#discussions of selling a human being

[t-u-i-t-c]

everyone means everyone

[ursaspecter]

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Friendly reminder that asking your lycan partner to turn you is incredibly insensitive! Seriously can we retire this trope already? Not only is it just offensive, but no one would ever actually choose this life! Lycanthropy is a curse. Full stop.

🐾 superhowllock69 Follow

Ok user "moon-moon" as if that original meme wasn't created to mock pack nomenclature 🙄

Anyway I'm not gonna touch that internalized lycanphobia with a ten foot pole. Being turned by your partner is something that can be incredibly intimate as long as both parties are consenting and the one being turned is 100% sure they want it. Literally the only downside to transforming once a month is the pain, but midol works just fine. No one with these "lycanthropy bad" takes ever wants to discuss the legitimate positives that come with this "curse" lmao.

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

I'm literally reclaiming moon moon but go off I guess. Anyways turning your partner is absolutely disgusting and morally reprehensible and anyone who does it should be muzzled permanently.

🌜 impawssible Follow

lmao my wife literally saved my life when she turned me but i guess she should be muzzled huh? we run through the woods hunting deer together and can each haul in groceries in one trip now, but nooo she's obviously a danger to society because she cares enough about me to help me when insurance wouldn't cover my medicine

also it was confirmed that the creator of that meme literally makes and sells silver bullets so if you still wanna use moon moon for yourself that certainly is a choice. source: (X)

🦴 pupperoni Follow

I love that instead of naming the more common benefits of lycanthropy, you mentioned that you and your wife can carry all the groceries in one trip. I think that's definitely a positive that gets overlooked far too often and I commend you for speaking your truth, sir

🌜 impawssible Follow

lol thanks but I'm a woman 😅

🦴 pupperoni Follow

🦇 count-fuckula Follow

Plus werewolf blood tastes way better and is as filling as 10 humans 👍

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Oh my GOD you vampblr freaks will just flock to anything. It clearly says "vamps DNI" in my bio!

🐾 superhowllock Follow

lmaoooo of course you're a vampire exclusionist

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

wasn't OP the same guy who said fursuits were offensive to lycanthropes and doxxed a werewolf fursuiter?

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

They ARE offensive and harmful to this community and I'm tired of pretending they're not. They perpetuate harmful depictions of what a humanoid wolf is actually like.

🌜 impawssible Follow

me when I dox someone for making candy colored animal costumes that look nothing like what a real werewolf does

🦴 pupperoni Follow

K

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

U

[nozomijoestar]

I know people hate SMT Nocturne's approach to characters but I love this shit, they feel like puddles that drag you down into an ideological sea once you start thinking on what they represent and the context of the situations the game put them in or what they say/how they act pre and during Vortex World, and their isolation from the player makes them doomed from getting any help being faced with their ugly inner selves until it's too late

[normal-thoughts-official]

So apparently some Swiss company found out that Brazilian blood has more immunoglobulin (which is used in some medications made by pharma companies) than European blood, and now international pharma companies are lobbying to change Brazilian law to allow them to use our blood as a resource

There is no current evidence that those things are related, but it just so happens that at the same time there is also another law being discussed that would get rid of "bureaucracy" when it comes to ethics analyses of trials on humans. It would also remove the right, which all brazilians currently have, to access to the medication resulting from the trials they participated in

Both sources are in Portuguese because both news have been recently broke by a Brazilian investigative news agency, but if you don't speak it, you can always use automatic translation

I know there's a lot of fucked up shit happening in the world right now, but please pay attention to medical rights in Brasil right now. Especially if you're European, because virtually every company related to this is from your continent and plans to benefit you above all

ETA: using blood as a resource for these medications is not new; however, current law in brasil only allows that use to come from donated blood (because it comes from the plasma and apparently not all of it is used in blood transfusion; I'm not a doctor so I'm not clear on the details but that's the gist of it) and to be processed and used by Hemobrás, the State-owned company that handles this type of medical technology. The new law would allow for private companies to buy our blood from blood banks for their use. It is worth noting that at least one company has already explicitly stated that they won't be making the resulting medication available in the Brazilian market, so, essentially, they will be taking blood Brazilians donated to help other Brazilians and using it to treat immunocompromised Europeans, to the detriment of immunocompromised Brazilians that need the medicine. In the process, they will be making it harder for our State-owned company to use that same blood, forcing us to import from them and therefore making the medication more expensive. They also want to make it possible for Brazilians to sell their own blood - a deeply ethically questionable practice that is discouraged by the WHO and that has led to HIV outbreaks in Brasil in the past

[suempu]

How about a blind reader and thistle

Like thistle met them by accident and now they just keep them around because reader makes them happy

gn + human, mage reader + can be platonic or not

<3

first off all, he’s fucking confused cause how the hell did you even end up in the dungeon? thistle first finds out about your existence when you accidentally stumble upon him after his confrontation with laios’ party.

he immediately puts up his guard when he hears your footsteps before you gasp in surprise.

“hello! wow, i didn’t think there would be another person down this deep...” you smile, staff clicking on the stone tiles.

he’s taken aback before asking you questions warily, to which he finds out you had some sort of echolocation ability. you have no clue that he had a sour expression on his face, assuming he only had a gruff voice from the aggressive way he talks.

you normally go dungeon crawling with your party but decided to walk around while they recuperate on the floor above. honestly, how did you even survive? what kind of idiot decides to take a casual walk in a dungeon? on the floor the red dragon was, no less. thistle thinks. you were lucky you missed it.

the two of you sit after you’ve offered him some food and snacks from your pack. he tried to refuse but you just kept on insisting.

thistle is interested in the foggy look in your eyes, unabashedly staring at your face after finding out you couldn’t see him.

you both sit on the floor as you munch on your bread, occasionally asking him questions and making conversation.

after that night, he’s curious about your whereabouts and everything about you, oftentimes sending out a creature to spy observe you. its been a long time since he has found good company, and to be completely honest, he’s lonely.

thistle came to know that your party has disbanded after eavesdropping with his creatures, the members finding different jobs and passions.

to your surprise, he appears again while you’re out camping on the second floor. you smile once you realize its your mysterious friend, eagerly offering him soup he couldn’t taste and a space for sleeping which he didn’t need. but he thanks you nonetheless.

thistle finds peace around you, the only person he could call a companion after so many years of isolation. if he’s in a decent mood, he’ll bring out his lute to play tunes while you hum.

conversations with you are enjoyable, you both find a good harmony of back and forth, discussing various topics such as nature, magic, and his hobbies.

“you write poems? that’s amazing. read it to me sometime?”

“i’m not sure you’d like it. it’d probably make you cry.”

you smile assuredly. “i’m sure it’s great! don’t sell yourself short!”

“you’re facing the wrong way. i’m on your left.”

“oh!”

you two grow closer once he lets you touch his face. the curiosity of what he looked like came out in a question as you whisper it to him unsurely.

thistle is hesitant at first, but your amazed gasps and the gentle touches of your palm against his cheek made his heart ache. how long has it been since someone had held him? talked to him? how long has he went without the softness and comfort of another being?

you caress his eyelids, nose, and ears while smiling, committing the feeling of his face to your mind.

“you’re beautiful. thank you for trusting me enough to do that.”

“how do you know? that i’m beautiful.” he murmurs, looking at the floor in contempt.

“i can feel it.” with a hand on your chest, you tell him wholeheartedly.

thistle allows himself to laugh, reaching out to tilt your chin at his direction. “you’re looking the wrong way again.”

you pout, “well, i can’t look or see at all, mind you!”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 | emmett x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | after being rescued from your captors, tension grows between you and the man that killed to save you.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | nearly 11K (?!?! WTF?)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only!!), angst, kind of a slow burn?, age gap (reader is twenty, emmett is late forties), pining, voyeurism, dark themes (slavery/kidnapping, discussions of noncon and loss, but emmett is not dark he's nice!!), traumatized reader (and emmett, let's be real, nobody's not traumatized here), violence (use of guns) and minor character death

This was where you waited— at his feet.  Every deal, every ‘business meeting’, every mission report, you sat there on the floor beside his legs.  He wanted everyone else to know your place just as much as you did.

Living with smugglers and looters like this was a rough life— but the man who bought you, Paul (though you only knew his name from hearing others speak to him) insisted you had a better life in here as his ‘pet’ than out there running missions for him, finding valuables to barter and sell.  Considering there were plenty of missions that not everyone made it back from, you knew he kind of had a point.

But even so, it didn’t exactly feel luxurious being a man’s property.  You’d been looked at like a thing, like less than human, like a piece of meat since you got here; and you’d been here just long enough to get really used to it.  You sat here on the floor while Paul, his men, and his customers stood or at least sat on chairs.

That was why it felt so different, so shocking, when he looked at you.  The man that came today, to trade with Paul.  He was lean and gaunt, it was obvious even with his heavy layers of clothes; he had long hair on his head and face, but his icy stare pierced through… and it was concentrated on you from the moment he stepped into the smugglers’ compound.

He didn’t say anything, even when one of Paul’s men shut the bunker door and it was safe to talk— he didn’t react much on his face, either, staying stoic and flat.  But it was obvious that you had his attention, even your ‘owner’ noticed that.  

“Just bought her,” Paul explained with a proud grin as he tightened his grip on your wrist; you winced slightly.  “Slavers picked her up just past the lake, she’d been camping out there for not even a week… don’t know where she was hiding before that.  Isn’t she cute?”

You figured that was why he brought you here— to show you off.  You, like the guards at either end of the room and by the door, were a symbol of Paul’s power.  The other man just looked away from you, and back at Paul.  “Can we get to business?” he asked in a rough voice.

“Of course,” Paul replied with that customer service smile of his, dropping your wrist which you held yourself right away.  “You’ve got a few extra guns, and we have some extra cans of food— good shit, too, not just soggy old veggies.  Or, maybe we can throw in some medical supplies, if you have ammo for those weapons,” Paul explained, gesturing to the table of goods for trade.  “Whaddaya think?”

The man was silent, looking blankly ahead at the cans and boxes before him.  “How much for her?” he asked suddenly, lowly.

Your heart stopped for a moment; feeling the man’s gaze run over you, you looked away and pressed your lips together.  “Oh, she caught your eye, huh?” Paul purred.  “Sorry, pal— not for sale.  But the folks I bought her from had a couple other girls, how’s about I tell them where to find you and they can strike up a deal of their own?”

The man shook his head.  “Her.  I want her.”

Paul did that thing he did where he sat up straighter, and dropped his smile; you bit down on your lip to hide a whimper, because you got very fucking scared whenever he did that.  “If you’re not interested in what’s available, you’d better just leave now and keep your guns, old man.”

He paused for a moment, nodding in acceptance.  “Alright,” he said, “I think I will.”

He held tighter onto his gun, looking down at it for a moment.

“After all, this thing’s pretty damn useful.”

It was only a couple seconds of pure chaos.  He shot Paul first, then stood up and took down all three men in the back of the room— one of them pulled his pistol fast enough to fire back, but he missed, and in a split-second he was on the ground with the others.  You screamed, covering your head with your hands; your ears were ringing, and your whole body shook with shivers as you dared to glance over at the bleeding, lifeless bodies just a few feet away.

“C’mon,” the man said— it took you a half-second to realize he was talking to you, even though you were the only other living person in the room, “grab what you can.  We need to run.”

We.  He just killed them all, like it was nothing… for you.  And now you were a we?

Shuddering, you could only shake your head.  “N-no, no,” you choked out, whining when he grabbed you and yanked you to your feet; you could hear the commotion outside the room, it wouldn’t be long before someone from one of the nearby bunkers came to investigate the gunshots.  

“They’re coming, and they’ll kill us both,” he growled at you, far too close to your face, and you felt your lip quivering.  “Help me carry this shit and let’s go.”

~

It was a long walk back to… wherever he was taking you.  Since you ran from the compound with your stolen supplies, you obviously hadn’t said anything to each other— you’d barely even looked at him, for some reason you were scared to.  

The only interaction you’d had since you started your trek was when he noticed you shivering, and stopped to take off his jacket and give it to you; considering all you were wearing was a baggy old t-shirt and socks, it helped a lot against the chilly gusts of wind.  It was awkward in the silence, not being able to reject the jacket or even thank him for it, so you just nodded as he slipped it on you.  It was baggy even on him so it fit you even more awkwardly, but it made your shivers soothe instantly.

He guided you on the trail, keeping his gun close by, and eventually you came to some kind of processing plant; with what little you knew about manufacturing, your glances around the factory made you guess it was once a metallurgy building.  Now it was abandoned, and as you climbed down the ladder he pointed you towards, you realized he was taking you right into some horrible small space— with a massive iron door.  You hesitated, but he silently gestured you forward; your heart raced, knowing you had no chance of escape from a place like that.  Not that you ever really stood a chance of escape from someone as capable as he had proved himself to be so far— but the idea of going into that little room with him made you feel a bit sick.  It reminded you of your first day with Paul, of having all your freedom and dignity torn away, and you wondered if this was all just the beginning of another cycle: out of the frying pan, into the fire.

But you had no choice: you stepped forward, crawling into the little nook, and he followed behind you and shut the large round door.

It was pitch black for a moment, and you felt a sort of primal fear— would he really do this here, in complete darkness— would he really force himself on you?  You tried to scoot as far away as you could, until a hard wall hit your back; but you knew there was nothing you could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to you now, and you closed your eyes in hopes he wouldn’t be cruel.  But within a few seconds, he’d taken out a camping lantern and opened it, filling the room with a sort of speckled white light, and you opened your eyes slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked first, and you weren’t sure how to answer that.  “My name’s Emmett,” he informed you quietly.  “Don’t… you don’t need to worry, alright?  I won’t hurt you.”

You shrunk away slightly, holding your legs to your chest.  Paul had said the same thing, but then again, he’d never actually said it like he meant it.  In fact, what he’d said exactly was I won’t hurt you if you behave.  And he still did.  Because he could.

“I don’t wanna— I won’t do anything with ya,” Emmett explained, and you could’ve sworn you saw a slight blush above that long beard.  “Just couldn’t leave that place knowing you were there, against your will and all… it’s not right, keeping people like that, keeping girls…”

You looked away, eventually giving him a small nod as a response.  You wanted to believe him, he sounded genuine, but you weren’t ready to trust a stranger you saw kill four men so casually.  

“Mind tellin’ me your name?” he encouraged softly.

You mumbled it into your arms into the fabric of the old t-shirt which still smelled like the prison he’d broken you out of. 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he pressed.

You said it again, louder, and he smiled a bit at you; you smiled back, too, but it was partially hidden by the tattered shirt’s sleeve.

“Pretty,” he said.  “M’gonna keep you safe here, alright?  I-I mean, you don’t have to stay here.  You can go back wherever you want, I just… I figure you might end up where I found you again if you go out there on your own.  No offense.”

You nodded; you weren’t cut out for making it on your own out there, you weren’t too proud to admit that.  You used to run with a group of survivors, which made it much easier to get by, but you’d been naive enough to think you could reject the group leader’s advances without suffering consequences: they left you in the night, without a word, and you only made it one more day on your own before getting captured by slavers.  That felt like a lifetime ago now, like stories that happened to a whole other person, but it wasn’t actually that long— Paul bought you a few weeks ago at most.  Still, those few weeks had changed you as a person, and you went from being terrified of being alone to being terrified of everyone else.  Maybe you were still an impossible mix of both…

“I have a decent set-up here… some food and water, a little more since we took some from your old friends back there,” he chuckled nervously.  “And, uh, you can sleep in here… sorry it’s so small, never really planned to share it… I— I can find another place to sleep if this isn’t enough room—“

“Why are you doing this?” you interrupted, and he seemed startled to hear you talk so much.  

“Huh?”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked again. “For me?  I mean… you don’t know me.”

“Well, I could,” he shrugged, “you could tell me about you.”

“But why did you save me?”

“I said so already, I couldn’t leave you there with those men.  Young girl stuck in that place, just about the worst thing I can imagine…”

“M’not that young,” you protested, “I’m twenty.”

He smiled a little.  “Of course.  Sorry.”

You sighed, relaxing slightly, and he seemed to lower his own shoulders as well. 

“You seem tired,” he noticed.  “It was a long walk.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I used to be able to walk a long way, but I lost my stamina— I wasn’t really going very far when I was there, you know…”

“I’m sure,” Emmett agreed.  “You hungry?  We could eat something.”

“Um, maybe…” you mumbled nervously.  You felt nervous to ask for anything of him— like he might ask you for something in return.  It wouldn’t be absurd of him to expect some kind of repayment for saving you; but if he expected that, then he wouldn’t be much of a savior after all.

“I saw granola bars in one of the bags we took,” he said.  “Sometimes I still get nervous, opening something crinkly like that— but nothing can hear us in here, I promise.  You’re safe.”

You hesitated before nodding; safe.  That sounded nice.  Now you just had to convince yourself it was true.

~

You’d noticed him looking at you a lot this evening, while you were both preparing dinner; you tried not to react to it.  He kept glancing at you, just for a moment, like he thought you wouldn’t notice.  You just kept focusing on the work at hand— peeling an orange— and tried not to think about why he kept looking at you.  Maybe he had something to say, but that would be odd since he usually didn’t.  Maybe you were doing this wrong somehow, or he was jealous that you were going to eat that fruit as an appetizer before the real meal.

Or maybe he just found you appeeling!  

You snorted a little involuntarily, amused by your own joke, and he looked at you again.  “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, fighting a smile as you shook your head.  “It’s nothing.”

And the silence continued.  Even for a time when most everyone was quiet by necessity, Emmett was quiet.  He had this special place, somewhere safe enough to talk, but he didn’t often utilize that privilege; or at least, he hadn’t since you got here a few days ago, but there wouldn’t have been anyone to talk to before then.  You figured he just didn’t have a lot to say— and it’s not like you were some kind of conversation queen either.  You didn’t ask about him or his life before this, even though you were actually pretty curious: you just watched him, and if he noticed, he didn’t react to it.  This was the first time he seemed to be returning some of that attention.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” he suggested suddenly, making you furrow your brow a bit.

“About what?” you asked, not taking your eyes off your orange in progress, but you knew already what he meant.

“About how you came to be where I found you,” he said.  “Don’t have to— I wouldn’t wanna talk about it, if I was you— but if you do… I just want you to know you can tell me.”

You shrugged, keeping yourself from looking up at him.  “Why do you wanna know?”

“I don’t,” he insisted.  “But sometimes I can tell you’re thinking about it.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked away; here you were, wearing the clothes he’d given you, living in his ‘home’, surviving off of him.  On paper, it was the same as it had been before— that’s why you were thinking about it.  But it was night and day: Paul gave you rags to wear, if that, and Emmett had you in his own clothes— comfy plaids and knitted sweaters that smelled shockingly good for any apocalypse survivor; Emmett had a few creature comforts here, art and decent food and pillows… Paul’s bunker was exactly as flat and rigid and cold as the word ‘bunker’ indicates; and surviving with Emmett felt the most like real living since you were with your old group— though you knew them infinitely better.

“But we don’t have to—” he began again, shaking his head like he regretted the whole idea.

“Who are those pictures of?” you asked, interrupting him.

“Pictures…” he mumbled.

“The ones you hid,” you said, “or tried to hide.  Drawings, paintings—”

“You shouldn’t have been looking there,” he said firmly, looking down.

“I know,” you breathed, “but you were gone— I was bored—”

“Gone getting you food,” he reminded you, pointing with his knife— don’t worry, he was just peeling a potato with it— to the orange in your hand.

“Us,” you corrected, “we’re both eating.  And I’m sorry… you don’t have to tell me, either.  We can just have another quiet dinner.”

He paused before sighing a bit, looking at you and then back to his half-peeled vegetable.  “My sons,” he said quietly.  “Those are my sons.  Were my sons…”

“I know,” you whispered, and he looked at you quizzically.  “I could tell, I mean— you have that look in your eyes, I knew you’d lost someone.”

He shrugged.  “Everyone lost someone.  Some lost everyone.”

You almost found the energy to smile, but it came out more like pressing your lips together.  “Yeah,” you agreed.  “They kinda look like you, in the pictures.  You’re talented.”

“Oh, I didn’t draw them,” he scoffed, “no way— I couldn’t draw a circle.  It was my wife.”

Why did you get a little pit in your stomach when he said that.  “You’re married?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, “but she— um, she passed.  Not too long ago.  Well… I guess a few months is a while ago.  But it still feels new.”

You nervously looked down at the orange in your hands, peeling off the last strip of skin and picking off a few white chunks of pith here and there.  Not sure what to say, you simply pulled a segment off of the rest and reached over with it, offering it to him.  “Here,” you said, and he looked at the piece of fruit in your hand before looking at you.

“No, s’fine,” he shook his head, “I’ll eat when dinner’s ready.”

“Come on,” you insisted, shaking it a little as if that would make it more enticing.  “You’re working up an appetite peeling the spuds.  Just have a few.”

Finally, he relented.  “Thanks,” he said, taking it and putting it in his mouth.  He chewed for a moment, working on the potato still, but he talked a bit around it just before he swallowed.  “You don’t have kids, do you?”

You shook your head, laughing.  “No, do I seem old enough for that?”

“No,” he agreed, “but you know— stuff happens.”

“I wanted them someday,” you admitted, “but no.  I actually, uh… I was pretty nervous about getting pregnant in the bunker…”

He swallowed, for more than just the orange.  Looking at you, you found his stare somehow both intimidating and comforting.

“I shouldn’t complain too much,” you shook your head, “he wasn’t that bad.  He was more interested in showing me off to others than actually doing too much when we were alone.”

“You shouldn’t complain too much about being a sex slave to a smuggler?” he repeated incredulously, like he was offended on your behalf by what you had said.

“I was just a trophy,” you shrugged, “I was the most expensive thing he owned.  It was all business with him: he wanted you— you know, anybody who bought from him— to know he was capable of that.  Of owning somebody.  And, um… that only happened twice.  Once the first night, and then, um… well—”

“You don’t have to say,” he offered you softly.  “It’s okay if you just never wanna think about him again.  I certainly sleep better at night knowing I turned his head inside out.”

You smiled a little, even though the image of that still haunted you.  “No, it’s fine.  I think it’s easier to just treat it like anything else.  Like, one time I broke my arm, one time my pet cat died, one time this gang captured me and sold me to a trader in exchange for pills and pickles— just something that happened that I hated and now… now it’s over.”

Now I’m safe.  You could talk about it because you finally believed that Emmett wouldn’t put you through it again.  When you looked at him, he smiled at you a little; you popped a piece of the orange into your mouth.

“S’good,” you mumbled as you chewed, giving him another piece and feeling the tips of his fingers just barely brush yours as he accepted it.

~

A few days later, he did the same thing: interrupted your silent meal with a sudden interjection.  “Y’ever shot a gun before?” he asked, and you awkwardly shook your head.  He sighed.  “Alright, well, you should learn.  Case something happens.”

“Guns don’t work on those things,” you noticed.

“They work on people,” he replied.  “And you’ve had a lot more trouble with them.”

You shrugged, certainly in no place to deny that.  “Guns are loud,” you reminded him.

“A little noise is worth it,” Emmett promised, “if it’s you or them.  And if you’re not packing, then it’ll be you.  You need to learn.”

Not if I have you with me, you almost blurted out.  Thankfully, you stopped yourself and nodded in agreement instead.

“I’ll teach you up there,” he gestured towards the world above with a quick tilt of his head, “unloaded.  Obviously.”

Going up to the surface was a strange feeling.  You hadn’t felt this safe anywhere since this global nightmare began, honestly, and you were almost spoiled by it now— here, with Emmett, you were sure that nothing would come to harm you.  But up there?  You knew, logically, that it was usually alright as long as you kept quiet, but you were pretty fucking quiet when the slavers found you.

Even being down here alone gave you the smallest tinge of anxiety— that someone might find you and steal you while Emmett was out foraging— and you never navigated the forest alone.  You had the feeling that Emmett was teaching you to use a gun so that you could do just that, but it didn’t sound worth it to be away from him.

But, you had to admit, you sort of enjoyed the lessons.

He stood behind you, wrapping you up in his arms as he corrected your stance.  Out here, he had to speak under his breath beside your ear, and it made chills run up your spine.  “Align the sights,” he told you, tapping the small metal divot on top of the pistol.  

You nodded, shutting one eye tight and trying to aim better; adjusting your head to get the right stance just pushed you up against his shoulder more, and you tried not to lean back into him.

“Pull the trigger when you’re ready,” he instructed; he was barely making any sound at all, more shaping a breath around his words than really speaking.

Even knowing it wouldn’t go off, you started to shrink away as you pulled the trigger; it was heavier than you expected, forcing you to strain to turn the revolver.

“Don’t flinch,” he warned.  “Stay steady.”

You still did, a little bit, but you calmed yourself with a breath and tried not to pre-emptively react: when you finally pulled the trigger all the way, the revolver turned with a click, but that was it.  

“Good,” he said simply.

“How can you know?” you asked.  “Without shooting anything—”

“You’re not using a bullet for practice,” he reminded you with a frown.

“I know, I know— I just mean, how can you know I would’ve hit what I was aiming at?”

“As long as these line up,” he replied as he touched the sights again, “and you don’t flinch, you will.”

You nodded, hoping that was enough, but then he took the revolver and took his shotgun off of his back.  “I— I can’t shoot that thing—”

“Yes you can,” he promised, shaking his head dismissively.  “The rifle— you can’t shoot that.  That requires a steady hand.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were shaking as you took the shotgun from him, so you couldn’t exactly deny it.  And, furthermore, the whole point of the sniper rifle was to get things that were far away… you were only planning to use these things if something got too close.

~

A lot of things had gotten more natural with Emmett— you talked sometimes, you ate together, he even let you come with him on trips out sometimes.  But one thing that never really changed was how weird it was to sleep beside him; what did change was why it was weird.

From the beginning, you couldn’t sleep unless you knew where he was.  Even if you couldn’t fully trust him then, you still had that anxiety of being abandoned in the night like you had before you were captured; for better or for worse, Emmett was obviously tough enough to protect you and was the only thing between you and certain death or enslavement out there in the world.

As a result, he’d been sleeping beside you, just to get you to stop waking up in cold sweats as often.  And now that you trusted him and knew him a little better, you expected it to be easier to sleep with him there… if anything, you were getting less sleep than ever.

You were struggling to understand why— or maybe you were just struggling to accept it— but having him right beside you all night kept you up, kept your heart beating fast, kept you listening to the sound of his breathing instead of just focusing on your own.

At least tonight, you could blame it on the cold.  You both had on several layers, but it was pretty much impossible to keep a space like this warm— underground, uninsulated— and it was only getting colder since the sun set.

"Chilly," you announced as you pulled the blankets up higher, and Emmett hummed in agreement.  That was the extent of your bravery, you couldn't bring yourself to ask him outright if he'd move a little closer so you could share some heat.

You waited a few minutes, wondering if he was already asleep, and then reached towards him in the dark; but when your hand brushed against him, he shrugged it away.  Turning his back to you, he seemed to huddle up a little bit more as if shrinking away from you, and you sighed.

“You don’t have to be so far,” you whispered, and he sighed.  

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, stern yet soft-spoken.

“Please, Emmett, it’s cold…”

“I know, sweetheart, I just… I wanna do right by ya, that’s all,” he sighed.  

“There’s nothing wrong with holding me to warm up,” you sighed.  “I mean, it’s not like you’re… thinking about anything else.”

“Of course,” he choked, “okay, fine, if you’re cold… c’mere, then.”

You wiggled your way closer as he rolled onto his back, sighing when you felt how warm he was even through his clothes.  Pressing your head to his chest, you heard his breath catch as you lifted your leg to drape over his, trying to get him as close as possible.

He seemed to hesitate first, but then he relaxed slightly and rested his arms around your back.  

It had been a long time since someone held you like this.  You sunk into his arms, loving how it felt to be pressed into him, and you let out a little hum of satisfaction as your shivers went away and his warmth began to absorb.

He seemed tense beneath you at times, and you feared that doing this would keep him from sleeping; but, frankly, you were desperate enough for your own sleep that you weren’t planning on worrying too much about his… you quite literally didn’t plan on losing any sleep over it.

It was impossible to say how long you'd been asleep— you weren't even fully awake yet— but when you started to stir, you felt him shifting under you.  But you were taken from half-consciousness into pure lucidity when you felt a harder, hotter shape against your inner thigh; didn't take a detective to figure out he had an erection.  You shouldn't have reacted, you realized it a second too late, but you had to gasp when you felt it— mostly because it seemed quite thick even though his pajama trousers—

“I’m sorry,” he breathed right away.

"It's okay," you assured, but he kept going.

“I can’t help it— I don’t mean anything by it, I just… I’m only a man.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated softly, though your face had never felt so hot.  “I understand, it’s normal—“

He started to pull away, and you whined as you grabbed at his shoulders.

“Wait, you don’t have to go,” you gasped, “I won’t be able to sleep…”

“Well, it’s never gonna go away with you pressed up to me!” he grunted.  “C’mon, sweetheart, gimme a chance here…”

“I really don’t mind it, Emmett—“

"I do," he snapped.  "You're young— younger than you realize."

"I'm grown," you promised, but he peeled you off of him and turned away.

"Go to sleep," he demanded.

"But—"

"Just go back to sleep!" he ordered.  

Though you weren't sure how you were supposed to sleep with your heart racing and your mind playing the moment you felt his cock against your leg on loop, you decided you would try just because his stern voice sort of scared you into obeying.

It did work, eventually— you can only lay down in the dark for so long before sleep is unavoidable— but you still awoke sometime later, and heard him breathing differently beside you.  There was no light to see what he was doing, but you could hear his arm moving against the blanket under him— and when you heard him sigh, you imagined that he might be jerking off.  Maybe his erection wouldn't go away until he did that, and you bit your lip as you tried to picture it: stroking himself, breathing deeply, being careful not to make too much noise or even move too much.  But in your head, he was too desperate, struggling to hold himself back from bucking up into his palm, his cock flexing as his orgasm threatened to spill over at any moment.  

The thought made you want to touch yourself, too— you were getting wet already and your hips shifted in hopes of finding something to rub against— but you were far too afraid to get caught or startle Emmett into stopping.  

You heard a tense sigh and all that motion behind you stopped; you bit your lip as you wondered if he just came.  And if he did, what had he been thinking of?  He seemed so offended by the idea of being attracted to you— he didn't even acknowledge it, like it was wrong to even suggest— but you hoped somehow that he had been imagining you.  If only he could've told you, if only he had pulled you closer in the dark and asked you to take care of his problem for him… maybe you should've been ashamed for thinking it, but you would've spread your legs for him right away if he'd told you he wanted you.  Even if it was just taking care of his needs, not real love— even if it was only a practical thing.  You couldn't do much for him, but you could certainly help in that regard.

But, at the same time, you knew that if Emmett ever did use you in such a way, you'd fall in love with him.  Even if it meant nothing to him, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself; you couldn't admit to yourself how close you were to that edge already, but you couldn't deny how quickly you would fall over it if he ended up fucking you.

Or maybe it wouldn't be like that— fucking, that is; it's a rather crass way to put it.  Maybe it wouldn't be that way, maybe it would be gentle and sweet and passionate.  He certainly was kind to you, and unexpectedly patient… you wondered if that would translate into him being delicate with you, soft touches and slow kisses— really making love, you know.

Or, maybe he'd been alone so long that he wouldn't be able to help himself; maybe he'd just have to moan in your ear while he took you roughly, holding tight to your hips so you couldn't do anything but take him just the way he wanted.  Maybe he'd leave bruises and marks on your skin, reminders of his work, and bite down on you to keep himself from being too loud.  

Your back was arching into nothing, just hoping that he would turn around and pull you close, press his chest into your back, and whisper in your ear as he started to tug your pants down.  Sorry, sweetheart, I just need you too bad…

It was a miracle you ever fell back asleep with that thought in your mind.  But you did, somehow— a frustratingly dreamless sleep— and when you woke up in the morning, he was gone again.

~

Since that night, you’d felt this tension between you— but you had no clue if he felt it, too.  He was nice, in his own way, but definitely on the aloof side; and he seemed to avoid you a little more after all that happened anyway.  It sort of made you wonder if he resented you, if he was angry with you somehow for what happened— maybe you’d been too pushy, you were never trying to force him into anything of course— but then again, you figured he wouldn’t be working so hard to take care of you both if that were the case.

Even if you couldn’t hunt or even cook very well, you tried to be helpful in various ways; this little underground hideout was certainly tidier and cozier than it had ever been before, and you tried to take pride in that instead of thinking of yourself as useless to him.  And all his clothes were mended, you made sure of that; he seemed to appreciate it, at least.

Now that you thought of it, you were sort of becoming a homemaker now— you felt a bit conflicted at the realization.  There’s nothing wrong with it, right?  Just being here, helping how you can?  But you wanted to be more useful, if you could— you just didn’t know how.

(Well, you had ideas… but you weren’t about to suggest that, after how awkward it all was last time.)

Maybe just your company was enough for him, otherwise he probably wouldn’t still keep you around… but then again, for someone who apparently wanted your company, he wasn’t so talkative.  It would make more sense if you two were up all night, telling each other everything about your lives and your dreams and anything you could possibly remember to talk about— but it wasn’t like that at all.  He still avoided personal questions even after nearly a month together, and he had a tendency to just hum and nod or shake his head when you asked him something.

But, the good news was, you’d gotten a little more comfortable leaving the underground hideout without him.  You never went far, obviously, but you went far enough to stretch your legs and get some fresh air and, today, stumble upon a little clearing with a pond.  It was relatively small, but deep, and best of all it had a river that fed into it, over a cliff; to put it more plainly, it had a waterfall.  It was small— you figured it probably didn’t pour at all unless there had been good rainfall recently— but it still meant you had a little more freedom here than usual.  Ambient noise, as you understood it, deterred the creatures because they couldn’t stop it and couldn’t hear other sounds over it.  You weren’t about to belt out Whitney Houston or anything, but you could make some sound— and the sound you made right away when you saw it was getting your clothes off as fast as you could and diving right in.

The water was a little cold— okay, very fucking cold— but it was worth it: being able to clean yourself more thoroughly than normal was quite a treat, and one you planned on relishing.

You found yourself laughing— you sort of couldn’t stop, actually.  Partially because you were cold and shivering like crazy, partially because you were giddy… mostly just because you could.  You kept your clothes and revolver in a neat pile by the cliff wall, trying not to stray too far from it in case someone came by; but, at the same time, you were also trying to just forget about everything that scared you for a moment and be free.  

You soaked your hair and ran your hands over your face, letting the water renew your skin— you couldn’t deny this cold plunge was invigorating, if not especially relaxing like a hot bath would’ve been.  But hot baths were obviously rare in these times, and you closed your eyes as you tried to remember the last one you took.  You leaned back in the water, floating partially against the flow of the waterfall behind you, and remembered simpler times: long baths, fresh meals, 

Not everything was perfect then.  Your life was easier, yes, but you’d still longed for someone to share it with.  Someone to trust.  You opened your eyes and looked up at the sky, a pale grey-ish blue that covered the sun but was still somehow too bright and made you squint; you sighed, moving your arms enough to feel the water swirl between your fingers.

For some reason, you thought of Emmett just then; you wanted to tell him about this place as soon as he got back home, you could bring him here and he could swim too— he probably wouldn’t skinny dip with you, right?  Definitely seemed out of his comfort zone, he wouldn’t even sleep next to you at night anymore… but you still giggled at the thought, wondering if you’d get a chance to see the rest of his tattoo that you’d noticed peeking out from his sleeve sometimes.  Then you could ask him about it, move closer, trace the lines with your finger; you could watch the goosebumps prickle on his skin from the cold water, and shiver even more when you met his gaze—

You shook your head like it might knock the thought out of your brain.  He’d made it clear he didn’t have that sort of interest in you.  It broke your heart a little, but you had no choice but to accept it.  Still, you had this nagging feeling that it wasn’t you— he implied before it was your age, or some kind of chivalry thing; and then there was all that grief, something anybody left had to have by now.

You, too, had lost loved ones that day, and in the days since— that was unavoidable— but what you had nearly lost most of all was yourself.  And then he found you, and you’d found something you’d been looking for for so long… much longer than all this.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard something moving, just past the trees; you whipped around in the water, looking everywhere for the source of the noise, and you saw a figure slip back behind a trunk.  You’d never felt so sick with terror all at once, and in a second, you leaned over and snatched your revolver off the top of your pile of clothes.

Pointing it at the tree, you wondered if you should be barking out orders right now— come out with your hands up or something— but that wouldn’t be helpful if there was a creature nearby… or if there was more than one person in these woods.  You swallowed, knowing a revolver wasn’t going to cut it if there was a whole group closing in on you now.  

Slowly moving through the water, you walked up the bank of the pond, and when you heard another shifting movement from behind the tree, you shuddered and shut one of your eyes.  Align the sights.  Stay steady.

Suddenly, the figure stepped out, and you didn’t even stop to think: you pulled the trigger and fired, eyes shutting tight as the kickback flung your arms up and the sound echoed through the forest.  

You hesitated to open your eyes, but just before you did, you heard a groan— in a voice all too familiar.  When you looked, there was a man on the ground, and your heart stopped again when you saw his face.

“Fuck!  Emmett!” you yelped, running the rest of the way out of the water and not caring at all that you were naked and dripping— you ran up to him and straddled him as he rolled on the ground, clutching his arm.  “Oh my god!  I’m so sorry— oh my god!  Please, please tell me you’re okay—”

He didn’t say anything, in fact his face was still screwed into a tight wince as you tried to see where he was holding— his arm, just below the shoulder, you could see where the sleeve of his jacket was torn and blood had begun to stain the fabric.

“Emmett, Jesus, I swear to god— I didn’t know it was you, I—” you began to promise, before you wondered if you should ask what the hell he was doing there.  Why didn’t you tell me it was you?  Why didn’t you say something?  But you decided, as you watched him bite his lip to keep from being any louder, that now was not the time to interrogate him; shooting him had clearly irritated him enough already.  “That— that was fucking loud,” you realized, lowering your voice.  “We need to go back before—”

He just nodded, and you got up off of him to help him up and grab your clothes— a naked woman and a bleeding man running through the woods.  Maybe that’s just a normal day in the post-apocalypse.

~

He hissed when you applied the disinfectant to the cut, looking away rather than letting you see how this affected him— that, or the other side of the room suddenly got incredibly interesting.  But you knew as well as anyone, living in this room for over a month, that it was not very interesting.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, wincing yourself just having to put him through this.  “Can I keep going, or—?”

He nodded, still looking the other direction, and you gave him a sympathetic frown as you started to dab at the cut.  

It wasn’t too deep, thank heavens— it probably didn’t even need stitches, just some alcohol and gauze— but you still felt more guilty than you had for anything you’d ever done in your life.  “Thank god I missed,” you chuckled softly, wondering if it was still too soon for humor— and he didn’t laugh, so maybe it was.

“Yeah— you flinched,” he noticed, sounding correctional, and your jaw almost dropped.

“Fucking— are you serious, Emmett?” you snapped.  “You’re mad at me for not killing you?!”

“You didn’t know it was me,” he replied.

You sighed, thankful he was looking away so he wouldn’t catch your eyeroll.  “Of course,” you breathed.  “Of course I didn’t know it was you— I would’ve never…”

He looked at you again.  “I know,” he promised quietly.

You chewed your lip and nodded.

Taking the bloodied rag away, you looked at the wound— it was a lot better already, and it looked clean, and you still couldn’t imagine forgiving yourself for doing it to him.  You took out a bandage and started to wrap it up around the gash.

“Your ink’s still intact,” you noticed, smiling as you got your look at the tattoo— although you obviously didn’t mean to go through all this just to see it.  You didn’t trace the lines but you did run your fingers over the whole piece: a mountainscape, with tall trees and a cloudy sky.  “It’s pretty.”

He snorted a little.  “I was just a kid when I got that— tryin’ to be tough.  Definitely wasn’t going for ‘pretty’.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have gotten this lovely view,” you smiled back.  “Is this a real place?”

“Yeah, Montana— grew up there,” he said.  “Always thought I’d go back, then I had my kids— and then, you know—”

“Right,” you nodded, finishing up your gauze-ing of the damage.  You were gonna let him put his shirt back on, not that you really wanted him to, but he didn’t yet.  “Must have been nice, growing up under mountains like these.”

He shrugged.  “It was— sometimes.  It was quiet, I’ll tell you that.  All I wanted was to escape, back then.  Then all I wanted was to go back.”

You smiled a little.  “Yeah, I know that feeling— I mean, I think everyone feels like that.  I always wanted to move to the city— New York, you know,” you said with a whimsical affect on your words, “it’s like a mythical place to anybody from anywhere else.”

He chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck (with his uninjured arm) and nodding in agreement.  “Yeah, I get that.  But then how’d you end up in the suburbs?  Or— don’t tell me you came all the way from the city—”

“No, no, not that far,” you promised, “but I was a little closer to it before everything happened.  I, uh… I actually ended up in the suburbs because of a boy.”

He nodded, wearing a sort of knowing look, and you felt a little embarrassed.  “Ah,” he said simply.

“And then, um, you know— he left.  As they tend to.”

“Boys?”

“Everyone.”

He swallowed; you regretted saying it, sort of, but you were still talking— like you couldn’t stop yourself.  Your hands were shaking— you were looking down at them in your lap, you knew they were— and you just felt like you couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“You know, this is the first time that I really…” you sighed and shook your head, looking for the words.  “This is the most I’ve ever trusted somebody.  I guess because I have to— but you—”

“S’alright,” he interrupted, “you don’t have to say all that.”

“You won’t even let me thank you?” you laughed, but your frustration was obvious; when you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with something that finally made your hands stop shaking.  Flooded with a sudden wave of courage (and wanting to act on it before it inevitably subsided), you leaned forward and kissed him; you shut your eyes tight— you would’ve lost your nerve otherwise— and you held his cheek in one hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against his hair while your palm pressed against his somewhat unruly beard.

For one moment, it was perfect, but then he reached up and took your hand, guiding you away slowly.  You pulled back, more dejected than ever, and he gave you a soft frown as he shook his head. 

Falling back into your chair, you slumped dejectedly; you didn’t want to cry, it would just seem pathetic now, but your eyes were watering anyways.  “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No— it’s alright,” he promised, “I’m not… offended, or something.”

“What am I to you?” you asked, point blank.  “I mean— I know I’m not— fuck, I’m stupid.  I know I’m not…”

Despite starting again, you couldn’t find the words the second time, either.

“I just mean… do you see me as, like, a charity case?  A daughter figure or something?”

He shook his head.  “No,” he said, “but I— you’re not my property.  That’s not why I took you from that son of a bitch.  You can leave whenever you want, you know.”

“But do you want me to stay?” you asked, feeling tears run down your cheeks suddenly even though you had specifically requested that they not do that.

Your real question was trapped in the middle of that sentence: do you want me?

He looked away again, and your hurt started to shift into anger— because that’s all anger really is, anyway: hurt, dressing up as something else.  “You treat me like a child!  Sometimes you won’t even look at me, like you’re embarrassed of me!  I’m not your property but I’m not your equal, either— so what am I to you?  Do you even see me as a woman at all?!”

That accusation seemed to get his attention, and he almost looked angry, too.  “I am well aware that you’re a woman,” he said sternly.

“Is that why you were watching me at the pond?”

You’d never seen him with that deer in the headlights look— technically, you still didn’t, because he turned his head away quickly.

“That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” you pressed.  “How long were you there before I heard you?  Come on, Emmett— look at me.  Or will you only do that when I’m naked?”

He snapped, standing up quickly and grabbing you by your— his— shirt to pull you with him.  “Do you know what you’re fucking doing to me?” he growled at you.

“Same thing I did to you that night it got too cold?” you returned with a sneer, and he shoved you away with a shudder, turning to face the wall and crossing his arms.  

There was a silence, though it wasn’t nearly as long as the ones you’d gotten used to with him, and he dropped his shoulders as he sighed.  “I’ve done what I can for you,” he said quietly— and your stomach twisted in knots.  He’s going to ask me to leave, you assumed instantly.  “I’ve tried to… to leave you alone—”

“That’s what you think I want?” you realized, almost laughing it was so absurd.  “Begging you not to leave, to stay where I can see you all night, trying to get you to talk to me— because I want to be alone?”

“After what happened to you— after how it must have been with him—” he started, turning around and looking at you sadly— “I’d wanna be fucking left alone.  I’ll say that.”

“Well, I guess I’m just not strong enough for that,” you decided with an unhappy sort of smile.  “I guess I still need someone.  I need you.  And clearly that’s just my fucking problem, so I’m sorry for making it yours.”

But he stepped closer to you, reaching out to hold your shoulders, and you met his gaze again.  You shivered, just like you thought you would.  “Say it again,” he requested flatly.  It wasn’t very specific, but you knew exactly what he meant.

“I need you,” you said again, softer, and he shut his eyes with a sigh.

Your eyes shut, too, when he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours; you breathed together for a second, your hands moving up to his bare chest as you bit your lip.

“I need you,” you repeated, even quieter— a whisper now— and another tear striped your face.  “Emmett, I need you—”

“Fuck,” he said softly, and you smiled.  “Fuck, I need you, too.”

You smiled even wider then; he could probably hear your heartbeat, you would’ve sworn it was beating out of your chest.  Opening your eyes when you felt him pull back, you waited patiently— like you had been since this all began.

“I just— I don’t want you thinking that you have to—” he started to explain.

“I don’t have to,” you nodded, “but I want to.  Is that wrong?”

He didn’t answer, but he kissed you; he held your jaw gently, tilting your head back, and he kissed you in just the way you’d dreamed of.

It was simple enough at first, sweet and sort of slow— he pulled you closer, wrapping you in a hug while you held onto his shoulders— but then it got… heavier.  Hungrier.  Hotter.

You were gasping as you opened your mouth wider, all but begging him to dive deeper; and for his part, he kept grabbing your waist and hips, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get you close enough, and you thought your knees were going to buckle.

The two of you stumbled back, together, towards the sort-of bed that you sort-of shared; he laid you back on it, and you heard yourself whimper a little as you let him slot himself between your legs.

His weight was oddly comforting on top of you, pressing you back into the nest of blankets as you arched your back against him.

You both pulled back from the kiss as you looked down, needing to see somewhat what you were doing as you started to open his belt.  He looked down too, watching you do it for a second, before laughing a bit and leaning in to kiss your neck.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “come on, you’re gonna distract me—”

“What’s the hurry?” he purred, grabbing your hands and pinning them back instead— and that made you moan out loud.  “We’ve got all the time we want, darlin’...”

“Fuck, but I—” you whined, though you struggled to pull a sentence together when he dragged his tongue over your pulse like that.  “God, I just— please—”

“Shh,” he soothed, “m’gonna take care of you.  Gonna take care of you, sweet girl, I promise…”

And he’d taken care of you every way he knew how before, so you trusted him.  Still, you weren’t exceptionally patient.

You gasped when you felt him press his hips to yours through all these goddamn clothes; he was hard, really fucking hard, and it made your head spin.  How were you supposed to wait for him to be all slow and romantic and stuff when you felt that?  “Pretty girl,” he cooed at you quietly, “look at me for a second.”

You looked up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and he smiled back at you as he pet your forehead for a moment.  

“There you are,” he breathed, and your heart swelled.

He undressed you carefully, like you were the one with an injury, and you bit your lip to fight the urge to beg him to hurry the fuck up.  He kissed all over your neck and chest, even as far down as your belly while he was pulling your panties down your thighs— and of course he looked up at you as he did it, like he knew it would absolutely wreck you.  “God, Emmett, please,” you whined, sighing with relief when he sat up and finished opening his belt.  He kept looking at you while he did it, something darker and heavier in his stare as he pushed his jeans down; you couldn’t help but look down at it, and you breathed in sharply as you bit your lip.

Of course it was fucking big— you’d figured it was from what you felt before— with a thick, leaking head and a curve that you could just tell was going to fit perfectly inside you.  Your hips rocked a little into nothing at the sight, and you moaned when he kissed you again— more desperate than ever, both of you.

You whined loudly, much louder than you meant to, when he pushed inside you all at once.  It wasn’t too fast or too rough or anything— but it was plenty to be filled by in one go, and your nails dug into his back.

“Fuck,” he grunted, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment.  “So fuckin’ wet.”

You whimpered, feeling your walls tighten up hearing him say that.  It was no wonder, with the way he’d been toying with you— and not just tonight.  “Oh my god,” you gasped out, instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips like you didn’t want him to move at all.  Obviously, though, you couldn’t stop him from pulling back and thrusting in again, nor did you want to; your back arched, hard, and your moan echoed around the room.  “F-fuck,” you choked, “it’s so— you’re so— god.”

“Shh,” he soothed, in a sweet way, and his hands found your hips to pull them up higher to his; he moved you just how he wanted, you were putty in his fingers, and he groaned as he thrusted into you at the new angle.

It was deep.  It was really, really fucking deep; and you thought you were at your limit, but you still somehow wanted more.  Toes curling, you let your back arch between your hips held to his and your shoulders laying back on the blankets— your arms went limp and yet your fingers were searching for something to hold onto as he moved a bit faster.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he groaned, a spare hand leaving your hips and groping roughly at one of your tits.  You just gasped and pushed your chest up into his touch, pulsing inside when he pinched a hard nipple.  “Feels good?”

“Yes!” you shouted.  “Yes, fuck yes— don’t stop, please, please—”

Panting, he snarled a little, but he sure as hell didn’t stop.  He was right about you being wet, you could even hear it when he thrusted faster; and that just turned you on even more, the whole thing was a vicious cycle really.

For the most part, you kept your eyes shut because it was just what felt natural— but when you did open your eyes, you caught glimpses of him staring down at you, his eyes moving from your face to your bouncing tits to where he was inside you, where his hands held onto your hips and pet them soothingly in contrast to his rough thrusts.

Then, he watched his hand move to the middle, just above where his cock filled you, and his thumb started to rub your clit.

You had no excuse for being so sensitive, but you cried out and tried to grab his wrist from how intense it was.  “Emmett!” you nearly screamed.  “O-oh god, oh god—”

“Jus’ wanna feel you come, sweetheart,” he explained, his voice darker than usual.  “Can you come for me?”

“Y-yeah,” you agreed with a nod, already feeling delirious from all this.  “Yeah, fuck, I can come— you’re gonna make me come, fuck…”

You went from yelling to whispering by the end of your sentence, though you weren’t sure why, and he kept a steady pace with his hips and his hand until your whole body started to shake.

“I— I’m close,” you choked out.

“I know,” he said.  Smug little shit— too bad you were too busy coming to complain about that attitude.

Shuddering all over, you opened your eyes and looked at him one more time— he was looking right back at you, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, so that only made it worse— before you arched back harder than you thought possible and gave into it.  Your hands kept searching for something to hold, like you might actually fall somehow if you didn’t get an iron-tight grip on his thigh or arm or something.  You found his bent knee but his hands found yours a second later— and he interlaced his fingers with yours, laying on top of you again and pressing deep into you even while you were still in the middle of your ecstasy.  

You weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore, you could tell your mouth was moving and that was about it.  It probably wasn’t even words; but this pleasure, you were totally submerged in it.  He kept kissing you and praising you, fucking you deeper into the feeling and into the thoroughly-disturbed blankets under you.  “Good girl,” he whispered against your neck, “good fucking girl— god, I can feel it— so good for me—”

When a hint of your awareness of reality returned, your mind and body coming down from the high and settling into something a little easier and familiar, your arms reached up and held him close.  "Fuck, Emmett," you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you were flooded with an emotion you couldn't name.  "Emmett, I love you.  I'm in love with you."

He breathed heavy and held you tighter, burying his face in your neck as you started to really cry.

"I love you," you said again, grabbing at him harder as he began to kiss your neck— your jaw, your cheek— and his hand wiped your tears away.  

"Shh, I know," he promised quietly.  "It's okay, beautiful, I know."

He wasn't ready to say it yet— but you felt it.  You could feel it just in the way he held you. 

He pulled back enough that you could see his face, propping himself up above you.  Sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, and you smiled at the sight— he looked damn good like this, finally giving in.  You hadn’t realized he was going easy on you, until he pushed in a little harder and a little deeper.  

You whined, reaching up to grab onto his arm, and he hissed when you accidentally grabbed onto the gauze-wrapped wound.  “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” you breathed, moving your hand down, and he laughed a little.

“S’okay,” he assured, leaning down and kissing your cheek sweetly.  “It’s okay, sweetheart…”

You eventually ended up holding onto the back of his neck, running your fingers with his hair even if it was damp from sweat— you were sweating, too, and you’d never thought it could be this sensual to get this way.  All this heat and movement in such a small space, all these blankets and insulation, somehow it made you both even needier.  You didn’t care if it was putting that pond bath to waste, you just wanted more: you made it clear, with the way you needily hugged him closer.

You didn’t even realize you were about to come again until he pointed it out.  “Fuck, another one for me?” he realized with a proud groan.  “Gonna give me another one, sweet girl?  Fuck, that’s it— so good for me—”

It was so sudden, not like the last one that built up and spilled over slowly— this one was hard and fast and left you completely spent and almost too fucked out to notice how much faster he was moving.  But it was impossible not to notice him picking up the pace, getting a little louder himself, grabbing your hands again and squeezing them tightly.

The way he moaned in your ear was just too perfect; you whimpered and tightened your legs around him, gasping each time he reached the deepest parts of you.

"Baby," he grunted, "say you’re mine.”

“Yours, Emmett,” you promised with a whimper.  "I'm yours, I fucking swear— all yours."

You'd never had a chance to know how good it could be to belong to someone— it didn't have to be bad, it didn't have to be like it was before.

He didn’t slow down until every drop was inside you; he gasped in heavy breaths, he held on tightly to your waist, but he didn’t stop until you were completely filled and he was exhausted in every way.

You both took a long time to catch your breath, and in the meantime, he kissed you again.  You figured you weren’t a very good kisser in this state, you were completely numb in the mind and body (in the most amazing way) and you could barely find the energy to even lift your hands— but he didn’t seem to mind, because he kissed you for a long, long time.

Eventually, you were both (mostly) in reality again, and he pulled up to hover above you.  You touched his arm softly, and he looked at your hand before looking at your face again.

“Sorry,” he blurted out suddenly as he looked down at where your bodies were joined, like he was just realizing what he’d done.  “I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have finished inside, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I would’ve been kind of pissed if you pulled out.”

“But we should— I mean, we need to be careful,” he panted.  “Next time we have to—”

“Next time,” you breathed happily, pulling him down into another kiss— less tired, more… smiley.  You’d probably seen him smile more in the last ten minutes than the rest of your time together combined.

“What, you thought that was a one-night stand?” he laughed, biting your lip playfully before he broke away from the kiss.  “Or do you just wanna fuck around and pretend not to want each other like a couple of morons before we do it again?”

“I mean, maybe that’s why this time was so great,” you shrugged, “all the anticipation.”

“Nah,” he breathed, leaning in and kissing your neck again— tender and patient, making you sigh and shut your eyes.  “It’s so great ‘cause it’s how this is supposed to be.  ‘Cause we need each other.”

You shivered, just as much from his words as his delicate kisses along your pulse, and you almost melted right back into those blankets again— but instead, you startled him by sitting up quickly.  “Alright, I think I’m ready for that next time now,” you purred, rolling him onto his back and straddling him with a mischievous grin.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned, hands settling on your waist, “you’re gonna kill me, I think.”

“Well, I missed the first time,” you giggled as you touched the edge of his bandage.  “And we have some time to make up for.  God, I wanted you so bad, Emmett.”

He sighed, his chest sinking, and he let his head fall back as he gave in.  “This is how I always hoped I’d go out anyways,” he decided.

[mahi-does-some-art]

What if, instead of the Sorcerers' Society being just a small organization with a headquarters, it was instead a hidden city or capital where not only could sorcerers go to for assistance and to get their licenses, but could safely live and learn without having to put so much effort into hiding their magic from general human public? (Something similar to Witch Hat Atelier perhaps)

A hidden away capital with houses and apartments and magical shops selling everything a sorcerer would ever need. Where they can safely converse on the street and network and apprentices can talk to each other and swap tales of their lessons and masters.

Out in the expanse of the human world, it's hard to come by each other so having a place to live like that would be great.

But also it would make Solomon getting chased out by a dragon so much funnier (or sadder) since he and the mystery apprentice would have been the ones to found the Sorcerers' Society in the first place.

He would probably own his own house there and come back there whenever there was a meeting he had to attend or some urgent matter to discuss. Solomon wouldn't stay there longer than he usually had to and his property is usually empty.

But when sorcerers usually take in an apprentice, that apprentice lives with their master in order to make the most of learning opportunities and a lot of them tend to move back to the Sorcerers' Society for convenience.

If Solomon was able to convince MC to live with him for "educational purposes" completely separate from the brothers and Devildom, who's to say he wouldn't give living amongst his peers an honest try once more?

[tls12lessthan3]

one thing i enjoy about orv is how morally grey kim dokja is, especially in the beginning. during the beginning of the novel kim dokja seems to have almost no empathy for the people around him, and his number one priority is progressing the scenarios with himself being a secondary priority and saving others coming later. he does undeniable good, like saving jung heewon and caring for lee gilyoung - and he does some much more questionable things, like selling his food for coins knowing that it will disappear soon and people need the coins to survive.

this part of orv gets ignored a lot and chalked up to kim dokja's self-hatred, which i disagree with. yes he hates himself and yes he's an unreliable narrator who paints his actions in a worse light because of it but sometimes he just does objectively bad things. and it's interesting when he does! particularly in the beginning, he is focused completely on self-preservation and often steps on others in the process. his actions force you to ask questions like how responsible is kim dokja for those deaths on the subway car, or at that first subway station? is he obligated to try and save the people around him? how strong is that obligation? is it right of him to use his future knowledge the way he does, to decide who lives and dies? they're fairly basic questions, and orv doesn't particularly insist on answering them, but i enjoyed thinking about them nonetheless. the fact is kim dokja was often cruel, to strangers and his companions both, if different types. and you lose these questions when you ignore that. and thats not even to discuss the parallels between his exploitation of yoo joonghyuk's story and the way constellations gobble up incarnations while enjoying their pain. even if yoo joonghyuk eventually decides he considers it worth it, kim dokja still subsisted off of a living being's immeasurable pain for years, and that's a fucked up thing!

and to ignore kim dokja's less-than-moral actions also ignores kim dokja's character arc! kim dokja feels guilt at the end of orv for actions he wouldn't have thought twice about at the beginning and that is because he has changed and matured over the course of the novel and pretending he was always that way erases that. and i dont see why you would want to!! his journey towards seeing his companions as human and learning to care about the 'extras' he previously discarded and coming to understand the damage he inflicts with his self-sacrifice is interesting to watch and discuss. i've seen the stark contrast in empathy from early kim dokja to later kim dokja chalked up to sinshong not being quite sure how to write him yet and while i think that may have played a role i also think they did a good job of building and showing these changes through arcs like the demon world arc, the fruit of good and evil arc and the journey to the west arc

i think i lost my point somehwere but in summary kim dokja does some fucked up shit and some of it is basic edgelord apocalypse murder and some of it is genuinely interesting to contemplate and all of it is important to his character

[writingquestionsanswered]

Describing Scene Locations

Anonymous asked: I've been writing for a decade, mostly short stories, and have recently started writing a fantasy set in the 17th century. My setting is a world pretty much like ours, but with made-up names for specific towns and whatnot. The characters are pirates, and a few are non-human. I'm finding it difficult to figure out where certain plot points take place when the story is mostly character-driven. There are parts where they need to be on land, but apart from 'vague port/island', I don't know what else to do with it. (Am I overthinking this?) I suppose my question is: How specific do secondary locations have to be for it to be immersive and realistic (for their world) without it being lackluster or overdone? I don't want it all be "it's a beach with a village," but adding a giant seaside kingdom seems overkill if it's only mentioned in passing once or twice. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these - this whole blog is a gift, really.

[Ask edited for length]

First, thank you... that is very kind of you to say! ♥

So, I think it really helps to think of your story in terms of scenes, and to think of each scene almost like a scene in a play. Your scene's setting is like the stage in the play, and the amount of description is the amount of scenery and props on the stage.

If you've been to plays, you've probably noticed that the scenery can be very minimal or very elaborate, depending on the needs of the show:

With fiction, it works the same way. How little or how much you describe the scenery (setting) depends on the needs of the scene, but you do need to make sure to give the reader a sense of place. Looking at the first image, just with the little bit of scenery that's there, we know this scene is taking place in a home, perhaps a living room. If the two men were just sitting on chairs with no other scenery, we wouldn't have that sense of place.

However, that doesn't mean that any of your scenes need to be set in sprawling seaside kingdoms. There are all sorts of land-based settings for pirates:

-- bustling port town like Port Royal or Tortuga -- coastal village, town, or city -- isolated island or cove -- small fishing village -- seaside castles or estates -- pirate's stronghold on a hidden island/cove/cave/bay -- tropical jungle or rainforest -- remote island -- colonial outpost -- swamps and marshlands -- rural countryside -- ancient ruins

There are all sorts of reasons pirates might go ashore in these places:

-- to resupply (food, water, liquor, gunpowder, ammunition) -- to buy specific items (weapons, clothing, equipment for ship) -- to sell, trade, deliver, hide, or bury loot -- to hunt and gather resources -- to recruit crew -- to maintenance, repair, or refit the ship -- to meet with allies, informants, business partners, etc. -- to visit friends/acquaintances -- to avail themselves of various goods and services -- to drink in a bar, gamble and carouse with friends -- to enjoy some much needed rest and recreation -- to learn or exchange information -- to seek medical treatment/medicine/remedies -- to seek legal assistance or meet to discuss legal matters -- to "case" a potential target for a raid -- to visit family and love interests

Within these settings and potential errands, there are many specific settings you could use:

-- the docks of a bustling port -- the tavern of a coastal village -- a quiet moonlit cove where pirates are laying low -- the great hall of a seaside castle -- a masquerade ball at a country estate -- the crumbled ruins of an ancient civilization in an isolated jungle -- at a freshwater lagoon on a remote island during resource stop -- busy market at a colonial outpost -- fisherman's shanty in a quiet bayou -- an official's luxury town home in a big city -- the coastal farm belonging to a family member

So... having the different locations in mind, how much or how little do you describe them? Once again, all you have to do is create a sense of place for the reader. If your pirates are having a heated argument on the docks of a busy port town, you may at least want to give a vague description of the docks, whether it's night or day, what the weather's like, how crowded it is, and maybe a brief sampling of what the crowd is doing, notable sensory details (sounds, smells, visuals) etc. You can also weave those details into the narrative in a way that serves a dual purpose. For example, maybe in the argument, one pirate gestures to a toothless fish monger and uses them as an example in a point they're trying to make. Not only is this a necessary part of the dialogue, but it also fills in some of the scenery detail. Or, maybe instead, they're perusing spices in a bustling seaside market while they talk/argue quietly. Here are some posts from my description master list that will hopefully help further:

The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!) The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your WritingWeaving Details into the Story Guide: Showing vs Telling When “Telling” is Okay

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[nofomogirl]

We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

[chevelleneech]

semi-live blog

They are immediately the cutest fucking people when together. So soft, so giggly.

I know it’s part of their social culture, but they drink a lot. Maybe it’s because I don’t drink, but dang.

“Jungkook is currently doing his skincare.” They add to the screen after panning away for scenery, yet leaving the sounds of *slap slap slap*😭

Jungkook cycling through multiple pairs of sunglasses, and Jimin swanning in and picking the first pair is peak! They’re so similar I yet so different, lol.

Another thing I’m sure is part of their culture, is the way they pay for stuff, but I find it interesting still that we’ve seen Jimin buy almost everything during their trips, since as far as we know they have pretty lax hierarchy rules between the two of them normally.

Jungkook is in the most romantic moment of his life, lmao! “I love it here!!!” said a million times. That man was experiencing a real life Hallmark movie in his head.

I also thought they spoke/understood way more Japanese than they apparently do.

“Come on everybody!” I understood that reference.

The way they chose to animate over everything to avoid having to blur a billion people in the station is HILARIOUS!

Jimin is too funny bro.

This train ride is so peaceful, it’s selling me on visiting Sapporo despite being broke and not speaking a lick of Japanese.

Can we also discuss how “My man, my man, my man.” Jungkook is? Yet Jimin is too, and somehow both is more than the other, lol. They are perpetually on some, “Jimin will like this.” “Where’s Jungkook?” *films food, pans to Jimin* *films the outside world, pans to Jungkook* *cuddle even while walking* type stuff. Just lovesick.

Girl!dad Jimin confirmed🥰 He’ll be such a sweet dad too, I think. He’s so patient and kind, which is heavily required to raise another human.

I loooooooooe Jimin’s jacket dude.

The way Jimin immediately pivoted to making JK laugh when he tried to downplay himself. Like I said, “My man, my man, my man.” Don’t talk bad about his man, even if you are his man.

My most delusional Jikook theory you’ll ever hear from me: “Are You Sure?” actually became the title because they were asking it if each other, because they in looooooooooove.

Also, to answer my own question from my previous list… yes, the bubble is back.

Role play Jikook strikes again!

Jungkook is it slick! He played with that sip of whiskey the entire time, but the minute Jimin left he downed it.

Them forgetting to pay would’ve been me. And JK initially sending Jimin back to do it would have also been me. You got it, extrovert! Take the embarrassment for the both of us!

They’re so cute! This snow fight makes me want to be somewhere cold for the holiday☹️

The food always looks so damn good! Lord I’m jealous.

I need someone to compile all the times JM and JK go out to eat together, and let me know if Jimin is the one with his back always to the door? It’s a thing in America at least, that the “protector” tends to sit where they can see the door, and I don’t know if that’s a thing in SK as well, but it’s cute, because it matches their dynamic either way.

“Your fingers were all over it.” SIR!? You’ve had his sweaty ear in your mouth… he’s had his mouth on your neck… you’ve also had his fingers in your mouth before and vice verse… AND y’all constantly eat and drink off each other… in fact… yesterday he bit the very sausage you were in the middle of eating and then you continued eating it… before that you gladly allowed him to put his TOES next to your face while you were BRUSHING YOUR TEETH. Stop playing with me, Jeon Jungkook!

Jimin legit being ready to beat Tae’s ass over a dumpling is too crazy, lol. And folks be acting like he some docile helpless baby. Meanwhile, JK is a mediator. They definitely made for each other.

End of the episode. It was fun. Felt like the start of a holiday special. And I didn’t mention it up top, because I decided to “live blog” thoughts like ten minutes in or whatever, but Jungkook softly and sweetly saying he wanted to come back to Japan because it reminded him of their first trip together… SOBBING! He’s such a sentimental guy, with an equally as sentimental guy on his arm.

They truly do vibe so well, and I understand with each passing episode why them enlisting together was a non-choice choice. They click. Like they said themselves, they’re one person split into two bodies, and it’s clear as day they thrive off of being around one another.

Not to get too sappy either, but it’s insane they feel that way about their bond and dynamic, on top of all the things that already just so happened to bring them together. Not just born in the same country, but same city. Auditioned for the same music group. Actually made it into the same group… they were destined to meet, and even they feel that way. All that’s missing is them being the same age, and they’d be the same person. That’s an insane thing to say, but really tells you how deeply they value their connection.

[hyperlexichypatia]

This is a semi spinoff of this post, but really its own thought.

When a job pays less than a living wage, it generally attracts one of two types of employees:

Desperate people (usually poor and/or otherwise marginalized or with barriers to employment), who will take any job, no matter how bad, because they need the money, or

Independently wealthy people (usually well-off retirees, students being supported by their families, or women with well-off husbands*), who don't care about the pay scale because they don't need the money anyway.**

And sometimes, organizations will intentionally keep a job low-paying or non-paying with the deliberate intent of narrowing their pool to that second category.

People sometimes bring this up when discussing the salaries of elected officials -- yes, most politicians are paid more than most "regular people," but they're not paid enough to sustain the expensive lifestyle politicians have to maintain, and that's on purpose. It's not an oversight, and it's not primarily about cost-cutting. It's a deliberate barrier to ensure that only rich people can run for office.

The same is true, albeit to less severe effect, of unpaid internships -- the benefit of "hiring" an unpaid intern isn't (just) that you don't have to pay them; it's also that you can ensure that all your workers are rich, or at least middle-class.

When nonprofits brag about how little of their budget goes to "overhead" and "salaries", as if those terms were synonymous with "waste," what they're really saying is "All our employees are financially comfortable enough that they don't worry about being underpaid. Our staff has no socioeconomic diversity, and probably very little ethnic or cultural diversity." ***

This isn't a secret. I'm not blowing anything wide open here. People very openly admit that they think underpaid workers are better, because they're "not in it for the money." This is frequently cited as a reason, for example, that private school teachers are "better" than public school teachers -- they're paid less, so they're not "in it for the money," so they must be working out of the goodness of their hearts. I keep seeing these cursed ads for a pet-sitting service where the petsitters aren't paid, which is a selling point, because they're "not in it for the money."

"In it for the money" is the worst thing a worker could be, of course. Heaven forbid they be so greedy and entitled and selfish as to expect their full-time labor to enable them to pay for basic living expenses. I get this all the time as a public library worker, when I point out how underfunded and underpaid we are. "But... you're not doing it for the money, right?" And I'm supposed to laugh and say "No, no, I'd do it for free, of course!"

Except, see, I have these pesky little human needs, like food. And I can't get a cart full of groceries and explain to the cashier that I don't have any money, but I have just so much job satisfaction!

And it's gendered, of course it's gendered. The subtext of "But you're not doing it for the money, of course" is "But how much pin money do you really need, little lady? Doesn't your husband give you a proper allowance?"

Conceptually, it's just an extension of the upper-class cultural norm that "polite" (rich) people "don't talk about money" (because if you have to think about how much money you have or how much you need, you're insufficiently rich).

*Gendered language very much intentional.

**Disabled people are more likely to be in the first category (most disabled people are poor, and being disabled is expensive), but are usually talked about as if they're in the second category. We're told that disabled people sorting clothing for $1.03 an hour are "So happy to be here" and "Just want to be included," and it's not like they need the money, since, as we all know, disability benefits are ample and generous [heavy sarcasm].

***Unless, of course, they're a nonprofit whose "mission" involves "job placement," in which case what they're saying is "We exploit the poor and desperate people we're purporting to help." Either way, "We pay our employees like crap" is nothing to brag about.

[alphajocklover]

Hey 😈 I wish someone would help me become a massive gay bodybuilding whore. I’m already on my way gaining weight, but I wanna be gigantic. Think you could help?

So you want to become, in your own words, a massive gay bodybuilding whore. That shouldn’t be too hard. As I’ve already shown you through my other post, there are numerous ways that people can get transformed into different types of jocks. The fact you want to specifically be a slutty gay jock does complicate things a little, since certain methods would turn you straight, but it’s still pretty simple. Instajock comes to mind as a good method for example, although I’ve talked about that app quite a bit recently and would rather discuss something new. There are many ways people can transform that I haven’t mentioned in the slightest, and your question actually brings up one I’ve been wanting to talk about for a long time. Mainly the emoji you used. Yep, for this transformation we’re going to get some help from someone very special: the Devil.

When I say the devil, I don’t really mean ‘The Devil’. Don’t get me wrong, he is a devil, but he’s not the devil from the bible. He just… works for him. I know that sounds bad, and honestly it definitely is. I don’t know much about the religious side of the magical world, but I do know that the Devil, with a capital D, does exist. He might be a fallen angel who wants to turn humanity to sin like from religious text, or he might just be a very powerful magical being using human religion to boost his own reputation, but either way he definitely exists. And just like in the old folk stories, he makes deals with people in exchange for their souls. Strangely, as the stories had spread and grown more prevalent, the demand for a deal with the Devil has actually skyrocketed. You’d think a bunch of stories about how making a deal for your soul is a bad idea would discourage people, but surprisingly it’s only increased business. Because of that the Devil’s operation has grown. The Devil is powerful, but he’s not god, he isn’t omniscient. So, to keep up with demand, he began to delegate. Instead of doing one deal at a time and seeing to every deal personally, he has a large team of demons that make deals for him. That's where my friend Nick comes in.

Nick isn’t his real name, but since humans can’t really pronounce his name he just lets me call him Nick. He is one of the more powerful demons working for the Devil, and specializes in making sexually explicit deals. As you can probably guess, he deals with a lot of people and has made a lot of deals. He’s not as outright evil as you might expect though, and he was actually a close friend of my Uncle. He had a sort of soft spot for my Uncle, and would often help him out with certain things. I don’t know how they met or why my Uncle seemed to be friends with a literal demon, but they got along really well. Now that my Uncle’s gone though, he helps me instead. I think he does it a bit out of guilt. He couldn’t protect my Uncle, his favorite mortal, from being turned into a jock, so now he protects me. Because of this I like to send him a willing victim now and then, as a thank you.

So, your first instinct is probably to say no. I mean, as much as you want to be a gay jock slut, you probably don’t want to sell your soul and be doomed to an eternity in hell. The thing is, these days they usually don’t ask for your soul. The Devil long figured out that there were more subtle ways to get what he wanted, so usually the contracts ask for something else. Sometimes it’s something significant, sometimes it’s almost nothing. Whatever it is usually works into his very complicated plans somehow in a way we almost can’t comprehend, but he never asks for your soul anymore. In exchange for becoming a massive gay bodybuilder jock, all Nick would require is… your car.

Yes, the devil wants your car. You’re probably wondering why, and honestly I don’t know. It’s not even a new car, and it’s kind of lame. But that's what he wants, and in exchange he’ll give you the body and mind of your dreams. I know you’re probably pretty skeptical, and If I’m being honest there probably is some sort of catch, but-

Oh! Ok, so, you’re doing it. I was expecting a bit more resistance but you seem pretty sure. Well, I do hope it works out for you. All you have to do is write your name on the contract and the deal will be sealed. Just write your name at the bottom there… and perfect! You’ve just made a deal with a devil!

I know you feel a little confused, but give it a second, it will pass. A sudden change in your body is always disorienting, but you’ll get used to the new you pretty quickly. I mean, look at you! You’re absolutely massive! Those arms, those pecs, those shoulders! God you really got a great deal. You get to live out your fantasy life, and all you had to do was get rid of a piece of shit car. I can’t be sure why he wanted it, but my best guess was that it’s going to cause a butterfly effect where, because your car didn’t cause a traffic jam when it broke down or something, something else will never happen. But there isn’t any use in dwelling on it anymore. You’ve made the deal, so fucking enjoy it! Go out there and have hot gay sex with as many guys as you can! You made a deal with the devil, you might as well get all you can out of it!

**hey everyone! Been a little bit! I’ve been kind of distracted and busy lately but I’m still alive and kicking! Hope you guys like this story and keep tuned for more! I also wanna make clear I am not trying to offend any religious group. I just love the deal with the devil idea.**

[thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask]

We need facts about YANDERE CREEPYPASTA ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU!!! Only if you want to and take your time. I just got really excited hearing this as I love zombie movies

Something Short (Zombie AU Introduction)

Author's Note: I've had this AU idea for months, but I just never got to it.

Warnings: Murder, Torture, Sexual Harrasment, Kidnapping, Human Trafficking (Mentions), Mental Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Human Experiments, Gore, Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Dehumanization, Sadism, Being Held To Extremely High Standards, Dictatorship, And Obession

Ok, so. I picture the virus that caused the whole outbreak to be a mixture between the walking dead zombies, and the Train to Busan zombies, you know.

Now, you're pretty much one of the few who survived the outbreak. You and your two brothers are wondering around looking for a permanent place of residence. You found one society, but it was destroyed soon after you got there.

In this AU, EJ is the leader of a cannibalistic city. They live in a heavily fortified town somewhere in Pennsylvania. EJ is the doctor and leader of this colony. One day you and your brothers get kidnapped by a few of their members, and you only survived because EJ took an interest in you. Your brothers were kept alive as a way to keep you in line, but you knew they were barely surviving.

One day, your brothers escaped, leaving you behind. Once you escape, your main motivation is reuniting with your brothers, or at least find out what happened to them.

You were trapped with EJ for about 8 months, and those months were hell. Unlike my other AUs and Canon were EJ puts up a fake mask of kindness and care, Zombie AU EJ is heartless right off the bat. It's the end of the world, you either do what he tells you, or you're tonight's dinner. So, you're now labeled as his pet, even the other civilizations know about you, the poor pet of Cannubal King. You would constantly be a victim to his twisted experiments, but after each one he'd comfort you. His constant switched in personality and behavior is what makes you have a blurred perspective of him. In this AU, EJ is the one you're most terrified of, not the Proxies.

Now, the Proxies are opportunist. They are the people in the apocalypse to kill, kidnap and sell people as a way to make it buy. They're the most dangerous to look for because they're doing anything to survive. After 8 months past, you're able to escape. You end up wondering around for about 3 days before you find a little shed in the woods. When you get there, the shed is filled with a decent amount of food and water. However, as you inspect a small can, you're whacked in the head with a crow bar. When you wake up, three men are standing in front of you. They all discuss what their going to do to you before they agree to keep you. The Proxies are no stranger to keeping pets, but each one of them have died in someway, and you're just another replacement. Out of all the proxies though, Toby ends up becoming completely in love and obsessed with you, while Masky and Hoodie have a more possessive, sexual obsession with you.

Ben is the leader of a tech society. His society was able to keep electricity and tech running, making the most advanced civilization. However, getting in is extremely hard, and being a citizen there sucks. Ben is a dictator. If you hold no use to him, you're getting sent out into the heard. You disobey or betray him, sent to the Cannibal Colony. And not to mention, he had eyes and ears everywhere. Everyone in the city has to do their part if they want to stay, and if you don't, Oh well. Also, being one of Ben's favorites sucks even more. If he likes you for your skill or talent, he holds you to an impossible standard, and he enjoys to watch those people try so hard to meet it. No one is ever good enough for him, and he'll gladly torture those who can't obey. If he likes you for his sexual desires, you're running on his schedule. He expects you to do your own work, and fulfill his desires.

So, how do you two meet? You actually met back when you were with EJ. Just like in every AU, Jeff, EJ, and Ben are all really close friends, and EJ paid a visit to Ben in order to collect new Tech. There you caught Ben's eyes. Ben joked with EJ, saying that if he ever got bored of you, he'll gladly take you. He would never hide his stares, and always made his intentions with you painfully clear. He would never do anything to you physically since he likes and respects EJ to much, but he meant what he said when he told EJ that he'd take you if he didn't want you anymore.

LJ is a loner, but what he does is kinda weird. LJ stays in a abandoned fair ground. Rides and attractions are still up. Thanks to Ben, LJ is able to keep the tech working, and it often attracts wonders. LJ collects walkers and uses them for his circus shows. Anyone who stumbles upon his grounds are welcomed to stay. So, there's often people hanging out there because, 1, free food, 2, fun rides, 3, protection from walkers, and 4, entertainment. Once there's enough people, LJ holds a circus show. In this show, LJ summons a gas that drugs everyone for a short period of time. During this time, LJ takes some members of the audience, steals everyone's weapons, and ties them down to their chairs. Then, he uses the people he kidnapped for his twisted little show. Some people would be eaten by walkers, others would be forced to do extremely dangerous stunts, and the rest would just be brutally tortured. But at the end of the show, everyone in the tent would be dead. Now rinse and repeat, and that's what LJ does.

You and your brothers came across LJ's circus, but you guys left after a short while, not aware that you almost lost your lives.

Liu are kinda like mercenary. Liu gathers Intel for other groups, kidnaps people, and sells people just to get by. He's never in one place for too long, and many fall for his charm and charisma. His most consistent client is Ben, and Ben considers him a member of his city, even though Liu begs to differ.

How did you two meet? Jeff had dragged Liu to the proxies place due to the Proxies not keeping the end of a deal they made. You were watching from a top the stairwell when Liu noticed you. Liu is a hard-core sadist and doesn't really care about love or sex, violence his thing due to Sully's influence. But I can see him instantly falling for you. I feel like before Sully manifested, Liu was such a lover boy, but I can see him always being a blunt and manipulative bastard. Despite Jeff being Liu for support, Liu just stared at you as you sat ontop of the stares quietly, hoping that he would take his eyes off you.

Jeff is another wonderer. He could deadass care less about the apocalypse. He's normally by himself, in a cabin, either getting high or murdering people he comes across. He's deadass chilling.

Just like Ben, Jeff met you through EJ. Jeff doesn't really have any feelings towards you at the moment since he doesn't pay much attention to you, but that will slowly change.

QNow, last major plot idea. Since EJ is a doctor, and Ben is the tech guy, I can see the two of them looking for a cure to the virus. But, they often use random people as experiments for these. Back when you were with EJ, you were forced to witness them, and in one test, the person starting to develop sores and bumps all over their body, and it got so bad that they ended up swelling up like a balloon.

[sy-on-boy]

My 2 cents on the plot / thematic relevance of Ch 95

This is not about advancing Plot B or showing Anya's school life (which is still true but has been discussed), but rather the overall theme of education and war. There was an excellent post about how Eden is at the frontline of the cold war and it is subtly shown through the innocent lens of the first graders (I can't find it now, would link it if I could). And I think that perfectly applies to Ch 95.

Quick recap on some references about education/students/war throughout the series (that I remember at the moment):

Sylvia gravely condemning the Berlint University Student Terrorists during the Doggy Crisis arc (Ch 20) and saying "did you learn nothing about war at your university?"

Henderson talking about his experience as a history teacher (Ch 27.5, Short Mission 4) and quote: "Yes, well, I have always maintained that there is nothing to be learned from the memorization of time lines. From the grand efforts with which our forefathers crafted society to the foolish notions that sent them racing to war, to not study the human element at history's root is to not understand history at all"

Note that Damian's best subject has been established to be history, and his family (father) has been involved in war, at least Donovan was PM during most of the war (established by Melinda in Ch 91). Donovan is also a graduated Imperial Scholar (Ch 64).

The Red Circus group started out as a peaceful student demonstration "advocating for peace and quality" (Ch 72) and "speaking out to protect the weakest members of our society". And Billy Squire said, "We were a respectable movement that fought for our cause with respectable means. It was the state that turned violent against us. So I'm not taking criticism from a member of the establishment (referring to Henderson, an educator). I'm gonna see to it that they reap what they've sown." Billy's daughter Biddy was killed by the state at a protest.

Less of a point, but Becky is the daughter of the CEO of a major military manufacturer. Despite their very likely involvement in military conflicts because they sell arms, the Blackbell cohort has been depicted positively so far: Becky being a kind, wonderful friend to Anya, Becky's father doting on her, and Martha again being kind and dignified (and also being an ex-soldier and acquainted with Henderson).

Eden Academy is a major setting for SxF and the themes of politics, education, and war are embedded in it. The students involved in protests/groups are older (the university students, Billy's daughter), but the political implications remain even among the youngest of the students— the first graders.

Hence, Ch 95. When mere first graders are shown to fight to gain connections, which can be political as pointed out by Henderson: "In the world of politics, dances serve as major social events". But of course, they are kids, so they see it more playfully and innocently, especially Becky with her shipper lens on.

Of course, there is also the aspect of getting to know other people better out of interest (the boys asking Anya and Becky to dance because they were impressed after the bus hijacking). But as people have mentioned, nobody mentions this to Damian despite him being equally involved in saving the class (all three of them got a star). The girls aren't interested in Damian as a person, they're interested in him as an asset because of his family and their power.

And I can see the teachers trying to diffuse the tension and create camaraderie with their friendly competition. To me, this reads as the teachers fully realizing "the battlefield of political maneuvering", and they want to remind the kids to have fun, to show good sportsmanship, to unite the kids, to operate as a class and be friendly with one another, and overall make it more lighthearted. It's nice to see the classes work together and get excited / win as a unit, especially compared to the more "individual" bits of fighting for a dance partner later.

We get a bit of comparison between Bill and Damian, with Bill showing good sportsmanship while Damian scoffs at him. But Damian ends up becoming ultra competitive and telling his classmates to not screw it up.

Like the Dodgeball chapter, Damian is clumsily attempting to lead the class by doing good in his quiz, while getting stressed and yelling at his peers when they don't succeed like he did. So he's not really a good leader. Like how him being good at history does not necessarily mean he is good at being peaceful (Short Mission 4 ends with Henderson staring in exasperation at Damian + Anya bickering with each other). But obviously, he is merely a child, and he is naturally immature.

At first Loid is all for advancing Plan B and analysed Anya's suitors in a rational (reductionist?) way by ranking them in terms of gaining intelligence, but he remembers this is just a dance, Anya is a kid, and she should do whatever she wants. Loid (and the adults) are very aware of the political side of the gala, but ultimately they want the kids to have fun and not worry / worry less about politics.

Because they're kids! They'll grow up and learn more and be politically active later, but right now, they're just kids. Kids who don't know much about the world but are eager to make the world a better place.

In the end, we get a panel of Anya and Loid "teaming up" to win Damian's hand for Plan B / world peace. The Damian-Anya dynamic is cushioned with the silly crushy feelings, but underneath it, Operation Strix continues to be a core motivation.

I find it interesting that Endo chooses to focus on the first graders and their innocent view of the world / politics. It's embedded everywhere and especially in a prominent school like Eden, but the kids don't really realise it / realise the severity of it. Heirs and heiresses are educated at Eden and grow up to have incredible influence and the power to shape the world. Our protagonist's best friend comes from a family that manufactures arms. Henderson mentions the importance of learning history to avoid making the same mistakes (ie. war).

So Ch 95 is a cute prom chapter. But I think it also helps to show the themes underneath the fun, bubbly interactions.

[ndoandou]

Ikevil OC: Margarette Foster

“Wise choice little robin.”

Cursed by Goldilocks from Goldilocks and the three bears

This curse grants user the ability to make the right decision for the best outcome of a situation, including the correct answer of a given choice. This ability also applies to the unknown near future. This curse preserves the user and the people around them. However, people who are cursed by Goldilocks are extreme perfectionists and stubborn by nature which may cause them to disagree with the right choice. They are cursed to die making the wrong decision due to following their desires.

Background story:

Margarette is a former noble. She grew up in a household which had no care for her despite her academic talents, as all the attention went to her older brothers. Years she went on being as patient as she could. Her breaking point was when her parents rejected her wish to participate in further education as they had already planned to sell her off someone they owed money to. Too stunned to speak, she fled back her room. Slamming the door behind her she could feel her world collapsing. Heavy breathing, cold sweats, tears puring down her eyes.

Curse awakening:

“Someone, anyone please save me from this absolute nonsense..!”, Margarette pleaded to herself, clenching her eyes shut as she sunk down to the floor.

‘Burn the mansion down,’ a voice spoke

Sobbing uncontrollably, Margarette responded to the voice not caring if she was hallucinating or not, given how stressed she was

“That’s too much! i can’t possibly….I-If i ”

‘Too much? You are too naive. Having your flesh and blood discard you is too cruel. If you want to live, Eliminating them is just right.’

Margarette didn’t know how to respond, but she knew that she wanted to live no matter what. she had to make the right choice…

‘The choice is yours’

.

.

That night she slipped through the shadows, following every guidance given by the omniscient voice. Dozens of choices were made. Were they the right choices? Was there another way?

That didn’t matter

Margarette walked away from the mansion that was now engulfed in flames. Screaming and cries for help could be heard from a distance, however, her heart was too numb and tired to feel. She just hoped her legs will take her somewhere far away,,,

How she got involved with crown:

Members of the Foster estate took a big part in human trafficking, meaning that crown would have gotten involved. The unexpected problem was the fact that the whole estate is burnt to crisp. Initially they thought that they were trying to get rid of the evidence until Victor reviewed the documents and found out that there was a missing person under the name ‘Margarette Foster’. This did not make sense considering that everyone involved including the guards and servants were proclaimed dead. A conclusion was made after a long discussion; Margarette Foster is a Cursed and she is the culprit. It didn’t take too long for crown to locate her whereabouts and to get her to join them. Despite the sorry condition she was in, she didn’t seem that wary to follow them or answer their questions. Out of curiosity, Liam asked her why she didn’t show any signs of fear, which roger backed up with the fact that her heart was beating at a normal rate. Thats when she explained that she is cursed by Goldilocks and every decision and step she is taking is the correct decision.

Love interest:

Kate (MC) (ill make a seperate post on this!)

.

.

Part 2 will be on her personality and fake cgs! Also i didn’t proofread this and i wrote half of the stuff here spontaneously so im sorry if its a bit shet :((