#‘sane but not normal boundary :)’

[landwriter]

Haha so, trying to figure out how to boil down descriptions of natural phenomena to numbers so we can apply math to them is actually a large part of my day job, and your pinned post made me go: “Haha bet you could actually do something like that.” *beat* *sighs at myself* *opens a notebook* *proceeds to make many assumptions about how people distribute their descent-into-madness-time**completes some very loose back-of-the-napkin math for fun*

Anyway I had a lot of fun coming up with a system for this and the results are that a) this looks nothing like nuclear decay, I’m so sorry, delighted to say you seem to have fallen off the fact of the earth b) the half life from your starting point was 5.5 days but c) the crossover into madness had already happened on day 3. Graph below. (Please excuse my terrible handwriting)

This is, in fact, the best ask I have ever received.

I can confirm I did fall off the face of the earth at some point in early October. Your assumptions & labels are unerringly correct. It is a comfort to know I was lost to the madness before I even knew it within myself.

[chamerionwrites]

Like it's not especially mysterious or hard to fathom why (aside from run-of-the-mill puritanism) folks have Really Big Feelings about kink as a concept. We live in a (sexist racist homophobic transphobic etc) society. Quite a lot of people have had their sexual boundaries poked at and/or transgressed by someone (and "someone" is sometimes not even some specific individual but "society at large") claiming that [Sex Act XYZ] is normal/reasonable/no big deal, and therefore (explicitly or implicitly) obligatory. And when you have repeatedly received the message that your body does not fully belong to you, that your yes and no are valid only insofar as they align with others' reasonable expectations - well then it becomes EXTREMELY important to police the borders of what can be considered a reasonable expectation. Spoken or unspoken, the fear that people are giving voice to when they get pearl-clutchy about kink is often "You're saying all of this is normal - and therefore that I have to accommodate it if and when someone asks me for it."

That's not an unsympathetic fear! We live in a society that is not great with the concept of consent! If you're hearing "don't kinkshame" as "your no is invalid" (or if you've encountered someone who framed it that way, because those people do exist), then of course you're going to be anxious and angry about it!

Unfortunately you are also doing that very human thing of getting so deep in your feelings that you're arguing at cross-purposes. Because the ethic of safe sane & consensual kink is not "everything is normal" - it's that normal is a completely irrelevant metric. You want to get tied up? Cool, make sure everyone involved knows how to do restraints safely. You want to have sex without penetration, ever? Also cool. You like playing around with X sensation but not Y sensation? Cool. You get pantsfeelings (or for that matter completely nonsexual satisfaction feelings) out of shining someone's shoes? Cool. You enjoyed XYZ yesterday but you're not feeling it today? Cool. You get to choose. Your body belongs to you.

[theplumsoldier]

loverboy

summary: carmen makes a move on you while you think he's still got a girlfriend. could've gone smoother but you end up inviting him

pairing: carmy berzatto x afab!reader

word count: 4,2k

warnings: insecurities, self-doubt, small lies (carm makes you believe he lives closer to you than he does), vulgar language, mention of "setting boundaries" of a not-yet-existing-fwb-relationship, 18+ MDNI; smut, unprotected sex, semi-public grinding, oral (f&m receiving) soft!carm, idiots in love, friends to lovers!!

"You know, I don't think I've said this." He hadn't. "But I'm-I'm really—we're all really glad to have you here."

He was nodding to himself as he said it, and he hoped you didn't notice the hesitation. Carmy wasn't for a second doubtful that they were happy—he was certainly happy that you had joined the crew during the hectic weeks prior to The Bear's opening.

It was just that now, here, sitting alone with you in the back alley of the restaurant, sharing one of the bottles of expensive-as-shit Coup Beaujolais, he was getting unsure of himself. On whether he had completely misread your banter. He wasn't very good with that, flirting—never knew when someone was hitting on him and always double-checking whether he himself was, in fact, hitting on someone. Richie had said the chemistry between you guys was more dangerous than Fak recalibrating. Fucking stupid, he thought, but it made him think.

And then Carmy realized he had been flirting with you, in his own stupid fucking way which he worried you hadn't picked up on. Shit, he hadn't noticed it before Richie told him. Now that he sat there, with you, alone, he wondered if Richie had been fucking with him again.

Carmy wanted to know how you felt about him, but he didn't want to fuck up as was his specialty lately—didn't wanna make you uncomfortable, didn't wanna make anything weird.

"Yeah, uh. Thanks, chef," said you, chewing at your bottom lip to ease the tension. Carmy had a real habit of making situations awkward. "I'm glad you'll have me."

Phrasing.

Carm nodded, the persistent way he does whenever he's turning words in his head. You could almost hear the gears scraping.

"You always seem so cool—about everything. Like, even though we're jumpin' off the fuckin' walls, screaming n'shit, you'll just—you're collected. S'a real good quality, you know?"

You grinned, thinking of those exact memories, some just a couple of hours old. "Yeah, well—I'm sure it's more hectic n'the kitchen, right? Like there's, open fire, sharp knives and shit. Gotta be jumpin', like, all the time, yeah? To avoid the obstacles n'stuff."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Peter Parker-type shit."

"Yeah."

You held the plastic cup out and he poured you another one.

"Anyway, keeps me sane, you know? I think—I think at some point you made me realize that—that, you know, it's not normal to fuckin' scream all day. Like I didn't even realize I got fuckin' migraines 'til it was quiet, you feel me?"

It made you bubbly, to hear that Carmen did in fact appreciate having you be a part of the team.

You just sat there, quietly watching him. His bicep popped when he poured a slob into his own cup. You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips before taking a sip.

You sat like that, speaking mindlessly for a while, sharing experiences and goofing around. You loved this, getting to know him better, but when you suddenly found that he had sought closer to you, you felt your heart leap.

His body was so close you could feel the heat of his body radiate. It was intoxicating, more than the wine and though your subconscious reminded you it was wrong to lean into his welcoming touch, you couldn't help but forget what was right and wrong.

His crystal blue eyes caught the light from the street lamp, and you were mesmerized as he looked into your soul. You felt vulnerable but safe in his company.

Though there had been much lead-up, it seemed to come out of the blue. Carmy leaned in, and his eyes were fixated on your lips. Before your lips touched, your senses returned and you moved back against the fence.

"Yo, what the fuck are you doing?"

Fuck.

"Wait—I'm sorry! I'm sorry."

"You have a girlfriend!"

Oh.

"Wha—no, no—shit, that's not—" he stumbled back, running a hand over his dazed face, dragging the expression down with it.

Fuck—fuck! Carmen thought he must look like a fucking jagoff.

He stood with his back to you, but you could see the way his broad shoulders heaved with every.

You pushed, not appreciating the silence. "Yeah, no—her name is Claire. You've been dating her a couple months now and known her, for like, forever. That ring any bells?"

When Carmen turned around to face you, he looked defeated. He then crouched down beside you again.

"We broke up."

What?

Carmen told you how he had had an existential crisis during opening night, how he had thought he vented to Tina while stuck in the walk-in, and Claire had heard everything he had said. You could sense the sadness in his voice, but there was no regret. It spread a warm feeling in your chest, and you immediately felt a pang of guilt. When you had first met Carm, he had been with Claire and so the immediate attraction you had felt—well, you had obviously tried to suppress that.

"—I guess I just... I realized I can't both manage a—a restaurant and a relationship. I—I don't know, it don't come natural to me."

Your brows were furrowed, mixed feeling prickling at your skin. "So... why'd you try to kiss me just now?"

Again, he looked despondent.

"I—fuck, I don't know, I've—I guess I've just been feeling this for a while now, with—with you and I dunno. Richie's been getting in my head and I had a stupid thought and figured fuck it, you know?"

It wasn't a question but he was looking for an answer on your expression. Carmen feared you had stopped him from kissing you, not because you thought he had a girlfriend, but because you didn't want to kiss him.

Carmy watched as you looked thoughtfully at the ground, his hands fidgeting as you did the same.

Fuck.

It's over, he thought to himself.

Battling the voices in your head telling you not to, you said: "You know, it's not that the thought of kissing you, like, disgusts me."

His head tilted upward, hope in his sorry eyes.

"No?" he quizzed sheepishly.

"No," you chuckled. "I mean, I've thought about it before."

Carm lit up. "Ye—yeah?"

"Yeah," nodded you, wetting your lips as you recalled your fantasies. "It'd probably be stupid though, right?"

"So stupid," he agreed, nodding vigorously as if trying to shake the thought. It would be fucking stupid. He knew it. But it didn't deter him. Carm wanted to take the chance. He shouldn't, after all, he broke it off with Claire because he "wasn't ready". Why would he be ready now? "Still want to, though."

So badly. It felt more like an urge; a need rather than a want.

"So do it," you finally tested.

If you didn't, you were sure you'd back out, run into the kitchen with your tail between your legs. But you would regret that, you knew it. You tried to convince yourself you shouldn't back away. You wanted this—had for a while. Carm was the one who should second-guess himself, not you. He had ended a relationship because he couldn't dedicate himself and now he wanted to give it another shot. With you. It made you desperate, knowing he wanted you like you wanted him. Still, you worried he would kiss you and regret it immediately, confirmed in his suspicions—he didn't have time for romance. Keep your eye on the price.

"Fuck it," breathed he, putting aside an internal battle and leaned closer, knocking aside the bottle of wine as he pressed his hungry lips to you.

Your lips felt plump against his, chewed with anticipation and soft with spit. You tasted like a perfect dessert.

Lost in the growing heat, you cradled his face, swiping your warm tongue over his needy lips and Carmen did not hesitate to grant you entrance. A desperate although soft whine escaped him and you swallowed it down, living for the way he desired you.

Without interrupting the dance your tongues twirled, Carmen's large palm grasped your hip and pulled you into his lap. Automatically you ground down on him and moaned at the sensation of what you did to him.

You'd thought about how he would feel against you. From behind the bar, you always had a perfect view of his station and often got distracted by the way he moved—the way his mouth curled when he would scream commands, the way his arms would flex as he worked. It was a surprise nobody had filed a complaint against you. On more than one occasion you had mixed the wrong drink or spilled liquor because you just couldn't keep your eyes off of him. It was unprofessional, but he was mesmerizing like a starry sky; the longer you looked, the deeper you fell into the abyss.

Carmen mumbled a curse under his breath as he broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he ground up into your clothes sex.

"Do—doesn't feel so stupid, huh?"

You grinned and shook your head lightly, pressing your forehead against his.

"If we're gonna fuck we should probably talk about it," you said blatantly. "Set some ground rules."

Carmen was caught off guard for a second. He knew what he wanted but when you said it so casually it made something twitch in him.

His eyes were attached to your lips. They looked so delicious, kissed rough and he pulled at your bottom lip with his thumb before he even registered it.

"Probably," he breathed even though he wasn't quite sure what your words actually meant. He was quite literally thinking with his cock.

Carmen clashed his insatiable lips to yours again, but the second he did so, the back door to The Bear clicked open and Marcus appeared, garbage bags in hand. By the time you looked up at him, you had clumsily shuffled off of Carmen, sitting awkwardly with your legs to your chest. You weren't sure what he'd seen nor what he made of it.

"Hey," he hummed, moving to sling the plastic bags into the container.

"Sup, bro," acknowledged Carm, putting his hands on his hips, suddenly standing up, playing it cool.

"Imma call it a night," Marcus said. "See y'all tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh—good job t'day."

Marcus disappeared and Carmen looked back down at you, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. The interruption had broken the spell.

"Can I walk you home?" he offered. It made more sense to him, taking you home. He wasn't about to violate health code on the kitchen floor of his own restaurant.

"You live close to Maygrey?"

No.

"Yeah."

The walk might do him some good, he figured. Perhaps the chivalrous gesture would help him get lucky tonight, and even if you decided you were not about to fool around with him, he could at least say he had done a good deed today.

Carm hadn't realized you made a twenty-minute walk every night, and although he often did the same, it bothered him a great deal. He hadn't had any uncomfortable encounters himself, but he knew Sugar had. One time when she had been late to dinner at his place because of some creep bothering her on the street, and he had asked her why she hadn't called him (he would have picked her up), she told him it was not a first nor was it a last. It angered him, knowing it was not unusual for a woman to feel afraid when walking alone.

Carmen recalled your mention of ground rules, but you didn't once embark on the topic. Instead of talking about sex, you joked as if you were friends and nothing more. It made him wonder if you regretted kissing him.

Of course you invited him up. How could you not?

Carm looked dubious suddenly and you raised a brow, giving him a soft smile.

"I won't be mad if you turn me down now. No hard feelings."

He realized you were just a pair of self-doubting idiots—none of you wanting to pressure the other into something you might regret. And Carmen knew he might just do that—not because he was unsure whether he wanted this with you (he hadn't wanted something this much in a long time), no—he feared he would find himself in the same emotional clusterfuck he had with Claire.

Something about you made him want to throw caution to the wind and become the loverboy he so pathetically wanted to be for you.

How could he ever turn you down? A simple kiss in a back alley had dragged him in too deep.

You stood atop the staircase and watched curiously as Carmen closed the space. His hand cradled your face and he planted a soft kiss on your lips, not as vigorous a kiss as earlier that night, but just as hungry, just as passionate.

He then gave you a reassuring look and you knew you had it bad cause you could've sworn you fell in love with him just then.

Grabbing his hand you dragged him along with you, eagerly pulling him up the steps to your apartment, not wasting a goddamn second in connecting your lips again.

Carm chuckled against your lips as you pushed him into the door, closing it with him as if locking you away from the outside world. It was just the two of you.

Carmen was too far away to realize you had undone his belt until the familiar clinking sounded. He was so fucking hard by now, aroused by your eagerness. It was almost mortifying.

He composed himself. "Where's the bedroom?"

You gave him a look. "It's a one-room apartment, Carm."

For the first time, he looked around and got the message. The kitchen was awkwardly lodged into a small corner of the living room and the living room was also the bedroom. There was a door three feet ahead but he was unsure whether it was a closet or a bathroom.

"So when I fuck you on the couch I'll also be fucking you in the dining room?"

You looped your arms around his front from behind, pointing to the corner of the room. "Yeah, n'the trashcan over there's the bathroom."

He spun around, placing his large hands on your hips to keep you close. "Cozy."

There was a glimmering to his eyes, and his contagious charm infected you with an enticing smirk. You leaned in, cradling your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"So you gonna fuck me Carmy? Or are ya just all talk?" teased you, planting wet kisses against his throat, sucking the place below his ear. That's the spot.

In a flash, he hooked your legs around his waist and you would've been embarrassed by the stupid fucking giggle escaping you if a low moan hadn't interrupted you. His restrained cock felt even bigger now, pressing up into your clothed crotch.

You could hardly wait to see his weeping head.

Carmen straddled you on the couch, breaking your lips apart to shift his focus. Peppering kisses down your neck, your chest heaved with a shaky breath, whining for him. You wondered if he would flip you over and fuck you roughly if you asked nicely.

Another time you told yourself. Tonight, you were too ecstatic as he worshipped your body like the prettiest fucking tenderloin he'd ever seen. The thought made you smile into your arm, gasping as his hot breath swept over your belly.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured against your skin, tongue poking out to taste the flesh.

Writhing beneath him, you tugged at his curls, and he swore he was about to bust right there, with your glossy and dazed eyes blinking down at him. Fuck, Carm wanted to hear you beg for him.

"What is it, baby girl?" he taunted, looking curiously at you while he peppered kisses across the skin he exposed by lifting up your shirt.

When you ground up your hips to show him where you wanted him, he kept you pressed against the cushion. You cried out.

"Carmy!" you mewled, helplessly thrashing.

After removing your shirt, he praised your patience: "you're so good for me," he said and unbuttoned your jeans. "Tell me what you want, sweet girl."

You threw your head back into a pillow with a thud, wanting to both strangle and fuck him (which you had wanted many times already since you started bartending at The Bear) as he pressed teasing, open-mouthed kisses by the seams of your panty line.

"Just—mpff! Fuck me already, Carm," you whined.

His face tilted up and you wanted to slap the smirk right off of his sly face. "In a minute, baby."

As he moved back a little, you thought he was finally going to give you what you wanted, but when you arched your back with need he used your movements to flip you onto your stomach. He roughly placed you as he pleased, propping you on your knees, and slid in under you.

"Just a quick taste, baby," he drawled.

Realizing he was gonna eat you out, you melted completely, seated perfectly on his face as was his wish. You barely managed to get comfortable before he hooked a finger through the leg of your underwear, the cold of his ring making you shiver and he dug in like a man starved.

A sound bordering on a thirsty moan and a dry cry escaped you. Carmen looped his arms around your thighs. His tongue explored the nooks of your lips, lapping slick from your folds and into your pussy.

A string of curses left your lips as he relished your juices, groaning into your cunt. He couldn't help but relieve some of the pressure on his impossibly hard cock by palming himself through his jeans.

He had lost himself for a moment there and when he looked up, he became doe-eyed with adoration. You had removed your bra.

His hand left his cock and slid up your curves, palming your breast instead and the other went to deftly work your clit. He elicited a muffled shriek from you, obviously surprised by the sudden added sensation to the delicate bud.

"Carmy," you panted, grinding your hips against his mouth, all of it seeming both too much and not enough. He was going to ruin you and you would let him. "Fu—fuck! M'gonna come, Carm."

Your confession merely made him more eager, more hungry and he concentrated on bringing you closer, encouraging each wave of your hips with a low moan. Carmen let you fuck his face, rolling and grinding on him to persuade your release closer. You grabbed at his curls to steady yourself as it came in euphoric waves, moaning, crying, whimpering, and grinning as he lapped your cum, savoring every last drop. It quickly became too much though, and as his nose tickled your sensitive clit, you fell apart, tilting over and crashing above him.

"Ho—holy fuck," you panted and he stood up from the couch, ridding himself of his clothes until there was nothing but a gold chain gleaming at his chest.

Still recovering from your orgasm, you gaped at his size. The head was red and strained, pre-cum beading the slit making it look like it was crying. The shaft was long with protruding veins drawing purple along the length and he was thick, too thick to fit in the circle created when you connect the tip of your index with that of your thumb.

He was perfect.

Carmen looked a bit flustered from your shameless gawking but you couldn't help it. "You're beautiful, Carm."

He grinned sheepishly down at you, grasping your legs, pulling you to the edge of the couch, resting your calves on his shoulders.

"You are," he insisted, pressing his lips to yours in a feverishly soft kiss as he aligned his head with your folds.

Gasping, you took a second to relax around his head, knowing it would sting painfully if you didn't. You wouldn't let anything ruin this moment. Not with his eyes gazing so intensely down at you; not with saliva connecting your mouths with a string, not with him before you like this, looking like he was carved by fucking Donatello, nothing hiding an inch of his tantalizingly soft skin bar the gold chain dangling from his neck.

You instinctively edged closer, putting a hand on his shoulder to guide him into you. He eased into you as he kissed you hungrily—insatiable, always needing more of your taste.

Carm held his breath as he bottomed out, finally exhaling a shaky breath. He couldn't believe how good you felt around him, hugging—no squeezing the life out of his cock as you desperately clawed on his back, feeling every cleft and hill, moaning into his mouth. He hoped your nails would leave marks on his skin.

With your forehead pressed against his, you looked down with hooded eyes and watch as he slid in, devastatingly slow, inch by inch. Carm followed your gaze.

"God, look how good you're takin' me, baby. Doin' so well f'me—doin' so good," he groaned, head digging into your neck, licking, sucking, biting.

He commenced a thrusting-grinding pace, reaching every crevice inside you, tickling all the right places. You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure so delicious as he poked and prodded places untouched. He felt unreal.

Soon Carmen drilled into you like a madman, steadying himself against your hips, rutting into you at a bruising pace. You'd feel him long after he was gone.

You held him close by his neck, securing him by threading your fingers through that damn sexy gold chain and the locks of his hair. His brows were furrowed, concentration and bliss evident in his expression.

You begged him to go faster, harder—before you knew it he granted your wish and his hand had returned to your poor clit, and you grasped whatever you could, the armrest, cushions, him.

You chanted his name, exchanging your vocabulary for his name so that he was all you knew. Carm fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own as you cried his name. The combination of your moans, your begging, and the vulgar sounds of your skin slapping—it made him fucking delirious.

His bicep flexed delectably as he put all his weight on his right arm, making a considerate pause for a sweet but overwhelmingly intense kiss, only to thrust impossibly deeper.

Feeling his consistent pace become erratic, you begged him. "Please, please, Carm—fill me up."

You could feel your frantic pleas going straight to his cock as he twitched inside you, groaning—but fuck it sounded like a frail whimper.

The furrow between his brows deepened, a red blush painting his face and chest.

"You're fuckin' unreal," he manages, shaking his head.

Carmy's pace became sloppier and more desperate, cursing into your mouth as he stuttered, a strangled moan signaling his high.

He filled you up, squirting white ropes of velvety cum into you. You felt his seed trickle out as if there was not enough room for his generous load. Then he collapsed beside you.

You lay still for a minute or so, chests heaving in unison as you came back down to Earth.

"Fuck," he said after some time, pronouncing the cuss as if he had just learned the word.

You chuckled, agreeing. "Yeah."

"Shit, lemme get ya somethin' for the—"

"No, no—don't worry," you stopped him, already getting up before he could do much. He watched you go, admiring your naked body. You reached between your legs, feeling his cum trickle down your thighs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Carmy laughed when he realized what was going on, a sort of childish grin he couldn't hold back from rumbling in his chest. He hadn't felt this comfortable in a long time.

You disappeared out of sight. He heard water running splash and he figured you were cleaning yourself. Carmen wondered if he would get to fill you up again—preferably sometime soon.

You returned with a damp washcloth, your feet padding softly against the floor as you approached him. Carm couldn't help but smile endearingly as he went to move to free up space for you, but you placed a soft hand on his thigh as if telling him to lie still instead.

"Oh—" he began when he noticed the washcloth, but to his surprise you wrapped your lips around his cock, earning a strangled moan from him. Your warm tongue licked him clean and you hollowed your cheeks around him as if vacuuming his mess.

The pleasure turned into a ticklish feeling and he felt like grinning and kicking his feet suddenly. You looked up through your lashes, and he felt as if his eyes had remolded into heart shapes.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with such tooth-rotting affection it made him wonder if he loved you. In this situation, it felt natural to say to you—it felt easy and welcome, right on the tip of his tongue.

You offered him an enchanting smile and took his large hand to your mouth, kissing his knuckles, then began cleaning his cock with the washcloth.

Carmen's head dropped back at your touch and he exhaled deeply.

A smile danced across his face and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand; the one you had kissed.

What am I going to do with you?

[cvrnelians]

smile like you mean it - chapters 1-3 (reupload)

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapter four // chapter five

music

You’re broken up.

Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.

You’re broken up.

Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.

But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.

Nothing.

Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—theRoman Roy? You? You?

Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.

And now you were suffering for it.

It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.

It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.

…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.

“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

🌃 Several years ago 🌃

Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.

There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.

But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.

In other words, your boss was a dork.

He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.

“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.

Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting. 

As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.

“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.

Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”

“You got me coffee?”

“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”

“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.

“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”

“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.

He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.

“Is everything okay?”

Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”

You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.

He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”

“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.

“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.

“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.

You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.

Like his soul.

He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”

“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”

“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”

“So hire an assistant.”

“I am hiring an assistant.”

“Hire your own!”

“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”

In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life. 

Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.

“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”

“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”

“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”

“It was in a mocking tone!”

“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”

“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”

Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”

“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”

The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.

“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.

Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.

And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

Hell was not some fiery, underground inner sanctum. It was sitting next to Roman Roy on a private jet (the Roys’ second private jet, which Roman affectionately deemed “Family Torture Chamber the Second”) en route to Herefordshire, England for Siobhan’s wedding.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”

Oh yes, I do.

You were only three months into being Roman’s personal assistant, and you already felt like he was taking years off of your life.

Today had been a rough day, to say the least. You were under the initial impression that you were going to board “Family Torture Chamber the First” (also known as, “If You’re Not First, You’re Last”) along with the rest of his miserable excuse for a family earlier that morning. But then Roman took it upon himself to inform you just as you were walking out onto the tarmac that they had all departed for England several days prior. He said some routine maintenance was being done on the jet, and a few seats were removed so that they could be repaired. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for two additional passengers. So here you sat, stranded alone with your boss in an unusually cushy torture chamber.

It was almost sad, the way you were actually kind of looking forward to the original travel plan. If you managed to shove your way into a seat next to Willa or Greg (who reminded you that normal people did, in fact, exist) it would’ve been a welcome reprieve from the world in which you lived, otherwise known as Roman’s world. It was kind of like Elmo’s World, except actually not at all.

Elmo’s World never made you contemplate throwing yourself off a bridge.

Roman’s world: a cruel reality in which everything was all about Roman, all the time. During your time served thus far, things had been—for lack of a better word—weird. It was bad, sure, but not quite in the way you had expected. You anticipated that you would be yelled at, talked down to, and forced to overhear things you would never be able to scrub from your memory. And there certainly was a bit of all of that. 

But mostly, you felt…smothered.

At any given hour, it was rare that Roman didn’t have you practically glued to his side. If you weren’t readily available or even simply within eyeshot, he would make up some dramatic excuse to reel you back in. Everything that involved you doing something independently became a major issue. There was a never ending list of monotonous tasks he would create for you to complete.

“You’re gonna have to stay late again tonight. You might have to stay over, actually. I need you to fill out this paperwork I don’t feel like pretending to read.”

“I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable, just forge my fucking signature. I’m telling you you can. Oh wait, look, look! How about this? I’ll make it all better. I’m openly threatening to fire you if you don’t, so now you’re under duress. Not liable if shit hits the fan, unless you fuck me over and make me change my mind. Who’s even gonna know, a handwriting expert? What kind of maniac under sixty sits down and writes anymore, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s 2am, you’re tired. So is everyone. I need you to pick up some groceries for me. Yeah. Right now. I don’t trust someone from one of those delivery apps knowing where I live. Inevitably someone’s gonna tweet about how hot I am in person when I’m just trying to have a quiet night in, and you know how much I hate drawing attention to myself. Also, I’m kind of drunk right now, so…”

“I don’t pay you for nothing, beautiful. If I have to go for a run at disrespectful o’clock in the morning, so do you. Don’t be mad. We can get donuts after.”

Somehow, you had allowed things to cross the line from weird to downright ridiculous. The only time you spent away from him was to go home and sleep, and that didn’t always happen, either. He liked “working from home,” aka, leaving the office early and making you come to his house so you could work from his home. During that time, he would just sit and relax, or talk at you for hours until you became visibly agitated. Those seemed to be his two favorite hobbies as of late.

You would be answering emails and creating spreadsheets and doing god knows whatever else he asked you to do so late into the night that he just started letting you sleep there. Or rather, insisting that you sleep there, in one of several guest rooms of your choosing.

The first time you passed out on his couch—long after he had gone to bed himself—you were horrified. You had never once done that at Kendall’s house. But he always made sure to let you leave at a reasonable hour, and on the rare chance that you had to stay late, he would send for a company car to take you home.

Roman was totally unfazed when he found you that morning. You could vividly recall him waking you up by hitting you repeatedly with a $300 throw pillow.

You did all of this and more, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You were starting to feel like you sold your soul, and for what? A check? To live in an insanely expensive city without any friends, without any family, completely alone? Was sacrificing your dignity and virtually all of your free time really worth the money he paid you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to come home to, not even a cat or something. Your family lived out-of-state. What else were you going to do with your free time? Why not work 24/7, if anything, to distract yourself from how empty your life truly was?

You had been poor once, not long before you started working for Kendall. You could just barely afford basic necessities, sometimes having to live off of granola bars for weeks at a time. But you were determined to remain afloat. Leaving, going back home to a family that wasn’t much better than the Roys, would feel like giving up. It would feel like you had failed. Getting your degree, working multiple jobs, going through roommate after roommate, struggling for all those years just to return to the place you were so desperate to escape…it seemed like such a waste. It would’ve been all for nothing. You had become so rundown that you were prepared to lay down and die like that, prepared to surrender.

And then you got a job at Waystar Royco.

You weren’t afraid to quit under Kendall. You knew he would provide you with a glowing reference, as long as you left on good terms. Roman, though…

You would probably have to fabricate one. That is, if he hadn’t totally blacklisted you from being hired by everyone else in the industry if you even so much as hinted at quitting. And he certainly had the means to do that.

Given the amount of time he forced you to spend with him, if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought Roman actually liked you or something. But you weren’t an idiot. Roman didn’t like anyone. He was just, well…

He was a brat. Roman was a brat. There was no better word to describe him. It was that simple. As much as you tried to hide it, he knew you totally despised him. How could he not? You couldn’t tell if he kept you on such a short leash just because he enjoyed torturing you, or if he was genuinely that needy. 

Kendall was sort of like that, too, in his own way. You figured it must’ve been a Roy thing.

Being trapped on a twelve hour flight together probably wasn’t helping to lessen your disdain for him. He sighed dramatically, slamming himself back against his seat. All was quiet for a few seconds until you felt him flick your ear.

“Ow! Roman, why?” you groaned, shoving his hand away. You leaned your head against the window, squinting your eyes shut. “Can you please let me get some rest? I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, figures. You’re probably not used to flying anything but coach. And believe me, I get it. For a wee commoner, I’m sure the plane that Dad only uses when he has no other option is just beyond. Dare I say comparable to, I don’t know, what’s something broke people think is opulent? The water mattress that your dad who only saw you once a year got you for your birthday when you were ten, or something. It’s like that to you. Am I right or am I right?”

If there was ever a time where you really wanted to punch him in the face—and there were many times in which you really wanted to punch him in the face—it was now.

“It’s comfortable, sure, but not comfortable enough to sleep on. Let’s be honest with each other. Who the fuck can fall asleep on a plane?”

“People fall asleep on planes all the time, Roman,” you sighed.

“Some people. Not you, though.”

“Apparently not.”

It was hopeless. There was no point in arguing. If there was one thing you had learned these last few months, it was that in order to get what you wanted from powerful people—powerful people that also just so happened to be awful people—you had to learn to pick your battles.

You were right on the verge of laying down and dying once again the morning after Roman hired you. That is, until he offered to drastically increase your salary. You were certain he did this to ensure you would stick around, not because he valued you as an employee, but because he wanted his brother to know that he won whatever weird little dick measuring competition they were having.

You opened your eyes and rolled your shoulders back.

Just a few more hours. You can do this. You can do this.

When you turned your head to look at him, Roman was leaning back in his seat, already looking at you.

“Oh my god! Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring your question. “It’s not like I would even try and bother you if you were awake. Which you have been, like, this entire time.”

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t try to bother me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly. The look on his face was a drastic shift from the expression he usually wore. Like with most unlikeable people, there were moments where the cracks would begin to show, where you would see an inkling of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was the strangest thing, how he could vacillate from sly fox to kicked puppy.

You wanted to cry. Did he really have the audacity to sound so sincere when he had been bothering you around the clock for three months straight? He had to have known how annoying he was. It was deliberate, wasn’t it? It was always deliberate with him.

You couldn’t even control sniping back.

“You literally just bothered me so that I would wake up and talk to you.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Once again, you were already awake, you little liar. And I don’t want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and laugh at everything I say and hang onto my every word. See? That’s not talking. That’s listening. There’s a difference.”

“You know there are several other seats available for you to enjoy?” you asked, gesturing to the empty cabin. You wished that even just one of the other Roys had opted to fly with you. You silently prayed that one of them would somehow materialize, becoming an unwitting buffer between the two you. “You don’t have to sit directly next to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. See angel, I’m incredibly delicate in body and soul, meaning that I have the circulatory system of roughly an eighty year old man. Therefore I am fucking freezing in here. I basically have to exchange body heat with you or I’m going to die. And if I die, you don’t get paid, so you’ve kinda gotta weigh your options real carefully.”

Suddenly, the somewhat polite, professional resolve you had been trying your best to uphold had collapsed. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was impossible. You groaned and knocked your forehead against the seat in front of you, resting it there.

Roman let out a laugh. “Aw hey, come on. Cheer up. We only have…” he checked his watch. “Seven more hours to go! Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Your circulation is probably bad because you’re cold-blooded,” you said, your voice muffled against the leather seat.

“What, like a snake?”

You thought for a second, straightening back up. “No, you’re not that threatening. More of a lizard. Maybe a gecko.”

“Did you just…what the fuck?” He looked at you incredulously, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Did you just say that I look like a fucking gecko?”

“No, I said that you’re cold-blooded like a gecko.”

“Are…wait, are geckos cold-blooded?”

“I mean, they’re reptiles. I don’t know, Roman. I’m not a gecko expert.”

“Damn shame. And here I thought your knowledge and expertise knew no bounds, Bachelor’s degree,” he mocked.

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” 

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” he mimicked you, raising his voice an octave. “You don’t really have to when you’re fucking loaded. Hey, do you want some wine?”

He got up and grabbed a few bottles from the small wine rack in the corner—yes, a wine rack—and held them out in front of you. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you would think that he looked nice. He usually did, with his button up shirts and his blazers and his many, many coats. He had sharp features, always with dark circles under his eyes. You sometimes wondered if he was just as tired as you were. Even though he could be kind of lazy, it wasn’t hard to imagine that being part of the Roy family was no easy feat. Every once in a while, you wished he wasn’t the way that he was. If he wasn’t your employer and he wasn’t such a horrible human being, you could concede that Roman was really kind of handsome.

In his own weird, rude, cold, apparently gecko-like way.

“Bitter, disgusting liquid or bitter, disgusting liquid? Take your pick. You’re usually pretty predictable, but I cannot for the life of me decipher whether you’re a red wine person or a white wine person.”

You cringed at the thought of having a glass of wine with him. Although you could really stand to unwind, you had a brutal headache that didn’t seem like it was going away any time soon. You knew from experience that wine would only make it worse.

“Neither right now. Thanks, though.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m offering you ketamine or something. I’m being nice, I’m actually asking which kind you like before I give it to you. So what’s it gonna be, red or white?”

Being nice. Roman used that phrase a lot. “I’m being nice.” As if kindness was a rare, transactional behavior to be immediately acknowledged and rewarded. If he was “being nice,” then you had to be nice. Otherwise, he would make you pay for it.

And he could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be. 

You wondered who he got that from, Caroline or Logan. Maybe both.

“Neither. I have a headache.”

“I will literally spit in your drink if you don’t tell me which one you like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you even—then I just won’t drink it.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, uncorking the red. He didn’t bother to grab a glass, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle as he sat down next to you. “More for me then.”

For a short while, things were eerily quiet. Roman was eerily quiet. Then again, he was steadily chugging wine, becoming more and more inebriated as the minutes ticked by. It was about an hour and a half until he finished it off. You were resting your head against the window again, willing yourself to sleep when you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“So. You and my brother,” he said. “You guys…hang out ever?”

“Hang out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He nodded, all tired and glassy-eyed. “Yeah. You ever…” He looked like he was seriously thinking about what he was about to say next, but that might’ve just been the alcohol. “You ever hang out outside of the happiest place on earth?”

“You’re asking if I’ve ever met up with him outside of work?”

“Look at you, putting two and two together,” he exclaimed. His tone changed to one of a pet owner excitedly greeting their dog as they walked through the door. He moved his face closer to yours. “Who’s a smart girl? Who’s a smart girl?”

You placed your entire palm against his face and slowly pushed it away.

He laughed. “Ooooo. Y’know, I actually kind of like it when you do that.”

But you weren’t laughing. Not even a little.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hanging out—” you gestured with air quotes. “—with Kendall?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking a question so I can stop other people from insinuating. It’s all anybody ever talks about when you leave the room.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. People were talking about you? All this time you had been working your ass off, going the extra mile just so you could keep this stupid job and afford to live, and this was what you had to show for it? Your coworkers speculating that you were sleeping with your boss?

Well, former boss.

Why? Just because he was nice to you? And not just Roman nice. Actually nice.

You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“The way he looks at you sometimes, I mean. Yeah, I get it. The dude has eyes, but come on. How fucking obvious can you be?”

“You think I’m sleeping with Kendall.”

“I mean. Are you?” 

He had that look on his face again, the weird one. The nervous one. Kicked puppy. The “I’m trying to get my point across but but I’m afraid of your reaction” face. It was always so jarring when he got like that. You almost preferred the snark. What did he have to be nervous about? Nothing was going on, and even if it was, how would that even slightly affect his life? Why did it matter?

“I think it goes without saying that I’m not.”

“Well that was convincing,” he said flatly.

“Think about it, Roman. When would I even have time to sleep with anyone? I work constantly. I’m literally always with you!”

“Before, though?” he asked. His voice was borderline whiny, like he was pleading. You had a gut feeling that you should get up and move further away from him, but you stayed put.

“Before?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m asking. Before you worked for me, were you fucking him?”

“No!” you snapped. “Roman, ew. Why do you even care? It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.”

He uncorked the other bottle of wine and took a drink. “Wanna hear another fun fact?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna hear it either way.”

“I’m warning you, though. You tell anyone, you die.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll make a blood oath.”

He smirked at you and shook his head, taking another drink. “Oh, you know I love me a blood oath. So glad you’re my assistant, by the way.”

“I really wish I could say the same.”

He placed his hand against his chest. “Ouch. You won’t even give me an inch, will you?”

“Just tell me the fact.”

“So demanding. Fine, since the anticipation is killing you. Fun fact, I’m a nervous flier. More than nervous, actually. Like, I’m more of a terrorized, traumatized, scared out of my mind flier.”

Okay. You were not expecting that admission.

“Really?” you asked. “You’re afraid to fly?”

“Yep. Like a little bitch boy.”

You snorted. “Being afraid of flying doesn’t make you a little bitch boy. Lots of people are afraid to fly.”

“Talking, though. Talking to someone during the flight?” he slurred, as if he was asking a question. “Talking helps me relax.”

Oh. So that was why he wasn’t letting you sleep.

“I’m honestly a little shocked that you’re a nervous flier. You fly places all the time.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he said, taking another swig.

You grabbed the bottle’s neck, trying to pry it from his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. “I think you might want to slow down.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you took, oh, I don’t know, two seconds out of your day to ask me a single question about myself. And clearly you don’t wanna talk to me right now, so getting drunk is really my only other option for getting through this flight. But I’m cold-blooded, right?”

This whole interaction had taken a bizarre turn, and you had no clue how to react. You almost felt guilty, but you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to feel guilty for. Maybe you had been a bit cold when it came to Roman, but how else did he expect you to act? He was awful. Everyone knew that. And he was your employer, not your friend. You weren’t required to ask him about himself unless it pertained to what he wanted you to do. How were you even supposed to ask about something like that? How would it even come up in conversation? 

There was a long, awkward silence after that. He kept drinking and you kept staring out the window, thinking of what to say next. Should you apologize? Should you move seats? Was there a way to create distance from him that wasn’t blatantly obvious?

“I–”

He waved his hand at you dismissively. “You’re sorry, you feel bad, blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t need you talking to me because you feel bad for me. Unlike my brother, I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just go to sleep.”

“Roman, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“You wanted to go to sleep, so go to sleep. Keep acting like I’m not even here. Keep ignoring me, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not ignoring y—”

“Alright. You want to keep this pity party going? Fine by me. But while we’re at it, we’re just gonna nip this in the bud now, okay?” he said, exuding a false sense of cheerfulness. He stood up and stumbled a little ways down the aisle, raising his hand to lean against the overhead compartment as he turned towards you. “I’m sure you’re already well aware, but need I remind you that you’re a fucking coffee gopher? Because you are. You’re a run of the mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian. And you know what else? This is the best you’re ever gonna do. You need this job, and in order to keep it, you need me to like you. And in spite of what you’ve heard, in spite of what you’ve chosen to believe about me, I’m really not that bad.

“In fact, you should be thanking me up and down right now. Because right now, I’m essentially paying you to drink wine, and take a nap, and complain about how much you hate me, and talk about how much you miss working for my cokehead brother on my fucking dime. So if I were you, I would wipe that miserable look off your face and attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Unless, of course, you want to buy your own plane ticket home, which I’m telling you right now, is not gonna be cheap for someone like you.”

You felt like you had just been slapped. You might as well have been. Your chest was heavy, your breathing sporadic as your eyes welled up with angry tears. Your mind was racing as he stared at you, waiting for a response. He could be fairly ruthless, but you hadn’t experienced anything like this.

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying?” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.” 

You were wondering when Roman’s “niceness” was going to reach its threshold. 

There it was.

-

this is a reupload of a story i posted a little over a year ago. i'm really glad to be working on it again 😊 hope you enjoy

[phantomonabudget]

We need to talk, Pham. Stop shaming Christine Daaé.

I have seen this behavior consistently for the 30+ years I have been a Phan. What's worse is that I see A LOT of it from grown women. I see posts calling her foolish for leaving Erik. Slut shaming her or calling her a gold digger. Calling her stupid, weak, or unworthy because a "real woman" (presumably the women posting these absurd notions 🙄) would have loved him better and been worthy of his awesome talent and capacity for love. 😳🤮

It's disturbing, disheartening, and disgusting. And it needs to stop.

First off, none of these characters are real, so perhaps let's take things a little less seriously in general. It's a fictional story. I get it: we all love it, and probably love the Phantom's character. That's fine....I've made a 20+ year career dressing as the dude, for crying out loud. 🤣 Maybe we all identify with Erik/The Phantom to some degree. Regardless of the version of the story, if the actors or authors do their job well, we *should* feel pity and compassion for him. But feeling compassion and completely ignoring the character's dangerous and abusive behavior are two very different things. It has the potential for some severe consequences in the real world.

By shaming Christine for leaving Erik at the end, you are potentially telling young people that staying in abusive relationships is the right thing. You make them think that if their significant other is talented, misunderstood, been abused themselves etc, then they should stay and love them into a healthy relationship. That if they just love their abusive SO harder, sacrifice themselves a little more or for a little longer, or keep putting that person's needs above their own, that the relationship will suddenly become this wonderful, euphoric experience. It won't. As a survivor of longtime abusive myself, I can tell you from experience: it doesn't happen that way.

Celebrate healthy relationships and enforcing healthy boundaries. Stop shaming Christine for fighting for and winning her life and saving the man she loves.

And please stop calling this a romance. It's the antithesis of romance.

I am sick of members of this Phandom completely ignoring Erik/The Phantom's behavior to justify their blind adoration. Erik is an abusive and dangerous character, and extremely toxic. He lies to and manipulates Christine using her trauma from her deceased father. He kidnaps her, multiple times. Threatens her and her colleagues. He extorts hundreds of thousands from the business managers. He endangers dozens of people with the chandelier crash, and effectively holds hundreds hostage for months or years at a time with his reign of terror at the Opera.

Then there are the murders. Several of them. Probably been at that for awhile so we can assume it's far more than the two we see in the show. We don't know his actual body count, but we do know he's adept and comfortable taking human life.

And yet, I see some mature phans out here completely ignoring all those things and still shaming Christine for leaving him. Why? Because he's "sexy" (author's note: PLEASE go re-read Leroux. Please). And he's talented. And has so much love to give. And is misunderstood. And society was terrible to him...so it's all fine. 😳🤮 She should have just stayed and loved him like he deserves to be loved. 🙄

Recently I saw a post shaming Christine and the justification was that Raoul was so much worse. He isn't. Is he a perfect character? No, not at all. Does he make mistakes and try to use Christine? In some versions, yes. Does he run around extorting, manipulating, threatening, and killing others? Also no.

Pleasw don't ever use LND!Raoul's character assassination as some kind of justification, because he's still the most sane, normal human being in that show, and Erik is still 1,000 times worse than Raoul in LND. Also, using LND as justification for anything makes for a very weak and uninformed argument.

"Hurt people hurt people." Ever heard that phrase? Abused people sometimes abuse others, especially if they haven't done the work to heal themselves. Their previous abuse does NOT entitle them to abuse others. That is always a deliberate choice and those choices have consequences. The dangerous, disgusting rhetoric I see in the Phantom community basically excuses toxic behavior because Erik was previously abused and nothing is his fault. That is simply not true. Those that abused me were previously abused. Didn't make my abuse hurt any less. And I made the choice to do the work so that the abuse stopped with me. Previous trauma is a reason for the behavior, but it is NEVER, ever an excuse.

And don't let the fact the dude can sing or that he's a snappy dresser blind you to his toxicity.

We can all enjoy the Phantom character's complexity and love him, while still acknowledging his flaws and holding him accountable for his deeply inappropriate choices.

We talk a lot more these days about trauma, toxicity, and self care. And yet, as a community, we still shame the character of Christine Daaé for doing the healthy, correct thing. The ONLY thing. And in doing so, we set a disturbing precedent for our young or vulnerable Phans who now might think that staying in toxic relationships in the real world is okay.

Please do better, Phandom.

[prince-liest]

since you acknowledged vox and valentino as a uh. less than healthy relationship (lol) several times (going feral over what vox was implying in that latest 666 fic), do you think there's ever the chance of alastor feeling... probably not protective haha but maybe possessive over vox the next time he's a little banged up? alternatively, how else do you think alastor would react if whatever they were getting up to is halted by vox nursing some kind of injury from one of his and val's fights? - ✨

I think it really depends on how Vox presents the situation, to be honest! They, uh, bang each other up a lot themselves, hahaha, and Alastor doesn't really register it as problematic. A lot of writing 666 is balancing the idea that these guys are living an existence where the a real life normal-meter really can't accurately be applied, and also maintaining that they still do have personal boundaries and lines that might be crossed.

A reminder of some (but not all) of the fucked up things that Vox and Alastor have done to each other over the course of 666:

One murder attempt that Vox didn't draw a line in the sand over

Vox got annoyed and slapped Alastor across the face hard enough to knock him down, with no warning or prelude, in a sexual context

Vox slammed Alastor's skull into the ground, out of anger, several times until he was dazed and bleeding

Alastor literally tried to eat a chunk of Vox's shoulder, most likely resulting in the reverse of the scenario you're describing: Vox having to take it easier with Val because he has a gaping shoulder wound courtesy of Alastor and can't lift his arm

About three dozen bucketfuls of severely under-negotiated and sometimes not-at-all negotiated edgeplay (as in, not safe-sane-consensual) kink from both ends, including but not limited to: choking (via hands and via dick), fearplay, deliberate boundary-crossing wrt touch, hypnosis, painplay, bloodplay, wounding, and gaslighting for the purpose of humiliation

Like, Vox asking "I want to make sure I didn't cross any boundaries!" in the second 666 fic does not in any way absolve him of having deliberately crossed about thirty of them immediately prior, and the fact that Alastor enjoyed it is mostly just because Alastor is also fucked up. Some people seemed quite surprised at Alastor crossing so many boundaries in the wireplay fic compared to all the shit Vox had pulled prior to that point, and I think it's because he, unlike Vox, didn't pay lip service to it, though they both do about the same amount of actual "keeping an eye on things".

Them caring about each other does not mean that their concept of "boundaries" or even "okay things to do to another person in an intimate setting or otherwise" aren't very, very colored by them being demonic overlords who live in hell and haven't so much as waved 'hello' to a single healthy intimate relationship in the past hundred years.

Vox having to take a breather because he has some kind of injury from Val is, unless he's actively making a 'this is fucked up and I'm opening up to be vulnerable and unhappy about it' kind of deal about it, is not really going to ping on Alastor's radar as a problem.

And Vox isn't going to make that kind of deal about it because that isn't how he sees his relationship with Valentino. Yes, Val often treats Vox in abusive ways in 666. That is also colored by both of them being demonic overlords who live in hell, and Vox treats certain aspects of it as frustrating and upsetting (and often takes that out on Valentino - hence the frequent off-again-on-again nature of their relationship), but he doesn't actually, like, see their relationship the way that we do.

He loves Val. Val loves him. To him, the rest is either normal overlord behavior or their own damage, and they've found a balance where the general response to a shitty happening is, "Eh, we've worked through worse."

TL;DR: Valentino, Vox, and Alastor all need to have "DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!" stapled across their foreheads. To paraphrase Bay: They're in hell. The insane acts of violence are basically a love language at this point.

[boywifesammy]

im sure everyone’s seen the argument by non-wincest shippers that canon weirdcest moments can be explained off as particularly close brothers. i’ve seen wincesties respond by straight up denying it, but honestly, i see where they’re coming from. they do TECHNICALLY have a point, yet still, it fundamentally doesnt sit well with me.

if you isolate all of these little incidents they could be perceived as purely brotherly. its got me thinking about what exactly makes wincest so appealing, and why i as a wincest shipper immediately have an exasperated reaction to people insisting that sam&dean are purely platonic.

i also see this argument frequently bundled with the stance that “weirdcest isn’t a justification for shipping wincest” (which is a whole other can of worms altogether— the puritan culture of ship culture rn), but you gotta take a step back and just ask yourself… why am i so intent on seeing these characters as platonic?

the prevailing argument ive seen is that siblings CAN be terribly close without being incestuous. this is totally fair. i’m not saying that if you are particularly close with your siblings in a sam & dean type manner that you are incestuous. obviously relationships between family is vastly complex & changes with the culture you grew up in.

the only problem here is that people try to go so far to explain sam&dean’s relationship as to not paint it as romantic. if they weren’t related, it’d be insane to think they weren’t romantic. they are consistently and repeatedly put in situations and exchange dialogue that’s used to convey romantic tone in western media. my point here being— the writers know that they are doing. and they are doing it INTENTIONALLY.

yes, certain cultures find extensive physical touch and kisses between siblings platonically acceptable. yes, you can be very close to your siblings without wanting to fuck them. but that is such a reach given what you are being presented with. you are missing the fundamental thematic point of supernatural: family horror!!

by so steadfastly arguing that sam&dean cannot be read as romantic you are purposefully ignoring the the text. you are glossing over the repeating themes of generational trauma and incest that are touched on time and time again, with john’s father abandoning him, mary’s parents being hunters, the struggle she went through to get out of the life but how family trauma & the past permeates itself into your being. you are ignoring the benders, the ghost pregnant with her fathers child, and the time azazel KISSED MARY in HER FATHERS BODY.

supernatural pushes incestuous themes SO HARD. it purposefully plays with & explores the double-sided blade that is family. it touches on a REALLY TABOO subject without being overwhelming or heavy handed. of course its going to attract people who enjoy these themes. OF COURSE we’re going to look at the two homoerotic brother leads and see something between them! it’s intentionally placed in the script! its a valid reading of the text!

this is why i get frustrated when people say that wincest shippers are twisting canon for the sake of shipping, because we’re not. when people say this they are taking a piece of media that is intriguing in how it handles a socially unacknowledged part of the human experience and forcing their viewing of it on others. they are saying that you aren’t allowed to enjoy those themes because it is inherently wrong or shameful to EXPLORE THE TOPIC. i dunno. that sounds pretty authoritarian to me.

it’s totally fine to be grossed out by incest or avoid wincest because it makes you uncomfortable. what ISNT okay is to say its an exaggerated reaction to canon, because it really isnt. in fact, its a pretty normal & sane conclusion to come to after seeing those two. the fact that they aren’t explicitly incestuous might even enhance this idea. it touches on the unspoken secretive nature of family trauma and the complicated, messy reality of crossing boundaries with blood without being cliche or overdramatic.

im going to incite occam’s razor here: yes, they could just be brothers. yes, you can explain it all away as particularly close siblings. yes, you can argue that it isnt explicitly canon. but really, why would you do all that when the show incessantly implies that they’re more? and more importantly, why are you so quick to say that a topic cannot be explored because it’s complicated? is that really the sentiment that we as a society want to hold regarding media?

[serpentinegraphite]

So, first off, this is not an attempt to kink shame (dubcon and noncon are great!) but I do keep seeing a thing in fics (I do NOT see this irl in kink spaces nearly as often) where like. A character will interrupt the flow of the scene to check consent

And I don't mean in an "are we still green?" Or "what's your color?" kind of way, but I mean. The author has tagged the fic and indicated via prose and/or author notes that they are doing their Due Diligence to make sure this fic is Righteously Consensual from top to bottom, No Question About It

And a character will ask for full sexual consent either directly or indirectly or renegotiate the boundaries of the kinks being practiced AFTER the sex acts have already begun.

Here's the thing: horny brain isn't great at making decisions! irl in kink spaces, there's often a lot of emphasis on negotiating BEFORE the scene begins, perhaps even with a space between negotiation and the scene if it's with a new/unfamiliar partner (maybe it's a few minutes while things are set up, maybe the partners negotiate a day or more in advance! It depends!), and not changing the parameters of the scene after someone is already horny or god forbid already in subspace.

Again, these are perfectly fine rules to break in fiction, when the author is aware of it (most characters are not going to be fully familiar with safe, sane, consensual practices and the traffic light system, nor would we want them to be!) but I'm increasingly finding fics where the author DOESN'T seem aware, which takes a normal fic (in-character, with reasonable but perhaps even somewhat dubious practices, which the author isn't emphasizing or preaching about) into Red Flag Territory (a character, OOC, yanking me out of the scene to behave like a PSA about consent instead of conforming to the horny tone of the scene, and perpetuating unsafe practices anyway)

If you are writing a master manipulator or someone who wants to have a gotcha, you totally said it was okay on a character they are trying to bone (which is well in the realm of non/dubcon) that's fine! This PSA is not aimed at you. But if you are trying to write someone who Cares Strongly About Consent, then perhaps be more aware of when is an appropriate time to escalate the situation (sexually speaking) or ask for consent!

[t1oui]

hcs that the marauders & the valkyries & the slytherin skittles are all best friends and also gay as hell.

james is the first of the marauders to come out, he's pansexual

his first crush is on lily, who he loudly proclaims his love to. she immediately turns him down on the grounds of 1) being lesbian and 2) being 11 and they become best friends instead

meanwhile in the skittles they sort of all come out at the same time. like they all become friends and then are like hey wait we're all gay

dorcas is lesbian, regulus is gay, pandora is pansexual, barty and evan are both bi & evan is ace

meanwhile, marlene is lesbian, mary and remus are bi, peter is aroace, and sirius cannot be bothered to label himself past "moony is pretty and girls occasionally are too"

eventually the groups begin to mingle both through quidditch and various crushes

aka marlene sees dorcas looking bored out of her mind while watching a gryffindor v slytherin quidditch match and falls in love

(she then gets hit in the face with a bludger and is in the hospital wing for a week)

eventually lily also starts crushing on pandora and james starts crushing on regulus

lily and pandora get together first because they, unlike their friends, are normal about having feelings

eventually mary also starts dating them because hell yeah polyamory

they go on cute dates in hogsmeade and spy on their friends :)

james and regulus get together next, everyone knows james loves very loudly and with all that sunshine focused on him, there was no way reg could last

james, lily, and mary are fed up with marlene pining after dorcas and they get regulus and pandora to help them set the girls up

(as it turns out, dorcas is confident until she's faced with a pretty girl with no boundaries)

of course there's also wolfstar and rosekiller

rosekiller has probably been together this whole time (nobody knows when they started dating, including them) but remus and sirius are painfully oblivious so they don't get together until 7th year and then they seem to be kissing 24/7

("ew," james said, looking up from where he was cuddling regulus in the middle of the great hall)

oh yeah and there's no voldemort in this universe. the only angst comes from the occasional black family nonsense

i just realized i haven't mentioned alice and frank yet so here they are:

they're a few years older than the marauders/valkyries/skittles

james totally had a crush on frank and lily had a crush on alice (another thing they bonded over)

regulus and alice are best friends because alice and narcissa are dating

bellatrix is still kind of insane but in a fun way (idk how to write her as a sane person 💀)

andromeda is the big sister of the skittles, and once the skittles start hanging out with the gryffindors, she becomes their big sister too

walburga and orion still suck. there is just far less angst regarding them.

sirius still runs away first because he and regulus don't get along super well yet. not so much because of houses or family, though those are contributors, but also because they're just very different people. regulus ends up moving in with narcissa and alice and is living his best life

they all go off into the world as best friends and do not die young or in pain or scared and instead live fun lives with each other in a peaceful world, as they were supposed to :)

i will probably write this, at the very least some oneshots for it because AAAA

[stoat-party]

Fallout 4 Companions and Whether They Like Hugs*

*specifically with the Sole Survivor, max affinity, not romanced. Mostly educated guessing but includes canon whenever possible.

Cait:

Hugs = vulnerability, and vulnerability has historically been something Cait tries to avoid. But you’re someone she deeply, truly trusts. She’ll both give and receive hugs from you — if anyone else tries it, though, there’s a chance they’ll get their nose bloodied.

Codsworth:

Canonically does not understand hugs. Would stoically accept a hug if given one. Probably incapable of delivering them, but he would make an effort if asked.

Curie:

Very excited to use her new body for acts of interpersonal physical contact! Oxytocin does wonders for the mind and body, you know. Will politely ask permission before hugging you, but you’re always welcome to hug her.

Danse:

Formality and awkwardness keep Danse from doing much hugging — like, maybe a celebratory post-battle brohug if you’re lucky. He’s canonically willing to hold a friend who’s upset, though, so you could try breaking down in his arms if you really needed a hug from that giant strong man. But the armor’s going to get in the way, so you have to be strategic about this.

Deacon:

Only if it’s for the meme. He’s “not the hugging type.”

Dogmeat:

Dogs don’t really interpret hugs the way we do, but Dogmeat is an abnormally smart dog. He’ll accept a hug because he loves being close to you, especially when you’re upset. Would prefer scritches, though.

Hancock:

When you’re a beloved public figure in Goodneighbor, you tend not to develop too broad a personal bubble. There’s less risk that he’ll disapprove and more that you’ll startle him and get stabbed. But he’ll return the hug when you’re conscious again. Mind the hat.

MacCready:

I think MacCready is very affectionate with the people he feels closest to. Especially if he’s drunk.

Nick:

Unfortunately, Nick doesn’t really get as much from hugs as the fleshfolk do. A good, warm cuddle is something he remembers but can’t fully experience. But he’s unreserved with giving them if he thinks you could use one. Knowing he’s comforted a friend counteracts the roboangst.

Piper:

Sure! She’d love a hug. Piper is a mostly sane human being, so I don’t actually have much to say about this. She’s normal about hugs.

Preston:

Nope! In his words, “not really a hugger.” If you desperately wanted to hug that man, you could probably pull rank and he’d roll his eyes and acquiesce. I know, I’m heartbroken too.

Strong:

Canonically doesn’t know what hugs are, probably not a good idea to teach him. His idea of affection involves friendly violence, which you’ll also want to avoid.

X6-88:

Haha. No. At max affinity, he trusts you enough to set that boundary, and no, it’s not a negotiable one. You’ll have to love the scary terminator man from a respectful distance.

[madamtrashbat]

I was chatting with a friend recently about the ways antis operate and how damaging their ideology is and I wanted to organize my thoughts about it.

It's one thing to be like "I wish minors wouldn't interact with my work because it's got adult content" (which is not something you can 100% control short of paywalling) but it's another thing ENTIRELY to be like "minors should never look at anything sexual ever and people who think it's okay that they do are secret pedophiles."

Teenagers need to have the safe space to explore their sexuality and figure their shit out and sometimes that place is fandom. Sometimes teens are trying to deal with the fantasies they have about their hot history teacher so they consume teacher/student smut in order to work it out. Sometimes they're wondering what gives them their jollies and are just reading whatever they can to wank to, including incest and rape and other "unsavory" things just so they can get it all figured out.

Sometimes awful things have happened to teens and they're using the avenue of art and fiction to take the power back from their rapist and create a narrative they control where they are working through it safely.

And antis would see all of this and want it fucking destroyed.

I was brought up in fandom by a few of the sweetest older women (adult women!) who took me under their wings and showed me that what I was thinking and writing wasn't bad or wrong or shameful and it was all perfectly sane to have these sexual feelings because nothing makes sense when you're a kid and if you want to write Frerard where Gerard is the hot teacher to Frank's catholic schoolboy in order to deal with your feelings about the sexy sub you just got at your school then that's totally fine.

These trusted adults also comforted me when I was afraid, taught me what boundaries were (please do not actually pursue the sub!), told me what were normal interactions and what I should be wary of (do NOT let the sub pursue you), and they were proud of me as I made my way into the world as a reasonably well-adjusted adult.

(Hi, Gaja, can't wait for your Christmas card!)

Sexuality is weird and messy and whatever makes our pants tighter is all individual and equally weird. Telling teenagers to not seek out porn and to not even speak to adults is just a one-way ticket to growing fucked-up people who don't know how to operate without shame and then we have a resurgence in Catholicism and NOBODY needs that.

And the way that antis rally against this, like teenagers are Pure and Sweet Babies who are being corrupted by the Awful Adults Like Me (who are secretly child diddlers obviously) is just. So fucking damaging.

Imagine trying to handle the way your hormones are firing off at everything and you're just not sure what's going on and instead of a kind adult going "hey we were all freaks at 16 and it's totally normal to be like 'this strange thing is turning me on' I promise" you have some sniveling puritan asshole going "YOU ARE ACTUALLY A SEXUAL PREDATOR IF YOU LIKE THESE THINGS AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED AND PUNISHED BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HARM PEOPLE."

Like. Y'all. I have seen antis claim that people who wrote about/drew rape in order to deal with their own assaults DESERVED IT because they chose to deal with it in this way. I have seen antis tell people they hope they get raped for the fiction they create. They wish death and harm against people who make fiction. Antis literally have a body count over this shit. And yet they want me to believe they're the good guys? Bye.

Antis will argue that it's not normal for people to think about gross and icky things. I argue that Holocaust survivors had sexual fantasies about actual fucking jackboot Nazis.

No one says you have to like everything everyone else does. We have a robust tagging system for a reason. But to behave as if what YOU like is the only thing that is acceptable and everything else is Bad and Wrong is not the business. Kink Tomato exists for a reason. We are all individuals who like different things. Get with it.

Teenagers are in a precarious time of development and if you want to shame them for whatever is going on in their heads then you are the problem, not the solution. Be the kind of adult you needed as a teenager, not some shaming, screaming Puritan trying to pin scarlet A's onto everything because it's sinful. Goody Proctor is just trying to rub one out in peace.

Get with the way fandom has always operated or go away. ACAB means fancop, too.

[novamilano1]

"It takes a fool to remain sane !" The fool, the jester and the journey towards truthfulness and acceptance of difference ! Open your eyes baby ! Let’s be brave together ! Young Royal analysis.

So it all started with a question that arose in the Kingdom (long live the Kingdom !), a group of fans discussing all things related to YR, playing detectives and throwing spaghettis all around to see what sticks (Kingdom TM). What does the drawing Sara makes mean, what to do with this strange Nordic Nisse ( a playful winter Gnome who loves to play tricks) under this blazing sun ? A winter gnome around Christmas makes sense. But what about the sun ?

The image reminded me of a court jester and of the tarot card where the fool is represented by the sun.

So we dived together, we found many interesting conclusions and today, I would like to go further, first to link it to the main song “it takes a fool to remain sane” and to link this carnival theme to the Valborg’s theme present in the S3 trailer. Let’s dive.

The song first chosen to represent the love story, the one that could be sung, the one destined to mesmerize the Handsome prince was “Symphony” by Zara Larrson. Then they switched it to “It takes a fool to remain sane” by the Ark. It’s the first song we hear in YR, in the church, with a Solo by Simon. It’s an important song.

And the song continues a little bit in the next scene where Wille and Eric rediscover their inner child, play the fool by running up the stairs trying to escape the PR circus and the scrutiny. The song invites Wille and all of us to be the jester, to play it like a harlequin, to “take it to the stage in a multicoloured jacket /Take it jackpot, crackpot, strutting like a peacock/Nailvarnish Arkansas, shimmy-shammy featherboah /Crackpot, haircut, dye your hair in glowing red and blue”, Yeah Go  Simon ! Go Wille ! Go Wilmon ! (It's strange to see Wille in pink or in studded jackets etc. but I kinda like seeing him experimenting his true self, be brave etc. Embrace the madness baby ! )

So the song invites us to be different, to “be brave, to break down the walls of attitude” just for the sake of it. It invites us to not be afraid “to feel strange, to feel ashamed, to seem strange, to seem insane, to gain weight, to seem gay”. The song tells us that it’s “your right to laugh at me”, that it will not prevent me to “feel brave, because ridicule is no shame”.

Simon the gay, Wille the rebel to rules and Sara the autist embody the outsiders, the free thinkers who dare to be different, to not care about the look, to speak freely, to find one’s voice even if this is a painful journey. The struggles to be the fool in order to stay sane, the journey to be able to speak one’s truth is hard, leads to a steep hill.

To speak freely, to question the conventions, the traditions is exactly the role of the court jester. He has to open everyone’s eyes to the madness of society. Sara does it quite naturally. Wille endlessly attempts to do so with his parents (to no avail so far) thanks to Boris. He questions their reality. He opens his eyes and try to take them to also open theirs and question appearances. In a carnivalesque society where the jester has its own place, the roles can be reversed. The  fool can be a king, the gender boundaries have no meaning, the class divides are pointless.

So what’s the link to Valborg  ? Valborg is quite different. It has another meaning. But there is also a fire that ends the obscure times to lead to the light. And the carnival where the jester reigns normally ends with a bonfire where you burn all the old meaningless symbols. The fool and everyone are invited to dance and chant around a fire to start a revolution, i.e a reversal of roles, a new life, a new beginning.

So thanks to YR and  the Ark, we all know what we have to do:

Do, do, do what you wanna do Don't think twice, do what you have to do Do, do, do, do, let your heart decide What you have to do That's all there is to find 'Cos it takes a fool to remain sane Oh, in this world all covered up in shame

[ashleymasenado]

QSMP Reader Insert One-Shot: It's a Deal

Summary: You were one of the residents of Quesadilla Island running for presidency; at least, you were. Halfway through, you had decided to drop out due to some other runners having similar campaigns to yours. But after listening to them better, something about them makes you uneasy, so you decide to get back into the run…with one of the few people you would ever trust.

Hi everybody! Alexa here! I'm feeling quite optimistic about this little bit I'm writing today, even though I've told myself quite a few times to wait for when I'm getting to the real fic, but that's not important right now. What's important is that I get this out before the final elections on the QSMP, because that's what this one-shot is all about. And man, if you guys have time to read this, might wanna grab a snack and a drink cause this is lengthy; probably one of the longest solo pieces I've tried writing.

Anyway, this is a female reader insert, as those are easier for me to write and because we don't have much girl power on the QSMP. But, if you are not a girl who is reading this, feel free to change things up for your own preference. I am a fifteen-year-old Christian teenage girl, but I know I have to respect and be thoughtful of others. This takes place after the third debate (Day 106). As for what you're up to, well—you'll just have to find out.

Major spoilers if you're not following the QSMP, or if you're still catching up on it. I'm sorry if anything is not entirely accurate to the timeline of the QSMP; I've checked the characters' pages on the QSMP wiki yet they're not entirely up-to-date on events. This is actually the first one-shot in a collection of two or three, because I had to get this out soon with the recent lore on the QSMP being absolutely crazy and getting darker and deeper, and the elections being close to wrapping up. I hope you don't mind what I did to get this out soon, everyone. I just hope I did a good job.

Will also be posted on quotev.com, fanfiction.net, and archiveofourown.org, on my account with the same name: Ashley Masenado, except for fanfiction.net with the username being AshleyMasenado15.

I hope you all enjoy, and remember—stay safe, and stay weird.

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I can't believe I'm doing this…

You pursed your lips together as you walked through the woods, far away from the town, one hand in your pocket as the chatters grew quieter and farther away from you as you walked. You shuffled around your fingers, trying to stay calm, as you went over the crazy plan in your head again, over and over, to make sure you had it.

This plan was crazy. You were going crazy, and you absolutely hated it. For a while, you always thought you were the only sane one left on the island—until now. But this—this idea changed that thought. There was no turning back—but now you wished there still was.

Your steps came to a halt as you glanced around your surroundings, then raised your left hand to look at the screen of your Portable Minecraft Guide (PMG). You pulled up the map to check your location, and your icon confirmed that this was exactly where you needed to be. Pulling up the inventory tab, you rummaged through one of your backpacks for the three item kinds you would be needing: lava buckets, water buckets, and a flint and steel.

Your plan was simple: create a Nether portal with the bucket method to get Cucurucho's attention so you could negotiate with it. Normally you wouldn't break the rules on purpose; you had strong morality boundaries after all (unlike a majority of the people on the island). But you had no choice. You had missed the chance and had to come up with this in desperation, especially after what had happened near the end of the debate today. The chaos had prevented you from even getting a chance to see Cucurucho, so this was your best and only shot. You were not going to waste this only chance.

Letting out a deep sigh, you began to build the portal as the afternoon sky gave way to night. The cool breeze cooled the heat on your face, calming your heart from the nerves of today's events. As you poured one lava bucket down, followed by a bucket of water following your exact calculations, your thoughts drifted to the past events that you were around for since the beginning of Quackity's QSMP. Some were fun and fueled your resolve for adventure and to solve the mysteries of the island, while some were quite…depressing. Ordo Theoritas had been reestablished, the Nether portals at the end of the train tracks were a huge discovery, Quackity's mysterious disappearance (which you were still trying to solve today), many eggs had died (including your own, which nearly destroyed you and you were absent for a week, even needing therapy once), and the beginning of the elections of presidency for the island.

That was actually where you were now. Out of pure curiosity you had actually opted to run for president; and being the "do-it to-it" person you were, you went for it. After a bit of hard brainstorming and plenty of rewritten drafts, you had the perfect campaign: a program designed to protect the eggs and the people, and everyone and everything on the island. Cellbit, whose primary goal you knew was to leave the island—you knew he was going to be against the idea. But that didn't bother you, even if he was a good partner outside the elections.

As the elections had gone further with the first debate, you grew bold enough to share your further ambition to bring down the Federation, as they had done nothing to stop the problems of the Binary Code Entity and its attacks on the other eggs. It had been the cause of so many deaths, of people and eggs alike, and all they did was sit back and watch? Well you had had enough. If this so-called government wasn't going to do anything about your problems, you would. You would make sure of that.

At least until the very next debate. After you had heard the proposals of Bad and Baghera, you had decided to drop out of the elections as they had similar ideas to yours, and you figured since they were older than you and had more experience with these things. And besides, you figured with your lack of self-control that you'd probably go mad with power the moment you started your first day. It was probably for the better that you had dropped out. Thanks to some negotiations with Cucurucho and having the official paperwork signed, you were out of the run for presidency.

What some people didn't know, was that not long after the second debate, you were having second thoughts. There were many things you knew that the others did not, and these things worried you. Had you made a mistake to drop out of the elections? Maybe. Especially with Bad's proposal, which you had reflected on more after reading back on your draft for the QSMP newspaper (you were the main editor as it gave you something to do after you lost your egg). You didn't want something like that to happen again; you couldn't let it. You would not let it. If anyone was going to actually make things better on this cursed island, it was going to be you.

As the heaviness of the load in your hands began to lighten, you stopped pouring and put down the empty bucket. The portal was finished and now it only needed to be lit. You stared at the flint and steel in your hand, seething through your teeth at the thought of the crime that was about to be committed. Standing in position and gripping the tools tight, you flicked the flames and the deed was done. Now all you had to do was wait.

As you stood there waiting for Cucurucho to come by and give you your news, you thought of the strange nature of this white robotic bear. Ever since your first interaction with it, you had thought it to be an A.I., due to its use of a soundboard to communicate, having no desire for itself, and its constant presence to ask questions to the reidents as surveys. You were very wary of Cucurucho, especially after its first jumpscare on you. You nearly had a heart attack that day. No joke; you had to pump your fist on your chest plenty of times and your child had to calm you down since you were even laughing your head off with insanity.

As time went on and you were noticing patterns in its behavior, you began to understand it more—at least, you hoped it did. Cucurucho was only doing its duty, given to it by the Federation. It was only doing what it was told, even if it did have some… interesting methods to getting the job done. It reminded you of yourself in a way, with your "get-right-to-it-before-I-get-too-lazy" attitude. Except you weren't the kind to use force to get your work done, so of course there were some major differences. At least you didn't laugh in someone's face when they were about to lose the last of their hearts.

A flash of white caught your eye from the trees in the left, and you immediately stepped back as Cucurucho came running. In a single click it destroyed the portal, one block at a time. Not a single trace was left, not even a particle. As soon as the portal was out of existence, it turned around and faced you with that same eerie smile, plastered on its white mask for hours at a time. It sent a chill down your spine whenever you saw it; it was like a prison it couldn't escape. If you still didn't think Cucurucho was just some AIR (Artificial Intelligent Robot, as you called it), you would have felt a little sympathy for it.

"Hello," it said, its iconic leather-cover notebook in its left hand. The feather pen was stuck in-between the pages, serving as a bookmark for where it could write when it had to communicate with the residents beyond its limited soundboard. Its white long-sleeved shirt, white pants, white fingerless gloves, and white socks and shoes were spotless as always, somehow completely free of stain. The white mask sported the usual shiny black eyes and button pink nose, and the unmoving mouth where the soundboard played its repeated words held the same old smile. "You have committed an illegal act. Please, follow me."

"Yes, Cucurucho, I know I did, but I only did this to get your attention," you muttered, holding your hands up in defense as it tried to walk away. "I just wanna talk alright? It's really important, so please just listen."

To your surprise, the bear stopped in its tracks and turned around, returning back to you as it had walked away a few paces. It opened its book and wrote down some quick scribbles, then handed it to you to read.

I'm listening; what is it you need? The text read; inwardly you sighed with relief. You didn't think this plan would have actually worked, and yet it did. You figured it was now best to move on to the next phase, so you explained that you wanted to get back into the elections, and you needed Cucurucho's help for it. The bear was quiet the whole time, completely still as you talked. Halfway through, you realized the danger of the current situation and frowned slightly, looking around to see if anyone was listening in. Internally you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, reprimanding yourself for not thinking this entirely through.

"We're not safe talking about this out here," you said, turning around to the direction of your house. The bear had put the book away, its paws now empty as it stood there; perhaps contemplating its decision in the matter. "Would you mind if we have to go to my house? I think we're close enough to it."

"No."

"Okay cool," you said, as you began to walk towards the direction of your home. You turned around to check if Cucurucho was following, and you kept going as it stayed three blocks behind you. As you went, you kept your map window open to make sure you were taking the most inconspicuous route, even making sure no one was following you by checking behind you every minute of the way. Normally you wouldn't call yourself paranoid, but things on the QSMP were making you more and more afraid of the island everyday.

Ever since the death of your egg child, you had been feeling less like your old self. You had become more tense, more wary of your surroundings and especially very careful with who you made friends with. You even stopped frequently hanging out with people, which you used to do plenty before to make more friends and be more socialised. Sometimes when some players would come by to ask how you were, they would be answered with an "I'm fine" and a chill wave. But in reality, sometimes you forgot how to smile a genuinely happy smile.

It took a bit of a long walk and a bit of quick sidestepping to avoid some of the player residents, but you and Cucurucho finally arrived at your little wooden cottage in the larger cherry blossom biome, near a quaint little village where you had built your house. It stood on top of a hill where the sun could shine into your windows. You opened the door to let Osito Bimbo in, then after you closed it you flicked on the lights with your redstone-powered lever that went all the way to some lanterns up on the ceiling.

Your living room was simple, yet enough to make one feel right at home. The red couch on the right side of the house was enough to seat atleast five people, and it was clean and inviting. On the right armrest was a jukebox with a chest labeled "Non-Copyrighted Relaxation Music" on its right side. A window with shutters was on the left wall, the shutters having been pulled up so the sunlight could flow in and warm the room enough; albeit with nighttime coming through, it was more of the sunset coming in. A ceiling fan whirred on in the middle of the ceiling, surrounded by the warm glows of the lanterns above. At the far side of the room were the stairs leading to the upstairs, with the bedrooms and the guest rooms. A hallway to the far left of the room lead to the dining room and the kitchen, where you lead Cucurucho into. You gestured for it to take a seat at one of the chairs at your table, while you went into the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for the both of you.

"Hey Cucurucho," you called from the kitchen while you poured pre-prepared hot water into two little teacups. "Jaiden told me you like tea a few days ago. You want some honey in your green tea?"

"Yes."

Nodding, you took out two of your green tea bags from the second top cabinet, dipping them into the cups and stirring a tablespoon of honey into one of them. You quickly stirred it and carefully made sure to evade the steam quickly lifting from the cup, as to not burn yourself from it. While the cups cooled on the counter, you took out a few home-baked Fita crackers from another one of your storage cabinets and put them on a plate, then put them aside to make room for the cups. After you brought and distributed them on the table, you took one of your discs from the shelf in the living room and played it in the jukebox near the table, then took a seat as you took your cup to sip your tea.

With the comfy music, you took some time to collect your thoughts while you looked around the dining room. The place was rather homey as intended, nice and simple with a long wooden table and wooden cushioned chairs. It took up most of the dining room, but left enough space for people to walk around the table, especially when you needed to serve visitors their refreshments. Lanterns hung from the ceiling from reinforced iron chains, bathing the room in a warm and comfortable glow.

You put down your cup and chewed on some biscuits, then after another sip you took a deep breath and braced yourself. Gently clapping your hands, you turned your attention back to the white bear, who seemed to have not budged from its seat except for having opened its book on the table and the cup in front of it being noticeably half-empty.

"So, Cucurucho," you started, holding out your hands in a hopefully professional manner. "Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about the elections. I would like to get back into the run for presidency."

"Why?"

You shuddered inside; this was new. You didn't think Cucurucho could have its soundboard updated to include new vocabulary, especially since you were used to hearing its usual "Good morning" , "No", "What are you doing?" and its eerie monotone "Hahaha". But maybe it was always there and you just didn't get an opportunity to hear it before.

"I want to get back into the presidency because I am concerned about the proposals of some of the candidates. Not only because of what they plan to do, but also because I am wondering if they will actually do it. Many running candidates often tend to forget about their promises because of their want for power. Once they have the power offered to them, they often forget about what they've promised and only care about themselves. Do you follow me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not going to be like that. I've decided that if there's a fat chance that these candidates won't do what they've promised to do, then I'll do it myself, as I've always told myself all the while while I was in the run for presidency. Basically, I'd like to get back into the run for presidency because I want to help the island, and everyone in it, in my own way. What do you say?"

There was another reason you wanted to get back into the run for presidency, but it was one you would rather prefer to keep to yourself. Not only did it make you uncomfortable to think about, but it reminded you of terrible things that only further motivated you to get back into the run. You couldn't let something like that happen again, especially not with Bad and Foolish. They were some of your best friends on the island and the QSMP itself, and there was no way you would let history repeat itself over.

H̷͙͘ö̵̼́w̵̡̾ ̶̝͐c̵̦͝a̸̫̚n̵̞̊ ̷̥̏y̵̻̍ö̷̹́ū̴̠ ̷̭̿b̵̫̚e̶̱͌ ̷̖͠s̷͝ͅo̵̝̓ ̸͇̌c̷͚̚ǎ̵ͅl̴͍͗m̴̲̀ ̷̭̈́ȁ̵̼b̷̧̈́o̵̾ͅu̴̙̍t̶̲̀ ̴̣̋j̶̝̈́ú̸̹s̷̯̋t̵̙͐ ̷͙̊t̴̹̊ă̸͇k̷͚͊ī̶̧n̵͚͘ĝ̶̭ ̸͇̔s̵̤͠ỏ̸͓m̸̜̆e̵̱͊ō̶̫n̸͓̎é̶̩'̸̫͒s̶̔

"̸W̸h̴a̶t̴ ̸h̴a̸p̷p̶e̴n̵e̵d̸ ̷t̷o̴ ̷t̷h̶e̸ ̵B̴a̷d̴ ̵B̶o̶y̴ ̸H̸a̸l̵o̴ ̴I̴ ̵u̸s̵e̶d̴ ̷t̸o̷ ̶k̷n̵o̸w̴?̴!̷"̷

"̸I̴ ̶t̴r̷u̵s̸t̸e̶d̶ ̴y̶o̴u̶

Deciding not to dwell on the past, you looked up and noticed that Cucurucho's notebook was in front of you with the words written inside: "Please wait while I discuss this with my workmates." From across the room, Cucurucho had pulled up a window on its PMG, which you figured was where it was talking with its fellow workers of the Federation. You decided to be patient and think of what you could request to Cucurucho in case it would need you to do something to fulfill your requisition. You carefully closed the notebook with the pen inside as a bookmark and slid it back to the bear, chewing on the rest of the biscuits on the plate while leaving some for Cucurucho.

After only a few minutes, Cucurucho turned off the window and carefully took out a page from its notebook. Your eyes widened as you never thought Cucurucho was allowed to do such a thing. But you figured it was best to say nothing, so instead you opened the chat on your PMG and began to talk with your friend Foolish. The QSMP members were put into an all-members group chat where if a single person messaged, everyone would immediately be able to see it. Luckily, the QSMP admins had created something new for the players: a personal chat similar to the private messages in Minecraft, except without the /msg command which made things a little tedious. You were especially grateful for this new function, which you used plenty of times when you weren't busy building.

Hey Foolish, what's up? You put in the personal chat for Foolish Gamers, his profile picture of him in his shark hoodie and doing a silly face in his selfie. This always made you giggle and actually made you feel a little better when you were feeling down, especially since you all liked to joke about Foolish being a comic relief during all of these hard and angsty times.

Nothing much, just hanging out with Leo rn He typed, an adorable little peace sign emoji following after. An image of Leo with a poppy doing a little dance came on, which you immediately reacted with a little red heart for Leonarda exclusively.

She actually misses seeing you around He texted. Asking when you gonna be able to come see her again

Tell her I said I'm sorry that I can't like, come over cause of how busy I am with my house You replied, with a little sad face emoji with the little teardrop. I do miss seeing all the eggs, Leonarda especially

Cucurucho's usual "Good morning" made you look up from your PMG at the white bear, who gestured to two pieces of paper it slid across the table to you. Curiously, you tilted your head at it then looked down at the paper, and what you saw made your eyes widen.

A little ping made you look back onto the open window, with a message from Foolish saying You still there bud? with the little sad face with puppy eyes. You giggled for a second, then replied with Yeah, but I gotta go now though. On the next message you said Sorry bud Then a little wave emoji, brown for your skin color from your Asian heritage. Bye you texted, putting away the chat window without waiting for an answer. You glanced back at the paper on the table in front of you, your heart dropping once again as you picked it up with the utmost delicacy.

The papers were but pieces of a contract, written down with Cucurucho's iconic feather pen. Despite being written with a feather quill pen, it was very neatly in the Courier New font, as if it were written on a computer and printed. The Federation's logo was in the upper-left corner, as it always were in the bear's notebook (you noticed this logo a while after it would ask you to answer its surveys). You didn't know the Federation was now starting to print contracts for the residents, which was making you nervous, frightened even. Quietly you opted to ask Cucurucho when they had started writing these for the residents, albeit it only answered with an ominous "I don't know. Maybe". With a frown, you began to read through the paper's contents, remembering to read through the fine lines so as not to miss anything majorly important. The contract read as follows:

The rest of the paper read about an agreement to keep everything about tonight confidential: the meeting, the agreement, every single little detail. Not a word was to be uttered to anyone about what had occurred in this little cottage in the woods, on top of the hill above the village. You wondered how Cucurucho had been able to write this all down if it really wasn't an A.I. Perhaps it had had some help with its fellow members of the Federation, as it had been talking with them in a private chat window just a few minutes earlier.

Speaking of the Osito Bimbo—it was making you nervous; like, somewhat jittery in your seat as you tried not to let your heart pound so hard. It had been staring at you from its side of the table, never moving from its spot except for a few notably missing biscuits off the nearby plate. The cup was empty as well, which made you wonder if Cucurucho had been eating silently while you read as you had not heard a thing.

"So let me get this straight," you said, rubbing the side of your temple to get rid of a small headache and straighten your thoughts. "If I can fulfill the guidelines talked about in this contract, I can get back into the elections—back into the run for presidency right?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Mmhmm, right. So this is only effective until July 31 huh? That's plenty of time for such simple items, but I'm not asking for harder work."

Carefully you read the contract's fine lines over again at least three times before nodding and putting down the paper to face Cucurucho. Its black eyes stared back at you as if it were waiting for you to make a move first before it would, and you already knew what it was waiting for. To seal the deal and get you right to work.

You stood up, locking a firm gaze with the white bear as you held out your hand in agreement. This was it—the point of no return. "I've made my decision," you alluded. "I accept your offer, and I understand that there's no turning back from here. From here on out, it's a deal. I'll do my duties well and I'll make you proud."

Cucurucho stood up as well and took your hand in a rigid grip, the touch feeling cold despite the warm feel of the fingerless gloves. With a simple handshake and a quick signing, the deed was done, and the deal was sealed.

"I hope you enjoy the island."

"I will, thanks," you muttered as Cucurucho quietly left its seat, pushing back in the chair to the table. You figured it had other duties to attend to after this, so you knew it was time to bid goodbye for now—yet somehow you knew it would always be watching. Showing it the way out from the front door, you waved to it goodbye and good night as you tiredly stretched from the doorway. After it disappeared behind the trees below, you closed the door and went back to the dining room.

The papers still lay on the brown table, a stark contrast in the color scheme that was somehow pleasing to the eye. Your brows furrowed in worry as you picked it up, knowing there was no turning back now from this. You had to do it. For the island's sake, and your friends. Even if you had to explain a ton of things later down the line.

Deciding this needed to be secure, you sealed the document into a spare plastic bag and looked around for a good hiding spot. Your paranoia was making you worry about the thought that someone could come in here while you were gone and steal it out of pure curiosity, then your secret would be out and no one and nothing would be safe. It took you a while to find a secure location, but after that you figured you could rest easy. You pulled up the Settings window on your PMG, then logged off the QSMP for the day.

Back in the real world, you took off the VR helmet and shook the spare strands of hair out of your face. A quick stretch did you good, and then you opened your face cam to talk to your chat. You had been streaming on YouTube for atleast a few hours, and you needed some food and a quick nap; that sounded good enough. And the people in the chat definitely needed some of that too.

"Alright guys, I'd say this is a good time to end today's stream," you said to the camera, smiling for your viewers. You quickly read a few comments asking what was next for the lore, and you said there wasn't going to be too much major stuff except for what had just transpired, so they didn't have to expect much to happen except for stuff-gathering for the rest of the month if you could help it. Some joked that it was a bit like Jaiden's lore on the QSMP, and you couldn't help but agree that it was a bit similar in a way.

"Please note however that everything you have seen or will see in the QSMP is all heavily improvised roleplay, so please do not send any hate to the content creators for any action of theirs you find displeasing. Thank you, God bless, and have a great day."

From there, you ended your stream with your brief ending screen, then you stood up to prepare yourself for the rest of the day. Now out of role play mode, you couldn't wait to see what would await you in the QSMP the next day.

[thanatos1dahilias]

Who's ready for a supernatural 'hot take' (my cover up for a dean slander post) - I'm currently on season 9 Ep 14 while watching and I have so many issues with Dean that I had to keep pausing the episodes and rant to myself bc im so sane and normal like that - Sam is still upset and he has EVERY RIGHT TO BE!! - Dean is like "But we're family!" like girl no. I can say that to a cousin I have never even talked to be for, so whats that mean? - Sam doesn't HAVE to work with Dean, and yet he is. He's really upset and set his boundaries because Dean makes him uncomfortable and upset and he feels like he can't trust him anymore - From what I've seen, ALL Dean has done since Sam set his boundaries is wallow in self pity. Like it's okay to be upset at yourself, but he's mad at Sam for wanting to be comfortable when working with him. It's so dumb!! - Sam still checks if Dean is okay because he still cares even if he's uncomfortable with him, and Dean gets mad at him for that like wtf

[izvmimi]

oh no! you and your fave have unfortunately called it quits. what's the follow-up scenario?

1: [to the next person you date, threatening] "i know you're all up in there... but that's my family." suddenly all of your matches ghost.

2: "it's not like I'll ever find anyone else who knows me the way you do." enters deep depression.

3: [16 missed calls]

4: "what divorce?"

5: has a normal discussion about what co-parenting and division of labor will entail. respects your boundaries like a sane person. moves on in a healthy fashion.

6: successfully seduces your parent.

7: "even if we're not together any longer, just know i've always got you." actually has your back. you remain excellent friends.

8: yandere simulator

9: bides their time peacefully hoping that you eventually get remarried. doesn't interfere with your dates, is bitter when you move on but respectfully so.

10: goes along with it, unbothered because they know you'll annul that shit of your own accord

[viviennelamb]

I don't like that lesbians dismiss the high rates of domestic violence in their relationships. Domestic violence is high in all relationships because its inline with lust, but there's no reason to deflect to heterosexuals when this issue is brought up. Nobody cares about lesbians, not even other lesbians.

Manly lesbians act like they "love women better" but can't. They see you as an object to take their rage out on because they're emotionally regressive. Sex-addicts of all genders and orientations have a shrunken amygdala and destroyed medullas, becoming violent animals (with the help of porn as well). A lot of lesbians are proud psychopaths and they need to get with each other and fight it out instead of preying on innocent lesbians cause sane & sober lesbians with dignity and standards aren’t going to deal with it just because we have a small population anymore.

Hope this trend keeps going cause these dickless men are abusive too and time is up for people who don't know what love is. They're all suffering and they don't even know it, but I'll be nice in this post due to its subject matter…

I wouldn't be able to handle somebody hitting me. That's so scary and my heart goes out to any of you who have dealt with that. I'm shocked at how indifferent people are about it, downplaying it because it's two women.

I get creeped out when somebody lies to me. I remember when it happened once and it was out of fear over something that could've been discussed. I could tell she lied because she panicked over a past experience which is the only reason why I forgave her, but I was doubting everything she was telling me from that point on. Couldn't help it. Usually, I have zero tolerance for lies, it's an indication of manipulative behavior. Her lie was believable too and the only reason why I found out it was a lie was because she confessed.

This same person went on to yell at me because of her jealousy over an imagined scenario and in my mind I was done with her, had a feeling that she had violent tendencies and left. Let her tell it, I was the one in the wrong for not putting up with it because she's used to abusing people and them staying because "it's hard to meet other lesbians." Sorry, but I don't subscribe to that mindset. I always leave whenever I'm unhappy. People who have God aren’t desperate.

I talk about about mental illness frequently because the stats on mental health are wrong, most of the population is senile. When somebody comes out of left field accusing me of something I know nothing about and they're convinced that it happened, that's terrifying to me. Then I start tripping out and start wracking my brain to see where they're coming from cause I want to resolve the situation, but they're just fucked in the head. I just don't want to deal with people who don't live in reality anymore. I used to try to convince them that everything was fine, but they're so aggressive, I just let them believe and say whatever they want.

You know what's normal to me now? Getting dismissed when I bring up an issue. I'm told it's not a big deal, I should get over it, I should go live alone in the mountains if I can't handle it, etc, but people don't understand that I only make an effort to set boundaries and communicate if I want somebody in my life. I'm very introverted, like if I go the mall for 30 minutes that's all the socializing I need for three months both online and offline. I only have social energy for people who are genuinely kind and enjoyable to be around. I don’t deal with people with difficult personalities because I know I don't have to and when there's no incentive to do something, I won't do it. Stories of people putting up with abuse on any level are incredible to me. I've never met a single person who was worth that in any capacity because when I did I was always burned.

When somebody dismisses what I say, they're telling me they don't want me in their life and I do them a favor and leave. I heard that the person who lied and yelled at me said I overreacted over "small things" and said some assholish things that I wouldn't even dream to say about her, but when I did my best to put my feelings aside for her sake dozens of times that was shat on. Selfish people can't see how hard you work to accommodate their trauma, so I'm not doing it anymore and if you shouldn’t either.

The only reason why I bothered with people like this is because they have so much potential, but the one in particular I’m talking about she was the type who was prideful about her trauma and “went through so much more then you,” even though she was so self-absorbed she didn’t even ask once about me. All mentally ill people to is hallucinate and project. And yes, if somebody is violent, that person is mentally ill and criminal… they don’t need a diagnosis or a felony to get that label.

Now I don't try to make things work with people after an initial attempt to set boundaries or explain my perspective anymore. These people are not only liars and emotionally abusive, but they don't hold themselves accountable... that's a precursor for violence and lacking willpower is the natural progression of becoming nasty work. They could heal very quickly if they wanted to, but they don't want so why should I care about their karmic circumstances when they don't? Why should I have sympathy for them when they don’t have any for me?

Even though I never get apologies from people who lack self-awareness, I don't forgive low effort apologies anymore. I need to see paper trail documentation of long-term change to let somebody back in my life, they're too much of a spiritual liability otherwise. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm exempt from being treated poorly by people who lie, cheat and steal. I know I'm going to be the target eventually. I'm not vain, I don't dream on their behalf and I don't see potential anymore, I live in the present moment and if I don't like what I see right now, I'm out. No more communicating, I'm utilizing silence to its fullest extent. Silence is the only thing I have never regretted. Silence speaks the loudest and is the only thing that incites change. The more you talk and give them your attention, the more you enable them. Silence is the scariest thing an unhealed person can experience.

People who emphasize communication are predators. Don't listen to their guilt trips and don't communicate with them more than necessary, just leave when your heart tells you to and stay resolute in your decision. Have faith you did the right thing and don't fall into the belief that you acted too soon. You know you didn't. You can't collaborate with people who don't respect you enough to consider your perspective.

The thing is, abusive people will never leave you regardless of how much they say you're not good enough for them or that you're incompatible, so don't take it as a compliment when they keep you around. (Ask them, "then why are you with me?" and they won't have an answer). I took that as that person being patient with my lack of trust even though it was the other way around, I was patient with her lack of trustworthiness. Let them take that bullshit to the next person and fuck up somebody else's life and accept them as a lesson.

Abusive people will drain you for everything you have because they're parasites. The new word they're using now is "co-regulation" even though you feel like garbage when they're around, getting the benefits of your energy... you're the host, honey. And to attack somebody they say they love?? unfathomable. I don't know who needs to read this, but don't ever let anybody put their hands on you again. I don't give a fuck who they think they are to you. You're worth more than that motherfucker and you know it. An even mind is a rare trait and you have to work your ass off to get it. Calmness doesn't come naturally to anybody in a world like this.