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autistichalsin · 6 months

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Astarion and Halsin's traumas were meant to be foils

When characters are foils, there are two components: first, there's a shared background, event, personality trait, etc. But how the characters act from then on are diametrically opposed, allowing us an insight into the various ways people can act or respond to one core "element". In this case, I would argue that Halsin and Astarion are meant to be foils in their responses to sexual slavery.

Both Astarion and Halsin were denied their freedom and agency, raped and abused. Both were very young when this happened; Astarion was in his 30s, which is before elves are considered to reach their majority, while Halsin's age wasn't specified, but he goes out of his way to mention "youth" many times. In other words- both were young enough for this to be a formative memory for them. Both carry deep traumas from their experiences. Both are incredibly physically attractive, and allude to or outright say that their looks played a part in their captivity; Astarion was used to seduce others for Cazador, while Halsin notes that his Drow captors "took an interest in him" and saw him "as a novelty"- most likely for his looks as much as for his race. Both were raped by people of high social status- Cazador a wealthy influential figure in Baldur's Gate, and Halsin's captors high-ranking Drow nobles. That is what they have in common.

But their responses to their traumas are complete opposites.

First, just the nature of how they express their traumas. Astarion is LOUD about it. He expresses it all openly; he is traumatized. And he knows he didn't deserve what happened to him.

Halsin buries it. He pretends it was no big deal. He victim-blames himself, saying it was his fault for being a "foolhardy young Druid" intent on seeing the Underdark.

Astarion despises Cazador; he wants revenge. He will do anything to get revenge on his abuser. This need for closure is the core of Astarion's entire arc, to the point that of all the scenarios I can think of where Astarion leaves the party, most of them involve his journey to kill Cazador.

Halsin has trauma bonds (also known as Stockholm Syndrome.) He speaks kindly of his captors even when describing their abuse. He says he feared for his life, but he "did some things that were less than necessary," making it sound like he was complicit in his own rape. He can't even bring himself to call them captors (except for one option in the new datamined dialogue), nor himself a sex slave; instead, he was something "between a guest, prisoner, and consort."

Astarion is (in most cases) ultimately allowed closure; he kills Cazador. In the bad path, he then joins the cycle of abuse by killing the other vampires; in good scenarios, he only kills Cazador, and then has a cathartic, tearful breakdown after.

Halsin never had (or seemed to want) that closure; he escaped while his captors were fighting another noble house, and his freedom was all he wanted. Whether his captors lived or not, he doesn't care.

Astarion is younger, and his trauma a shorter time ago, yet he has processed what happened more; he is both further ahead and further behind on his healing journey than Halsin.

Halsin is older, and his trauma longer ago, but he hasn't processed what happened to him; bouncing from trauma to trauma and being forced into a leadership role caused him to have to bury it. He is both further behind and further ahead on his healing journey than Astarion.

Astarion makes a point of avoiding intimacy; he only has a few exceptions with the player. (Ascended Astarion becomes much more confident, but that's a bit different.)

Halsin is incredibly sexually open. He enjoys sex of all kinds; he finds it comforting, the only way he can openly express his emotions after having to stay in control as Archdruid all the time.

Astarion dissociates during the Drow brothel orgy. He is miserable and uncomfortable, but doesn't regret it; he needed to take the step to explore his sexuality on his terms. Even if it triggered him, he still wanted the experience, and indeed, finding what one's triggers are is an important step for many survivors.

Halsin enjoys himself during the orgy, and even seems pleased after, but then he lets the cracks show, talking about how he was held as a slave. He enjoyed it during, but after, the thoughts started creeping in, as he was reminded of his captivity.

Astarion will respond to cruel player comments about Cazador with a massive hit in approval, and possibly breaking up with a romanced player, like when they say they have a kidnapping fantasy about him if he's kidnapped by the spawn.

Halsin, in the new dialogue options, doesn't seem to react that much even to cruel comments; when the player threatens to sell him back into slavery, all he has to say is, "you would be unwise to attempt it, trust me. In any case, the house of my captors is long-extinct." (Followed by him having an epiphany that they WERE his captors) He never gets angry at the player despite the absolute evil of this option; as with nearly every other mean thing the player says to him, he simply shrugs it off, clearly sad but brushing it off as always. Being the "bigger person", literally and metaphorically.

Astarion was left with scars all over his back, symbolizing how this is something he'll never break free from entirely.

Halsin was left with no scars, his only prominent one being from an unrelated incident, symbolizing how much work he puts in to hide his traumas.

It's understated, so a lot of players aren't going to think about it much because of this, but I think it's worth bringing up as a note on characterization!

#astarion #halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate #halstarion #should i tag it as that? it's not explicitly shippy but it kind of counts

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moncherellie · 6 months

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𓆩⚝˚‧no room for the holy spirit ♱꙳˚₊‧

a/n: finally it's here! been screaming into the void abt this one for... ever. a thousand thank yous to @thirsting-over-women who proofread this for me :>> my savior actually. if the religious themes offend you (whether you are religious or have trauma) i encourage you not to read, maybe check out my other works instead :D

content/warnings: 4,500 words, preachers daughter!ellie x fem!reader, nsfw, reader wears a skirt, semipublic/car sex, fingering, oral (r receiving), reader's first wlw experience, sexual awakening?, religious motif, christian themes, mild religious guilt throughout, mentions of religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, ellie smokes a lil, she's a bit mean, fuckin in a church parking lot

The pressures of being a teenage girl were hard enough without the pressures of being a gay teenage girl. Being a gay teenage girl was hard enough without the pressures of being the daughter of a fucking preacher. Ellie had never really bought into the whole 'organized religion' thing, ever the skeptic. Even as a puny 8-year-old, she asked why she had to wake up early every Sunday for something she didn't even like doing. Her attitude didn't change much after that, but her parents got stricter and stricter in an attempt to control her sacrilege. She didn't spend much time with her family, instead seeking familial bonds at school, especially with her mechanics teacher, Mr. Miller. But, you know what they say:

Strict parents raise sneaky children.

And it's true. If Ellie's dad knew what she was doing outside the holy walls of the ministry, he'd have an aneurysm and have her exorcised. But, she always thought, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

You were the opposite. Raised the same as Ellie, you took to religion and fully participated, though mostly out of obligation. Just go every week for an hour and your family will leave you alone. This tactic, for the most part, worked. Your traditional family had their rough moments, specifically when they mocked the outfits you'd wanted to wear to service and called you some... unsavory names. But if you could avoid any similar incident, any clash with authority, you were taking the holy road.

On the outside, you were the purest of people. There was never a bad or dirty thought in your mind. You were a pillar of the community, someone that parents pointed out to their kids. "Be like them," they'd say. Your parents were proud, so you should've been proud. Should've.

You and Ellie had grown up quite close due to being in similar social groups and seeing each other every week at service. Since then, you'd grown apart as you took different paths in life, though you still felt a sense of commitment toward her; So when she cursed out her father in front of the clergy, your eyes widened.

"You fucking dick! You don't know shit about anything! You use all this- this... bullshit- as a crutch so you don't have to own up to your own baggage!"

As she stormed out, you silently move from your spot in the choir, doe eyes shining in the bath of stained glass light, and shuffle up to the front of the room.

"Father, if I may, I would like to go check on your daughter." You're a model fixture, a saint.

"Of course, my child. I hope someday she'll be more like you. I pray that-" You shuffle off again, not wanting to hear about how he wishes his daughter was different. He really wishes his child hid who she was, you think bitterly. You admired Ellie's rebellion, though you'd never say it, and you wished you were as strong as her.

You walk away from the church to the little park you and Ellie used to go to. Your memories flood with nostalgia for simpler times, and you smile to yourself, pleasantly strolling through the large trees and foliage and looking for the rough girl. You find her crouching against a tree, squatting with her head between her legs.

Is she crying?

"... Ellie? Are you alright?" You whisper, not wanting to startle her.

You notice Ellie tense up before quickly standing up and whipping around to face you, a hand behind her back. "Oh! It's... you. Hey. Aren't you s'posed to be inside?"

"Yeah, but I just wanted to check on you. That was intense in there."

"Mhm, I'm good. Just needed some, ah, fresh air. Y'know?" She sounds a little too jolly, weirdly chipper. It's suspicious.

"Uh-huh," you say, unconvinced. "Whatcha got there?" You point to whatever she's trying to conceal.

She knows she's been caught. Her attitude suddenly shifts from faux-innocence to her usual snarky persona as she rolls her eyes, leaning against the tree and revealing what she had. She brings her hand up to her lips. "Nothing."

"Ellie!" You shriek. "You can't do that! Where'd you even get a cigarette?"

She laughs as if you'd said the funniest thing imaginable. "You think this is a cigarette? Are you stupid? No offense. But are you stupid?"

You scoff. "No! I mean, you're smoking it. What else am I supposed to guess?"

"A blunt, idiot. Kush. Mary Jane. Weed. Ma-ri-jua-na." She spells out for you like you're a toddler.

You cross your arms defensively. "Okay, I know what weed is, smart guy. You still shouldn't have it. Where's it from?"

"Stole it. I just wanted to see why people liked it so much. They say it relieves stress, and I think yes." Ellie grins lazily, eyes lidded. "I got another. You want?"

The answer to your question only makes you freak out more. "No! And you stole?! You stole? Oh my goodness, Ellie, you're gonna get us thrown in jail or something!"

Ellie wordlessly watches your breakdown, eyes red and amused, the corner of her mouth turned up. "Relax, man, it's barely illegal. Who's calling the cops for a single gram? Don't be lame like that."

"Lame?" You scoff. "Are you a first grader? Ellie, it's against the law, you could go to prison. And it's not juvie anymore, you're gonna go to real jail!" Your hands flail around wildly as you explain the repercussions of her actions.

"Jail..." She rolls her eyes.

"Yes, jail! That's kinda what happens when you steal something, Ellie!" The high-pitched, prissy tone with which you said her name was starting to annoy her, but the way you looked when flustered was intriguing. Maybe in another context, she'd enjoy hearing her name fall from your lips.

Ellie takes another hit, looking up at you. She tilts her head, asking if you're being serious. "Jail? Over a single blunt? Who cares that much?"

You gasp when you realize: "I'm an accomplice!"

"You're not an accessory just because you're here." She chuckles as the wind blows past and carries her smoke near your head as you duck dramatically and swat away the smoke. She looks at you for a moment, slightly smiling. Her green eyes meet yours briefly before turning her attention back to the joint.

"Why are you using it anyway? It smells rancid."

"Already told you. I wanna know why people do it. It relieves stress and I'm plenty stressed. Plus, I look dope as shit with it, right?" Ellie leans against the tree, and a small part of you wants to say yeah, you do. "You should try it. Maybe get that stick out of your ass."

"You're gonna get addicted."

"God, it's just this once. What are you gonna do, tell my dad?" She chuckles to herself, taking a long drag.

She checks you out, head to toe, examining the flowy fabrics and neat hair and the Mary Jane shoes that drive her crazy. Who wears those? Her gaze returns to meet yours, and she looks utterly dumbfounded by you. Your eyebrows furrow as you see how her expression changes. "What's that look for?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno. You're just so robotic. It's like you never think about stepping the teensiest bit out of line. It's creepy. You've never had an independent thought in your life. Have you ever done anything even remotely rebellious?"

You make a noise that seems to say Well why would I? "No! Of course not! And you shouldn't either, I mean look at your dad, he's-"

Her voice raises, a tone you've never heard and don't care to hear again. "-My father? You mean the preacher?" She mocks. "What about him? You don't know anything about my father." Ellie's look hardens, eyes steely and mouth pursed into a thin line. It's a look you've seen maybe twice before, both in much more tense situations. Her voice says that you can't change her mind. You don't care to try. Whatever she's referencing, you believe her.

"Okay. Okay... sorry." You say gently, losing the defensive energy you'd held a moment ago. Ellie sighs and takes an irritated puff. To relax, you think.

"And you always apologize. It's so weird. You need to loosen up a bit." Another long, somehow sarcastic hit. "What's the worst thing you've *ever* done?"

An embarrassing, very private thought crosses your mind. You obviously can't tell her what you think about at night- you're barely able to admit to yourself that you have such impure thoughts. Instead, you shake your head. "Can't- I can't think of anything."

You watch her forest green eyes roll up, then down. It's a very familiar expression on her. "Thought so." She grins up at you, and you look away into the treeline nervously. "Do you wanna try something fun?"

"Is it... illegal?"

"No. Don't worry about that." She motions for you to come closer, so you take a tentative step forward, eyeing her like a wild animal. She hates the way you look at her, making her feel alien. Just because she lives authentically. It makes her want to ruin you, to have you stoop down to her level. Then maybe you won't look at her as if she were extraterrestrial.

You need an attitude adjustment, you need to chill the fuck out, you needed to get fucked, and hard. Ellie thinks she can help you with that.

She grins that toothy smirk as she watches you step closer, taking a puff and placing the blunt between her slender fingers. She doesn't miss the way your eyes trail the two long fingers that hold it. You wonder if she's doing this on purpose.

Ellie backs you up against a tree, and you recognize is as the same old oak that you would climb with her as kids. The branches and bark have left scars on you that Ellie helped you heal. She wonders how they look now.

Your back hits the trunk with an unceremonious thump, and you startle. Ellie keeps walking toward you, now getting uncomfortably close. "Uh- so what are we..." You trail off, thinking she'll explain what she's doing right in your face. She doesn't.

Her arm raises, trapping you between the tree and her body as she studies you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, but feels incredibly electric at the same time- it's a sensation you've only felt around her, though you don't know why. She takes another hit and you nervously look away.

She tilts your jaw back to look at her. You have to face her pretty green eyes, unwavering as she stares you down, while you sneak glances just to check if she's still there. Your breath speeds up when she leans closer.

Ellie puts her stupid pink slightly chapped adorable smiling lips near the base of your neck.

"What are you doing?" You say breathlessly. You swear that you feel her ghosting over your skin, so close, yet not as close as you want her. Maybe if you lean in...

Before you can, she breathes out her smoke, lightly trailing her lips down your neck. Her tongue comes out to prod at the skin, tasting you. You whine. The smoke envelops the two of you, and your nose crinkles at the foul smell. You look down to chastise her but she's already looking at you with those eyes and that cheeky look. No matter what you say next to defend yourself, you know you're caught, that Ellie knows she's affected you. It's in your eyes, the way you've seized up so tightly, how you look at her like you can't wait to see what she does next.

She presses a chaste kiss on your collarbone and you crane your neck upward. You're not sure if you're trying to get away or if you're giving her more access. She pulls away and you find yourself leaning forward to try to get her back on you.

"Is that the most rebellious thing you've ever done?" She chuckles, taking another drag and blowing it over you, bathing you in the white haze. "You like being treated like that, huh?"

You shiver. "I don't get it," you say dumbly. You've never been this confused.

"What don't you get? I just think it's fun to make you squirm." She thinks you've had enough and blows her next exhale away from you. "I wanna corrupt you, sweetheart." It sounds derogatory coming from her but you find that you don't mind the tone. The spot Ellie had made contact with feels as if it's burning. You crave for that feeling all over your body.

You stammer over your words, pathetically unable to spit out any sort of coherent reaction to her. Any reaction would be better to tripping over your words. Fed up with trying to sound like a person, you decide to stop talking.

"You enjoyed that huh? Admit it." She inhales and repeats her action. "Makes you feel hot inside."

"What? No- no, are you insane?" The sane part of you is telling you that you shouldn't be doing this, especially not with Ellie fucking Williams of all people. She's everything you aren't- she's rude and snarky and devilish... and tall and strong and hot. Oh shit! The batshit insane part of you is slowly melting the angel on your shoulder, and you can basically see the little devil cackling as you feel yourself straying further from the good girl persona you'd cultivated. You feel your heartbeat in your pants.

Ellie begins to kiss down your neck, sucking and licking at your jaw and collarbone. This time, you're acutely aware that you're actively giving her access to do as she pleases with you. "Maybe I'm insane, but I can tell. You did like it. And if you deny, I'll do it again until you tell the truth."

"Well I didn't, so you can forget about-"

She places her thumb on your lower lip as you start your tirade, effectively shutting you up. "Too late." Ellie leans in and before you know it, her lips are on yours. Her arm snakes around the back of your waist and pulls you as close to her as you've ever been. That warm feeling flushes down your body, leaving chills across your skin. More. All you can think is that you want more. Your hands come up to grip her shoulders, you almost want to push her away, but you find yourself pulling her closer and closer. No room for the Holy Spirit.

Ellie pulls away, smugly looking down at you. "Told you you liked it."

"I didn't say that." You were being a contrarian on purpose at this point. Anything to keep Ellie treating you like this- you wanted to prolong this moment for however long you could. She hoists you up, bringing you out of the park and into the back of the parking lot. She throws you into the backseat of her beaten pickup and crawls atop you with darkened eyes.

You squeal in surprise. "El-lie!"

She continues to kiss you, making you wetter by the second. The heat pooling in your panties is so fucking embarrassing, but you find that you don't care how humiliating this is. You just want more.

"Els, what if someone sees?"

She scoffs as if the idea is preposterous; as if the prospect of getting caught is impossible. "Nobody can see us, and they won't leave until later. Don't stress about it." Ellie bites her lip and it makes your body get hot flushes. "I can do whatever I want to you. But you know what? I think you'd let me. Is that right?"

"...Maybe." Read: Yes, yes, anything! She leans down, placing her hand on the back of your neck and pulling your head closer up towards her. Her hand forces your legs apart further to allow her access. The way she lays on your inner thighs, atop your clothed core, makes you feel lightheaded. You love the way she manhandles you, and it's exactly how you thought she'd be. Every time she adjusts her position, your clit rubs against her and sends jolts of electricity up your body.

"I knew it. You're not as perfect as you try to be. You're dirty."

You want to deny it, you really do, but the evidence is clear. You're disheveled under her, lips swollen from hers, and she's pulling your panties to your ankles and shoving them in her jacket pocket, yet you're ashamed to say that you don't feel an ounce of guilt over it.

Despite how excited you are for whatever is about to happen, you're still incredibly nervous. This is the most physically vulnerable you've ever been with another person, and the fact that you're completely bare under your skirt makes your stomach flip.

Your face must betray your emotions because Ellie momentarily softens. She pulls her hands away from your hips and cups your face, peppering kisses across your cheeks and up to your forehead, making you laugh lightly. "You alright? We can stop."

"No... please don't." Her face lights up.

"Sorry, say that again?" You roll your eyes and she chuckles. "I knew you were like this. Not so pure now, huh?"

"Guess not."

"So you admit it?"

"...Fine. Yes."

Ellie sighs in relief as if her thirst were quenched- that's what she's been wanting to hear from you forever. She could see it in the way you snuck glances at her during mass, finding your wandering, hungry eyes from across the room. She could feel it in the way your hand lingered on her a little too long to be friendly, your touch suspiciously light, like if you touched her any harder you'd start to tremor.

But now, there's no semblance of the timid person you'd been. When Ellie pulls away, your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her back in. You're insatiable, and Ellie fucking loves it. She tugs at the bottom of your sweater. "Pull that fucking thing off. Show me those pretty tits." Her breath becomes heavy as you oblige and become needier. "Did you know you were this easy?" She teases.

"What? I'm- I'm not." Everything she says feels designed to evoke the biggest reaction from you. She keeps you on your toes, never letting you get too comfortable. How exciting.

"So it's just for me then?" You don't answer, and it excites Ellie to know that she's right. This reaction is purely for her. Nobody else has seen you like this, and she's grateful to be the one who gets to corrupt you. It really didn't take much effort. "You're so easy to control."

Her hands drift back to your thighs, sliding under your skirt, her lips press to your jawline. Hot breath trails along your neck, down further to your collarbone. Her fingers slide over your inner thighs, sensitive skin rippling as she applies light pressure, testing how reactive you are. You twitch, unwittingly opening your legs more and giving Ellie more access. "You look good like this, though."

Ellie's fingers dig into you, grasping the flesh of your ass and moaning softly into your ear. Her thumbs are on either side of where you desperately need her, and your hips buck up into her, seeking her touch. "Knew you had a nice ass, too."

"Shut up." You mumble.

"Why would I? You like it when I say things like that, don't you? You wouldn't be this drenched if you didn't." She swipes the pad of her thumb over your clit and applies delicious pressure. You nearly cum on the spot.

Is this what you've been missing? This pleasure, this euphoria? Ellie grins at your reaction, drinking in your desperation for her like a succubus. "Aw, sensitive little pussy. Haven't you touched yourself like this before?"

You had, a few times, actually, but it never went this far, deep-rooted guilt gnashing in your stomach and ending the moment before you'd been able to finish. After admitting this, she coos at you. "Poor baby." Her tone is so condescending, but it makes you clench around the tip of her fingers.

She slides the first knuckle of two fingers past your entrance, pumping them in and out painfully slowly. "Ellie, you prick. Come on." She continues her ministrations, gently stroking your entrance, never giving you enough to feel remotely satisfied. She uses this time to take in your disheveled, sweaty appearance. Your cute tits bounce as you shift uncomfortably, waiting for Ellie to please you. A bead of sweat rolls down and she can't help but bring her mouth up to lick at it as it slides over your nipple. Her mouth attaches to you and you sigh, holding her closer by her hair. She grins up at you, making eye contact through her lashes. You can see the tip of her tongue poking out, wetting your bud as the cool air nips at you, making you all the more sensitive. Even now, Ellie still hasn't stopped her teasing below.

"Can't call me a prick then beg for me to fuck you. 's not how it works, pretty girl."

"Then what do you want?" You whine.

Ellie can feel your clit flutter and pulse as she moves. "Fuck, you're so desperate for me, aren't you? I want you to tell me how bad y' want me."

"I- I d-" You begin to protest, being cut off with a squeal as Ellie licks a sloppy stripe up your pussy, finally tasting you.

"Don't bullshit me. If I'm gonna fuck you, I needja to be a little more honest with me. I see how you look at me. You been trying to push some thoughts down, huh?"

It was so humiliating how well she could read you. Whenever her tongue came out of her mouth to take communion, your eyes would be trained on the muscle, breath hitching as she would wink at you. Without fail, you would trail your gaze up her body when Ellie walked in with a suit, her way of dressing nicely for service. Always, always, she could feel the heat radiating off your body as she pulled you closer, not taking her eyes off the pastor speaking.

Your thoughts were impure, sinful, and how embarrassing that Ellie knew. You believed you were hiding it well- obviously not.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Ellie's big hands wrap around your thighs, fingers landing on the sensitive skin near your pussy. She looks up at you and you can feel her hot breath on your clit. It takes everything in Ellie to not eat you out immediately, but your embarrassment is too tempting to pass up.

"Tell me about it. You try to fuck yourself thinkin' of me?"

"I do. I- I tried to, at least. Doesn't work."

"Why not, babe? You're so responsive right now." Her fingers find their place back at your entrance, pushing in as you speak.

"I- oh, shit-" You gasp.

Ellie grins. "Talk to me."

"My fingers aren't good enough."

"Ah," she says, "and mine are?" She knows the answer.

"So good."

Ellie likes that she's made you desperate enough that you've abandoned your pride. She enjoys the flush on your face as you shamelessly admit your secrets to her, the good-girl persona a figment of the past.

She's so busy staring up at how your face contorts in pleasure that she doesn't realize that she hasn't moved her fingers in a hot minute. The teasing is torturous for you.

"Ellie," she hears you whine, "Please!" You rut your hips against her fingers and she feels lightheaded. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Got distracted." She smirks. "I'll give you what you want now." Ellie finally moves her fingers, curling them in and out slowly. You groan again and she laughs. "Okay, okay! Sorry." Her face darkens and she bites her lip. "You want me to fuck you? Alright, I'll fuck you."

Ellie's fingers begin to pump inside you, hitting all the spots that make you jump and squirm, and you're sure the rusted heap of a car you're in is about to fall off its chassis. She's going so fast and hard that you're immediately overwhelmed and you don't know where to put your hands. In the span of a minute, they cup your face, a forearm slings over your eyes, and you throw your arms up against the window. Finally, you settle on cupping your cheeks, fingers slit open so you can peer down at Ellie's focus on you.

Her eyes haven't left your pussy since she started. She's absolutely mesmerized by how fucking wet you are, how you seem to suck her fingers back in as she tries to pull out and your body betrays how desperately you want her. Ellie's mouth is slightly agape and she can't help when her tongue flickers out to lick curiously at your clit, wanting to taste you again.

"Fu- fuck!" You yelp, bucking your hips up into her face. Ellie snorts as she watches how you squirm. You can feel something building and though you have an idea of what it is, it's building fast and slightly scaring you. "Wait, Els, hold on a second, something- ah- I think- I think I'm-"

You're nervous about how it creeps up on you so suddenly but you find there isn't time to be self-conscious about it because you cum, and you wonder why God could possibly think that doing this is a sin. How could it be a sin if it felt so right?

You don't know what sound you made or how your face looks, but by the way Ellie looks up at you, it must've been something. Her eyes flicker back down to how your clit pulses as you finish, leaking cum onto her fingers and trailing down her hand. You know what she's fucking thinking because you always do. Before you can form a sentence, she's licking up your cum like it's the best meal she's tasted.

You shudder violently. "Ellie, holy fuck, stop, I'm still sensitive! Oh m- Ellie, come on!" Only when you push her face up does she stop, giving you the cheekiest grin.

You roll your eyes and throw your head back against the car door, panting. The dull ache in your thighs is apparent when you attempt to sit, pulling your panties up and cringing at how your cum pools on them.

Ellie still hasn't said anything. You glance over at her, wondering how she feels about whatever just happened. She's looking down, grey hoodie still pulled up to her elbows, staring at the fingers she'd just fucked you with. She glances up at you, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face.

“That was hot.” Her hand rubs up and down your thigh, a kind of comfort you’d never received from her. It wasn’t unwelcome.

You don’t quite know how to feel. There are twinges of guilt gnawing at your stomach, that religious guilt creeping in. Had you done something wrong?

But at the same time, there was a warmth in Ellie’s gaze that made you feel like maybe, it was all worth it. Was it unholy? Almost definitely. But this awakening couldn’t be all bad if she kept looking at you with those soft, fond eyes.

my masterlist...

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #fem reader #moncherellie writing #ellie williams oneshot #tw religion #tw religious trauma #tw #ellie williams

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switchcase · 10 months

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One day a lot of you will have to contend with your effect on people all because you prioritized your feel-good emotions of "validation" over material reality and over other people.

The fact that we have I/DD individuals who are begging you not to use "high support needs" about yourself when referring to having anxiety because you feel like calling yourself that validates your experiences is, frankly, insane.

The fact that wheelchair users are telling you that not having access to physical buildings is not the same as sensory issues once inside the building and you're calling them ableist because you assume that means they're putting you down for being neurodivergent or saying you have 0 problems is frankly, insane.

The fact that physically disabled people are having to tell you that no being physically disabled is not the same as being mentally ill and does not have the same material experiences (yes even though "the brain is a physical body part") and the response is to harass them because You feel like people take "physically disabled" more seriously or Think that people would respect you more is, frankly, insane.

The fact that in trauma and trauma disorder spaces we have people competing over their trauma histories and trying to reframe words as actually being exactly the same as manipulation or parental abuse because you don't think you had it bad enough and so you seek out "worse" things to call it and therefore flood the tags and flood communities with completely irrelevant bullshit is, frankly, insane.

You need to be able to deal with the fact that some people are not going to have the same experiences as you. Some of these experiences could and can even be described as "objectively worse," while other experiences are simply that: different from your own. You need to grapple with this without taking it as a personal affront and without assuming it means people are claiming you aren't struggling. Without taking it as commentary on your personal experiences at all, actually. You need to be able to exist without having to be acknowledged by random strangers around you and have your exact experiences mentioned before you care about another living person. And overall you all need to get far more comfortable with discomfort.

#cripple punk #cripplepunk #disability pride month #disability #Should I be evil....sure why not #dissociative identity disorder #.log

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weebsinstash · 4 months

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something that I think would be, truly one of the worst things about the yandere Batfamily really truly is their power to make any and every problem you've ever had completely go away in no time at all

it can be such an awful feeling to see that you struggled in vain with something that was nothing at all to someone else. You could have significant issues that have followed you all your life and have had traumatic impacting effects on you and these people could come in and sweep that all away. Student loans you've been paying off for years, if not a fraction of your lifespan, still burying you in debt? We are talking fucking decimal points on the scale of Bruce Wayne's wealth. That bad leg from an old work injury? Let's grab you one of the best doctors in Gotham, if not the entire world, fuck, we may even get you a doctor or medicine that isn't even human-made! Y'all want a magic leg? We know this chick who can speak backwards, you want a magically healed leg?

Crippling loneliness? Eternal sunshine and objectively best Robin Dick Grayson is here to brighten your entire world since he knows what it can feel like to be hurting and alone and he's literally like the heart and soul of the entire manor besides Alfred

Chronic pain, an undiagnosed disability, or maybe you're not confident in your fitness? Jason has extensive knowledge of injury recovery, physical therapy, and overall knowledge about human biology and musculature and how everything correlates

Family issues? Daddy issues? Let Resident Troubled Kid Expert Alfred Pennyworth be your new grandpa. He's dealt with more than one temperamental snappy individual, and he'll use his patience, experience, and wit to wear down all your stress and hostility. It's hard to keep being cruel to someone who's nothing but kind to you, and he has plenty of patience and delicious baked treats to hold out until you give in

Honestly just the fact most of them are so fucking young would get under my skin. You could be approaching your 30s and be sitting here at the Wayne family dinner table as their weird sister/mom/girlfriend/whatever and being all "I've just always had these struggles my entire life, I dont know what's wrong with me, I feel like I can't control how I act or feel and I hate it" and someone like Tim who depending on the source material and where you are on the timeline is a literal teenager with extensive knowledge of criminals and psychology is just over here, "oh, that? You have chronic childhood trauma, recurring resurfacing conflict related ptsd, severe abandonment issues, emotional regulation problems that are probably biological, and also you probably have autism, and there's nothing wrong with any of that :)" and then he turns to Bruce and starts talking about how his school is taking a trip abroad to Greece while you sit there processing that everyone around the table has extensively psychologically evaluated you and you probably have your own file on the Batcomputer (you do. It's excessive.)

It's just. The psychology of having all these problems you've struggled with be wiped away by someone else like it's nothing and how, that can result in making someone feel all the more worthless and helpless. Oh, Bruce was able to just make all your problems disappear? Clearly YOU weren't trying hard enough. Tim is able to suss out what's wrong with you? Well YOU'RE the dysfunctional idiot who was born wrong, and YOU were the one choosing the wrong doctors. You're watching all these young teenagers or young adults be vigilantes and travel the world and learn multiple languages and you're like. Normal guy Steve from the grocery store. You know? They take control of your life and make you feel like a side character in it, because everything you do is now attached to them, and all of them and all of their adventures are so... spectacular

And really, someone with a meaner heart, and maybe someone more blunt like, say, Damian, could perhaps come in and make some comment, "see? This is why you needed our assistance in caring for you" and what are you gonna do, NOT act like they basically fixed your entire life in less than a year's time, with the one objection of kidnapping and imprisonment? You're just over here, "um yeah, actually, I'm an adult and I can take care of myself, you don't need to TAKE CARE OF ME???" meanwhile Bruce and Alfred are exchanging knowing looks while you speak as if the old butler hadn't needed to help you call your doctor and other important urgent matters because being on the phone with strangers gave you such intense anxiety. Ok yes sure honey you are a lovely functional adult and your brain is big and beautiful and perfect 🥰 now shut up about going to live back home on your own, go play Xbox with your new brothers or go bake something with Grandpa while the world's greatest detective sits down in the Batcave using the Batcomputer to track down and "have a friendly chat" with that one childhood teacher that gave you that one really specific trauma-

#yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere stuff #sinprompts

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love-is-patient · 1 year

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I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

#religious trauma #church #Christian #faith

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hadesrise · 10 months

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𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘.

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞. contrary to popular belief, miguel isn’t a brat.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. miguel o’hara x male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. nsfw content, foul language, top!soft dom!reader, bottom!sub!miguel, collar, sir kink, unprotected sex, oral (r receiving), praise kink, breeding, anal plug, orgasm control, overstimulation, name calling (slut & whore), subspace, degradation if you squint, mating press

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. please correct my spanish if it’s wrong, i’ll edit it immediately.

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

From the way Miguel acts as a strict, cold, intimidating leader of the Spider Society, people often assume he’s the dominant one when it comes to relationship, the one doing the fucking and not letting anyone have control over him. Nobody could even imagine him being manhandled on the bed, let alone be submissive. If he was the one taking it, he’d probably be as much of a brat as he can.

But you disregard those claims, because contrary to popular belief, Miguel isn’t a brat. He can be if he wants to, such as when the lack of attention from you puts him in a bad mood or he just wants to be pounded so hard he pass away in the end, but in usual cases, he’s far from a brat like anyone imagines. All those trauma and terrible experiences left Miguel aching and bleeding, the necessity to build up thick walls to surround himself overwhelming him as he coated his heart in ice to protect himself. However, it didn’t completely shield him away from his growing need to be held and taken care of. To just melt into someone’s arms without thinking about the multiverse for a second.

It was difficult to get Miguel to open up. Have his walls crumble down, trust you enough to show his vulnerability. But when you managed to get through that side of him, Miguel drastically changed. He was no longer the scary leader nor Spiderman, he was simply a man wanting to be loved and held, encaged by the safety of your arms. It was adorable, really. How he would always lean into your touch and melt into your arms. How he would whimper everytime you take care of him, heart swelling and tears stinging his eyes. How he’s eager to please you, make you feel good like how you make him feel good. How he does everything you ask of him, a big difference to the leader persona he shows in front of the Spider Society.

The door of your bedroom creaks open, causing a small smile to stretch your lips. It’s shut and locked behind the tall and buff frame of your husband before his heavy footsteps approached, you immediately closing your book and setting it on the bedside table. You turn your body to face Miguel, feet touching the floor, and leans back on the soft mattress of the bed using your hands. As if instinctual, Miguel kneels in between your spread legs and snuggles on your thigh, looking up at you through that lashes of his with lust.

You hum appreciatively, loving the way he’s obedient. “What do you want, mi corazon?” You gently slip your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

Miguel squeezes your thighs, whimpering softly at your touch. “You... Just you, please.” You coo at his begging and cup his jaw with one hand, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his plump lips. “Wan’ you inside, por favor, mi vida, fill me. Breed me.” He whines, rubbing his thighs together to soothe the aching in his crotch.

Your cock hardens in your pants as you breathe deeply, the pretty sounds of him begging striking an arousal within your body. You tilt your head with a soft look in your eyes while your hand continue to hold his jaw, “Again? Sweetheart, I’ve already bred you this morning. I even placed a plug inside you so all of my cum will stay inside. You still want more?” Your tone was soft and soothing, not an ounce of annoyance visible.

Miguel nods almost frantically, leaning into your palm. “Can’t get enough being full of you,” He breathlessly whispered, rubbing your thighs up and down in a slow motion, as if to tempt you. “Please, mi amor.”

You chuckle lowly. Loving this side of Miguel, submissive and vulnerable only for you. Your hand let go of his jaw to instead grab his hand and lead it to your belt, “Undress me yourself. Get my cock all nice and wet, then maybe I’ll think about it.” Miguel was quick to obey as he unbuckled your belt, unbuttoning your pants and sliding it down along with your underwear enough to free your hard cock to spring up. His mouth watered at the sheer length and girth, stroking it gently with his hand. You moan softly, hands going back to the bed to lean back, a silent gesture that implied Miguel’s free to do anything on his own.

He gathered enough spit in his mouth before dripping it on your cock, stroking it up and down afterwards to spread the wetness. The squelching sounds making his face heat up, but not stopping his work nonetheless. Miguel kisses the tip, earning a sigh of content from you, before sliding it into his mouth swiftly. You instantly groan at the warmth that surrounded, his tongue lapping up the underside of your cock, Miguel nearly moaning at the taste of you as his hips buckled. “Go on, Miguel.” You encouraged, thrusting your hips once. This time, he doesn’t suppress a moan as he begins bobbing his head, hand stroking the remaining space where his mouth couldn’t take at the same time with the movement of his head, focused on making you feel good.

You moaned, one hand going up to softly pet his hair as a reward. Miguel whines around your cock in response as he fastens his pace. You can see his hips swaying from this angle, probably fucking himself on the plug using the heel of his feet, but clearly not enough due to the soft whines he lets out.

“Such a desperate little puppy,” The label has him whimpering as he grips your thigh with one hand. “Want me to fuck you so bad? Breed you with my babies?” He nods with a moan, tears staining his cheeks. Your fingers slip through his hair, “Then you can take more, right?” Before he could respond in any way, you pushed his head all the way to the base of your cock as he gags and chokes at your tip touching and nearly stretching his throat. His knees trembling, hands gripping your thighs, Miguel’s vision starts to get unfocused as he takes what you give so obediently. “Fuck, so fuckin’ good,” You hissed.

Miguel doesn’t even fight back when you start to fuck his throat without mercy, occassionally gagging and choking with tears spilling from his eyes, taking you so fucking well like a good slut. He even fucks himself on the plug in time with your thrusts in his throat, having nothing in mind but you, you, you.

God, he fucking loves being used for your own pleasure. He loves hearing your groans and moans, loves making you feel good. Miguel utterly loses himself, the responsibility and burden disappearing from his thoughts, completely submitting to you as he stares at you with love filled eyes, you could almost see a heart in them. He rubs his cock through his pants as you keep abusing his throat, the pleasure of being controlled making him tremble.

After what felt like hours, Miguel finally feels your cock throbbing in his mouth, and he whines, a pleading look appearing in his eyes. “Fuck, cummin’, sweetheart.” You groaned. “Where do you want me, puppy? Your face? Your tits? Down your throat?” Miguel lets out a slutty moan at the last option, making you chuckle breathlessly. “F’course, you want it to be down your throat. My good slut.” You grunted, feeling the knot in your stomach coiling at the approaching orgasm.

Miguel’s eyes roll back when you shoved your cock deeper into his throat and spilled your cum, choking and moaning. He whimpers, swallowing every bit of it. Chest heaving up and down, you take a deep breath and gently stroke his head. “Good boy, Miguel. Swallowing it without being asked.” He keens and looks up at you with a dazed look before pulling back with a pop, making sure to drag his tongue the underside of your cock that made you groan. Miguel licks the tip and press a kiss, his breath heavy from the arousal.

“M’sorry, sir,” Miguel mumbled, kissing your inner thigh with an apologetic look, cheeks stained with tears. “M’so sorry, didn’t mean to,” God, the submissive sounds he keeps letting out makes your head spin. It gives you both the urge to ruin and wreck him as well as spoil him with your love at the same time, knowing how much he deserves both of it. He’s so fucking good for you, you just want to carve every initial of your name in his guts.

“What are you apologizing for, hm?” You pretended not to know why he was apologizing as you hold his cheek with one hand, wiping his tear off with your thumb.

Miguel placed his hand above yours and leaned into your touch, his hips unconsciously swaying when the wet stain in his crotch became uncomfortable. “Didn’t— Didn’t mean to cum, sir, promise. Lo siento, lo siento...” He repeats, closing his eyes and kissing your palm, as if to ask for forgiveness. More tears spilled from his eyes. You could tell he was feeling light-headed, his unfocused vision being the proof of that despite his attempts to shake it off.

He’s been a lot distracted today, that usual snarl of his nonexistent and barks oddly refusing to come out from his mouth. Miles and Gwen were weirded out by his quiet demeanor because this was the first time they had seen Miguel be... at his best behave, he wasn’t throwing chairs or angrily shouting at anything. He didn’t seem to be in a best condition either, just seeming unwell as he forced himself to bark orders as best as he could. Miguel just wanted to be held by you all day, the missions and overwhelming responsibility of the multiverse pressuring him to the edge and exhausting him completely. He’s been fighting the vulnerability, not wanting anyone else to see him like that, forcefully pushing his consciousness away from the space within his mind that tells him to just let everything go. You would occassionally send him worried glances, but you didn’t miss the way he leaned more into you everytime you touched him, nearly melting in your touch.

Ah, so this is why he’s been acting so adorable. You thought, humming in satisfaction. The pleased sound you made caused Miguel to open his eyes again, seeing you smiling softly at him instead of being mad. You usually hated when Miguel cums without permission, but it can’t be helped with that pretty little head of his drowning in that space.

“It’s okay, querido.” His heart fluttered at your softness. “I’m not gonna punish you today, but you know I’m not giving you what you asked for if you do it again, right?” This time, you cupped his face with both hands and kissed him gently.

Miguel whimpers, grateful. “Sí, I’ll be good. I’ll be good, sir.”

“All for me?”

You moved one leg to rub his crotch with your foot, Miguel gasping as he nods vigorously. “Sí, sí, only for you, please.”

“Such a good fuckin’ puppy,” You groan, pulling him up in a heated kiss. Miguel straddles your lap and wraps his muscular arms around your neck, reciprocating the kiss as his hips starts to grind against you, heavenly sounds escaping into your mouth. He moans particularly loud when you slipped a hand inside his pants and lightly pushed the plug, causing the kiss to be broken with a trail of saliva connecting your lips.

“Sir, mhm,” He grunted. “Want— Wan’ to take it off.”

You hum, sliding your other hand down to squeeze his slutty waist that made Miguel’s head spin. Your hands were so big, it could entirely wrap around his waist with ease. It made him ache inside, knowing the size of your hands perfectly matches your cock. “Let me take care of you, puppy. Give in, lose yourself in it, I’ll make you feel so good.” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, before beginning to leave a mark as you bit and sucked harshly. Miguel moans, clinging onto you and giving in, indulging himself more in that safe space that’s been bothering him all day.

With softness in every bit of your movement, you peel off his clothes and drop them to the floor carelessly as your lips work wonders on him; licking, biting, sucking, littering his pretty skin with purple bruises and listening to heavenly sounds leaving his lips. You were so gentle and kind, Miguel can’t help but feel content as he holds onto you for dear life. Laying him down on the bed, you mutter praises in his ear while your hands explore his muscular body. Miguel felt like being worshipped, the intimacy becoming too much that tears escape his eyes and he whimpers.

You gently bit his collar and pulled, making Miguel throw his head back further in the pillow to give you more access, his arms wrapped around your back. “Please, please, sir,” He whispered almost desperately. You hummed in response, to which he whined at. “Fill me, want you already, wan’ your cock.” Begs slipping past his lips, Miguel spreads his legs to present his hole clenching around the plug.

A groan erupts from your throat, licking your lips. “Fuck, good puppy. Knowing how to beg like a slut.”

“Your slut, your puppy, please.” Miguel begs more, grabbing your hand and urging you to touch him.

You shush him gently, “Shh... I’ll take care of you, mi vida. It’s alright.” The reassurance allows him to let go as you reached down and lightly tapped on the plug, making him gasp. Pleas and begs still spilling his lips, Miguel grasped the sheets under him with his head thrown back when you pulled the plug out, your cum from the morning gushing out. He trembles at the feeling and moans softly as you kiss his forehead and then his lips, swallowing another pleas. His insides was aching to be filled and bred, twisting uncomfortably in his belly and increasing his desperation more.

He wanted you, all of you, wanted you to make him yours. He wanted you to let him know who he belongs to and mark his insides with your cum. It doesn’t matter if it makes him look like a desperate whore, a slut, he wants to feel full with your cum as you hold him in your arms. Nothing mattered anymore; his duty, his responsibilities, his position as a leader, his ego, his pride. They didn’t matter. Just you, fucking him, making love to him, breeding him, making him feel content.

Miguel whimpers when you push his legs to his chest and align your cock to his entrance, excitement and anticipation bubbling within his body. His hands latches onto your forearms. “Yes, please, sir. Fuck me, please. Want your cock, want it a—” His pleas were cut off by you suddenly shoving your dick into his gaping hole, loud gasp escaping his lips followed by a satisfied moan.

You grunted, licking your lips and smirking at the pleasure coating his face. “What do we say now, puppy?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” He cries out as you bottomed out in him, not giving him a time to adjust before pulling your hips back and slamming it in. Holy fuck, it felt so good, Miguel’s mind immediately goes blank as you began thrusting into him.

“Such a good fuckin’ puppy, taking me in so well,” You purred and snapped your hips harshly, making Miguel arch his back and cry out. He’s always been good at this, being fucked dumb and cock-hungry. You can’t help your heart swelling at the knowledge that he only becomes like this with you, possessiveness burning like a fire within your spirit. “Mine, aren’t you? My good puppy, my good whore?”

Miguel whined, nodding his head frantically. “Yours— augh! Yours, only yours, yes! Fuuuuck!” His claws dig into your skin when you set a relentless pace with your cock striking his prostate perfectly, making you hiss slightly in pain. Drools drip from Miguel’s open mouth as he threw his head back.

“I bet everyone’s gonna be so shocked to see you like this,” You groan when he clamps down on you in response. “The great Miguel O’Hara, nothing but a pathetic dumb adorable mess beneath me. All f’me, right, darling?” The brutal thrusts sending him further down on the mattress had Miguel delirious, unable to form coherent thoughts as he nods and mutters a series of yes’s and for you’s again, and again. His mind absolutely melting and breaking by the ruthless pleasure shooting everywhere within his body.

Fuck, he’s so fuckin’ adorable being at your mercy. Can’t do anything but moan and whine while taking your cock so well. Can’t even stutter a proper sentence as all he can think of is you and your big fucking dick drilling mercilessly into him. Very big contrast to the way you were touching him with such softness before.

Keeping your merciless pace, you leaned over to start sucking on one of his nipples and Miguel lets a sob out, shaking from sensitivity. His big tits were always sensitive and he refuses to let you touch it outside of the privacy in your bedroom due to how he won’t be able to contain himself — he could cum just from them alone, and the idea doesn’t please him when he’s in the right mind. Though, you figured he loves it when you touch it while fucking him because of his moans that just grew high-pitched.

You slammed your hips in a particularly hard thrust at the same time with your teeth biting his sensitive nipple and Miguel’s eyes rolled back into his skull, no sounds escaping his open mouth as he squeezed down on you. Groaning, you look down and chuckle after seeing no sight of white seed coming out from his cock, a deeply pleasant expression crossing your face. “God, fuck! You didn’t cum, puppy?”

Miguel tries to hear you out despite his mind going numb from the euphoria and weakly shakes his head, “S-sí, sí— mhmm! ahghh— wanna- wanna be good f’you, fuhck! Quiero ser bueno para ti, por favor, haah,” He moaned loudly.

Oh, motherfucker.

He really deserves a reward for being this good. His obedience drives you crazy, it feeds your ego and sadistic pleasure as electricity runs through your veins. You seemed to get bigger and harder inside him, making Miguel whine pathetically and scratch your forearm.

You reward him with another harsh thrust that sent Miguel sobbing, “Good boy, shit— such a good puppy, keeping his promise. Need a reward, hm? Good puppies deserve rewards.” You growled, pulling at his collar with your teeth.

Miguel whimpered, “Sí, sí, lo necesito— agh! Please, pleasepleaseplease.” Begging desperately, Miguel removes his hands from your forearms to hook them under his thighs and keep his legs spread in place, making you curse softly as you fastened your pace.

“Gonna breed you so fuckin’ well, puppy. Fill you up so full and so good, won’t stop even after it’s gushing out of your cunt,” You growled in his ear and Miguel arches his back to meet your thrusts, crying out and sobbing and babbling nonsense. “Gonna make you take everything in, and fuck you again so you wouldn’t feel empty ‘til the next day. Make you my breeder.” Miguel moans shamelessly at your words, clenching around you.

“Fuckfuckfuck, sir, m’gonna cum, please, sir,” He begged, toes curling as the knot in his stomach coils. “Let me cum, let me cum, please.”

Feeling your own climax approaching, your thrusts became sharp as you moan softly and grab his hands to interlock them with yours. Miguel whimpers at the intimacy. “Fuck, go on, sweetheart. Let it out, cum. Cum for me, Miguel.” As if to forcefully push him over the edge, you shoved your cock deeper into his guts in one swift motion and Miguel’s eyes rolled back into his skull, loud mewl and pornographic moan falling from his throat. White spots clouded his vision, mind going blank as he spurts out cum on his toned stomach, body shaking violently. You groaned, moaning when your orgasm hits as well, spilling the hot semen inside him.

You thrusted slowly and sloppily to ride out both of your orgasm, Miguel’s body still twitching from the intensity and overstimulation. You capture his lips in a lazy kiss and he attempts to reciprocate, though failing due to his mind completely in a daze. He can still see stars. “That’s it, puppy. Good boy, did so fuckin’ well. Took it so obediently,” You whisper softly, making Miguel whine.

“Thank you, thank you,” He mutters through heavy breathing, trying to gather his breath. One hand gently stroking his face, you kissed his cheek while mumbling praises that Miguel mewls at, his head still deep in submissive state. He must’ve been really exhausted and stressed if he hasn’t returned to his usual state of mind yet, so you just tend to him with softness to make up for how rough you were with him.

“Such a good boy, made me feel so good.” You praised, now rolling your hips in a gentle thrust. Miguel hums in pleasure, butterflies in his stomach at the kisses you pepper him with, so full and content. “Did I breed you well, mi amor? Does it feel good?” You kiss his neck as he tilts his head back.

“Mhm,” He moans softly. “Se siente bien, muy bien. Te amo.” Miguel squeezes your hand as his other hand caressed his belly, where it feels euphoric and so, so full.

You kissed his lips gently, “Yo también te quiero, mi vida.” He wraps his legs around you and reciprocates the kiss, moaning when you sucked his tongue. Holding both of his hands now, you gently pinned them on the mattress beside his head and pressed a kiss on his forehead, still rolling your hips. “I have to clean you up soon, you want a bath?”

Miguel shakes his head and rolls his hips in time with your thrusts, making you moan softly. “More, please? Wan’ you to breed me more.”

You hum, sharply snapping your hips. Miguel gasps. “So needy, huh? My adorable puppy.” He whines, which you’re quick to shush. “Don’t you worry, darling. I’ll give it all to you. You’ve been such a good obedient boy, and good boys deserve rewards.” Miguel mutters a quiet thank you before you pulled your cock all the way to the tip and slammed back into him, ready to breed his pretty cunt again so he could spend tomorrow with your cum and plug inside him, fully content.

He would spend the entire time with your cum inside him, completely full, and everyone would still think he’s the dominant one in your relationship.

Oh well, nobody gets to see him like this, so you’ll let them talk like that for a while. It’s not like they’re gonna know, anyway.

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innuendostudios · 5 months

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youtube

New Alt-Right Playbook, regarding the minimization of power imbalances with "enh, it's not SO bad."

If you like this and my other work, do please back me on Patreon and/or watch me on Nebula.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you and some other folks have gotten embroiled in a debate about the use of content warnings. One side has put forth the usual case: some people have trauma or anxiety disorders, and giving them a heads up about common triggers lets them make informed decisions about how to engage with a piece of media. They aren’t always looking to walk out, even, just to avoid a panic attack by having a few moments to prepare themselves. And this is often better for everyone as more people can appreciate the work itself and the discourse doesn’t derail into another discussion about whether it should’ve had a content warning.

And then someone from the other side of the debate says, in all seriousness (and I remind you this is about whether or not people should put a single sentence at the beginning of a video, the start of a game, outside the door of a theatre), “Can’t you just, like, have your panic attack? I mean, this isn’t life and death.”

The discussion quickly and predictably devolves from there into people who have panic attacks trying to explain how miserable they are, and how comparatively simple putting up a content warning is, and you realize far too late that this whole conversation is missing the point. Because the “it’s not life and death” crowd? They never claimed they are more inconvenienced than the person having panic attack! Content warnings ain’t life and death either! They made no attempt to frame this tradeoff as fair or justified. Only that, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not so bad.

I call this Didoing.

(Relationship Discourse would call it The Tolerable Level of Permanent Unhappiness, which is a really powerful phrase, but I came up with Didoing and I’m keeping it.)

You see Didoing everywhere. Be as gay as you want, just don’t tell your commanding officer. Be trans if you must, but pee at home. Kink is fine, but keep it out of Pride. Drag is whatever, just not in front of children. Being a woman on the internet isn’t hard if you’re willing to block seventy thousand people and just use this service to scrub all your private information from the internet so men have a harder finding your home address. It’s eleven bucks a month! What, you can’t afford eleven bucks a month??!

And, yes, all these are minimizations, and, if you want, you can point that out. You can tell them what it’s like to get a Twitter DM threatening to murder your entire family using a quote from Mission: Impossible 3. Yeah, he’s probably not gonna do it! But it can still fuck up your day; the goal is to fuck up your day. But the “it’s not life and death” crowd won’t understand, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t care enough.

But even that is letting them control the conversation. You’re trying to stress the pain of a panic attack, the anxiety of a death threat, to emphasize a gulf of iniquity between their experience, as a person who does not deal with these things, and that of someone who does. As if, were the gulf smaller, it would be not so bad. In this, you have accepted their premise. Did you even catch what the premise was? That it’s okay for things to be unfair within a certain tolerance. That some people do and should take extra precaution just to exist in the world alongside the rest of us. That it’s okay for others to suffer for the convenience of the normals. Because it’s not so bad.

This is a bit different from how privilege usually works. The issue with content warnings - really, most things people Dido over - is that, if you are a person with triggers, it means other people can provoke a panic response in you against your will. The severity of that response is, frankly, immaterial: the point is, they have power over you, and, if you’re going to operate in this world as equals, you need their word that this power will not be invoked.

The usual move for people on the privileged end of a power imbalance is to deny the imbalance exists: “white privilege is a myth,” “there is no gender wage gap,” etc. etc. You would think, the greater the imbalance, the harder it is to deny, but it’s just the opposite: people Dido when the imbalance is small (or, at least, appears small in the eyes of the Didoer). It happens with content warnings, microaggressions; “no, I don’t get followed around Macy’s like I’m gonna steal something, but is that really so important? is this life and death? don’t you have bigger problems?” (Which is a funny thing to say, because, according to white privilege: no! The bigger problems don’t exist!)

Didoing is foundational to the privileged mindset, because it’s one scenario where they will admit to the Didoee, “yes, I do have power over you… and you should just let me have it.”

#video essay #alt right playbook

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 5 months

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A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

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Hi, discord friend! this is one of the silly ideas I had 😌 Asterion is having a very bad luck day. He keeps dropping things, setting off traps, breaking lockpicks, he ripped his shirt, and now his seduction skills are lacking hard. How would he navigate it?

As someone who is very clumsy and tends to panic a lot (triggered even by something unimportant), I can totally relate to Astarion is this prompt.

Thanks @brabblesblog for beta reading!

Tainted

Synopsis: Astarion believes he's been healed - but yet another unpleasant interaction and the darkness is back.

Tags: post-game, established relationship, mentions of past trauma.

TW: Conversation about triggers.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion looks around the street. The town of Daggerfold, barely home to more than a thousand people, is dark and peaceful. Just a stopover for travelers, but once a part of a long-gone kingdom of the past.

He carefully navigates to a tavern where he stays with you. He was hesitant about renting a room first.

"They will notice I am a vampire, darling, and I am afraid. People in those cities tend to hate vampire lovers more than the Undead themselves."

But you looked at him with those puppy eyes (learned from a professional), and he agreed. Besides, not being constricted to the tent for the whole day feels nice.

Astarion can walk around the room and the tavern, read, and talk to the people if he wants (he usually doesn't) and you can sleep in a comfortable bed.

Besides, you both have had a bath for the first time in weeks today.

Astarion notices the signs of the pre-dawn on the east. The innate fear grasps his mind.

Run. Run. Run.

Hide. Or die. Elves call it mor. The ultimate death, without resurrection to come.

Astarion forces himself to calm down. It's still too early and the Inn is already visible in the distance. He doesn't even have to rush.

A hand grabs his wrist and he flinches, disturbed by the unwelcome touch.

The young man, probably a half-elf, tries to pull him closer, seductively licking his lips, a gesture too familiar for Astarion not to notice.

"Looking for company, handsome?" His words are sweet and full of lust. "I can offer you a time of pleasure."

Astarion wants to set himself free, just to go away. It's not supposed to be difficult. It's not like the young man's grip is tight. A simple "no" is enough, people in this profession don’t tend to insist.

The vampire knows it from personal experience.

"Your skin is so pale, almost like marble. And hands... so cold. Come on, I will warm you"

Astarion is paralyzed. As if he is ordered not to move. Like he often used to be.

When he was on the other side of this conversation. When he was the man who needed to get a client as soon as he could.

Seeing no resistance, the prostitute reaches out for his cheek.

His touch is acid-burning.

"GO AWAY!" Astarion yells, almost betraying his fangs. "Leave me alone!"

The man is taken aback and immediately pulls away. Astarion curses and mutters through his teeth all the slurs he remembers.

Every word he ever heard from passers-by.

Whore. Slut.

Filliken.

There is a disgusted and evil smile on the man's face. "You were like me, am I right? All of you… former colleagues, are like that."

Astarion steps back. A dark wave of terror drags him to the abyss. The sun is almost up.

He makes himself move towards the Inn.

"But you can't escape your past! You hear me? It will always be with you, no matter how hard you try to wash it all away!"

Astarion runs. The moment the first ray pierces the air, he is already in the safe shadow of a sleepy inn.

It's almost empty. Only a few drunkards sleep peacefully on the floor. Astarion goes upstairs, praying you aren't back yet.

Because he doesn't want to look at you right now.

His hands tremble and dark thoughts plague his mind like a swarm of flies.

The room is empty and your walking boots are missing. He sighs in relief.

That's the problem with you. You know when something is wrong. Even if you understand he doesn't want to discuss it, you still acknowledge it.

Besides, if you were in the room, you would hear the screams.

Astarion falls on the bed, not bothering to undress himself, and closes his eyes.

He needs to meditate. He needs to wander away. When he wakes up, it will be better.

But Astarion should know better; it never works like that.

Again and again, he sees the same things. Hands of strangers, touching him without his consent. His cheeks, his chest, his back. His private parts. Grabbing and groping him. Laughing and smiling. Future victims. Useful people he needed to extract information from. Others whom he just needs to please.

Sweat that feels like acid. Touches that hurt like red-hot tongs. Intimacy is worse than torture.

Astarion tries to force his mind to remember something else. You, he needs to remember you. Your touches, your voice, your blood. He attempts to visualize you but instead, it's a look-alike stranger, a fake voice with hurtful words.

He sits up, pressing his hands to the chest. His body feels rested but his mind is exhausted. Astarion hears voices from downstairs - busy afternoon in the tavern.

…You sleep beside him pressing your face into the pillow. Astarion notices that his boots are taken off and his body is covered with a blanket. It seems like when you came back, you put the shoes off him and tucked him in the blanket.

Astarion carefully gets out of bed. He still has a few hours before you wake up and he needs to occupy his mind with something.

It seems like the trance has made things worse.

Astarion, moron, you taint Tav. A voice within his undead heart whispers. Your past will never go away. Your skin is dirty. People will always know who you are. Tav pities you but even heroes are tired of being saviors.

This will never be over. Whatever he does. Wherever he goes, his past will follow him like the smell of death. He ruins you. He destroys you.

Astarion takes a book out of the bag and opens it randomly. A trembling hand tries to turn the page.

And tears it.

Fuck.

The books fall to the floor with a loud thump.

You move in your sleep but don't wake up. Astarion, cursing himself for being so clumsy, picks it up and immediately bumps his head on the wooden table.

Tainted. Tainted, the voices keep whispering, completely taking away all the control. His body doesn't belong to him. All the movements are off.

"Astarion, are you all right?" you mumble in the pillow.

"Yes... my... I am ... " The ability to talk properly leaves him as well.

He needs to go out. At least, he can sit in a tavern and look for potential contracts.

In a tavern similar to his hunting spots. And where yet another person might try to get him to bed.

He pulls out the door, but it is locked. He looks around and sees the key on the table. Tries to take it but it slips away through his fingers.

"Is anything wrong?" you yawn, sitting up. Your face is sleepy and the hair is messy.

"No... I am..."

You stand up and while still half-asleep pick up the key and open the door. Astarion stays at the threshold, fearing to fall down the stairs the moment he leaves the room.

"Astarion, the more I live with you, the more you resemble a cat to me! Do you want to stay inside or go out?"

"I ... "

His hands are still trembling. You look at them, noticing the tremor.

And close the door.

"I take my words back about you being a cat. You are more like a hobgoblin now."

"Careful, darling, I can get offended"

"So, you can speak now. What's wrong? You don’t look drunk to me, so?"

"Nothing important. Please, go to sleep."

"Did someone hurt you?"

"No, nothing"

"Liar."

Before he manages to object, you make him return to bed. As he sits down, you help him to undress. The light armor he forgot to put off, the shirt, and the trousers are carefully placed on the chair. He stays only in his underwear.

His hands are still shaking.

“I would gladly offer you my blood, but I am afraid you will pierce my carotid artery in your current state.”

Astarion nods. You lie on the bed and pull him to you. He places his head on your chest. You wrap your hands around him as if protecting him from the outside world and his own mind.

You are warm like sunlight.

You lie silently under the blanket in the dark room. You got the cheapest room in the Inn – the one without windows and the Innkeeper couldn’t understand why you two were so content about it.

“Can I touch your back?” you ask.

"What? Of course... Of course, you can. Why do you even ask?"

"Because I care about you", a gentle caress brushes over his scars. “Because I want you to feel safe.”

And he gives up. He tells you everything. About the man on the streets. The words and curses Astarion addressed mostly to himself.

"I feel tainted," he admits. “I feel that I ruined you. I can't undo my past. It follows me like a shadow. And I bring this shadow to our bed!

A soft kiss. Then, another. Fingers draw invisible pictures on his skin. Tears prickle his eyes.

Why is he so weak? Why is he so pathetic?

Noticing his tension, you tug him closer.

"I am sorry", he mutters. "I thought I had already recovered. That the things have already gotten better."

"They have. And you can't make progress without taking any steps back. It's a part of growth."

He chuckles but still feels miserable. He doesn't know what makes him feel worse. The thoughts in his head or the understanding that he has been lying to himself.

Astarion believed he was healed. It was a lie.

"You don't taint me, Astarion. You don't ruin me. I don't care how many people touched you. I care only about what you are and what you want to be."

He finally finds the strength to pull you closer to himself. "I want it to be over. I want to move forward. But I just can't. It seems like… he truly broke me. There is nothing to repair.”

“A broken man wouldn’t desire revenge the very moment he acquired freedom. Broken people beg to be returned to their masters. A broken man wouldn’t fight back. You aren’t broken and you are healing. And I love you. Never doubt it.”

You lie together in silence. Astarion notices his hands don’t tremble anymore and he relaxes a bit. He is safe.

But is he happy?

He concentrates on his feelings. He is in the dark room protected from the sun. On the soft and comfy bed. His hands are wrapped around you, the first and only person he cares about and loves. And who gives him everything he thought he wasn’t worthy of? A heavy thick blanket covers you both. The touches on his bare skin are so gentle he is about to cry. The soothing heartbeat sounds like a lullaby.

Yes, he is happy. Even if his mind tries to tell him otherwise.

You fall asleep again, and Astarion stays motionless not wanting to wake you up yet again.

When he finally notices your movements, indication that you are ready to wake up. He frees himself from your grip and presses his lips against yours. He kisses you softly, slowly, tasting you.

Thanking you.

“Feeling better?” you ask once your eyes open.

"Hello, darling", he smiles. “Yes, I am.”

Mor - ultimate death. Filliken - “open skirt”, a prostitute (a slur).

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

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dancermk · 5 months

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HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

#fellow travelers #hawk and tim #hawkins fuller #tim laughlin #hawk and skippy #matt bomer #jonathan bailey #lgbtqia #queer media

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plottwiststudios · 6 months

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Furina Deserved More Empathy

Most of you are here because you dig my writing for "Women of Xal", but please bear with me on this: Furina is a worthy character to study, respect, and love. To me, she is Genshin Impact's best character, and certainly my favorite from the game.

But although her characterization was top tier, the characters and writing around Furina were just... so ugly to her in a few areas that I believe are worth talking about. Even if you think the Fontaine arc was perfect and beyond reproach with how Furina was handled at the end, please at least hear me out. I promise I do come with not only my empathetic insight, but a writer's with a keen eye for the unfair, as well. Everyone, strap in and click that spoiler line for more~

"But Furina is only human, isn't she? Even though she has had a long life, her mind is no stronger than that of any other ordinary human being. I cannot begin to fathom what she has had to endure. It must have been torture for her." - Neuvillette

This quote comes immediately after Neuvillette realizes that his partner in crime, Furina, has been playing a role of a god far outside of her true personality every (perceived) second of every day for 500 years without end. Fooling the world, and keeping the secret that she was a mere human was crucial. If she didn't, her nation would have met oblivion via drowning, according to an increasingly real prophecy. If you don't know the story/why, it's complicated, here's the cutscene. Collaborating with her divine 'half', she commits to this agonizingly long performance willingly by weighing her own happiness with the lives of the people. And does that take a toll on her?

Yes! It got bad enough to where she started crying without realizing she was -- in front of a citizen she of course had to deceive. She had to use her vast experience to play it off, and, well, you see how easily that citizen bought it, and you can see how Furina is handling that situation, even if you're not used to Genshin's models. What I'm trying to get at here is, Furina carried Fontaine's salvation on her back for 500 years. In complete secret and isolation. And as we are playing a video game, we naturally see to the finale of her 500 year performance...

By putting her on trial as a fraud god!

Now, although I felt grimy from the jump about the whole "Trick Furina into her own public trial", the plan itself is legitimately justified from the player / accusing party. She played her role too well, and now her own nation and allies think she's not taking the threat of her nation seriously. (The threat? Ironically the flooding she's trying to prevent) Her peers do know she's hiding something. So in a desperate gambit to get her to talk and hopefully give them something to stop the incoming flood, they trick her into arriving at her own trial. And, I believe my necessity, she is given more trauma for her troubles before this trial ends. You can watch it all here.

Even for players who didn't figure out Furina's big secret, this trial was BRUTAL to watch, and the fact the player character initiated it by trying promising Furina that her secret can be safe with the player -- WHILE the player was actively and secretly transporting Furina to her trial is just... cutthroat. Necessary given the lack of context (mostly), but cutthroat. I'm glad Furina considered her options with entrusting the player, but ultimately would have decided not to. Because we didn't deserve Furina's trust.

Long miserable story short? Furina is judged guilty and sentenced to death, but she doesn't care, because to her, she spent 500 years, only to think she "failed" and now everyone will drown and die. So she's left essentially dissociating with only tears to show consciousness. Longer story short? She didn't fail! Her trial was all part of the plan her divine half cooked up without telling her about the trial! To save the nation. (Prophecies, am I right?) And the nation is saved! All because Furina kept up the act for 500 years -- well past her emotional breaking point. Like, well, well, well past her breaking point.

Most importantly: Furina is free to be a regular human that no longer has to perform. She no longer has to rule as a god. So what's the first thing she hears from us? (Link for the conversation)

tldr: "We sure Kathryn gave us the right address we obtained without permission? Wow, Furina's living situation got a whole lot worse different after she stepped down from ruler."

If you're wondering if I skipped a few cutscenes covering how Furina got there and how she's doing, don't worry! Same here: After the story's climax, Neuvillette tells us that Furina steps down and numbly packed her bags and hecked off for peace and quiet. Did we ever VISIT this woman after asking her to trust us before destroying that request for trust? Did ANYONE besides Neuvillette give her an apology, or go out of their way to check in on her besides Clorinde? Am I supposed to assume that the same writers who keep doing insensitive things, has a staggering fear of dark skin, and seldom have enough courage to trust the audience, are expecting us to fill in the gaps of time with the most positive outcome that Furina was apologized to and supported off-screen? And hey, if you're on team "We had no choice, given the circumstance; no apologies needed", then look at it like a human, not (just) an apologist! If YOU underwent 500 years of never being you, but an exaggerated trope for the world, and at the end, that world temporarily rejects you in public, cutthroat fashion, is this how you would like to be treated?

An organization gave out your address to help the player

The player only visits you to help NPCs

Pressure you to perform yet again, this time for fun!!!

Express how your boundaries for no-acting actively hurt the NPCs

No noted thanks or conversation about your sacrifices

The writer to your life railroads you into feeling bad for boundaries

Someone dryly states, for her own reasons, that you were inactive

Made fun of for your lifestyle decisions post-freedom from acting

The writer of your life railroads you into singing for the NPCs

Some more I am probably going to regret not remembering

Even people who haven't played the game, but read this will note that something went amiss. One or two of these bullet points can be seen as fine or not-horrible when isolated, but literally all of this happened to Furina. Even if you want to say that all of these are properly addressed offscreen and not mentioned in the game, then what about the writer's desire to resonate with the audience?

To the writers of this game who obviously do not take words to heart: We resonate with Furina just fine. She's a beautifully written character and I have nothing but the fiercest of respect for her. But we don't resonate with how she was treated after her 500 years of torture ended. Not by the characters or writers. As writers, how did you WANT us to react to these insensitive scenes? Why? Did you think the lines of dialogue through from a humane angle, or were you stuck in the immediate present of writing a "funny"? Did you think about the cost of not letting the most tortured character in the country have any scenes after her trial until we're looking for her to help people we've never met before? Was the tonal whiplash wise in your eyes? Could you find no better way to get Furina comfortable to sing and get her vision? Why do I get the feeling that even an author with no experience might have known better than to do some of the things you decided to do to Furina? As writers, do you think everything I've stated is what she deserves, or even the natural course of events for a character as important and as good as Furina? Is that the extent of your writing prowess and creativity?

This is a story about a nation of justice. So where's Furina's justice?

#Genshin Impact #Furina #Fontaine #4.2 #neuvillette #At least her fellow Archons properly showed her the respect she deserves

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animeyanderelover · 8 months

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Yandere ciel and alois and ash. And also sebastian with reader that is extremely fragile? Like even a single punch from a child could hurt them. But reader still tries to make it up by always hugging them, patting them and sometimes letting them sleep on his lap whenever they are mad, sad or angry? (Sorry! For making a second request! I really loves this blog so 😭😭😭)

I did something very similar with Ciel and Sebastian before in this post. So for those two, the Hc's are significantly shorter as I only focused on the part of s/o being affectionate.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, overprotecting behavior, isolation, abduction

S/o is extremely fragile

Ciel Phantomhive

☕ Physical affection is not something the young lord is used to, at least not since the day his parents died. His experience with the cult who wanted to sacrifice him in order to summon a demon have made him wary of touches as countless human rights and boundaries were taken away from him and even if he is slowly recovering from the trauma of that night, now he is the new Earl so he needs to keep his public image in mind. Normally no one is allowed to touch him but he makes exceptions for his darling, although he'd like to keep it subtle in public. Truth be told, he tends to get flustered when they hug him or pet his head and as someone who likes the feeling of being in control, he isn't a fan of seeing his composure faltering. Not to mention the teasing of Sebastian and the gushing of the other servants. Ciel is lenient though, considering that he is already restricting you enough due to your fragile body. If this makes you happy and is one of the very few things he deems as safe, Ciel doesn't see the need to forbid it too.

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛ Sebastian is quite aggressive when it comes to his mate. The urge to keep his mate safe and protected is a primal desire, an instinct that brings something animalistic out of him. Whilst he keeps you isolated to lower the risk of you hurting yourself, the demon still does his best to keep you entertained enough with things he deems as not too dangerous for you. A part of him can't deny though that your delicate body makes it at times hard for him. He's a demon who desires to mark and claim his mate yet he knows that he would only end up seriously hurting you. Closeness and physical touch are an aching need though, something the demon craves and is the main reason why he grows very clingy. So he basks in the physical affection his s/o willingly gives him like a smug cat. Sebastian adores the feeling of a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his tall form and careful fingers tucking at his black locks. Even laying his head in your lap, a gesture far too submissive for a powerful demon as himself yet intimacy his body craves.

Alois Trancy

👅 Alois is already the essence of paranoid, clingy and overbearing in all possible ways under normal circumstances but with a darling as delicate as you, his demeanor reaches a whole new universe. Seriously, it's quite bad. From the moment he finds out about your condition, he gets instantly paranoid and pesters you relentlessly to live with him. The very environment you live in and the people that surround you instantly turn into big, bad villains in his eyes and he obviously has only the best intentions in mind for you. He grows desperate fast as he begs you to just join him in his mansion. He promises you protection, fine food and lavish gifts and if you reject him, he's likely to have an emotional outburst where he might end up screaming at you for a bit, upset, angry and unable to understand your reasoning for turning his offer down.

👅 His blood boils whenever he sees new bruises and scratches on you and he instantly demands to know who is responsible for it. He has no mercy for anyone or anything even if it is really no one's fault at all. Everyone who hurts you, even by sheer accident, earns his relentless ire. Alois can't control his anger nor does he want to do so, in his eyes everything that harms you deserves to be treated like dirt under his shoes. If he figures out that a person has harmed you, he screams his lungs out until his face turns pink with anger and can't stop himself from hitting and hurting them in return. It's a terrifying experience as blue eyes glimmer with malice and wrath. Even non-living objects aren't spared from his wrath as he kicks the object angrily away when it hurts you, ends up destroying it on multiple occasions. Nothing is safe from his explosive ire.

👅 His paranoia shoots through the sky with the situation given. If you refuse to allow him to properly protect you and take care of you, an abduction will happen far too soon for you to even predict. His servants are ordered to retrieve you and he threatens them to not hurt you even in the slightest or otherwise they'll be punished by him. No one should ever harm you. He remains firm in his belief that he's doing the right thing, he is pretty delusional after all. Alois still throws a big tantrum whenever he finds a new bruise or wound somewhere on your beautfiful skin, it always ends in a big drama. Your accident proneness leads him to become essentially your second shadow as he's always with you, terribly paranoid that you might get hurt again. All demon servants are ordered to guarantee your safety and every time you still end up getting hurt, they have to endure whatever their angry master has in store for them.

👅 His emotions fluctuate strongly depending on your own feelings. If the isolation upsets you at times, Alois gets quickly upset himself. Your sadness makes him a bit crazy and any signs of unhappiness he tries to drown in smothering affection and lots of expensive gifts. The young noble is highly affectionate and at times unintentionally a bit more rough, especially when his feelings get the better of him as they tend to be very intense. He'd probably be happiest with a darling who returns his affection since it gives him a feeling of security and safety. He's cooing and gushing over his s/o whenever they end up hugging him or petting his hair. By sheer accident he ends up getting to excited at times which leads to his touches to be too rough and might result in hurting you in the process. No one is more mad than him though as he's throwing a screaming and crying tantrum. He's possessive of the attention and affection of you so often he demands you to spend private time with him just showering him in your affection and all servants are forbidden to interrupt you two.

Ash Landers

▫️For Ash his darling is his life, the entire purpose of a guardian angel is after all protecting whoever they've chosen to guard and dedicate their life to. The white-haired man has known from the very first glance that you're special, a precious and pure creature that has to be protected from a world tainted and filled with evil. You've become within one day the centre of his universe as his heart and mind are filled from that day on with the thought of you. Gorgeous and precious you. Ash is already very paranoid and protective of his darling, of his everything. Their fragile and delicate condition make him only worse though. Wonder and adoration turn into horror and sheer wrath whenever he catches the bruises and injuries littering your precious skin, he has nearly lost his composure in public a couple of times just thinking about it.

▫️The world around you only becomes more and more irredeemable whenever a new bruise, a new scratch appears on you, the most precious creature. His heart is bleeding alongside every new injury as the angel frenziedly tracks down whoever is responsible for daring to harm you. He doesn't care who the person is nor would he ever accept apologies and explanations that it was a mere accident as he stains his hands and white clothes with red blood, all in the name of your protection. Ash just knows that he has to protect you, to keep you somewhere else as he grows incredibly paranoid whenever he's on his 'duties'. Not knowing where you are and what you're doing, not being able to fulfill the most important task of watching you and protecting you is killing him slowly on the inside as breathing or thinking become incredibly difficult, paranoia taking over his body.

▫️The abduction happens fast as you're whisked away by an angel who seems terrified to even touch your delicate body out of primal fear to hurt you. The entire home he's made for you has been designed to not harm or hurt you. It is unbelievably difficult for Ash to leave you at all as paranoia fills his lungs as soon as you're out of his sight and makes it close to impossible to focus properly when masquerading as the Queen's butler. Every injury and pain you experience from that day on is all his fault, in Ash's mind at least. You're now under his care after all and he wants all pain away from you and every time you still end up harming yourself, he sees it as his personal failure. That can definitely lead to self-harming tendencies as his punishment but Ash would do anything for his darling so if they ask him to stop, he'd try if he realizes that his actions make them sad.

▫️Honestly, Ash doesn't even consider himself worthy of receiving any affection from his darling. In his mind no one is worthy of you, not even himself yet the concept of a mate still applies to him as an otherwordly creature too. He longs for more than just seeing and being close to you yet this desire is seen as a greedy sin as he should be thankful for the mere fact that he is able to see you at all. He's overwhelmed when you end up being so affectionate around him, although if you ever tell him that you feel sorry for making him worry all of the time he'd panic because you shouldn't feel guilty for this. He's hesitant at first as he's still not considering himself as quite worthy of your life but at the same time every hug and soft touch of yours has his body craving for more. It takes a bit of convincing from his s/o before he starts embracing his desire and starts fully clinging to you, needing more of your touches. The angel becomes pliant and putty, almost addicted to the feeling of your touches on his skin and your warmth so close to his body.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ciel #yandere ciel phantomhive #yandere sebastian #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere alois #yandere alois trancy #yandere ash #yandere ash landers

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