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thedawntreaders · 2 years

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pc movie miraz is adept at handling his heir. can i have a headcanon as to why he's so confident with babies pls

when miraz picks up his son from the cradle, he's reminded of a newborn he once held, many years ago.

it nearly cost him everything.

you see, miraz was someone who took the matter of becoming king very seriously, and he knew he was going to be in it for the long haul. he was observant to the king's mannerisms and habits. he noted down the schedules he had, the people he would be around that could make for potential spies. for several months, miraz worked on his scheme; he made sure to adjust his arrangements and organize safety nets to combat just about any possible outcome.

but his calculations never included a nephew.

"miraz! would you like to hold him?" his sister-in-law asks, interrupting his thoughts. he jolts before smiling and raising his hands in surrender.

"i couldn't. i don't know how."

he felt guilty enough for plotting the death of someone's husband. now someone's father?

"i'll show you," she smiles gently, reaching out and pulling him forward. the bundle in her other arm squirms. miraz looks to his older brother for permission (a bad habit), and his heart twists ugly at the pride painted on the father's face. i'm losing time.

miraz sets aside the anger, however, for the sake of the mother and child, and follows his directions dutifully once the king nods back in approval.

a grave, grave mistake. miraz, with the help of the queen's supportive affirmations, finally gathers the courage to pick up prince caspian. he wishes he had the same amount of courage to drop him. instead, his heart disarms his mind from the intrusive thought and succumbs to the heir's divine innocence at a speed that leaves him largely ashamed. he doesn't realize what he's doing with the coo that falls from his lips or the finger that raises itself to wiggle in front of the child prince until he hears his brother and sister-in-law fail to stifle their laughter. in that moment, miraz realizes he could do the most foolish things for this child's happiness.

but what about his own that was so painfully denied for all these years? the question sobers him.

well, miraz was merciful in the ways he knew best. after consulting with professor cornelius (under the guise of intellectual banter) regarding when one's memory begins, he gave his brother and sister-in-law a generous one year with the baby. many telmarines and narnians alike would hardly call it that, but no one understands the agony of overlooking every perfect chance to kill the king the way miraz does. he places their happiness over his as he's done before, and bides his time.

it's the best he could do, he reminded himself, when the servant tried to shake the king awake one morning, the king who, with closed eyes, still held his baby close to him. it's the best he could do, he reminded himself, when he paid the royal apothecary to lie on the autopsy and not mention the poison found on the king's lips. it's the best he could do, he reminded himself, when the queen drove herself mad with grief and disappeared into the woods after the funeral, leaving the castle with only a prince and his uncle as the last markers of royalty.

the plan would have gone a lot better had there been no child involved, miraz acknowledges, but overall it was executed perfectly given the circumstances. the king is gone and his wife has relinquished her claim on the throne, just like that. so why does he feel no satisfaction? he's closer to his goal than ever before.

... ah. that's it, isn't it? he hasn't reached his goal yet.

the child remains.

prunaprismia sings caspian to sleep on the night miraz calls the last search party off. we've looked everywhere. she's gone, sir. with tired eyes, miraz returns to the castle and walks in on her cradling caspian. their eyes meet. he hangs his head solemnly. she looks at him for a moment before turning away. she continues to sing, albeit shakily now.

she's always wanted a child of her own, miraz muses. he does too. wouldn't it be wonderful, if they had a strong and brilliant son who could inherit the kingdom from him? and for a moment, with success a few steps away, he considers taking the current prince from his wife and putting him to sleep the same way as his father, silently and painlessly. he's right there. no one would know.

lightning blinds miraz through the clear window and a roar of thunder startles him. caspian awakes, and his cries ring loud through the castle.

something changes then and there.

miraz doesn't kill him that night nor any of the following nights. slowly years begin to pass by and caspian grows. they go on walks in the garden together. professor cornelius becomes his tutor. prunaprismia teaches him how to braid flower crowns. caspian the tenth is alive for a reason miraz can't quite place.

that's a lie. he knows. he knows the reason why, just can't come face to face with it. the reality is that miraz doesn't have it in him to take caspian's life, even when the opportunity is served to him on a silver platter. and so he waits like he waited before, but for two decades' worth, so that when the time comes, he can tell himself this was the best he could do.

i need air, miraz thinks as he makes his way to the balcony with the bundle in his arms. the ghosts of his past weigh down on his lungs like anchors, and they pull stronger when prunaprismia asks where caspian is. he doesn't look at his heir anymore; shameful as it is, he fears looking down and finding prince caspian the infant in his arms instead, the child orphaned by his uncle for no fault of his own, who, against all odds, grew into something of a son to him over the years.

as the soldiers come back through the gates, miraz gives the heir back to his wife and wonders who he's seizing this throne for.

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decamarks · 1 year

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it's funny, but I just realized I was just discussing yesterday with a friend what specifically always unsettled me about the animated Mario head from Super Mario 64- that whole kind of hard to describe tech demo feeling to it (which I believe it originally was??? don't quote me on this) and being motion captured with very basic/rudimentary methods, and when you really think about it, you can sort of feel it

i feel like CHOW! totally hit the nail on the head for that exact feeling for me- I know you cited PSX & Xbox as your goals (i 100% see it in the aesthetic choices especially!!) but I love just how even without the glitching, it captures perfectly that sort of feeling that I think either leaves people feeling endeared or creeped out- but very very genuinely, like, perfectly gets across that concept of a programmer making a cool bit of advanced animation/interactivity tech at a time where it was still new! i adore that so much

OH MY GOD YES!!!!! i probably don't even need to confirm it, but yeah CHOW! was pretty directly inspired by the mario head. (i also cannot thank you enough for adhering to the manual's stylization of CHOW!).

the mario 64 head is an incredible thing to me, both in terms of it being a silly tech demo, and it being endearingly terrifying. the animations alone are a bit awkward looking and technologically stilted—and like, there's no way to avoid the fact that it is explicitly an entity of endless body horror, because. it IS. it was designed to be stretched and warped and deformed by small hands just learning to use the n64 controller. yet it remains such a fun and fascinating thing... we have the technology to do terrifying things to mario's face, so we will. it's an inevitability that we can, and should, embrace—that is the message mario 64 sends. or it's not and they just wanted to have a goofy interactive title screen with silly expressive animations. who knows!

i think we need a new term for this kind of endearing creepiness. "ugly-cute" is a widely recognized notion, but 'ugly' ≠ 'uncanny'. i propose uhhhhhhh. "uncandearing". actually that sucks nevermind. BUT IT'S AN EMOTION I TREASURE REGARDLESS OF IF I HAVE THE WORDS FOR IT. it's something particularly present in older technology; the rudimentary tools and strict limitations on what can be created that leads to this uncanny, stilted strangeness. it gives the impression of something trying so hard to be appealing and friendly, but it's just breaking at the seams from how much effort it takes to do so. thus becoming 10000x creepier than it was initially. and 10000x more endearing, too...?

another famous example of this is the IBM computer singing daisy bell. it's just so cute to see time and time again that people will endlessly innovate in order to imbue technology with bits of humanity—by expressing artificial emotions, or silly virtual interactions... of course, it's not quite human enough to feel completely real, and not quite not-human enough to feel, y'know. not creepy. but it's TRYING its BEST.

at least for me, i don't think it's a harsh split between perceiving it as endearing or uncanny—it's a bit of both, and each amplifies the other. i intended for CHOW! to be the most viscerally repulsive thing ever brought to 3d space (and i'd say i succeeded to some extent), but as i was animating, it inexplicably grew on me? to the point where i actually felt a little upset, like, peeling its skin off after it 'glitches out'. though it was a bit uncanny before, at that point the veil is entirely removed, and now it's not really even alive enough to be uncanny in the same way.

i hate CHOW!. i would also die and kill for it. these are two emotions that exist at the same time, and i just have to deal with that.

#i imagine the developers of CHOW! had the same weird protectiveness over their awful entity. hence the terrifying anti-cheat consequences.#like they've put so much money and time into this awful thing. and it sucks. and people want to feed it poison.#but after being around it for so long they just CANNOT be convinced that it's not cute and appealing #but on some level they know. they know people hate this thing. because they kind of hate it too.#this dissonance becomes anger and this anger becomes at least 500 bricked consoles and demolished save data.#and that becomes an entire development team losing their jobs. this is the power of CHOW!'s wrath.#ANYWAY.#another favorite piece of old interactive technology is fin fin. he is so stilted and silly and sings the most haunting melodies for me.

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lesbianshadowheart · 6 months

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How I sleep knowing Aloy is a lesbian and HZ3 will not have dating sim-like romance options

#if im wrong ill eat this post or whatever ig #i just think just bc games like ME and BG give branching romance pathways doesnt mean every rpg needs to...#especially as those games have a strong focus on player choice embedded in their design philosophy #and horizon has always been very much a linear story. its just open world #and aloys journey as a character and her relationships? also linear and predetermined. comeon #also unlike bioware and bg3 in horizon games you are not creating a player character. you are not projecting yourself you are empathising #i think it would be veery weird and out of place for guerrila to suddenly include a romace choice mechanic #even the way they allowed the player to choose not to kiss seyka in the dlc was a bit of a cop out i personally think #bc despite it being rather inconsequential and not negating the relationship they had developed nonetheless #it gives people a window to b like. heres how aloy x avad can still win jfhjdn #and outside fandom shipping spaces and in the real world. it gives just enough space for the cognitive dissonance #of ignoring aloys sexuality completely #they might still do it in the next game. or relegate a romantic storyline to a sidequest. which is FINE i guess #like of course i think it should be 70 hours of undeniable unskippable dykery. but realistically i just hope for hashtag gayloy confirmed <#this got away from me but bottom line i just think shipping has poisoned peoples brains and i hate it in this fandom especially

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cordeliawhohung · 1 month

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Leftovers [2/3]

Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series

part 1 | part 3

warnings: unhealthy relationships, anxiety and depression, minor smut, possessive Simon, abusive behavior

you're his, now

wc: 4.6k

It had been months since the night your life ended and started again.

For the longest time, you were livid. Inconsolably upset at everything. A special type of betrayal festered in your chest where it rattled and raged against the hollow cavern between your ribs. That betrayal quickly revealed itself to be grief as the days went on. That utter melancholia threatened to suffocate you every time you thought about your old partners, The Prices. How they kept you like a pet, to be played and toyed with. How they decided to have a child without your input. How they only told you when they announced it to all their friends, like you were nothing more than a guest in their lives.

Then, there was Simon. Your savior. Or, at least that’s what he liked to call himself. It didn’t feel like salvation when he ripped you from the grasp of your old partner's bitter and unloving hands, not when you realized the cost of it. Lying wasn’t supposed to be synonymous with loving, and yet it was the very thing that had put you in the palm of Simon’s hands, made you so pliable for him as he fucked and marked you that night, making it impossible for you to ever return to your old life.

There was nothing but poison waiting for you with your old lovers, if you could even call them that. But being force fed the antidote hurt just as bad when that corruption had become the only comfort you had ever known.

Simon had a way of making things feel better, which usually consisted of him being anchored between your legs. If there was an issue he couldn’t fix by talking or kissing it away, then he would fuck it out of you, and you hated that it worked as well as it did. When you wanted to be mad at him for lying to you, for tricking you into giving yourself to him, his cock always ended up burrowing into your cunt. Your breath would be lost, stolen from your very lungs, and your words along with it. He had grown to know you so well that he was able to pull orgasms out of you with his eyes closed, rendering your brain numb and incapable of argument or resentment.

This cycle continued for what felt like forever. Your days would pass by with you rotting in bed in frustration and anguish as you choked on that antidote and feeling of betrayal, and when Simon had enough of your unresponsiveness, he would fuck you into submission. Coo and embrace you like a true lover would. It created some sort of dissonance within your very being. You were supposed to be mad at him for tricking you, and yet it felt divine being held against him. You couldn’t get enough of the searing sensation of his lips along your skin, or his breath caressing your ear as he slept.

It was agony being torn apart; forever caught between the gravity of your old lovers and the man that stole you from them.

Eventually, you woke up one day and it didn’t hurt anymore. Whatever frustration or anger that burrowed underneath your skin dissipated; vanished into thin air as if it had never existed in the first place. Things seemed brighter, you cried less, and Simon looked at you with adoration rather than pity for your shattered mental state.

Perhaps it was the ignorance that made things better. Without any access to the Prices, you had no knowledge at all of how they handled your absence, if they even cared at all. All you knew was that you had managed to find solace within Simon, despite the terrible start to your relationship. He really did take care of you, just like he said he would. He insisted on paying for everything, refusing to let you work, and provided you with everything you would ever need.

After all, you were his now.

Which was why you found yourself in front of a boiling pot of water in the kitchen of his apartment. Without the use of your phone, Simon had given you an old CD player to keep you occupied as you cooked or went about your day. Radiohead’s album In Rainbows droned on in the background as you mixed the pasta around the pot to keep them from sticking together. Spicy marinara bubbled on the next burner over, and its heavy aroma hung thick in the air around you, leaving you in a mouthwatering stupor.

Just as the alarm on the stove went off signaling the pasta was cooked, the deadbolt began to jingle behind you. After you turned the burners off, you quickly slipped out of the kitchen to greet Simon, who flashed you an entertained smirk. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, yet they always seemed to light up when they landed on you, and you couldn’t help but grin up at him. It wasn’t often that he got home before ten, as his new job often kept him late, so you were ecstatic that he arrived just as you finished cooking up dinner.

“Smells like you’ve been busy,” he chuckled as he locked the door behind him.

“I thought I would have to leave some out for you again,” you admitted. His hands found your hips and he drew you closer, catching you in his gravity. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Before he allowed himself to respond, Simon squeezed your hips as his lips descended onto yours. It was the way he always greeted you when he arrived home from work, like he couldn’t get enough of you, or more accurately, like he knew you couldn’t get enough of him. You could taste the stale cigarettes on his breath, and the slight hint of mint that he used to attempt to cover it, and it took everything in you not to moan at the flavor. He was the one to pull away first, and your lips curved into a smile as his thumbs rubbed soothing circles along your hips.

“Let’s eat, yeah?” he prompted.

It didn’t take long for dishes to be served and for both you and Simon to settle on the couch in the living room while some programme droned on in the background. Even during meals you always huddled close to him as if you would die without his heat. Your leg laid pressed against his as you leaned into his side, and had Simon not been as large of a man as he was, you certainly would have smothered him with your presence.

“How was work?” you questioned once half your plate had been emptied.

“Was alright,” Simon replied with his mouth full of pasta. “Bit slow.”

“That why you’re home early?”

“Mhm.”

Simon never seemed like much of a talker, and neither were you until recently. A majority of your life had been spent in silent pining for your basic needs and desires, but once Simon had stolen you away, it was like all you ever wanted to do was talk. Perhaps it was because he genuinely seemed to care about what you had to say. Or maybe it was because some sort of loneliness still managed to creep into your life, like a ghost that haunted you.

“I’m glad you’re home early,” you admitted. “I’ve been missing you all day.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart. I always try to come home as soon as I can,” Simon assured you.

A twinge of exhaustion lurked underneath his tone, screaming at you that despite the fact he got off early, he certainly had a long day. He always seemed drained after arriving home, proving to you just how hard he worked in order to support you, to give you the life he told you that you deserved. You always had someone who would crawl into bed with you, someone who wasn’t ashamed to show you affection and love, someone to truly take care of you. Despite the circumstance, Simon was everything you could have ever asked for. Everything you would ever need.

So why did it feel like something was missing?

That night after the dishes were washed and the lights were turned down low, you and Simon hid underneath the covers where your limbs intertwined with one another. For some reason he always insisted that you sleep naked, and though you weren’t sure why, you didn’t really mind. In fact, feeling the warmth of his body seep into you was so intoxicating you probably would have come to that conclusion even without his prompting. You couldn’t get enough of his scent, or how his skin felt against yours, and even though the two of you had laid in bed for nearly twenty minutes you buzzed.

Nothing could satiate your need for him. You wouldn’t be satisfied until you were able to crawl into him and hide yourself away underneath his very flesh. You wanted to shrink yourself down, become some small thing, and tuck yourself into his pocket to be forever stuck with him. A vile yearning for him tainted your very essence, and yet you wished it would destroy you all the same.

“What’cha so wiggly for?” Simon questioned, half awake yet still teasing.

“I missed you,” you whined as you buried your face further into his bare chest.

His chuckle sounded low and grumbly in his throat as his arms wrapped firmly around your center. Wandering hands caressed along your hips and down your thighs, traversing and memorizing every single dimple of your flesh like it was the only story he ever wanted to know.

“I’m here now, love,” he hummed.

“I know, I just get so lonely when you’re gone,” you admitted with a pout. “You’re gone forever at work, and I just wanna talk to you. I was thinking that maybe if I had my phone back I could message you-”

“What did I say about your phone?”

The tone Simon used to cut you off was sharper than anything you had ever heard from him before, and it stopped you in your tracks. There was a fatigued sort of frustration that drenched his words which left a part of you wishing that you had never opened your mouth in the first place. He was too tired, too irritated to have a conversation, especially one like that, and you were afraid you had pushed his buttons a bit too much.

You swallowed hard as Simon’s hands moved to your chin, forcing you to look up at him through the dim light rather than keep your face hidden in his chest. Darkness obscured his face, making it near impossible to truly read his expression, and yet you found your bottom lip quivering all the same.

“Sweetheart,” he urged, softer that time, “what did I say about your phone?”

“That it’s… better if I don’t have it,” you answered as your teeth bit into the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah?” His hand moved from your chin to your cheek where his thumb gently rubbed at your skin. The notion was comforting, soothing even, yet you knew he was truly checking for tears. “And why’s that?”

“Because then the Prices won’t be able to contact me.”

Just like that, your mood was ruined. Any reminder of your past lovers was a painful one. Even after all those months they still seemed to have some sort of control over you, and the fact that they could sour your mood with just a simple memory was dehumanizing. Your somberness was so potent it exuded from your body like fine mist, and Simon’s caressing of your face increased tenfold in an attempt to calm you before things became catastrophic. You were his sweet, fragile girl, after all.

“Right. And it’s better that way, isn’t it sweetheart?” he concluded softly. “It’s better here with me, because I take care of you, don’t I? I don’t neglect you, or treat you like some pet.”

Although he was right, it didn’t make the bitter ache in your chest go away. Simon did his best to sooth the pain with his hands and words, and you shivered as his fingertips traversed from your face, to your shoulders, and down your waist. He had to find some way to distract you, some way to remind you that he was the only one you needed, and that you had to stay far away from Price and his trophy wife. You were too good for them; he needed you to know that.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours, that’s what we agreed on, yeah?” he continued. His hand began to dip lower, moving from your waist, over your stomach, and between your legs. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers burrowed between your thighs, searching for access to your not quite slick cunt. Your emotions were too high for you to be wet, Simon was well aware, but you both knew he could change that within an instant. “They’ll never see you again, never get to abuse you again because I’m here to protect you. I love you in a way they never did.”

Right as he spoke those last few words, his fingers greedily swiped against your clit, and your legs had no choice but to fall apart and grant him greater access. A gentle tremor shook the bed as Simon repositioned himself, pushing you on your back so that he could hover over your exposed body like it was a fresh meal just for him. Famished lips descended onto your neck as his fingers prodded against your entrance, forcing your mind to go blank with longing.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? Need my full attention? I’m sorry, sweetheart, shoulda fucked you the moment I got home, huh? I’m all yours, and you’re all mine. Say it,” Simon urged as he still withheld himself from you.

Squirming, you reached out for him with wanting hands as you snaked your arms around his neck. This was how he healed you, with his fingers teasing your cunt and his saccharine words plugging your ears. There was nothing else in the world you needed besides Simon. Every chord of your body yearned for him as if he was the only sustenance your body craved. This was how he healed you. With honeyed words and a worshiping mantra reminding you of who you belonged to.

“I’m yours.”

That night only added on to the other countless evenings spent with Simon tucked between your legs to voraciously consume you whole. There was no thinking to be done when he could mercifully do it for you, and you were content with that. At least, you thought you were. Things always became difficult when Simon vanished off to work, and he would do his best to make it up to you when he arrived home, to distract you from the empty feeling that seemed to fester inside of your chest. But no matter what he gave you, what he did for you when he was home, your mind always wandered when he was away.

You couldn’t help but think back to when you lived with the Prices, how cold and lonely that house was, and how colder still your lovers were. Mr. Price — no, John — had sent you over to Simon like a bitch; some obedient pup meant for entertaining but not for loving, and it didn’t make sense. He had sent you over to comfort Simon so flippantly, yet acted as if the world had ended when you never returned back to them that terrible night. Was there some sort of miscommunication? Was that never his intention at all? And still, they left you out of the imperative conversation about their pregnancy like it never concerned you at all.

You were spiraling again, and Simon was able to pick up on it just as easily as he could sniff out a bad wound. He could only keep you caged up so long, and he knew he needed to remedy it before he was back at the beginning with you. So you shouldn’t have been surprised when he arrived home one day with a gift. Beautiful, blush pink cloth sewn into a perfect sundress sat underneath delicate tissue paper, and you had a hard time hiding your awe and surprise when you revealed the astonishing dress. Simon’s eyes seemed more dilated than normal when he saw you hold it up to your body, and you caught onto his small smirk.

Without hesitation, you slipped into the dress at his prompting, and you were ecstatic to find that it fit perfectly. Simon had gotten used to your sizing after having to buy you a whole new wardrobe after you escaped the Prices, but even then you were impressed at how well it formed to your measurements. It was as if Simon had every inch of your body memorized after the months you had spent together to the point that there was no way he could mess up your sizing. You couldn’t help but smile knowing that no one else had ever done that for you before.

It didn’t end there. With Simon having to work longer hours that night than normal, he insisted on taking you out to lunch, which was something you couldn’t ever recall doing. Ages had passed since you had even stepped foot out of Simon’s apartment, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt the sun on your skin. You didn’t know why he hadn’t taken you out sooner, but if you had to guess, you were certain it was for the same reason he did everything else; to keep you safe from the Prices.

The restaurant Simon took you to was the fanciest you had ever seen before. Several art pieces adorned the walls with such vibrant shades you were convinced that the art itself cost more than whatever it took for them to construct the building itself. Crystal chandeliers hung high above your heads, and before either of you could order the waiter had filled your glasses with the finest of wines. The menu itself didn’t even have any prices, but Simon didn’t seem at all concerned with it, and insisted that you ordered whatever you wanted.

There was something deliciously domestic about being there with him. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you, that much was evident, but there was something exciting about being able to show that fact in public. To prove that someone loved you enough to show it off, rather than hide you away. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t wipe that grin off your face as the two of you talked about nothing while eating the mouthwatering meals on your plates. For a moment, you two were the only beings in the world.

For a moment.

A flash of something caught your attention. Maybe it was a giggle, or the cooing and awing, but all you knew was that your eyes suddenly glued themselves on the patrons a few tables away from you. For a split second, you thought you saw them. John and his wife. It wasn’t them at all, but you realized you only feared that because this woman, this beautiful woman with her glowing skin and healthy laugh, was pregnant. Obviously so, too, as her stomach swelled and stretched with the growing life inside of her. Her husband could hardly take his eyes off of her, constantly reaching across the table to hold her hand despite her attempt at trying to enjoy her lunch. It was… stomach lurching.

By that point, Mrs. Price would be four months along. Or, no, more than that for sure. It had been four months since you had been taken from them, since you had even heard from them. Four months without closure, or the opportunity to talk and get answers. A part of you needed to know why things happened the way they did, but you were completely in the dark. All you had received was whatever Simon spoon fed you, but it wasn’t enough. You weren’t sure if it would ever be enough. Maybe you had been empty for too long to ever be full again.

“Everythin’ alright, sweetheart?”

Your eyes tore away from the unsuspecting couple and landed back on Simon. He studied you carefully with a neutral expression, but you saw the slight press of his lips. Dark red wine faintly stained his pale skin, yet you couldn’t find yourself able to appreciate the beauty of it. All you had was a rotten feeling in your stomach and the sudden urge to vomit.

“Yeah, of course,” you lied.

Things got bad again when Simon left for work that night. Maybe it was the knowledge that he wouldn’t be home until late that made your brain ceaselessly buzz. Or maybe it was the image of that pregnant woman at the restaurant, the one that reminded you of the suffering you had to endure all those months ago. You attempted to silence that incessant sound in your mind as best as you could, because you knew you couldn’t afford to blow up, so you did anything to distract yourself. Music blasted through the CD player louder than it ever had, certainly to the annoyance of your neighbors, but for once you found yourself incapable of caring about anyone but yourself.

When that didn’t work, you put on a movie instead. It wasn’t one you recognized, just something you had flipped to when you were browsing through streaming services. You had gotten dressed in one of Simon’s plain tees in an attempt to drown yourself in his scent, and yet that didn’t dull the ache either. All you could think of while the images flashed in front of you on the screen were the movie nights at the Prices. How John would make you cuddle up next to Simon, how the only comfort you could find was in his beating heart as he held you close to him…

There had to be a reason for it all.

When the movie ended and there was nothing to accompany you but silence and the sound of your own breathing, that’s when you knew you couldn’t handle it anymore. You needed something. You needed answers.

Like a feral rat, you began to search every nook and cranny of the apartment for your phone. If you could find it, maybe you could get some answers from John. Even if Simon said it was bad for you, you knew you needed closure, no matter how much it hurt. Wherever Simon had put it, it was well hidden. You nearly tore apart his dresser, every drawer in the kitchen, the corners of the bedroom closet; everywhere you could think of, and it wasn’t there.

Just when you were about ready to tear the floor up, you finally found it. Really, you had half expected him to have thrown it away, yet there it sat underneath the bathroom vanity, hidden behind a myriad of cleaning supplies so far back the overhead light couldn’t illuminate it. When you finally had it in your grasp, you nearly cried, and you weren’t sure why. A fit of emotions bubbled in your stomach, each of them violently conflicting, yet frustration took over when you attempted to turn the phone on and the screen wouldn’t light up. Of course it wouldn’t, it hadn’t been used for months.

Rushing off to the bedroom, you quickly borrowed Simon’s charger and let your phone sit on the nightstand as it ever so slowly charged. Answers almost within your reach, and yet your anxiety bubbled up more than ever as you waited for that black screen to flicker to life.

It took ages for the thing to fully load up once it was charged enough to turn on, and you held the device in your shaking hands. All your old apps appeared on the screen, countless pictures that you had taken over the years, but the most eyecatching of them all was the amount of notifications you had for your text messages. 172, all within the last four months.

When you clicked on the app, you quickly realized that all of those messages had been sent by John, and you hated the way your stomach dropped. But this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Answers? To have him explain why he did what he did? To make it stop hurting? With a heavy breath, you clicked on his name, and the app instantly scrolled up to the very first message he had sent in his cluster over the last few months, and it was then that you noticed something was wrong. Just before his onslaught of messages, there was a reply sent by you, one you didn’t remember sending.

Don’t contact me again.

This wasn’t you. That had to have been Simon, because he had taken your phone from you before you ever got the chance to respond to them yourself. Their worried messages, their pleading for you to come home, to know that you were okay. It didn’t work, obviously. The next few messages after that one was full of John pleading to speak with you, of several missed calls, of him apologizing for anything they did to upset you. The texts dated back only hours, sometimes minutes apart, and it was strange. You had never seen him so desperate before. Not for you.

Eventually they seemed to stop for a while, only to start back up again weeks later. There were plenty of comments saying how much they missed you, how they wished you would change your mind and come home, and it felt… wrong. Hadn’t Simon told them that you were with him? He told you he did. He had even quit his job with Price because he didn’t want any bad blood, so why did they act as if you were lost? Like they didn’t know where you were at?

Confused, you continued scrolling, eyes glossing over at the repetitive messages, until eventually you stumbled across pictures. Baby clothes. Cute little shoes. Ultrasounds. Pregnancy announcements. A gender reveal. They were having a girl, and they painted the nursery a cute shade of pink, just like the dress Simon had gotten for you that day. And then there was a video. It was short, and though it wasn’t visually stimulating, it had a rhythmic pulse accompanying the audio. The baby’s heartbeat.

Wish you were here to share these moments with us.

You weren’t able to stop the tears streaming down your face, or the food that came back up to say hello. Indignifying as it was, you sobbed on the cold bathroom floor as you vomited and continued to dry heave the emptied contents of your stomach. Everything crashed down on you all at once, and yet you felt numb at the same time. Nothing made sense. Why were they still trying to talk to you after all that time, like there was still a chance you would return?

Then, you suddenly thought back to the morning Simon admitted his lie to you. How he had done it so easily and without remorse. How he grabbed at your cunt like he… owned you. You would have thrown up again at that thought if you had more food in your stomach, but you instead rose from the cold tile to rinse your mouth. You didn’t feel like a lover. You didn’t feel cared for. For the first time in months, you felt like a pet.

So you did the only thing you had ever been good at doing: you ran. You ran just like you did back at John’s club, and every other time your emotions conflicted so bad you swore you would die. After you gathered a small bag full of personal items, your phone and wallet included, you rushed out the door and didn’t bother to look back as it closed behind you.

an: this was only ever supposed to be a one shot, but i decided to expand on the story a little more, as i felt the first part wasn't able to fully convey the story i was trying to tell. once the 3rd part is posted though, that'll be it, so please don't harass me about more parts again (: gives me anxiety

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #f!reader

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qqueenofhades · 1 year

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I understand how important it is to be able to criticize the President, and am not at all of the belief he should be beyond critique, but the critiquing of Biden makes me so nervous. (That's not to say I agree with every decision he's made - I absolutely do not). But I feel like people see things he's done wrong and decide they won't vote for him because of it. I'm not sure if enough people have the ability to see that he's done things wrong but also is our only hope of staving off literal fascism.

So many people talk about how sick they are of it constantly being a lesser of two evils situation, constantly having to vote for a candidate they hate because the other side is worse (I heard it in 2020, 2022, etc), and I guess I just- I don't really get it? We're here because they didn't do that in 2016. All of this could've been avoided had the result been different then. I just feel like people don't comprehend how different of a place we'd be in if Hillary won and engage in all this cognitive dissonance to make themselves feel better about being part of the reason she didn't.

Like.... this has been a long-running topic of discussion on my blog, not least because it is so inexplicable and maddening. It also shows how terribly shallow most people's understanding of the American political process is, and how toxic the "I can only vote for a candidate if every single personal belief/position of theirs matches mine" belief is, as well as how much damage it has done to American democracy even (and indeed, especially) by people who technically don't identify as right-wing. Yell at Republicans all you like (God knows I do, because they're the worst people on earth) but they vote. Every time. Every election. Every candidate. Whereas the Democratic electorate still holds out for Mister Perfect, and it very definitely is Mister Perfect. The amount of "evil HRC!!!" Republican-poisoned Kool-Aid that so-called progressives drank in 2016, and then afterward when they insisted they could have voted for someone like Elizabeth Warren and then didn't do that in 2020, is... baffing.

Frankly, I don't care if Hillary Clinton's personal positions on XYZ issue were the most Neoliberal Corporate Centrist Shill to Ever Shill (and Online Leftists' intellectual skills being what they are, I seriously doubt that they were using any of those words correctly and/or accurately). American policy is not made by "personal dictate of the ruler," or at least it shouldn't be, because we are not an absolute monarchy. We rely on the operation of a system with input from many people. As such, if Hillary had been elected, we would have 2-3 new liberal justices on SCOTUS and have secured civil and environmental rights for the next generation. Roe would be intact, and all the other terrible rulings that SCOTUS has recently handed down wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't have had January 6th, the attempt to stage a coup, all the tawdry scandals, our national security being at risk because of Trump stealing classified documents and probably selling them to Russia and/or Saudi Arabia, etc etc. If you think that's in any way an equivalent amount of evil to what would have happened if Hillary was elected, or if she was "still evil!!!," then I honestly don't know what to tell you. She could fucking murder puppies in her spare time if she had preserved SCOTUS for us, WHICH SHE WOULD HAVE, BECAUSE SHE WARNED US EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

(Hoo. Sorry. Still steamed. 2016 war flashbacks, again.)

In short, Hillary would have been a solid continuity Democrat and she would have signed whatever legislation a Democratic House and Senate passed, not to mention been hugely inspiring as the first female president. But because it's so important to the Online Leftists' moral sense of themselves that BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME!!!, they can't possibly acknowledge that ever being a factor, and/or admit that they have any culpability in not voting for her in 2016. It's like when you read the British press about any of the UK's equally numerous problems, and they BEND OVER BACKWARD to avoid mentioning that Brexit might be a factor. They just can't mention it, because then that means they might have made the wrong choice in pulling for it as hard as they did, and blah blah Sovereignty.

Basically, if HRC had been elected president, everything would be so much less terrible and terrifying all the time, we would be talking about her successor in 2024 as someone else who could be the "first," we could explore handing the reins over to Kamala as a Black/Asian woman, we could promote Buttigieg as the first gay president, etc etc. But because 2016 was so catastrophically fucked up, we are in damage control mode for the immediate future and every election is just as pivotal. And yet, because people think that the only thing that matters is a presidential candidate's personal views, we're stuck having the same old arguments and desperately begging people over and over to please vote against fascism, since that somehow isn't self-evident enough on its own. Yikes on Bikes.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #hillary clinton was right about everything: the redux redux redux

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heavyweightheart · 1 year

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the painful dissonance between the food restriction & deprivation i see in people day in and day out, and our society’s messages--esp to fat people--that they need to be eating less. what i wouldn’t give to extract that “eat less” poison from every mind. people are too broke to buy food. schools and workplaces barely give time or permission to eat. people hate themselves for what they do eat. someone is gonna comment about vegetables. burn it all down.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months

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Fighting junk fees is "woke"

“Populism” isn’t intrinsically left or right. The distinction between the two is often obscured by jargon, but there’s a simple litmus test (courtesy of Steven Brust): “ask what’s more important: human rights, or property rights. If they say ‘property rights are human rights,’ they’re on the right.”

Which is to say, both the left and the right can be populist, but the populist left seeks to improve peoples’ lives, no matter what that takes, while the populist right is only willing to make the world better when that doesn’t interfere with the interests of property owners.

This is how you get the Libertarian Party of New Hampshire equating publicly produced, free insulin with forcing enslaved Black people to pick cotton in the fields:

https://newrepublic.com/post/174485/libertarian-party-suggests-former-black-lawmaker-pick-crops-free

For right populists, the property rights of pharma giants are human rights, so anything that interferes with those rights is equivalent to any other human rights violation.

This is not only wrong, but it’s also a huge vulnerability in the right populist mindset. It’s a button that, when pushed, produces a reliable and reflexive outrage.

This is essential for the creation, maintenance and expansion of plutocracy. In a plutocracy, a small minority owns most of the property (we live in a plutocracy). By definition, plutocracy isn’t popular, since it’s a system that benefits a small minority at everyone else’s expense. In its natural state, plutocracy is only popular with its winners, and not the vast majority of losers it creates.

So plutocrats need to find ways to get turkeys to vote for Christmas. One important trick is to convince us all that the system is fair, guided by an invisible hand that performs mystic passes over our heads at birth and locates the very best of us and elevates us to the apex of the social pyramid.

But there’s a problem with this: plutocracy is self-sustaining. The story that we’re all just “temporarily embarrassed millionaires” who can rise to the top with hard work and smarts falls flat in the face of the reality that nearly everyone at the top was born there. If the system selects rulers based on merit, and if everyone the system selects was born rich, then the rich must have some genetic trait that makes them destined to rule.

This is why plutocracy always turns into aristocracy: the idea that some people are suited to rule because they have “good blood.” Eugenics is, above all, a way to excuse inequality. Fitness to rule is determined primarily by whose orifice you emerge from, and only secondarily by any obvious competence or skill.

So right wing footsoldiers are mired in a terrible and shameful swamp of self-loathing. By definition, their lack of wealth and power is their own fault, and not merely their fault, but the fault of their genes. Being on the bottom is proof that you deserve to be there. Your failure to rise proves that you don’t deserve to rise.

No wonder the right is so irony-poisoned. Remember 2020, when gun-nuts got “revenge” on gun safety scolds by photographing themselves pointing loaded guns at their own penises? The participants insisted that they were just trolling, and they were…by pointing loaded guns at their dicks:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/28/holographic-nano-layer-catalyser/#musketfuckers

Plutocrats understand that there are limits to irony, and that at a certain point, irony poisoning becomes so acute that your rank-and-file literally start blowing their balls off. To relieve the pressure, plutes scapegoat other people based on their gender, sexual orientation, race, or nationality.

This provides an important resolution to the cognitive dissonance of meritocracy. The reason you’re doing so badly isn’t that you lack merit, it’s that affirmative action has elevated unworthy people to the positions that you deserve. You are a temporarily embarrassed millionaire — but the riches you deserve have been snaffled up by welfare queens and DEI consultants.

Cruelty isn’t the point of culture war bullshit: the point is power. Cruelty is merely the tactic:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

Culture war bullshit is a very reliable way to get turkeys to vote for Christmas. Take the campaign against junk fees, which have ticketmastered every part of your life with “fees” for things like “paying your rent by check” and “not paying your rent by check”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/30/military-industrial-park-service/#booz-allen

There is no broad constituency for junk fees. Scam artists (including scam artists in the C-suites of Fortune 100 companies) love them, sure, but junk fees make everyone else furious.

What’s a plutocrat to do? Well, it turns out that culture war bullshit can make right wingers point (metaphorical) guns at their own junk — all plutocrats need to do is put the word out that getting rid of junk fees is “woke” and low-information right-wing thumbsuckers will demand the right to be charged junk fees.

Here’s an example: one especially pernicious form of junk fee is the “swipe fees” that credit-card companies charge merchants. In an increasingly cashless age, these companies — dominated by the Visa/Mastercard duopoly — have figured out how to scrape 3–5% out of every single retail transaction in the entire fucking economy.

Every merchant you patronize has to charge more — or reduce quality, or both — in order to pay this Danegeld to two of the largest, most profitable companies in the world. Visa/Mastercard have hiked their fees by 40 percent since the pandemic’s start. Forty. Fucking. Percent. Tell me again how greedflation isn’t real?

A bipartisan legislative coalition, led by Senator Dick Durbin (D-IL) and Senator Roger Marshall (R-KS) have proposed the Credit Card Competition Act (CCCA), which will force competition into credit-card routing, putting pressure on the Visa/Mastercard duopoly:

https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/1838/text?s=1&r=3

This should be a no-brainer, but plute spin-doctors have plenty of no-brains to fill up with culture war bullshit. Writing in The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein unpacks an astroturf campaign to save the endangered swipe fee from woke competition advocates:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-08-04-wall-street-culture-war-swipe-fee-reform/

Now, this campaign isn’t particularly sophisticated. It goes like this: Target is a big business that runs a lot of transactions through Visa/Mastercard, so it stands to benefit from competition in payment routing. And Target did a mean woke by selling Pride merch, which makes them groomers. So by fighting swipe fees, Congress is giving woke groomers a government bailout!

It’s literally that stupid. It’s being pushed by a dark money group based in Kansas, which is targeting Senator Marshall’s constituents with mailers that warns voters they’ll “lose their credit card points” because he’s thrown his lot in with “liberal politicians”:

https://punchbowl.news/caf-marshall-mailer-kansas/

The fliers also warn that competition could result in “your financial data could be processed by partners of the Chinese Communist Party” (the bill bans foreign companies from routing transactions, and bans China UnionPay by name).

The fliers are anonymous. The only ghoul shameless enough to put his name on the campaign is Grover Norquist, whose Americans for Tax Reform tells its Christmas-voting-turkeys to “side with consumers, not woke retailers.”

The dark money org pushing this line have placed op-eds in newspapers across red states, comparing transaction routing competition to your kids’ data being snaffled up by Tiktok:

https://www.theflstandard.com/senators-rubio-and-scott-must-protect-the-personal-financial-data-of-floridians/

This nonsense was peddled by League of Southeastern Credit Unions president Samantha Beeler, whose org has spent $20,000 fighting the CCCA, claiming that a “cheaper” system would be “less secure”:

https://disclosurespreview.house.gov/ld/ldxmlrelease/2023/Q2/301493985.xml

But that’s small potatoes. Millions are being spent, right now, lobbying against CCCA — $5m from the American Bankers’ Association, $2m from the Credit Union National Association, another $400k from Mastercard.

For these rentiers, corrupting our government with millions is a stellar bargain if it lets them continue to collect rent every time we spend money. And millions of people who’ll end up paying that will demand the right to do so, provided they’re told that they’re fighting “woke capitalism” and China.

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

[Image ID: A mechanical credit card imprinter (AKA 'zipzap') emblazoned with a US flag Punisher logo. It is imprinting a blank credit-card slip with a red Visa card bearing the GOP logo. It sits on a weathered wooden plank table, stained a dark brown.]

#pluralistic #finance #junk fees #ripoffs #turkeys voting for christmas #culture war bullshit #useful idiots #visa #mastercard #swipe fees

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just-antithings · 11 days

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I need many people to realize a strong contribution to the purity discourse in media we see among young people is due to radfems & gender criticals poisoning the water supply on sites like this one (tumblr) or other social media since 2014

Seeing teens and young 20-somethings using "porn addicted", "porn-brained", "degenerate", all unironically, those are words you find in alt-right & anti-LGBTQ+ message boards.

It wasn't JUST GCs alone, but many people have been around to see them influence a generation of kids with arguments you see today like

“X in fiction causes abuse"

“x is fetishization"

"Unless you've personally gone through trauma you shouldn't write about it"

“If you HAVE gone through trauma, you can't sexually explore it"

"If you like abuse in fiction you're an abuser in real life”

Hearing kids call random (usually queer!) shippers in fandom "groomers" and "pedophiles" for ships that have been established in fandom for decades, or because of a "power imbalance" between adult characters isn't a coincidence. Hmm, I wonder what other groups use those words?

It's not solely kids alone, it is a combination of:

Online radicalization and disinformation

No spaces for kids

No internet safety/literacy

Steeping censorship in activist language,

lack of education (If you don't know red flags you can't avoid them)

COVID did NOT help

This is why ignoring it will never help, because while thankfully some people grow out of it, it usually happens to people who had some support system or breakthrough in cognitive dissonance. There are plenty of people who are becoming adults and who keep infantilizing themselves

“My brain isn't done until I'm 25, you're all predators" and they're talking to a 30 y/o

That argument is literally being used by UK government officials to block access to gender-affirming healthcare. Infantilizing adults only serves the purpose of stripping agency and rights

They're not being safe. They're not gaining skills. They're participating in a fear-fueled climate of faulty medical misinformation, keeping themselves in a perpetual childish-victim state no matter how old they get and nothing about this is healthy

How do you think a person goes through this world when they've been wholly convinced that you can tell someone is safe because they like "safe" or “wholesome" things, & people who make them uncomfortable via hobbies or interests (not IRL actions) are probably actual criminals?

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #abuse mention #pedophillia mention #grooming mention

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lorei-writes · 2 months

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Character Thoughts: Character Design #1 - Chevalier, Gilbert, Leon

My personal outlook on the character design choices in Pri is that the primary objective of the artist behind them was to reflect personality of the suitor rather than to fit within any specific time period. As such, it becomes a question... What can be read from their looks?

Images were sourced from @acrispyapple 's blog.

Chevalier

Chevalier's colour scheme is all black and white, with subtle golden touches. It is fairly simplistic and may draw forward the image of a white tiger -- a ferocious although rare beast. It creates a frightening backdrop for any blood that may be spilled... and accurately enough, may serve as a reflection of a binary logic mindset.

Asymmetric cape allows for greater freedom of movement. The arm he draws his sword with is not going to be restrained under the weight of fabric. His boots look suitable for horse riding and the cut of his jacket, I believe, is meant to resemble military uniforms of centuries prior. Chevalier is covered from his fingertips to his very neck -- there isn't a vulnerability exposed in him. He is vigilant, he is ready to act, he is guarded. His skin will not be first to be cut, poison will not enter his system without struggle, his hand will not slip on the hilt of his sword even as it grows slick from crimson. Chevalier is a knight.

But through and through, he is also royalty. The haft at his hip could be called subtly ornate, albeit the material it's been made of makes it more so "humbly" opulent. The gold he dons speaks of riches, as does the fur at his collar. He's a commander. He is a noble. His position clearly separates him from others.

Chevalier is eye-catching. And were he involved in battle? You'd fear what you'd see. As you should.

Gilbert

Black, white and gold also follow Gilbert around. However, if in Chevalier's case it could have been argued that the split between darkness and light was even, then Gilbert is the dark itself. The rest are merely accents. They do not reveal much of his mystery, do not offer anything past sparse commentary on it... And I believe they aren't supposed to. Gilbert is the unknown. He is threatening and he is very clear about it.

The orders at his chest, the cut of the lapels, his boots -- it is hard not to see signs of Gilbert being involved with military. However, his clothes have clearly not been designed for ease of movement. They seem heavy, like he could get twisted in them at any moment and collapse, not to mention the heat. Long and heavily adorned with patterned accents, gold, they speak of might... But of that becoming of a commander, not a person who fights themselves. The cravat at his neck is yet another sign of how far removed he is from direct action. It is both a liability in combat and a sign of status.

Gloves, cane and eyepatch. Why should a person of his age need them? Surely, this question comes with simple answers... But are they quite correct? There's a dissonance there. You can see his secrets, but it does not mean they will be revealed to you. He, after all, too is guarded.

Leon

Another character dressed in black! But... Leon's is different, isn't it? It speaks of mystery, of secrets, surely, but when combined with noble gold and warm red... It is almost as if he wanted to say "I wish I could tell you, but I cannot". Even if not everything can be made clear, it is evident his actions are underlined with royal scarlet of high ideals.

Leon is a hero. You can see it in his wear -- it is much too informal to place him among the military, but it undeniably shows power and readiness to take up direct action. The guard at his shoulder may be complex, but the same cannot be said about the design of the hilt at his hip. It is simple, so much so that it begs to ask who else could wield it. If that is his weapon of choice, how far above a common knight does Leon see himself? Or... does he consider himself to be above them at all?

Based on the quality of his clothing and detail put into it alone, it is evident that Leon is not a person you may pass on the streets. However, his hands are out there, completely unprotected. And the way he wears his cape? His belts? The sash? It is utterly proper. Even if the lapels of his jacket do not follow any standards for uniforms, it is still buttoned up as it should be. Relaxed (or as relaxed as it may be for royalty), it gives him a laid-back, reliable appearance. The lion insignia clearly signifies who he is.

What are you hiding, Leon? We are at arm's length. You shine too bright... Yet you also mean us no harm.

#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #leon dompteur #ikepri leon #ikemen prince leon #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert

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fromabasementonthehilll · 9 months

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Hello! Can I ask for Nat x Fem reader? They are in the wilderness and Nat is the antler queen, just showering her pretty girl with love and protecting her. I NEED HER SO BAD SHES MY DAILY SEROTONIN SOURCE🥺 and maybe R tells Nat that she was and always will be her queen? Thanks xoxo

Antlers

͙⁺･༓☾ - Summary: ‏‏‎Natalie had been crowned, you ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎unknowingly drifted apart, though not for ‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‏‏‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‏‏‎‎‎‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‏‏‎long.

Pairing: Natalie Scatorccio x reader

Warnings: ...

note: sorry if it's a bit short, I ran out of ideas by the end 🫠

∘₊✧────────────────────✧₊∘

The wilderness had concord with its choice. You watched in disbelief, the crowning of your adored Natalie. Though the secretive disappointment from everyone had been evident, they eventually rested with the fact that they hadn't been chosen, and they kneeled. They kneeled willingly, enlivened to capitulate beneath her reign, and so did you. Gazing up at her with surrender in your eyes, you took her hand into yours, kissing it softly, your vulnerable eyes never leaving hers as she watched you with adoration.

The worship Natalie was rewarded with by everyone after the crowning was sickening, you knew it had to happen, and she deserved it - but vigilance lingered in you. All of a sudden she was surrounded in a craze of devotion, her time for you had seemingly dissipated and you were left stranded, your anger was a poison to yourself, and your submission to her wasn't an alliance with the rest. Natalie caught onto your dissonance, she had bathed in gifts and admiration from others, distracting her from you, and she regretted it.

Most of your time was spent either talking to Lottie, who was one of the only people you still got along with after everything went down hill, or you would sit in the attic with your sketchbook - drawing whatever came to mind. They were dull, insubstantial days. Natalie watched you from afar, glory overwhelming her with guilt. She knew exactly how you felt - as if she could feel the everlasting ache in your bones, so as you sat in the attic as usual, coming to terms with the new situation that made you admittedly uneasy, Natalie had decided to talk to you.

"(y/n)?" Natalie's tone stayed in the air for a moment as you sat with your sketchbook.

"Hey, Nat." It felt wrong to greet her so casually, after all, she was the Antler Queen, you had to show her respect.

"Look I'm sorry, I'm not ignoring you I promise." Her eyes faltered to the ground with a hangdog look, then back up at your sorrowful face. She'd act careful around you lately, breaking the spirit of her title as queen, and you desperately wanted to know why. "What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything," Your voice diminished slightly, admitting to yourself she really had no choice, the wilderness had crowned her and you acknowledged it. "I just need you right now, Natalie." You finished.

"I know."

Her steps were silent, as was the cold night that gnawed into your skin, though you felt it waver into thin air as she sat before you. Her eyes presided you, you fell victim to her power yet again. The look that survived amongst your and her eyes was like a dagger, a numbing to the pain you endured ever since the plane had crashed. Her caressing hands fell onto your face, a smile bringing sunshine to her otherwise despondent expression, "I really missed you (y/n)," she brazened the heavy moment with her shaky words, "I love you, you know that right?"

You just stared at her, letting her voice and words fall into your bleeding heart. It was days since she had said that, weeks, even. All you wanted was to sink into her, to fill the emptiness that was eating you alive, and so you did.

You leaned in, wintry hands finding hers. The passion that stripped you of your defence was dangerously alleviating, and she had been starved of you. Yearning for the taste of you; she pushed in, backing you against the raw oak wall with her brutal lips. You felt her young aching smile amongst her eager movement, and the crucifixion of your suffering had died in tranquility along with your doubts.

There were so many unsaid words floating around you and Natalie, but they were told with her actions toward you. It was different than before, this time she had an unspoken power over you, it was a dynamic you didn't question, though.

It allowed her to keep you from harm, your distaste to most of the others was made translucent to her, and she would take it upon herself to regularly check up on you, making sure you weren't upset, that you weren't hurt by anyone - she swore to keep you safe, cradled in her protection.

You'd often overhear people mutter cruel words, that you were selfish and sucked up to Natalie, once Natalie had come up to, "Are you okay?" She asked, rubbing your back as you sat on the porch, cold and hopeless, "I'm scared Nat, I cant do this anymore, it's too hard." She softly looked at you, as if she could look right through the winter snow and into your heart. She kissed you, reminding you of her restless love for you, and you believed everything would suffice, though just a moment later you realised that you hadn't noticed Tai, spitefully spitting her words out to Van, "Who does she think she is? She isn't entitled to any of this." It was a relief that merely the two saw you and Natalie.

You should've been hated there, the way she would treat you so delicately unlike the others.

One night you were making out in the attic, she seemed hesitant but wouldn't admit it - eventually she pulled away, giving you a melancholic look. "What's wrong?" Your face began slowly imitating hers, "Nothing, I guess, I mean I don't know." Stammering her words more than you'd ever seen before. "I just don't feel like I'm supposed to, (y/n). I know that I'm meant to like this, and it felt right at first but now it's just... off." Natalie crossed her arms shyly, backing away from you. "What's off?", you wished you could comfort her more, she was obviously disturbed, but your mind went to all the wrong things, to the point where you felt like breaking down.

"I don't feel like a 'queen', at all. I cant keep up this act, It's like I'm incompetent or something, I cant live up to my title, I don't want to disappoint anyone anymore." Her lips quivered with every sentence she spoke, your eyes traced her face gently while she gave you a glance of shame.

It felt like you could see the reflection of her soul in her eyes, like her skull was open and her heart was beating out of her chest.

"You haven't disappointed anyone, Natalie. Do you know how much everyone adores you?"

"But, do you?"

Her words felt like nails on a chalkboard, moonbeams shined onto her cruelly honest expression. How could she even ask you that? Were you that irresponsible that you had forgotten about her? It didn't make any sense to you, none of it did.

"Of course I do, more than anyone in the world," Your voice breaking into a heartful whisper.

"You'll always be my queen, Natalie."

Her mind seemed to leave the gut wrenching thoughts, she just looked at you with her newly hopeful eyes, shoulders falling back down into ease, you beamed helplessly as you watched her relax into your words; she couldn't help but love your smile. "You're gorgeous, (y/n)." Everything felt right, you spent the moment in silence, the kind of silence that only felt comfortable with her.

She didn't gratify the love she had for you to anybody else, it was just for you.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #nat x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets oneshot

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transmascissues · 2 years

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i think we need to talk more about the very specific language people use to talk about trans men&mascs’ bodies, because the language they use evokes a very particular image. they call us dirty, ugly, deformed, mutilated, poisoned, ruined, and just generally “gross” and what it boils down to is a very pervasive sense of body horror.

people are genuinely disgusted by the mere existence of our bodies. i’ve experienced this in my own life, most poignantly when my father (who has otherwise been relatively supportive of my transition) replied to my desire for top surgery with “it’s not natural! nature doesn’t make people like that!”

transmasculinity — particularly visible, tangible, bodily transmasculinity — activates something in their subconscious that they don’t know how to reconcile with. they see us and immediately fall back on disgust because they can’t make sense of us any other way.

and this kind of visceral, all-emcompassing disgust is very specific to how people treat trans men&mascs. you might see similar things directed at other trans people, but it’s never quite the same. there is a very specific disgust that cis people (and honestly, a lot of trans people) reserve solely for us.

this is something i think all trans men&mascs have grappled with at some point in our lives, especially if we pursue a medical transition. any steps we make toward a body we feel good about will require wading through the cognitive dissonance of knowing that the bodies we strive to exist in will only ever be seen as dirty and ugly and wrong.

i can attest to this personally: when t started making me grow facial hair, i had to convince myself not to immediately shave it off because even though i loved it, i couldn’t shake the feeling of how other people would look at my face differently.

more generally, when i look at pictures of myself pre-t, as strange and uncanny-valley-ish it is to see myself like that now that i look much closer to how i want to look, i can’t help but be struck by how *pretty* i was. i know that’s all anyone else would notice — not how much more comfortable i am, but how pretty i used to be and how i gave it up.

just a few days ago, i had a moment in the shower where i just closed my eyes and imagined shouting at my mother: “this body is not yours this body is not yours this body is not yours” over and over because she, more than anyone else, has made it abundantly clear that every step i’ve taken has ruined my body somehow and she, like so many other trans men&mascs’ mothers, has made it her mission to clean me up and pretty me up and make me presentable again.

because that’s how the world at large sees our bodies: unsightly and corrupted and in many ways the grotesque physical manifestations of of some social sickness that they believe will destroy everything they value.

the disgust expressed toward other trans people tends to be a more abstract one — often a moral disgust, expressing that the action of being trans is objectionable to them. even bodily disgust is surrounded by these more abstract themes (think of people talking about transfeminine expression as a perversion of femininity — it’s not inherently the expression that’s the problem but the actions someone took to get achieve that expression, because femininity is supposed to be something good and pure and putting it down outright would go against that).

but when it comes to trans men&mascs, there is nothing abstract about that disgust. it’s incredibly physical — a visceral, tangible horror at the existence of our flesh and bone. they hate us down to the blood in our veins. they hate us down to our cells.

#in my experience this is the hardest part of internalized transandrophobia to work through #because its one of the easiet messages to internalize in the first place #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #trans men #transmascs

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thirdtofifth · 1 year

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Cerebrilith Large fiend (demon), chaotic evil Armor Class 15 (natural armor) Hit Points 149 (13d10 + 78) Speed 30 ft. Str 21, Dex 13, Con 23, Int 15, Wis 18, Cha 21 Saving Throws Int +6, Wis +8 Damage Immunities lightning, poison Damage Resistances acid, cold, fire, psychic; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks Senses darkvision 60 ft. passive Perception 14 Languages Abyssal, telepathy 120 ft. Challenge 10 (5900 XP) Magic Resistance. The cerebrilith has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects. Innate Spellcasting. The cerebrilith's spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 17). The cerebrilith can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: At will: detect thoughts, confusion, dissonant whispers 3/day each: darkness, dominate person, gaseous form

Actions Multiattack. The cerebrilith uses Mind Lash if it is able to. It then makes three attacks: one with its bite, and two with its claws. Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 12 (2d6+5) piercing damage. Claw. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 9 (1d8+5) slashing damage. Teleport. The cerebrilith magically teleports, along with any equipment it is wearing or carrying, up to 120 feet to an unoccupied space it can see. Mind Lash (Recharge 4-6). Up to three creatures the cerebrilith can see that are within 60 feet of it each must succeed on a DC 17 Intelligence saving throw or take 17 (5d6) psychic damage. A creature that fails its save by 5 or more is also stunned until the end of its next turn.

Cerebriliths are psionic demons who seek to kill, and then consume the brains of, moral creatures. They also use their powers of mental domination to control communities of mortals to serve them, or simply to manipulate them according to the whims of their Abyssal masters. When not serving other demons, they are found in groups of up to four. They stand around 8 feet tall.

Originally from the Expanded Psionics Handbook

#thirdtofifth CR 10 #thirdtofifth demon #thirdtofifth fiend #d&d 3.5 #dnd 3.5 #dnd #d&d #dnd 5e #d&d 5e #dungeons and dragons #d&d monster #d&d homebrew

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metalomagnetic · 1 month

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I was re-reading Dissonance and I wanted to ask if Abraxas ever kept the poison chandelier? Like is it a treasured family heirloom? Or does Lucius just inherit it when his dad dies with no clue why they have this dangerous, tacky piece of decor he can't get rid of because Lord Voldemort vaguely complimented(?) it one time?

It's hilarious that you sent me this ask, while I am still laughing myself to tears (I just read your comment 1 minute ago).

The 'homoerotic chandelier' (I am STILL laughing, thank you, truly) is, of course, gaudy; just horrid, really, there's a reason no one was buying it, even with Tom's outstanding sale talents.

Being an impulse purchase (a horny purchase), Abraxas didn't think it through- how on earth will he explain this monstrosity to his father?

He hides it in the dungeons, knowing his father doesn't go there (draft and all).

After Tom disappears, Abraxas might, or might not, visit the dungeons to have a look at it from time to time. He sent hundreds of letters to Tom, but they all returned unopened, so he's convinced his enemy-lover is dead. His cold, tiny heart, is broken.

Once his dad finally dies, Abraxas moves the chandelier to Gringotts, wrapped in a secure box, in the hopes he won't have to think about it (Tom) anymore, if it isn't in his house. At first, he wanted to destroy it, but he couldn't make himself. (It's lucky he didn't try, because that was one CURSED chandelier that would have reacted poorly to violence).

A decade or so later, Lord Voldemort shows up.

Abraxas is furious (happy)! How dare that mudblood be even more powerful than when he left? (how dare Tom just show up, as if Abraxas didn't mourn for him, thought him dead, and grew stupidly attached to an ugly chandelier as a stand in for Tom?)

Everyone is playing this silly game, pretending not to recognise this is Tom Riddle. Abraxas cannot wait to actually meet him face to face and spit 'Riddle' at him; he is a Malfoy, Riddle doesn't scare him! Alas, before he can meet him, he hears old classmates are dropping dead all over the place (the only thing they had in common was that they knew the name Riddle) and he reconsiders. It's not that he's afraid (he's terrified), but he's just cautious. Yes, cautious. He determines is better to avoid Riddle (even if his broken, even tinier and colder heart longs to see him again).

But then his stupid son comes back with a horrid brand on his arm (he remembers Riddle doodling it in his schoolboy silly journal) and Abraxas is horrified. Furthermore, Rodolphus keeps saying Voldemort is unnaturally close to Lucius, that they have many one on one meetings, and Abraxas has had ENOUGH. So he goes to face Riddle and tell him to stay away from his son (he has no idea that once, long ago, his own father went to tell Tom to stay away from Abraxas. Apparently it's a Malfoy tradition, now.)

Anyway, things don't go as planned, Abraxas freezes when he sees what Riddle had done to his previously perfect face. He freezes when he feels the *power* emanating from him. He ends up pretending he doesn't recognise him.

It's a long and complicated story (really, it is) but eventually Abraxas invites Voldemort to the Manor ( to discuss Lucius, of course, no other reason. Not like Abraxas had decade long fantasies of bringing Riddle to his Manor and fucking him in the master bedroom or anything like that). On a whim, he has the chandelier brought back from Gringotts and hangs it in the dining room.

Riddle's new waxy, harsh face does something funny, shows some emotion for once, when he sees it. Abraxas is suddenly hot all over, but they attempt to talk normally until Lucius comes home, bows to Riddle ( the indignity! Lucius should only bow to Abraxas) and then, with a sneer, asks if Abraxas has lost his mind, what is that ugly chandelier doing in their lovely home?

The chandelier apparently doesn't take the insult in stride, and , with a thunder like noise, starts raining poison down on Lucius.

It's fine, in the end. Riddle was always good with spells of all kind, the arrogant mudblood, so he fixes Lucius up, and then sends him to get some rest.

The next morning, when Lucius stumbles out of his room, with a headache from the remaining after effects of the poison, he witnesses his lord getting out of his father's room.

He blinks. Once, twice. He rubs his eyes, frozen.

"You're hallucinating," Lord Voldemort tells him. "From the poison. Go back to bed."

Lucius decides that yes, he must be hallucinating (he dearly hopes so, because why else would he see the dark lord, robe not entirely buttoned up, leaving his father's room at dawn?), and he retreats to the safety of his room.

Another decade later, when his father dies, Lucius decides to leave the chandelier in place ( in his father's room, where it was moved after it assaulted Lucius). He thinks it's wiser not to mess with the thing. Besides, it seemed to matter quite a lot to his old man; Lucius swears his father loved that ugly monstrosity more than he ever loved Lucius.

Thank you so much for your comment, and you're at fault for this lengthy, cracky answer! I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

#tombrax #crack #my fics #this is all because of a wonderful comment I got

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