#this is why representation is so needed I think

[chronic-conjuring]

I think the term/acronym for OCD has become way too overused (like a frighteningly large amount of clinical, psychological terms tbh) and too many people have a fundamental misunderstanding of what the fuck OCD actually is and looks like.

Too often do we see distasteful, harmful jokes and representations of OCD as just a “clean freak germaphobe” or someone being overly obsessive about the placement of every single thing in their house and then you get the overused (and frankly fucking stupid) “haha I need things to be in a specific order or else it drives me CRAZY!! 🤪🤪 iM sO OcD!! 🤪🤪🤪” kinda lines and it’s absolute bullshit. Sure, those first two are very common symptoms we see in people with OCD but that’s literally not what’s going on??? They aren’t just bothered by the placement of things because it annoys them on some level, they have irrational fears.

So now when we see people genuinely discussing the reality of dealing with OCD, having compulsions to do certain things due to fear of certain consequences if they happen to do/not do it properly and excessive, irrational anxieties, we get shit like this where people are wholeheartedly ignorant of what that even means. Like, people w OCD aren’t necessarily clean freaks because messes and germs give them The Ick™️ (like what many people without this disorder experience) they’re genuinely, extremely irrationally afraid of what could happen should they not keep things in a certain order or wash their hands three times in a row etc.

For example, someone could have an irrational fear that their clothes not being organized in a specific way will in some way cause a loved one to die unexpectedly, if they don’t excessively sanitize the counter after making a sandwich themselves or someone else will get severely, life-threateningly sick, or if they interact with a certain number in any way something bad will happen (“if I eat 5 cookies instead of 4 [something bad] will happen”). These all sound a little ridiculous, right? THATS THE POINT. THEYRE IRRATIONAL FEARS. THATS WHY THIS IS A DISORDER. ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE TO PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE PERSON WHO HAS OCD’S BRAIN!!!!

You CAN see how someone might come to some conclusions, the thought process of “germs make people sick, if I leave things dirty people might get sick” is a fairly rational one, the irrational part comes with the thought continuing with something like “I have just made a sandwich on a clean plate and not gotten anything on the countertop, but if I leave this countertop without wiping it down with disinfectant I could’ve possibly left some kind of contamination and now whoever uses this countertop next will get salmonella/ food poisoning/ an allergic reaction. I MUST wipe it down several times until it is Clean Enough” that sounds just a little ridiculous right? But you can see how someone might come to that conclusion. Which is probably why the most commonly thought of aspects of OCD get boiled down to germophobia and excessive cleanliness, it’s closer to something other people can relate to or understand on some level.

And then there’s other fears that make no sense with little to no logic for others to follow such as “if I don’t lock this door PERFECTLY CORRECTLY someone will break into my house and kill me. I must unlock and re-lock this door until It Is Perfect” logically, a locked door is a locked door. Whether or not you turned it slowly, quickly or whatever, the door is properly locked by the time you’re done with it. That doesn’t matter to someone with OCD. Somehow, someway, locking it too slowly or too quickly will lead to some catastrophic failure and suddenly in their head they are then vulnerable, so they will stand there and lock the door as many times it’s takes for their brain to say “that’s perfect, I’m safe now”.

By reducing OCD into just some quirky thing some people experience, we are doing a major disservice to everyone suffering from this disorder and we allow stuff like this, where people are equating being afraid of something happening to mean they must actually secretly want that thing to happen or to do that thing, to happen and actively harm people with OCD. Too many people misunderstand that it is irrational thinking and fears that drive OCD behaviors, not some hidden internal want for it to happen. Do better

[heartavenue]

ㅤㅤThings To Script: Love Island Edition ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

𖤓 I just started watching Love Island and I am obsessed I fear. Although this season is not...eating the way it should, the urge to shift there is REAL! Context: I've only seen season 7, but I just started watching season 6 (literally watching as I am typing this) so this things to script is based on what I know based on season 7!

Less kissing/physically intimate challenges and more romantic ones (I am not a prude I just don't want to swap spit and grind on people on the first day of meeting them...)

THEY DON'T HAVE SEX NEXT TO YOU OMG PLEASE WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS!

More dates on the show...this show is about finding love why are we doing everything except be romantic with each other

You do NOT have to sleep in the same bed as the person you are coupled up with (unless you want to)

More showers, perhaps like two or three more.

You don't have to wake up at 6:00am.

Women aren't expected to put on full glam...every...damn...day.

You don't have to walk around with a bathing suit everyday, you can switch it up whenever you like.

There are more options for food (avocado toast and eggs EVERY DAY????)

If you have a strong connection with someone you can't get booted from the island.

Your connection doesn't leave you for a bombshell (unless you want them to for drama purposes.)

You can LEAVE THE DAMN VILLA! I mean just to do something, this is FIJI let them people go on excursions.

You genuinely enjoy being in your couple. (Yes this is Taylor shade...)

People don't talk shit about you behind your back.

People are genuinely there for love and not for the game (Yes this is ace shade...)

You can never be single and vulnerable.

There's more diversity, where is the south Asian representation? Pacific Islander, indigenous people, Africans, east asians, DIVERISTY!

More QUEERNESS! Love Island is so cisheteronormative, more queer people!

More body diversity where are the BODIES!!!!!!!!!! I need cellulite, stretch marks, strawberry legs, hip dips, everyone deserves love!

None of the Islanders know each other beforehand.

The girls genuinely love and respect each other, same with the boys. Nobody is jealous of each other and is trying to undermine anyone's experience in the villa.

When recouplings happen they do not affect what you have with your established connection.

America loves you, the Islanders love you, you are iconic!

You have so many viral moments that boost your popularity inside and outside of the villa.

There is a place within the villa where you can go to vent, get away from others, etc without being recorded.

Your type is on the show!

You and your connection have cute moments that blow up outside of the villa.

There are some type of concidences between you and your connection that make you think "wow this must be fate" (think about Serena and kordell matching on the first episode.)

You are an amazing kisser (hehe.)

Nothing embarrassing ever happens to you in the villa.

You make friends that last outside of the show.

There are no clicks that are formed...(ace...)

Nobody expects the girls to wear heels all the time.

Okay that's all I got for right now! Will update as I think of more things!

[kingkat12]

pornstar martini (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, blowjob, punishments, sub/dom dynamics, kinky mails, masochism, masturbation, throwing up (very briefly cause of a hangover), Roman is a fucking ass even though he's overseas ughhh, jealousy ploys

summary: Mr. Godfrey has been away in Geneva for a few days now without as much as a peep-- getting drunk and upset about it certainly won't help, but when have you ever been of sound mind?

word count: 7,710

← previous chapter |

a/n: I'm so fucking drunk while editing this rn, reader is drunk throughout this whole chapter, so... at LEAST I'll have a good representation of intoxication?? I've missed this story tho, thank you all for ALL THE LOVE AHHHH you give me hope, you give me life, so I give you this!<333 mwah, enjoy, you little freaks

"It's your cousin,"

Letha turned to me, slow enough for it to be a clip straight out of a comedy movie; "What?" she asked, putting down her cosmopolitan. 

I groaned into my palm, swirling my half-empty pornstar martini. The loud bar around us made my head pound, each beat hammering into a new part of my brain that I didn't know could feel pain. "It was his shoe," 

"The shoe you... humped?"

"Yeah," I breathed, hiccuping as I tried to force my eyes to open wider. It was impossible to concentrate when I was this drunk. We had been out for dinner around six, then we had met some of Letha's friends at some bar around eight, then we had met mutuals from college who had led us to wherever the fuck we were right now-- we had long broken apart from that group, and we were now sitting in some tent-like structure, having our fourth cocktails for the night. "He told me to, and I did it. Your cousin is hot, are you aware of that?"

Letha blinked over and over, scrunching her nose; "Nope," she said. "He's just Roman to me. He's the same guy who ate snow with me in my backyard when we were six, and I watched him go through his emo phase when he was fifteen. Also, if I ever say yes to that, shoot me, because I'm most likely possessed."

Mr. Godfrey, eating snow? What an odd thought. What an odd thing-- for him to be human.

I scanned Letha; her cheeks always got flushed when she was drunk, and tonight, she was properly drunk. Very, very drunk, and so was I, undeniably. "I don't want to shoot you," I mumbled, bringing my pornstar martini back to my lips. "Aren't you mad, though?"

"Mad? Meh," Letha shrugged. "I'd be mad if you fucked my father, but--"

"Ew, Lee, what the fuck!--"

"But!" She held one finger up in the air, effectively shutting me up. "This is sort of a win-win situation. If you get with my cousin, like, properly, then we could technically be sisters or whatever."

I cleared my throat, trying to straighten up as I pulled the most serious face I could in this state. Letha would've probably not have been so enthusiastic about this if she were sober. "I don't think it's like that," I mumbled, staring at the cocktail I had nearly finished. If this conversation were to continue, I'd need about three more of these. Why couldn't I just shut up? 

"So... what? It's a strictly hump-my-shoe sort of thing?" Letha chimed in, grinning from ear to ear as she watched my cheeks redden to the likes of hers. "You naughty girl! He's your boss, too!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, smacking my forehead twice. Why did my head hurt so bad? Maybe it was time to put down my drink. "It's the suit, and it's the green eyes. I die a little every time I look at him, and soon enough, there will be nothing left of me except my clit."

"... Ew," 

"I'm so fucking serious, Lee!"

"Oh, I'm not denying it," she said in between sips of her cosmopolitan. "Not that I want to know, but I'm drunk and not in the right mind, but do you do anything else? You hump his shoe, and he does?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say here? "Hey, okay, I did that once!--"

"Shut up!" Letha said, giggling uncontrollably. "You hump his shoe, and he does...?"

I blinked, trying to recover from her incessant teasing. I hump his shoe, and he does...? He gets me expensive gifts. He spanks me when I misbehave. He makes me cum when I'm being good, whatever that means. I'm never good, in theory. Mr. Godfrey didn't usually do anything except order me around, yet that was sort of the appeal-- the less I knew about him, what he looked like beneath that suit, who he was, the more I felt like he was a God-like entity. Hence, whenever I had his attention in any way, I felt beyond special. 

That was the appeal of Mr. Godfrey; he was nothing, yet everything at the same time. 

"He makes me feel," I mumbled, pressing my drink to my bottom lip as my eyes blanked. Mr. Godfrey's presence in my life felt like impact-play, but I couldn't say that out loud? "He looks at me, and I... I feel everything at the same time. I feel good, I feel like hell, and sometimes I even feel special. But honestly, sometimes it becomes so overwhelming that I wish he'd set me on fire just so that he could watch me in my very last moments and know that I have suffered for him."

Letha didn't move, didn't breathe, for long enough to make it unusual. Something told me I had told her too much, but just as I was about to clear my throat and try to explain myself, she spoke; "I could report you to HR,"

"You wouldn't do that to me, babe," I grumbled, finishing my pornstar martini shortly after. "You know I hate those people. Also, the HR lady is scary, but really darn hot. I don't want her running around Mr. Godfrey for long enough for him to notice her nice legs."

"Mr. Godfrey?" Letha repeated, choking down a giggle. "You can't even make yourself call him Roman, huh?"

Nope. 

Nope, no, never. 

That felt wrong, like it was something I needed permission for. I probably did, anyway.

Letha let my silence off the hook easily; "Or maybe that's the appeal? He's your boss, so you probably wear short skirts around him, and bend over his desk and purr sir in his ear or something--"

"No!" I cried, burying my face in my hands as Letha laughed. "I don't!-- Ugh." Liar, liar, pants on fire. The more I thought about the time Mr. Godfrey pressed me down into the wood of his desk, holding me steady as he inspected my underwear, made my ears burn; had I been shameless like before, I would've even crossed my legs right now and relieved the intense sensation between my legs, but no-- I had gotten a mental block about that, quite frankly.

"Just don't tell him I told you," I mumbled. "I don't think he even knows we know each other."

Letha's green eyes twinkled; "Don't worry about it,"

"But this sort of leads me to another point," In the middle of a new hiccup, I decided to just go for it. "Has your cousin called you from Geneva? He's been gone for two days, and he's, like...  completely out of reach."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I breathed, swirling my empty glass. "I caught him calling in on some meeting earlier today, so I know he's not a missing person or whatever, but he hasn't sent me anything. Hasn't talked to me. It's like he's ignoring me, or-- yeah, I have no idea."

Letha's brows drew together; not out of concern, but intrigue. "Did he tell you he'd stay in touch?"

"... No, but he said he'd be available,"

"So maybe he's waiting for you to send something, then?" Letha's green eyes seared into mine, once again reminding me that they were related-- they had the exact same fucking eyes. Maybe if Mr. Godfrey completely iced me out someday, I could get over the heartache by looking at Letha. There was my backup plan. The shittiest but wittiest one to date. "But if this is strictly a sex-thing, I wouldn't put it past Roman to be completely unattached to it."

With that, my heart sank. "What?"

Letha shot me a look-- "Come on," she huffed. "He's a Godfrey. If I'm the way I am, can you imagine him? Do you not read those gossip magazines? They psychoanalyze him better than I could ever do, especially now that I'm drunk at three in the morning."

The only magazine I had formally read about him was the Forbes magazine I still kept tucked beneath my pillow-- not the proudest moment of mine. "I know I'm not his girlfriend or whatever, but... what we have feels special, y'know? Like it warrants a snarky email asking whether I've burned the office down or something,"

Letha sighed, checking out the guy to her left as she thought about how to answer me without stomping on my feelings. However, it was three in the morning, and after enough drinks, Letha Godfrey had the filter of a neurodivergent toddler; "Of course it feels special. Doesn't mean that you are to him, though,"

"... Letha, what the hell?"

"I'm just being honest," 

Her attention had completely left me, and she was now waving at the guy with that flirty shimmer in her eyes that I knew too well. It made me turn around to look at him properly, to see who I was battling against, and I couldn't contain the annoyed groan that left me. "Sometimes, he slips up and says things that allude to him thinking about me more than he lets up," I huffed. "I think I warrant an inappropriate mail from Geneva."

Busy flirting, Letha batted her long, blonde lashes at the guy. "Aha," she mumbled, nodding, clearly occupied. 

I gritted my teeth, wondering how long I could keep myself together before I had an angry, drunk meltdown. "What happened to Barty?" I whined. "Bartholomew? He-who-must-not-be-named? The guy you were dating?"

Letha shivered and turned to me with a grimace-- I knew that name would bring her back to me. "We don't talk about him. That was a slip-up in the Matrix," She put down her drink, letting out a sigh as she scanned me, disregarding the guy for now. "So, what, you're going to sulk all week because Roman's AFK?"

"AFK...?

"Away-From-Keyboard," she said, softening her gaze. "Don't let yourself fall apart because of some man. That's so lame. What happened to the girl I knew in college?"

How was I supposed to explain to Letha that it was this exact spiral that made me feel alive? That the way I burned in agony over being ignored satisfied me to some extent? It was too complicated to even begin to decode.  "I don't know..." I stared down at my empty glass, realizing my head was spinning. "I think I'm too drunk to think clearly about this. Should we maybe just get a cab home?"

Letha didn't answer, and instead, reached over the table to put her hand over mine. Like this, lit up by the orange heat-lamps above us, she looked beautiful as ever with her perfect blonde hair lying perfectly over her shoulders. She was so soft like this, so feminine, so gentle-- "Just mail him, babe," she murmured. "Or, call us a cab, and then mail him. Take charge."

Taking charge was Mr. Godfrey's thing, though. That was another thing that I wouldn't explain to Letha. "It's nine in the morning over there," I tried. "And what if he doesn't reply?"

Letha shrugged-- "Then you'll know,"

I looked down at my glass again, the stem sweating against my palm; somehow, knowing sounded so much worse. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a cab, the windows fogged and streaked with rain, the city blurring into watercolor neon. I curled against the cold leather seat, phone clutched in my hand like it had wronged me. My makeup was smudged, my head spun like it always did after a night out with Letha, and everything inside me buzzed with that erratic, mortifying energy that came with four drinks and too many feelings.

Letha was already asleep, head tipped back, her phone unlocked and resting dangerously close to her cleavage. I stared down her blouse for a bit too long, and with one drunk thought after the other, I ended up slowly easing her phone down her bra, containing my giggles. 

So, with Letha's phone sticking proudly out from between her tits, I eventually stared down at mine in my hands. I had distracted myself for a moment, yet I couldn't distract myself forever.

Hiccuping, I opened my mail, clicking into Mr. Godfrey's account-- he had been online two hours ago. Fucker. He had probably already read yesterday's report. Probably dismissed it, too. Probably dismissed me. I was spiralling, but this spiral had edges. This spiral had teeth. This spiral was the same girl that Letha knew in college.

I opened a new mail. Then, without thinking, I started typing-- it poured out of me, fingers fumbling, typos aplenty, autocorrect working overtime like it had taken pity on me, but there was no stopping now. Fuck it.

From: You

Subject: Being Stupid

Hi.

Hi!!

I'm writing this in the back of a cab, so if you see any typos, no you don't. I might perhaps also be a bit drunk, but who cares!! Maybe you're in a conference room in Geneva rn while some old dude talks to you about trade routes and money laundering. You must do some money laundering, sir? Every rich guy does that. Probably? Right? Seems like it, these days. Capitalism!!!!!

Okay, so, I know you said you'd be available if there were any crisises crisies? crisi? but there are none except for me. Before you left, you said that I was an HR liability, and I keep thinking about that, because that's SCUHA A LIE. SUCH. I would never rat you out to the HR lady who is frankly too hot to be walking around like that, she has legs that are longer than the Chinese wall, and it's kind of disturbing. I wouldn't sir!!! I'm not like your last secretary, whether the fuck happened to her. I wouldn't sue you. I'm a good secretary. 

Btw I had a pornstar martini today!!! Three, I thin. k. Four! No, three. Four? Do you drink anything other than bourbon? You need to try a pornstar martini, sir. They are really fucking nice because they're sweet and you sometimes get a pomegranate in it and it's actually kinda inconvevnient inconvenient but it's cutesy!!! Maybe you don't like cutesy tho. Bet you don't. Okay maybe you should stick ot th e bourbon. 

YeahhhtThis message is embarrassing and long and I'll probably try to unsend it in the morning, but if you do read it please don't pretend like you didn't. I know how you are. Just say something. Anything!! Even if it's cruel. I might like it? I can take it. I'd rather have your cruelty than your silence. I'm a good secretary.

Happy money laundering!!!!!!!!

PSPSPS: plsssssss bring me something, I wasnt joking;(((

Click click click,

Your Secretary.

I didn't care to re-read it. It was too long, and at the moment, it felt like poetry that I shouldn't touch. This was genius, wasn't it? This would definitely make Mr. Godfrey pull himself together and send me a heartfelt message about missing me, I was sure of it. 

And then, because I definitely had the traits of an emotional masochist, and because Mr. Godfrey was probably out there, doing anything but thinking of me, I hit send. This was going to fix this. This was fucking genius.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ No, retreat, retreat-- not genius.

Oh...  my God.

Oh my fucking God?!

The next morning, seated behind my desk with the worst hangover known to man, I stared at the mail that I had sent last night. It was glaring back at me from my computer like a reminder that I was getting executed in a few hours.

Not genius. Not fucking genius! 

I so desperately wanted to die. That execution sounded really nice right now. Why couldn't I sink through the floor and haunt the building instead? Why did I have to live through the possible consequences of this stunt? Fucking Letha. 

But said consequences were painfully delayed-- my inbox was empty. This was worse than cruelty; silence. I imagined a ball of dry wheat rolling past my email like in those cowboy movies, a sinister whistle-sound coming from afar. Was Mr. Godfrey blatantly unaware of this, perhaps? Or worse, was he laughing about it? Forwarding it to legal? Telling the hot HR lady with the war-crime legs that I, in fact, was an HR liability?

I imagined Mr. Godfrey and his Forbes nose skimming the message with his unreadable, handsome face. Maybe he was sipping something expensive (and definitely made with Swiss skimmed goat-milk), scowling over my drunken meltdown. Maybe he had already shown it to some diplomat friend over lunch, and they were both laughing at it right at this very moment? "How fucking pathetic... Do you know how hard she cums when I call her a sick fuck?"

My palms were sweating, my stomach twisted with every movement of my spinning chair-- God, I had asked him to be cruel. Who the fuck does that? Who begs their boss for cruelty like it's affection? Why did I drink four pornstar martinis? Three? Four. Whatever.

I slammed my forehead against the desk once. Just once, dramatically, with a soft thud. 

Racking my hungover brain, I tried to figure out if I could get away with hiding in the archive room all day, but then a low voice, smooth and familiar, cut through the fog behind my eyes;

"Rough night?"

My red eyes snapped up, staring up at Peter. His hands were in the pockets of his dark, sleek coat, his hair slightly messy in a way that looked deliberate, clearly just having gotten to the office. He was smirking like he already knew exactly how rough my evening had been, like he had seen me hunched over my fourth pornstar martini telling Letha about the spiritual experience of humping her cousin's shoe-- God, just thinking about that right now made my head pound even harder. 

I cleared my throat, straightening with a slight hiss; the fluorescent lights of the office were killing me. "Remind me to never drink martinis ever again,"

"Oh, that's a shame," Peter murmured, cocking his head. "Martinis can be really damn good. Was it a sweet one?"

"Yeah, pornstar,"

"What?"

Blinking, I caught myself-- I couldn't just say that word without following it up. "Pornstar martini," I corrected, rubbing the back of my neck as I attempted a laugh. "Not saying you're a-- no, no, it's just the name of the drink, I-- ugh, you get it."

"I do," Peter hummed, containing a laugh with a bite of his lip.

"The name is foul," I mumbled. "But it's the best drink ever. I always have one of those when I go out."

"Meaning, you're not gonna have your last one any time soon," With that cool ease he always had, Peter put his briefcase on my desk, leaning over my computer-- he knew that'd have me clicking out of whatever I had been staring at previously with anxious fervour. Chuckling, he shook his head. "Seems you've really let loose with bossman away."

Yeah... if only Mr. Godfrey would come back and pull at my reins again.

"That's slander," I muttered, minimizing my inbox. "I've been nothing but responsible. I'm a really darn good secretary, believe it or not." 

Peter raised both eyebrows, clearly amused by my mantra as he pointed to my scalp. "Uh-huh. That forehead-shaped dent on your face would like a word,"

I glared at him and pressed a palm to the tender spot. "Dramatic expression of productivity," I mumbled. As much as I loved visits from Peter, I felt like too much of a mess to keep up with the banter-- my hangover was ripping me apart, limb by limb. I softened my gaze, rounding out my eyes in hopes of sympathy, so as not to sound too harsh; "Did you need anything, Peter? I'm drowning in work here, and my head is pounding, I'm-- I'm sorry."

Peter tapped his knuckle gently on the corner of my desk, then hesitated; "Actually, uh... there was something I was gonna ask you,"

"Please don't be about tech support. I'm one migraine away from throwing my monitor out the window,"

He laughed; "No, not tech support. It's, um... about the banquet."

I blinked-- huh?

"You know, the one on Sunday?" he quickly added, stuffing his hands back into his pockets like he regretted taking them out in the first place. "Mr. Godfrey's annual charity... whatever. Doubt he cares about the cause, but it's an excuse for everyone to get drunk on company money. Champagne, string quartets, awkward company small talk.... All very classy, very terrifying."

"Right," I breathed. My stomach clenched, and not from the hangover this time. Something in me moved, and it wasn't puke; I suddenly felt unimaginably warm. Was this really happening?

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure if you were going, but I thought maybe, if you didn't have plans?-- or if you didn't want to go alone, or, like-- we could, I don't know, go together?" He rushed in to fill the second of silence that followed, not daring to let me hesitate; "Not, like, go go. Just-- go as, you know, not-alone people? Coworkers. Who dress up. And pretend to be functioning adults."

My lips parted as my mind buzzed; Mr. Godfrey was still in Geneva. Still silent. Still a fucking ghost. Was he even going to this banquet? He was still going to be in Geneva by Sunday, right? Yeah, he wasn't going to attend, then. What could be the harm? 

Or, actually... there could be a lot of harm.

To my ass, specifically. 

Just the thought of Mr. Godfrey storming back from Geneva after finding out that I had accepted the invitation from Peter, all broody and dark, jealous even, made my cheeks burn. I wondered what he'd do; he'd definitely spank me raw. Tell me how I was his submissive, his secretary, how he didn't like sharing. His big, rough hands would leave a large, pink, stinging mark, before he'd proceed to dip his fingers into me, easing them in one by one, pumping the shame of my actions deeper into me as he'd tell me how sick I was for even thinking I could get away with this. 

But back in real life, I realized a bit too late that Peter might've misinterpreted my blushing, and the tongue-tied silence. I looked blissed out right now, didn't I? 

He was still smiling that soft, hopeful smile that made my chest tighten with guilt; "No pressure. Just thought I'd ask. You know where to find me when you decide,"

"Okay," I breathed, swallowing hard as I continued staring at the way too hot paralegal in front of me-- were all the people in this office hot? Seemingly so. "It sounds really nice, Peter, but I don't even know if I'm free Sunday night, I might have plans with--"

"Sure, sure," Peter said, that charming smirk of his returning; something told me he was convinced he had secured me nonetheless. With that same classy, cool ease, he backed away, putting his hands in the air; "Think about it. Or don't. It might be a no-brainer when you get some water into your system."

Then, with secure steps, and that warm twinkle in his brown eyes that I secretly adored, Peter walked off down the hall with a confident stride, bag in hand. 

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the warmth in my belly bloomed, giddy and low, a little pulse between my thighs I couldn't stop; I would've, had I had the permission. Fucking freak. 

And for a split second, the idea of going to the banquet with Peter thrilled me.

But then, I imagined Mr. Godfrey walking into the room with that inhuman grace and sharp suit and catching me at Peter's side-- my stomach flipped.

No, it turned.

"Oh no," I muttered, gagging, hand flying to my mouth; I yanked the trash bin from under my desk and heaved into it. The sour burn of alcohol and existential shame hit my nose all at once, and I gagged again.

When I was finally sure there was nothing left in me but regret and stomach acid, I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand, panting, eyes watering. God, that was undignified. I needed to get rid of this thing, this trash bag of humiliation, before someone came sniffing around. Peter might've walked off looking suave, but if he doubled back and caught me hunched over like some hungover troll in a pencil skirt? No. No fucking way. Over my dead, spanked body.

The ladies' room was too far away. The kitchenette was too risky. I blinked through the fluorescent haze, heart pounding in my ears-- then, like a beacon from the divine, my gaze landed on his door.

Mr. Godfrey's office.

I knew a cleaning lady was coming there in about twenty minutes-- if I stuffed my little mishap in his trash, then I wouldn't be caught red-handed with it! Genius. So, clutching the top of the lined trash bag like a biohazard, I slid out of my seat, pulse hammering as I tiptoed toward the forbidden door.

Mr. Godfrey's chair sat in perfect alignment behind his desk, screen dark, blinds half-shut. The lingering scent of his expensive cologne remained in the room, and I let out a half-sigh as I closed the door behind me, engulfing myself in the sensations I had missed. Then, snapping out of it, I crossed the room fast, knelt by the trash can beside his desk, and tucked the bag of vomit inside.

Gone. Buried. Out of sight.

Yet... I wasn't. 

A loud pling came from Mr. Godfrey's computer, and I let out a horrified squeak as I slammed my head into the back of the desk. "Fuck!" I hissed, hand flying to my scalp. My heart thrashed against my ribs like it wanted out, and I whipped my head over the edge, eyes wide, to face the glowing screen of Mr. Godfrey's monitor, which had lit up with a single, new email.

Sent to... himself?

I got closer, skimming the top part of the mail;

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: Being Stupid

Dear secretary,

If you are reading this, you are more predictable than I thought. Did you really think you could sneak in here without me getting an alert? Nasty little girl, snooping around where you do not belong. 

Now, sit down. Legs crossed. Palms flat against the desk.

My breath caught, trembling, frozen somewhere between terror and a rush of heat that settled thick and low between my legs. I backed away slowly from the desk like it was wired to explode.

He knew.

Mr. Godfrey knew I'd come in here (probably not for the reason he'd have thought, though). He had set this up. Not only was I busted-- he had baited me. Something about that made my throat dry, yet a small smile spread across my lips. This was beyond hot. He knew me so well that he was sending scheduled mails to himself, knowing I'd read it. Holy fuck. 

With burning cheeks, I sat down, crossed my legs, and placed my palms flat against the desk; there was something so deeply satisfying about being bossed around like this. God, how I had missed it. 

My eyes skimmed the time it had originally been sent in my timezone; 07:32. Mr. Godfrey hadn't been ignoring me-- he had waited for me. Had he timed it with the alarm going off in his office? Whenever someone neared the desk? Risky. Hot. Pressing my thighs together, making myself comfortable (the best way I knew how), I proceeded to read the rest of the mail. 

Secondly— what the fuck did I just read?

A good secretary would not drunk-email her employer from the back of a cab while slandering global finance and confessing to three (four?) pornstar martinis. A good secretary would not admit, in writing, to being a liability, nor would she make vague, possibly actionable comments about her predecessor and the HR department.

I have read your email three times. Once at the hotel bar. Once in the elevator. And once again this morning, against my better judgment, in a boardroom while a Swiss man with an unfortunate moustache explained cryptocurrency regulation. I have no idea what he said. That is on you.

You are lucky I like chaos. You are lucky that I like the look of you in your little skirts in the morning. However, next time you decide to fall apart, do it in person, so I can deal with you accordingly. Also, the drink is called a pornstar martini— it can never be "cutesy", you fucking gremlin.

Also, you are not a good secretary. I am going to keep you, though.

PS: I will bring something back. However, if you ever ask for something that way again, I will indeed be cruel, and not in the way I know you like. 

PSPS: Cum before you leave. 

Entertained,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

And you best believe I did-- legs crossed, palms flat against the desk.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After a really long day, I had spent some time in bed reading my beloved Forbes interview over and over, tracing the outline of Mr. Godfrey's nose and side profile before slowly nodding off. Sleep wrapped around me like a warm duvet, and I was sure I fell asleep smiling-- Mr. Godfrey hadn't fired me. Mr. Godfrey might even... like me? 

But when I was abruptly awoken by the loud buzzing of my phone, I tapped around my pillow to find it, and I realized I had drooled down onto the fabric-- I blamed that on the dream I just had, where Mr. Godfrey had told me to suck his cock beneath his desk. One day. One glorious day. 

I blinked at the screen when I finally found it. Unknown number, international code; +41, Switzerland.

My stomach dropped-- Geneva. 

I sat up with a squeal, the room spinning for a moment as the last wisps of sleep clawed at my brain. Smacking my cheek once, twice, trying to snap out of the rush of adrenaline that shot through me, I answered the call; "Hello?"

I knew who it was. Of course this was him. Who else would dare to call me at two in the morning? Still, as every CEO probably did, he went the polite route with me. "This is Roman Godfrey speaking,"

Prick. Now that he wasn't here to see me, I allowed myself to roll my eyes, suppressing a laugh at the predictability. "I know, sir," I mumbled, embarrassingly hoarse. This was beyond exciting-- what did he want? I didn't care. He was here. I could hear his voice again. He was here. 

There was a pause; the kind that crackled with suspense. Would he say something about me being a smartass? Would he command me to fling myself out of my window now? I might've even complied if he did.  "You sound terrible," Mr. Godfrey eventually said. "Are you sick?"

A sick fuck, perhaps, as he had so kindly diagnosed me before, but-- "No, sir," I croaked, flinging my duvets off of me as if that would help me think straighter. My legs were tangled in it, my shirt stuck to the back of my thigh from sweat. "Just tired. You, uh... woke me up."

"Mm. It's nearly nine here,"

Of course it was. Of course he would sound wide awake, clear-headed, as if he'd just stepped out of a glacier-fed shower and into a designer suit, and of course he had no remorse for my state. "I would've taken you to be the type to be up all night," Mr. Godfrey continued. "Have I caught you fixing your sleep schedule?"

Nah, you actually just caught me in the middle of gagging on your cock.  "I-- no. I was just... reading,"

"Reading?" he echoed.

"Reading, sir, I just started this one called--"

"Oh, I don't want to know," Mr. Godfrey huffed. "I just need you to send over the LVMH file. I don't have it on my hard drive here, and I'm meeting Bernard soon."

I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my laptop off the floor; I had to contain a sharp gasp when I opened it. Why the fuck had I not closed this tab before I went to sleep? It had frozen on a video I had dug into the depths of PornHub to find, in the category of men wearing suits-- I needed to get this out of my grid, stat. "The LVMH file... uh, yes, one second, sir,"

As I typed in my password with shaky fingers, the only sounds between us were the soft tapping of my keyboard and the hum of something muffled on his end. Was that... a news anchor? A coffee machine? The shuffle of hotel slippers over plush carpeting? 

But then, it hit me; I adjusted my phone between my shoulder and ear. "Sorry, sir, did you-- did you mean Bernard Arnault?"

Mr. Godfrey let out a small, humourless chuckle; "I didn't realize you were such a fan,"

"I'm not a fan, I just-- I mean, I know who he is. Obviously," I pulled the file from my drive, trying not to sound as shocked as I felt. "He's like... luxury fashion royalty. And you're just-- meeting him? Casually? In a hotel?"

"Yes," Mr. Godfrey replied, the warning in it unmistakable. "And now you're delaying it." 

I swallowed down my instinct to keep digging, to ask which one of his suits he'd be wearing to this meeting (so I could picture it for later, innocent purposes), and instead, I clicked send.

"Done," I mumbled.

I could still hear the faint background noise-- definitely a hotel room, definitely a coffee machine. "Good girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured.

Fuck, how I had missed him. 

But despite me having fulfilled all my tasks, he... he didn't hang up, like I had expected him to. Didn't he have a meeting to get to? Instead, a click of porcelain, a rustle. "You included the updated graphs from Friday's briefing?"

I blinked. "Yes. Of course," I checked, triple-checked, just in case; "Slide twelve, sir."

Another pause. "You corrected the typo in the Q2 earnings summary?"

Oh... So he was stalling too?

"Yes," I murmured, biting down on my growing smile. Couldn't do anything about my blush, though. "Changed the wordings here and there, and the margin line graph was widened, too."

"Good," Mr. Godfrey said, but it came slower this time. "You don't usually miss things... Although it seems you've missed me, based on your little email."

Oh no. 

I felt heat flood every part of me as my heart stopped; this was horrifying. "Sir, I... I sincerely apologize," I breathed, pressing my palm against my temple to soothe the pounding of my head. "I really, really-- I'm so sorry. I should go."

"Should you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice felt like a siren call-- warm, low, alluring, yet threatening. "No, I get it actually. You must've had a lot to drink to send me that email."

Why couldn't the ground swallow me whole? Judging by his tone and the sprinkles of amusement in it, I allowed myself to groan out loud, falling with my back to the bed again. "I'm so sorry, sir," I mumbled, tossing and turning. "Thank you for not... firing me."

"Now, why would I fire you?" Mr. Godfrey chimed in, probably cocking his head. "You mentioned pornstars, capitalism, and my bourbon preference in a single email. I should probably give you a raise, 'cause I haven't seen this level of compelling writing since Trump wrote me that he wanted to buy the company."

"I was joking--" My brows drew together; "Wait, what?"

"Were you?" Mr. Godfrey's voice dipped lower, ignoring that last part. "Because you also said you'd rather have my cruelty than my silence. That didn't sound like a joke."

"Sir, is the President buying the company?!"

 "That's not the--"

"I will not work as his secretary, I refuse! I quit if that's how it is!"

Mr. Godfrey let out a scoff, which sounded more like a laugh; "Don't worry. I told him no," he murmured. "The company is mine, and so are you."

My breath caught, and I sat up in my bed again, wide-eyed and sprouting like a rose. So are you. So are you. So are you. My ears perked up, and my free hand grabbed the duvet like it'd save me from the way his words wrecked my brain, gigabyte by gigabyte. 

Breathless, my answer fell out without a second thought; "Come back soon,"

Mr. Godfrey let the silence stretch, like he enjoyed hearing me flounder in it. I imagined him there, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-buttoned, sitting on the edge of a luxury hotel chair with that lazy, cold smirk he always wore when he knew he had the upper hand. "Contain yourself, now,"

"Don't wanna,"

"Oh, is that right?"

"Why should I contain myself?"

"Because I said so,"

"Yeah, but you're in Geneva," I whined. "What are you gonna do, huh?"

... Bad move. 

Bad fucking move. Don't snark, don't snark, don't be a brat, don't talk back, don't, don't, bad fucking move, bad move. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer at first, but then he... laughed? It wasn't a warm laugh, definitely not one that let me off the hook; it was low, breathy, and ominous, like smoke under a door, like something you don't hear until it's too late. I could practically feel it slinking through the speaker, curling around my throat like a rough, calloused hand.

And I knew, knew, I was fucked. My body had frozen, spasmed up probably-- this was that kind of stillness that only meant one thing with him; he was deciding what to do with me.

Then, just when I thought he might let it go, just when I started convincing myself I hadn't poked the bear--

"Distance won't keep you safe," he murmured. "I'll show you what I can do."

Click.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had asked for cruelty, and I had gotten it. 

For about forty hours, Mr. Godfrey completely vanished. He was nowhere to be found at the scheduled meeting with the logistics department, I was unable to reach him when Dr. Pryce slithered up from his dungeon (or wherever he came from) to discuss something with him, and he was completely off the grid all together.

I scoured the internet for some sort of access to watch Mr. Godfrey give his speech in Geneva (was that today?), wondering whether it was some sort of Ted talk-like arrangement on YouTube, yet nothing. What I managed to find was password-encrypted, walled off from the rest of the peasants in the world-- assholes. 

This was hell. 

One day. One day, and fifteen hours. It was three o'clock on a Friday, now. I hadn't heard from him since Wednesday morning/night. Where was he? What was he doing?

Sulking and beyond depressed, I clicked the snake on my screen, watching it eat the red apples one after the other. Life was so boring without Mr. Godfrey; I hated how I had come to depend on him to have a good mood. If only he'd appear, spank the hell out of me for snarking, and then jerk off on me again, I'd feel fine. He could even cum in my mouth this time, I'd take it. I'd swallow. I hadn't swallowed before, though, but I could try? I bet he tasted like nothing in particular-- then again, Mr. Godfrey was an avid smoker, so wouldn't it have some traces of that? Would I get nicotine shock from his semen? Gosh, I hoped not. Still, I'd swallow. I'd do it. I'm a good secretary.

"I'm a good secretary," I echoed out loud, whispering it under my breath, wondering whether to reach out to Mr. Godfrey again. No, that'd be pathetic, right? That'd be the most disgusting, filthy, pathetic thing, and I wouldn't sink down to that level, not again. Not when he was pulling this crap on me, not in the middle of our emotional warfare. Did he get a kick out of this? Did he get a kick out of... not talking to me?

Oh no...

Did he like not talking to me?

Maybe he enjoyed this. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to get away from his horny secretary who wanted to do nothing more than hump his shoe and get spanked in his office. Maybe he went to Geneva to get away from me? Maybe he hated me? 

Groaning, I sat back in my chair, clicking out of snake, and that was when I got a new mail from someone who probably had never sent a mail before. I couldn't imagine that she even sat behind a PC to do this; she loved that darn pink phone too much.

From: Letha Godfrey

Subject: Familiar Cunts (Cunty!!)

hey girl!! 

how's work? hopefully you're rlly busy so you won't see this immediately, but... I thought it'd be best if you heard this from me. or, found it out through me, ig? anyway, you seemed really down the last time I saw you because of my dickhead cousin, and I'm sorry to be proven right about this, but I think you've got to see this... 

BUTTT for your information, Barty (yes we r talking again, big dick alert) has some friends I could introduce you to if you're up for a distraction!! god knows you'll need it

sending the link here, I know it's Daily Mail, I knowww it's trash, but they've got pictures and... ugh yeah, I'm sorry about this

https:///www.dailymail.co.us/celebritynews/article-69420/roman-godfrey-spotted-partying-at-supermodel-penthouse-in-Switzerland.httml

I'm really sorry:(( I have tequila at my place, come over after work<3333

smooches and hugs, 

Letha

Sent From My iPhone

I clicked out of the email, my heart already dropping, heavy and stupid in my chest like it knew what was coming. The link hovered in front of me, burning through every second that I hesitated, and I--

Of course I clicked it. I'm not a fucking maniac.

The page loaded fast, too fast, and I felt it in my throat, in my hands, in the tips of my fingers; I was about to have a heart attack wasn't I? 

There he was--  Roman Godfrey, half-lit by flashing cameras and city lights, standing on the balcony of a penthouse that probably cost more than my soul. Shirt half-open, hair tousled in that deliberate way that I hadn't seen before, one hand sunk lazily into the pocket of his slacks while the other held a glass of something visibly expensive.

And the girls... the fucking girls.

In the next picture beneath this one, he was joined by two of them. One was pressed to his side like she belonged there, laughing into his shoulder, and the other tucked beneath his arm, tipping her head back in a way that made it look like he was hers. 

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until it left me in a shaky rush; fuck these damn supermodels. I so sincerely hoped he hadn't done just that, but... I wasn't stupid, 

My jaw locked as I scrolled down. There were more photos, many I scrolled past, many I couldn't bring myself to look at. Mr. Godfrey was smiling, actually smiling, at these models, and it wasn't that clipped, managerial half-smirk I was used to seeing from him; this was the kind of grin that was meant to charm, to put on a show. 

The worst photo was probably the one where he had wrapped his arm around a tall blonde, pulling her closer to him as he whispered something into her ear, his lips visibly touching her shell-- but just as I thought it couldn't get worse, the next photo practically shot a bullet straight through my forehead.

Because in the next photo?

Mr. Godfrey was looking directly into the camera-- this was him saying gotcha.

I jolted away from the screen, clicking out of the article as I gripped my desk with all my strength; this was my punishment. This. I wasn't allowed to touch him, yet the models could. I wasn't allowed to touch him. They were. They were supermodels-- I wasn't. 

I gagged. I gagged, over and over, until I was convinced I'd throw up in my bin all over again. 

Roman Godfrey didn't party by accident; he knew how to get away from the paparazzi, and he also knew how to get caught. He knew I'd see this. He knew. He fucking knew.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes until my sockets ached, then dragged them down my face. I sat there in the silence of my office, chest tight, stomach rolling, mascara probably halfway down my cheeks as the words rolled through my head; he wanted me to suffer.

Well. I could do that.

Or, I could do something else.

I smoothed my skirt as I got up, combed my fingers through my hair, and reapplied a touch of balm to my lips as I passed my reflection in the glass-- just enough to look sane, just enough to look like this wasn't a declaration of war.

But it was.

This was war, and Mr. Godfrey had just shot Franz Ferdinand of fucking Austria. 

Rolling in my tanks, preparing the army for combat, I knocked on Peter's door four times, just as I knew a certain OCD freak would've hated it. 

The door opened a few seconds later. Peter stood there, backlit by his desk lamp, button-up sleeves rolled to his elbows, and with his box of snus in one hand. Clearly, I had caught him in the middle of important business. He looked like he had been working on something complicated, probably dense, probably foreign, but his expression shifted as soon as he saw me, his eyes rounding out with curiosity; "Well, if it isn't the fugitive," he murmured, leaning against his doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Running from the guillotine again?"

"Yeah," I breathed. It was impossible not to smile; Peter was the only fucking nice person in this office, apparently. "They're trying to hang me for something completely unreasonable,"

"What did you do this time, kid? Spit it out,"

"Nothing crazy. I stole a loaf of bread,"

With that, Peter snorted; "Good one,"

"And you, mister,just gave away that you're caught up on musicals," Oh, how I hoped my humour would distract him from noticing my real mood. "Anyway, before I'm taken back to my certain death, I wanted to say yes."

Peter blinked; "Yes?"

"Yes, I want to go with you,"

"To the... banquet?"

"Yes,"

He inhaled sharply, scanning me; he didn't ask why. He didn't need to, and I adored that about him-- how he always seemed to know when to speak and when not to. Lawyer. Peter stepped back, opening the door wider; "Come in," he murmured, grinning. "We'll go over the details."

I walked past him, spine straight, every inch of me rehearsing poise, but inside, something bitter and electric surged like a storm; I was going to look beautiful. I was going to smile all night, and Mr. Godfrey was going to hear about it from every loser in this goddamn office.

He wanted to punish me?

Fucking bite me.

(a/n: omfg... is it rlly a kingkat fic without some sort of prom or banquet tho?? nope. U R NOT READY. and have I finally written Letha as a supportive sweetheart? YESSSS I HAVE BEEN WAITING!!! thank you so much for all the love, you are too kind, and I LOVE YOU, MWAH<333)

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[lunabug2004]

I've shipped a lot in my life, but I've never been so genuinely dead-set on a couple needing to be endgame as I am with Byler.

First of all, Mike Wheeler is probably my favorite fictional character of all time and he deserves nothing but happiness. I don't see him getting that if he stays with El, point blank. He is only ever unapologetically himself when he is with Will.

Second; the absolute wonders this would do for the queer community, and also just media. I answered an ask talking about this here, but TDLR: representation for queer people in mainstream media would be extremely significant.

Third, but not least -- the story of it all. Even if we disregard the previous point of the impact it would have, Byler is the only interesting outcome there is for the love triangle. Mileven is boring and predictable. Byler would be the biggest twist for the GA and would be one of the most well written slow burn romances of all time.

There's even more points I could bring up, but these are pretty much my top three reasons of why I think Byler needs to be endgame.

[orionebulart]

Can you see my vision?

Uh, no?.. Erm, okay then, nevermind. Bye! *awkwardly crawls back into darkness*

It's just my personal headcanon. Please don't kill me! If you prefer some different orientation for Pleakley, that's cool, I'm not going to take that away from you. Let's agree to disagree, okay?

Are you really willing to hear me out? Oh, alright, here I go.

Firstly, the episode "Fibber". Pleakley's mom insists on her son getting married, while he actually doesn't want that. Then the one-eyed one tries to pretend he already has a fiance, so mother would leave him alone. When the lie is revealed in the finale, Pleakley confesses "I don't wanna be married, mother. I'm happy just as I am." Like he doesn't say "I don't wanna marry a woman" (which would mean he's gay), but "I don't wanna marry at all". Some people might object me by saying "That was back in 2000's, nobody would allow speaking about these things THAT frankly!" Aaand... this is a good point actually. However, there's still a room for interpretations. This can be considered as indirect confirmation that Pleakley is gay, as well as this can be a DIRECT confirmation that he's asexual/aromantic.

Secondary, the episode "Hunka-Hunka". In the very beginning, when Lilo's panicing because of her crush, Pleakley looks very confused.

Like "Gurl, why are you like this?.." As if he's unfamiliar with all this heart attack after senpai has finally noticed you.

And then he spend the rest of the episode dressing up, primping... flirting with a crowd of surfers! Why do you think he has been doing all this? To get laid? No, he tried to prove that his camouflage is beautiful. Even when Pleakley thinks he has a secret admirer, he is excited for this very reason. He wants people to appreciate his disguise skills.

Also Pleakley is fond of melodramas. However, it seems like he think of those as an Earth culture studying method rather than realization of his (potential) romantic fantasies... Gosh, this dork is sooo Peridot-coded! (Or shall I say Peridot is Pleakley-coded? After all, the latter was created before her.) And Peridot is confirmed as aroace, by the way.

I wish I had more examples but I didn't watch this series for a really long time. I need to refresh my memories.

Anyway that's why I think Pleakley would be great aroace representation! Thank you for listening my TED talk.

"But what about shipping?" you would ask me. Eh-heh, whoops! Sorry, guys... I suppose J&P shippers (who are 90% of the fandom apparently) have already unfollowed me. Guess I'll die alone on this hill. Not like I'm surprised though

[wicketygeeky]

A view on Burning Shores DLC

I hope Seyka returns in Horizon 3. She and Aloy are a perfect fit. And the DLC tells us an important story. I want to shine some light on what Horizon is really about. Because it feels like many forgets, or simply ignores, the story of Aloy. I’ll also mention the power this one flashpoint holds over the fandom and the future of Aloy and Seyka, and the possibility of a step back in queer representation in games.

I personally don’t understand comments like: «The DLC/Seyloy was rushed». In a world like Horizon, they fight hard for their survival everyday, it makes sense they would love just as hard. No judgement was given to Varl and Zo. Heck, even Talanah fell fast for Amadis, and tracked him down all of FW. If anything, this opinion is so subjective on how a player experienced the DLC. Horizon isn’t supposed to be a RPG based on a player’s choice, but it feels like it’s going that direction. And that worries me a lot because: it’s not the player’s story; it’s Aloy’s!

Horizon is afterall a narrative driven game with RPG elements. Guerrilla should push on to deliver the story they want to tell us about the world, and about Aloy.

The DLC delivers perfectly the next step for Aloy, which Forbidden West literally has foreshadowed all along. Varl and Zo, Talanah and Amadis, Alva with a gf back home, and especially the storyline about Tilda and Elisabet. So many other sidequests are about love. And many about romantic love. Forbidden West is about Aloy opening up for friendship and finding a team, finally starting to rely on others than herself. And when she allows herself to do that, she starts to allowing herself feeling romantic feelings.

And that’s the point with the DLC. It’s about Aloy’s next step. Horizon has always been about Aloy and her journey. Not our journey as a player. And the flashpoints at the end of BS, is constructed very bad. It’s one of the few that has a different outcome, normally the flashpoints are there to convict Aloy’s deepest emotions in different ways, but almost every outcome goes the same.

Here we can end or build a relationship with Seyka - and it’s up to us as players? It’s the most cowardly move I have ever seen in a game.

Aloy has through the whole DLC, fallen more and more for Seyka. And to deny her these feelings at the end because PLAYERS should decide if Aloy is ready for the next step?? No. Aloy is ready. She has proved that. Aloy even says: «I thought I would never feel this way about anyone»- this is the first time she has fallen in love. And that should be respected. But we can deny her that? It’s super weird when you take a step back and think about it.

Seyka is perfect for Aloy, because they recognize a lot in each other. And often, that is something that attracts us to another person. They challenge eachother, banter a lot, but there is always respect. They respect eachother quickly. Seyka especially is honest about what’s going on, and what she needs help with, and sees that she can help Aloy in return. They both keep their secrets. But then they both open up to eachother.

It’s also sad to read about Seyka only being treated as the romance option, which ofc is a natural state that she enters because of the development of the DLC. But many forgets that she is her own person, and in many ways she is the main protagonist in BS. I can write a whole post about Seyka to explore this further, but for now:

Seyka has a lot of emotions and shows struggles with the Quen beliefs, and belonging to a tribe. Which Aloy also has dealt with! BUT, the point with FW is that Aloy learns about the importance of a people again. Something she ran away from in Zero Dawn. And when she sees Seyka struggling, Aloy sees a part of herself, and she knows the pain. And she wants to help Seyka with this. They bond over it. And that’s why the theme «home» at the end is so important. They both realize and learn this from eachother.

Also, it had to be a new character to romance. Imagine it being a character we already know, it wouldn’t have been fair to any of the multiple ships that is out there. And if one reason to romance an existing character is that we already have a connection to them, then we are missing the point again. Because it’s about Aloy, and who she falls in love with- not us. And also, it wouldn’t have guaranteed that fans would be okay with an existing character to romance, you would have to learn to like that character as well.

And so if Horizon 3 moves forward to give us multiple romance options, it will be the biggest set back in the series. It should not be a focus on romancing characters at all, because Horizon has never been about that, and frankly, Aloy doesn’t have time for it. That’s why in every scenario, Aloy needs to leave Seyka behind regardless. And that makes sense. If Aloy starts romancing seven different characters, it will not make sense for her story at all.

Horizon 3 should give us Seyka or no one, and honestly, it will be fine if they don’t end up together before the ending. Because the main story will be about Aloy’s finale battle to save the world from a threat- the side story will be about Aloy’s emotions. And it will be much better if they focus on her current development with Seyka, than pleasing fans and give us many choices. Because when will we have time to develop that connection with these other characters so that it will make sense? And if that isn’t an issue, than what’s wrong with Aloy and Seyka’s «rushed» romance? Perhaps that wasn’t the issue all along; the issue was perhaps that fans don’t like Seyka because she is the only romance option, and people are jealous. Then I ask again: do you really understand Horizon and respect Aloy’s story?

Fanshipping, fanart and fanfiction is one thing. But all in all, Aloy’s canon journey should be respected. These two years I’ve seen the majority of fans neglecting this side of Aloy, and pushing this narrative out of the picture, which also means Seyka has been pushed away. The danger with this message is: «we want gay characters, but not like this». And it even shows on Guerrilla, who has stopped promoting their queer characters, IN OUR TIME OF 2025!!

Should we not protect what we have and got in Burning Shores DLC? Instead fans complain, and wants other romances, and neglects Aloy’s queer journey by choosing NO?! How petty can one be, to not seperate your fanship with an actual queer representation because «it’s not good enough». This is what we have. And imagine what we can have if we unite instead of pushing it away and pretend it never happened.

And so what about ship wars? This is just as petty as neglecting. But I think the root of these wars is that we don’t respect each other, and because we all have different views on Aloy’s story. If you are reading this and already feel angry about it, it’s most likely because our views are different. Or maybe it’s because you know deep inside that I’m onto something, that you don’t want to acknowledge.

But if we can agree on anything, it should be about fighting to keep the queer representation in Horizon, rather than fighting among ourselves and complain so much that even the gaming developers stops promoting it.

[thesecond-if]

"no silas you can't kill the waiter for smiling at me"

"why not?? they're trying to seduce you! make you abandon me!!!"

"have you ever been to a restaurant? do you know what customer service is?"

May just be the best representation of jealous Silas....

Silas, fully serious, arms crossed “You’re defending them? So you want to be seduced?”

MC: “They asked if I wanted still or sparkling.”

Silas: “Exactly. Sparkling. Like your eyes. Coincidence? I think not.”

MC: “...you need to go outside.”

Silas: “I will....to bury the waiter.”

[1tsstargaze59]

HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE ^^✨️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Dropping all my fankids queer levels becuz nothing heals like indulging in your ocs, so ya ^^" (doing better, I guess, but yk, coping).

Also! The stickers are actually pimple patches as a reference to the comic! ^^ (we NEED more inside out comics ASAP honestly-)

Details and lore after the cut!

Lil recap :

Panic : Non binary Pan

Ambivalence : Bi Sapphic

Excitement : Trans Pan

Revulsion : Bi

Cringe : Aroace

Anticipation : Straight Aceflux

Determination : Gay

Vengeance : Intersex

Panic always had this identity, from the first day I made her (she/he/they). It just seemed logical to me! I'm not exactly sure why, all my representation in my art comes from ~vibes~ XD

Ambivalence feels two feelings at once, so Bi just made sense. However, in universes where she is human, I always imagine she'd have a fem-aligned partner, so she personally identifies as Sapphic. For example, Beachside!Ambi, and Panic are a couple! They are 18 and 17 respectively.

Excitement is a clown, and clowns are trans and pan coded. I didn't make the rules; I just follow them! I asked my clown bestie, and he confirmed!!! 🙂‍↕️✨️

Revulsion I wasn't sure at first, but I was sure he wasn't straight XD Ultimately decided he had Bi vibes. I'll come back to him later-

Cringe used to be homophobic! If he could grow up, he'd realize it was just because he didn't feel any romantic or sexual attraction at all XD He gets character development XD

Anticipation's desire for a relationship can fluctuate from "Hell ya!" to "hell no-". In moments where she's really feeling like she wants a relationship, she wishes to have whatever the hell Morticia and Gomez Adam's have. Picture lil hearts floating over her head as she imagines the possibility 💕💕

Determination was gay the moment I made him, and I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE! It took my 14 Y/O LIL SISTER TO LOOK AT HIM AND SAY "Hmmm, he looks closeted' FOR ME TO NOTICE XD Canonically, he doesn't know it yet lol, I just think that's pretty funny XD He and Revulsion are dating in the Beachside!AU! Idk how old exactly they are but they are in their 20s and Rory is older then Determination.

Finally, VENGEANCE was just build different from the start! 😎✨️ They didn't choose their pronouns, in fact, the others call them by gender neutral pronouns simply to respect their ability to choose in the future. I think they'd go by he/they if he could grow up ^^

I wanna draw the beachside couples later. I'm gonna indulge into my ocs more for a bit, if nobody minds. I also wanna draw Cringe and his mom, I think they'd have a cutely chaotic relationship XD

[randomthefox]

I was just thinking that any other author would have added a little subplot with Tenna, in that he would have kept misgendering Kris because he had known them since they were a kid (and is also very 90s coded so ofc he wouldn't understand concepts that became mainstream much more recently), and people would have told them "no silly, Kris is neither a boy nor a girl!", or something like that, and part of Tenna's development would have been him coming to terms that Kris has changed. A scene to confirm once and for all that they're nonbinary to the embodiment of nostalgia and clinging to the past.

But instead Tenna calls Kris "they" with ease ("They were one of my first watchers!"), because it doesn't matter. Kris has always been ambiguous in their gender. And people can interpret this choice how they want, maybe they're canonically nonbinary, maybe it's because Kris still keeps the same ambiguous traits as Frisk such as the bright yellow skin, but the point is that Toby never raises attention to these details, because his purpose is not to shine the spotlight on representation, even less to pat himself on the back. He just writes what he wants. This is why his games are so lovable.

It's funny how most Other Media or fandom culture has been irony poisoned by stuff like that. So much of queer media is just entirely revolving around being queer, about the struggles with your sense of identity and how you define yourself, about "coming out" and other people's usually negative reactions to it and their arcs being based around a journey of acceptance. It's like imagine if every single story that even featured a black person just spent every single line of dialog whenever that character was on screen going "HEY, YOU'RE BLACK! ISN'T THAT CRAAAAAZZZYYY? HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH ALL THAT RACISM, MISTER BLACK PERSON?" that's what it's like whenever there's a queer character in any other piece of media.

But with Toby Fox's stories it just isn't a big deal. Nobody cares. Kris being they/them is as natural as them being a brunette. It doesn't even warrant acknowledging.

Now I do think, at least at first when chapter 1 was made and he probably didn't have much of a plan yet for where the story was going, that Kris was meant to be ambiguous for the sake of a player projection; the person playing the game could be someone of any gender, so he doesn't want to exclude their ability to project onto the character by using specific pronouns. But at this point Kris is CONSISTENTLY referred to by they/them pronouns by everyone in the cast. And considering the themes of character agency vs player avatar status, that's definitely a PART of Kris's character at this point. What it MEANS is certainly ambiguous. But it is undeniably a part of Kris's character.

Kris is they/them. And everybody just instantaneously knows that upon meeting Kris. There's no scene of needing to explain their fucking pronouns to people. There's no dumbass scene of some fuddy duddy going "but what's in your pants?" There's no weird implications of Toriel or Asgore viewing Kris as their assigned at birth gender deep down and accidentally slipping with how they refer to them. There's no drama. It's just normal.

Which, you know. For me. I thought was maybe kind of. THE POINT? OF THE LGBT MOVEMENT? To NORMALIZE ourselves? So that it ISN'T special or weird or unique? So that we can just EXIST and not have to worry about it? And this whole obsession with labeling ourselves is antithetical to that goal?

No one uses labels in Toby Fox's game because nobody fucking cares. Alphy's has a crush on Undyne AND Asgore, there's no quibbling over whether she's bi or pan or a lesbian since she ultimately ends up with Undyne. Susie and Noelle's relationship drama is based entirely around the juxtaposition and contrast of Noelle being a preppy rich girl daughter of a politician and Susie being a crude poor bully from the wrong side of the tracks, there's not even a hint of Carol throwing a snow storm over it because she's homophobic or whatever.

It's just not a big deal. Some people are queer. Just like some people are tall and some people are short. Nobody cares. Nobody thinks it's something to commentate on or take issue with or need to be explained to them. Nobody fusses over labels. People are just people, and they like different things and are different ways.

Speaking for myself, that's the way I think it should be.

[veal-exe]

I understand the impulse to push back against absolutist statements like “cis people shouldn’t have any opinions on trans issues,” and I can even agree that overly simplified language can sometimes get in the way of good faith discussion. But I think anon's opinion misses the core concern of what people are reacting to, and in trying to soften the situation, it actually ends up misrepresenting the nature of what happened, and why so many are upset.

This isn't just about a cis person “having opinions on trans issues.” It’s about a cis man, a white one, in particular, using his platform to publicly and repeatedly undermine the experiences of Black trans men by claiming they aren’t oppressed, or not as oppressed as trans women. That’s not just a “bad ally take,” that’s textbook transandrophobia layered with racism/antiblackness. It’s not a neutral act of forming an opinion, it’s actively contributing to the overall power structure of harm, especially when it mirrors rhetoric that’s frequently used to erase, dismiss, and belittle transmasculine people of color.

There’s also this idea here that “he’s just listening to trans people, and it’s not his fault the ones he listened to were wrong,” and while that might be a comforting narrative, it oversimplifies how power functions in community discourse.

Allies, and especially white perisex cis men, have to navigate responsibility differently. You don’t get to claim neutrality as a white perisex cis man when you're amplifying marginalized voices selectively especially when those voices are being used to justify harm to others. “Listening” isn’t inherently good if it means echoing rhetoric that hurts a different segment of the community. That’s how movements get co-opted, and it’s how harmful ideologies gain legitimacy under the guise of inclusion.

And as for the idea that cis people must have opinions on trans discourse to be effective allies, that depends on what’s meant by “opinion.” It’s valuable and necessary for allies to understand issues that affect the people they support. It’s useful when cis people correct misinformation, call out transphobia, or help advocate for better representation and rights. But that’s different from cis people inserting themselves into intra-community issues, especially ones about who experiences oppression and how.

Those are conversations trans people need to be able to have among ourselves, without the added pressure of needing to validate cis observers or fend off their judgments.

Being in solidarity with a community doesn’t automatically grant someone the right to be in every space belonging to that community. It especially doesn’t mean cis people are entitled to intervene in moments where trans people are pushing back against internalized harm, like TRF rhetoric, or when Black trans men are responding to being erased. In fact, choosing to step back in those moments is also a form of allyship, one that acknowledges the limits of one’s experience and centers the voices of those directly impacted.

I don’t think most people saying “cis people shouldn’t have opinions on trans issues” literally mean that allies can’t ever think critically or have any understanding. What they’re reacting to is the entitlement that so often often comes with cis people not just forming those opinions, but insisting on being central to the discussion, often overriding or dismissing trans voices in the process. That’s what happened here.

It isn't just 'a white cis man had opinions on trans rights' or similar, it's 'a white cis man is demanding to be centered in discourse involving black trans men, a place he has absolutely no business centering himself the way he has to in order to have the opinions he's espoused'

So no, the core issue with PDB isn’t just that “he’s cis and had an opinion.” It’s that he centered himself in a conversation that was never his to be centered in, repeated harmful narratives as if they were truth, and then doubled down rather than stepping back and reflecting.

That’s not what allyship looks like. And calling that dynamic out and pointing out that white cis men have no business being part of that particular section of discourse, much less trying to center themselves as an authority, doesn’t mean allies are unwanted, it means we expect them to understand that real solidarity requires humility, not just conviction.

This is literally just me venting and it turned into an essay, sorry, but can I say in the wake of the PDB situation I keep seeing other trans people posting about how a cis person being involved in trans discussions at all in any capacity or even just having an opinion on trans issues is a massive red flag and all cis people should stay out of this forever, and while I get the root of what these posts are getting at...for most of my life I thought I was cis and for most of my life I have been on the front lines fighting like hell for my trans friends, and now that I know I'm trans I still want cis people to be on our side and fight for us and understand our struggles even when no other trans people are around, and this just. It feels like "cis person has opinions about trans people" isn't a good description of the PDB shit and suggesting that no cis person should ever have an opinion on trans issues is just going to make this happen even more, because what happened is "cis guy took 'you should listen to trans women' to such an extreme that he fell in to a reactionary hate ideology without noticing" and "shut up and listen to trans people" isn't gonna fix a "I shut up and listened to trans people but it turns out the trans people I listened to suck" issue.

Like people have JUMPED on the "he's cis so he doesn't get an opinion" angle so hard that it legit feels like they're missing the point. It's not that PDB shouldn't have an opinion on trans issues, he should, but he should also be able to tell when the trans people he's trusting are spewing bigoted bullshit and question that. I want cis people to think for themselves and not blindly listen to every trans person without questioning anything. I WANT cis people to have opinions about trans issues because that's what stops them from ending up transphobic. I mean I don't think it's necessarily a cis person's place to start shit with someone like Blair White or Kalvin Garrah or speak on those issues like they have first hand expirience being trans, but I do want them to have enough of a grasp of trans issues to know that they're wrong and not repeat their harmful lies on the grounds of "well I'm just supposed to listen, not make judgements" like no you are supposed to know that transmedicalism and radical feminism are bad and I actually I expect good cis allies to know that and be able to explain why.

Back when I thought I was cis I made a post about transandrophobia and radical feminism and I got told as a cis person it wasn't my place to get involved, but a trans friend reached out and told me they were glad I made my stance clear because it made them feel safer to know I was the kind of queer ally who would stand up and protect trans people who are being faced with bigotry even when that bigotry is coming from other trans people. The queer community is useless if we can't stand up for each other. The problem with PDB isn't that he's a cis person who has thoughts on trans issues, it's that he's uncritically repeating the lies of a major hate group because he never learned to think for himself well enough to recognize a hate group when he sees it.

But also like, I get it. The way he took on an "honorary tboy" title and speaks as if experiencing cis male privilege means he understands the transmasc expirience of misogyny and antitransmasculinity def smacks of someone who got a little too big for his britches, but I don't wanna write everything he said off as "he's cis so everything he says can be ignored and is wrong by default" because that feels like sidestepping the issue. He is a bad ally, but not for paying attention to trans issues or having an opinion on them, and we can and should actually deconstruct what he actually said and why it's wrong. I've seen his posts and he genuinely does seem to be repeating what the TRFs around him are saying, he brings that up and does acknowledge that he is listening to trans people. And yeah he takes the "honorary tboy" thing to a weird place but come on, we all make jokes about "lgbt+ and Coleman" or cis people who question their gender being cis+, he's being weird about it but blessing someone with honorary queerness is kinda just a thing we do when someone is cool. Maybe we should stop, idk, but this isn't unique to PDB or TRFs.

Anyway vent over. I just feel like there are better ways of discussing why what PDB is doing is wrong than just shoving it all in a "cis voice don't listen" box denies us a good opportunity to discuss how blindly listening to minorities without any critical thinking can lead to you listening to bigoted marginalized individuals because being trans is not an indication of how correct someone is about oppression, if it was we wouldn't have abelist disabled people and transphobic trans people. And I think about all the cis people who have stood up in the face of bigotry and explained to those bigots how wrong they are, and I cannot, as a trans person, endorse the idea that cis people should never have an opinion on trans issues or raise up their voices when they know they'll be listened to, especially listened to by people who might not listen to a trans person. Having an opinion isn't the problem, it's not being able to think critically enough to recognize when a trans person is being transphobic.

Hope that makes sense, and thank you for listening. This is just my opinion and it's okay if other trans folks disagree. I just don't want mindless allies who repeat everything I say, because I'm not always right about trans issues, and I want my cis allies to feel comfortable asking for clarification or offer up what other trans people have told them so long as it's respectful. Allies who just repeat us mindlessly aren't good allies, and are at a much higher risk of ending up like PDB. Just repeating what TRFs are saying and putting himself on the back for listening to trans women when they point out their "enemies" and attacking without remorse as if tearing down other trans people isn't a massive red flag a trans ally should have enough knowledge to fucking pick up on and the confidence to at the very least internally disagree with them and not repeat what they say.

Also, side note, it is kinda funny how TRFs will claim TERFs don't hate men because they ally with them while perfectly emulating the relationship TERFs have with the men who will uncritically repeat their lies and attack when they say the word. And them dropping him the second he fucked up on the grounds that he's cis and cis men just don't get it actually like. They do the same with transmasc TRFs and it's so hypocritical. How do they not get it, they're living it!

(Pls keep anon if it breaks, thank you!)

Surprisingly, I disagree. I fully believe allies have a place in discourse when they use critical thinking, but this is a White cis guy talking to TMoC about how oppressed they aren't. This is absolutely a "cissie does not get an opinion" issue. It'd be like me repeatedly talking down to Black people about colorism, allyship is not a blank check to wade into every discussion speaking as an authority unprompted at length. There are some things they should shut their fucking mouths about.

[klvm0nn]

IN “DARIA” THEY LITERALLY MENTION MY HOMELAND IN S5EP1 THEY LITERALLY TALK ABOUT CHECHNYA IN THE BEGINNING IM SHITTING MY PANTS SO HARD🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏CHECHNYA 1996 UNDEFEATED LETS GOOOOO YAAAAAY

IM SO SHOCKED THEY TALK ABOUT IT IN AN AMERICAN SHOW????? I WONDER IF THE RUSSIAN-CHECHEN CONFLICT WAS STUDIED THEN IN SCHOOLS TOO UUUHHHHHOOOBHUJHH IM SO HAPPY

[sparrowlucero]

Reading comprehension site. As far as I understand it, your point is moreso that often stories set in a world without homophobia, transportation, etc. Are treated as morally better. Meanwhile stories which are parallel to real world queerness, identity, and oppression are often viewed negatively. Mostly because there's a standing idea of "you could have made it better by simply not including the homophobia and transphobia".

In my mind, both are morally equivalent, and both are examining themes which may be interesting in the context of queer experiences and liberation.

yeah that's exactly what I'm talking about... I'm basically just arguing against that more extreme mindset you sometimes see around queernorm stuff and pointing out that maybe it's not great to implicitly lump stuff like, say, steven universe, queer as folk, and i saw the tv glow together as the 'lesser' or "more harmful" type of work we should seek to avoid because they focus on queer struggles, or otherwise downplaying the value of themes that aren't like, escapist enough in some way.

Honestly I think at some point the discussion around depictions of homophobia- specifically, criticism aimed at the thought that (often quite fetishistic) homophobia (or sexism, racism, etc) needed to exist in fantasy for the sake of "historical realism", and of bury your gays-type stuff - sort of got telephone game'd into "it's weird to depict bigotry or gay characters suffering/dying when you could just not do that; no one wants to see that" and then in turn "the best, most valuable and desired way to depict queerness (race, disability, gender, etc) is to make it normal and as downplayed as possible" and i think it's worth pointing out that that's often not great advice/a good metric for judging queer fiction overall.

[bixels]

As cameras becomes more normalized (Sarah Bernhardt encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use cameras because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by manufacturing companies. I paint not because I want a painting but because I love the process of painting. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

if i have to explain to you that using a camera to take a picture is not the same as using generative ai to generate an image then you are a fucking moron.

[fiona-fififi]

Call me homophobic, but I don't actually think it's great representation to stick a complex, dynamic, newly-realized bisexual character permanently with a flat, boring, underdeveloped love interest just because that was the first guy who showed interest.

[mayahawkeswife]

i think people really do lack the understanding of just how much representation matters.

like, chappell roan. not only is she an out and proud LESBIAN, but i just saw a interview where she opens up about how she is also demisexual. that truly struck a chord with me personally, because i’ve been struggling with figuring myself out in those terms and just hearing someone talk about it, knowing i’m not alone in my feelings and that it’s okay, really does help.

representation MATTERS. DIVERSE representation matters.

[the-star-and-the-smols]

The dad from the movie Epic is autistic as FUCK just LOOK at the guy. The leafmen and other forest tinies are his hyperfixation. I can't blame him for getting so excited about an advanced civilization of tiny people living in the woods. I AM that person. What the hell.