#and supporting places that do this will just perpetuate the problem

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

I don't know about the rest of the whale information in this show because I really just like orcas a lot, but I can confirm that orcas' dorsal fins collapsing in captivity is absolutely a thing that happens and absolutely a sign of their unhappiness

#extraordinary attorney woo #to me this feels very much like a 'psh surely everyone knows this' kind of fact #but then maybe some people don't? #anyway this is your psa to never visit an aquarium/sea park/dolfinarium type of place that has orcas #or any kind of big whale/fish that doesn't do well in captivity #orcas swim hundreds of kilometers out in the sea in big pods that consist of their family and orcas that speak their distinct language #putting them in small concrete basins on their own or with random strangers from different pods is the absolute worst thing you could do #and supporting places that do this will just perpetuate the problem

[fiercynn]

oh my fucking god can people stop coopting the term "harm reduction". i know language can change but i refuse to let this term change into the literal opposite meaning just so people can justify their decision to vote for a genocidaire.

harm reduction is literally, meaningfully, about reducing existing risk of harm. a person who uses drugs is at risk of disease or illness because they only have access to dirty needles? provide them with a needle exchange program to make it safer for them. a teen who is sexually active is at risk of becoming pregnant or contracting a sexually transmitted infection? provide them with sex ed and protective devices like condoms or dental dams to allow them to have safe sex.

and yes, there is a part of harm reduction that is aimed at not moralizing about the behavior that you're trying to reduce harm from. but if you're a progressive - as most of the people lecturing us about "harm reduction" purport to be - you should already understand that these behaviors are not ethically bad in and of themselves. it is not inherently unethical to use drugs or be sexually active as a teen, so the fact that harm reduction efforts could "encourage" that behavior is also not unethical! if you think that it is, then you're actually a conservative!

and, importantly, the people who benefit from harm reduction were only at risk of harming themselves in the first place. so helping someone make those activities safer for themselves is not only reducing the risk of harm to that person, but, in doing so, it is not increasing the risk of harm to anyone else either.

voting is giving your active support to a candidate, and thus to that candidate's platform. so please tell me how giving your vote to a president who is actively driving a genocide, perpetuating a pandemic, funding cop cities and a border wall, and driving up deportations - none of which he has pledged to stop if reelected - is reducing existing risk of harm? because harm reduction also isn't "choosing an option that you believe is better than the hypothetical even worse alternative". and voting for biden is, in fact, increasing the existing risk of the harm that he is currently enacting on other people, and encouraging his despicable behavior!

if coopting the term "harm reduction" is the only thing making you feel okay about your decision to vote for biden despite all the people who are dead, disabled, deported, or destitute because of him, then honestly, that seems like a you problem. STOP COOPTING THE TERM.

(and if you feel the urge to respond with something along the lines of "but biden's just doing his best! i'm just telling people to vote for him because i'm scared of trump!" then please at least read this post as well before you say anything to me about it)

#fuck biden #u.s. politics #free palestine #genocide #covid #immigration justice #police abolition #prison abolition #ableism

[mtreebeardiles]

Hmm so that post about normalizing male love did indeed come from someone who’s beliefs come from a place I don’t really agree with, and in the interest of that, I wanted to quote someone else who sees the problem from a lens more aligned with progressive thinking: bell hooks.

From The Will to Change

We construct a culture where male pain can have no voice, where male hurt cannot be named or healed. It is not just men who do not take their pain seriously. Most women do not want to deal with male pain if it interferes with the satisfaction of female desire. When feminist movement led to men’s liberation, including male exploration of “feelings,” some women mocked male emotional expression with the same disgust and contempt as sexist men. Despite all the expressed feminist longing for men of feeling, when men worked to get in touch with feelings, no one really wanted to reward them. In feminist circles men who wanted to change were often labeled narcissistic or needy. Individual men who expressed feelings were often seen as attention seekers, patriarchal manipulators trying to steal the stage with their drama.

Some highlights as to how patriarchy is also negative towards men/masculinity:

The unhappiness of men in relationships, the grief men feel about the failure of love, often goes unnoticed in our society precisely because the patriarchal culture really does not care if men are unhappy.

Patriarchal mores teach a form of emotional stoicism to men that says they are more manly if they do not feel, but if by chance they should feel and the feelings hurt, the manly response is to stuff them down, to forget about them, to hope they go away.

I was gonna slap on the usual disclaimer about male privilege and how patriarchy affects men/masculinity and women/femininity differently but I don’t think the usual disclaimers really work anymore because adherence to a binary and refusing to acknowledge the intersectional realities of privilege are kinda inadequate in reality, aren’t they? It’s the same shit that takes socialization and conflates it with biological essentialism when reality is not everyone is socialized in the same way — but cultural, and specifically patriarchal, systems have a way of punishing/discouraging certain behaviors based on perceived traits both in terms of external AND internal expectations. A young trans masc, for instance, is not ‘socialized’ female prior to coming out/transitioning to whatever degree in the same sense a cis girl is — the external factors still influence expectations, but the two are engaging with it differently as their internal perceptions alter perspectives, if that makes sense. To put it another way, my engagement with femininity from a feminine lens always felt very wrong — engaging with it again now that I am more comfortable and have embraced my masculinity feels so much better.

But to ground this again in bell hooks, consider:

We need to highlight the role women play in perpetuating and sustaining patriarchal culture so that we will recognize patriarchy as a system women and men support equally, even if men receive more rewards from that system. Dismantling and changing patriarchal culture is work that men and women must do together.

You can’t change a system by adhering to ANY of its methodologies. Denying men emotional growth, expression, and the ability to communicate their feelings in healthy ways IS the same method used by the patriarchy — yes, even if it is a woman doing it.

#on masculinity #bell hooks #one day I’ll expand on this maybe #it’s a good read highly recommend

[bapouro]

working at a badly funded and poorly run homeless hostel for over a year has taught me a lot but reassuringly solified my belief in compassion. we have some real dickheads here who have done terrible things (theyre in the minority) and witnessing that ive still never thought for a second that theyre undeserving of shelter, food, amneties and access to second chances. which is not anything someone should pat themselves on the back for but its really disappointing when some coworkers make comments like they dont.

the real problem seems to be that for our council, and society at large, as long as theyre not on the street and not in sight, thats as far as their issue with it seems to go. they want you off the street, but thats it. theres this insane cognitive dissonance where youre either a 'good' homeless person just in need of a leg up or a 'bad' homeless person who gets cycled around the system with little hope, as long as youre not in public view, as long as youre more or less kept alive. staffing is so important. ive worked two quite different places now but here the morale is so low. the turnaround is so high. support workers here are assigned about 20 clients per person when really you can only support around up to 5 responsibly. the building is full but we perpetually need staff in a place where nobody who genuinely wants to help without burning themselves out to do so will stay (not to mention they make £1 above minumum wage). you cant support people like that, and whats the point when these people feel set up to be put in stasis in this bad system. if you cant/dont work, you get housing benefits to pay the rent. if you do find work, your benefits are gone and all your money will go on the rent. the only ones who can seemingly successfully 'bootstrap' themselves out are the ones finding work in secret so nobody else can manipulate them and their new money, which has to be cash in hand to keep their benefits. youre going to feel stuck, if you feel stuck, you feel hopeless or lash out. lashing out at other people losing hope and staff losing the morale to properly help. we can tick off the boxes of basic rights and say theyve got what they need but beyond that, the support to a real quality of life does not feel like an objective in that system. some people will always be in this system, for whatever reason, they will have to have this proper support. they get treated as helpless and totally in a situation of their own making at the same time. its complex. its sad and infuriating. i wanted to write some of the thoughts ive experienced on it for a while. ive met all kinds of people. i wish there was more i could do but really its on structures a lot more powerful than me that are on the whole indifferent. but i guess thats the thing. i want to stay angry but im afforded that indifference. im lucky i dont have to be too anxious about falling into that system. it can be out of my sight, i dont want to let it out of mind. but for them, they cant have either.

#i only work there really sporadically as a receptionist so i really dont bare that brunt but i still obviously see it all around me #its convenient for me to work there in uni and i know im leaving for good this summer so i feel mentally fine working there #but its an issue i feel pretty passionate about #idk. these are pretty obvious points but when you experience it for real it really does get confirmed to you in its complexity #theres really no simple solution but it feels like it gets reduced to that because if you really look at it its kind of an unsustainable me #like a lot of things...

[tangibletechnomancy]

Neural Nets, Walled Gardens, and Positive Vibes Only

the crystal spire at the center of the techno-utopian walled garden

Anyone who knows or even just follows me knows that as much as I love neural nets, I'm far from being a fan of AI as a corporate fad. Despite this, I am willing to use big-name fad-chasing tools...sometimes, particularly on a free basis. My reasons for this are twofold:

Many people don't realize this, but these tools are more expensive for the companies to operate than they earn from increased interest in the technology. Using many of these free tools can, in fact, be the opposite of "support" at this time. Corporate AI is dying, use it to kill it faster!

You can't give a full, educated critique of something's flaws and failings without engaging with it yourself, and I fully intend to rip Dall-E 3, or more accurately the companies behind it, a whole new asshole - so I want it to be a fair, nuanced, and most importantly personally informed new asshole.

Now, much has already been said about the biases inherent to current AI models. This isn't a problem exclusive to closed-source corporate models; any model is only as good as its dataset, and it turns out that people across the whole wide internet are...pretty biased. Most major models right now, trained primarily on the English-language internet, present a very western point of view - treating young conventionally attractive white people as a default at best, and presenting blatantly misinformative stereotypes at worst. While awareness of the issue can turn it into a valuable tool to study those biases and how they intertwine, the marketing and hype around AI combined with the popular idea that computers can't possibly be biased tends to make it so they're likely to perpetuate them instead.

This problem only gets magnified when introduced to my mortal enemy-

If I never see this FUCKING dog again it will be too soon-

Content filters.

Theoretically, content filters exist to prevent some of the worst-faith uses of AI - deepfakes, true plagiarism and forgery, sexual exploitation, and more. In practice, many of them block anything that can be remotely construed as potentially sexual, violent, or even negative in any way. Frequently banned subjects include artistic nudity or even partial nudity, fight scenes, anything even remotely adjacent to horror, and still more.

The problems with this expand fractally.

While the belief that AI is capable of supplanting all other art forms, let alone should do so, is...far less widespread among its users than the more reactionary subset of its critics seem to believe (and in fact arguably less common among AI users than non-users in the first place; see again: you cannot give a full, educated critique of something's failings without engaging with it yourself), it's not nonexistent - and the business majors who have rarely if ever engaged with other forms of art, who make up a good percentage of the executives of these companies, often do fall on that side, or at least claim to in order to make more sales (but let's keep the lid on that can of worms for now).

When this ties to existing online censorship issues, such as a billionaire manchild taking over Twitter to "help humanity" (read: boost US far-right voices and promote and/or redefine hate speech), or arcane algorithms on TikTok determining what to boost and deboost leading to proliferation of neologisms to soften and obfuscate "sensitive" subjects (of which "unalive" is frequently considered emblematic), including such horrible, traumatizing things as...the existence of fat people, disabled people, and queer people (where the censorship is claimed to be for their benefit, no less!), the potential impact is apparent: while the end goal is impossible, in part because AI is not, in fact, capable of supplanting all other forms of art, what we're seeing is yet another part of a continuing, ever more aggressive push for sanitizing what kinds of ideas people can express at all, with the law looking to only make it worse rather than better through bills such as KOSA (which you can sign a petition against here).

And just like the other forms of censorship before and alongside it, AI content filtering targets the most vulnerable in society far more readily than it targets those looking to harm them. The filters have no idea what makes something an expression of a marginalized identity vs. what makes it a derogatory statement against that group, or an attempt at creating superficially safe-for-work fetish art - so, they frequently err on the side of removing anything uncertain. Boys in skirts and dresses are frequently blocked, presumably because they're taken for fetish art. Results of prompts about sadness or loneliness are frequently blocked, presumably because they may promote self harm, somehow. In my (admittedly limited) experiment, attempts at generating dark-skinned characters were blocked more frequently than attempts at generating light-skinned ones, presumably because the filter decided that it was racist to [checks notes] ...acknowledge that a character has a different skin tone than the default white characters it wanted to give me. Facial and limb differences are often either erased from results, or blocked presumably on suspicion of "violent content".

But note that I say "presumably" - the error message doesn't say on what grounds the detected images are "unsafe". Users are left only to speculate on what grounds we're being warned.

But what makes censorship of AI generated work even more alarming, in the context of the executive belief that it can render all other art forms obsolete, is that other forms of censorship only target where a person can say such earth-shaking, controversial things as "I am disabled and I like existing" or "I am happy being queer" or "mental health is important" or "I survived a violent crime" - you can be prevented from posting it on TikTok, but not from saying it to a friend next to you, let alone your therapist. AI content filtering, on the other hand, aims to prevent you from expressing it at all.

This becomes particularly alarming when you recall one of the most valuable use cases for AI generation: enabling disabled people to express themselves more clearly, or in new forms. Most people can find other workarounds in the form of more conventional, manual modes of expression, sure, but no amount of desperation can reverse hand paralysis that prevents a person from holding a pen, nor a traumatic brain injury or mental disability that blocks them from speaking or writing in a way that's easy to understand. And who is one of the most frequently censored groups? Disabled people.

So, my question to Bing and OpenAI is this: in what FUCKING universe is banning me from expressing my very existence "protecting" me?

Bad dog! Stop breaking my shit and get the FUCK out of my way!

Generated as a gift for a friend who was even more frustrated with that FUCKING dog than I was

All images - except the FUCKING dog - generated with Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #i want to make a stress toy out of that dog #i want to make a squishy stretchy plush toy #with weighted beans so it makes a satisfying THUNK when you throw it at the fucking wall #you did it you bastards you made a dog problematic

[yourtongzhihazel]

hello, are you under the impression that there is a non-capitalist economic system that eliminates the problem of powerful people exploiting the less powerful? Serious question.

Also, thanks for being a communist, and by that, I mean thanks for being a fascist. Don't worry, though, you aren't pissing on the graves of anyone who's been starved or killed by the systematic failures of communism to provide for the economic needs of those who live under it. Oh, and thanks for being a westerner, because I know you are! Just ignore all the oppressed people in eastern Europe and Asia who had to live through communism. You, who have enjoyed the high living standards brought about by capitalism and have known nothing but luxury that my immigrant parents wouldn't have dared dream of. What immense, staggering privilege you must be speaking from. I'm sure that privilege hasn't affected your perspective at all, though. But hey, you gotta know better than all those dirty immigrants who come to the west specifically for its liberal democracy and capitalism, right?

I'm going to stop insulting you and start being serious. Please reconsider your politics. Please reconsider your social circles. Please understand that just because someone says one good thing ("trans rights are human rights!") doesn't mean that everything they say is good ("Capitalism is killing us!") Please stop supporting communism, an authoritarian ideology that people are still suffering from. You could get out there and do some real good. Maybe serve meals to homeless people? I do that once a month.

are you entirely fucking serious

Do i have to wear a big fucking sticker that says "I am Chinese, my family and I have benefited greatly from communism"

How in the god damn hell can anyone see my blog and NOT see this? Should I change my got damn pinned post or something unbelievable.

Luxuries brought by capitalism? an economic system does no work. Who made those luxuries? Where did they come from? Who shipped it? Why did they make it ship it to where it went? Who bought it from who? Who sold it? The answers to these problems is found in political-economy. If you actually cared about where 79 cent bananas come from and why people from Latin America can only go to the us to escape their poverty, you would find that it is the united states who keeps Latin America in perpetual subjugation. Need I remind you that every single country (except Cuba) in Latin America is capitalist? Why are their failures not a reflection on the capitalist system to you? The "migrant crisis" is imperialism's chickens coming home to roost.

The extreme poverty rate in east Asia has fallen from 1 billion in 1990 to 25 million in 2019. Where did this poverty reduction take place? The People's Republic of China. In 2021, the PRC entirely eliminated extreme poverty within its borders. The PRC evaluates extreme poverty on a higher and stricter basis than the IMF or world bank uses so the number of people raised above poverty according to the CPC is LOWER than reported by western sources. One of the families who benefited from this poverty reduction? MINE. 800 million people raised out of poverty in the past 75 years. There are no bread lines in China. There is one in every city in america.

You want to know what I do? Im a union organizer. I worked with the DSA and the Teamsters to unionize Amazon. I am now working with the UAW as a union maid and recruiter for graduate students. Your band-aid solution of hunger does nothing to actually treat the root cause of hunger. Your understanding of politics and the economy is shallower than a puddle.

Start becoming more curious about the material causes of poverty and stop being a class traitor.

#i fucking hate liberals #mmp

[netherfeildren]

I am a lantern

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Birdie realizes she’s pregnant. This takes place some time within the events of chapter 2 and 3 of Fear of God. 

Content Warnings: Established relationship; Fluff; Unprotected sex; Domestic kink; Oral sex; Discussions of menstruation; Mention of rough sex; Pregnancy; Internal angst

A/N: Surprise, surprise!! In honor of FoG reaching 15k hits on AO3 here’s the first of my planned extras for the FoG universe :) Thank you so much for all of your love and support 💗

Art is Psyche Weeping by Kink Y. Craft (2009)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He hands you the bowl of dinner he’d whipped up for the two of you. 

You’d taken to avoiding the mess hall recently, too attached to the cocoon you’d wrapped yourselves in together – always wanting to be alone, basking in each other’s presence, preparing meals for one another, and then going to bed together to feel each other’s skin and fuck until either of you was too exhausted to move. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning your face up to him for a kiss with your eyes still on the notes you’re reading. There was too much to do lately. The clinic was so busy and Connie had veritably checked out, only popping in once in a while, leaving the heavy lifting to you with Nancy’s assistance. You’re exhausted, a little overwhelmed, entirely terrified with a perpetual black cloud of self doubt and anxiety hovering over your head at all hours of the day. You aren’t prepared for this… you aren’t even a real doctor, for fuck’s sake. Not really — not in any terms that would’ve counted before. Just whatever semblance of one the apocalypse had chewed up and spit out – an entire community was way too much responsibility for you alone. You feel the backs of your eyes pinch. Your back aches and your head throbs and your stomach has been simmering on a low grade of nausea all day long, but you still have so much to go over.

-

When he walks out again, his own bowl in hand, you’re buried face down in your notes, aggressively loud sobs wracking your body. He stares at you for a second, brow pulled down low, and all you can do is look up at him and practically wail. 

Jesus, Birdie. He sighs, long and drawn out, he’s been waiting for this – had felt the storm brewing all evening. Something’s been bugging you or setting you off the past few days, and try as he might, he can’t figure out what the real problem is. He doesn’t want to ask outright just yet – he knows you’re stressed. Connie’s been pushing harder and harder to get you to agree to let him call it quits, and Joel knows you’re scared and stressed and feeling unnecessarily unsure of yourself. If you’d asked him, he thinks you’re ready for the responsibility – more than ready. No one would be able to take care of the community better than your kind and gentle hands and magnificent mind would. 

He sets his bowl down, you’ve not even touched yours, and if it weren’t for the tears, the two of you’d be having words right now about your irresponsible eating habits. He hates when you get so distracted you forget meals, fills him with an inordinate amount of stress. He just needs to know that you’re well fed and taken care of at all times, it’s as simple as that. “Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He pulls your mess of papers and journals and books and your ugly, orange throw from your lap and sets it all gently on the table beside you – ignores your protests as he wraps one arm behind your back and another one under your knees. “You’re done for the night.” He pulls the book you’re trying to reach for out of your hands and scoops you up into his arms with a grunt. Damn knees. “You’re goin’ to bed. No more working tonight.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder to continue your sobbing. 

“I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hitch and hiccup. “I’m not finished,” you protest, “I have more to go over,” but your arms tighten around him, and he feels you mouth at the skin of his neck. Emotional and needy, recently. Hungry for his cock and his hands and his tongue at all hours of the day. Not that he was complaining, at all. But he did wonder what’d gotten into you. 

“You are for tonight,” he says softly, “You’re exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you grouch, stubborn and too adorable for your own good. His heart pinches a little. Your weight is so slight in his arms, carrying you up the stairs, just a little bird. He wonders, more often than not, how something so small can be so powerful, can terrify him so much, hold so much sway over his life, his very existence. It scares him enough to keep him away from you, as much as he can force himself, at least, even if he sees it for the lie within himself that it truly is. The two of you are practically living together at this point. As much as he feels like he needs to force himself to lie or pretend that this is still just sex, still just something to ease your individual loneliness, if he gives himself a moment to be really, really honest with himself, he knows what this truly is. 

But for now, for a little while longer at least, as long as he can stretch it out, he’ll swallow the truth of the two of you, swallow it down and pretend it’s less than what it is. That it isn’t absolutely everything.

He sets you down gently on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from when he’d fucked you this morning before he’d sent you off to work, shaky legs, leaking cunt and all. His favorite way to start the day. He helps you settle in, pulls off your leggings and his own thick socks he’d pulled over your cold feet earlier and tucks the covers in around you. He eyes the stack of books on the bedside table, a mix of his own historical fiction and westerns and the cracked and well loved spines of some of your medical texts and scientific journals  – wherever he turned his eye in his house, there were signs of you, signs of the way you’d settled into his life, become an intrinsic part of his existence. He wonders for a moment if he should go as far as taking them downstairs with him, but when he looks down at your sleepy, tear swollen eyes gazing up at him, he decides you’re probably too tired to disobey. 

“Sleep,” he says down at you with false severity. He’s sure he’s entirely transparent, and as you turn your face into his pillow he catches the quick quirk of your smile… yeah, definitely transparent. He hears your muffled yes, sir, as he turns to go back downstairs and tidy up the kitchen before he comes back to join you in bed.

When he makes it back upstairs, his abandoned dinner, scarfed down quickly, and the kitchen cleaned, of course, of course, the bedside lamp is on and your face is buried in one of your textbooks. You’re holding it so close to your face, the tip of your nose almost brushes it, and he scoffs, typical, at the sight of you, but when he looks down he takes in the entire lithe length of you stretched out across his bed. The t-shirt of his you’re wearing has ridden up over your ass so that your little, pink, polka dot panties are peeking up at him. The soft cotton has ridden up into the cleft of your ass so that the elastic digs into the lush swell of your bottom, and he feels his cock stir at the sight. 

Yeah… too adorable, too damn beautiful for your own good. Definitely… He’s going to lick and kiss and bite all of that gorgeous skin in a second.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?”

“Just one second–” you mumble into the page, not even turning to look at him. He goes into the restroom to brush his teeth, listens to the sound of you turning the pages, one second his ass. If he didn’t forcibly take the book out of your hand and fuck you to sleep you’d never put the damn thing down. Joel supposes he can make the sacrifice.

He comes back out into the bedroom, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and shucking his jeans and boxers down his legs before kneeling behind you on the bed. He reaches for your panties, fuck– he really likes the polka dots, and you’ve still not put the damn book away as he pulls them down the smooth slopes of your legs, and buries his face in your cunt from behind. And finally, finally, he hears the thump of the book against the wooden boards of the floor and then your moan as he licks into your pussy, pulling you apart by the softness of your ass. You groan for him, throaty and drawn out as you arch your back to give him better access. 

“Yeah… that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he says into your skin, licking a long, wet stripe from your clit all the way to the tight furl of your asshole. He’d taken you hard this morning, fucking your pussy almost brutally until he’d pulled out and pushed his way into your back hole to come in your ass. The two of you had been filthy lately. You’d been particularly insatiable, but you incited something in him that turned him into a fucking animal sometimes. You had the uncanny ability to crawl under his skin and make his blood boil and rage until the only thing that seemed to settle him was your come and your spit and your sweat in his mouth, covering every inch of his skin.

If he really thought about it, he knew he was obsessed with you. Obsession verging on something much more serious – verging on… No, not yet… He wouldn’t think of that yet. 

He pulls back to survey the blushing, flutter of your little hole. Fucking needy thing, he rumbles, but as he goes to push a single finger into your opening, he feels you wince and pull back slightly. Shit, he knew he’d been too rough this morning. He licks another wet swipe along the cleft of your ass. “You sore, baby?” All he gets is your muffled moan and a slight nod of your head, your face buried in the pillows as you hitch your hips higher, trying to tempt him, swaying your ass gently from side to side… like he’d said, needy. He anchors himself up on one arm, the other keeping you spread open while he lets a long string of spit trickle slowly from his pursed mouth, the thick glob covering your tight hole so that he can smear it into your skin. Joel, Joel – he hears you begging into the sheets. “Yeah… I got you, little bird. Don’t worry–” He bends his head again to bite at the crease where your asscheek meets the back of your thigh and then grips your hips to slowly roll you over.

Your eyes are hazy, glazed and wet when he takes in your flushed face. He crawls up the length of your body to lay beside you, slotting one arm under your head and the other wrapping around your thigh to bring it up over his hip. “N– no, Joel– I– I still want you to fuck me… I still wanna come,” you mewl, scratching at his shoulders and arms. Tiny little fingers digging into his skin to try and pull him into obedience. 

“Uh huh, I gotcha, baby… don’t worry. But I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re sore.” He slots his cock between your thighs, pressed up against your wet cleft and starts to slide through your sensitive folds. You shake and jitter in his arms, little hiccuping moans and whimpers every time the wide head bumps and catches against the swollen nub of your clit. 

Please, please, I can take it.

“My poor Birdie,” he coos, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” The hand on your thigh sneaks back and around your bottom to slot between your thighs, pressing up on his sliding cock to apply greater pressure to your cunt. “How’s this, huh? Feel good?”

“Ungh, ah, ah ah…” So good, so good, you whisper, hot breath fanning over the underside of his chin. He feels the wet swipe of your tongue, your little teeth sinking into the edge of his jaw. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me–” His tip catches at your tender opening and you jerk slightly in his arms, he fists the hand not between your legs in your hair to anchor you in place and presses his mouth to yours, a long, wet swipe behind the edge of your teeth. He can hear how wet you are as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your moans and whimpers getting louder, more desperate. The sound of you is obscene, his own personal wet fucking dream.

 His dream girl… come to life. 

“That’s right, baby. Just like that – gonna come on my cock just like this. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? Don’t I always take care of you just how you need?” You start to tremble even harder, your leg wrapped around him tightening at his waist so that your heel is pressed sharply into the base of his spine and he feels you jerk as he grinds the thick base of himself into your clit and you start to come. Mewling and keening his name, his good, beautiful girl. He slides his hand up your bottom and back, long, slow passes of his palm along your sweat damp spine to settle you. “That better?” he whispers into your hair. You shiver, and he feels the nod of your head as you mouth as his throat and chest. 

“Yes… thank you.” He pulls back to wrap his hand around your jaw, your bones feel so fragile beneath his strength – something delicate he’s been afforded the privilege of being able to touch with these violence soaked hands of his. He can’t think about how frightened you make him, not now, not when he has you beneath him like this, soft and sated and pliant – the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life. He smushes your cheeks together and plants a soft kiss to your puckered mouth. “Beautiful girl.” All you do is burrow further into the covers, a soft sigh as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. And so fine, he can admit it, right here and now. He fucking loves you, and it’ll probably be the thing to kill him in the end, this recalcitrance he’s forcing himself into. 

-

You stir awake in the middle of the night. He’s draped over you in his sleep, his face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, big hand palming the weight of your breast. He’s so big and muscular and heavy and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, drag your fingers through his thick curls, and listen to the sound of his soft snores. 

Your entire body feels like one unending, tender bruise. Every sensation heightened, too sensitive, like a raw, exposed nerve. You don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, what’s gotten into you. You’re on the verge of overwhelmed tears, just from the feel of him, the sound of his soft breathing, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how much you want him. You’ve been on the verge of tears for days, the slightest thing setting you off. 

You lay there for a while holding him, sleep gone out the window in the night, abandoning you to wakefulness, but you realize that the reason you’d stirred awake is that you’re cramping low in your belly, a dull and chronic sort of pulse, deep in your womb. Shit, you need to get up and check if you’re bleeding. 

You shift out from under him slowly, slipping from beneath his heavy paw to slip into the restroom. He turns over in his sleep, arm thrown out over the space you’ve just vacated, as if he’s searching for you, even unconscious. As you move towards the restroom there’s another throbbing pulse low in your belly, like you’re carrying around a bruise in the shape of him inside of you. Everything feels extra tender – coiled tight. He’s been insatiable lately — more than his usual. He’d had you four times yesterday alone. Twice today, plus your fooling around before you’d gone to sleep. Your cunt is sore and puffy and soaking wet, even after he’d cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth before falling asleep. Sometimes it seems like you’re fucking a teenager instead of an old man with the stamina he’s got in him. You laugh quietly. 

But when you pull your underwear down to sit on the cold toilet basin, there’s nothing. Huh… you’d for sure thought the cramping meant you’d started your period. A slow simmering churning starts up in your gut, slowly, slowly starting a low boil. Maybe you’re starting soon, that’s why you’re cramping – it’s fine. You wipe and stand to wash your hands. Maybe dinner isn’t sitting right – but no… you’d barely eaten. So something you’d had before then. That’s probably why you’re so sensitive and on edge lately – you’re probably getting sick. You’d been nauseous the past few days, and there was that bout of vomiting the other day. You pull open one of his lavatory drawers, looking for the antacid tablets you know he hoards, when you’re met with the sight of your menstrual cup, sitting in the little plastic bin you keep it in. 

Shit.

Why is this over here? Since when has it been over here? Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.

You can’t remember the last time you’d used it. You try and count back the weeks – fuck, the months. Real panic starts to flutter and fizz in your belly.  When was the last time you’d had a period? Surely more than four weeks ago but … but if it’s been that long, if you’re remembering correctly… then… then, it’s been closer to two months by now. So that would mean… that means… you turn towards the door where Joel sleeps, unaware, on the other side as if you can see him through the thick wood. 

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the rhythm of its beat ricocheting up to a concerning speed. Oh, God. Oh, God. How could you have been so careless – so distracted? How is this the first time you’re even thinking about this – even realizing it? But no… if you’re being honest, objective – you know you’ve only been waiting for something like this to happen – for months now. How could you not? When the two of you had never even pretended at being careful or responsible for preventing something like this. Oh, God – how are you going to tell him? What is he going to say? He’s going to be so angry. 

But a voice at the back of your mind whispers that you’re only telling yourself that – that you know it isn’t true – that you know he’d be not only happy, but overjoyed at the thought of a baby. But how could you really know for sure? When he’s always been firm in keeping that last sliver of distance between the two of you? Still after all these months – unable to admit the truth of what lived here, between the two of you. That this isn’t just sex – that the two of you are in love with each other. 

You lean against the sink for support, your shaky legs on the verge of collapse, and stare at yourself in the mirror. This puts your behavior of the last few days into better perspective. All the tears, the shaky stomach, feeling so sensitive – like a raw nerve all he needed to do was look at, breathe on, to provoke. If you really think about it, you’d been the instigator at the start of each of your encounters in the last few days. Seeking him out ravenously – hungry and desperate for his cock and his skin and his smell at every hour of the day. Weepy, swollen cunt – even when he wasn’t around to tempt you, and he’d left you satisfied, and yet, still wanting more, every single time. 

You step back out into the dark space of his bedroom. He’s on his back, one bulging arm thrown over his head. His mess of curls strewn across the surface of his pillow. You watch the rise and fall of his belly, his thick, strong waist, with the cadence of his breaths. Your womb twists with lust. 

Fuck, you’re probably pregnant with this man’s baby. How are you going to tell him?

You can make out the thick heft of his cock through the thin material of the sheets covering his waist, he’d not bothered to put anything else on again after he’d made you come, and it makes your mouth water and the place between your legs so achy. Your recent behavior is completely transparent now, you’d been so needy, insatiable, the only thing to settle you the heavy weight of his cock stretching you open and pounding deep into you. Fucking typical. He’d done this to you, and now he got to reap the rewards of you climbing onto his dick at all hours of the day. 

You roll your eyes at him in the dark as you slide back into bed beside him, running your palm over the flat of his belly. He clasps your hand with his in his sleep as he rolls over, pulling you along with him, wrapping your arm around himself and tucking it up by his neck so that you’re spooning him. He drapes his arm back over your hip and clutches your leg, tucking his fingers right at the place where your ass cheek meets your inner thigh and pulling your front further into his back – trying to get you as close as possible to him. You listen to his deep, sleepy rumble, and you bury your face between his warm back and the bed, the sheets smell like the both of you, sweet and musky – like your sex, your love making. You’ve made a baby together. Joel’s baby. The thought makes tears pool in your eyes and start a slow, silent stream down your face. Your insides clenching wantonly at the same time that your stomach flutters and heaves with nerves and panic. There are too many sensations spilling through your body all at the same time, and you think your frame starts to tremble, an uncontainable gasp slipping out because suddenly you feel his muscles snap awake, his rough voice saying your name sharp and worried. You wrap your arm tighter around him, digging your nails into the skin of his neck to stop him from turning over. You don’t want him to see you like this, you don’t want him to know, you don’t want him to be angry or worried or regretful.

 He’d never be any of those things, your heart whispers at your anxious mind. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” he says into the dark room. You feel his muscles tense as he tries to escape your tight hold without being too rough.

“I don’t know–” you splutter into his back, your voice coming out muffled against his warm skin. “I’m– I’m emotional. I think I’m getting my period soon,” you lie. Lie, lie, fucking liar. You don’t think you’ll be getting that for a good, long while. 

He sighs, gripping your wrist firmly to pull your arm away for him so he can turn over to cradle you gently in his arms. The best place in the entire world. You cry harder. 

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers against your hairline, pressing his soft mouth to your forehead, your temple. “It’s alright… no tears.” He pets at the nape of your neck. His voice is so deep, you feel the vibrations of it pass through his chest and rumble into your own, and it makes the tips of your breasts tighten into aching little knots. You wrap your arms around his neck to meld your chest tighter to his. You wish you could live inside of him the way he now lives inside of you. He’s left a piece of himself with you, eventually it’ll grow and the whole world will know how definitively you belong to him. You’ll be round and swollen and only his, only his. The thought makes your pussy clench. 

“Joel–” you tug as his curls, his beard, trying to pull his mouth down to yours. He rumbles deep in his chest, gives you his tongue. He’s being too slow, too gentle, you need him to fuck you hard, desperate – as desperate as you feel for him in this moment, to ground you and tame this panic surging up inside of you with his strong hands. 

“Kiss me – hug me,” you beg. 

“M’right here, Birdie.” He cards his hand through your hair, pulls your head back slightly, “Look at me – I’m right here with you.”

“More, more, please.” You lick at his mouth, drag your teeth down his chin.

He rolls you over to settle his hips between your spread legs. You can feel the searing hot brand of his hard cock against the inside of your thigh. He’s always hard for you. He’s always hard for you, and you’re always soft and wet and ready for him, and the two of you are perfect for each other. You were made for each other, and now you’ve made a baby together. “You need my cock again, little bird?”

You spread your legs wider, “Yes, yes – I always need you,” you whine. He wraps his hand around your throat and pauses to stare down at you for a second, his brow pulled down low. He bends his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses his mouth to your own. You keep your eyes wide open also, looking between his dark eyes. His lashes are so long, the thick fringe of them fanning out so wide they cast a shadow across his cheekbones. The two of you are so close you can make out each individual lash, the little lines around his eyes – stress, before … but you hope, now, only from laughing too much, from being too happy. You always want him to be so, so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all. You want him to be overwhelmed and submerged in so much ridiculous happiness. The two of you hold there for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. You love him so much it is a physical ache within you. 

He sits back slightly then, and lifts your thigh to press a soft kiss to the inside of your leg, then another to your belly, right over your womb, your heart swoops at that and you whimper, then another right to the top of your mound. The tip of his tongue peeking out to lap at your clit, just a little. 

Then he stretches over you again, giving you all his weight and reaches his hand down to pet the back of his knuckles along your slit, “Shit, fuckin’ wet and swollen, Birdie.”

“I want you so much,” you breath, eyes fluttering closed as he parts your puffy lips and pets at your clit. He starts up a gentle rhythm around your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you kicking your legs out impatiently around him for more. Why is he being so gentle and mean and soft? You need it hard, you need more. 

“Please, Joel, please, please, fuck me, please.” You can feel hot tears burning down the slopes of your cheeks. He’s going to think you’ve lost the fucking plot, crying and begging for his cock like this. He continues to be mean and horrible and pet softly at your clit, like a whisper over your raging, burning skin. 

“Settle down. Gonna give it to you how I see fit.”

“You’re so mean,” you kick out one leg, pathetically, at his side. The broad expanse of him has you spread so wide there’s no purchase to be found, all you can do is lie here and take it. He’s so horrible — look at him, he’s gone and knocked you up and now he won’t even fuck you how you need him to. You pout up at him, cry and mewl pathetically. “Please, harder, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh, said you were sore. Gotta be gentle with my soft, little cunt.”

“But you’re going to fuck me right?” you cry.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t worry,” he says softly, starts to circle his thumb at your tender entrance, pressing gentle pressure on it. You do your best to stifle your wince, shit, it’s not necessarily sore, just so, so sensitive. This is all his fault. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and bite him as hard as you can. Make him hurt and writhe the way he’s making you. He starts to slowly press a single finger inside. You’re so wet, dripping, the passage is smooth and slick. 

“Harder,” you beg.

“Quit.” You let out a frustrated moan. He starts to fuck you slowly just like that, a single finger, his thumb circling your clit in slow, measured circles. His finger is thick, but not enough, and you clench your inner muscles, trying to bear down on it. “Stop that,” he snaps. “Take it how I give it to you. Need you to relax, Birdie. What’s got you all twisted up in knots?”

“I don’t know,” liar, liar, liar, you whine, trying as hard as you can not to roll your hips, to stay still and settled like he wants you to, but there’s a goddamn forest fire raging inside of you, and having him so close, such a small part of him inside you, is only making it worse. He pulls his single finger out, circles his thumb around your entrance, back up to your clit, swipes up and down like a feather, then pressure to your entrance again, and he’s pushing two of his thick fingers inside of you now. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He starts to slide them in and out, a small crook of his fingers to pet at the soft, spongy spot inside of you. All the while he continues to circle your clit, and he bends his head to kiss at your mouth, your jaw, a soft bite to your clavicle that has you keening wantonly, then a swipe of his tongue to your jugular – you wish he’d bite you there, sink his teeth into your skin and drink. God, your thoughts are unhinged. You cannot, cannot deal with nine months of this, what the fuck. His mouth slides down to your breast, hot and wet, and he sucks hard on the aching tip, flicking his tongue back and forth slowly. His fingers haven’t paused their slow onslaught and at one particularly hard pull at your breast you suddenly feel everything in your pelvis go blindingly, white hot and tight and then loose and wet and you start to come on his fingers. Your hips rolling gently upwards to take more of him. He never goes harder, never faster, he just continues his gentle ministrations of you – playing you like his own personal little doll. You moan long and ragged, yeah, that’s it, just like that, he whispers into your hair. His words sliding through the strands like water. He guides you through the cresting waves of your orgasm, his touch becoming slower and softer as you throb on and on. Once the contractions of your muscles have slowed he pulls his fingers from your cunt, the wet suck, as loud and obscene as the thoughts in your head are, and then the burning hot head of his cock is there, slowly pushing into your still quivering flesh, so thick. 

“Gonna take my cock now, little bird.”

Yes, yes, please. Thank you. All you can do is sigh, hitch your knees higher up his sides, you hook one hand under the bend of one leg, opening yourself up for him as much as you physically can with all of his weight pressing down into you. 

He slides to the very end of you, letting you feel every throbbing inch and ridge as he goes as slow as everything else he’s done to you tonight. 

“Hard, Joel. Harder, please,” you beg again. His only response is a rumble of disapproval as he starts to thrust into you slow, but so fucking deep. You feel split wide open, he’s split you open and peered inside of you and decided to leave a piece of himself within, and he doesn’t even know it. And you decide in that instant that you’re not going to tell him – with the feel of him as deep inside of you as he can physically get, the knowledge that he’s even deeper than even he knows, you decide you’re not going to tell him until you’re absolutely forced to. It’s wrong, perhaps, or definitely, after all, he has a right to know also, it’s his baby too. But you just can’t. You can’t face the reality of this, his potential reaction, whether it be good or bad, right now, not for a while. You need time, time to gather your courage, your thoughts, your very skin around yourself, stitch yourself together and muster your strength and prepare for whatever outcome telling him might incite. 

“Not gonna give it to you harder, Birdie. Quit beggin’.”

“I don’t care– I don’t care, Joel, please.” You claw and scratch at him, but nothing you do prompts him to go harder. There’s a desperation, a wave of anxious fear surging up inside of you – the fear of him leaving you one day, of not wanting you anymore – when you know you’ll love him for the rest of your life. You are terrified of ending up alone, out in that dark forest again. 

“Quit.” He gathers both of your wrists in one of his strong hands, brings them above your head to lie limply above the pillows. Divested of all your strength and fight, you’re left only to lie beneath him and take all he chooses to give you. “Told you,” he grits as he rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts into yours, the bone of his pelvis grinding into your clit. “You’re gonna take it how I decide to give it to you. Only me – you’re mine, you’re mine, I decide.”

And fuck – if that doesn’t do something to you, if hearing those words don’t settle that coiling snake within you. You go soft and pliant and submissive at his words, spreading your legs as wide as you can and tilting your pelvis up so that he can drill into you as deep as possible, right to the place where your little secret is growing now. 

And he’s so gentle with you, so careful – even when he’s fucking you hard and savage the way you both like sometimes, he’s still careful to never hurt you more than you need him to. It makes you wonder at the violence it took him to become this gentle – to become so well acquainted with his own strength, his ability to maim, that he can now be so in control of it, handle you with such care. 

The weight of his thrusts changes suddenly. He slides a palm under your bottom to lift you up into his impaling cock, presses his knees further up under you to anchor you more firmly in his lap and pounds into you, the wide tip of his cock concentrated against the head of your cervix in blinding thrusts, and you’re so sensitive on the inside from what he’s done to you, from the change he’s wrought upon your body, that you start to come again. Toe curling waves of pleasure start at your womb and spiral out of your limbs in searing bolts of heat, your back arched tight as a bow string. Your inner muscles throb and clench around his still battering cock and you hear the guttural moan of your name spit from his mouth, and then the kick of his cock inside of you as he starts to come too. “Fucking Christ, take it all, Birdie – every last drop of my come. Need this pussy stuffed full of me – s’only way you behave, little girl.” 

All you can do is nod dumbly and take it, just like he said. 

He kisses and licks every inch of your body afterwards, eating up your slick and sweat and his own come with broad swipes of his tongue. You’d never imagined this sort of intimacy – it’s something that you hadn’t even thought possible. A sort of physical connectedness that belied the truth of your current situation – the things still hidden between the two of you. 

He lies beside you once he’s done eating his come out of your pussy, one last orgasm pulled gently from you with his mouth. His slick cock, soft now, pressed against your still flat belly as the two of you lay facing each other, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, legs tangled together, just taking each other in. 

You think you’re probably about two months along, give or take. It’ll still be a while before you start showing. You have time yet. 

You’re going to let yourself think about this now, only tonight, and then you’re going to push it from your mind until you can’t ignore the situation any longer. The reality of it is too terrifying to consider at length with everything else going on in your lives at the moment. 

What will he say? What will you do if you tell him your truth and he goes away from you? How will you survive something like that? But even as you ask yourself this, you know it’s unnecessary, for despite his capacity for violence, or his own fear or recalcitrance or hesitancy, despite the lies he tells himself and you about what this is, he is also good and honorable and loyal. Joel Miller is a good man. And he’d never abandon you or a child of his, but still, you’re afraid. 

So, no, you can’t focus on this now – you’ll push it from your mind until it becomes more pressing, unavoidable. There are other more important things to deal with now, other things to consider before you can think of yourself. 

You run a single finger over the thick line of his brow, against the fluttering of his lashes, down the strong slope of his nose. A baby. Joel’s baby. You hope they have his dark curls. 

You love him and you’re going to have his baby.

And you don’t have it in you to tell him either of these truths. 

“Go to sleep, little bird.” 

-

You sneak out the next morning. In the cold light of the new dawn, the truth you’re withholding is all the more terrifying. Fucking life changing. You slip out of his warm bed, the protective embrace of his strong arms, and shuffle around his room as quiet as you can for your clothes. Your shit is everywhere, strewn around his room and restroom. You need to go home, you need distance – space to think. You dig in a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner for your bra and tiptoe as quietly as you can to his bedside table to slip your books you need for today from between his own stack of novels. Once you’ve retrieved the texts you pause to look down at him, still sleeping. The fact that he can now rest so deeply like this, that he isn’t jerking awake at a hair triggers notice with the slightest sound or movement around him speaks so deeply to that part of you that wants nothing more than for him to be as happy as he can possibly be, safe and serene and never worried for anything ever again. 

Your greatest fear is that this news you now carry will disturb that peace, that serenity or happiness you so desperately want for him. So you sneak out of his home without waking him, head towards your own lonely house to change and wash up, you smell like his come, get the rest of your things for the day and then head to the clinic. You’ll shut this truth in a drawer for as long as you can, and once you can no longer hide it, once it becomes unavoidable, you’ll do your best to make sure he knows you never, never want him to feel obligated to you. Yes… you think, you’ll give him an out, it can be his decision. And even though the thought of that sends a searing, twisting pain to the space in your heart where you carry him, you think it’s the right thing anyways. He deserves to have a choice – when so much of his life has been forced upon him you always want to be the one place he can find choice in. 

He comes into the clinic a few hours later. You’ve just gotten done delivering a baby – real great day for that – when he walks through the front door. You’re finishing up your procedure note and you turn to see him stepping through your office door, a baggie from the mess hall clutched in his hand. 

“Hey… what’re you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in… brought you a scone.” He lifts up the offering of baked goods, gives you a crooked smile. God, your gut and your heart twist and flip at the same time. You turn back to face your mess of papers and notebooks, trying to take deep breaths to keep your tears at bay. This crying shit is really going to start being a problem soon. 

You feel him come up behind you, he sets down the baggie in front of you and braces one hand on the edge of your desk, the other passing over the crown of your head and down your ponytail to tug your head back gently. You look up at him from your angled position, and he frowns down at you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Don’t like it when you sneak off in the mornings without telling me,” he grumbles down at you. 

“Sorry–” you breathe. He huffs at you, leans down to press his mouth to yours. 

“Still feeling funny?” 

You shake your head, still in his hold, but say “Yes,” at the same time. You’re all over the place. He sighs, letting go of your hair and coming down to a crouch beside you. You turn to face him in your seat, knees tucked between his spread thighs. 

He drags a gentle thumb over the soft skin beneath your eye, then up the slope of your cheekbone – that perpetual frown still present. He knows something’s wrong. He knows you. Keeping this from him is going to be so, so difficult. He’s going to tell something is wrong, different, off. Your only recourse is to pretend like you don’t know either. To entirely push this thing that you have no discernible idea how to deal with from your mind. As of this moment, it’s a non-reality. 

“What can I do?” he asks, so gentle, so concerned. 

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. You can’t look at that look in his eyes right now, it’ll make you fall to pieces. You fold forward to press your face into his shoulder, turning your head to sniffle into his neck. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just kiss me.” He slides his hand into your hair against your scalp and angles your head to press his mouth to yours, giving you exactly what you need. 

You may be unsure about so much, but the one thing you do know, without a doubt, is that this man will make a wonderful father. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing that still gets my blood boiling is some people telling the traumatised students to just 'get over it', leave their abusers, or to hurt/kill their tormentors as if it's a walk in the park. Um, hello? That's not how trauma works.

Yeeeah, I find that kinda iffy as well 😬 I don’t feel that it’s quite “right” (for lack of a better term) to judge/compare people’s (/character’s) pain resulting from trauma, or to tell them how they should “fix” said trauma or whatever bad situation they may be in.

**Please note: the rest of this discussion will include mentions of victim blaming and gaslighting; please proceed with caution.***

The problem with doing any of that (even if it is done out of concern or a desire to help people) is that it comes off as like… belittling the victim or downplaying the problem at times?? Like, if you compare traumatic experiences, it can imply that one is “lesser than” or isn’t as serious as the other when the circumstances are just as serious to each victim. (I see this happen most commonly with Vil and Azul; they both experienced bullying in their youth, but for whatever reason people tend to think Vil somehow had it "easy" compared to Azul.) That’s so disheartening and invalidating for any victim to hear. It makes them feel isolated and alone, because the people around them are implying their circumstances aren’t that bad. In reality, it’s not up to onlookers to decide how distressing or disturbing an experience is to someone else.

Telling them what to do is just as unhelpful because it takes away the autonomy of the victim, and the advice given is often unrealistic and unable to actually be carried out. (As another example, the advice I see most often is "Jamil should have just told Kalim he was unhappy with his position and Kalim would have helped him; rarely do fans consider that the Viper family's livelihood would be in jeopardy and Jamil would live in perpetual shame and guilt if he dared to speak out.) How can Jamil and Leona just “get over” a whole life of being put down? How can Riddle just walk out on his mother when he doesn’t have any means to support himself and struggles to even talk back to her? How can it be said that Vil has it better than Azul when both of them were clearly hurt by the bullying they received as children? How can one rush Idia’s grieving process or Malleus’s struggle to accept change and mortality? And if any of them are encouraged to act out in violence, what are the repercussions of that?

We oftentimes forget that, despite Twisted Wonderland taking place in a world with nonsensical elements like magic, the way it chooses to address problems is actually very much grounded in reality. For example, the end of every main story episode isn't really "the end" or a "resolution". Those terms imply that the problem is over when the episode is when it's really not. We proceed in the story with an awareness that the characters we saw last time are still struggling with the trauma they had before. They aren't "fixed" just because they were given good advice or they were beaten in battle until they came to their senses. Their problems didn't magically poof away, the victims are still working on overcoming their horrific experiences and not letting it have power over them. This is a very realistic depiction of trauma and how victims live and have to cope with it in their everyday lives.

A lot of the things the OB boys experiences are things that people irl have as well. This is, in part, what makes them such memorable and relatable characters, and why people may look to them for comfort or to help cope with their own trauma--so they don't feel alone. At the same time, it is because of this closeness and relatability that it can be hurtful when others make comments that talk down to the OB boys and their trauma. It's not always discussed in a mindful manner. Sometimes it's spoken about in a way that sounds like victim-blaming or gaslighting. It's almost as if to imply, "look, it's actually SO easy to fix your problem, so the fact that it has gone on for as long as it has is actually your fault", or, “you're in a much better situation than Person B is, so be grateful!” Unfortunately, it's reflective of behavior demonstrated in real life, with people either doubting or not believing victims,or acting like they know better than the person who has actually gone through something traumatic.

Whether you find yourself relating to the OB boys or not... Whether you have experienced something you deem traumatic for yourself or not... I think it would be nice if we were just a bit more respectful when it comes to talking about these matters 🥲 It shouldn't be a competition where we're sitting around ranking whose trauma is "the worst" (I have literally been sent an ask like this before and it made me extremely uncomfortable💦) or giving unsolicited, unrealistic advice the characters couldn't actually take. We can realize how damaging their individual experiences have been for them and wish them all the best without putting down others' experiences or talking down to them in the process.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #Idia Shroud #Riddle Rosehearts #Jamil Viper #Vil Schoenheit #disney twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #tw // gaslighting #tw // victim blaming #advice #Kalim Al-Asim #Scarabia

[moistvonlipwig]

OUAT Week Day 1: Favorite arc

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was an enchanted forest filled with all the classic characters we know. Or think we know.

But they were never trapped in a place where all their happy endings were stolen. They were never trapped in our world. They just kept living in the enchanted forest forever, same as they always had been.

And they were so much worse off for it.

Snow White and Prince Charming never had to confront the worst parts of themselves or their society. They never had to learn to accept and love a daughter who wasn't exactly how they'd imagined her. They never had to reflect on their past actions or learn to forgive the past actions of others. They built a kingdom that, much like their own selves, looked like a fairytale but crumbled like sand the moment it was challenged.

Emma grew up with her parents, but they coddled her and taught her only to look pretty and pick flowers and sing. She never learned to believe in her own ability to solve problems, never learned the importance of fighting back against wrongdoing, never learned how to do anything but surrender in the face of a challenge.

Henry, like his Storybrooke counterpart, wanted to be a hero. But he never had to learn empathy or compassion for villains. He never had to face the fact that people are more complex than their fairytale labels make them out to be. He never saw the consequences of black-and-white thinking. He became a knight and then a king who prized violence over kindness, vengeance over forgiveness.

Regina never cast her curse, and thus never learned what a hollow victory it truly was. She never adopted a child or learned that there were more valuable things in life than her quest for vengeance. Indeed, that is how we leave her: on the deck of the Jolly Roger, forever in that moment of pure confusion at the idea that anything could be more important than revenge.

Captain Hook, on the other hand, left the Wish Realm and did learn there were more important things in life than revenge. He had a child, and he gave up everything for her. But when he made a mistake and lost her, he had no support system to fall back on, no one to catch him when he fell. He returned to the Wish Realm, slid into depression and desperate schemes, and only clawed his way back to a better life once he joined up with the characters from Storybrooke.

Robin Hood lost Maid Marian early and never had a child with her. He kept stealing for himself and never chose to put his skills towards helping others. He lived a lonely and selfish life, without purpose or fulfillment, until he stepped outside the Wish Realm and was forced to consider what kind of person he really wanted to be.

Rumpelstiltskin lost both his son and the woman he loved. In fact, it's not clear that he was ever even reunited with his son at all. Thus, he never came to appreciate the value of making oneself vulnerable to love or the importance of doing the right thing even if it comes at a cost. Instead, he sought only power over others. He lost the humanity he once had and gave every part of himself over to the anger and fear within him. He became the ultimate Dark One.

The Wish Realm is fundamentally unchallenging. No one is forced to change or to reckon with their past. No one learns to empathize with their enemies. Everyone stays the way they were prior to the first episode of OUAT in perpetuity, calcifying into caricatured versions of themselves. It is a fairytale without depth, a fantasy world without humanity to ground it in reality. The only way to grow past its stagnation is to escape.

There are some strange and inconsistent wordbuilding choices in how the Wish Realm was written, to be sure. But thematically, the Wish Realm arc is coherent and powerful. It is a celebration of the journey these characters have taken with each other. An acknowledgment that the things you go through in life, good and bad, matter to who you are; that sometimes things we think are curses can be blessings in disguise; that, as Regina will put it in 7.20 "Is This Henry Mills?", "scratches are a part of life." The ultimate thesis of the Wish Realm storyline is that the characters of Once Upon a Time are better for having been a part of each other's imperfect, messy lives. I'd like to think that all of us are better off with these imperfect, messy fictional people in our lives, too.

#ouat meta #once upon a time #userstorybrooke #ouat #wish realm arc apologist hive wya #and it's the story of us

[deathbirby]

Decided the Church was the biggest threat??

You do realise she destroys TWSITD too right? But TWSITD is an organisation that isn't made of giant superpowered dragons, they just have the tools to kill a giant superpowered dragon if necessary.

She captures Rhea in most routes specifically so that she can get her help in fighting TWSITD after the war.

She also takes criticism several times. From Manuela, Lindhardt and Ferdinand and constantly changes her opinions.

She doesn't even say the Church is the biggest problem, she says Crests and Nobility are, because, if you fucking recall, the only reason TWSITD were able to kill her siblings at all was because of the nobility system and Duke Aegir!

Holy shit it's almost like she identified the root cause instead of the thing instantly in front of her, which she still ALSO DEALT WITH.

She needed Those Who Slither to capture Rhea, who she keeps free from their grasp. She is using them as best she can to defeat an eternal monarch of all of Fodlan for a millenium, before dealing with the less powerful force. She doesn't call Those Who Slither less important, but you don't win chess by killing the Queen do you? Doesn't mean she isn't the most powerful piece on the board, sometimes it's necessary to do one before the other.

Who would have thought in a tactics game a character would take the time to identify the severity of their threats.

Also Fodlan's history is legitimately twisted BY RHEA. Who's history is she going to listen to? Even Claude gets angry.

The character who most refuses to listen to anyone else's perspective, that would be a very special king man who can't see the forest for the trees. Crests are important because other places have advanced military forces, but y'know, we can't do that so forced caste system and breeding stock of women it is! The rich and poor just need to understand each other and the poor need to understand why I live in a castle and only marry women with crests.

Not only that. There's so much irony in the way that every single route ends with a unified Fodlan, without Rhea as the head of the religious state, who have all undergone reforms that serve to the betterment of the people.

Edelgard legitimately correctly identified the problem areas of Fodlan, that's why all the routes share the same outcomes.

Unification. No Rhea. No TWSITD. Political reform.

Wow!

You argue that she was wrong when she was entirely correct.

Fodlan's past doesn't even matter. It matters to Rhea and TWSITD.

What matters is nobility and crests feed into each other and Rhea is purposefully destroying technology to keep Fodlan in a state of perpetual readiness to accept the return of the goddess who she expects to *drumroll* unite Fodlan! Edelgard blames the Church for a few things they didn't do, but it scarcely matters because the Church is doing wrong things and so is TWSITD and she's getting rid of both.

She doesn't even remove the faith and keeps it running during her occupation of Garreg Mach. What more could she possibly do?

She's not interested in world domination, she never forces Brigid to fight.

She just knows that she can't reform Adrestia without the standing army that is the Knights of Seiros banging down her Empire. Or did you miss the bit where Rhea calls for the summery execution of the head of a sovereign nation without a trial or discussion. And then refuses Byleth when she tries to stop Edelgard from being executed without any form of discussion.

Look, I know people are going to be more harsh on Edelgard and more forgiving to the others because of, reasons? I guess it's kind of evil of her to support disability care where she enables others to work in environments that allow them to reach their maximum potential. Instead of, idk, believing that you're either born strong or weak and the job of the strong is to accept the weak and never try and understand how circumstances may very well be the thing that makes someone "weak."

But what do I know, it's not like there's a character with crippling anxiety that only comes out of her room in a singular route due to the support of someone who helps the "weak" find their strengths. Unlike someone in another route who baulks a being called a shut-in like that very same character. What a guy!

In the end, the history doesn't matter.

Fodlan is a misogynistic, homophobic, feudalist society, ruled by an eternal theocracy, and nobility who would rather assassinate their leaders than attempt reform.

It does not facilitate the common people, who are likely illiterate due to the suppression of the printing press by SOMEONE, and is stifling its own potential for the sake of mindless xenophobia. Which is what the officer's academy is for, by the way, to fight invaders like Dagda and Almyra, two places Rhea has coincidentally collected two people from! Don't forget how Catherine said she would have struck someone who wasn't Shamir down! Rhea did that. Super chill and peaceful. And that's not even mentioning the cover up that was Christophe... Or the treatment of the Western Church, who *checks notes* ah, yes, they eradicated over their errant beliefs over the saints and Rhea's position as archbishop. Yes. She handles dissent from sovereign people well.

The Church seems good because they can afford to appear good because Fodlan has no choice! The nobility are church backed and the church is nobility backed and the Holy Kingdom has no choice because it also church backed!

So yeah, she might have been able to swing an internal reform of her country, all while TWSITD enact their plans in the Kingdom, or she wages a shadow war against them. But, that's probably going to get her the ire of the church if her people start reading and realise their gods are all fake because Sothis is literally dead.

But that's not going to help the poor crested woman in the Kingdom who is needs to have her 10th child so this one, hopefully, maybe might be crested. Which is what Mercedes, Ingrid, Marianne, Dorothea and Bernadetta all have in store for themselves! Oh, and probably Annette and Hilda too but it's less obvious.

Sure would be kind of Edelgard to only help Bernie and Dorothea.

"That example you gave comes from Adrestia!" Yeah, I know. But do you think in the world Sylvain is so afraid of that HASN'T happened? It's unfortunate that the land of Man's Strength didn't have more female students... Unless... You don't think that's indicative of what life is like there do you? Some kind of land where the future king might forget to include one of his close female friends in his list of friends!? The very same one who lost the man she was betrothed to since birth? Surely that places values its women and wouldn't fatten their only daughter up to be breeding stock despite her personal ambitions, all because the loss of crests would destabilize their nation as a whole because the nobility would lose their power and so would the church that legitimises them as an actual nation??

Things are great there. There is no war in Ba Sing Se.

Who fucking cares why Nemesis and Seiros fought. Seiros dragged the entire continent into a war out of vengeance. That's what happened. She then neglected to look into Those Who Slither in the Dark not for one year, not for two, not for five, but for one THOUSAND years.

They're ONLY exposed because of Hubert and Edelgard. Don't fucking forget that. It was their actions that got Those Who Slither killed.

But na, Rhea is gud.

Or at least it's far more comfortable to just believe that both the women are bad and the Boi has all the answers.

"He's setting up the groundwork for a democracy" I hear people bullshit.

You know that's a bad thing right? He's not setting up any fucking schools. Duscur was a genocide. Fodlan is xenophobic. Literally any votes that happen are going to go the exact same way the Voice to Parliament did in Australia and I don't say that as a joke, it's disgusting what happened. Democracy is fucking shit for groups of people who cannot use socially equitable (publically available and suited to the individual circumstances of the user) services to attain political power to force progress.

Dimitri's entire idea isn't to raise these people up, it's to hear what they say and decide PERSONALLY if that's a good idea.

Which is going to go oh so well the first time that comes into conflict with the legitimacy of the church or crests.

Meanwhile Edelgard establishes a system that actively contests her individual judgement through the use of expert testimony filling in for various public and political sectors that are open to literally anyone who proves they are the best in their field, with an intentional retirement plan that breaks the line of succession opening the door for any commoner to rise to the position of emperor.

But yeah, I guess the person who destroys all the major corrupt institutions of Fodlan, believes in rehabilitation instead of retributive justice (she does not kill Aegir or any of the nobles responsible for her imprisonment. She even offers Rhea a chance to surrender and instead serve public reform, something she also offers Jeritza,) creates public schooling, changes her mind on the purpose of religious thinking, grants sovereignty to her vassal state, creates a workspace specifically designed to enable the disabilities of several workers while also aiding them in reaching their personal potential (even while those people could very well turn on her later), and rules the most sexually liberated nation in all of Fodlan, both with regard to gender expression and sexual preference (see Lindhardt, Caspar's less-toxic masculinity, and like, all of the gayness of all the Eagles) which she personally fall under. Yeah. That woman is the stuck up bad guy because she thinks that Nemesis and Seiros fought for the right of humanity to rule itself vs immortals. Instead of. That, ah. Other reason. That they fought.

Yeah Seiros fought Nemesis out of revenge, but did you ever stop to think that maybe Nemesis might not have wanted a dragon pope either? That he may have actually have been a good leader in the north?

Seiros is justified in wanting revenge for her family, but she didn't do Fodlan any favours. She didn't help them. Dagda is doing just fine without the Goddess. Crests may have been genetically wiped out over time if Rhea didn't put so much importance on them to the point they literally change inheritance.

I get it, Slithers bad. They killed Edelgard's family. They hurt her. But it sure must suck to not be able to see the path beyond that and how that was even made possible. Edelgard can see it. She even explains it. Everyone agrees because no one keeps Rhea in charge, including Rhea. And they all kill the Slithers. Except Dimitri who did it on accident and got very lucky it wasn't a Hydra situation... We hope.

Sure is fucked up that Three House's main character dies of screen half the time. Weird.

I also feel like I didn't mention Claude enough. Y'know, the guy who looks into Fodlan's history like crazy. Super fucking crazy and answers all of, zero questions until he asks Rhea who tells him because literally only she has that information and STILL she doesn't know shit about the Slithers.

Yeah, what was Edelgard supposed to do again?

Claude got really lucky. His reformed Fodlan would have been super bad of he didn't know the specifics of *checks notes* Rhea is a dragon and the Slithers did bad things to Fodlan.

Wait. That's the same shit Edelgard knows!

Oh, but it's different because, ah, Seteth and Flayn are still alive, no, wait, that happens in Crimson Flower too.

Seteth is allowed to be in government? The same guy who slaughtered the western church for headcanoning Cichol wrong? Wonderful.

Except, Edelgard doesn't really actually say that Seteth and Flayn can't hold government. She says they can't "rule over humanity" which is contextually different. She doesn't want them to do what Rhea did, but public office is different...

Aww beans. Looks like all she did was start a war under the entirely true pretext that Rhea was abusing her power in the here and now, and so she could break the shackles that her oppressors had over her by turning the tides on them through Byleth or a captured Rhea.

So evil. I hate it when someone comes along to criticise the religiously and politically sanctioned sexual slavery of women and then asks why the King of said kingdom isn't just surrendering to her terms despite the fact that he doesn't have any political motivation outside of:

1. Revenge

2. Occupation is bad? I think? (Wait doesn't the church occupy us-)

when surrending to those terms would actually remove them from under the church's legitimization and provide them with the means to undo the harmful social practices such as sexism and xenophobia instilled within them from the church that lead to his personal trauma in the first place.

But y'know, the name would change. He'd still be in power because Edelgard does maintain the regional leaders for a time while she puts her reforms in place, but the name would change and that's icky. Better die on this hill for some reason so the sacrifice of everyone who died in this war can be even more for nothing as we half ass the same fucking reforms off the back of Rhea's dethroning and the death of the Slithers. Oh shit, that wasn't Dimitri was it. That's Sylvain who does that. The most Eagle Lion to ever be a bisexual man repressed by the sexist and homophobic society he lives in.

Fuck off Edelgard is wrong. The history is vague because Rhea literally hid it and even then it's not actually the truth because we literally still don't know if Sothis was benevolent or not. Rhea is also trying to install a method of governance (Sothis) that already fucking failed. Most good rulers and gods don't let their nations nuke themselves to death but maybe Shamir can tell us of the time Dagda did that to themselves. And the history also doesn't matter. Who cares why Nemesis did what he did. It was bad, it's Rhea's origin story for why she doesn't let humanity advance itself. The cause is irrelevant because it literally can't happen again! Not to mention that, if the Nabateans were as bad as the Slithers, we do genocide the Slithers, but that's okay, because they're bad.

What a useless criticism to level at her. That's like saying it's unjust for me to hate the church for homophobia because I don't understand the persecution of catholics under Nero.

Bitch, who gives a shit they're doing bad fucking stuff now! Yes, I think it's also valid to overturn the government of a nation that wants me dead on sight for being gay, they're violating human rights and citing sovereignty as their excuse, fuck that, people over countries.

War is bad, yes, but y'know what's also bad? Political reforms that fail because the population is uneducated, xenophobic, and democracy is a system of privilege and popularity that gives voices to those who don't know what they're fucking talking about. Just look up Voice to Parliament in Australia, it's just racism that got it knocked back. Democracy gave a voice to racism.

Bring on the Edelgards of the world. I'm disabled as fuck and I want her meritocracy more than anything. Definitely much more than I want dumbfucks "we hear you" new world with upward mobility determined by how able bodied and willing to participate in bioessentialism I am. I think there's a word for it. Ah. Eugenics. Crests are a form of eugenics. Rhea and Dimitri both endorsed eugenics. (remember! He only pairs with crested women! And his right to rule is literally based on his possession of a crest.) Good shit.

Adrestia: Commoners can become the Emperor.

Faerghus: You can become queen if you're afab, heterosexual and have a crest. (You also need to be able to produce viable children who are also crested. It's a good thing nothing bad has ever happened to queens who failed to produce legitimate heirs to a king, that would be a worrying precedent! Henry the who-th?)

"Everyone can participate in politics!" With what fucking education? No one goes to school but the rich! It's the same shit we have irl, it's the same thing they ALREADY HAD.

Just say you're a sexist and move on.

Edelgard bad because no pebis :C

P.S. Claude is just a less effective Edelgard who prolonged the war due to his vanity. His refusal to choose a side so that he could be the ultimate victor stalled the war for several additional years racking up additional loss of life which he could have prevented by deciding that he didn't need to be the sole author of this victory and reform. Either side could have won sooner if not for his impotence. And the Roundtable is still full of crested nobles with no schooling and religious doctrine so it's still a fucking L. Die poor Leonie of the world and anyone who wants higher education. Get born rich next time?

P.P.S. You gotta feel somewhat bad for Dimitri, he can basically marry Dedue or Felix, but he can't actually marry them because he reinforced heteronormative practices that require him to take a wife instead of actually getting to be with his husband. Sure "everyone" can participate in politics, except for the bisexual king who isn't actually allowed to be himself because of all the bigotry he reinstalled in his country. Meanwhile Edelgard and F Byleth are referred to as spouses in the Japanese, exchanged rings, and the English made it homophobic so certain characters wouldn't seem to bad to the sensibilities of particular white men. How. Interesting.

LMAOOO WHY IS THIS OVER 3000 WORDS LONG??

Nahh you gotta out and touch grass my dude, there is no character worth writing a whole college thesis about.

#edelgard discourse #grey borb #bro you cant call me sexist and expect me to take you seriously #put this energy to better use than your fictional waifu #seriously go outside #this is just sad

[twojackals]

The End

This is a long one, but here's the takeaway: 1) Kemetic Orthodoxy / House of Netjer is no longer a safe place for anyone to 'be human' apparently (so if you want to be Kemetic and not be human, by all means, have at it), and 2) I am no longer a member of the House of Netjer Kemetic Temple or the Kemetic Orthodox religion in any capacity (including Remetj). I have formally resigned, and am better for it.

The issue

So let's talk about being religious or spiritual, but also being human. Because apparently, those two things can't exist in the same space, at least if you're a member of the House of Netjer.

Personal Support... or lack-thereof.

We used to have a space, up until a few days ago, in the HoN spiritual organization called "Personal Support". It was a place where people could discuss their personal feelings, trials, tribulations, and seek support from fellow members. Basically, it was a place to be human, in the presence of your fellow Kemetic Orthodox followers.

A couple of days ago, the administration decided to pulled the Personal Support channel (and also a political-esque channel called current affairs) because people's feelings cause too much trouble. Well ok, that's not entirely true. The real reason is "because HoN members can't act like fucking adults and just scroll past things they don't like", but let's put that aside for now.

I can tell you from experience, the pulling of that channel was on people's minds for years, and it tended to be less about what people posted, and more about the fact that people couldn't fathom just letting people talk and express without reporting content perpetually that they simply didn't like. It's a moderation burden, I definitely don't disagree with that, but not because of the content (at least not by-and-large, I would not blame the content to a degree of at least 90 - 95%).

At the time I was still a moderator, I was dead-set against removing that channel and the current events channel, as I believe spiritual spaces are human spaces first and foremost, and humans have emotions, and humans need and want to express those emotions among people they trust. Spiritual spaces should be one of those trusted environments. But there are still a lot of people (particularly old-guard) who want the space to be "strictly spiritual" with very little actual humanity in it unless it is related directly to Netjer.

That bugs me. A lot.

[Side note: They consider the "prayer requests" area to be a suitable replacement. Ah yes, a blessed tots-and-pears to you as well.]

What the hell happened (and why it's at least partially the community's fault)

One of the biggest reasons this was done in my opinion is because the moderation team is too constrained in what it is socially permitted to do by the community. This has been an ongoing problem for a very long time: the moderation team is unable to properly act because they are perpetually burned at the stake by the community, and no one does anything about that. Bullies run rampant as I've discussed in numerous previous posts. Essentially the moderators aren't given enough leeway to truly moderate, and that restriction actually doesn't come from the top -- the Board and even Tamara Siuda has always been supportive of the moderators doing what needs to be done, but the community is intolerant, and therein lies the real problem.

For example, part of problematic content in a place like "Personal Support" is violence in content, or illegal activity in content. The response to such posts should be swift: the first moderator to see it, should record and delete it. Logs are also automatically kept that cannot be deleted or modified by moderators anyway, so there is always a record of what really happened. In any other large spiritual or religious community, this is how moderation works: you act, and ask questions / flesh out the situation later. Protection of the community is paramount, and this also helps to control bullies who like to use things to their advantage to attack organization spaces and people. They start to learn that they aren't more powerful than the administration, which sadly wasn't true in the House of Netjer, and still seems to be the case.

But that's not how our moderation works. In our moderation system, the moderators are so petrified, so frozen, by the potential response by the community, they have absolutely no teeth. They will leave content sit will they discuss it for a week (exaggeration to make a point) and then, maybe, it will get removed. By that point, the damage is already done. What's worse is that if they do remove content, the community can go into an uproar, and the moderators are basically forced by a combination of the community being out of control, and direction from the higher-ups (*coughs*Tamara) to not keep curtailing conversations as it makes things worse (well it wouldn't if we had have set our boundaries and stuck to them to begin with, but whatever), to let that go on without intervention.

What I'm describing here is a community that has no idea how to accept being told "No", and what ends up happening, is that good things are taken away, to make moderation "easier" and to save face (something the House has always prioritized above all else). They want the place to not need moderation, so their solution is to remove the "human" spaces they think is causing all the uproar, where they perceive people could perpetually get themselves into trouble.

This is not the way.

Community Insults: allowed to stand in plain sight

This whole situation was then exasperated by a member calling out the personal support content as "adolescent angst" and calling people talking about abuse by friends/family "adolescent hyperbole", before finally stating that "mature adults" can't tolerate this stuff. Well last I checked, "mature adults" can keep on scrolling if they don't like the content, and moderators can reinforce that community standard by reminding people they don't have to report every iota of a thing they don't like, they can simply move the fuck on. I'm not saying some of the content wasn't angst or hyperbole, but I can say it is incredibly offensive to have a member say that in front of other members who are literally struggling with mental health on a daily basis, and really needed that channel to find support from their fellow members.

This exchange caused no fewer than two members to leave in short order, and honestly it is hard to blame them. Meanwhile, other honest, truthful feelings posted about the situation were removed.

The Johnson Amendment

This was all coupled by a lot of misinformation on the Johnson Amendment, and the reason for removing the current-world-affairs space as well as curtailing certain topics and feelings people can express via that means. So let's talk about the Johnson Amendment, what it is, and what it isn't.

What is it, what is prohibited:

The Johnson Amendment is a tax law. It explains that tax-exempt organizations cannot participate in, or intervene in favor of or against, any political campaign or political candidate. This means, for exmaple, tax-exempt organizations cannot collect political contributions on behalf of a person or campaign, or make statements to support candidates from any official organizational office (eg: from the pulpit for example).

The Johnson Amendment targets the organization and its official offices and officers, not general membership.

What is NOT prohibited:

General membership discussing politics, even in official spaces such as Churches

Voter registration drives

Voter educational activities

Preaching and teaching on social and political issues of concern

Publishing material that outlines political issues for voters

Political forums that do not explicitly endorse candidates or groups

How many organizations have gotten in trouble under this law?

Since it's implementation in 1954, one single organization ahead of the 1992 election was dinged. It was due to them taking out advertisements in newspapers calling on Christians not to vote a certain way (a clear violation of the amendment). In otherwords, your violation of the Johnson Amendment has to be pretty on-the-nose to get in trouble.

Where the problem lies for HoN:

HoN needs to get over itself. They are not about to become the second case in history to fall to the Johnson Amendment, particularly based on the content we used to have (which was not a violation ever of the Johnson Amendment). But the House has enemies. I'm not talking about critics (which are natural and necessary), I'm talking about people who actually want to direct harm toward the organization, its officials, and its membership. And there is that anxiety that is born of potentially a bunch of people getting together to report molehills, and eventually turning it into a mountain.

So I get it, I really do: No one wants to live in or inflict that anxiety. But there has to be a balance. Spiritual organizations serve people as a whole, not just "parts" of people. So as the House 'takes things away', I'd love to know more about what the House will be doing to give some balance to that situation.

Decisions like this do feel a lot like taking away the humanity of Kemetic Orthodoxy. We had one space where people felt free enough to just 'be an emotional human', and it was taken away. That does hurt on some level, it hurt people enough to leave, and I think taking it away rather than reformulating the idea of the space was probably not the right call.

Religious groups. have. social. spaces. online. You can go to huge religious forums and see things like spaces for different life stages, age groups, hobbies and interests, history, physical health, mental health, ethics, morality, news and current events, the list goes on. The fact that we can't figure out how to do that, with a fraction of the membership of other organizations, is concerning. We can't seem to figure out how to serve the community without restricting heavily the same community we serve.

I kind of hate that.

Final Thoughts

The House of Netjer no longer has any idea what it means to be human in my book. In previous opinions, I've often stated I felt the House of Netjer was still a safe space for people of the Kemetic persuasion to be, and I would even continue to recommend it to others.

That opinion has changed.

The House of Netjer is not a place you want to be if you want to be a Kemetic Polytheist, and definitely not if you want to be human while doing it. The House of Netjer is ableist at the very least and is in the habit of protecting bullies and liars. They've also shown to be American-centric, racist, and classist over the years as well, things which I wish I would have paid attention to a long, long time ago. My feelings right now is that everyone who has ever donated a dollar to this organization has been duped by Tamara Siuda into paying for her living expenses, and not much else.

If you're wondering why I'm saying this while still being a part of Kemetic Orthodox membership: don't worry -- I'm not. I've formally resigned from the ableist organization called "House of Netjer" who has been traumatizing people, or allowing them to be traumatized, for 20+ years.

I do wish a lot of people the best within the organization, and I wish them all the luck in the world for reorganization. They are having voting soon to put at least I think two fresh faces on the organization's board, so if you are still in the House of Netjer and still holding out fucking hope it's going to be anything other than a shit-show: choose and vote wisely. Some people are listening to you more than others.

#kemetic orthodoxy #house of netjer #netjer #kemet #kemetic #kemeticism #polytheism #paganism #rant #feelings #humanity #support

[bloodgulchblog]

The more Halo books I read that dig into the nitty gritty of it, the more I agree with the Insurrectionists

Yeahhhhh....

The problem Halo has in the conflict between Earth and the colonies is that the most it can do to make the rebels the bad guys is having the rebel factions resorting to terror and doing bad things to civilians.

In the end, it can make specific rebel factions into "bad guys" who are willing to do shit like bomb space ports and kill people as collateral, but it can't unilaterally make the desire to get away from the UEG into an inherently bad action and the UEG/UNSC continue to do things that make that desire extremely rational.

(Also space colonization is ultimately a fantasy situation different from colonization of places on Earth because the factor of hey, people already live here isn't there so it eliminates the factor of the oppression of an indigenous population. Thus, in some ways, science fiction can be used to perpetuate storytelling tropes about the fantasy of a virgin wilderness wherein the territory "belonged" to no one and there was no moral objection to- *the tape warps and and warbles as I try to get this post back to the original topic*)

...Anyway.

It was a situation where the UEG is dealing with populations that do not wish to be governed by them, and the UEG has huge leverage to bludgeon them into compliance because a lot of the colonies are still dependent on other worlds for resources and are not completely 100% self-sustaining. And, if that's not enough, the UEG has a huge military.

From the UEG's perspective, it was economically important to maintain control of the colonies because that keeps access to the resources those colonies were producing, and (so they hoped) prevents independent factions from growing and becoming strong enough to challenge the UEG or threaten other worlds. Rule of law and order theoretically nice and tidy under the UEG government etc etc.

Halo does also raise the issue of extremely large and powerful corporations owning whole colonies and doing terrible things, but it's not like UEG oversight is actually making that problem better. They banned a lot of key forms of medical experimentation on humans within UEG territory (part of why the whole flash cloning issue was so legally serious) but like... it's not like UEG oversight is actually successfully preventing those abuses, and the UNSC is even committing some of them. Plus we have I think multiple examples of planets that were basically just corp towns where people were paying their wages back to the corporation for their living essentials and not earning enough to leave if they wanted to. (Charybdis IX was one, I swear there was another but my memory's not kicking out the name.)

So, supporters of the UEG genuinely believe they are offering stability and safety and peace to the vulnerable citizenry and protecting them from an uncertain/dangerous future under potential local tyrants, if the rebels will just put down their bombs and be civil. Meanwhile, supporters of leaving the UEG can point to a history of corruption and abuses and the desire to just go off and be left alone if the UEG would fucking let them.

Frankly, I don't actually know enough political theory to tease out what a "good" ending to this situation is for anyone. But that's not necessary for it to still be a useful problem in the fiction for making things very tense and full of ways for people to do awful things to one another while still believing they might somehow not be the baddies.

#asks #halo lore #i can sound authoritative but let's be real i'm just some nerd who works retail and can barely read a book anymore

[highway-tuna]

'777' (Chapter One)

pairing(s): Jake Kiszka x Reader, Josh Kiszka x Reader

wc: 3.4k+

warnings: depictions of anxiety, alcohol, swearing

Masterlist

----------------------------------------------------

The loud slam of a palm hitting wood right beside your head shocks you straight out of your sleep, perking your head up and looking around. The scenery around you starts to piece together in your head that you didn’t go home last night, but instead fell asleep in the back office of the bar. “Jesus, hun. Again?” You whip your head to the direction of your boss, Eleanor, standing over your shoulder. Running your hands over your face and wiping the sleep out of your eyes, a yawn is the only thing that leaves you before any excuse even comes to mind. “At least you made it to the back this time.” She chuckles and shakes her head, collecting whatever she came back here for. 

“Sorry, El. Sorry. I was closing up last night and I-”

“You’re fine, kid. Just try not to make this a habit. Well… anymore than it already is.” She claps an assuring hand against your back. Eleanor’s been your support system for the last couple of years, almost like a mother figure since you lost yours. Hell, your job at El’s bar has practically been your entire life since you started working there years ago. Everyone here has become almost family to you, even some of the clientele. Which is morbidly ironic for you, all things considered. “You hoppin’ on to help? Because if I were you, I’d probably wait until tonight. We’re gonna be busy as shit.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to pick up shifts, sometimes even showing up to work off the clock. Just to help out. Just to be helpful. Was it probably illegal? Sure. Did you have a problem doing it? Not at all. There wasn’t a bone in your body that knew how to relax, take the day off. No matter how many times Eleanor would try to shoo you away to do so.

You tilt your head at her with slight confusion before taking a glance over at the perpetual calendar on the messy desk. “Oh. Friday night shift, yeah,” you mutter, mostly confirming with yourself. Time must really be escaping you lately, not even being aware of the days of the week. It’s been stressful. Especially with the anniversary coming up, you’ve been doing everything you possibly can to avoid your own thoughts.

She shakes her head, chuckling. An almost sly smile crosses her lips; a cat that swallowed the canary type of grin. “Not just that. There’s a big concert happening at the arena around the corner.” Her eyes narrow as if she’s testing you, clearly trying to garner some sort of reaction. You mirror her with an aura of confusion. “A homecoming concert…?” Whether it’s the brain fog from just waking up or simply not being in the loop, the discorded staredown continues. “Your buddies, those Greta boys! They’re back. Y’know, I’m awfully proud of them. My daughter’s actually a big fan...” 

Her tangent goes on, but it fades off while you process the information you’ve just been given. They’re… here? Sam and Danny, Josh and Jake are here? On top of the spiral of thoughts, your body reacts as well: stomach twisting in knots, heartbeat picking up, that tingling sensation in your limbs. You won’t even see them. You try to reassure yourself. There’s no way they’d come into this bar of all places. Rich, famous rock stars have better places to be, better things to do than trudge up the past. They probably wouldn’t even recognize you if they saw you. Would you even recognize them?

“(Y/N)?” El calls out your name, bringing you back to earth. With the slight shake of your head and a couple of blinks, you look back at her. “So are you hoppin’ on now or later?” A sigh escapes you while you wrestle with your options. You’re not even scheduled today. You could just go home… not that you want to be there either. You could hop on now and try to leave before the rush. Like an asshole. 

The chair beneath you screeches as you stand from it, bracing yourself against the desk. “I’m gonna grab something to eat first. I’ll… hop on when I get back, alright?” She gives you a wary smile and nod, letting you on your way. Practically storming out of the office, one of your coworkers catches you on your way out, just before reaching the door. Calling out your name in that shrill tone of hers, you debate even turning around. One hand already on the door, you whip your head around to respond, “What, Syd?”

Sydney’s the newest hire around here and as much as you hate to admit it, she’s basically already up to par with everyone else, both in skill and in relationships. Like the prettiest, daintiest little puzzle piece, she fits in perfectly. You’ve got no actual bad blood with her, but sometimes, you can’t hide your envy. She’s beautiful, she’s young, she’s great with people, the whole package. Unfortunately, she’s nice too. Her kindness blows every bitter feeling out of the water.

“Leaving already?” She asks, her head cocked to the side.

“Stepping out for food.” You push the door, ready to step out before she calls your name once more. You hide the roll of your eyes before turning to face her again. “Yes, Sydney?”

“Sorry, I could just ask you la-”

“Well, you’ve got my attention now. Go.” You hate being so stern, but she’s unfortunately caught you at a bad moment with the recent revelation that a whirlwind of history is performing around the corner from you. Your brow raises expectantly at her, waiting to finish her thought.

A sudden wave of nervous energy radiates from her which strikes you with guilt. “Right, yeah. Do you think you could cover part of my shift? Like twelve-ish onward? Only the last two hours, right?” Your face falls, for reasons unbeknownst to her, but she takes that as a cue to try to correct the situation. “It’s totally fine if you can’t. Or don’t want to. I get it. I just… I’ve been talking to this guy and he’s-”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.” Her smile’s uncontrollable and she’d probably shower you with praise and thanks if you hadn’t walked out as soon as those words passed your lips. You could’ve said no. You didn’t have to take her shift. Again, could’ve just left, but no. You never take the easy way out. As much as whatever feelings burn you up inside, you’d rather face it head on than be a coward.

Mindlessly walking to your favorite local eatery, a cacophony of screams and cheers cause you to stop where you stand. Right in front of the arena’s box office. A swarm of people seem to be clamoring around a general spot. Curiosity gets the better of you so you stick around, watching from a distance. The voices amongst the horde become clearer.

“Oh my god, Danny!”

“Sammy, hi!”

“I love you, Jake!”

A wry smile forms across your face. You can’t even help it. Luckily, the distance as well as the crowd block any view you might have had of the guys. Even luckier the same applies for them to you. It’s a funny situation that leaves you feeling empty. Only feet away stands a key to your past, a bittersweet trip down memory lane. The massive screen above the venue showcases tonight’s act. Greta Van Fleet. They’re bigger than ever, huh. They’ve grown, they’ve changed. You can barely recognize them. Especially the twins you once knew inside and out, who once knew you all the same. Taking a deep breath and one last passing glance at their ever adoring fans, you shove your hands into your pockets and keep walking on your way.

----------------------------------------------------

“A band?” You can’t hide the bewilderment in your voice as you sit straight up from Josh’s bed. “But what about all of your film stuff? You’re just dropping that?” The twins were always wrapped up in some musical endeavors, but to make it a main focus was completely out of left field for Josh especially with us graduating in a couple of years. His sights were already set on going to film school.

The bed shifts as he sits up beside you, completely unfazed by your shock. “Don’t think of it as dropping it. I’ll get back to it. Or I’ll do it simultaneously.” Before you could interject, he continues. “Jake has really big plans w-”

“And so do you, Josh.” Your brows furrow in his direction. 

“Sunny,” he speaks your nickname, loving but firm. His gentle hands find yours, interlocking fingers. “I know what I’m doing. I have a lifetime ahead of me to do everything I want to do. Right now, I want to help Jake do what he wants to do.” You sigh, knowing full well he won’t change his mind. You can see it in that determined glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that both him and his brother are established stubborn asses. For better or worse. He lightens the mood with a hearty chuckle. “Hey, you get to be our number two biggest fan.”

“Who’s number one?”

Without missing a beat, you both come to the same conclusion. “Mom.” Karen Kiszka was the mother you never had. You were intertwined with the entire Kiszka family, but there were never ending pleasant things to say about Karen. She doted on you as well, treated you as if you were one of them. There were times you’d go to the Kiszka household to find the boys busy so you’d just spend time with her, helping around the house. It was a breath of fresh air compared to your home life.

“I could be your number one roadie, packing your shit up and following you guys around.”

Josh raises his brows with clear mischief. “Or our number one groupie?” The mere mention sets your cheeks aflame with blush. With a look of offense, you withdraw your hands from his to hit his shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He raises his arm to block the weak attacks.  

“You’re disgusting, Joshua.”

“Hey, I was joking. I’m not interested in groupies. Jake, on the other hand…” You roll your eyes and groan, cringing at that thought. It’s not surprising though. The second Jake could think about girls without the fear of cooties, he was off to the races. He never concerned himself with you, but maybe that was just because you’d always been around. 

As if on cue, Jake comes barging into the room. His mouth opens to speak, but he’s swiftly cut off. “Do we not knock around here, brother?” Josh complains for the sake of complaining. Jake raises his brow as his eyes dart between the two of us.

“Is there a reason I should’ve knocked?”

You have no time to react as Josh wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “Maybe I was spending one on one time with our number one groupie.” Laughing at his antics, you push him off of you and shake your head. Crossed arms as he leans against the doorframe, Jake simply watches our dispute. 

“Stop calling me that!” You snap at him with laughter in the midst before hopping out of the bed, standing beside Jake staring at his twin with a look of disapproval. “As you can probably tell, Josh let me know about your little band.”

“And?” He smirks, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Wanna join, sunshine?” You narrow your eyes at him as both boys snicker.

“I’d be no help there. I can’t even play anything.”

Josh gets up from the bed and heads towards us, stretching. “Jake’s teaching Sammy the bass. I’m sure he could teach you something too.” You lock eyes with Jake as his twin offers up his services. A silent exchange is made; Jake is willing to teach you and you shrug at the notion. It’s not a yes, not a no, but you’re definitely not joining a band. Josh pushes past the two of you, walking down the hall.

“Where’re you going?” Jake asks, “We’ve gotta practice. Sam just got back, let’s go.” Josh looks back and rolls his eyes at his brother. As the boys began to get together and set up, you simply lingered around, trying not to be in the way. You got a sudden feeling that you were intruding. A reassuring hand squeezes your shoulder. Jake speaks quietly, Josh and Sam clearly too distracted to hear what he was practically whispering to you. “You can stay and watch… if you want, sunshine. I know your dad’s-”

Before he could even finish, you nod frantically. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you.”

“Mom wouldn’t mind you staying the night. I know you say no everytime, but the offer’s out there.” One more squeeze before he lets go, returning to his brothers. You’d love to take the offer. If only you could.

----------------------------------------------------

Your lunch (that just so happens to be your first meal of the day) is quickly wrapped up by the fact that your stomach can barely settle to eat so after finishing what you can, you head back to El’s. The afternoon shift moves pretty swiftly into the evening where things quickly start to pick up. The usual Friday night crowd pours in, working everyone out, but once eleven rolls around, things get out of hand. A horde of very wild and very sparkly people flood into the building. A group you could only assume came from a certain nearby concert. With one deep breath to prepare yourself, you plaster on your very best customer service voice and smile. 

Drinks are flowing and service is booming. Transactions go well if not for the occasional nagging in the back of your mind when you hear the fans speak excitedly about Danny, Sam, Josh, and Jake. It’s another strange reminder of your circumstance, hearing them speak so casually about ghosts of your past. Even El, who knew about your connection, rarely spoke of them to you at all.

As you're finishing up a drink, you hear your name being called out over all the chatter. You turn to see Syd wiping her hands on a bar towel before approaching you. “I’m heading out. Are you sure you've got everything handled?” She asks, almost absentmindedly. Her eyes scan every patron in the bar. Ah, her date or whatever. Before you could give her the okay, you get pulled away to deal with another person. Order, drink, and payment; the transaction’s complete. Returning to Syd, you see her leaning over the bar, speaking directly into a guy’s ear. 

He looks a little shady if anything. A hat, sunglasses, and a hood… inside a bar. If that doesn’t scream suspicious. You nudge her and give her a polite thin lipped smile as you get closer. “You’re good to go.” The shady man turns to you and clearly gives you a once over. Creeps at the bar are common, but to see Syd about to leave with a guy like that causes a sense of worry to fill you. We’re all grown adults, but the least you could do is get some information on this dude. “Actually…” You face the man and extend your hand. “I’m (Y/N). Your name?” The second the two of you touch, you manage to get a closer look at him and deeply regret this whole interaction.

“(Y/N)? Like (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” His jaw goes ever so slightly slack as he scoffs in disbelief. “Holy shit. It’s-”

“Hi, Sammy.” You immediately withdraw your hand, nervously running it over your face. “Sorry, you two have a good night.” You gesture to both him and Syd, quickly turning away to return to your work. Hoping and praying that he takes the hint and leaves you alone, that Syd just somehow understands and takes him out of the bar, you try to keep a straight face as you talk to other bar goers. Honestly, he should leave for his sake too, drawing a crowd would be a terrible idea. Although, Sammy has always been one for terrible ideas. 

You hear your name being called out once more by the dreadfully familiar voice. Trying not to give him direct attention, you tend to someone around him. “(Y/N), I’ve gotta tell the guys you’re here. This is an insane coincidence,” he speaks out and whips out his phone.

Hunching over, you lean low to speak to him. “Sam, you should go, there’s a ton of your groupies here and I don’t want to have to play bodyguard, alright?” It felt bad to be so short with him, seeing how happy he is to see you, but you don’t have much of a choice here. Stuck behind the bar, you can’t really get away.

“When do you get out?” Not taking no for an answer here.

Sighing, you prepare yourself to be firm, ready to just kick him out when Syd chimes in from behind you, “Oh, she gets out at two.” So much for not having a reason to dislike her. “El would probably let you leave early if you asked.” The anger behind your eyes can barely be hidden.

“Eleanor’s still here? I should say hi to her,” Sam turns towards Syd with an expectant look. She nods and guides him out of sight, presumably to the back office. How well do they even know each other? How do they even know each other? More pressing matters plague your thoughts. The rest of the guys are going to know you’re here. Jake and Josh will know you’re here. Will they want to see you? They will, but why? They shouldn’t. They should just take their fancy instruments and go. Like last time. 

Your body goes on autopilot as you continue to make and serve drinks. You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. “Hun, I’ll take over,” El gives you a sweet smile. “You should go see your friends, (Y/N).” It’s a command disguised as a charitable gesture. How her eyes pour into yours, she’s begging you to go. “It’ll be good for you.” The seething child inside wants to lash out at her. What would she know, right? She can’t tell you what to do. But the memories swirling in your head and the empty feeling in your chest reminds you that she does know. She saw you at your worst. 

Weakly, you nod wiping your hands on your shirt before leaving from behind the bar to the back office, collecting your belongings. Sam and Syd seem like they were almost waiting for you outside the backdoor exit. You inhale and exhale, closing your eyes just for a moment. As you walk up to them, Sam’s beaming with excitement. He takes off his hood, hat, and sunglasses, finally allowing you to get a good look at him. Over half a decade since you’ve seen him, he’s really grown up. Long hair, longer than before at least. Facial hair, very unlike how baby faced he was when you last saw him. But the Kiszka blueprint was still there.

You let your guard down and give him a genuine smile. Let’s try this again. “Hi, Sammy.” He doesn’t even respond, simply pulling you into a tight hug. It practically knocks the wind out of you.

“I’m sorry I had to hound you at work, but Josh would’ve had my head if I saw you and just let you go.” Just Josh? You chuckle and nod, slinking out of his tight grasp. “You should’ve come to the show tonight, you could’ve messaged one of us or-”

“Yeah, I didn’t know.” A half truth. 

“Oh, our biggest fan didn’t know?” He teases, nudging you lightly. When you flatly laugh, a lull falls between you two. Between you three actually. Syd clears her throat, bringing all eyes on her. It’s as if you two forgot she was there. “We’re uh- actually headed to an afterparty of sorts. Everyone’s already there.” In an attempt to self soothe, you wrap your arms around yourself, fingertips pressing into your flesh. “You have to come with us. C’mon.” 

The urge to turn around and head back into the bar or reluctantly just go home is extremely intense, but then you recall the look in El’s eyes. “That’d be- yeah, sure.” You gaze down at yourself, looking less than presentable. “Is there a dress code or something?”

Sam drapes one arm over your shoulder and the other over Syd’s. “Nah, you’re fine.” He laughs as we all start walking away from the bar. “If anything, you could work the bar over there. That’s probably where you’ll find Jake, anyhow.” Jake and alcohol has always been a recipe for disaster in your experiences. Fun.

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #greta van fleet x reader #gvf x reader #gvf #josh kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x reader #fanfic #kiszka twins #series

[unbidden-yidden]

I wrote up all that discourse at stupid late o'clock, but I still think I'm basically right.

I think something that's happening here that I haven't seen addressed much is that a lot of folks are reacting from places of hurt on both sides, and it's making rational conversations about this topic difficult.

From the religious Jewish side, I'm seeing folks reacting to the absolute barrage of culturally Xtian ideas, assumptions, and behavior from a large majority of interactions in the US, even from people who are not Xtian now or ever. I've been there and lived this - I have personally and recently had several anti-theists (and atheists who were essentially anti-theists but not calling themselves that) say all matter of mind-numbingly offensive things about Judaism that range from "not true" to "this is aggressively and willfully misunderstanding something as nefarious when it's really not" to "this is straight up Xtian supercessionist propaganda." Or, my perennial favorite: "no culture is free from critique, but this is 100% an intracommunity conversation that you don't know enough to meaningfully participate in, even if it were appropriate, which it's not." The first thirty times this happens, you can kind of roll your eyes about keyboard warriors and trolls, but at some point it crosses a line where it's like, dude. What is going ON with this community and why aren't the more vocal members shutting this down? Are they supporting it or just don't care? What the heck?

And I can vouch that this is happening and that it's not isolated or small numbers of idiots, because I've dealt with it a lot myself and have watched several other Jews on here deal with it a lot as well. It's an actual problem and it needs to be addressed.

That said, the big problem with these ideas and behaviors is not that they're Xtian in origin, but that they're antisemitic. There are plenty of Xtian conceptualizations of Judaism that are antisemitic and well-meaning Xtians or ex-Xtians or people who have absorbed these Xtian ideas will perpetuate them. The answer here is to educate people on why it's a problem and then it is those people's and their communities' responsibilities to listen, learn, take it seriously, and stop perpetuating antisemitic ideas, no matter why or how well-intentioned.

From the ex-xtian atheist side, I'm seeing a lot of folks reacting from a place of frustration at not having their religious trauma respected, which I get, because I have the same reaction to people not respecting my trauma either. It's a major trigger for me, and dismissing my experiences out of hand is not only not okay but very damaging.

As someone who is an ex-Xtian and is now Jewish, I can tell you that there is a massive cultural difference here that's stopping the conversation. Someone whose lived experience of religion is Xtianity only or primarily is likely going to have a hard mental barrier between religion and culture, namely because Xtianity has a habit of absorbing the local culture no matter what it is. This is intentional because Xtianity is a universalist religion and has little agenda on removing local flair. Rather, it has a serious investment in promoting its orthodoxy, regardless of how that is accomplished on the ground. This is why evangelicals will fund messianics, btw - they are less concerned with what it looks like on the surface and much more so about getting everybody on the Jesus train. If keeping external cultural symbols is what it takes to get Jews on board, then so be it.

So when a person raised Xtian apostasizes, from their perspective they are doing the ONE thing that is universally forbidden in Xtianity, which is rejecting Jesus. That is the only way to truly separate yourself from Xtianity, in the end. Everything else, some church, somewhere, is willing to work with. But you have to have faith in Jesus or you're not a Xtian, and conversely, if you reject Jesus then you've done the one surefire thing that makes it impossible to be a Xtian.

I hope this gives some context for why someone with the religious trauma of having Xtianity infect every area of their life and say "no no - we can work with this; we still own you," is going to freak the fuck out if you still say they're Xtian - even just culturally so - after they did the one true thing they knew how to do so that they could separate themselves from Xtianity and its cultural creep and osmosis.

This is not to say that their ideas or beliefs aren't still heavily influenced by Xtianity. They probably are! Heavily! But the problem is that if you tell someone that has just severed their tie to an abusive religious structure or who has been fending it off their whole lives that they themselves, as a human being - not their behavior or ideas - but they themselves as a core, inescapable part of their being, are always going to be in some way influenced and therefore owned by Xtianity, you've not only triggered that trauma, but you haven't even solved the problem. The problem is not that such a person has behaviors or ideas that originate from Xtianity, but rather that these ideas and behaviors were antisemitic to begin with. There's literally nothing wrong with observing secular Xmas. What is wrong is denying that your choice to engage a Xtian holiday, even in a way that you personally find secular, is a culturally Xtian behavior, and more importantly, if you then insist that it should be neutral or secular to Jews, you're being antisemitic and denying OUR religious trauma by imposing your understanding of secularity on us.

And as a clarification, I'm defining "religious trauma" here extremely broadly - not to water down the experiences of people who endured cultic spiritual abuse from their [former] religious organization - but rather because there is a much more diffuse (and usually milder) kind of trauma that virtually every non-Xtian, ex-Xtian, and even plenty of actual Xtians have experienced in the US. Namely, the involuntary cultural creep and control exercised by Xtian fundamentalists and christofascism.

It hits different people in different ways, based on who you are and what your experiences have been, but the bottom line is that it is virtually impossible to totally get away from the power and influence and cultural dominion of Xtianity, particularly fundamentalist Xtianity, if you live here.

For many/most Jews, it hits on several levels that include intergenerational trauma from violent Xtian antisemitism and specific efforts to convert and therefore eradicate us. There is so much trauma embedded in Jewish reactions to Xtianity that it's hard to even begin to untangle it and makes this a challenging topic no matter what. And then, of course, you also have the cultural disconnect of how we conceptualize religion and culture. For us, these things are deeply and inescapably intertwined. The question of "Who is a Jew?" is thorny, precisely because there are so many ways and levels from which to engage one's Jewish identity that are connected but need not occur together at all. So for, say, an exvangelical to simply reject Jesus would, from their own perspective, be the decisive blow that makes them not a Xtian and actively disassociating themselves from Xtianity is likely extremely important for their autonomy and mental health. But from a Jewish perspective, if they've merely ripped out the heart of their Xtianity but not addressed any of its other surrounding features, it's nowhere near adequate to then claim that they've totally and decisively separated themselves from it.

The thing is, this would honestly not be a problem (or at least not our problem) if Xtianity (particularly fundamentalist Xtianity) didn't have such an antisemitism problem. Unfortunately, because it does, both the original antisemitic behaviors/ideas and the after-the-fact denial of its relationship to Xtianity and Xtian culture(s) become our problem. Which means these interactions tend to go something like this:

Someone will spout off something antisemitic that has its origins in Xtianity.

A Jew will point out the original antisemitic behaviors/ideas and ask them to knock it off.

The first person will double down and/or demand a detailed explanation of why it's antisemitic, because they not only think they are correct, but also because they still believe that they know the important things about Judaism from learning the Old Testament in church and also likely believe in the Xtian idea of one universal Truth without realizing it.

The Jew will point out the above reality with varying degrees of patience, hoping that pointing out the (to us) obvious connections to Xtian belief and culture will get them to stop, since they are usually in the process of explaining how not-Xtian they are and how much they hate religion. This is usually done by telling the person that they are still culturally Xtian and speaking from that place. This is usually (from our viewpoint) intended as a neutral, factual statement to help the other person understand the issue fully.

This triggers that person's religious trauma around Xtian cultural creep (at a minimum, if not worse) and the person shuts down.

The conversation then devolves into "I'm not a fucking Xtian, do not call me that." vs. "I didn't say you were Xtian, I said you're culturally Xtian and speaking from that place, calm down."

Followed by: "That's still calling me a Xtian of some variety and I did The Thing I needed to do to get away from it, stop telling me I'm still associated with this group that traumatized me." "You only did one thing to get away from it?? Wow, you have a long way to go."

The original antisemitism that was the actual problem is never returned to.

What's truly unfortunate about this is that there is such potential to build interfaith solidarity around Xtian hegemony together, but we're not going to be able to do that if we don't get past the above conversation.

I don't have all the answers, but I do think that the following would go a long way towards moving past this:

Be aware of what things trigger you with regards to religion and trauma from Xtian hegemony, and step away from a conversation if you need to.

Be willing to to take into account different cultural understandings of what religion and/or culture even is.

Be willing to meet people where they're at in their process, and recognize the work they have done, even if they have a long way to go still.

Learn about antisemitism and how to recognize it. Listen to Jews when we tell you something is antisemitic.

Don't frame culturally Xtian behavior or ideas as inherent personal traits, but rather clearly describe it as a behavior or idea they could let go of.

Realize that if someone identifies a certain behavior or idea as culturally Xtian, they are typically trying to help you understand what's happening better and find commonality in opposing Xtian hegemony.

Recognize your own religious trauma, and also realize you're not the only one with it. Use that to be more empathetic and/or compassionate, rather than seeing it as a threat to the validity of your experiences.

Anyway, this got long and I don't have the time or energy to edit it down, but that is what I've come to so far.

#the cultural Xtianity debate #every hour is theology hour around here apparently #long post

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Eden part sixteen

TW: Major character death, assisted suicide, depression, captivity, gun, slight gore, mood swings, grief, religion, Christianity, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpees, multiple whumpees

The next few days passed in a blur.

Jay couldn't find any mood other than euphoric delirium and the depths of depression. Not a moment went by when they weren't giggling or sobbing, often to the point where they couldn't breathe. All the warm showers and meals in the world couldn't fix them.

Christopher had taken it upon himself to take care of everyone, as he so often did, constantly forcing back tears in favor of smiles. He still cooked and cleaned and did everything he thought needed done, keeping himself far too busy so he wouldn't have to face his feelings.

Ezra couldn't stand it. Not one bit. The house seemed like a pot of water that would boil over given the slightest provocation, and Ezra couldn't find a wooden spoon to subdue it with.

"Do you need help with something, sir?" Ezra asked.

Christopher stood in the middle of his kitchen. Every utensil, dish, and bag of non-perishable food had been pulled from the cupboards and drawers and laid out neatly on the floor. There was hardly room to walk, but Christopher still managed in his attempt to scrub out all the cupboards. Ezra could barely smell the cleaning chemicals over the omnipresent lavender.

"No," Christopher said, waving Ezra off with his hand. It no lpnger wore his engagment ring. "I'm just doing some organizing. God knows this place needs it."

Out of every house Ezra had ever lived in, Christopher's was by far the most orderly. Perfection and cleanliness lived here just as much as anyone else did. But Ezra knew a coping mechanism when he saw one, and decided to stay out of Christopher's way.

He knew it was selfish, but he wanted things to go back to the way they were before Jay and Colt entered the picture. How lovely it had been, just the two of them in their little house in the woods. No one to bother them, and perpetual days to be spent together.

Ezra still resented Jay, and his many attempts to talk them down from suicide had taken their toll on his mental health. He was fucking selfish through and through.

What kind of a person hated having to take care of their suicidal friend? What kind of a person prefered to be coddled constantly to having to deal with their problems?

But hadn't this always been true? Ezra had spent so many nights staying up late to deal with a friend's mental health crises, secretly hating them for not having a single other person to find support from. He'd always been so selfish.

As he collapsed onto his soft bed, Ezra felt sick. What was wrong with him? He should be happy. Or sad. Or angry. Some simple emotion. It just wasn't fair.

To Ezra's dismay, Jay found him not long after. He wanted to snap at them to leave him alone, but he couldn't find the nerve, even as Jay laid down on top of him half sobbing half shrieking.

"I love you! I love you! I love you!"

"I love you too," Ezra lied with a deep sigh. "What's the matter?"

"Everything hurts! Breathing hurts! Moving hurts! My body hurts!"

"Shh…shh…" Ezra gently patted Jay's shoulder. "It's okay."

"My chest hurts," they said, much quieter. "Like I got shot in the heart. I hate it. I hate it. I love you."

"You're just sad," Ezra explained, wishing he were anywhere else. "Really sad. Everyone is. Christopher is sad because Colt died. You're sad because you remembered your sister. I'm sad because you and Christopher are sad. We'll be better soon."

"What is soon?!" Jay shrieked. "I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!-" they erupted into fresh tears, streaming down their freckled face and wetting Ezra's shirt as they buried their face in his chest. "I didn't want to do anything but leave. But now I'm gone and it still isn't better."

"It will get better," Ezra lied. "I promise. Just sleep, eat, and let us take care of you."

Jay didn't respond. It was only when their sobs were fully stifled that Ezra realized they had fallen asleep. Ezra hated to move them, and closed his eyes, wishing Jay would just disappear.

•••

When Ezra awoke, he was alone. Someone had turned the lights off and tucked him into bed properly. Obviously Christopher, as Jay wasn't in the state of mind. As a few minutes to himself wouldn't do anyone harm, Ezra stared up at the ceiling, relaxing all of his muscles under the comforter and weighted blanket.

His sleep cycle had all but disappeared over the last week. He slept whenever he felt tired, and stayed in bed as long as possible after waking. The house was awfully quiet though, and Christopher still kept a good sleep cycle, so it must be late at night.

After finally rousing himself and making his way down the hall, Ezra found Christopher sitting on his bed and conversing with Jay in hushed tones.

Jay looked up at Ezra with bloodshot eyes, spilling over with tears. "Hi Ezra…"

"We need to get your thoughts and feelings on this matter," Christopher said gently. "Come sit down."

"What is it?" Ezra sat crisscrossed on the bed, facing Christopher and dreading his answer.

"I ask you to kill me," Jay whispered, rubbing their bloodshot eyes. "But you didn't want to. So, I asked Christopher. Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad." It was far too easy a statement to decide upon. But Ezra wasn't mad. How could he be?

He couldn't identify his emotions, or even their quantity. Far too many and far too little, all fighting each other in glorious battle, with Ezra feeling all too numb for it. He wasn't crying, or laughing, or having any normal emotional response. Just a tortured blank slate.

"Are you sure you want to die?" he asked mechanically.

Jay nodded and said nothing more.

"I guess that's your decision." Ezra stared down into his lap, fidgeting with his hands. "I don't have to like it. I can't force you to live. That would be cruel. But I'll miss you."

The last sentence was a lie. Probably. Maybe. He would just have to wait and see.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Ezra asked. "About yourself? About your family? About your life? About-" Ezra suddenly remembered Christopher's presence. No, he wouldn't ask about Colt. "-About anything else?"

Jay shook their head. "Nope. I don't have anything to say. I'm just too sad and painful to live."

"...Okay. I hope Heaven isn't sad or painful."

"That's the whole point of heaven." Christopher ruffled Jay's hair. "Your soul will stick around here for forty days and nights, then move on. I'll be sure to leave out plenty of food."

"That's good, master." Jay laid down and rested their head on Christopher's lap. "I hate being hungry."

Christopher pet them, like he might pet a cat, running his fingers through their blond hair. Ezra rubbed a small circle in Jay's back, trying his best to look worried. His intestines felt knotted, not from pity for Jay, but guilt for having none.

Christopher cleared his throat. "We need to decide how to go about doing this. Jay, I would recommend that you overdose on opioids. I have some handy and know the dosages. It would be painless and quick, just like falling asleep."

Jay burst into tears, their breathing turning ragged and shallow. "Please, please- no drugs. I can't do more drugs. I'm trying so- so hard. No more, please no more."

"Shh…" Christopher whispered soothingly. "It's alright. We don't have to do that. But anything else might come with a great deal of pain."

"Just shoot me," Jay pleaded. "I'm so tired."

"Alright." Christopher continued playing with Jay's hair, waiting for them to calm down. "We can do that. I'll make it as painless as possible. Don't fret."

There were tears in Ezra's eyes now. He longed for them to be preemptive grief for the good life Jay never got to live. But deep down he knew they were spurred on by relief that this nightmare would soon be over.

"Can we do it right now, master?" Jay asked.

"In a few minutes," Christopher promised. "Let's have some hot chocolate and relax for a while, then we can…go through with our plans."

While Ezra and Jay seated themselves in the dining room, Christopher busied himself in the kitchen. Ezra hadn't noticed the little shrine on the table before, due to his own distraction and not its absence. There was a small plate of sliced fruit, and a few framed pictures of Colt, including one of he and Christopher's wedding photo. They both looked so happy, standing side by side and holding each other so closely. Ezra couldn't stand to look at it.

This, Ezra supposed, was what Christopher had been explaining to Jay. Probably some tradition of the Russian Orthodox church. Though why Colt's soul would be in Christopher's home at all was confusing, when he had his own house. Jay was too wrapped up in their own little world to notice the shrine. Probably for the best.

Christopher laid out the hot chocolate on the table, a now familiar gesture to the three of them. He sat with his hands folded on his lap, a grim look on his usually smiling face. Jay kicked their legs under the table, much too happy for someone having their last meal. If a mug of hot chocolate could be considered a meal.

The warmth blossoming through Ezra's chest was the most defined emotion he had felt since waking up. Everything else had been a hazy, jumbled mess. But the warmth was real, mimicking happiness as it spread from his chest into his limbs. He couldn't help smiling. Jay smiled back.

When their mugs were empty, Christopher cleared the table. He walked down the hall, leaving Jay and Ezra alone. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say, really. At least not that Ezra could think of.

Christopher returned with a loaded handgun. Ezra idly wondered if he had a permit for it. No one really cared in Idaho or Montana. At least, not as much as they should. It seemed that everyone living in the middle of the woods had an illegal gun or two.

Ezra stood up and hugged Jay one last time, knowing how important it was to them. They squeezed him as tightly as they could, a feeble but enthusiastic gesture. He ruffled their short strawberry blond hair, remembering how he had needed to cut out several pieces tangled beyond repair, and then cut it all short to make it look nice. Jay had hugged him after that too.

It was only after Christopher had escorted Jay outside, gently holding their bruised hand, that emotions finally hit Ezra. Jay was a person. An actual, living, breathing person.

How could he have been so stupid and jealous? Jay deserved a good shot at life. Maybe they were annoying and childish, but he could be too. He couldn't just let them die on a whim. He had talked so many friends down from suicide before. It always felt impossibly hard, but at least he had gotten much needed practice.

What a morbid thought.

Ezra broke out of his thoughts and raced outside, not bothering to put his shoes on. Snow crunched under his feet but he hardly noticed the freezing cold. This was too important for him to be worrying about his comfort. Such an odd feeling, for someone who never thought about anyone but himself.

Christopher already had the muzzle of the handgun pressed to the back of Jay's head. It was positioned to hit the spinal cord embedded in their upper spine. A quick and mostly painless death.

His face was contorted with concentration, and he didn't notice his favorite pet running across the field towards him. But Jay noticed, looking up at Ezra with an ecstatic smile on their face. Ezra's heart plummeted.

Then their body was sprawled on the blood soaked snow, broken and oh so small. The gunshot deafened Ezra, but he hardly cared. Jay didn't look real. No person could ever look the way they did. Ezra finally realized he had never seen a dead body.

Jay was dead. They weren't coming back. They weren't ever going to laugh or cry or have another family meal. They were just…gone. Ezra's heart splintered into thousands of tiny pieces, embedding themselves into the snow, never to be pieces back together in full.

Once again, Ezra bolted. Still deafened from the gunshot, he didn't process Christopher's calls for him to come back. The dark forested hills swallowed him whole, and he quickly got lost. He ran himself ragged, not knowing why he was running, just that he needed to get away from Jay's corpse.

He froze when he stumbled upon a road. His hearing was slowly returning, filled with crickets chirping and leaves stirring in the trees. A small gray car pulled over to the side of the road, and a woman rolled down her window.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Ypu look like you're lost?"

"Y- yes. I'm lost. I don't know what I'm doing out here." Tears froze on Ezra's cheeks. "Please help me, ma'am."

"Get in my car," she said gently. "I'll take you wherever you need to go."

This wasn't Ezra's first experience with hitchhiking, and he was too tired to feel suspicious. He clambered into the passenger seat and told the woman his old address without thinking about it. It wasn't home anymore, but he didn't know Christopher's address.

The car drive passed in a blur, and he brushes aside all of her invasive questions. He stumbled out of her car with hasty thanks and apologies for not having money.

Ezra wearily climbed up the stairs to his apartment. No one else was awake, and his old room was still messy and untouched. He collapsed into bed, leaving all his problems for the morning. A bad habit, but one he was fond of.

Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chiswhumpcorner @skittles-the-whumpee @whumpkinz @dokidokisadness @enbygesserit

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Whump #Pet whump #Major character death #Eden #Whump series #Multiple whumpees #Pet whumpees #Creepy/intimate whumper #Assisted suicide #Religion

[sashi-ya]

@sashi-ya ooooooooo this is such a cute event!!!!!! I always look forward to all your events!!!!! Can I PLEASE request a NSFW Law x female reader with the prompt Breaking the rules of the royalty. Female reader is a princess in an arrange marriage and has to meet her husband who is a creep and Law being possessive bodyguard. Rough, impregnate, ass slapping, marking, edging. Thank you sooooo much!!!!

Hii honey!! Of course! I hope you like it!! Thank u so much for your support, you are awesome! Love u!! ❤

👑 Oh, Royal Lust Event ~ Royals AU event.

𝖓𝖘𝖋𝖜 ~𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕲𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉! 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖌𝖆𝖗 𝕷𝖆𝖜 𝖝 𝕱! 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘! 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 ~ 𝕭𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘

tw: nsfw. reader losing virginity. spanking. marking. edging. vag. biting. impregnation. rough sex.

wc: 2.7k

Want more? visit the masterlist

The sweet little princess has to get married, it’s time. It’s already time.

To ensure the continuation of the good relationships in between your and that other kingdom, to perpetuate power, to be stronger. The princess must marry that prince.

Oh but, what could be the problem? He is a prince, right? Probably noble looking, beautiful, fine- Not at all. Coming from the Donquixote, a “heavenly dragon” family, the youngest of them all, looks as stupid as disgusting. He doesn’t have any manners, he speaks like a freak, he even smells bad. A man you wouldn’t touch, not even look.

“But dad, I don’t wanna marry that bastard!” you protest to the King. A King who only cares for the prosperity of his own ass dismiss any of your pleas and makes your guard, and man of his utmost trust,  take you back to your room.

“Trafalgar, take this whiny child to his room! She thinks she has any right to protest while enjoying the pleasures of being a princess. Little girl if you want to still have those privileges you better marry Donquixote!”

“I don’t really want those privileges any longer…”

Trafalgar Law, the hottest royal guard ever known, places his hand over your shoulder. “My Princess, please” he whispers from behind, probably understanding you were right, but the King had the last word. Nevertheless, you are happy to feel his touch. If there is a man, you really want to marry that’s Trafalgar Law. But he is just a guard, and you are a princess.

Walking through the cold halls of your cobbled stone castle, you take a look at the snow falling outside. The pristine covering of a whole night of snowing over the endless extents of your gardens look quiet and dead. Dead like the flowers of a past spring, dead like your heart after knowing you have to be devoted to a disgusting prince.

But, even if you thought your heart was dead, there was still a light inside of you. A light that soon would turn into a fire of rebellion… and lust?

“Trafalgar… will you help me?” you ask him all of a sudden. The guard, dressed in his winter uniform, covering his right shoulder with the skin of an unknown animal for you, stops right away. The sword on his left side hangs from his hips and the sound of his boot echoes through the white walls of the hall. “Yes, My Princess?”

You smirk, of course he will help you… “Follow me” you tell him, grabbing his clothes and pulling him inside of your room. His grey, starry eyes widened. If someone ever saw one of the Royal guards were touching the princess and entering into his room, his head would roll down the castle or even worse; impaled on a spear.

“My Princess, what-?” he asks, frowning. Classic frown that for you makes a young pal like him look like a serious man, a tempting man. You sit on your bed; the uncomfortable skirt of your dress carve marks on your legs, so you quickly lift it up.

Law turns around immediately. “My Princess, what are you doing?” he asks, trying to remain calm but with a shaking voice. Such sweet reaction from a fearless knight makes you giggle, how cute.

“Trafalgar, don’t worry. We are alone. It’s just these shitty things are so uncomfortable! I wish I could use the pants you are using! Give them to me!” you protest, well aware of the double meaning of your speech. “Come here and help me” you command.

Law turns around slowly and warily. Cautious and yet curious to see what you want, because the Princess, the Empress is considered the most beautiful woman after all. “Yes?” he asks, taking his gaze off the marbled tiling up to your eyes.

“Untie this for me, Law” you whisper, seductively showing him the crossed ribbons in the back of your corset. Law gasps, stuttering to even mumble a yes. In any case you didn’t want him to undress you, just to help you loosen them for you.

He walks slowly, trying the many medals that hang from his uniform not to tingle as he moves. Fingers with black ink on them, something you always found fascinating from him, begin working on the tight stripes of your back.

“Just loosen them up so I can breathe properly, please” you order in the sweetest, yet most flirtatious tone. “Ok- my princess-ya” he whispers, coming a little closer as he does it with utmost care. And as he comes closer, you can feel the warmth of his breathe on your naked shoulders.

When you can finally breathe properly, grateful for it because the alone presence of such sexy guard so close to you makes your breathing go crazy, you walk away from him. Law stands right where he is, and once again his eyes meet the tip of his black boots.

You move away the heavy velvety curtains of your window and open it. The cold breeze of the winter hit your hot cheeks, giving them some release. You jump and sit on the windowsill so gracefully and carelessly making Law to run and catch you.

“Princess! What are you doing?!” he chimes, passing his arms around your waist. Faces so closer, your hair flowing outside from probably more than six meters of height. The light turning into a flame inside you, I don’t wanna marry that bastard… I wanna marry this man…

You smile at him, noses almost touching. “I was just going to sit and tell you my plans but apparently you already know them, Law” you say, always with a half grin plastered in your face.

Law’s eyes move side to side, his lips barely opened, trying to stop himself from doing anything else to her princess. “What plan, my princess?” he asks, never letting you go and in fact pulling you even closer to him. The danger of being just on his arms, hanging from those heights, the forbidden of the situation…

“Tonight, you and I will run away when we get out of the castle to meet my future husband” you tell him, as if what you were saying was just a child’s play. “Run away?” he exclaims, frowning once again, cheeks getting red on top of caramel skin.

You place your index finger over his lips, making him slightly pout. “You don’t want to protect your princess, Trafalgar?” you moan, luring him into your lustful trap. “I know you are the best strategist from my dad, you will surely know how to help me scape and I will surely know how to compensate you for that”

Law breathes harder, his uniform, that up until that moment he has been proudly wearing, represents a jail for his body. He wants to get rid of it, he wants to get rid of your beautiful fine dress. He wants you, so much…

“Are you gonna help me then, Trafalgar?” you insist, noticing his fingers now buried on the little patches of skins that protrude from the openings of your corset. “Uhu- uhum” he nods, lost in the ruby tinted lips of her Empress.

“Kiss me, then… my royal guard”

Lips melting in a passionate kiss. Silk and tulle ripped off from your waist in a lustful make out session. Law kisses you mercilessly, your teeth then graze the defined bones of his mandible. Opening your legs and snake them around his waist he takes you from the window to your royal bed.

Law sits on your bed, breaking all the possible rules. You over his lap, fingers taking the uniform off. Exposed chest, showing a big tattoo all over it. “Beautiful, Guard” you mumble, kissing desperately his inked skin while he slips the ruffled sleeves off your arms to discover your breasts.

The coldest winter makes your naked bodies all bumpy, but the heat inside your cores is enough to keep going… until…

“Princess? Are you in there? You have to get ready for the trip. You will be meeting Prince Donquixote tonight” one of your maids announce from outside your room.

Both Law and you stop, and with lips pressed you smirk. “I’m getting ready, I’ll be ready soon! Please if someone sees my guard Trafalgar tell him he will be accompanying me for further security” you lie, just to make sure nobody thinks he is in there with you.

“My, my… the princess is a good strategist too” he whispers on the crook of your neck, placing a wet peck. “Prepare yourself, Trafalgar…” you joke, standing up from his lap and running to the bathroom.

While you get ready, and Law assures there is nobody around, he gets out of your room.  

You pick the finest dress, red like blood, like passion. Tight around your waist and big, fluffy skirt. Who cares if the colour is not appropriate? You are running away surely after, you don’t want to live like this, not anymore. You don’t care about your kingdom.

You get out of your room, hiding under your skirt your most precious belongings. Law is waiting for you right by your door, acting as if you two haven’t kissed and almost made love some hours ago. “Trafalgar” you smile. “ Princess-ya” he smiles back, offering his arm for you to hold on it.

You trust this man with your heart, not because he has been by your side since forever, or because you lust for him, and he lusts for you… but because he is your last chance to scape from this hell. You won’t get married to a man you don’t want to. You won’t lose your freedom.

The carriage waits outside for you, pompous décor all around the hard wood. The white Percheron horses are ready to make its way towards the tall layer of fresh snow on the ground. “Allow me to help you, Princess-ya” Law says, lending his gloved hand.

A soft smile and gracefully you land your hand over his palm, looking up at the main tower where the King is looking at you. You smile at him, with the most innocent smirk. You show him reasons to believe you have accepted your faith and inside you go. Law salutes the King and soon after he gets inside the carriage too.

The first part of the ride, looking through the little windows as the sun goes down and the night takes over, has been quiet. Silently, yet full of indiscreet looks.

“Law… what’s the plan?” you murmur, even if you are sure the coachman won’t hear from outside. Law smirks and fixes his eyes in yours. A troublesome sight, maybe even a dangerous one. “Come here and I’ll tell you” he whispers, patting his lap.

You giggle and quickly crawl on top of him. “Now, tell me!” you insist, excited. “Do you trust me?” Law asks, tucking some of your loose hair tufts behind your ear. “Uhum” you nod, kissing the tip of his nose. You are living a dream, almost like those books Robin, your maid, usually allows you to read.

“Then leave it all to me, Princess-ya” he finally says, attacking your lips with his. You receive him, enjoying the humping motions over his lap as the carriage wheels roll through the bumpy roads of your kingdom.

Law spanks your glutes every time you jump over his growing hardness. You can definitely feel it, as you have decided not to wear anything under your dress. It was cold outside sure, but his warmth was enough to keep you hot.

Law suddenly stops kissing you. “I’ve got just one thing to ask for if you want me to help you, Princess” he asks in between panting. “Tell me, Law” you allow him to proceed.

“I want you to be completely mine from now on” he says, kissing your neck. “I’m yours, Law. Completely yours” you moan, ripping a devilish smirk from his countenance.

His teeth carve marks on your neck as he bites and sucks. “Mine, then. Mine, mine” he repeats making you whine quite loudly. “Shh… princess-ya” he laughs covering your mouth with the palm of his gloved hand.

His lips goes down, down. Leaving sweet pecks as they pass.

The cleavage of your dress ends up ripped as his skilled hand brutally tear the fine lace. He bites first softly then nibbles harder. Marks, little bruises all over, shiny surfaces from his wet tongue. Sucking on your hard nipples on and on and on, unleashing a beast that’s been tamed for a long time. “I’ve always wanted to do this to you, princess” he mumbles with his mouth full of your flesh.

Your eyes only show the neediness, the desire for him to keep going, the screams you are not allowed to emit with his hand covering your mouth.

Once he is done overstimulating your pleasure buttons, as if you were as heavy as a feather, Law turns you around. Sitting this time with your back against his chest, he reaches for your legs from behind. “Spread” he whispers, ripping away the tulle of your skirt.

Law finds the pleasant surprise of wetness and flesh and nothing else covering them. “My beautiful princess, what a slut you are” he says, sucking on the lobe of your ear. “Just for you, my guard”

He takes his hand to your mouth so you could bite and pull his glove off and then straight to your sex. First playing with your arousal honeys, then right to your clit. Dancing fingers over it, making you discover the true pleasure. Pleasure that amplifies when he prepares your entrance sticking gradually one, two and even three fingers in.

You can barely breathe as he keeps using his free hand to keep you quiet, exploding climax making you shiver, bathing his black pants with your release. But it’s not the end, of course not. And as much as you, he needs to fuck you, deep… so deep.

“My plan starts here, you know? You can’t marry a prince if you aren’t a virgin” he informs you, as you feel his pants slowly going down. You should perhaps, get a little worried, but you only want him to stretch your walls as soon as possible. And oh, he does. The tip goes first, playing with your neediness.

“Law…” you beg, as he keeps edging you with just a tiny taste of his dick inside you. Law smirks and laughs in your ear, squeezing your thighs to keep them spread. “Heh. Eager, princess… you are so eager for this” and just as you less expected, when you thought he was going in, deep, he lifts you up and pushes you against the seats in front of you. You land with your hands, remaining on all fours.

“Is everything ok, Princess?” the coachman asks, and you look at Law scared. He smiles, quite calmed down and nods for you to talk. “I- I am ok! I only dropped one of my bags. My guard had already helped me”.

Once the coachman is out of the way and the carriage keeps its way towards the reign of Dressrosa, Law pushes your head against the velvety fabric of the seat in front of you. “Ass up” he commands, in heaven. How many times he had been ordered around, now it’s his time.

A few spanks on your ass, leaving your glutes hot and sore, and inside he goes. A violent, piercing thrust. You swear you could feel his dick up until your stomach. The endless motions of his sex inside you, covered in a little reddish substance as he has claimed your purity for his own.

It doesn’t hurt, because Law had been careful enough to stretch you out properly, and the roughness of his motions only feel like heaven. “Law--- I’m co-“ you whine, as he pulls from your hair for better gripping with one of his feet over the seat and the other on the floor.

“You are coming, princess? Even better, this is the second phase of my plan… you see, I’m gonna impregnate you, you can’t get married with a prince if you are pregnant… princess”.

Widening your eyes, trembling, and climaxing you also feel his own climax flood your womb with creamy, warm release. Subtle grunts reach your ears, and the way he presses himself against you to not let a single drop fall from you.

“Good princess, very good princess. Now rest here, it’s time to get rid of some intruder and ran away” he says, unsheathing his sword and telling the poor coachman to stop the carriage…

The end?

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