I said earlier. There is no way that baseball bat is going to be ignored.  I’m in control of it.  There will probably be slaves over; their owners will want to see them get fucked by a beast like you.  The thing is beasts don’t show mercy when they fuck, neither will you.  The more savage the better.

“What you say, you want to be my beast, my animal for the weekend?

“…Are you cumming?  Jesus Christ!  You are.  Fuck!  Let it go.  Damn!  I've never seen a no handed eruption like that. That’s an impressive load.  I hope you can remain hard throughout this weekend, if not, there are injections to keep you hard. 

“I don’t care if you lose interest.  You will be expected to perform continually.  As you can tell, I am horned up.  My dick needs attention, and you ass is going to provide it.

“Jesus!  Now that is a fuckable ass if ever I saw one.  Here lean forward, let me guide you down.  Get that cunt up in the air.  My driver friend said you were a sloppy fuck.

“And he was right.  How many loads are up here?...  Shut up!  Animals don’t fucking speak.  Grunt your answer.  Four?  It feels like a lot more.  Fuck!  After I dump my load in you, I’ll plug you up.  Then tonight, I’ll have you dump the cum stew on the concrete in front of everybody.  Then I will have you lick it up so they can see what kind of disgusting animal you are.

“Oh fuck, I’m getting close here.  Clamp down.  Jesus!  You aren’t all stretched out.  Here it comes.  Uh! Uh! Ahhhhh!  Ah!  Fuck!

“Fucking hell.  Clamp down further; I’m pulling out.  There.  You made a fucking mess on my trousers.  I’m going to have to change them.  Let me get you over on your back. 

“You’re a fucking mess.  You are probably thirsty.  Open up that toilet mouth, and drink what you can.  Ahh….

“Damn, you are one beefy beast.  Normally I shave my slaves, but there is no way in hell I am going to touch one hair on you.  Your chest is perfect.  Your nips look a bit soft.  Titty clamps will be in your future, angry ones.

“Close your mouth.  We need to get you collared, hooded, plugged, chained up, and installed in the stable to start this weekend.  Is there anyone we need to notify?  I need to call a guy to get your work truck here. 

“If you work out this weekend, you may be spending a lot more time here than you did at that rest stop.

“Grunt me your ‘Thank you SIR’…  Atta cunt!”

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Modern Au kid fic! Platonic Aiden and Lambert (Aiden and Lambert are both 14. Geralt and Eskel are early twenties).

CW for eye trauma and injury description.

"C'mon, everyone knows you're like a god damned guard dog when it comes to your boys." Guxart pleaded.

"And you're hoping I'll extend that to your boy?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Vesemir ran his free hand over his face as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. He knew what he was getting into when he became a foster parent almost twenty years ago. However, he hadn't had any requests like this since taking Lambert in a decade ago and Guxart's kids were a whole different matter. It wasn't his fault the Dyn Marv Group Home had essentially been a sinking ship when he took it over. He was doing his best to turn things around but it was a slow process and there was no denying a good portion of the kids needed support which not many people were equipped to provide as a result of his predecessors management style, whilst a good number of the remaining kids had priors.

"Look, real talk." Guxart suddenly sounded exhausted, "He's my responsibility and for obvious reasons he can't stay here. Right now he's in a bad way, physically and mentally. I need to put him with someone I can trust won't take advantage of that. I need to know he's in safe hands. Please, Ves."

Vesemir sighed. He really hoped he wasn't going to regret this, "When can we expect him?"

"Any idea what this is about?" Eskel asked as he slouched on the old sagging couch.

Geralt shrugged and gave a grunt as he replied to a text (probably Yen), "Group text. I got the same information you did."

"Ass." Eskel gave his brother a playful swat.

"Alright you two." Vesemir emerged from the kitchen carrying three sodas, "I'll fill Lambert in when he gets back from school, but there's some details I'd rather he not know right away."

"Sounds serious." Eskel said, both he and Geralt leaning forwards in their seats to show they were listening.

Vesemir nodded, "Guxart called me. We've got an emergency placement arriving in a couple of hours straight from hospital, lad around Lambert's age."

His adopted sons wrinkled their noses, Vesemir cut them off before they could say anything, "I know you have past issues with the Dyn Marv kids. But Guxart assured me the worst Aiden's ever been slapped with is weekend detention."

Eskel perked up, "Aiden? Lambert's Aiden? Fuck, I gave him so much shit about him being imaginary."

Vesemir shrugged, "It's possible. It's not an uncommon name though."

"So why was he in hospital and why is he coming here?" Geralt asked

"He got attacked by a group of older kids. Naturally, for his own safety he can't go back to the group home while the investigation is ongoing and Guxart didn't want to ship him across State with fresh trauma."

"For how long?"

"Depends how long the authorities take. All I know is that the ringleaders are going to be up on assault charges. Possibly even attempted murder."

"Attempted - what the fuck did they do to him?"

"I didn't want to ask over the phone, his social worker will fill us in on everything when he arrives. That being said, you two know the drill for new arrivals. Geralt, you go do a junk food run and grab some essentials while you're at it, I've got no idea what he's going to be bringing with him so just the basics for now. Eskel, give me a hand getting the spare room ready."

Lambert kicked an empty can into the gutter, scowling down at his shoes. Another day of bullshit taunts and teasing and still no word from Aiden after almost a month. He wasn't dumb, he knew Aiden would have a reason and he knew what the deal was for care kids. He'd probably been moved to a different home or something with no warning and no choice, it happened. Still, Lambert thought his friend would have at least replied one of his emails or something to let him know (Aiden didn't have a phone. He said it was more hassle than it was worth trying to prevent it from getting stolen), not just act like he didn't exist anymore. Long distance friends were a thing, right? Lambert kicked another can. Fuck it, he was done. If Aiden wanted to ghost him then two could play at that game. Fuck friends and fuck him.

"Home." He called out, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Stop kicking the door and get in here." Vesemir called from the living room, "I need to talk to you about something."

"Fucks sake, I haven't even done anything." Lambert groaned "I've literally just walked through the door."

"I know you haven't. Stop bitching and sit down."

Lambert slumped into the room, taking in the spread of pizza, burgers, hotdogs and cake on the coffee table. That could only mean one thing, "Who's the new guy?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about, but I need you to promise you'll keep a cool head first. Ok."

Lambert shrugged.

"He got here about half an hour ago straight from the hospital. He's pretty beat up."

"Sucks for him. He got a name?"

"Aiden. About your age."

Lambert shot to his feet, "About this tall, dark hair?"

"Yes. But before you - Lambert !"

Lambert didn't hear as he charged up the stairs and down the hallway to the usually empty spare bedroom and immediately started pounding on the door, "Aiden?! "

The door cracked open and Lambert couldn't hide a wince. Vesemir wasn't kidding when he'd said Aiden was pretty beat up. The skin of his arms which wasn't covered by his t-shirt and bandages was covered in bruises. He had the fading evidence of a black eye whilst the other was covered by a patch of surgical gauze, a fresh, bright red scar poking out of the top and disappearing into his hairline. He smiled at Lambert awkwardly, "Hi."

Lambert threw his arms around him in a hug before remembering he was supposed to be mad and turning it into a light shove, "You dick! Why didn't you tell me you were in hospital?"

"I would have if I could but I was in an induced coma for two weeks and it's not like the hospital had a computer lab."

"Wait, you were in a coma."

"To give the internal shit a chance to heal. I'm all good now though. Well-" he pointed to his gauze covered eye, "Mostly."

"What happened anyway?" Lambert asked, moving into the room to sit on the bed.

"Jad and his gang jumped me. This happened when Vi decided to get a flick knife involved." Aiden moved to sit next to him, eyes on the floor and fists clenched. "They couldn't save my eye."

Lambert had never heard his friend sound so small, "Shit, Aiden."

They sat in awkward silence, Lambert not really knowing what to say after that. Luckily they were both saved by a shout of, "Boys, everything ok? If you want food I'd get down here before Geralt eats it all!"

Lambert grinned at his friend, "Hot dog eating contest?"

"You're on!"

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert/aiden #aiden/lambert #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[nahalism]

Did you ever experience some kind of…almost debilitating anxiety? I’m talking of months or + gnawed and exhausted by fear and both mental and physical sensations that come with it. How did/do you move through it

luv

a long one in advance but lol yh bare times. ill answer ur question, but there's two sides to the route i took and i have 2 preface with everything i did and do is based off of what i feel is right for me at the time. it doesnt mean its right though, and im very aware of that, so ill share some parts, but ultimately each person has is their own experience. the first step to moving through something, is looking for answers so like.. deeper than whatever i have to say, the answer is not in my answer, its in the fact u want answers

anyway. throwback to 6 ish years ago, i was having a breakdown breakthru and i started viewing what i called anxiety, as hyper vigilance. i started to see i was using a way of perceiving reality, along with my ability for analysis, to create correlations between my present, based on my perception of the past, to determine/predict the future (both futile and fallible), not cause i wanted to know what was going to happen, but because i thought keeping account of all possible outcomes gave me control and control would keep me safe and stop me experiencing a version of life i didnt want to go back to (more specifically it stopped me feeling helpless & inconsequential). as i understood that, along with the traumas at the root of my hyper vigilance, and the anxiety (social and general cause they r v separate), i recognised that i wanted control because i wasn't confident i could take charge or respond to reality without immense preparation. on top of that, i was resisting the fact that i was anxious because i was calling the symptoms i was experiencing my anxiety, but the real anxiety was the way i thought, and i was actually addicted to thinking in that way, because even though i hated it, and what it did to my body/nervous system, it was protecting my ego by giving me a false sense of control.

so that was my first step. i began to take action from where i was, as i was. that meant listening to what made me anxious. for example, if a place or person made me anxious, i didnt interact or go. i validated myself and what i was feeling. & i dont mean that in an avoidant sense, ill say why in a second. but yeah i validated what i was feeling, and began to see that the more i gave myself permission to be who i was, and do what i wanted unapologetically, the less direct anxiety id experience. and that sounds like an easy decision to have made in hindsight but usually, the change a persons anxious to make is something that in the moment requires a huge leap of faith but seems inevitable in hindsight. anyway, that's when i really realised that i was anxious because i was living an inauthentic life based on premeditation rather than presence. i had/have concurrent ptsd, so there were a lot of emotions i hadn't felt in a long time without realising, like passion or genuine laughter, happiness, joy, peace. id literally forgotten anything but this autopilot need to protect myself, be there for the people that had been there for me and stay alive. in giving myself permission to be different from who i had been, i started to see the world free from what my past dictated it should be and everything started to open up as as a consequence. side note, id been studying metaphysics and philosophy since 6 form, and i can't underestimate how much the principles i learned there helped me transmute my situation. ive recommended all those books in here before, so u can find them, but yeah . it sounds pretty and idyllic and as essy as 'changing my mind' but it was fucking brutal. i transformed in every sense of the word i lost almost everything in the process. there were wins along the way but 90% of them were silver linings of my own deciding. however, nothing i lost needed to stay! and everything i chose to go through or was subjected to led me to understand me and opened options as to how i could cultivate a beautiful and real inner life that eventually began to bleed out into the 'real' world.

the dark side of that, which is how i reached most of those revelations and insights, is the experiential bit that i can't communicate. i literally put myself through hell, and i can type till my fingers fall of and still never convey the full picture of how what why when, but yh. when i said i listened to my anxiety, i meant that literally. as i said before, i didnt allow myself to be avoidant. so if there was a reason i didnt want to do something, i honoured it, but lets say the only obstacle to me doing something was my anxiety, id force myself to do it, to the point of masochism. literally, i was obsessed. day in day out i was reading on self improvement, i studied every religion, researched philosophers, listened to hour long lectures on youtube, i did everything i could do to understand myself, my mind, life, and how to reprogram what i was experiencing. at the same time as this i used to myself in situations that would trigger panic attacks, or dissociative episodes and find ways to 'function' through it. one that worked very well was smoking weed, sometimes alone, sometimes in bad company. weed gave me severe panic attacks at the time, so when i was on my own, id smoke to induce panic attacks so i could meditate, breathe, draw, write, literally do whatever helped to bring myself through the panic attack. then when i felt capable with that, id smoke in bad company and practice with the pressure of being in front of people and there would be times id b having full blown panic attacks in front of people, sometimes with, but usually without them knowing and the whole time was just training myself to understand or pay attention to my mental patterns, training myself to calm myself down, to reach a zone where i could see through what was triggering me, or at the very least just firm it. and the more i did that, the more i understood why i was dissociating, or collapsing, or having chest pains, hyperventilating all that shit. the more i understood, the more i reeeaaally understood, and then i got to a point where even though the trigger is there lol, it still exists, but when it gets pulled i can hold the explosion. because i feel it happening, i see it happening, but it happens to something within me and not to me now? and so i kind of watch it and love and appreciate it for what learning to temper it taught me. its like a familiar old friend has its quirks that i wouldn't change for the world and yh idk im just rambling i need to go to bed. but basically i stopped being debilitated by anxiety by living in complete debilitation of it until it couldn't debilitate me any more. id be lying if i didnt say it drove me to very dark, lonely, appearance of being semi crazy states of being, but it was worth it and still is.

without the period of isolation the second half of what i described put me through, i couldnt have found realignment cause i wouldnt have seen how incorrect my projection of my past onto the future was, or how to correct it. & deep it, if all u know is death misery lack poverty shortage economic & social insecurity, then all u can see for the future is that. once u open ur eyes and see urself and the world for what is u can start playing. it wasnt easy, and im still not over being anxious. but its not debilitating, just an uneasy emotion. & the way i see it at this point, its just my inner system seeing something what my eyes dont & making me aware. when i listen im redirected, and can find alignment. when i dont it gets worse, and the only way out is to be numb. but i wanna live and i cant live numb. hope i answered, love <3

#ask

[sitp-recs]

Hi liv!

First up looove your reclists! I read through so many in your pinned post and whenever you rec something I gotta check it out even if at first it doesn’t seem like my thing - and you’ve never steered me wrong!

If you like, I would love some recs for really cheeky, snarky sharp-tongued maybe posh/high society Draco!

Im thinking of the hilarious draco in Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by loveglowsinthedark it just always makes me laugh or Nights with you by the_sinking_ship for something that’s currently ongoing.

I just love myself some fun and snark (and occasional smutt👀) sooo maybe you can help me find more?

Anyway, hope you’re doinh well!

Love

Vik

Hi Vik, thanks for the lovely message! Your ask truly made my night 🥰 love those bangers by @l0vegl0wsinthedark and @the-sinking-ship btw, Size Queen is a classic and I’m so hooked on Nights already, the UST is killing me! I can’t wait for next Sunday after that cliffhanger 😩

I also adore snarky posh Draco even if I don’t read crack-y fics very often, here are some of my favourites. Enjoy!

Student Digs by Lokifan (2016, E, 4k)

Harry’s living in *student accommodation*. Just the phrase makes Draco shudder.

Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (2018, E, 9.7k)

A new Muggle Studies professor takes the Eighth Year students to work on an archaeological excavation. In which Draco is lazy, Harry is sweaty, Hermione is drunk, and Ron turns red.

On Target by @the-sinking-ship (2021, E, 13k)

A charity dunk tank, some sorry excuses for friends, a Slytherin with freakishly good aim, a (mostly) empty locker room, and one very small towel. Because, apparently, everyone is dying to get Harry Potter wet.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (2014, E, 15k)

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had.

Reparatio by astolat (2016, E, 17k)

Draco snorted. “I’m not reduced to penury. I want something considerably beyond money, and I rather think you’re the only one can give it to me.”

Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (2022, M, 18k)

Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.

amid this warm and steady sweetness by warmfoothills (2019, E, 21k)

Harry is not living in a period drama, no matter what his friends or his new house or Malfoy’s sudden affinity for horse-riding might suggest, and if one more person uses the word courting, he’s going to start hexing people.

Slithering by astolat (2016, E, 27k)

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (2007, E, 44k)

Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (2016, E, 57k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

The Trouble with Wanting by waldorph (2021, E, 60k)

Draco Malfoy is cleared of all charges; this is what happens next.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (2017, M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #posh Draco #humor

[focsle]

If it’s not too much—would you mind talking a bit about how you research specific, near-nameless people and what your process is for that kind of thing? It’s such a different task than researching, say, a specific topic in history, and not a skill I’ve really had a chance to develop. I really admire your dedication and thoroughness to your whalemen and want to be able to afford that same level of comprehensiveness, without knowing where exactly to start…..

I’m gonna answer this with many a caveat! So depending on what you’re researching it might be helpful or it might be useless

The first caveat is that I can only answer in a US-centric capacity, and, when I’m getting more granular information, a New York City capacity. But these records exist for municipalities elsewhere too—it’s just the extent and accessibility of which that will vary.

A lot of people slip through the cracks when it comes to official documentation and you might not be able to find them/find much on them. For instance race, class, and gender are going to play a significant role in how someone’s life is recorded, if it’s recorded at all. And there’s a lot of human error in old record keeping that can make someone hard to find. The only reason I was able to find out as much about my friend Mr. Buel as I did, despite him dying at around age 21, was because he came from a middle class background in an urban location and his father was a rather prominent physician at the time, so his lifestyle before he went whaling was captured more clearly across census records and school records.

Whaling history is a rather unique window of time in that it’s wonderfully documented, and a lot of these otherwise forgotten ordinary guys thus have some record of their existence on crew lists. Adding to that, hundreds of whaling journals have been preserved and digitized. Most of them are logs, so they’re impersonal, but there are also a handful of personal diaries which are a rarity and luxury to have. These men would often talk about their friends and families, hometowns, old jobs, etc. And, from a non-research standpoint, it’s always an honor to be able to learn about someone’s emotional world through their own words. As such, my research and how much I’m able to find out about these men is really privileged by the fact that I often have a good amount of baseline info already that I can plug in to find out more. And if I don’t….odds are they were probably a Young Twenty Something in the year they were whaling so I can guesstimate a birth year and usually find them after cross referencing more.

 So, what to cross reference? I’ll talk about it below under the readmore cos it got long.

The easiest place to start is geneology websites. Ancestry.com is the most utilized and has the widest availability of records. You can find the census, marriage certificates, naturalization certificates, passports, death certificates, military documents, ship manifests, baptismal records, wills, and more. It’s also ridiculously expensive. Familysearch is a free alternative with less records, though I haven’t used it myself. You could try Ancestry’s free trial to farm as much as you can (and cancel before) or wait for a bulk sale that they do sometimes (that’s still stupid expensive). But it’s very hard to cancel a subscription (it’s always set to autorenew) without them hitting you with a cancelation fee once they have your card number. I believe you can avoid this by gifting yourself a subscription so they don’t have a credit card to charge and thus it won’t autorenew. It’s ridiculous, but unfortunately one of the better options as far as ease of use, searchability, access, and scope of records. There are also library versions of it that you could access for free if it’s available at a branch near you. It makes me so mad that….the census is paywalled. Fuck em.

With all that said, census records are great places to start if you know someone’s name. Even better if you know more specifics such as approximate birth year, other family members’ names, occupation, location, etc. There are federal censuses (every 10 years), as well as state censuses (records vary by state what survives and how often they were taken, as well as what questions were asked). But they aren’t perfect. Anything prior to 1850 is only going to list the head of household, and other household members are nameless and simply grouped in age and gender brackets. Prior to 1880, you won’t be able to find anyone based on a specific street address because each house was numbered in order of visitation by the enumerator instead. This was a puzzle for me when I was trying to figure out where Buel lived, because his school papers listed a home address, but when I searched it, it was several blocks away from the election district the census said he lived in. So I used fire insurance maps and realized that the house numbers had changed rather dramatically from the 1850s to now. Through those I found his actual home location by matching the address and election district to the map.

Sanborn fire insurance maps are great if you want to know more about a specific part of town in the 19th and 20th centuries, as well as the actual house numbers in that time. The New York Public Library digitized a number of them, and iirc they have other states too. These maps were highly specific about what each building was made out of, what sort of industries or shops were around it, houses of worship, parks, etc. It won’t tell you anything specific about an individual person, but does add some texture to their life. 

While the census is a good jumping off point, it has a number of issues like those mentioned above, and beyond. The 1870 census was so incorrect the first time around it had to be conducted again. The 1890 census was largely destroyed in a fire and so those records are lost. There is going to be a lot of human error. Enumerators might accidentally skip addresses or people. They’re inevitably also going to mark down incorrect or reductive information about those people. The racial identity of people was particularly misrepresented by enumerators often, as it wasn’t self id but the enumerator passing a judgment within ever changing and limited ‘categories’ that shifted with each census. Ages are going to be variable. Names might be misspelled or a person might change their name (tho I have to plug in here that no one’s names were changed at Ellis Island! It’s a huge myth that is so deeply enduring! Didn’t Happen! Except for one person named Frank Woodhull! Look him up sometime for some Gender Nonconforming History). Also, more than one person can have the same name as someone else living at the same time. That’s just how it is. So that’s where cross referencing is important. Trace the person across records—do you see the same family members, do you see marriage records that could account for changes, do the ages and years make sense, all of that. It’s like putting together a puzzle. Sometimes the puzzle is never completed. Sometimes people just disappear from the record entirely.

For looking for people outside of the census years, city directories can be good for that. Again, a lot of cities had these—New York’s are digitally accessible through the NYPL. These came out every year and basically functioned like a phonebook, usually listing someone’s name, occupation, place of work, and home address (and sometimes limited racial signifiers, if the person was not white). Directories are again, not perfect. They only list people who were ‘gainfully employed’, and it’s very rare to see women in them because of the limited types of work open to women while the directories are in use. But it’s another way of piecing things together. For instance I found the first name and address of my other friend Mr. J.E.Haviland (Jacob), by taking what he mentioned in his journal (the names of brothers, his particular skillsets, and an acquaintance of his who used to work in the same neighborhood as him with specific street names), and ultimately finding a man who matched in the city directory in the years he would be working in that neighborhood. Again, puzzles!

The National Archives also has TONS of documents (I’ve dug through them for seamen’s protection certificates as well as US Consular records to find out about things that may have happened to men abroad), and a lot of them are digitized. The problem is they aren’t often easily searchable so you spend a lot of time staring at rather poor scans and folders containing hundreds of pages of stuff. But if you know more or less what you’re looking for, it’s a possibility. The Library of Congress also has a number of public records available and digitized, as well as searchable newspapers in Chronicling America. And all of that is free. Findagrave, also free, can be helpful in finding cemetery plots as well as other family members who might be buried there that could help in further cross referencing info. And check the municipal archives / libraries in the location you’re researching as well if they’re accessible—they often have public records or could help steer you in the right direction.

Court records can be interesting as well, and can usually be found in state/municipal archives. In the absence of diaries, police court records are one way to hear someone’s voice, just for a little moment. Granted, it’s often their voice in defending themselves, but I’d say police court records are, unfortunately, one of the few ways to hear marginalized perspectives which otherwise don’t have much presence in the government record. Sensationalist newspapers would often publish bits from them. As such they must be taken with a huge grain of salt, but it’s another avenue to find a piece of someone’s life

The last thing I’ll say is the only research subscription thing I pay for currently is Genealogy Bank, on the subject of newspapers. It was also expensive (though I got a bulk sale), but feels worth it to me right now. It’s pretty amazing, and not just for researching people but topics. The searching isn’t always particularly accurate, but it’s a WEALTH of newspapers (more than Newspapers.com I believe), that is searchable and can be narrowed by state, city, and all the specific newspapers published in that city over a couple centuries. You can look up names or keyword search anything else and specify specific days and date ranges. It’s good. Again, not a perfect search system, but it’s better than Chronicling America imo.

Depending on who you’re researching, archive.org is also invaluable. Look at the pages of libraries / museums / other academic institutions there to see what they got. It’s where I find all my whaling diaries.

That’s all I can think of for now! Hope it was helpful! 

#asks #anonymous

[morgana-ren]

What's your biggest fantasy kink?

The power imbalance of an older nastier man drives me wild. Want to take advantage, hurt me and use me? Yes pls thank you Sir. Manipulate me into behaving as your perfect pet, never letting me go, willing to share with a couple of his besties who are just as vile? Would kill for me but is never actually traditionally nice to me? Love it so hard.

This is very much a question that I don't think you want the answer to lmao. I have adhd and it's early so forgive the rambling, but it's hard for me to narrow it down. There's a lot, and I'm sure I will have forgotten something.

I've had years upon years to ponder myself, what I like, and by proxy, why I enjoy the things I do. Through that, I was able to let go of any shame or guilt that I might have felt initially, and thus it was allowed to run rampant. Whether or not it's healthy is another question, but that's for therapy to answer, not me.

Power imbalance is a huge one, and so is someone older, bigger, and stronger. Not being afraid to use those things in such a way as to get what they want, much like you said. A professor; a boss; a dragon; a pirate-- something or someone of immense power over my life and likely others. Someone you don't approach with ease. These aren't characters that fit in or blend well in society.

They're unhinged and usually very dangerous. Looking at the characters I like (Reaver, Tomura, Asto, etc) these are people that are very powerful, very dangerous, and very immoral to the point you could argue a black and white evil perspective. I want someone older. I don't want a child who has barely had time to process the world and stumbles into a clumsy love with the first girl he sees. I want someone who has lived and seen and still rejected it all for me.

Fictional hybristophilia, I believe. Bad guys. Always bad guys. I do not ever like good guys with the same passion as I enjoy their worse counterparts to the point that it's more 'bff admiration' rather than an actual crush. I don't want someone that has power but doesn't use it. I don't want restraint. I want someone that wields it like a weapon and fine hones it to achieve their ends, banal ideas like 'right' or 'wrong' be damned.

I like the fear and the terror, and not just my end, but everyone else's. Being completely and utterly untouchable for better or worse because no one would fuck with them. I am, self admittedly, attracted to power. I like the type of power that makes you question even defending yourself against something blatantly horrible because they can and will hurt you to get their way.

I want fierce possession. Mine, mine, mine. I don't want to be one person in a 93 part harem. I want to be the only one. I require feeling special, and I don't like tropes where they try to make you jealous by belittling your looks or intelligence and comparing you to someone else or want to have you 'on the side' as well as a bunch of other people. It's very much a 'My wife/girl/pet/whatever' thing for me.

They'll hurt you, ever enough to lose you. They'd never, ever kill you. It's not a matter of 'If I can't have you, no one can.' It's a shrug and a simple murder of whatever the threat is. There is no escape. This is your life now. Accept it or don't. It's cute when you fight.

Infantilization, in a way. Thanks in part to childhood trauma and the way-- or lack thereof-- that I was raised, I've always had to take charge and be in control. I don't want to anymore. I want someone who takes that control and that power with ease. I don't want to be treated like a child or a baby, but I don't want to be the bigger, smarter one that can outwit my partner with ease. I want to feel small and 'taken care of,' in a way. Small and cute and helpless. Adorable in their rage, and all that.

Essentially, a sub in quite literally every conceivable way. I don't like taking charge, or making decisions, and my head is so loud and messy all the time that thinking is painful. I don't trust my own judgement. I don't wanna. I want someone dastardly intelligent who is comfortable taking the control, and does so with ease. Someone who doesn't need my help constantly and is comfortable in their skin and with their mind in ways I'm not.

I do like violence. Choking me out, forcefully maneuvering me, slapping, whatever. A lot of it is just violence gets them off. I don't want a manchild that can't manage their own emotions so often that they just explode in a violent rage, but more of... think of like a stern teacher. Or someone tickled by your attempts at overpowering them. Someone who gets off on it.

I like malevolent assholes is what I'm saying. Ones that manipulate and abuse and act like monsters, but would burn the world down just to have you. Can and will. It very much is an obsession, and it's one that doesn't die. Can't do abandonment. They fully intend on forever, so that's what it will be.

I'm not opposed to being 'shared' but it would be an extremely rare situation and wouldn't be purely sexual. We're talking these are people that are EXTREMELY close to the person in question and it's not just to humiliate. Think like 'three husbands' type of deal. Perhaps they're inseparable or whatever else, but it's not something given lightly AT ALL, and they'd kill anyone who tries unless it's in VERY specific circumstances.

I'm a bitch. Or in this context, a brat. They have to like that. I can't have a finnicky control freak who doesn't enjoy the dynamic and tries to breed it out of me. Amused by it, and never threatened by it. I'll never be a quiet, demure little thing, but they take pleasure in trying. Occasionally I like fights to spawn over it, but not a consistent barrage of punishment to the point it loses the charm.

Think like... Someone who slaps you when you talk back too much, licks the blood from your lip, gets worked up and does absolutely deplorable things in bed but then curls around you purring mine and sleeps like a goddamn baby with you chained there next to them. Genuine love, but just displayed in the most horrible ways.

I'm whiny, emotionally stunted, touch starved, traumatized, isolated, brash, angry, intimidating, and not quite right in the head. So ultimately, my go-to are strong, powerful, dangerous, obsessive, possessive, deranged, intelligent, abusive bastards that aren't remotely intimidated by my facade, with fantasies that are worse than mine and the power to make it real. Usually sexual deviants. Collars, leashes, and not even in a petplay sort of way, but in a 'you belong to me and you aren't going anywhere' way. Someone who loves me with such a fierce, covetous desire that it drives them mad. I want to be small compared to them, protected by them, etc.

You can imagine what this says about my psyche. Someone who could decode this could quite literally get my entire life's gimmick, and it's not hard.

Look, I am aware it's literally impossible. Someone who loves you would never treat you like this, and in real life, this would be and is a nightmare. I am well aware of the line between fantasy and fiction and have unfortunately lived it. But in my fantasy world in my head? That's what I go for.

#morgana and friends #morgana overshares #There's so much and I'm so bad at organizing my thoughts #so I just word-vomit it #Obviously I'll write much of anything but this is where I really go feral #anything that aligns with this just sparks the passion #I live in my head dude and this is where i live

[mysicklove]

1.It's such a peculiar feeling, I'm an outdoorsy guy. I drink my coffee black. Work on my car, love working with my hands and fishing but when we play it's like all that fades away. I lose any need to prove myself and it's freeing. Lol as dumb as it sounds I just kinda melt.

2.Overstimulation is great! It's the perfect mix of pleasure/pain. Depending how it's done it can be soooo incredible. Being assaulted by multiple sensations, not being able to decipher what feels the best and worst. Your mind literally can't process it all and goes into a haze where everything just blends. Lol I'm a big fan

3.Mmmm I don't really "see" her it's kind of a feeling more than an idea. It's someone I feel safe with, someone I trust and I do mean TRUST. Someone I would go to nearly any length to make happy. It's like I'm not looking for a dom I'm looking for a best friend.

4.It 100% can be, you can rapidly find yourself doing something you don't want or feel not right with. But that's the importance of trust in situations and relationships like these. All I have to say are two words and I know she would drop anything and everything and make sure I'm okay. I've also experienced it to where as things are happening I'm okay with them but once I'm out of that fog it hits you and that is just as scary. This is why aftercare is soooo important.

5.YES! it goes along with the submission like its yet another layer of me giving in and giving her full control. Tie me up put a blindfold on and do whatever you want to me. It drives me wild and I think the power trip does it for her too.

6. I've personally never got the whole leather or latex "thing" maybe because it gives a slightly bad guy/girl in charge feel. If she likes it go ahead but it's not a positive or negative in my mind.

7. If she really wanted to try maybe. I'd be more apt to having a more dominant person with her than another sub at her beck and call with me. Sounds weird but I'd much rather be her only sub.

8. It's 100% different. It's so much more in depth I guess you could say? The build up is completely different and once you finally do get there you are riding wave after wave of pleasure. From what people have said it's pretty similar to how the opposite gender feels orgasms.

9. Definitely NOT a myth. Not to go into to much detail but I had experienced my first about a week or two ago and it was insane! I wrote about it on my page if you are at all interested.

10.Oh boy. This topic always makes me blush. They are the most infuriating thing ever. And yet something about it deep down does something to me not just physically but mentally. Putting it on or better yet having her put it on and seeing that lock click never fails to give me chills. It's a full submittal to their will. Even if at that point I wanted to play with "it" I can't and something in my head LOVES relinquishing that power. It makes me instantaneously feel subby. It takes the whole concept of you can look but not touch idea and ramps it up 1000%. Once it's on its hers. She decides if she wants it played with or not and it's a rush.

11. Turn ons that really get me? First and foremost are marking like hickeys or bite marks, let everyone who happens to catch a glimpse of them know that I'm yours. Edging and denial are way up there too, the buildup compounding on itself over and over are so intense and it drives me wild. Lastly audio, whisper into my ear all the fucked up things you want to do to me, tell me I'm a good boy, tell me what your going to do in detail. I LOVE the sound of my doms voice especially when she gets into it. Her tone changes her voice gets ever so slightly deeper and it never fails to make me feel more subby.

questions from here

we talked a bit on messaging, but thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share! i really enjoyed seeing your perspective on this :)

#💌 - love letters #learning time #lolol

[anotherrevue]

The Top 25 Movies of 2022

When I think about 2022, the highs of the year feel like a return to form, for movies and for myself personally. And yet, on further inspection, it’s possible that two straight years of largely garbage movies and even more garbage circumstances have set the bar rather low. Yes indeed, this year has been better in comparison, but it has not by any means measured up to “normal”. 

There have been some bright spots – travelling all over the country to meet friends, watching movies I’ve been waiting to see for several years, etc – and there have been some dark recesses – of the mind, yes, but also whatever the fuck has been happening at Warner Bros. Discovery. And as far as my empty promises of lots of new pieces that I made in my first ever post, the ideas are still there, I just haven’t yet made most of them as coherent as I’d hoped. However, I have some breaking news for you: the year’s over, which means it’s time for the highlight reel babyyy! You’ll only find best-ofs here (sorry to The Gray Man) as we kick off another year.

Quick note to anyone who didn’t read the Shepitko piece: I’m totally on your side. It’s too long and too much like a SparkNotes summary of a biography. I wrote it while I was stuck deep down a well of love for this incredible artist who thought much along the same lines about art: “If I don’t do it, I’ll die.” Is that a sideways excuse for why I haven’t updated this blog in a long time? Maybe…

But back to 2022. An incredible year for theatres: Top Gun Maverick recreating the late great Tony Scott’s aesthetic for a fleeting 2 hour thrill ride was something I never expected. Avatar: The Way of Water leading the charge for high quality, must-see-in-3D movies on the other hand was something I completely expected and yet I still walked out absolutely in love with Pandora. The return of Jaws, ET and The Godfather in the form of picture-perfect restorations and pristine transfers was such a perfect lure back to theatres.

But as with any year, I saw most movies this year in my bedroom or on TV. 594 is a very large number, which troubles me. I worry that I watch too any movies – do I really process what I watch or is it robotic? Am I just putting on movies as a way to distract myself, and if so, is that fair?

I don’t really have answers there. It has certainly felt mechanical at times, and I felt like I reached saturation, occasionally feeling like I didn’t even care about movies. And then, just in the nick of time would come something like Crimes of the Future, a nasty piece of mystery fiction, but nasty in the best possible way, twisted by ol’ Dave Cronenberg to forefront his own preoccupations with the human body and relationships. Suddenly, I’d be back in love with films.

So what can I do? I’ll keep watching movies, but maybe slow down a little. Take time to process each movie before moving on. Watch with more purpose, more discernment. Maybe I don’t need to watch ALL of the new Pinocchios (del Toro’s is by far the most enjoyable, Zemeckis’ is a complete nothingburger and the Russian one is… unfathomably awful). And most of all, I’ll write more, because that helps me connect to movies more than just letting it swirl around in the cesspool that is my mind.

But enough of the rambling preamble. As a movie year, 2022 was twisty and all over the place. A great year for Tom Cruise and Colin Farrell (who was excellent in FOUR WHOLE MOVIES THANK YOU to the film deities!!), a great year for horror, a great year for weird shit that seemed to be aimed directly at me. A terrible year (I know I said no negativity so I’ll get this over quickly) for unfortunate franchises (Branagh’s Poirot, Jurassic World) and Tom Hanks, who was in the bad Pinocchio and generally agreed to be the worst part of Elvis. Undecided result for Margot Robbie, who was passably charming in an inexplicable film (Amsterdam) and reportedly excellent in an unmitigated flop that I’m excited to watch (Babylon).

I watched 141 movies released in 2022. Here are my top 25.

25. Causeway

24. Saloum

23. Save the Cinema

22. Bheeshma Parvam

21. The Lost King

20. Pada

19. Everything Everywhere All at Once

18. Nope

17. God’s Country

16. Hinterland

15. Hustle

14. The Northman

13. The Banshees of Inisherin

12. Prey

11. Benediction

10. Fire of Love

This was among my most anticipated movies of 2022. It’s rare for me to be so excited for a documentary – I usually stumble upon them and then get pulled into loving it. And unlike another documentary from this year that I loved (my precious Good Night Oppy, which made me cry, much like most movies about the space program), I wasn’t really pre-disposed to loving it. I’m a space guy, not a lava guy. Yet Fire of Love is special, because the premise promises a tragic love story, but from the first moment that we see the Kraffts, we realize that this isn’t tragic to them, no matter the outcome. They understand the risks fully and still it’s completely joyous for them. And the footage of the volcanoes is mesmerizing, you almost understand how inextricably drawn they felt to them. NatGeo, two years running, making my best of year list. I’ll keep my eye out for their 2023 releases.

9. The Woman King

This is Gladiator with most of the flab cut off. Gina Prince-Bythewood is one of my favourite working directors and her shift into action filmmaking is really remarkable, considering how emotionally focused her first three movies are. It makes sense though, once you realize that her action scenes are so fluid is because she herself is an athlete and she frames the scenes, not just as balletic or violent feats, but as a show of athletic prowess. From the opening – which is very reminiscent of the first Nakia scene in Black Panther – I was fully on board with the tone and scale of this movie, boosted in no small part by Viola Davis (the biggest Oscar snub of the year), Lashana Lynch (being an absolute dynamo on screen) and Thusu Mbedu (who somehow holds her own as a co-lead in this movie opposite Davis).

8. Jackass Forever

Like every iteration of Jackass, Forever is wonderfully juvenile, but there’s an added tinge of melancholy in watching Knoxville, Steve-O, Dave England and the rest of the original cast slowly come to terms with the fact that their bodies can’t take the same levels of punishment anymore. We see them hand over a lot of the stunts to the newer additions, who take the reins while also trying to get out of the giant shadows of Ryan Dunn and Bam. All that said, Knoxville and Steve-O still do the two most what the fuck gags in the movie, and Danger Ehren, as ever, is the victim of a nightmarish flurry of pain. But Jackass isn’t about violence; it’s just the most stupidly violent franchise about friends who love each other.

7. Kimi

Any movie Steven Soderbergh puts out is likely to make my best of, and it speaks to the quality of the top 10 this year that Kimi has dropped to the back half. This movie is fun as hell, an old school conspiracy thriller in the vein of (quite obviously) The Conversation and Rear Window, but set in a tech world that’s increasingly more familiar – and more frightening – to us. Of course, Soderbergh isn’t new to conspiracies (see: Erin Brockovich), but the thing that makes his work in Kimi particularly enthralling is his ability to capture natural human behaviour on screen. He makes excellent hangout movies (Oceans 11-13, Magic Mike, Let Them All Talk) because he knows that if you shoot movie stars in a certain way and pace it right, anything they do will be immensely watchable. And for Kimi, he teamed up with one of the very rare true-blue movie stars under 35 in Zoe Kravitz. She pulls the camera with a natural, easy magnetism that automatically sets us up on her side. Add Soderbergh’s excellent technical craft, and you get a lean, mean, murder mystery machine that has you in and out and completely satisfied in 90 minutes flat.

6. Top Gun: Maverick

Often the Best Actor/Actress Oscar is won by someone doing an interpretation of a real person that we’re all familiar with (Rami Malek for Freddie Mercury, Renee Zellweger for Judy Garland and possibly – god forbid – Austin Butler for Elvis). I think that should just be its own special Oscar: Best Re-Creation. And this year, Top Gun: Maverick should win that honour, because Joseph Kosinski (who I’m overall pretty mixed on as a director) does a spectacular job recreating that early Tony Scott style that made the first Top Gun so exhilarating. Funny thing, leading up to the release of this movie, I put my favourite Tony Scott movies on TV (I’ll take any excuse really). My sister walked in during the first 10 minutes of Unstoppable and not only was she completely hooked, but she insisted on watching the rest of the movies with me. So it was particularly fantastic to be able to show my sister a Tony Scott-esque movie in theatres for the first time. I wish there were more of them.

5. Avatar: The Way of Water

Yes I loved it. Am I a sucker for Jim Cameron? Also yes. The water footage is like watching NatGeo from another planet (in a good way, you should know by now that I’m a fiend for NatGeo). Cameron knows how the build tension in an action scene and he also knows how to shoot it so that you know exactly where everyone is in relation to each other, which seems to be a lost art in big budget blockbusters these days. But what gets The Way of Water to number 5 is the tulkun. What an incredible idea to have this species of space whales be intellectually and emotionally smarter than the Na’vi and yet have them choose to intertwine themselves with the Na’vi. And the decision to introduce this kind of an interspecies dynamic in the SECOND MOVIE when there’s is no analogue for it in the first, is a feat on its own. Although I should have probably recused myself from reviewing this movie, since Payakan is my best friend.

4. The Fabelmans

Steven Spielberg has always been a filmmaking savant, which this movie will tell you, but I think what makes The Fabelmans so good, and what has really been working for Spielberg in this last decade, is that he tackles honest, complex emotions head on instead of eschewing it for the classic Spielberg sentimentality. He portrays the intricate and overlapping familial dynamics in the Fabelman household (a thinly veiled depiction of his own home life) with shockingly little guile or deflection and shows us not only the joys, but the strains of being an artist.

3. TÁR

Hard to talk about this movie without just lavishing praise on Cate Blanchett, but I’ll try – not because she isn’t the best thing about it, but because every discussion about TÁR is so dominated by Cate Blanchett that other great parts of the movie fade into the noise. Todd Field as an actor is best known as Nick Nightingale in Eyes Wide Shut, but his work as a director in TÁR reminds me of the second half another Kubrick movie: Barry Lyndon. To start the movie at the peak of someone’s prowess and document their downfall, and not have audiences utterly despairing by the end is a special talent that few have, and Field certainly nails it. Noemie Merlant (of Portrait of a Lady on Fire fame) is an absolute beacon of charisma as Lydia Tar’s assistant, and her performance subtly elevates the audience’s investment in the story. But I think the secret sauce to the movie, and the emotional crux, is on the shoulders of Nina Hoss, who has very little screen time, yet really underscores the whole movie with one incredible line reading. The individual pieces of TÁR are excellent in their own right, which sometimes poses a problem when the filmmaker tries to put them all together, but the movie is so well-conceived and Field has such a strong artistic voice that the brilliance of each part only works to elevate the whole.

2. After Yang

The first of Colin Farrell’s 2022 movies remains my favourite, which is a shock because I would have put money on The Banshees of Inisherin being my number one movie of the year overall. And though Banshees has been slowly creeping up my rankings the longer I think on it, After Yang has held strong for nigh on a year. Kogonada’s first movie, Columbus, juxtaposed an emotional gentleness with the sadness of real life in a way that didn’t make me want to run away as movies like that normally do. Instead, he made the real world an enviable gentle place that doesn’t magic away tragedies but accepts them as an essential part of every person. In After Yang, Kogonada takes that sensibility and applies it to a sci-fi idea that is perhaps as old as the genre: what if a robot began to feel? The set-up is, on paper, similar to classics like Blade Runner and AI, but the movie is handled with a tenderness that those earlier movies had only sparingly. There’s a lot in After Yang about loss and grief and parenting, but also about the joys of culture and art.

1. Three Thousand Years of Longing

If you go back to my list last year, my number one was Night of the Kings, a Ivorian prison drama about the importance of storytelling. So I guess it’s pretty boring that this year, yet again, I’ve picked a film that features tales of magic and wonder. Three Thousand Years of Longing is a djinn movie, but what sets Three Thousand Years apart is the way these fairytales are portrayed. Rooted in real history, the stories have a sense of dream logic that makes every instance of magic makes sense. And the main story itself, much like another movie I loved this year (Good Luck to You, Leo Grande), cautiously but lovingly explores the awkward romanticism of two strangers in a hotel. Idris Elba’s Djinn is wary of his summoner, while Tilda Swinton’s Alithea, a scholar of storytelling, is well aware of the mischievous nature of djinns. Hijinks do not ensue, however. Rather, the two of them slowly let their guards down, as the Djinn warns Alithea of the dangers of previous wishes he’d had to grant, weaving tales of a mystical history that has her (and me) completely enraptured. Three Thousand Years feels to me like the closest a movie can get to the magic of bard recounting an oral tradition of love and war and the follies of humans.

***

As usual, some honourable mentions:

Decision to Leave, Good Luck to You, Leo Grande, Athena, A Man of Action, Mukundan Unni Associates, Apollo 10 ½: A Space Age Childhood, Watcher, Something from Tiffany’s (a very solid romcom) and motherfucking Ambulance because what a goddamn ride that movie is.

I don’t recommend stand-up specials often because nothing is less appealing than comedy recommendations. But Jerrod Carmichael’s Rothaniel is really the most intimate special I’ve seen while still being hilarious.

I know I don’t talk TV often but Andor and Slow Horses have three essentially perfect seasons between them and I’m very excited for what’s next.

Finally, Dinner in America is the most punk rock movie of the year and I really hope it gets a bit more traction because there aren’t enough straight up fuck the system movies being made, which is a major bummer.

***

I want to end on a note of cautious optimism, but I’ve gone on too long already, so let me just say this: we’re probably getting new movies from our greatest working directors[1], not to mention new entries in some of the most high quality franchises. Yes indeed, folks, a promising movie year lies ahead, and you might as well stay tuned to Another Revue - who knows? I might be true to my word about writing more.

___

Soderbergh (Magic Mike 3), Scorsese (Killers of the Flower Moon), Michael Mann (Ferrari), Sofia Coppola (Priscilla), Miyazaki (How Do You Live?), Fincher (The Killer), Gerwig (Barbie), Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things and possibly And), Reichardt (Showing Up), Nolan (Oppenheimer), Shyamalan (Knock at the Cabin), Ridley Scott (Napoleon), Steve McQueen (Blitz), Jonathan Glazer (The Zone of Interest) ↩

[shizukateal]

Um.... I have to ask you something... do simply prefer SUPER SIMPLE outfits that are simply easy to draw? I mean to perfectly match the silhouette, draw rather plain shirts to help make it entertaining? like bro, sorry to offend you, BUT IT"S LITTERALLY BORING. Ok ok jokes aside, why prefer simple?

Ooof, anon, this merits SO MUCH elaboration, because my preferences are so much more nuanced than that. You are conflating simplicity with plainness and that's just not how I roll in the slightest.

The Tokyo Mew Mews are simple, and yet I praise as much as I critique them for it. Their simplicity is as much their strength as their weakness: they are easy to draw and animate and cosplay, and the cherry on top is that this allows their silhouettes to be more attractive and iconic. And yet, they don't look good together. The aesthetic of their anime is markedly worse because there's hardly any way to balance their colors. Still, I have yet to see any redesigns from them that actually finds a way to solve this problem without taking away their strengths.

Amulet Heart is simple. She has a plain shirt as you say, but she was one of the very first girls I critiqued, in part because that shirt doesn't help her out at all. I wouldn't go so far as to call her boring, but she's not attractive either.

Now let's look at another girl who isn't always necessarily magical, but who will help me get my point across: Jinx, from Arcane!

Is she simple? There are a lot of specific details in her outfit, hair pins, layering, metal bits all over... Not to mention her tattoos, her painted nails, and all the pains that must have gone into animating her very specific facial details to create her amazing expressions. As an aspiring character designer who needs to study animation I can assure you that she is very difficult to animate with the level of quality we see in Arcane, even if 3D smoothes out some processes over. Were it not for the tremendous amount of money, effort, talent and, most of all, time that the show got for production it would've been unthinkable that any professional would ever approve this design.

However, none of those aforementioned details contradict eachother, nothing competes, her silhouette remains concise and easy to understand, and it all tells a story about the character. The base elements of her look are very simple clothes- a halter top, boots, gloves, and pants down to her calves cinched to a belt. In summary, as it is evident to everyone with two eyes, this design is fucking amazing.

In my pinned post about the three rules I used that word "concise". I then separated the word in halves- "clear" and "uncluttered". However, the paragraph I wrote was just as much about how it was important for the design itself to convey an idea- and that's just the thing. When I criticize Precure's oversaturated designs, I don't do so because I'd prefer it if they took, say, Black Rock Shooter's approach to austerity. If that were the case the A La Mode Precures would not be my favorite team, it would be the Happiness Charge Precures. There's two reasons for it, instead: either the way they brake the third rule I established makes it impossible to immerse myself in the fantasy of fighting evil in those costumes, and/or the added detail doesn't contribute into telling me anything about the character, and instead takes up space/ looks ugly/ gives more work to the animators or all at the same time.

In summary, anon, I don't prefer "simple", much less "boring". I prefer good. I prefer telling. I prefer a character design that will inform me of what kind of person I'm watching without my brain shortcircuiting trying to process how every detail fits together.

#magical girl fashion #jinx #arcane

[mediocre-eternity]

Today is 20 November, 2022.

The trio of us haven’t actually been staying on Night Island full time. A month or so back a horrifically large hurricane tore through Florida and our little Island. We’re incredibly lucky that our property didn’t sustain totaling damage but was battered nonetheless. All the business is lost and some structures still remain partially in the water. Trash is askew on most of the streets though now piled in high mounds. I’m still having difficulty finding the words to process how we’ll rebuild. It feels like a great organ has been cut from me. The Villa is livable, for us anyway. We can sleep where we find the most comfortable. Because the Villa was built up high, a lot of primary damage was avoided; only some flooding in our basement, which is unfortunately where me and Daniel slept. There is a lot of labor going back into the Island though and I truly believe sometimes nature gives us the blank slate we didn’t ask for. I’m not so concerned for my emotions about the Island. We are traveling back and forth to the mainland and when we can, we spend time here. On the mainland I’m surrounded by much more tragedy than my own. We’ve only fed sparingly on the locals as everyone’s focus is on their lives torn asunder. No, for myself I am not concerned at all. Me and Daniel spoke at length about what we wanted on the Island in future. Daniel calls it Night Island 2.0 and we’ll definitely have a record store again. Oh and a dispensary. “Give them their drugs,” he said with a laugh. “I know I would have loved that.” It’ll be lovely.

We had to evacuate first to the mainland then we traveled up to New York to stay at Trinity Gate there and struggled to get back as soon as we could. The first night was the three of us kicking out broken glass and torn walls. Why I need so many windows in my homes is a mystery. Consider me a slave to the moon and the stars. As wee were assessing the damage, I picked up some books and started moving them to a pile then heard Benji calling to me from the living room.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He said as I approached, his face sinking and turning. Behind him, belly up like some stinking, glossy beached whale was my beloved 1981 custom Italian white leather sofa. It was specifically designed for the Villa and one of my most prized pieces of furniture. The entire room’s decor had not been touched since we first moved in and I cherished it so deeply and so fondly. Daniel’s sudden howl broke my daze as I was staring at the broken thing. He laughed and laughed as he walked to it and with Benji, tipped it back onto it’s feet as water and debris gushed forward like entrails from this slain creature. The entire room was a mess but the sofa stood upright now, flayed like a martyr to what our Villa once was.

“Oh my God, Boss, it’s fucking dead!” Daniel bellowed, still laughing, ironically echoing what I might have been thinking. Benji looked up at Daniel a bit confused by his rejoicing but Daniel was plainly remembering a rather charged argument we had over this furniture. Again, it was custom and took a great deal of designing to match the vision I had for this space. It was my seat and I was very proud of it. I tore the damaged fabric up to reveal it’s metal springs and soaked wood. Daniel was reciting a lot of stories involving the item to Benji as I couldn’t help but inspect it further. Daniel burnt the sofa with cigarette about six months after we installed it and the wetness in the wood unleashed a vile smell of stale tobacco. He also vomited on it once and plenty more times he was close to doing it again. So, I screamed at him so loud that he didn’t sit in it for the rest of that summer. I really didn’t mean to scare him but ever since then Daniel had become completely invested in hating it. And now my fledgeling finally won. Something plastic and bright pink caught my eye so I reached for it and held it in my palm. Daniel snatched it from me the moment I registered what is was.

“Holy shit. I remember this.” He was in disbelief. The object was a little pink lighter with Miami 1982 printed in white below a palm tree motif.

“Oh.” I responded, remembering. “You had bought that before we got back on the charter to the Island. You lost your previous one and went into the Seven-Eleven to buy a new one.”

“Aah, a relic!” Benji took it from Daniel and really thoroughly examined it. “Put on E-Bay for a million dollars!”

Daniel laughed.

“That fucking couch swallowed my lighter. Do you know how pissed I was when I lost it after taking an hour and a half nap?” He took the lighter again, waved it at me and put it in his pocket. “It’s good luck from now on.”

Daniel was looking outside at the total, silent darkness. At once I was thrown back to a memory. Maybe not a complete memory, but the emotion was there and I wanted so badly for this moment to be from decades ago. Daniel would be staring past the open windows at the flashing neon below him then out at the moon above the sea. His face would be unshaven, his eyes stale, his hair blowing wildly over his forehead. And he would light a cigarette and say the probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, so stupid I’d marvel at the sheer wit of it. Then Daniel would ask me to join him in the shower and he’d promise he’d focus on staying. I wish I could show this image in my mind to him but I couldn’t and that realization is what destroyed the bond I had with Daniel in his mortal life and for decades I couldn’t stand to look at him in the Blood. I’m a monster of the highest caliber but please understand that a near constant mental link existed between Daniel and I before I gave him the Gift. But Daniel right now is all I can think about. Back in the present, he kicked some glass over the edge of the room out into the palm trees below, studying the little bit of outside before moving back toward the center of the room. I reflected that my life had always been a series of endings. There are always chapters closing at an alarming rate, almost faster than I can plan for them and once again I stood in the center of vacant palace. In these moments a small thought always occurs to me, that there’s at least one person I could go to for help but it’s a thought that’s never lead me anywhere good. Daniel’s arm came around my shoulders… I really I feel like he could sense why I was so speechless. He was looking at my face and my eyes met his.

“Ah, don’t worry about this,” he said so very casually, scanning the room again and then he smiled at me. Since that night a lot of the Villa has been cleared out and has become much more comfortable again. I want to continue to exist here.

#devil’s minion #the vampire chronicles #tvc #the vampire armand #Daniel Molloy #iwtv #interview with the vampire #queen of the damned #journal entry

[kodiescove]

I say this without any moral judgement, I wouldn't be pirating if amazon/B&N would just let me export my fucking books.

Like.

I'd MUCH rather just go through the process of hitting "select all/x amount to download onto PC" then having to re-search EVERY SINGLE BOOK /I'VE ALREADY PAID FOR/!

And you might be thinking "well then kodie, why don't you just pirate from now on?"

And my response to that is: I like giving artists (i.e writers) my money.

Like. Like I will literally make myself broke giving artists my money for the sake of art. I don't even care if it's bad art. When I want something for free, I will go to the library, so long as the ebook isn't one of those "everyones waiting for this book so you only have 7 days to read it" situations because lord howdy Idc how much I like a book, unless it's a VERY short book, I'm not getting through it in a week.

It's just so frustrating. Because the reason I want to back up my books is because, at least amazon has done this, I don't want to wake up one day and find out the app holders no longer have the license to carry my books, and then that book isn't available for me to read anymore! If I own the fucking book, then I should OWN the book! I should be able to make a copy on to my computer, to whatever I want with. I should be able to share it with my friends as I please, without having to log them into my kindle/nook accounts. I should be able to make harddrives full of books and be able to create my own digital library! /Because I paid to own these books/! And if that's not the fucking case, which it doesn't feel like because I CAN'T DO WHAT I WANT WITH /MY FUCKING BOOKS/, then you should be charging me less.

I will keep buying copies of books, but I will absolutely be pirating what I can and saving them for my digital library.

Fuck you Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Edit: and before anyone says anything, I buy an ebook version for myself and a physical version to donate to local psych wards for the patients to be able to read. I think that's more than fair compensation for having a free digital copy.

#pirating #media pre #ebooks #fuck amazon #fuck barnes and noble

[duskwingmoth]

"But did you do it? They say you did it. So did you?"

W-what!? Why would I be killing people??? Why would I want to kill people!? Ignoring the fact that I'm literally a doctor and took an oath, think for a second – blood is a non-negotiable part of my diet and it kind of requires people to be alive and willing to give it! Oh I see, Dracula. It's always Dracula. Ooh, killed people en masse one time hundreds of years ago. It was one guy. One guy But suddenly all sharps are crazed serial killers forever, itching for the second they can get away with sinking their teeth into the nearest random blunt! (Yeah, that's what we call you! You call us sharps, we call you blunts! But I digress.) You don't even know. You don't even understand. I'd rather have a hundred Draculas over one limp centrist liberal talking about Nightborne rights! He knew we were in danger, and he did something about it! Because we're just people, asshole! People as scared and confused and clueless as the next guy, who can't even enjoy the luxury of going out for a walk on a sunny day. People who need other people to be there for them! There's no magic hypnosis, no freakish chimeras, no immortality. Your precious shitlib governor and every leader just like him is only mad that we have to work twice as hard to get half as much, and we charm the pants off of people in the process. Dehumanize us like you dehumanize everybody else, kill us like you kill everybody else. Get hung up on the one time we had a place by us, for us! Fuck you and your boogeyman Dracula. If a vampire is out there killing people I can assure you it's not just because they're hungry. I'd heard about that dead bastard, he was wanted on rape charges! Are you really willing to call the sharp the monster in this situation? Even if there wasn't any other reason he was killed than a in some kinda sick power play, what makes the killer any different from any blunts who did the same? You can "one guy" us all you want, I'll one guy you back! How do I know you won't kick me out of my home, white man!? How do I know you won't put me on the plantation, white man!? How do I know I won't be put in a cage in the desert, white man!? How do I know you won't let me die of a preventable STI!? Is that what you'll do to me? To us?? For one murder I didn't commit? For history you don't care to learn??? Fuck you and your sunny days.

#idk i worry the last paragraph is a bit out of line #but i'm frustrated For No Reason and am writing this For No Reason #but also bc i like vampires they're cool and lame #vampires #this is about them And Nothing Else

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 15: Da

Leaving the cabin was a mistake. I've thought it multiple times in the twelve days since Kaemon and I followed that wisp through the trees and found ourselves in a desert that personified the unfamiliar. But this time, I understood how truly stupid of a mistake it was. How avoidable all of this would have been if I'd stayed where I was supposed to be. I've been nothing but a fool, and, fuck, I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to ruin anything else.

Yesterday was supposed to be a day off--a reprieve from all of the misfortunes we as a group kept finding ourselves entwined with. Mornings usually came with the weight of whatever that day promised to bring, but beneath the grogginess of waking up, that morning held a levity. Temporary as it was.

I asked Talo and Verca what they planned to do with their day. Talo spoke of tinkering, and Verca shrugged. He said he had no hobbies to turn to. I pointed to what we had told those bandits who only had crime to fill their days; it was not healthy to have nothing to help pass the time. He agreed it was something to work on.

We had been living on the road for nearly two weeks now, but we had never taken the time to visit the tavern that resided beneath our room. I offered that as a potential option for later. Talo and Verca liked the idea, and we went down for breakfast. Verca almost did not come down, saying he was planning to nap instead. The possibility of him isolating himself worried me, and I think it was that open worry that convinced him to come down with us.

We sat in a line at the counter. When someone came out to take our orders, Talo attempted to ask for something called a crepe. The man on the other side of the bar--his name was Patty--had the same reaction as Verca and me. We were confused, unfamiliar with the dish. Talo was just as taken aback by our lack of recognition. They began to describe it, which quickly gave me an idea. I verified that they were not allergic to peanuts and ordered us both pancakes with peanut butter spread on them instead of syrup.

The tavern was not busy, and our food came out without much of a wait. Patty slid a plate in front of each of us, as well as the drinks we had ordered. The heat of the pancakes melted the peanut butter, thinning it out so that it dripped down the sides like a sauce. It was more fragrant than when prepared at room temperature, as much the smell of nostalgia as it was the smell of breakfast. The taste--the peanut butter given more nuance through the process of melting--brought fond memories to the surface.

The dish had been Da's idea, years ago. At first Dad thought the combination was ridiculous and unnecessarily messy. But Da had taken charge of the kitchen that morning anyways--"Trust me, Feron," he'd said--, and by the end of the hour, he had won Dad over. When Dad asked where he had gotten the idea, Da said it was something he had picked up from a friend. The way he smiled when asked, I think Da had been just as hesitant to the idea when his friend first made him try it.

Talo finished their food first. They slid off their stool and pointed towards the door, saying they were going to Faunsel's.

Verca was smug. "Have fun."

"I'm just going to work on stuff," they said, defensive.

"This is supposed to be a day off," I said. "You can't tinker on anything that you normally would put 'work' hours into." Talo left, and I looked back to Patty. "Do you have any recommendations for relaxing ways to spend a day off?"

He took a second to think before recommending an establishment that provided hot mud baths and other spa services.

"Does that sound interesting to you?" I asked Verca, then realized that it might have been presumptive to assume he wanted to spend his free day together. As a group, we had all been together almost constantly. Perhaps he wanted space from us. "Unless you'd rather do something on your own," I added, trying to sound less pushy.

"I'm alright with whatever. What do you normally do to relax?" he asked.

"Well, the things I normally do are not really available here. Gardening, exploring the woods around the cabin, looking for butterflies, reading--although that was mostly so I could press flowers between the pages once I was done. Dad has a lot of books around the cabin."

Verca mentioned seeing some butterflies back when he lived underground. The concept baffled me. I pointed out that that was odd. He said, "I suppose it is. I hadn't really thought about it before. They didn't really show up near Wren."

It did not surprise me that something as beautiful as butterflies would stay away from someone as horrible as that man. I failed to stop myself from saying as much.

Verca asked about my favorite butterfly. I described swallowtails--he did not know them by name--, and recognition brightened his face. Of what he'd seen underground, black and blue swallowtails had been particularly abundant. There were many swallowtail colorations, but black with that pop of blue was my favorite. I had to actively stop myself from sharing too many of the factoids I had collected over the years; none of Dad's books had ever listed underground amongst their natural habitats, though.

We finished eating and followed Patty's directions to the spa. At the front desk, a woman asked us if we would like one room or two. I commented that one would be more cost effective. Verca's face was pink, and he didn't look back at me the rest of the time we were checking in. He stared aggressively forward, his gaze going far over the woman sat at the front desk. I wasn't sure what had him so upset; perhaps I should have asked.

With everything set up, we were brought to a room and left to ourselves to undress. There were two stone bathtubs in the center of the room and benches along the nearest wall to set our things. The space was sparsely furnished, including a lack of partitions to change behind. I supposed the purpose was to make the space feel more cohesive and whole, rather than divided and separated from itself.

I took my gloves off first; beneath them, the flesh of my palms was sensitive. The scars on the inside of each hand looked no different from the ones scattered across the rest of my body, but they were the only ones that still ached--especially in response to direct contact. My gloves normally helped limit the discomfort, but it didn't make sense to keep them on just to be dirtied.

When I was younger, before Dad gave them to me, I had to be careful how I picked things up; otherwise, I risked sharp bolts of pain shooting through my hands and up my forearms like hot lighting. The pain once made me drop a glass at the dinner table. It had shattered on the ground. Dad, who normally stood so tall, was kneeled beside my chair in an instant. Already cleaning up the mess, he told me to be careful not to cut my feet on the shards. I remembered apologizing and him shaking his head. "There are just so many nerves in the hands," he had said. I wasn't sure if he'd been talking to himself or me. A melancholic weight had gathered in bags beneath his eyes; he'd always had wrinkles--his happy crow's feet lit up the cabin whenever he smiled--, but I rarely saw him like that night. Dad had seemed more upset with himself than me.

The bracers came off next. I was partway through pulling my blouse over my head when I saw Verca in my periphery. He was pinker than before and quickly turned away from me. Through the back of his head, I could not see his eyes, yet I was confident he was staring just as seriously into this wall as the last.

I was folding my skirt when he took off his shirt. Like his chest, his back was covered in scars--some of which, this time I noticed, had the warped texture of old burns. The top of one shoulder bore a similar mark, different only in the particular attention clearly applied to it: a W, wide and messy as if it had been burned atop itself many times.

A brand. A sickening mark of supposed ownership. Verca wasn't something to be owned by anyone. No one was. My shock at the short-lived sight--Verca must have realized what he had exposed and quickly turned back around--held off any other reaction.

I didn't know what to say. The best I could do was try to reassure him that he was okay. That he was safe.

Apparently, all of the marks were from Wren. With that information, my usual indifference to scars faltered. Verca had been through so much with that monster.

I remembered my palms and asked if any of his still hurt. He seemed to tense at that, rather stiffly saying, "They're fine." It occurred to me that after spending so much time with someone like Wren, it was reasonable to assume that people would only ask a question like that if they intended to use it against him.

"I promise you're okay," I quickly followed up. "I know that sometimes they can stay sensitive and just wanted to make sure I never touched a painful spot by accident." My words blurred together from the speed I tried to clear the air with them.

Memory is a fickle thing. It holds on so tightly to some things and lets go of others without a second thought.

I remembered that Verca turned the focus of the conversation away from himself. I remembered the rise of those terrible feelings I had been trying to hide since we arrived at Greston, and I remembered the heat of his hand on my shoulder, but--just a day later-- the rest of those details were already out of reach. Admittedly, today was enough to shove almost anything nearby into obscurity.

But I do remember Verca reaching towards my face and how sharply I recoiled. It wasn't fair to him; he had been nothing but kind and was often the most bearable touch since Sala. He certainly wasn't her. But there was something broken inside me, I think, and I wasn't strong enough to overcome the tactile memory of skin.

I couldn't read whatever floated in his eyes after that. "There was a tear I was going to wipe," he said.

Too lost in trying--and failing--to seem okay, I hadn't noticed I was crying, but when I felt under my eye to test, my fingertips came away wet.

A spa attendant came in shortly after that. We moved to our respective tubs of mud and were each given facial masks once settled. After the soft footsteps of the attendant leaving, the room was silent.

More happened after that. But perhaps our greatest weaknesses hide in the malleableness of memory. For something so vital to how we see ourselves and the rest of the world, it is surprisingly easy to manipulate, apparently. Over and over and over.

The sudden urge to run out of the spa and the even more abrupt loss of that drive--leaving me to walk back nude, dazed, and suspiciously unquestioned by those who did see me--was evidence of the mind's vulnerability. It apparently did not even have to make sense to work. When I came back, Verca was still in his tub, cucumber slices over his eyes. He had not noticed I had left, and apparently, I was not going to comment at any point on the odd experience of running out for no reason. Instead, I stepped back into my bath for the rest of our session and pretended everything was normal.

Finished at the spa, we met Talo at the inn. Verca asked Talo about their day, teasing about whatever happened with Faunsel. When Talo learned that we had gone to the spa and shared a room, they returned the favor by teasing Verca back. I was not sure what was wrong with how we had decided to spend our day; aside from the few hiccups, Patty's recommendation had been enjoyable.

"At least I know when I think someone's attractive," Verca said. I was more confused by what that had to do with anything.

The tavern was more alive when we went down for dinner than during breakfast. Not quite as overwhelming as Faunsel's club--although I still kept to the perimeter to avoid the crowd--the music was pleasant. Voices and instruments filled the modest space without smashing together in an unmaneuverable cacophony. We drank and danced. Talo took off their jacket, showing more of their tattoos, and moved further into the crowd. The rest of the night passed with swaying hips and sweet drinks. It was pleasant. Almost naively so now that I know what the next morning had prepared--retroactively tainting the night, maybe the entire day, with a rotten taste.

I woke to the sound of Sala's voice in my head and a tug in my chest. "Please come." She practically begged, "I need help. All of you, please."

We had been planning to visit her today anyways. I woke Talo and Verca, telling them what I heard. We gathered our things. On our way out the door, Talo pushed a potion vial into my hand. They said it increased movement speed. I uncorked the glass and downed it as we ran outside.

Stepping into Sala's house, a commotion could already be heard from the basement. We didn't say a word to each other and rushed down the steps. Me, Verca, then Talo.

I didn't know what to do with the information I saw as I turned the corner at the bottom of the steps. There was Sala, who wasn't a surprise, and six other ghoulish figures. They stood in a circle around someone who would always be familiar--no matter how much time had passed since I last saw him: a red tiefling with a pair of broken horns, dark shield and sword at the ready.

Da.

The entire group was mid fight. He already looked worn down. Several piles of ash were scattered within the vampiric circle. For some reason--charm, it was always fucking charm these days, wasn't it--, I couldn't direct my anger at Sala, even as I watched her attack him. Which left confusion the only reaction available.

"How bold of you to think you could have done anything to save her." She had sounded scared when I heard her earlier, but now her words dripped with smug confidence. Like she was enjoying this. Amusement danced in the black of her eyes. "She's mine, you old fool."

Da cut through two of the ghoulish figures beside him, adding to the dust piles.

I ran to his side, frantically trying my best to heal him as much as I could. There was nothing more important than family. I looked over my shoulder at Sala and yelled, "What is going on? Stop attacking my father!" A foreign pressure in the back of my head wanted this all to be a misunderstanding.

"He was trying to take you away from me," she said. There was something behind the too-sweet sap of her words that I couldn't pull to the surface.

Sala raised a hand. The air hummed, and a cold glint sparkled in the space around us before abruptly solidifying into a wall of blades, poised to attack. Two of the ghoulish vampires that were presumably aligned with Sala were trapped in its path, and so was Da. I couldn't see Verca or Talo on the other side. It was only Sala and me standing in the middle of the winding divide she had created.

"I'm sure we can figure this out," I shouted over the sound of metal scraping against itself. "Please stop!" Nothing. Frantic, I looked around, trying to figure out anything I could do. And as I turned, one of my braids flung over my shoulder into my periphery.

White hair instead of black. I froze and looked at Da, eyes wide, as gold creeped over my vision, and I lost myself behind the Mask.

The sound of grinding metal was gone when I returned. There wasn't much sound at all aside from the wet, labored breathing of someone on the ground a few feet ahead of me. Talo and Verca stood on either side of the figure. Sala was nowhere to be seen.

Coming out of the Mask was always disorienting. It took me too long to recognize who it was. Or to see the dagger lodged squarely in his chest.

I ran to Da, dropping my sword and shield--there was no crash of metal hitting stone, so I assumed they returned to bracers around my forearms--so I could grab his hands. The rest of the world was a faraway blur.

"No, no, Da. You have to be okay." I squeezed his hands as hard as I could--as if I could keep him there through sheer force of will. When I was a kid, I used to try to stop him from leaving the cabin by hugging his legs and telling myself he couldn't leave if I didn't let go. It never worked. Da would chuckle, a heavy hand patting the top of my head, and Dad would gently pry me off him. He would say that we had to say goodbye. That we'd see him again soon.

Da coughed and reached to pull the dagger from his chest. Talo and I both stopped him. I wasn't willing to cut the little time I had left with him any shorter.

"What were you even doing here?" I asked. My grasp on him never faltered, even when my palms started to sting beneath my gloves.

"Your Dad saw everything," he said. A new anxiety slid under the louder worry for Da. Everything could mean anything. So much had happened in the past twelve days, and most of it left me feeling ashamed. "And there was no way he was leaving the cabin."

Da reached for my face, and I sharply pulled away--for a second letting go of his hands before scrambling to grab back on to one. I couldn't let go. "It's okay. Please," he said.

The tide of shame rose, and my lungs were drowning. I stared at his hand, desperate to lean into the familiar comfort but unable to forget how Sala had touched me. I stared at his hand, wishing something so simple hadn't left me so broken.

I forced myself forward, eyes squeezed shut as I fought to ignore the crawling nausea that writhed in my gut. The churning slowed when Da's calloused hand lightly cupped my cheek.

"You can go home," he said. I shook my head. "You need to go home."

"I can't."

He brushed his thumb near the corner of my mouth. Enough to draw quiet attention to the fangs I didn't want him or Dad knowing about. His earlier words echoed in my head. Your Dad saw everything.

I shook my head again. "I don't even know how to get home."

Da reached for his side and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper before his strength failed, and he dropped it beside us. Blood was already smeared across the outside of it. Talo silently picked it up. I was grateful. I wasn't letting go any more. He coughed. "And visit the temple."

I remembered visiting the temple in Greston and frowned. "Those people are terrible."

Surprise briefly interrupted the twist of pain across his face. "You haven't been to this one," he insisted. I still didn't understand how he could be involved in any of it. "And I'll give her a talk. Because apparently someone needs to." I didn't understand.

Things quickly declined after that. So much blood had pooled around us. It was obvious that Da was barely hanging on.

I squeezed his hands again, as if that would make a difference. "I need you, Da. I barely know who I am anymore. I'm so lost."

He half smiled. There was red on his teeth. "You know who you are."

I couldn’t find the words to say more than his name or beg for him to stay. During everything, he kept saying that he knew for a long time that this--his end--was coming, as if that made it better. Family is so important. You're supposed to protect family. I don't know what to do knowing that I failed.

Da looked past me. "So, you're the one," he said, his words starting to slur together. Barely able to see through tears, I followed his gaze, but nothing was there.

"Please, Da. Please."

He pulled himself forward and kissed the top of my head. "I love you, Little Raven."

I felt his hand go limp in mine.

I practically collapsed overtop him, shaking from tears that only fell harder. And harder and harder as a fog cleared that I hadn't known was there.

First there was yesterday at the spa. "I need you, Darling. Come quietly. I need you," spoken in my head with the allure of a music box in the night and an irresistible urge to follow. The running through the city in nothing but a towel. Stopping just inside Sala's too-familiar doorway. A wave of her hand and the mud from the spa was gone, and the towel fell to my feet. She stepped up to me like a predator surveying its latest catch. "Oh my, Dear, you even came gift wrapped. A shame I couldn't unwrap you." A finger under my chin. "My Little Bird. You looked so good in feathers." Teeth in my neck, and a disgusting, pleasure-laced whine as I balled my fists in the back of her silk blouse.

Then the night we went to Faunsel's after hours. I'd been sitting in the dark, alone, when the tug dragged me to my feet. I followed, running through so many twists and turns of city streets that I had no idea where I was when I finally stopped before that manor. The doors were open. I stepped inside. The doors shut. The lights dimmed and air rushed forward. "It's so good to see you again, Darling," Sala had said. "I know I said I wouldn't do this again, but I couldn't help myself. Just look at yourself." Fingers touched the bottom of my earlobe, then trailed down my jaw and slid to the back of my head as I was pulled against her lithe but strong body. "I tried to wait as long as I could." Again, that pain, and again that revolting response.

I wanted to peel away my skin so I could separate myself from the humiliation.

"It's a shame I cannot always have you with me," she said. A pause. I was still pressed close her. "May I kiss you?"

No. Absolutely not.

I felt the tug of a smile that wasn't mine. "Of course," said my traitorous tongue.

The first kiss was gentle. The second was not. And for the third, she brought her mouth to the still-opened wounds at my neck.

Something in me had almost begged, "Please," at that. A relief that I didn't.

Then there was the first night. The actual night, nearly six days ago. Here, most of what I remembered was right. But the deviations were like having my head held beneath icy water. "I love when you behave." The bite. The sounds. The way she lifted my feet from the ground and the way I held on to her. Her nails had dug into my back. They had hurt. But for some reason I enjoyed that, too. "You might just be the best I've ever tasted. I do hope I'll see you again."

And then--everywhere--unimaginable pain.

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Also, to loop back rather jarringly to what I was rambling about earlier, it always sat wrong with me that Krieg - the planet, not the Death Korp itself - was meant to have been a hive world before the civil war.

Kind of a defining feature of their backstory, other than their intense sense of shame at the actions of their ancestors, is that five hundred years of atomic cleansing made the planet a lethal wasteland. But as a hive world it wouldn’t exactly been a picnic to start with, would it? A trademark of most every hive world is that outside the hives it is, to put it mildly, unpleasant.

It’s not a huge issue, but it sticks out to me. Like many things in the book...

So.

What I’d do is something like this:

Krieg pre-rebellion is not a hive world. It’s just a world. Pretty advanced by the standards of 40k, let’s say. Hell, let’s go so far as to say pleasant. You can walk around outside and it’s nice, and more’s the point there’s no war on Krieg. It might be shipping out arms and armaments - advanced so can make them a little, yeah? - along with men, but Krieg itself is not under attack.

This gives you options. Maybe the Imperium is starting to ramp up its demands of output. Lots more people being sent away to die somewhere, and enough production that it is actually starting to have a detrimental effect on the environment. Maybe this is the point where Krieg would start on its way to being a hive world!

It kind of makes the decision to secede look more reasonable, which I think is key. The Krieg book I’m reading - sorry Steve - makes all the autocrats venal and self-centered and, in the case of the lead one, just plain ugly and greasy and flabby. Not a fan of that sort of thing, it’s weak. Far better, I think, for them to have a legitimate point - hey, the Imperium is fucking up our planet and what is it giving us in return? Nothing!

Having the autocrats just be greedy politicos out for themselves is a little on the nose, I feel.

And having Krieg as a fairly regular planet prior to five hundred years of atomic cleansing makes it ending up a cloud-choked, lethal wasteland more impactful. An already-lethal wasteland ending up a more-lethal wasteland seems a bit eh, to me.

We then move onto Jurten, the man who kicked off the atomic cleansing.

Now, full disclosure, I haven’t finished the book yet, but from the way it’s heading I get the impression they’re going to find all the nukes hidden away somewhere, while Jurten and his cohort of loyalists is stuck in one hive city under siege. That’s one idea.

I much, much preferred the idea that Jurten wasn’t the leader of the loyalist contingent, but was rather just one officer out of many. A particularly zealous officer, sure, but not the man in charge. That, and I preferred the idea of the nukes - and it is and must be nukes, because it is five hundred years of atomic cleansing - were just there from the start. 

Nukes do exist in 40K, where they’re usually called atomics, they’re just not used all that much for a couple of hand-wavy reasons. Whatever, it’s fine.

But yes.

The book is angling towards the nukes being used after a good few months of grueling siege warfare. I always imagined it happening fairly early on, when the loyalists, aware that help was probably going to be a long time coming, run the numbers and see that, eventually, they’re going to lose, and Jurten goes against the orders and desires of everyone and just fires tonnes of these fucking nukes at rebel cities, wrecking the whole planet in the process, bringing the whole war into a more even, lethal slog for five hundred years.

Although ‘five hundred years of atomic cleansing’ does kind of imply it kept going, but the first strike would be the big one.

Because, like, if the planet was nicer, there could be some reluctance on the part of the loyalist command to do anything drastic. Jurten, being a nutbag, has no such reservations - the planet is the Emperor’s or it is no-one’s.

...anyway, I’ve rather lost the thread.

But you get my idea, right?

[ohmysparkle]

Harsh

~ Paring: Hyunjin (Stray Kids) x Reader

~ Length: 6.2K

~ Warnings: Smut, pegging, anal play, impact play, bondage, femdom, piv.

It was difficult punishing Hyunjin.

But how could you not when you both enjoyed it so much?

Sometimes you wanted to just lay him back, pamper him, worship every inch of his flesh until he was pink and swollen and jittery all over, and then please him until he cried… until he was all soft and pliant beneath you. You wanted to treat every bit of his supple body with the gentleness he deserved.

But then there were those other times when you both wanted something harsher… equally rewarding and loving, just as intimate, but far more extreme. He usually told you when he wanted it, in his own silent way. He let you know with his gestures; when he wanted it gentle he became quieter, meeker, everytime he asked you for the smallest thing it seemed like a plea. But when he wanted more, more roughness, more pain, more torment, he was a clever little tease. He’d leave little touches that made you long for more, kiss you sensually just when he was about to step out so your lips would feel empty and abandoned. He’d make sure you longed for him, but would set things up at the right time so the scenario couldn’t progress, leaving you increasingly frustrated. He was also sure to flaunt the strength and masculinity in his figure as much as the elegance and femininity. He’d be sure to bare his toned body at every occasion, showing you that he was as strong as he was supple. Lithe, flexible, sexy, pretty… He used his body as that statement, but he also enjoyed how you’d stare and covertly cross your legs. It flattered him. Nothing stroked his ego more than the effect he had on you, even if he based it on his looks - it was his power and he’d use it on you until you went mad.

So while you often treated him with such gentleness, he also wanted you to test him with the harsh hand he knew you withheld.

It was difficult for you though, to find a reason to excuse the whole premise of you treating him as roughly as he wanted you to. He was such a good boy; you wanted to spoil and reward him like he deserved. So how could you think of being mean and cruel to him? But you needed to - because it just felt so good. So you had to take advantage of the smallest things to spin the situation into what you both wanted it to be, even if he didn’t deserve ‘punishment’, you’d punish him as best as you could. You needed to find that energy to rile you up, push you to that mindset. It couldn’t be faked and mindless.

Hyunjin loved everything you gave him. Every way in which you made love to him made his ego soar, he loved the praises as much as the pleasure, but he also loved you using him however you wanted. He wished you were the slightest bit more selfish sometimes, just a little. He wanted you to use him like a toy, he’d let you do whatever you wanted, he was yours entirely. Knowing he was yours, and that you used him as much as how you took care of him was a thought that comforted him. He belonged not just to you, but with you, as you belonged to and with him.

He wanted you to exploit his body, and the way he looked. To be reduced to nothing but an object to be fucked helped him purge the mentality he had regarding his looks. He knew you loved everything within him, blindly, but he trusted you enough that he would beg you to test the other extreme. Reduce him to what he was always reduced to, but on your own terms, for your pleasure. If he was just going to be a pretty thing, he wanted to be your pretty thing.

Sometimes, just sometimes, when you weren’t in control, he’d make sure to give you back everything you gave. But it was difficult for him too, because he knew that you felt more comfortable giving than receiving. You being in charge, as the giver, was about you proving to him how much you loved him, how good you could make him feel, how you could take care of him better than anyone else and therefore were worthy of his love and partnership. It was hard for him to break through to you sometimes, get past your barriers, and give you what you deserved - so he had made it a mission of his to make sure you knew and accepted that it was ok for you to receive as much as it was to give. It was hard, but he tried hard, to make sure you were comfortable and confident enough to receive his love. He wanted to prove himself to you too.

Today was about him proving himself to you, in his own way. He wanted you to use him, he wanted to let you do all kinds of things to his body - it was his way of giving himself and all his trust to you. It wasn’t about giving and receiving pain, it was him saying he trusted you enough to hurt him, because you would never really hurt him. It was about the way he would cry and cling to you afterwards and you’d soothe him back to sanity.

That was his goal, that was what his scheming and flirting had all been leading to. So after days of testing and teasing you, he finally got you where he wanted, and although he was the one currently tied up, you were the one that had fallen into his trap.

It was his idea to hang up a rather large lamp off to the side of the bedroom. A clever way for him to disguise the fact that the hook he installed was sturdy enough to support his entire body weight so that when the right time came about, you’d find him, somehow chained up by his own means.

Like right now, in the nude except for his little black briefs, with his arms pulled up by cuffs and a chain towards the ceiling. A selection of his favorite toys laid out on the bed which he neatly made up. A cat o’ nine tails whip, a vibrator, a wand, a harness with a couple of dildos, a little bottle of lube... Goodness, this man was infuriatingly mischievous and irresistible.

He’s looking at you expectantly, hopeful of the moment when you walk into your room, surprised by the sight of him. But when your eyes meet his, eyelids beginning to droop lustfully, his expression turns into one of smug satisfaction.

You walk up to him and barely rake your nails over his chest, just scraping the tips of his nipples, which you know he loves. You near your face to his as much as you can without touching, feeling his heat and breaths, like you’re prowling over your prey. You like the advantage the shoes you’re wearing give you, now that you're eye to eye with him.

He can feel the tip of your nose almost touch his and he leans in to kiss you but you pull away.

“You didn’t do all this so that I wouldn’t tease you, right?” You purr, “You want me to draw this out, don't you?”

“I want you to do whatever the fuck you want with me.” he growls lowly, a bit too forceful for your liking. You decide to grab his face and squeeze his cheeks toward each other until his lips are puckered.

“That’s not a very nice way to say ‘please’.” You spit back, millimeters away from his face.

He pushes towards you as much as he can and roughly crashes his lips against yours, and it takes a moment for you to process the surprise. The obvious comes back to you; he always acts up as much as he can until you treat him as cruelly as he fancies. So you push him away while still gripping his cheeks, and with your other hand you stroked back his long dark hair until you had a fistfull with which to steer him. He yelped and whimpered, he loved this, and with every little breathy noise he made you felt your cunt throb. You hissed between your teeth, feeling almost feral at how he looked, with his submissive and lustful expression.

“You like this, don't you?” You ask in a quiet voice, and it's somewhere between frustration and cooing.

“Not as much as you do.” Again with that bitchy tone. So this time you remove your hand from his face and take a nipple and pinch it. He whines like a little boy this time, until you let go and he composes himself, going back to acting all tough.

“Turn around.” You demand, as you walk away from him and towards the bed to grab the whip he had laid out. When you face him again, he’s still in the same position; biceps on perfect display as his arms are raised, every muscle in his abdomen marked as he inhales and exhales, his legs slightly parted, long and slender and elegant with his beautiful thighs tense, his erection straining against the piece of black fabric.

“I said: Turn. Around.” and he doesn’t.

You manhandle him by his hips and turn him so he faces the wall, and his posture is still strong and proud with his head high. You can’t help but trace a finger down his spine, inhale his scent at the back of his neck, and place a hot wet kiss there, seting the whip off to the side. You press your body against his and move your hands to roam over his front, tracing every muscle and coming up to circle his nipples. You feel your breasts become delightfully tender when you press them into his shoulder blades, and you curl your back as best as you can to press your pelvis against his perky little bum, and raise one leg to rub against one of his.

“Why can’t you just be a good boy for me, hmm?” You pout… you wish you could just kiss him until he’s pink all over but the method he’s chosen for today takes much more time, patience, and restraint on your end. You can feel him tremble and falter, just a tiny bit. But then he’s back at it, and he gives you a taunting chucke. You tear away from him and grab the whip and flick it harshly against one side of his back, right under his shoulder blade.

He cries out and the noise makes you feel like your body is on fire. So you strike again, on the opposite side. And again, and again, until his back is lined with pink marks and he’s a whimpering mess. Each lash is a blooming line, swelling in the direction of the whip, perfect for you to run your fingers over.

You press into him again, one hand stroking his back, and the other trailing down his front, slipping downward between the muscles of his torso, down to his little waist and over the dip of his bellybutton. Down and down, right to the band of his little undies. You pulled them as far as you could before releasing and letting the band snap back and sting his skin, earring another yelp from him. You proceeded to cup his bulge over the thin fabric, and the texture was soft against his hard cock. You playfully traced your fingers about, relaxing into the crook of his neck and feeling the warmth of his member beneath the pads of your fingers. It’s funny how he was all cocky a moment ago and now he mewls and fidgets like a little animal, it makes you chuckle.

“I can be good now.” He quietly pleads, and it brings a smile to your lips to know that he's finally bending to your will.

“Too late.” You say with a giggle.

You slip each of your index fingers beneath the band of his underwear and slip them around the back to pull them down only to expose his bum. His tiny little cheeks, all toned and perky, were definitely one of your weaknesses. You gently knead them, as much as the firm flesh would allow. His breath becomes shaky every once in a while, in tune with your movements. His shoulders relax and he drops his head, good boy, you think.

You pull away once more and grab the whip again, and you hesitate to mark the milky skin of his cheeks, debating if they're prettier like this or when they are all red and swollen.You whip one of his thighs while you wonder, and he yelps. Just a few should do the trick, you think to yourself, he's not begging yet. So you strike one cheek, then the other.

While he began whining with the occasional yelp, he was now letting out little cries, he sounded like a meowing kitty and he was slashed in pink lines all over, little screams matching each mark

“Please Y/n! Please!” He begins to whine, arms jolting against his restraints.

You turn him around to face you. His forehead is all sweaty with little strands of black hair sticking to his face. His lips were swollen and slick with saliva from him biting on them. His neck and cheeks flushed with a pink tint. His eyes are full of pleasure and submission, his brows furrowed in desperation. You can see your reflection in his dark and beady eyes. You drop the whip and cup his cheeks with your hands lovingly, snuggling your nose against his.

“Why do you have to be so naughty?” you say in a babying voice. He scrunches his nose cutely, sniffling.

“Promise I’ll be good now, I promise!” He says as he tries to lean in and kiss you again.

“Nu-uh.”You push him back by pressing your index finger to the cute fat tip of his nose. “You’re still being bad.” He whines at that, but is cut off as your hands trail down to the sides of his torso, right around the ribs. He’s always so sensitive there, shuddering as your fingers tickle him.

“Please… Y/n, my queen, my mistress.” You roll your eyes at his pleas and reach down to grab the whip again. You strike his side once more, and his knees buckle together as he cries a little “aah” and you smile at how whimperish and high pitched his voice gets. You count six lashes, acros his sides, his thighs, you even let one just barely reach up to whip his bulge and by then he lets a tear slip. Ohhh… that’s definitely another weak spot of yours. His eyes are glossy and teary and beautiful, and when he does cry it’s like a little trail of jewels decorates his beautiful face..

“Please, please, please.” he begs as you hold his cheek and wipe away his tears.

“Please what?” you say playfully, as if unaware of his distress.

“Let me go, let me touch you, give me kisses.” He pouts

“Ohh…” You coo while stroking some messy strands of hair back gently. “What if I don't want to do that now? You said I could do whatever I wanted with you.” He mumbles and whines again.

“No… please!” His voice sounds so boyish now, a different pitch and whiney.

“Convince me.”

“I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“I could do that on my own, just leave you tied up here to watch.” You trail your hand down and cup his crotch again and he hisses, but he’s careful to not grind against your palm unless you tell him to. You’re so tempted to just stop it all and make love to him, but you know playing along with this gets you just where you want, even if it requires more time and patience.

“Please, let me just please you.”

“Listen bunny,” you grab his crotch roughly, testing him, feeling his heavy cock stiffen in your palm. “You’ll do exactly as I say, and maybe I’ll give you what you want. If you play nice, I’ll make sure to use all of those toys on you.” He nods frantically as your words progress.

“I can’t hear you.” You say as your grip on his bulge becomes firmer.

“Yes, my queen.”

You give him a little peck on the tip of his nose as a reward, before you begin tugging on the restraints until they are free from the hook and you can undo the cuffs.

“Take these off and go sit on the bed.” You command as you tidy up and place the restraints and whip off to one side.

You watch him bend over to pull his briefs down and he winces when the fabric brushes over the lash marks on his skin, he winces again when he sits on the edge bed.

You walk up to him and stroke his hair back, looking at him with an apologetic pout since his pretty little bottom must hurt so bad because of you.

“Does your little bum hurt, bunny?” He nods while looking up at you with large eyes. “Mmm.. poor little Jinne. Keep it up and I’ll make you feel good, bunny.” You appreciate the view of his now exposed cock, completely stiff and leaking, proudly pressed against his hard abdomen.

“Yes Y/n.” He says politely, while nodding his head excitedly, but keeping the sad and teary expression that he knows makes him look so pretty.

“Take my shirt off.” You command, and he begins to undo the buttons on your blouse slowly, as you step out of your shoes so that you can bring yourself closer to him. He slowly peels your shirt back, lovingly stroking your arms as he slips it off, then looks at you expectantly.

“Now my pants.” He undid the belt, and button, and zipper, loosening the tighter waist and guiding them past your hips, after which they freely fell from your legs onto the floor. Hyunjin left his large hands on your hips.

“Panties and bra, off.” You state, and he slips his hands to slide your underwear off, then up to undo your bralette from its latch at the front. Your breasts are exposed in their natural position once he undoes the clasp, and he timidly peels it off of your shoulders and past your arms. You’re both in the nude now, and you continue to look down at him, admiring how timid and small he seems like this. He can't help but stare at every part of recently exposed flesh, and when he realizes that you’re staring down at him, he shyly looks down at his own lap.

You pull his face up by the chin, and his eyes are leveled with your breasts. “Suck.” You simply instruct.

He sticks his tongue out, timidly at first, and delicately licks one nipple. The little gasp you let out encourages him, so he continues more decidedly, now swirling his tongue against the entire areola. His tongue feels so wet and warm and slick, but the trail of saliva makes you cold and shiver until his hot breath warms it over. When his lips close over your breast to suck, his mouth engulfs your flesh and sucks until it’s pleasingly numb and tender, and you tug his other arm up so he can massage the other breast. You circle his head with one arm and drape the other over his shoulder, pressing him further against your chest in a sort of hug. He circles his other arm around you too.

You feel so engulfed by his warmth, but the wetness between your folds stings with coolness as it's exposed to the air after you arch your figure. You pull hyunjin by his hair and he whimpers while you pull his mouth over to your other breast. You dont let go and continue tugging until you finally pull him back all the way and free yourself from his arms. His mouth and chin glisten with his own spit, and his mouth hangs open as he catches his breath. That pretty shiny tongue of his is practically hanging out of his mouth.

“What do you want me to do, my queen?” He asks breathlessly.

“I want you to put my harness on me, with the pink dildo.” His eyes widen and he practically throws himself over to reach the items on the other side of the bed. He fumbles a bit, but he detangles the straps on the harness and lowers down to the floor so you can step over them. He’s diligent in bringing it all up to where it should be, locking the dildo in place, tightening the belts so each strap is properly snug. Once he's done he sits back on the bed.

“Open your mouth, and don’t move.” You instruct. Hyunjin half expects you to shove the dildo into his mouth, but you’ve never been much of a fan of that. Instead you grip his hair to tilt his head back, and you admire his shiny lips and glistening tongue, his cute upper teeth peaking out that make him look like a bunny. You slowly lower yourself and suck on his lower lip, then insert your tongue in his mouth and swirl it around his own. You pry his mouth open just a little more and coax his tongue out so you can suck on it and he lets out a moan that he cuts off mid way. You savor his open mouth, raking your nails through his scalp, and he sighs into the kiss. Still, he remains frozen. You pull away and when a string of saliva still connects the two of you you lean in to suck it off of his bottom lip before smiling down at him.

“Good boy.” You boop his nose.

You harshly grab his shoulders and push him onto the bed, taking him by surprise. You crawl over him, straddling his waist, your cunt landing firm on his dick, trapping it between your folds and his pelvis. It feels so hard and hot and slick covered in your fluids. He’s trying his best to not move, not make a sound.

“You know I like hearing your little noises, you can be loud.” You purr into his ear as you begin to slide over his cock, teasing him with folds while you hold the dildo to the side as best as you can so you can see the tip of his cock peek out whenever you slide back. It’s addictive as you glide over him, feeling every ridge in his member stimulating your folds. It’s too tempting - almost too tempting. He lets out a low moan and you bounce your hips against him, making him mewl. You like how he looks now, splayed beneath you, his hair strewn back, his swollen lips parted, his arms and hands obediently at his sides, and his toned tummy shaky as each of his breath hitch. His pathetic leaking cock beside the one you’ll fuck him with.

He’s irresistible.

You hop off of him and manhandle him, admiring the shape of his waist and hips as you place your hands there to turn him until he’s on all fours and you're kneeling behind him. Oh, his pretty little reddened bottom is stuck up in the air, and in this position you could see his pretty pink hole and the little shimmer of the fluid coming from it. You lean down into his ear while your hand roams over his back and the curve of his bum.

“Oh bunny, were you preparing yourself for me?” You whisper into his ear with a mischievous smile, and as you say so, you slice your middle finger between his cheeks to circle around his hole and press over it experimentally.

“Yes, my queen, I used lube and everything. A plug too just before you got here.” He pants out, forehead now pressed into the mattress so you can have better access to his ass. You admire his profile from here, his smooth forehead and masculine brow, the pretty curve of his nose and the cute tip, plump lips, curved chin, the beautiful jawline. You absentmindedly slipped your middle finger into his ass, and had it not been for the whine he let out you almost wouldn't have noticed that your finger was buried up to the knuckle in his warm, supple and slickened flesh.

The ring of muscles around his hole wasn’t too tight, and you debated if you should just split him open with your dildo without so much preamble. You’d imagine how nicely he’d cry if you did that… after all, he did lead you on to treat him harshly today.

Without a second thought, you slipped your finger out of him, despite his complaining mumbles, and quickly grabbed the bottle of lube that you liberally rubbed on your cock. You dropped a fair amount right onto his hole as well, enjoying the imagery of his dripping ass and perky cheeks, the fluids dripping from him as if he’d been creaming himself. Once you were behind him you made sure to grip his butocks, spreading them apart playfully, perfore giving him a few spanks that he cried out for. Poor little bunny, with his milky skin painted in so many shades of red. Must sting so bad.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard bunny, ok? You good?”

“Yes, yes! Yes!” He nodded desperately, but voice muffled into the pillow he’d just grabbed. You felt butterflies in your stomach just at the thought of all the noises he’d make, and you were warm and tingling with anticipation all over.

You made sure the head of the dildo fit in well, and as soon as you knew he could take its girth you slammed in and he screamed. You made sure to press your hips in all the way and roll them against his ass, before you began thrusting in and out and in and out and Hyunjin cried pathetically into his pillow while gripping the sheets.

Hyunjin feels the hot drag of your cock past his tight hole, and how it pokes his softer insides until you slide and press against that sweet spot that makes his toes curl and the tip of his cock tingle. He wants more, but he feels like he’ll burst, like he’s stretched to his limit, like something is going to rip out of his body. His arms and legs burn, his little ass throbs and clenches.

“Too much!” He cried as his voice jolted with every thrust, and you halted.

“Oh, really? Want me to stop, bunny?” You knew he liked to complain and whine, it was part of his game to encourage you to be rougher.

“NO!” He screamed, and you pushed his head and shoulders down as best as you could then grabbed his hips to continue thrusting into him, hearing those amazing wet noises, seeing his ass swallow your cock, shivering every time his cries reached your ears. And the pitch of his cries became louder, mixed with incoherent words and babbles. Every version of your name he’d ever given you, every title to affirm your dominance, please for more, harder. And that’s what you gave them until you felt him jolt violently beneath you and squirm in your hold. He had come, untouched, onto the bed.

His anus hugged your cock as you slid in and out of him, dragging along outward and being pushed inward as the gloss came from his ass. He was quivering now, quivering just enough. If only you could see how the fluids had been trickling out of his little slit.

You pulled out of him with a pop and admired his tiny gaping hole and leaned over to see the five or so droplets of his cum on the bed. Cute, you thought to yourself, at how he’d orgasmed after only a couple of minutes. You raise his hips up again and thrust back into him, penetrating the tiny stretched ring once more, but you grab his hair and snake your arm around his neck so that he’s practically sitting on your cock, his weight forcing the dildo all the way up his ass. You thrust upwards into him, but from this angle he can bounce himself just as easily.

“Fuck yourself bunny, fuck yourself with my cock.” You tell him as your arms move to pinch his nipples and tickle all over his torso until finally, finally, you grab his throbbing cock that he had so obediently left untouched.

“Waaah!” He cries out and it's almost an unreal noise. You stroke it a few times and love the weight of it in your hand, but it's hard to focus on everything Hyunjin is doing at once - he overwhelms your senses. You feel his body against yours, his back rubbing against your breasts, his cock in your hand. You hear every noise from his mouth, his hips slapping against yours, the wet noises of his sticky cock in your hand. The smell of his skin, of his sex, of the shampoo in his hair. Everything is just too much and you feel your cunt desperate for him, inside of you, filling you with his flesh and fluids. Maybe you should make him as desperate as you are.

So you let go of his cock and he keeps bouncing on the dildo, dropping almost all of his weight on your hips and thighs before lifting himself back up. His big cock flops around pathetically, occasionally slapping against his abs and he thrusts well enough that it keeps happening because he’s just desperate to compensate for the absence of your touch. It bounces around like some miserable flopping toy. Your hands rest at his waist, following his movements, and you close your eyes as you press your face against his back, occasionally pecking and licking the skin there.

“Fuck yourself harder bunny!” You demand roughly, and he does, so you enjoy his little attempts at getting himself off.

That is, until Hyunjin’s hand begins to grasp around until he reaches yours, brings it over to his front and laces his fingers with yours. It makes it feel as if everything had just slowed down because he broke the dynamic with this tenderness. You can’t torture him anymore… your heart swells too much.

So you help him, moving to meet his own thrusts, reaching deeper and imagining how wonderfully supple and tender he must feel that deep into his body. Imagining the tip of your cock pleasuring itself with the tiny wet hole in his pretty ass, it hurting him only to please you. You wrap your other hand on his cock once more, and jerk him off as well as your focus allows you to.

He can’t hold his weight up anymore and practically sits against your pelvis as you roll yourself into his ass, putting most of your effort on his cock now. He comes again, grasping your hand with both of his, falling backwards against your body. His fluids coat your hand, and you wipe them off on his abdomen as well as possible. You kiss his shoulder, sush him, calm him down and maneuver him onto his side, laying him gently.

It almost breaks your heart to pull out of him, but you’re pleased with the sight of his gaping hole, the rim circular and neat, showing the little wet blackness within. He lays on his side completely spent, his limbs gone all soft, and the curve of his side forming a nice dip from his shoulders, to his waist and his hip.

But you’re far from done.

You rush to pull the harness off of your body and roll Hyunjin over onto his back. He’s a mess. You hadn’t seen his face yet. His lashes sparkled with little droplets, and his face was covered in a sheen of sweat and tears. His hair was a mess, his abdomen and cock were covered in a layer of his semen. His form was like a putty and he was completely fucked out. His eyes seemed far away, but they latched onto yours even in his exhaustion.

But you still needed him. So you began to stroke his cock before it completely lost its hardness, and slipped him inside of you as soon as you could. He was too tired to cry out, so he just silently whined and whimpered.

Fuck! You weren’t streched out enough to take him, and he almost didnt go in, but it hurt so fucking good. You were dripping for him, and the soreness from him splitting you from the inside out soon turned into a pleasant rub and pressure as you gradually bounced on him, his erection recovering. You rode him as best as you could, and Hyunjin slowly came back to his senses.

“Thank you, thank you…” He managed to say between moans and cries of your name. You leaned down onto him, resting your weight on your elbows as you gripped his hair.

“Touch me!” You screamed out between moans, and even in his tired state, he managed to find your clit with his thumb as you rolled your hips on his. “You’re gonna be a good boy and take it until I cum.”

You clenched around him so hard, he swore his cock would burst from the pressure, and he spilled inside of you with a pathetic cry. But you kept going as much as you could, and he began to shake so hard you had to wrap him in your arms to steady him. Yet you kept riding him, feeling that desperate momentum where your cunt just wants to suck in more of his cock, feel it hit the walls within you with more force.

He cries in your ear, please and moans and versions of your name until you came and finally removed yourself from his suffering penis.

You felt horribly incomplete without him inside of you but he was all spent out and exhausted. In your haze, you hug him and rest your head against his. You wipe and kiss his tears away, you pet his head, you hum to him.

“That’s it my precious baby boy, you did so well baby.” You praise him and he slowly smiles and finds the strength to open his eyes and meet yours. He’s full of pride from your compliments, smiling weakly, making his reddened and wet face even prettier.

“I love you.” He mumbles it out and the words jumble together, but it was definitely an ‘I love you’. You peck his lips and keep on petting and praising him, lulling him into tranquility. But you don't let him fall asleep on you, as much as you’d like for that to happen. You manage to get up and pull him with you even though both of you have numb and weak legs and you can hardly stand. You drag him off into the bathroom and begin to fill the tub with hot water.

As it does, you turn to him, see his puffy eyes and swollen lips, and begin to brush out the knots in his hair. Then you pull him into the water, and lay him between your legs. You caress each of the marks you’ve left on his skin with touches and kisses, you wash every bit of him as gently as you can, you lather and rinse his hair, making sure his skin doesn’t sting as you do.

“I love you so much.” He says with a voice that’s hoarse from screaming, as he turns to meet you face forward in the bath, resting his head on your body, causing his wet hair to stick to your skin.

“I love you too, my Jinnie.” You lean in to kiss his abused lips slowly and sensually. “Do you feel ok my little prince?” You say as you nudge your nose against his.

“You fucked me so good…” he hums, and wraps you in his arms so you both twist around each other. “Did I make you feel good?” He asks with big, innocent, eyes.

“Of course Jinnie.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “Always. You always make me feel good, you make me feel loved,” He smiles more with every compliment, as if the tiredness slipped away from his features. “And you feel like home. I’ll always give you whatever you want, Jinnie.”

“You’re too much,.” his eyes get teary and his lip trembles. “I’m too lucky.”

“Nu-uh… you deserve everything.” Kiss.

Eventually you pull him out of the water before the two of you get too lazy to move, and after he helps wash you in return. You dress him in his coziest pajamas, while keeping yourself in a fresh set of underwear.

And then you laid him down in bed and covered him in soft, fresh blankets, before laying next to him and letting him curl into your side. You kissed his forehead and petted him as best you could until you both fell asleep, reminding yourself how amazing the world was for pairing you with the pretty man in your arms.

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