#is both a form and expression of injustice

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

I made a crash course about this.

[soon-palestine]

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “ When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.” Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run. Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics. The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this? The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.”

[rivereverie]

Astarion and Vanity

Spoilers for all of Astarion’s story through all acts of BG3. As always, this is just my interpretation and thoughts on the character from what I know, so feel free to disagree.

I feel that Astarion’s expression of vanity is a part of him that gets misread a lot. It’s something that is pointed to as one of his negative traits as though this vanity of his is sincere. Personally, I think his outward obsession with his own looks and charm is anything but shallow, and is yet another example of how his life experience and trauma has shaped him. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder (ha), and for the sake of this mild analysis, I’m going to be defining beauty as conventional physical attractiveness. The main point is that Astarion in-game is treated as being very attractive, so that’s how I will treat him in this conversation. Beauty can be a form of power; one Astarion was very clearly blessed with. While all the main companions in the game are designed to be rather attractive, for Astarion, this goes beyond simply wanting to appeal to the player and is not incidental. In my opinion, Astarion’s looks are crucial to his character. 

To briefly summarize what we all know about Astarion, he was thoroughly and systematically stripped of his autonomy and identity by Cazador. He was forced to adopt an incredibly narrow worldview of essentially: power = freedom = safety (simplified, of course). Throughout the game, he makes choices that slowly shape and are shaped by the man he’s becoming. By the end of the spawn route, he’s still only just beginning to really discover himself. This all is crucial to the heart of his character and influences all his actions. 

Given his hollow sense of identity, Astarion clings to certain traits which he parades around, making sure everyone knows these things about him. The most prominent of those traits being hedonism, sadism, selfishness, and vanity. In this post, I’m going to be focusing on the last item, though I do have a post on learned cruelty that delves into the trait of sadism in the context of his identity. The pattern here is that these traits are masks that serve to make him feel in-control of both himself and those around him. 

While Astarion may seem terribly vain, his appearance to others is actually a very deep-seated, sensitive issue that genuinely affects him. The infamous mirror scene may come across to some as him being shallow, at first, but really he’s right in what he said; his reflection is just one more thing that was taken from him, and it’s completely fair that he is angry and grieves. But this is also significant to him beyond the fact of its injustice, or the symbolism of reflection as identity. Let’s dive a little into his psyche, and guess at how he sees himself and the world: He’s spent the past 200 years being valued exclusively for his ability to bring back prey for Cazador and perform sexually. This equates to his charm and his body. After two centuries of being degraded and stripped of everything, and only ever getting any kind of positive reinforcement, praise, or acknowledgement for your looks and seductiveness, of course he’d begin unconsciously tying his sense of self-worth to his appearance. By Cazador, he was turned into a tool and a toy. By his targets, he was objectified. Dehumanized from both sides in different ways, and again, only valued for his body and whatever sweet words he could spin. This leaves him with his self-worth very profoundly tied to his appearance to others, as I said.

I imagine he had two main types of targets when under Cazador’s thrall: starry-eyed, naive folks who were swept off their feet, and more predatory characters who took advantage of an easy offer. The former were probably the only source of genuine positive attention he ever got for those 200 years, even if it was shallow. Since he cannot find self-affirmation by looking into a mirror, he finds new mirrors in the eyes of those who look upon him. His beauty is reflected in their hunger, their lust, their admiration, their bashfulness, their envy. Is it any wonder that now he flaunts himself, always making comments about how good he looks? If he doesn’t get an affirmative response, then at least it's his way of reassuring himself. Telling himself that he’s still valuable in the only way he knows how to assess his value. “I don’t need a reflection to know this looks fabulous”, he tells himself. This is why he makes so many seemingly vain comments. Why he’s so concerned with being done-up and looking good. Why he has spent so much time mending his clothes so he looks every bit the part of the dashing elven rogue. 

Speaking of his clothes, this is another way he’s clinging to his autonomy and identity even through all his years of torment. His clothes were probably one of the only things he was ever allowed to have. When you have so little, of course you’ll care for it, hence why the flavor text  for both his shirt and armor mention how his clothes are worn, but have been repaired many times by a careful hand. During those years under Cazador, it probably brought him a small sense of control to be able to mend and embroider his own clothes; the only things which he felt belonged to him, more so than his own body. Something familiar that gave him a sense of security and self. (This is why I adore the idea of him becoming a tailor after the story, because it's giving him a healthy outlet of personal expression and creating something that's entirely his own. Hobbies can be crucial to cultivating one's identity and self-esteem, and we all want that for him). Not to mention that Cazador probably would not have taken kindly to his spawn not looking their best, and that's probably a "rule" Astarion carried with him even into freedom.

I think the mirror scene is a lot more than him just seeking validation and showing us a glimpse into this part of his mind, though. It’s also about him genuinely trying to evaluate how the player character sees him, and shows how he’s trying to figure out his new identity in freedom, but that’s its own discussion for another time. I just think that it’s unfair for people to call him vain or shallow for caring about his reflection and appearance so much, when that’s all he was ever taught to value in himself.

 The only other significant way we see Astarion valuing himself is through his skills as a rogue, with his constant cocky comments about how easy it is for him. While this too is a form of external validation born of valuing himself for what he can do rather than what he is, it’s still a positive thing for him. The game doesn’t really address all this, but in my mind, him getting to make use of his skills and be valued as a part of a group that needs him is probably really good for his self-esteem at this point in his life. 

All of this to say, I don’t think it’s fair to cast judgement on him for being “vain”, given everything we know about him. There is a big difference between him and someone who genuinely sees the world through a shallow and judgmental lens. For him, his mask of vanity is a symptom of his pain and twisted worldview rather than something rotten born of privilege and a superiority complex. His self-aggrandizement is a necessary part of the narrative he’s building for himself: the vampire spawn who would ascend. Again, desperate to convince himself and those around him that he both wants and deserves this, even as his crooked worldview is being chipped away by genuine kindness and connection. This understanding of his mind shows why it’s so important to him that we see and love him for who he actually is, not just his charm and beauty. His heart is beautiful in an entirely different way that outshines his physical features, even if he himself doesn't see it. The hope is that, with his friends and perhaps partner at his side, he’ll learn to value himself for his own heart and soul; for the person he’s becoming as he gathers up the pieces of his identity. To see the light he holds within him that endured those centuries of darkness. Until the mirrors stop mattering.

[s-4pphics]

tag, you're it! (e.w.)

ITS PRIDE MONTH PUSSSSSSYYYYYYY 

omg this is kindaaaa…. yeah

imma lil proud LOL hope y’all like it 

wc;cw: 14.2k, ceosdaughter!ellie, tagger/artist!oc, ANGST!!, mentions of depression and suicidal ideation, illness, parental death & brief mentions of funerals, descriptions of foster care/homeless shelters and poverty, both oc n ellie have daddy issues, MOMMY ISSUES!!, brief mentions of drug addiction(coke), homophobia DURING PRIDE MONTH🤨🤨, internalized homophobia and misogyny, ellie is a horny touch starved loser n kinda stalkerish?, mentions of criminal injustice(police, prisons, etc.) i hate it here, rich ppl being demons, SMUT!!!!! MDNI!!!!, light descriptions of masturbation, potential dubcon!!, sexual tension😟, bratty subbottom!ellie, mean domtop!oc she carries her dick on her like a glock lol, slight fearplay, KNIFE PLAY/BLOOD, DIRTY TALK, finger and strap sucking, fingering, pussy eating, MOMMY KINK!!, nipple play, squirting <333 n creaming <333, riding, reverse cowgirl, slapping(FACE!!! ass titties), hitting it from the bbbbback, loss of virginity, masochism LOL, a lil ass play LOL, pretty taboo themes catch it

“She’s… I genuinely believe she’s deranged, your honor! She’s… uncontrollable! Look at what she’s done to our city! Civilians can see her tracks everywhere they go, and it’s disgusting! Not to mention she’s a pervert!” 

You rolled your eyes as you listened to the high-pitched, ongoing shrieks of one of the wealthiest women in the state as she spat belittlements of you to the judge. 

You were… fucked. 

You adjusted in your uncomfortable chair, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head to eye your lawyer, arching a brow at him as you waited for his defenses for you. He looked… scared shitless, to say the least. 

Yeah. You were definitely going to fucking jail. 

Were these pieces of shit really going to treat you like Satan himself for pulling a measly, little prank? Has April Fools truly lost all meaning?

A couple of days ago, on April 1st, you took it upon yourself to spray paint ♡GIRLDICK♡ across the largest building in the city, which just so happened to be owned by the Miller family, if anyone even bothered to call their cultist bond that. Their wealth swiftly accumulated when the now deceased founder of the organization, Joel Miller, discovered some new form of AI technology… or whatever the elders at the shelter told you. His death shook your city years ago; You weren’t sure why it was so moving for people, but R.I.P, you guess. 

You assumed they were just another group of elitist fuckers, but he must’ve been decent at the most; You still remember his memorial broadcasting on the small TV at the shelter as the other residents mourned in solace. 

Regardless, you hope all their institutions across the nation collapse one day, preferably with the rest of them inside. 

The broad in the black, silk suit kept pointing her finger at you, and it took everything in your spirit to not get up out of your seat and rip it clean off her hand and shove it down her throat. 

Not every tag you’ve done around the city has been rooted in “perversion”. There’s nothing perverse about… loving girldick. It’s a way of life!

Fuck security cameras. 

Unbeknownst to them, you’ve already been coined as a hidden talent in the city, at least according to some people you know at the shelter. You’re faceless in the eye of the public, but that separation doesn’t negate their appreciation for your artwork. You even went viral for the mural you painted of your father for his birthday two years ago, even though the fucker that posted it on Instagram hadn’t included your signature. You could bet millions of people have seen it by now, and you gained absolutely nothing from it. 

But, of course, your form of creative expression was being reduced to a jizzing penis. You've created countless mosaics around the city that represent the purest forms of love and sex, and now you are being blasted for being some sort of corrupt sicko. You only drew what came natural to you, and if people felt a way about it, they could choke on the fattest girldick known to humanity. You hate rich people.

Your father didn’t sacrifice everything he had to teach you the complexities of sketching for your name to be attached to outlines of dicks. You didn’t grow up watching your father skip meals so he could get you a new water paint set for your birthday every year for your art to be lawfully ridiculed. The only comfort this situation brought was that you knew he would’ve found the sloppily drawn cock hysterical. You still remember his laugh after all this time. 

You miss him dearly. You probably could’ve been just as rich, if not more, as the bitch at the other table if he was still here with you. He would’ve ensured you didn’t stray off into the life you live now. 

Being in foster care was the dissipation of your joy. You were considered a problem child very early on: fighting the caretakers when they tried to calm you, cursing at them, stealing, and nobody wanted to adopt you because of that, regardless of your talents. You were set up to fail too early, and you despised the world because of it. 

Your record was horrendous, and you were going to jail. You fucking hate rich people.

… Except the Miller's eldest daughter. She gets a pass. 

And she keeps staring at you. 

Every time you caught her sparkly eyes, she blushed and looked forward, her freckles surrounded by a deep red that rushed down her neck. She was dressed much less… sophisticated than her mother: her hair tied back in a low bun and littered with black bobby-pins, a dark-blue sweater, rings on her thumb, black pants, and clean Vanz. 

You knew a lesbian when you saw one. You could barely hide your knowing smirk. 

“My child doesn’t need to be exposed to such… nauseating ideologies! Think of the children of the city and what they’re forced to see because of vile people like that,” she pointed at you again. You were this fucking close to stabbing her with that pen in front of you. 

Your daughter’s gay, Mrs. Miller. 

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the judge started. What kind of backwards shit was this; Wasn’t she supposed to be respecting him? “It’s important that we stay on track. You’re specifically suing her for vandalism— “

“Ongoing, unchecked vandalism! This is not her first charge, your honor, it’s her seventh! She’s… she’s— “

You tried to tune her out, looking around the congested space of the courtroom, and you caught eyes—shiny, green eyes— on you. Again. 

She was fiddling with her hands in her lap, her teeth picking at the dry skin on her bottom lip. But she didn’t look away this time. You watched her eyes trail over your face, down to your jaw, your neck, your chest, only to come back up to your eyes. 

You did the same, taking in the dots on her soft cheeks, her eyes, her pretty nose, and mouth, looking her up and down, biting your lip, letting her know you were gauging her. She was cute, you had to admit. 

“—sentenced to three years in federal prison— “

You looked up in shock, feeling like your body had been dunked into a tub of ice water and left to die, instantly stiffening at the announcement of your sentence, the sound of the slamming gavel nearly putting you six feet under. 

You couldn’t do anything but stare at the judge in disbelief as he organized his papers emotionlessly, your lawyer putting his hand on your shoulder. You knocked it off and glared at him. You looked over to the table, the family already up and taking their leave, Mrs. Miller’s hand tightly enclosed around her daughter’s wrist as she dragged her out the wooden doors.

Two security guards were already walking towards you with cuffs, gripping your arms too roughly to pull you up out of your seat and latching the metal around your skin. You started to panic as they walked you towards another set of doors.

“Wait, wait, my backpack, I need my— “

“You aren’t allowed to have anything on you. Your property will be held by the court until further notice.” 

“But— “

“No buts, and don’t resist,” you felt the security grip your arm harder, and your anxiety peaked, your panting breaths hardly leaving your body.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. Your life was shattering around you in slow motion, loose shards slicing through you with intent to kill. 

You allowed the brawly men to drag you… anywhere. You didn’t care anymore; You were tired, and no longer had the urge to fight left in your heart. 

Ellie was brought up in isolation. 

Homeschooled, no friends, no purpose outside of being the vessel to represent her family name, creating the next line of heirs for her father’s company. 

The benefits of his successes had simply… appeared when she was fifteen. 

She remembered how he went from being present, gave her the utmost attention, played sports with her, taught her how to sing and self-defense with his past down switchblade, to not, completely cut off from society as he barricaded himself in his study and worked relentlessly on new forms of technology. Being an only child brought nothing but loneliness for her after a while. 

But then they were rich. They moved to an affluent neighborhood and into a two-story house in a matter of months, driving Porches and buying out stores. Wealth appeared, but the relationship with her family suffered because of it. 

Her father fell ill, and after a multitude of hospital visits, teary farewells, and a memorial, he was gone. Merely a memory that hardly seemed real. Her and her mother’s relationship became even more unsteady after his passing. 

Ellie’s mother swiftly took over the company in an almost authoritarian way. She interacted with society in a robotic, rehearsed manner. Mechanical, soulless, the only proof of her humanity exposing itself when she snorted white powder. 

Her mother had brought up the idea of marriage the second she turned eighteen, a year before her father’s passing, saying that there were multiple well-off men that were eager to be with her, willing to give her children. Multiple. 

Men…. children… having children with men. Money. The empire. Her mother.

It all made her nauseous. 

… But art didn’t. 

She’d always kept her journals secret. Left in a box on the highest shelf of her walk-in closet where the maids couldn’t find them.

She expressed everything that she couldn’t to her mother on paper. Her depression, her insomnia, her desire for death, her mourning, the need for sex with non-men, any form of physical connection, something—anything that made her feel human, normal.

She needed a fucking hug. A kiss. Sex. She wanted to fuck.

The first time she saw your artwork on an abandoned building as she chauffeured to the museum, she’d nearly fainted. 

It’d been two women on top of each other, the most intimate parts of their body covered with the other’s hands and skin. One had her head between the other’s legs atop blankets and flowers as the other… apparently in the middle of an orgasm. Her mother always made the point of sex sound so… stiff. Lifeless. Merely a factor of procreation.

But your art was so erotic. Sensual. So full of pleasure and softness and care. 

She’d almost jumped out of the car and onto oncoming traffic to get a closer look at every detail, but the car was too quick. She couldn’t even get a fucking picture. 

And she was soaking. How the fuck was she going to explore a museum when she was dripping like this?! 

You’d given her one of the strongest orgasms she’d ever had in her life when she returned home that day, and she didn’t even know who you were. She’d spent hours with her hand between her legs as she thought of your creation while her mother was out working, moaning and crying out as loud as she wanted, and she wasn’t even embarrassed. 

She would sneak out in the darkest clothes she had when her mother passed out on the couch, and just walk. Specifically in search for anything with your signature that she’d memorized like it was her own. She’d taken pictures of your content, memorized them, got off to the suggestive ones in secret, and appreciated your love and passion for your craft. 

She’d even started recreating her own depictions of eroticism. All with women. They never looked the same: different heights, all skin tones and body types, anything that she could think of, she drew it. She’d tried to envision what you looked like after only a few weeks, and she prayed her envisions were at least somewhat accurate. 

She never could draw self-portraits with precision, but she knew it was her. She was always in the middle of the raunchiness that she conjured up in her mind, being touched everywhere, tied up, beaten, completely ripped apart and forced to forget the suffocating world around her. Her reimagining's of herself would be drowned in pleasure, sometimes by you, by herself, by faceless strangers. Anything she wanted. 

When she saw you for the first time, she almost couldn’t control herself. 

She’d felt like a fucking creep as she ducked behind parked cars to watch you paint all over an abandoned freight train behind a trashed building. The streets had been silent as she watched you decorate the metal cart in floral interpretations of pussy, her heart in her throat. 

You looked gorgeous and focused and tired. So, so tired, only in sweats and a tank top with a hefty bag strapped to your back. She assumed you kept your art supplies in there.

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes off you when she’d seen you during your court hearing. 

You were just as gorgeous as the first time she saw you, but, somehow, even more exhausted. Far away, not really present, but she couldn’t blame you. And she couldn’t stop staring, enthralled by you. Even in your grayest moments, you made her feel vibrant. And that brought her guilt.

But it also made her lustful. Hungry. 

And she couldn’t stop staring. 

When her mother dragged her out of the hearing, she was enraged, even more so when she degraded you on the way back to the car. 

You fucking stared at that whore the whole time!

Don’t ever, in your life, embarrass me again. 

I’ll throw you in the gutter with that rat if you ever disrespect me like you just did in there. Do you understand?

Ellie didn’t even know what she did to garner a response this aggressive, but she was used to it. And, for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. She didn’t give a fuck. 

At that moment, she knew what she had to do.

It was your fifth day in prison, and you felt nothing. 

You didn’t cry, you didn’t plead, you simply succumbed to your destiny in silence. Your father would be so disappointed if he were alive. 

I raised a fighter, so you fucking fight!

But you couldn’t. You were tired, and you wished you could stay asleep, never to wake up again.

You’ve been working like a dog since you got here, and you accepted it. This was your life, and you felt nothing. 

Until your cell unlocked. These fuckers were probably here to shit talk you again. 

They cuffed your wrists and led you somewhere. You didn’t care where, keeping your head down as they encased your arms in a calloused grasp. You hoped this location would be your last forever. 

They led you into an empty room and uncuffed you. You saw the old sweatsuit that you’d received from the shelter, and your heartbeat sped up. You looked at the security in confusion. What the fuck were they doing? What were they about to do?

You could barely hear what the officers were saying, jumbled words of bail bond and cash payments molding together and sounding like a foreign language to you. They undid your handcuffs and pointed towards the clothes, murmuring for you to change so they could transport you back to the courthouse to retrieve your belongings. 

What the fuck is going on?

When you returned to the shelter, you inspected your bag. After nearly scrubbing your skin off while showering. 

The contents were all in their original condition, each individual item wrapped in plastic with small notes attached to them. Except for your dick. You assumed the court had no comments. 

Your paint, your brushes, random hairpins, your notebooks. They were all there in their original condition. Thank god. 

What you didn’t expect to see was a new jacket, sweatsuit, and small note wrapped in the same plastic from inspection. 

You ripped the plastic open and retrieved the note, unfolding it and… confusion, arousal, and fear rushed through you, shocking your body as all your feelings shot down your spine. 

It was a sketch of… you. And a girl bent over with her hands bound behind her back as you fucked her. An… incredibly familiar looking girl. 

A freckled girl. A rosy-cheeked girl. The rosy-cheeked girl from a week ago with the psychotic, sadistic mother.

Her expression in the sketch was pure ecstasy. It looked like she was screaming, her cheeks shaded dark with water-paint and her hair a reddish-brown, thrown in all sorts of directions. Her eyes wild and erotic. Yearning. Teary. Her pleasure seemed dream-like.

And you looked just as gone. Head tossed back, sweaty with your dick shoved inside her pussy, your nails digging into the soft skin on her hips, small, but deep, bloody scratches following the painful glide of your fingertips that make the red blotches on her backside. There were small doodles of strap-ons and pussies smudged, erased, fixed to perfection that seemed almost manic. Obsessive. 

You looked at the bottom of the crumpled piece of paper, a small signature across the bottom of it. 

♡GIRLDICK♡

Come back home. Five days.

E.M.

… Come back home? You don’t have a fucking home. And who the fuck is E.M? Your heart was beating against your chest, climbing up your throat in an attempt to escape your body entirely. You couldn’t stop your eyes from flying across the sloppy penmanship. 

… ♡GIRLDICK♡

E.M.

M. 

♡GIRLDICK♡

M.

… Miller Enterprise. 

Miller. 

… Freckles. 

…. What in the fuck. 

It was almost dark, and you were shivering as the wind blew past you. 

It had been five days. 

You were eyeing the large building in front of you from across the street, a giant M slapped across the top of it, windows galore, hoodie on your head and trembling hands shoved in your pockets. 

You could see the last bit of employees trickling out of the building, clad in suits and tight pencil skirts, heavy briefcases and clicking heels. 

You could also see the fresh white and black paint covering where your spray-painted dick used to be, and it made you chuckle to yourself. You were almost tempted to recreate it with your new snagged bottle of acrylic. It supposedly glowed in the dark. 

But then you saw a dark shadow in the corner of your eye, hurriedly moving past the glass of the entrance. 

Your heart raced instantly at the thought of being discovered, and you followed the body's movement. You could see it was Ellie the closer she got to the glass, dressed in a black sweater and comfortable pants, and her same shoes from the court hearing. She looked antsy, a bit on edge, but curious. She was anticipating seeing you. 

You could see her messing with the keypad on the door, the loud sounds of locks clicking over the bustling streets. Flashes of red, swiftly replaced with flashes of green shined through the maxi-glass, and she looked around at all the doors. What was she checking for?

She seemed satisfied with her job, and she slid the entry door open, leaving it slightly ajar so she could slip something between it. 

She gave one last glance at the system before bolting back inside and down the lengthy hallway before all the hall lights shut off. 

Did she… did she just disable all the alarms for you? 

Now, you were the one anticipating meeting her. 

You ran across the street the second you got a chance, hurdling through traffic before running up onto the sidewalk and treading the stairs. 

You looked down and noticed two pens taped together, holding the door open. You picked them up and inspected them, a glossy, silver M near the gel tip. 

You stepped inside before anyone noticed, the door automatically shutting behind you before the same green lights came on, a robotic voice confirming that the doors were locked.

You were inside the Miller Enterprise, and you were terrified.

Ellie was so nervous. 

She’d been checking her Chanel watch all day, obsessively monitoring the windows to see if anyone that resembled your form had arrived, but she was disappointed every time she looked. No sign of you, yet.

The later it got, the more anxious she became. Did you see the note she left in your bag? Was it too forward? Did you think she was fucking crazy? Did you hate her for what her mother did? She prayed not. 

She was currently pacing around her mother’s—father’s—dark office, every step of her shoes echoing in the nearly empty room. She hasn’t been in here since she was seventeen, and it brought just as much anxiety as it did the first time. 

This will all be yours when I’m gone, don’t fucking ruin it. 

She hated everything about this space. Every aspect of her dad was completely gone. All his pictures, his vinyl, his pens and pencils, his nameplate. Everything. All of it, completely void of emotion. 

She hated it, she hated it. 

But then she heard a clang in the hallway, and her anxiety picked up even more before she could process it. 

She quickly made her way over to the exit, peeking her head through the doorframe and examining the hallway, searching for you. The noise had to be you! You really came! She could feel her nipples getting hard already.

But she saw no one. No one was in the dark hallway. 

… Fuck.

Why did she shut the system off? The lights wouldn’t come on!

Her hands instantly got clammy, her heart racing, and her knees shook. She hadn't felt like this since she was a kid, and she was horrified.

Someone’s here to hurt you, someone’s going to come in and hurt you!

You never leave doors unlocked! He always said to lock your doors, never, never, never—

She couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from taking over her entire body, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her father’s switchblade, pressing its latch down to expose the blade. She slammed the door shut and walked over to the large window and tried to steady her breathing. She looked out of the glass and inhaled harshly. 

Keep your grip tight when you strike! 

Calm down calm down calm down—

“Boo.” 

You saw Ellie jump with a hard gasp before spinning to face you, a fearful look on her face and her switchblade in hand, pointed edge towards you. 

You could see her chest rise up and down with every shaky breath she took, her body trembling and cheeks flushed. You felt like your body was going to burst into flames, but you hid it, grinning slyly at her as you stepped forward. 

Deep breath. 

“Hi, Ellie.”

Another step forward. She took two back, nearly pressed against the glass. 

“Y-You,” she stuttered as her eyes darted around nervously, and you could see her cheeks flushing in the darkness, “How’d you get in here?” 

“I think you know how.” 

You shrugged, the contents of your bag shuffling on your back. You pointed towards the large, stretched windows behind her that oversaw the entire city, the hustling streets and lights beaming into the dimly lit room from the last bits of sunset. 

“View’s incredible,” your mockery littered in sarcasm. Don’t let her know you’re scared. 

She took a bold step forward as her brows furrowed, anger twisting on her doll-like face. You took two, as well. You saw her eyes dart to your feet before meeting your gaze to hiss at you.

“There’re cameras on every floor of this fucking building! I press that button,” She darted her small knife towards the enclosed, red button on the side of the wall, a large print of EMERGENCIES ONLY directly above it. “And every cop in this city’ll show up and take your ass back to the fucking gutter where you’re supposed to be.” 

… How the fuck was she going to threaten you when she told you to come here?! What was she playing at?

She pointed her weapon back at you. You ignored your confusion and raised an impressed brow before walking forward without pause, pulling her mother’s chair out from under the desk, the wheels squeaking against the marbled tile. You saw the grip she had on her knife tighten. 

You smiled at her. “You’re pretty good with a knife, honey.” 

“Fuck you. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I dunno,” you scoffed, twirling on your heels as you took in the luxurious space around you. “I can bet my bottom ass dollar that you like it.” 

Her glare hardened, and your smile brightened. You finally moved to sit in the chair, the plush leather molding against your body and stuffed backpack. You scooted back under the desk and rested your elbows on the hand-carved rosewood, completely calm. At least outwardly. Your insides were jittery from adrenaline. 

You quickly inspected the contents of the desk: her mother’s matching rosewood nameplate, some loose paperwork with large sums of money scattered on them, dark pens and markers, and a signed restraining order. With your name on it. 

You’re apparently not allowed a hundred feet within the perimeter of the building. 

… Funny. 

“Press it.” 

Her scowl hardened, “What?” 

You pointed a lax finger towards the button as you looked up from the document, “I said press it. You want me gone so bad, right?” 

She didn’t reply, her fingers fidgeting around the knife as she adjusted her grip. Her eyes nervously flitted across the room, all over the white floors, back on you. 

“You’re not gonna press the fucking button.” You spat with a devilish smile. “And I know why.” 

“Fuck you, you don’t know sh— “

“You paid my bail.” 

You heard her release a shaky exhale when you sliced through her words, her eyes widening in shock like she saw through you, and you knew you had her. Your smile widened as your nails pattered where you tapped on the desk. 

“Uh huh. Why’d you do it?” 

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and you almost laughed. 

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that kept you company in your small cot during your restless nights, unfolding it and holding up the explicit depiction that she left in your bag days ago. You pressed her as you swung the chair with your foot, “Think somebody’s got a little crush. Mommy’s gonna be so upset with you.” 

“FUCK YOU!” She marched towards you until she was in front of the desk, her scent enclosing around you before you felt the incredibly sharp blade against the side of your neck, and you stiffened in terror. You looked at her in shock, studying her expression. She looked pissed, but you saw… something in her eyes that made your core squeeze tight. 

It was vulgar, needy, and you hoped she missed your body’s excited shudder at her crude rage. 

She didn’t. Curiosity shone behind her lust and fiery, her enraged shrieks shook your eardrums. 

“You’re fucking worthless! You really think anyone’s gonna care about you rotting in a fucking cell?! You’re… you’re nothing! You’re a low life! You’re… you’re! —“

You deadened your own eyes as you slowly moved to stand, but she pressed the knife deeper into your skin as she leaned over the desk, your faces closer together. You stiffened and felt a sting on your skin, and a drop of wetness. Your pussy squeezed, and you could feel sweat looking under your jacket. 

“Gonna kill me, Ellie?” You glared at her, your heart pounding with fear and exhilaration. 

Say you want me. Say it, sayitsayitsayit!

Her eyes were vengeful as she scanned your face, but you saw that glint grow behind the harsh overcast. Something you craved just as badly as she did. 

“Really want mommy to see her precious girl killing somebody on camera? Hm?” 

“She,” her breath shuddered. “wouldn’t give a fuck if it were you, I promise.” 

You barely whispered your reply as you leaned even closer, your nipples hardening under your sports bra and your underwear clinging to your wetness. 

“Then do it.”

The heavy breaths she released hit your face in a burning wind, and your core tightened once more. You could see the aggression on her face slowly dissipate, that giddy sparkle in her eye overtaking her pupils as they darkened. 

You felt the cold steel pull away from you slowly, her hand coming down on the desk, — unfortunate— and it threw you into action.

Your hand flew up to her throat and squeezed the sides, and you heard the clatter of the object as it hit the wood. You heard her suck in a choked breath as her eyes glossed over, suddenly desperate and wanton and scared like you’d been seconds before. She looked like a neglected kitten, and it made you hold her neck in tighter constriction. 

She whimpered aloud as she attempted to gasp, her hand coming up to grab your wrist, but you snatched it away with your free hand, and it limply dropped to the desk, her body submitting. 

You leaned in closer to her, and her eyes squeezed shut, lips puckered, silently begging for you to kiss her. You snickered. 

You let her neck go and slammed your palm across her blushing cheek, a loud crack! filling the room. 

She cried aloud, looking like she was about to burst into tears as she jumped off the desk and backed away from you, her hand pressed against her searing cheek. You rose to your feet and circled around the desk, rushing towards her until she was pressed up against the window. Tears were running down her face. You shoved her closer against the glass, grabbing her cheeks to force her to look at you. 

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? I got a little fan, is that it?” 

“N-No— “

“Yeah, I do. Fuckin’ stalker. Probably gotta whole shrine t’me in your fucking room. Does mommy know that you worship me? The lowlife who fucked up her building?” You snapped at her.

She flinched at your tone before she choked out a gasped sob, “I j-just liked what you m-made.”

“Stop crying, Ellie.”

She nodded as she sniffled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. You grasp loosened on her cheeks as you cupped her face, your thumb brushing away the wetness on her already bruising skin. You noticed how she leaned into your caress. It made your heart jolt.

“Look at me,” you whispered. 

She hesitantly met your eyes. 

“You wanna kiss me?”

She looked down at her shuffling feet, and you saw her fist clench. 

“Answer me.” 

“Y-Yes, wanna kiss. Just… just one?”

You hummed in satisfaction, inching closer towards her like you did previously. She stiffened but shut her eyes tightly, her plush lips poking out in a pucker once more as your noses touched. You chuckled and whispered, your lips brushing against hers as you spoke. 

“You ever kissed anyone, baby?”

She sighed out an uneven nuh uh, her mouth chasing yours. You grinned wider.

“Oh? M’gonna be your first kiss?” 

She whined out a needy uh huuuh! 

You stuck your tongue out, slowly running the wet muscle over her lower lip, and you felt her whole body tremble against yours. She brainlessly stuck her tongue out to lick yours, but you pulled back. She tried to follow you, but you yanked her head back by the small bun at the back of her head, the soft strands curling around your fist. 

She let out a moan, and your tongue licked up her exposed throat, leaving a trail of spit up her chin, all the way to her mouth. 

You relented and connected your mouths, and she let out a shocked noise into your mouth. You slipped your tongue in her gaping mouth, wet, smacking noises filling the room as you kissed her hotly. She couldn’t keep up with your quick movements, her lips and tongue moving sloppily against yours. Her spit was all over the outside of your mouth. 

You felt her hands come up to your hips to grip your jacket in a tight fist as she moaned into your mouth. 

The noises she let out were so sweet: little, excited gasps and whiny keens as she tried to pull you closer. 

You released her hair and grabbed her chin to move her head to the side. You kissed down her neck, and she jerked against you. Her breaths increased in pace as you pecked her sweaty skin, lapping your tongue all over the side.

You sucked into the skin under her ear, right under her jaw, pulling her sweater down to mark her collarbone. 

“Pleeease, pleaseplease, ah— “

You mumbled in between gentle sucks, “What, Ellie? Talk.” 

You felt her hands grab your hips tighter, but she said nothing. You pushed her hands off you roughly and looked at her with piercing eyes. She shrunk into herself when she met them. 

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?” 

She nodded quickly. 

“So fucking talk,” you gritted out. 

“Want,” she whispered with a sharp gasp. “Want you.” 

You smirked, “You want me?”

“Mmhm!”

You shoved your backpack off your shoulders, the thud echoing when it hit the floor. 

“Want me to do what?”

She paused before looking down at her feet again, twiddling and picking at her fingers as her face burned red. 

“Um…” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, but you felt her hand grab your wrist and you stopped. You looked at her in annoyance. 

She looked at you tentatively, her breathing shaky. 

But then she slowly brought your hand in between her legs. 

She shivered as she placed her hand on top of yours, making you rub her cunt back and forth. She released pleased sighs as her lashes fluttered, her head falling back against the window as she looked at you up and down. 

“P-Please?” She licked her lips. “Wan’you here.”

You scoffed in shock, and her thighs squeezed down on both your hands. You pressed your palm closer against her, and her hips bucked into you. 

You moved closer to her, your clothed chests pressed together. 

“Move your hand,” you spoke quietly, just for her to hear even though you were alone.

She dropped it limply. You pressed your palm into her covered clit, and she moaned. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing her cheek as you spoke.

“Baby just wanted her pussy touched? That’s why you acted out earlier?”

She didn’t speak as she panted heavily. You brought your hand up to slap her cheek again, and she released a pained cry as her hips twitched. 

“Talk!”

“Yes! Needa… need t’be touched!”

“Tell me where.” You brought your hand back down to her pussy as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. 

She sobbed. “A-Anywhere!”

You leered at her soft face. “Yeah? I get t’choose?” 

She nodded quickly, her eyes screaming touch me, please! Make me cum!

“Open your mouth, honey. Stick your tongue out.”

She mewled softly, but did what you asked, her shiny, pink muscle glistening under the beaming city lights. 

You brought your hand up, rubbing your index and middle finger on her soft tongue. 

“Get ‘em wet.”

She hummed as she sucked them into her mouth with no hesitation. You felt her tongue messily swirl around your digits as she sighed contently, and you pressed an encouraging peck on her cheek. 

You slowly fucked your fingers in, pulling them out, only to push them back in again. You almost awwed aloud when she chased your digits every time you pulled out. She was already drooling for them. 

You pressed her tongue down as you fucked in, and she gagged on them. Her eyes shot open and they instantly watered, her throat tightening around you. 

“Bet you suck a mean dick,” you muttered before you could stop yourself. 

She moaned loudly as you fucked deeper into her mouth, pressing down on the back of her tongue. 

“Oh, yeah? Want mine down that pretty throat?”

She garbled and nodded as much as she could with your fast thrusts in her mouth. You couldn’t wait to fuck it open. 

“Snooped through my shit, didn’t you? Saw my fucking cock and creamed yourself? That’s why you bought me new shit?”

You saw her bring a hand down to touch her pussy, her hips bucking into her own hand, chasing any stimulation. You grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from her. 

You finally eased up on her throat and pulled out completely, lines of slobber connecting your fingers and her mouth together. You cut them with your own tongue, her spit clinging to the edges of your mouth. 

You planted a smacking kiss on her lips before you shoved your hand down her dark, flared pants and into her boxers. 

She squealed when you immediately found her clit with your spit covered fingers, the slippery bud sliding between your already drippy fingers. You watched her hand fly to the white windowsill for balance as your hand went wild on her cunt. 

“Such a wet fucking pussy. Feels good, baby?”

Her brows creased as she nodded, her body rocking with your movements. “A-Ah! —“ 

“Uh huh. You touch yourself like this when mommy’s at work? Hm?”

Her head shamefully jerked in confirmation. You could see her now: her pretty legs spread on her plush bed, her sopping pussy squeezing at the thought of you fucking her just how she needed. She’d be grabbing at her tits as she flicked her clit, desperate to cum all over her blankets for you. Your pussy was so wet. 

“You think about me when you do it?” You knew the answer, but you needed her to say it. Confirm that she thought about you just as much as you thought about her. 

“Yes! Yes, yes!”

“Fucking whore, no wonder she hates your guts.”

She moaned louder at your degradation. “S’c—coming! “

Your fingers were practically vibrating on her cunt, her clit thumping as her orgasm built. “Get my fingers nice’n sloppy, angel, c’mon— “

She reached down to grab your wrist as she jumped on your fingers, but before you could slap her, her body tensed, and her eyes rolled into her skull. You felt her clit pulsate under your touch, and you knew she was cumming.

“Fuckmemommy!”

You couldn’t stop the shock that appeared on your face as you watched her thrash on your hand, gasping out, asking you to please fuck me, mommy! Need you to fuck me!

You just massaged her through it, pressing your hips up against hers so she couldn’t run from your touch. 

“Wan’mommy to fuck you, angel?” you mumbled in your daze as your pussy dripped, your brain barely registering what you just said.

“Yespleasepleaseplease, gimme— “

“Fuck, baby, need mommy inside you?” Your heart was pounding in your ears. 

“M-Mhhm!—“

“Gimme your leg,” You lifted it up with your free hand, bringing it up so it came around your waist.

You slid your fingers down to her twitchy entrance and slipped the tip of your pointer finger inside. You almost moaned at how her walls clung to you, sucking you in deeper, milking you.

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy,” you mumbled to her, and she whimpered when your finger arched inside her. You prodded around until she slumped against you, pushing her hips down on your finger. You leaned in, your lips brushing her ear as you cooed right there? yeah? feels fuckin’ good?

She couldn’t even speak. She just plopped her head onto your shoulder and sloppily kissed your neck. Your cunt clenched and you flinched when her soft tongue licked into the small slit she made earlier. You heard her hum as her tongue swiped a line from your collarbone to your cut; She was licking your blood up like a fucking dog!

It made you punch that spot in her harder, and she cried out against your skin, her nails digging into your forearm. 

You slowly pushed your middle finger in, and she sobbed as she stretched around you. You arched your thumb out to rub her clit as you poked that spongy spot in her pussy; She was so loud for you. 

“Like when I touch you there?” 

“I like it, like it s’much!” You felt her nodding mindlessly against you.

“Gonna cum on me again?” you spat at her. 

“Fuck yes!” 

“Know you’re gonna cum hard, can’t even fuck you like I wanna, squeezing me so tight.”

You dug your fingers as deep and fast into her as her cunt would allow. Her walls were choking the fuck out of you, practically screaming for them to stay where you were pressed inside her. How the fuck was she going to take you fully?!

The thought of breaking her open made you shake, “Gonna make this pussy take me. Can’t wait t’give you this fucking dick.”

Then she started screaming out for you, trying to get you closer, wrapping her arms around you, her leg dropping onto the floor. “Ohgodohgodohgod, m’cumming, mommy, I’mcu—AH!”

You almost fell back when she went limp on you, her knees buckling as her slick coated your fingers, your palm, her panties. You used your weight to push her back against the window, her head thudding against the glass like before, but she seemed too engulfed in her desire to care. You almost brought your hand up to comfort her sore spot, anyway, but you stopped yourself. 

You took her in: practically dangling off you as she wailed from orgasm, her face beat red, the bun at the back of her head almost loose, her eyelids fluttering. You sneered at her, a nasty grin on your face. 

“Atta girl, so excited for cock, ain’t she?”

She could only grind out yesyesyes between her teeth, her fingers still squeezing down on you as you rubbed her clit, her orgasm slowing down. 

“You gotta make me cum first, m’kay?” 

“W’na make… mommy cum!” she nodded like a bobblehead as she slurred. 

“Yeah? Want mommy’s cum in your mouth?”

She wept desperately, “Yes, please, need it!”

You grinned, catching a glimpse of your desperate reflection in the mirror. You’re so glad she was too fucked out to notice.

“C’mon, honey.” 

Ellie stood in front of you as you sat in her mother’s chair, her shoes kicked off. 

Your bag was tossed next to you as you stared at her, noting her fidgeting stance. She wasn’t looking at you, at all. She was looking down, specifically at your occupied hands. 

You’d picked up her discarded knife from the table, inspecting its rusty, scratched design, slightly bloody blade, retraction. You couldn’t stop fiddling with it. 

“W-What’re gonna do with that?” You heard her ask. 

You ignored it. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was my dad’s.” Her voice went sharp. 

“What kinda father lets his baby play with such sharp objects?” You said in between sarcastic snickers. 

“He’s fucking dead, who cares.” 

You finally looked up at her sharp tone, examining her tense face, and your playful smile slowly dropped. She tried to appear as if mentioning it didn’t bother her, but you recognized that look in her eye from anywhere. Grief fucking sucks, no matter how much time passed.

“… Hm.” 

You looked down at the blade again, then back up at her, “He taught you how to… handle it?” 

She shrugged, her brows raising as her arms crossed over her chest. You nodded. 

Your arm was suddenly incredibly itchy. “Mine taught me how to… draw n’stuff.” 

You looked off to the side awkwardly as you reminisced on the first pack of colored pencils he’d bought you. You remembered how particular he was about the art utensils and their conditions. You didn’t realize that he was trying to ensure their quality because he couldn’t afford another pack until you got older.

Always make sure these bastards are sharpened! That’s true precision!

“… Cool,” you heard her say, and you looked at her, “Were you guys, uh, close?” 

“Mhm,” You nodded stiffly, and silence surrounded the two of you. Ellie awkwardly nodded as she stared at the floor, and your lips twitched before you turned to stare out the window.

Some time passed in pure silence before you heard her speak. 

“… Still wanna, uh… D’you still wanna fuck?” 

You looked at her as she fumblingly scratched the back of her head. Her eyes met yours as her ears burned. You grinned as your shoulders rose.

“Up to you.” 

“Like… I still wanna if you do,” She nibbled on her bottom lip. 

You leaned back in her mom’s seat. 

“Ellie.” 

The deep tone of your voice made her look up, her eyes shining like crystals as her arms dropped to her sides. 

“Yes?” 

“… C’mere.” 

She moved, her sock-covered feet padding on the floor until she was in front of you. 

You looked up at her, your hand coming up to play with the hem of her sweater. 

You spoke softly, “Off. C’mon.” 

She grabbed the back of her top and lifted it over her head, her bare chest jiggling with her movements. She tossed the fabric to the floor. 

You eyed her chest like you were going to swallow her whole, her perky nipples urging you to reach out and pull on them. Her pussy is so fucking sensitive; Were her nipples just as bad? Worse? Could she cum just from you touching them? Fuck, she probably could—

“Are they… Do you like them?” 

Her soft whisper cut through your gawking. You met her eyes through your lashes as she squirmed in front of you. 

Your hands came up to grab her hips, massaging them gently. 

“Yeah, baby. They’re so pretty, fit you perfectly.” 

She sighed in content, “T-Thank you.” 

You planted a soft kiss to her tummy as you looked at your thumb around the elastic of her pants to pull them down. 

Her stomach jerked with every sharp breath as your lips moved on her bare skin. You felt her hand come up to your shoulder to grasp it as she stepped out of her pants. 

Your hands traveled upward to grab both her tits in a rough squeeze. She wheezed and arched her back so you could get closer. You heard her murmur a quiet fuckme, and you looked up. She was watching your every move with wide, curious eyes. You held her gaze as you licked up her torso, and she whimpered. 

You brought your hands back down to grab the back of her thighs, moving her closer to your lap. She placed her hands on your shoulders as she climbed on top of you, and you sucked her nipple into your mouth. 

She grinded down onto you and moaned, and your eyes fluttered shut. Your tongue made circular movements on the pert bud, and you hummed at the taste of her soft skin. Her head fell forward as she gasped right in your ear, and it made you suck on her hard. 

Her hips were jerking on top of you, trying to fuck down onto your clothed thigh as her nails plunged into your back. 

“Feels so… mmh!”

You brought your hand back up to her other tit and played with her nipple with your fingers. 

And then you slapped it. Hard. 

She let out a sharp squeak and mindlessly bounced on top of your leg; You could feel a slight dampness building on your jeans, and you scoffed at her, sneering when you pulled away. You hit her other tit just as hard, your spit transferring onto your palm. 

“Ah! Fuckfuckfu— “

Smack!

“Yes!”

SMACK!

She squealed. “M’gonna cum!”

You reached up to slap her face before pulling her hair to the side with a tight fist. 

You quickly grabbed her switchblade off the desk and unlatched the blade, the sharp edge popping up. You instantly pressed it to her neck, and she choked on a ragged pant. 

The lust in her eyes was accompanied by fear, and you grinned. 

“Don’t get scared now. You were waving it around earlier. So ready to fight, huh?” 

She shuddered, rutting down on your leg again, and you pressed the sharp edge into her skin harder. Her eyes shut tight, and two fat tears fell down her cheeks. She nearly bounced on you. 

“I could fuck you up right here, you know that, right?” 

“Please, mommy, needa cu—!”

You moved the knife away and released her hair, slapping her in the face again. “Shut the fuck up, you nearly slit my fuckin’ throat and now you wanna fuck. I should leave right now, fucking brat.”

She sobbed, “Nonono, please don’t leave, mommy don’t go, m’sorryI’m— “

“Mommy, don’t go!” you mocked. “Get on your fuckin’ knees.” 

You kept the blade pressed against her jugular as she clumsily shuffled to the floor, her cries shaking her body. 

“You wanna apologize?” She nodded jerkily, minding the silver edge on her vein.

“Yeah? Wanna make mommy feel better?” You said with a mean pout. 

“Mhm!”

You sloppily kicked your boots off and shoved them under the desk. 

“Take m’pants off, baby. C’mon.”

She moved quickly, unbuttoning and tugging your jeans and underwear down your legs as she sniffled. She yanked them off with a hard tug, and her eagerness made you giggle as you lifted your hips. You unzipped your jacket and pulled it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor, leaving you in your black tank top. You could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of a grin on her face as she eyed your breasts before she dived towards your cunt. 

You shoved the knife closer against her, and you saw blood pool at the edge of the blade. She looked up at you with an anxious expression. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me. Ask nicely.” 

She looked confused as she mumbled brokenly, “Ask you what?”

Your brows furrowed at her, “My mistake. You probably never had to ask for shit in your life.” 

Her bruised cheeks glowed red as she looked down in embarrassment. 

You grinned slyly. “Say, mommy, may I eat your pussy, please?” 

Shock overtook her expression before she rolled her eyes at you and looked to the side.

“You’re fucking cra— “

You yanked her dark hair back and pointed the end of the blade against her bruised jaw. Her ragged breaths hit your face.

“Say it.” 

“Y-You're not gonna hurt me,” she stated unsteadily. 

“You don’t know shit about me, and even if I did hurt you, you’d want it. Admit it.” 

She avoided your gaze and her lips quivered. 

You continued. “You’d let me do anything I want because you’re disgusting. A filthy fucking slut with a silver spoon in her mouth.”

You huffed at her with a frown. “And you like girls. You’d be just as worthless as I am in her eyes if she found out.” 

You nodded over to her mother’s nameplate, and her eyes shut like she was a child getting scolded for stealing candy at the store. 

“I’m right, baby? You don’t want a husband? Don’t wanna get bred for the empire like she wants?”

She shamefully shook her head as tears fell down her face. You didn’t even know if she was in that circumstance or not, but by her reaction, it seemed to cut her deep. You ignored the searing pain in your chest.

“Mhm, so,” you turned her head so she could look at you, her red eyes burning through yours. “Something you wanna ask me?” 

Her mouth dropped open in submission.

“M-Mommy, may I… May I eat your pussy, please?” 

You smiled in satisfaction, placing a gentle kiss on her wet forehead. 

“Yes, baby, you may.” 

You pulled the knife away from her and set it on the desk, grabbing her chin to plant a kiss to her mouth. She whined happily into yours. 

You pulled back and adjusted your position, leaning back with your legs spread, the underside of your knees hooked into the armrests of the seat, your cunt on full display for her. Your sopping pussy was right next to her face, and you saw her eyes flutter in delight. 

“Want me t’show you how?” 

She nodded intensely. 

You brushed away the flyaway hairs on her forehead, your hand planted on the back of her head. 

“Spit on my clit, babe. Get it nice n’wet.” 

She released a glob of spit right onto your pulsing bud,

and you sighed as it dribbled down to your hole. You tilted her head back, remnants of slobber collecting on her chin. You gathered spit in your mouth and pulled her lower lip down, her mouth falling open. You spat onto her tongue, and she moaned, tilting her head down to spit it out all over your pussy. You bit your lip so hard; you almost drew blood.

You reached down and spread your lips, your throbbing clit poking through. You could see her trembling as she eyed you. 

“Wanna taste, Ellie?”

“Yeah, please, mommy,” she choked out. 

“Lick me, then, honey.” 

She wasted no time, the tip of her tongue circling around the nub instantly. Your mouth fell open at the sensation. The pink muscle was so soft, the licks slow and gentle, barely there. 

“Doing so good, baby, take your time,” you sighed out. 

She keened at your praise; her lashes flitted like butterfly wings in Spring as she rubbed your clit in deep licks. 

“Fuck, Ellie, s’so sensitive,” she whined against you, eyes begging for your approval as she watched your expression. You caressed her burning cheek with your pointer finger, and she licked deeper.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it, making me so happy,” her eyes rolled shut as she tongued you, sliding her tongue all over your pussy in slow strokes. 

You moaned out every time she came up to lap at your clit. You guided her head down to your hole, and her tongue slipped inside, slurping up all your slick. You were gasping her name out as her tongue wiggled inside you, swirling all over your walls. 

“Such a good girl, fuck, El!” you groaned out as wet sounds filled the room. “Wanna make mommy cum?”

She hummed excitedly and nodded, her tongue moving back up to massage your clit. You tightened her grip on her head, forcing it to move back and forth her hums shaking your clit. 

She moved her head faster against you when she sucked your clit into her mouth, and your head fell back against the chair as your eyes rolled back. Your thighs were shaking, toes curled as you squealed out encouragement. You needed to cum, she was going to make you cum!

“Get me there, pretty, m’— gonna make me fuckin’ cum— “

“Wan’mommy’s cum, please?” she sloppily murmured against you. 

“Gonna get it, baby, m’right there! —“

She was fully moaning all over your clit, “Gonna fuck you so good, angel, fuck yes!”

You peeled your eyes open and looked back down at her when she released your clit to moan aloud. Her drool and your pussy juice were all over her pink lips as she sighed and whimpered in pleasure. You couldn’t see what she was doing, but her forearm was moving frantically as quiet shhlcks filled the room. 

“Ellie.”

“Mommym’gonnacum— “

“I swear to g— “

“S’so wet, oh god, please!” 

SMACK!

Her head flew onto your thigh at your hard slap to her face, and she screamed out as her body tensed up. You watched her with a scowl as she squealed out m’cummimgsohardmommy against your skin, a puddle of drool forming on your skin. 

You yanked her hand out of her boxers, and she whined in protest as her orgasmed died, her hips bucking back into the air. You stood up, pulling her up by her waist and bending her over the desk, holding her down by her neck. 

“Stop fucking with me, Ellie.” You pulled her boxers down under her ass, taking in the sight of her still pulsating cunt and her twitchy ass. 

She spat at you over her shoulder, “Or wha— “

SMACK!

She groaned out in pain against the wood when your hand connected with her asscheek in a fiery slap, your hand burning. 

“Motherfuc— “

SMACK! 

You hit her and hit her. And hit her again. And again. Until she was jerking away from you, her hips bucking against the desk and your handprints covering her ass in a cherry-red tint. 

You don’t even remember how many times you slapped her, but she was sobbing out apologies against the desk, asking for your forgiveness over her tears.

“You done fucking around?” Your hand felt like it was in flames when you dropped it on the desk.

“Yesyes, mommy, I won’t—sob— won’t fuck up again!” 

“I was actually gonna eat your pussy out,” you scoffed out nastily, and she only cried harder at the insinuation that you weren’t anymore. “You don’t want that, you don’t want me fucking nice.” 

You pulled away and walked towards your discarded

bag on the floor, digging through it and pulling your dick out, stepping into and adjusting the straps as you watched her bruised ass jiggle with each wail. 

Your dick stood up as you walked back over to her. You gave her one last hard slap on her marked ass and pulled her up by her arm, shoving her onto her knees in front of you so she was trapped between you and the desk. 

You could see her wiping away tears, but you grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at you. 

“You want dick so bad? Get it wet so I can fuck you.” 

Shock appeared on her face.

“Y-You’re gonna fuck me with that?” You watched her inspect the size of you. The length, the girth, all the ridges. Her breathing got heavier the longer she stared.

“Now you’re fucking scared, really, Ellie?”

“I’m not sca— “

“Talk back again, and I’m leaving. You’re getting on my fucking nerves.” 

She glared at you, but looked down, straight at your tip, then back at you. 

And then she spit on it, a fat glob of saliva dribbling down the sides of your cock. Her hand came up to wrap around the base, rubbing her spit into the silicone. She held eye contact with you as she stuck her tongue out. You reached down and placed your hand on top of hers, slapping your tip on her slobbery muscle. 

“Good fucking whore, good n’sloppy,” you let go to pat her still-red cheek with a heavy hand, and her pretty eyes hardened, her blush deepening. She dropped her mouth open, her lips curling on the tip as she sucked on it. You bit your lip as you watched her tongue swirl around you.

She moaned around the silicone, her eyes filthy. Her hand spread her spit up all over you as she took in your inches slowly, jerking you off and slobbering on you at the same time. She looked like a fucking pornstar, like she practiced for this, like she wanted to impress you, and you shook like you could actually feel her mouth. Your pussy was desperate to cum, but you pushed it aside and watched her. 

She released you with a wet pop, her tongue flicking around your tip like she was lapping at your cum, and you couldn’t stop the moan that left your mouth. 

“Nasty slut, goddamn— “

She smiled like you just called her the prettiest girl in the world before sucking you back in, her head bobbing up and down as she slurped you up. There was so much spit on your length that it started dripping onto the floor.

You bucked forward, your hips moving on autopilot, and she choked on you, her hand coming up to your thigh to squeeze it. You ignored her grasp and fucked into her mouth harder, pinning both her arms above her head on the desk. She gargled around your dick, and you could only imagine the tightness of her throat with each gag. 

“What, baby? Don’t like it? Want me t’stop?” You gritted out. And you thrusted deeper. She moaned and her mouth opened wider.

She was making wet noises around you, her head thudding against the top drawer of the desk when you fucked in. You fucked your entire cock down her throat, and she gagged hard. 

You pulled out and let her go.

She fell forward and coughed hard, her drool pooling down on the eggshell floors as she choked. You watched in irritation as she heaved.

“Get up,” her gasps slowed as she breathed in deeply, and she lifted her head to glare at you from her hunched position. 

“Get up.” 

“Fuck you,” she spluttered.

“I’m gonna. Get up.”

Despite her bitterness, she slowly stood and instantly bent over the desk with her scarred ass poked out towards you. You chuckled when you saw both her holes pulse in excitement.

“That’s how it is?” you slapped her asscheek, and her hips bucked back against your hand. 

“Uh huh,” you heard her crackly mumble dazedly. “Need you t’make me cum.”

“Seemed alright doing it yourself a few minutes ago.”

She ignored you, and you smirked, “Need your cock, mommy, pleeease, please— “

You reached out, running two fingers over her drenched slit, and she pressed back on them as she sighed in pleasure. You slowly slid your fingers down to her clit, and she moaned aloud, her thighs jerking. 

“Look at this fucking pussy, jesus.” 

“I-It’s pretty?”

“Yeah, baby, fuck,” your mouth watered when you saw her walls clench. “Can’t even be mad, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then fuck me,” she whined out sweetly, looking at you over her shoulder. 

You leaned down until you were eye level with her pussy, her walls squelching and squeezing repeatedly. You bit your lip and kitty-licked her cunt, her slick painting your taste buds as her smell surrounded you, and she jumped at the feeling. 

“Taste like fucking honey.” 

“So do you, made me so wet,” she exhaled as she shivered in anticipation. 

“S’gonna hurt,” you whispered, more to yourself as you eyed her tightness. 

“Don’t care.” She pushed back on your face.

“Put your hands behind your back. Don’t move them.” 

She shuddered and obeyed instantly, her hands overlapping at the wrists at the small of her back. 

You pressed one last kiss to her pussy before standing upright, “You move your hands, I stop.”

“Not gonna move, mommy,” she whispered in between unsteady breaths. “Make me feel good, please. Please, please.”

“Shh. Got you, baby. Open your legs,” you caressed her back and she squirmed. You felt goosebumps rise all over her skin, and you smirked.

The gap between her thighs widened even more for you, her cunt on full display. You could hear her beckoning you to pop the tip inside her in tiny, desperate whispers, and it made your core clench. 

You inched closer to her until the back of her thighs pressed against the front of yours. You wrapped a hand around your wet dick and brought it up to her slit, soaking it in her gooey slick and sliding it between her silky lips. Her cunt was already soaking your entire length and you didn’t even fuck her yet. She was subtly pushing back on you, trying to get you inside her. 

You heard the enthusiasm in her voice when she keened, “Mommy, please, it’s right there!”

“Mhm, I know, I see it,” you mumbled wetly, her gooey cunt looked so pretty under the light of the city, shining like glitter.

“Making mommy so wet baby, such a pretty girl,” you brought your cock back up to her slit and pushed forward, slowly popping the tip in her snug opening. She squealed loudly, and you saw her fists clench at the end of her spine as her walls clung to you, pulling you in.

“Yesyesyes, oh god, mommy, fuck, uh huh!”

“Yeah, baby? It hurts?” 

“Nooo, feels s’good, oh shit! —“

You slowly pushed in another inch, gauging her reaction for any discomfort, your thumb moving on her hip softly. She tried to push back to take you deeper, but you held her hips down.

“Fuck mefuckmefuckme— “

“Gonna be my good girl, baby? Gonna take it nice’n deep?” 

“Yeah, mommy!”

You pushed in even deeper, and you could feel the resistance of her cunt the more you slid in. You couldn’t stop the moan you released when she said your name. 

“Y-You’re splitting me open, ffuck— “

You pressed in the last bit of your dick, her ass resting at the top of your thighs, your hands propping you up on the desk as you leaned above her, placed on either side of her head. She was sighing heavily in satisfaction, and you could see her glossy eyes rolling. 

“Feelin’ good?”

She nodded slowly, “U-Use me, mommy, please use me t’cum, fuck.”

“Gotta take care of my girl first,” you fucked out of her slowly before snapping your hips, fucking all your inches back into her, and she screamed. “Such a tight pussy.”

You bent down to kiss her pretty back, down her spine as you stroked her deeply. You’d barely completed your fourth stroke before you felt Ellie tense up under you, her body shuddering as she moaned quietly to herself. You snickered at her. 

“Baby’s cumming?” you licked up her spine again. 

You could only see her nod in jerky headshakes from where you stood, her cheek pressed against the desk. You looked down at where you were connected, and you could see how her walls struggled to choke your dick. You grabbed her wrists in one hand and fucked her through her orgasm, your free hand sneaking under her hips to rub her clit. 

The second her body relaxed, you saw the muscles in her back flex again, the arch in her back deepening, “Mommy, think—m’cumming again, oh god, motherfu— “

“How many are you gonna give me, angel?” you rubbed her clit faster, fucking in harder. 

“I feel it, I feel it, fuck!” She wasn’t listening to anything you were saying as she yelled in her pleasure. You could see how much she was wetting your cock, lines of her slick forming every time you pulled out of her. You angled your hips downward when you fucked back in, and she shouted your name out, her warnings of her orgasm echoing in your ears. You released her clit and pinned her down by her neck again. 

“Like it right there, baby? That’s the spot?” You could feel your core squeezing with every cry she let out, her voice completely broken, her squeals scratchy. 

She was babbling about something, but you weren’t listening, the squelchy sounds of her cunt increasing in volumes as you forced your dick in her, stirring her guts up. 

You looked down and saw her ass squeezing with every quiver of her cunt, and you licked your lips. You let her wrists go and brought a hand to your mouth, sucking your thumb in to wet it before rubbing her ass with it. 

She let out a loud slew of ah ah ahs before you felt a burst of wetness on your thighs, dripping down onto the floor. Her entire body was jerking back onto your, her rosy ass jiggling every time she hit your hips. 

But then you heard a slam above her shouts of pleasure and mommy!

You looked up to check on her unsteady form as she continued to drench your lap, her hand resting on the back of her mother’s nameplate, her fingertips digging into the wood as she screamed in her euphoria. 

It made you fuck her harder and pull her hand away from the dog tag. You didn’t even care about punishing her anymore, you needed to cum. You’d been riding that edge since you got here, and you knew you were going to cum so hard.

You leaned over her body and grinded into her, moving her hand away from the plate and sitting back up in its position. You grabbed her by her spit-coated chin so she could look dead at her mother’s name. She whimpered and tried to look away from it, but you tightened the grip on her face to keep her still. 

“Look at it, baby— “

She sobbed, murmuring how hard she was about to cum again, her eyes fluttering as she stared at it, her cheeks glowing like apples.

You bent down to her ear, “You embarrassed, angel? Huh? Wanna close your eyes? Gonna squirt on me again?”

She was looking dead at the plate, “You’re so deep, mommy, fuck yes, m’gonna!—“

“Nasty fucking slut, taking it so good,” You looked up at the clear window as your thrusts picked up pace again, the entire city shining through the glass in all its glory. Every light of every building, people roaming, honking, noises of construction. It was all beneath you, and it was all theirs. The strap was bumping on your clit with each thrust. 

“Look at your city, baby,” you lifted her weightless head by her wild, knotted hair and made her look into the distance as you groaned in pleasure. “Gonna be all yours one day, can do whatever you want with it soon.”

“Fuuuck— “

“Uh huh, you like having that power? You can get whatever the fuck you want— “

“M-Mommy!”

“Just need a baby, right? Gonna g-give her what she wants? Gonna give her that precious heir, that golden child?”

“Yesyesyes! Wan’your baby, ge’me fucking pregnant!”

You moaned at her begging as you babbled mindlessly to her, “Gonna cum in you, fuck, need it… t’catch— “

She was screaming about how your seed was going to catch in her womb, how hard she was going to squirt again, begging you to fuck her harder, hurt her, make her bleed, make her scream. You could feel your senses leaving as your orgasm built as she pushed back on you, and you moaned her name in her ear. 

“Fuuuck, Ellie,” your clit jerked, and you let her go, her head falling onto her arm in front of her as she yelled in euphoria. “Gonna make that bitch raise my fuckin’ kid while I’m gone? Huh?”

She didn’t even react to your slip of your departure, “Yeahyesyesyes! Fuck, I’m cumming!”

You felt another spray of liquid drip down your legs as you drilled her, and it triggered your own orgasm. Your clit jerked as your release rushed through you, your walls clenching as your body shook on top of hers, grinding against her to ride it out. You could almost feel the sensation of filling her up, her cunt sucking your cum deep inside her. 

She was still moaning above you, wringing the last bits of her orgasm out on your cock. You whined against her sweaty skin, the aftershocks moving through you. 

You felt her go completely lax underneath you, heavy sighs leaving her parted lips. 

You both caught your breaths in soothing silence. 

After Ellie asked you to show her how to kiss properly, the pounding of your heart refused to slow down. 

You were seated in her mother’s chair once more, her wetness still coating you in stickiness as she straddled your lap, her arms around your neck as she gazed at you nervously.

“We just fucked, why do you look like that?”

Her brows creased, “Like what?”

“Like you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to your lips before looking back up at you. 

You only hummed at her, brushing your noses together before leaning forward, grabbing the back of her neck to pull her down to you. Her eyes shut tightly, and her lips puckered in front of yours, and you pulled back, grabbing her face to stop her.

“Stop doing that, just relax.” 

“… What’d I do?”

You mimicked her, poking your lips out stiffly before breaking out into a grin. She huffed with a tiny smile, shaking her head, “Sorry.”

You shrugged, uncaring. She looked down, “Where do I put my tongue?” 

You snorted, “Nowhere yet.”

You craned your neck up slowly and connected your mouth with hers gently, your lips molding against hers. She sighed and leaned closer into you, her arms tightening around the back of your neck. You felt a sharp sting in your chest at her delicate touch, and you pulled away. A soft smack filled the room when you separated. She smiled softly, “That was cute.” 

You nodded stiffly, murmuring a mhm, before looking down. Out the window. Behind her. Anywhere but her eyes. 

You felt her nuzzle against your cheek, kissing it gently, “Are we… uh, fucking again?” 

“You want to?” The pounding in your ears was giving you a headache. 

You felt her nod. Another kiss to your cheek. Another pull in your heart. 

Your hands planted on her hips, lifting them so she could sit on you, but she grabbed your wrists to stop you. 

Her hands latched onto the hem of your shirt, attempting to pull it up and over your head, but your hand caught her wrist. Not harshly, but stern.

Her eyes softened at your masked expression, releasing the gentle grip on your shirt, “I’m, uh… I’m sorr— “

“It’s fine. Ready?” you grabbed the base of your dick in your hand, and she mumbled a quiet yes. 

You felt her hand come on top of yours as she helped you guide it to her entrance, and your breath shook as you exhaled.

Her hips came down on you at her own pace, your free hand resting on her hip. She gasped when it slipped inside, her hands coming to support herself on each armrest. 

“Feels different like this,” she whispered huskily.

You smirked, “I know, take your time.” 

She nodded, slowly sinking down on you. You saw her eyelids get heavy as her walls caught on every ridge of you, her head falling back in her pleasure. Her soft locks disheveled all over her head, her bun nonexistent as her bobby pins stuck out from every direction. 

She slid in too deep, though. She let out a pained gasp as she caught herself on the chair, her brows furrowing. 

“Okay?” you checked in.

She nodded, her lip in between her teeth, “So deep like this, fuck… don’t know if I can go all the way down.”

“It’s fine, babe, make yourself feel good.” 

“H-Help me?” her breathing was picking up as her hips bucked. 

Your other hand flew to her hips, digging into her soft skin as you guided her hips on you. You eased her into a deep grind, and her hands flew behind you, landing on the headrest behind you. 

Her head rested in the crook of your neck as she followed your movements, her wet moans hitting the side of your neck. The sensation of her breath on your skin made your pussy clench. 

“Am I—gasp—doing good, m-mommy?” 

“Fucking me so good, baby, shit,” you whispered in her ear, and she moaned aloud in yours. She sped up on you, the harness digging into your clit with each swivel of her hips. 

Your hands moved down to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks before slapping them, grabbing the plush of them in your hands. She fucked you harder, and you felt her spit drip on your neck as she wailed into your skin. You threw your head back on the headrest when she sucked on your neck, right on your open scar.

She lifted her head up and looked at you with gentle eyes, her hands moving down from the headrest to grab your cheeks in a soft touch. She was panting on your mouth, her lips brushing against yours with every jump on you. She was so close and she smelled so good, her lips soft. 

She whispered dreamily, “Can’t stop cumming— “

Your eyelids fluttered, “Then don’t. Give it to me, m’so close— “

She grinded harder as she leaned down to connect your lips in a honey-sweet kiss. You reciprocated against your brain's desires. 

Push her away. She’ll never be yours! This is all she wants from you!

Tears built in your eyes as your peak approached, her moans increasing in urgency against your mouth. You sucked on her bottom lip, biting it hard. This is the most eager you’ve felt since you touched her. 

“Cum with me, pleasepleaseplease— “

“I’m gonna, baby, fuck me hard!”

She was going crazy on your dick, full-on bouncing on you, taking it all despite her protests earlier, and you felt yourself tipping. Your pussy squeezed and soaked the harness as your orgasm pulled in your gut. You looked down at your cock, and it was drenched in her white, sticky substance. She was creaming all over your cock as she used you. It made your eyes cross in your skull as your euphoria hit you. 

You were so loud as your nails tore into her skin, your moans matching hers in volume. You felt another splash of fluid on you, and you came harder, another wave crashing through you. You would’ve curled in on yourself if she wasn’t on top of you. 

You felt her tongue slide into your hungry mouth, swirling around yours as you shouted through your high. She was making you feel so good, and you couldn’t fucking think. 

You felt like you were cumming for minutes before the harsh pulses slowed into soft twitches, her hips slowing, and she bent down to kiss you. The touch was soft, sweet, undeserved. You stiffened, on guard immediately. 

She was close, she was too close. Her soft caresses on your face snapped you out of your intoxication, pulling away from her mouth and grabbing her hips to pull her off your dick. 

“T-Turn around, Ellie.”

“Huh?” she asked softly, her eyes teary and delicate. 

“T-Turn around,” your voice trembled.

“O-Okay.”

She was too fucking close. 

She lifted off you, planting her feet on the ground and you spun her. You pulled her down on your lap, her ass in front of your cock. You grabbed your tip, pushing it past her entrance, and she mewled. She took it with ease, mewling out as her back arched into you, swallowing you whole as she sunk down again. 

She planted her hands on your knees and immediately bounced on you, her toned ass meeting the base of your harness with every jump on your cock. 

You could see her pussy suck on your inches, suffocating your girth, her walls clinging to you. 

You grabbed her neck and pushed her forward slightly, and she cried out in painful pleasure. You planted your feet on the floor and fucked up into her. 

“Fuck! Your dick feels so fucking good! Oh my—agh!”

You saw even move cream spread over your dick with every fuck inside her squishy walls. You were moaning with her, fucking her harder, faster, the hand on her neck moving up to pull her hair hard. The sound of wet skin slapping accompanied the sounds you both made in your pleasured state. 

You were going to cum so fucking quick, “Fuck, Ellie, shit— “

“I’m gonna cum so hard, mommy!” your hand in her hair flew down to her hip, grinding her down harder on you. You moaned at the feeling.

“Yeah? Already?” You were right behind her, those euphoric waves pulling in your gut.

“Fuck—fuckyes!”

“Want it so bad, get it all over this fucking dick, baby— “

Her hand that'd been playing with her tits flew down on top of yours on her waist, her fingers lacing with yours tightly as she shouted, screaming your name. She met your harsh thrusts as she bounced, and she squirted on you again, and you watched it gush out of her, wetting your stomach and harness and the chair beneath her, the sound of splattering liquid on the floor making you cum the hardest you ever had. Your vision whitened as your orgasm crushed you. 

She kept cumming on you, and you kept cumming for her. The pleasure didn’t stop, and all you could do was scream her name out like she did yours, hold her hand tighter as your brain melted. She rocked back and forth on you, prolonging your orgasm, making you cum harder. It just kept building in intensity, the aggressive pulses wracking through you, your toes curling as she milked you, and all you could do was take it.

You blacked out in her mom’s chair, the last thing you remember seeing was her pulsing, squirting pussy, pulsing ass, and the auburn stars that painted her entire back. 

Some time passed, your lashes fluttering open as you felt soft touches on your face. 

You were met with delicate, green eyes, Ellie looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen in years. It felt foreign, deep, and it made your heart pick up in panic. 

You pulled away from her touches and looked around unsteadily. 

She was too close. Too fucking close.

The office was a mess: clothes everywhere, the floor was soaked, the whole room smelled like sex and pussy, desk askew, its contents thrown everywhere, Ellie’s tears and puddles of spit all over the surface. You could even see splatters of… her on her mother’s restraining order against you. 

You were suddenly terrified, moving into action and guiding her off your lap so you could stand. You undid the straps of your dick and stepped out of it, cringing at the drying stickiness, and throwing it into your backpack.

You heard her speak from behind you, “Hey, hey, you okay? What’s wr— ‘

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine, I gotta go,” you said tensely. Unwelcoming. Guarded.

“Did… did I do something?” She sounded too soft, too gentle. 

“No, Ellie, I just, I gotta go,” You dressed erratically, pulling your underwear up and jeans on, wincing at your cum sticking to your garments. 

You could hear the crack in her voice, “Can I… do you need help or— “

“Ellie, I’m fucking fine. I’m fine, okay? Forget it.” You spat over your shoulder as you repacked. Don’t look at her, don’t fucking look at her. 

She sounded just as anxious as you did, “W-Why are you so upset with me all of a sudden? What’d I do— “

“You didn't do shit! Can you fucking drop it please!”

Her breath shuddered, “I thought… I thought we were… okay?” 

You whipped around to face her, an incredulous look on your face. Your heart shattered when she flinched, but you yelled at her anyway. Why the hell did you look at her?

“Why the fuck would we be okay?! Did you forget how we fucking met in the first place!” You pointed behind her to the soiled court order, “We’re never going to be fucking okay! Get that through your fucking head.” 

You reached down to grab your heavy bag, throwing it over your shoulder in a hurry. You felt like you were going to suffocate. You needed to go. Right now. You turned towards the door. You hadn’t even shut it all the way when you came in. 

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” 

Your own tears fell at the dejected acceptance in her voice. She sounded so broken, and it was all your fault. 

But you knew this was for the best. The two of you could never exist together in bliss, even though meeting her was the most human you’ve felt since you were a child. Since your father was alive. 

But you were too different, too damaged. All you would do is hurt each other, you would resent each other, grow to hate, to regret. The world was too cruel, and she was not prepared for its harshness. You were barely prepared, and you lived it every day. And you promised yourself to never go through the despair of loss again. You walked towards the door and heard her release a quiet sob. 

“No,” you pulled the knob, the spacious hallway being another reminder that you didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere. Her mother was right. 

You were worthless. Held no value in this society. 

In another life, you could’ve been something great. Your cards could’ve been different, better. You could’ve made your father proud. The two of you could’ve been happy.

“You won’t.” 

You left the same way you came, moving in urgency before her sobs lured you back to take her in your arms, against your will. 

Maybe in another life. 

hi lol OOOOOOWEEEEE 

this was heavy sorry gworlies i love sad shit 

don’t hate me too much? 

omg tell me what y’all thought or whatever *looks away shyly 

thank u 4 reading if u did :3

hi taglist love yall @cherriessxinthespring @ellieswifee @elliespookie @belovednanami @sevikasimp @saturnsellie

[aventurineswife]

Can you do Boothill x female reader who is based on Navia from genshin impact?

Two Sides of Justice

Summary: When Boothill crosses paths with you, a compassionate and determined leader fighting to bring justice to the oppressed, your lives become intertwined. Despite your differences, you form an unlikely partnership, balancing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. As you fight against the oppressive IPC and uncover each other’s vulnerabilities, a deeper bond forms, leading to hope for both a brighter future and a chance to heal from your haunted pasts.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Navia Caspar (Genshin Impact) based Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Enemies to Partners, Found Family, Mutual Healing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (family loss, destruction of home), Mild violence, Emotional vulnerability and themes of grief, Light suggestive themes (flirting and implied tension).

A/N: ... ☹️ The fact their voice actors are married, that's so cute

Boothill’s cybernetic hand gripped the hilt of his revolver as he leaned against a steel pillar, his eyes scanning the dimly lit tavern. The air was thick with tension, his presence drawing attention even in the seediest corners of the galaxy. His white hair, streaked with black, fell over his face, masking the intensity of his pupils. But it wasn’t the suspicious glares or hushed whispers that caught his attention—it was you.

You stood at the center of the room, radiating authority and warmth as you addressed a crowd of weary workers. Your ornate attire was immaculate, yet practical, reflecting a life of balancing elegance and hard work. The details of your dress shimmered under the dim lighting, a striking contrast to the grim faces around you.

Boothill’s sharp teeth formed a faint grin as he watched you. “She doesn’t belong here,” he muttered to himself. Yet, the conviction in your voice as you spoke of justice and solidarity stirred something in him—a feeling he hadn’t entertained in years.

You felt the weight of the room’s eyes on you but focused on the desperate crowd. These people needed hope, and you were determined to provide it. Your father had taught you that even in the darkest times, a beacon could guide the lost.

“Together, we can rebuild,” you said, your voice unwavering. “No one person can take on the galaxy’s injustices alone, but as a united front, we’re unstoppable.”

As the crowd began to disperse, you noticed him—a figure cloaked in shadows, his crimson scarf contrasting with his dark outfit. He looked dangerous, with his mechanical frame and predatory grin, yet his gaze wasn’t hostile. It was curious.

“You’ve got a way with words,” Boothill drawled as he approached, the spurs on his boots jingling with every step. His voice was low, rough, yet oddly comforting. “But words don’t mean much without action.”

You turned to face him fully, meeting his unsettling yet mesmerizing gaze. “Words inspire action,” you countered, your tone steady. “But I suppose you’re someone who prefers to shoot first and talk later?”

Boothill chuckled, tilting his hat back. “Guilty as charged. Name’s Boothill. What’s yours?”

You hesitated, but there was something genuine in his demeanor, beneath the cocky exterior. “[Name],” you replied. “And what brings you here, Boothill? Besides stirring up trouble?”

“Trouble follows me, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m here ‘cause I heard someone’s been takin’ on the big shots, helpin’ the little folks. Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

Over the following weeks, Boothill became an unlikely ally. You were cautious at first, wary of his violent tendencies and his reputation as a wanted man. Yet, he surprised you with his unwavering dedication to protecting the innocent.

One night, after a particularly grueling mission, you found Boothill sitting by a fire, his usually guarded expression softened. You approached him, your jeweled umbrella doubling as a walking stick.

“Why do you fight, Boothill?” you asked, taking a seat beside him.

He didn’t answer immediately, staring into the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with emotion. “Because they took everything from me. My family, my home. I fight so no one else has to lose like I did.”

Your heart ached at his confession. Despite the hardened exterior, Boothill was driven by a deep pain, one that mirrored your own losses.

“You’re not alone in this,” you said gently, placing a hand on his mechanical arm. “You don’t have to carry that weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his black eyes glinting with something akin to hope. “Careful, sweetheart,” he said, his grin returning. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I might start thinkin’ there’s somethin’ worth fightin’ for.”

The partnership between you and Boothill became something more over time—a connection forged through shared battles and mutual respect. You balanced his fiery vengeance with your compassionate leadership, and he reminded you that sometimes, justice required a bit of grit.

One fateful night, as you stood atop a ruined IPC outpost, the stars above lighting the battlefield, Boothill turned to you.

“[Name],” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’ve fought a lotta battles, but none of ‘em felt like this. With you, it’s different. Like maybe I ain’t just fightin’ for revenge anymore.”

Your breath hitched at his words. Boothill, the vengeful cyborg cowboy, was baring his soul to you. You stepped closer, the warmth of his presence cutting through the cold night air.

“Boothill,” you replied, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest, “you’ve always been more than your pain. And together, we’ll prove that justice can triumph over vengeance.”

He smiled, a rare, genuine expression. “Guess I’ll stick around then, partner. Can’t let you save the galaxy without me.”

And as the stars bore witness, the two of you stood side by side, ready to face whatever the universe threw your way. Together.

[nathallly]

Spoilers For HSR and TWST!!

Sunday! Yuu. People have made the connection between him and Malleus sending everyone to a dream so not to experience the injustices and harsh realities of the real world.

And I havent seen the 2.7 story yet but I know that Sunday is now a fugitive and is going to join the astral express but what if he somehow gets isekaied into twisted wonderland.

And so I have some headcanons ( Sorry if somethings are inaccurate this is my first post like this )

Housewardans with Sunday! Yuu :

Riddle

He appreciates Sunday! Yuu’s Leadership and Knowledge and respects Sunday Yuu for mostly following the rules

Sunday! Yuu disargees with a decent amount of the rules due to how strict the punishment is for the most mundane things and dislikes the lack of freedom and authority that comes along but still follows the rules nonetheless

They understand it’s hypocritical of them to say the part about freedom and authority

Sunday! Yuu also respects Riddle for his leadership and dedication but disargees with the strictness of it all.

During book one, Sunday! Yuu has to confront their own childhood along with Riddle’s.

They both were manipulated and raised by parental figures in thier lives that forced down a harmful philosophy into them for their own gain

Like when Trey tells them about riddles mom Sunday! Yuu can picture Mr Gopher Wood.

And during the overbolt section with the flashbacks,Sunday! Yuu is fighting every urge for tears not to fall out of their eyes when seeing riddle’s childhood and seeing their’s and robin’s childhood along with it

Sunday! Yuu ends up sobbing with riddle while hugging him. They miss robin so much

After all that,Sunday! Yuu would try to help riddle be less strict on his dormmates and help him lead heartslabyul

Leona

Leona thought Sunday! Yuu was a stuck up before book 2

Leona also could tell something was off with Sunday ! Yuu so he was a bit wary of them

Sunday! Yuu saw him as a lazy and unfit leader before book 2 as well

With Sunday! Yuu kinda reminding him of Malleus yea they did not like each other

During book 2,Leona kinda respected Sunday! Yuu’s intelligence to come up with that plan but that also came with a scoopful of jealousy

When Sunday! Yuu saw the flashback sequence,They did sympathize leona but also saw it as leona giving up an already high position because he couldn’t get a higher one.

So in comparison to riddles heartfelt comfort,Sunday! Yuu actually had a debate (more like lecture) with leona about how being in second place is still in the leaderboard and how leona could actually make a difference if he tried

After all that,Leona respects Sunday! Yuu more but they still don’t really like each other.

Azul

Nuh uh, Sunday! Yuu doesnt like him from the start. Being the head of the oak family in penacony,they have met plenty of shady business people most from the ipc

On that note, Azul reminds Sunday! Yuu wayyyy too much of ipc Stoneheart Jade.Granting wishes for a price of equal value that ends up the price being way worse than the wish? Sunday! Yuu knows what azul wants and will refuse to give it under all circumstances.

Doesnt help that one of the tweels is named Jade too Sunday! Yuu almost had a heart attack after hearing his name lol

Azul is immensely curious about Sunday! Yuu and their halovain nature and their power of the harmony.Always sending the tweels to spy on Sunday! Yuu,but due to Sunday! Yuu’s experience with this kind of stuff they will always find their way out.

During book 3,Sunday! Yuu was scolding the firstyears nonstop about signing a contract with him. And was also pretty shocked about the merpeople and their forms.

During the flashback sequence, Sunday! Yuu would sympathize with azul but still would not forgive him for his actions and same with leona would have a lecture with him about how if others hurt you that doesnt justify you hurting others for your gain.

After all that, Sunday! Yuu still doesnt like azul but azul still respects and admires Sunday! Yuu’s power and ability.

Kalim

Kalim really likes Sunday! Yuu.Coming from the land of festivities, Sunday! Yuu’s sure knows how to organize a spectacular party.

Sunday! Yuu helps organize Kalims many partys and keeps him in check to the relief of Jamil

Sunday! Yuu finds Kalim quite enjoyable and sweet though pretty careless.

They also regularly checks out the Light Music Club and helps them with songs as they have experience with music due to working with robin

They sometimes sing there with the power of harmony but it took a long time to convince them to even try singing It brought back too many memories

I dont really have a lot for kalim Sorry! Because the overbolt was mainly for Jamil

Overall, Kailm and Sunday! Yuu like eachother pleasantly.

Vil

Vil likes Sunday! Yuu a fair bit. Sunday! Yuu has experience in the showbiz world from robin and understands alot of celebrity culture, beauty, social media etc so Vil sees Sunday! Yuu as a knowledgeable individual and respects them for that.

Sunday! Yuu respects Vil for his effort,determination and drive and often help him with management issues and other stuff of the like

During book 5,The first years begged for Sunday! Yuu to join VDC and eventually they caved.They actually got in as a performer due to their voice and experience with the field but they also became the producer of the competition on their own request.

Vil commitment to routine with his skincare, food, makeup reminded him much of himself and robin’s routine. Almost everything reminded them of robin, they miss her more than anything else

And when Sunday! Yuu saw Neige Le Blanc,they felt the urge to protect and hug him.The soft angelic glow and the sweet melodic voice was too much for Sunday! Yuu to handle.They were already having mental issues with everything reminding them of robin and with neige being very similar to robin Sunday! Yuu was having a mental breakdown ngl

And instead of Rook saving neige, Sunday! Yuu was the one to smack the apple juice out of neiges hand.The brotherly urge to protect was too strong even though it didnt really matter to Sunday! Yuu if Neige died or not.

During the flashback sequence ,Sunday! Yuu was dead slient,they were emotional but not as emotional with riddle’s.It still hit too close to home with all the acting and celebrity world.

This time Sunday! Yuu just had a mature conversation with vil about his jealousy and pride.

Idia

Idia thought Sunday! Yuu was an SSR morally grey villain ikemen in a video game.

Sunday! Yuu didnt even know who he was other than housewarden of Ignihyde and a social recluse.Though they’d often use Ignihyde technology due to that being the closest to the technology back in their world

But during Book 6, ooooh boy was it depressing,horrifying and dangerous all in a mechanical package.

The overbolt was insanly tough They almost exhausted all their energy to support the other housewardens.

And the flashback was chilling, The incident of ortho’s death, young idia’s wails and crys left Sunday! Yuu feeling horribly terrified,sortowful and empty.

They has experienced the loss of a family member since a young age too, and almost lost robin in penacony. What if like ortho, Robin had died when they were young? Would they be like idia today the thought was too horrible.

Sunday! Yuu didnt even say anything to idia afterwards but tears did fall from their face.

Malleus

Malleus is horribly down bad for Sunday! Yuu (platonic or romantic you decide).He is utterly curious about their halovain background, Malleus had actually thought Sunday! Yuu was a fae or an angel when he first met them.

Sunday! Yuu is also pretty interested in malleus and the mystery of who he is.As I said in the beginning they have some large similarities and they’d definitely get along.

They’d both rant to eachother about alot and theyd both listen to eachother and argee with eachother.

Malleus felt a real friend to Sunday! Yuu someone who understood them and their similarities often made them both seem seen by the other

Sunday! Yuu probably wouldn’t call Malleus tsunotarou, I’d imagine it’d be something like Mr draco/drago or something of the like

Book 7, Idk much about but Sunday! Yuu would essentially fight against a slightly different penacony and I’d think they’d have a different outlook on life to say the least.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have anything for high school cheerleading? Tips on writing sports-related work would be appreciated as well. Thank you!

Writing Notes: Cheerleading

Cheerleading - team activity in which elements of dance and acrobatics are combined with shouted slogans in order to entertain spectators at sporting events and to encourage louder and more enthusiastic cheering.

Once exclusively a sideline activity geared toward supporting school sports, cheerleading has gained recognition as a sport in its own right and often operates outside the school context altogether.

HISTORY OF CHEERLEADING

Although cheerleading is today predominantly associated with femininity, the original cheerleaders were men.

Cheerleading was connected to the emergence of gridiron football at Ivy League colleges and universities in the United States in the mid-1800s, and the growth and formalization of cheerleading paralleled that of football.

The first organized cheerleading squad was formed at the University of Minnesota. The squad, consisting of 6 male students, was tasked with leading crowd cheers and chants at football games.

Over the latter half of the 19th century, as attendance at college games grew, large stadiums were constructed, and spectators were distanced from the playing field.

Cheerleaders—or “yell leaders,”—led cheers from the sidelines both to encourage the spectators and to serve as a form of crowd control.

Cheerleading remained a male activity until the early 20th century when women began to participate (and the first megaphone was used), leading to the formation of the first all-female cheerleading squad at the University of Minnesota in 1923.

The megaphone made it easier for the spectators to recognize and take up the battle cries. With the entry of women, the nature of cheerleading changed:

Gymnastics, dance and even acrobatic elements were incorporated into the program, and cheerleading was introduced into high schools.

CONTEMPORARY CHEERLEADING

Cheerleading remains “feminine” not only in terms of its supportive sideline function but also in the performance and appearance demands placed on women:

short skirts

hair ribbons

makeup

the expectation to smile constantly and express enthusiasm

Competitive cheerleading - even more highly feminized than sideline cheerleading insofar as there is a heightened emphasis on showmanship and performativity.

Although there are stylistic variations among the cheerleading companies that oversee competitions, competition routines are typically:

loud,

fast, and

energetic.

They exude glitz, glamour, and glitter, particularly in the all-star context: bows are extra large, makeup is extra sparkly, and dance moves are brash and sexy.

Since the 1990s, “alternative” forms of cheerleading have emerged alongside the mainstream variants discussed above.

An extensive national network of adult LGBTI (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and intersex) teams (modeled after Cheer San Francisco, the oldest and largest) perform at community and gay pride events, and “radical cheerleaders,” groups of young feminist activists, use cheerleading as a vehicle for protesting social injustice.

Although less popular and less visible than mainstream cheerleading, such alternative groups similarly use the energy, spirit, and performativity of cheerleading to communicate with and influence audiences.

THE WARM UP

The warm-up involves moving the whole body, as well as individual joints. It consists of 4 main functions:

Warming-up

Preparation

Preventing injury

Building team spirit

STRETCHING

Over time, the following 2 stretching techniques have prevailed:

Active stretching - a self-directed stretch, i.e. a muscle is stretched because its antagonist is working.

Passive stretching - an other-directed stretch, i.e. it requires an external influence, e.g. a partner, piece of equipment, etc.

Both techniques can be further divided into static and dynamic stretching.

Basically, you should stick to the following points when stretching:

Always stretch calmly and gently

Always concentrate on the muscle being stretched

Always breathe regularly and calmly, increase the stretch when exhaling

Stretching should never be painful

The practice area temperature should be comfortable

MOTIONS

Motions - form the basis of many important cheerleading movement patterns.

High V - Arms are stretched above the head in a V shape.

Low V - Arms stretch downward to form an upside-down V.

T-Motion - Arms are stretched out to the sides; arms and body form a T shape.

Half-T - Arms are still at shoulder height, but in this motion, they are bent at the elbows instead of being fully extended to the sides.

Touchdown - This motion is so-called, because the football referee performs the same action after a touchdown. The cheerleader touchdown motion is, unlike that of the referee, performed with locked arms. Extend the arms above the head, with the upper arms almost touching the ears. The hands can form a fist or a blade, the important thing is that the palms of the hands face each other.

Right Diagonal - The right arm hits a High V and the left arm a Low V. The arms should form a straight line from the right fist to the left fist.

Left Diagonal - The left arm hits a High V and the right arm hits a Low V. The diagonal runs from top left to bottom right.

Right L - The arms form an L-shape. The right arm is in the Touchdown position and the left arm is in the T position.

Left L - The left arm is in the Touchdown position and the right arm is in the T position.

Punch - The right arm hits the Touchdown position close to the right ear and the left hand is placed on the left hip. The left hand forms a fist and the back of the hand faces forward.

Clap - The hands are held in the blade position and pressed together. The fingers are together and the hands are flat. The elbows are held close to the body.

Clasp - The hands clasp each other when they touch. The elbows are kept close to the body.

You can combine the motions together, thus giving new variations.

CHANTS

Chant - a combination of words and actions.

It is a kind of speech song consisting of very few words, used for encouragement.

Unlike cheers, chants can be shouted spontaneously throughout the game.

The crowd is supposed to shout the chants along with the cheerleaders, to support the team. The cheer team shouts the chant once by themselves and the second time, the crowd ought to join in. Examples:

"Defense Go!"

Defense: Take one step to the right with the right leg, then slap your thighs twice, shouting “DE-FENSE.” Lean forward slightly.

Go: On the word "Go," bring the left leg in and the feet together and the arms perform the motions shown. After the word “Go” there is a short pause. This chant is now performed in the other direction, i.e., starting with the left foot.

"Go, Fight, Win!"

Go: On the word “Go,” perform the K motion to the left, with the head facing forward.

Fight: On the word “Fight,” bring the right leg in and hit a High V with the arms.

Win: On the word “Win,” bring the arms down from a High V to a Low V. Make a lunge forward onto the left foot. Bend both knees and distribute your body weight evenly over both legs.

CHEERS

Cheers - consist of a combination of words and movements.

Much longer than chants and are not repeated.

Always consists of several lines, most of which rhyme.

Not only longer than a chant but also has a completely different purpose.

Tell a short, appropriate story and cannot just be inserted during the ongoing game, unlike the chant.

Only performed during the official time-outs or before and after a game, i.e., during a pause.

This should always be observed, for during a cheer, the cheer team wants to ensure that they have the crowd’s full attention during the cheer. This can only happen during a break.

Should always have a positive message to motivate the crowd and the team.

Examples of Cheers

"Come on Team"

Come on: Step forward onto the right foot, keeping the back straight and leaning forward. Outstretched arms are crossed in front of the body, knees are bent.

Team: The left leg is pulled into the pose, the left foot is next to the right knee so that the left knee points forward. The right arm hits the Touchdown motion and the left hand is placed on the left hip. The left elbow points backward.

"Let's be Proud"

Let's be: Make a lunge forward onto the right leg, so that you are kneeling on one knee, while crossing the arms in front of the body, and bending the head toward the floor.

Proud: The arms are stretched up into the High V position. The upper body is straight and the head is raised. The tip of the right foot touches the ground.

JUMPS

The role of the cheer team is always to entertain the crowd and to provide a good show.

A well-executed jump is particularly eye catching, and a successful, well-synchronized jump is a real crowd-pleaser.

Jump Phases

Every jump can be divided into 4 phases, and the cheerleader must master all four.

Preparation

Lift

Execution

Landing

Examples of Jumps

Tuck - In this crouch jump, the upper body remains upright and the legs are tucked up toward the upper body, with bent knees. Make sure that the feet are together. Take off from and land on both feet. The arm position can be changed and means that the arms can be held in either the High V or the Touchdown.

Toe Touch - Extend legs to the side immediately after take-off, and tilt her hip forward. The legs should be brought up as high as possible, making sure that the knees face upward and not forward.

Pike - The legs should be parallel to the ground. Immediately after takeoff, the legs are raised and straight. At the same time, bend your chest toward your legs. Straighten the arms and touch your toes with your hands. Don’t deliberately try to touch the toes, as this can prevent you from jumping as high as possible. In the Pike, both feet are together for take-off and landing.

DANCE

Dance has become the most important component of cheerleading for many teams. These teams are called dance teams. Most commonly used dance styles:

Jazz

Hip-Hop

Funk

Novelty

Character

STUNTS

Stunts - the formation of pyramids of various sizes with at least two people.

Double stunts - usually carried out by two people.

Partner stunts - by 3-4 people

Pyramids - by as many people as desired.

These numbers do not include spotters, of course, who must always be present at any kind of stunt.

In every stunt, there are 3 different roles:

Base - the person who remains on the ground in a stunt; supports another cheerleader (the mounter) on her hands, shoulders, back, arms or legs

Mounter - the person who does not have ground contact during the stunt, as she is standing on one or more other people

Spotter - additional person who supervises the whole proceedings but does not take part in the stunt; always stands where the mounter could fall, and, when necessary, intervenes and catches the mounter

Every stunt consists of 3 phases:

Set up

Execution

Dismount

STYLING

Hair and make-up naturally help to create a unified appearance, and they are part of the dress code along with clothing.

Every team decides for itself which hairstyle the members want to wear and how they want to make themselves up.

It is not necessary for all team members to wear the same make-up, as skin type, face shape and eye color differ from one person to another, so it is difficult to find make-up that suits everyone.

Deciding on a certain lipstick color and the intensity of the make-up can already go some way to ensuring a unified look. But these decisions are made by the team and the coaches. There are also teams whose cheerleaders wear identical make-up, which is also fine.

The main thing is that everyone understands the decisions and that everyone is totally present. Presence shows as soon as you step onto the field or the stage.

OTHER ELEMENTS

Music

Formations

Props

Tumbling

Tips on Writing about Sport

Tell a story. Sport is all about what-happens-next – an open-ended form of storytelling in its own right, presenting rags-to-riches parables, fairy stories, farces, thrillers, tragedies and cautionary tales, sometimes all at once. Books about sport should aspire to the same sort of narrative excitement. Triumph and disaster should remain in play until the final whistle.

Tell a larger story. While the game, the race or the tournament is afoot, sport can seem all-encompassing. But the best books manage to place sport in a larger frame. Write sport as something that ripples beyond mere winning and losing.

Have a central character. Imitate the action of the traditional novel by narrating the trials and tribulations of an individual life. It is not easy for stories about team sports to attain the level of human drama that belongs to individual adventures.

Take us behind the scenes. Readers love to peek through the curtains of what we see on television to glimpse real stories, real voices.

Look behind you. Modern sports pages have become promotional vehicles: today’s newspapers describe tomorrow’s games. Live TV coverage has replaced ordinary reporting, leaving a gap in the market for detailed retellings. Sport is theatre, so dramatise, dramatise.

Write about sport as if it matters greatly – and also not at all. Its struggles are only figuratively life-or-death, and failure is just as gripping as success. It is in these gaps (between sport’s importance and its triviality) that irony and humour can take root and ripen.

Strive to avoid back-page jargon. Sports punditry is dominated by ex-pros who agree that everything is the referee’s fault, and articulate this in terms that have already been much parodied. So it is important to refresh the vocabulary. Not every opportunity has to be “golden”; not all penalties are “hotly disputed”. In fleeing from these, it is also important also to avoid the language of art criticism. Banging on about beauty, the sublime and the paradoxical sounds boastful when the subject is … darts.

Accept your niche. In the name of populism it is tempting to woo readers who don’t care for sport with populist or self-deprecating gestures. But aiming a book about motor racing or boxing at people who dislike such pursuits will only alienate those who might have enjoyed it, while failing to engage the attention of the non-interested. By the same token, never talk down to readers: safer to assume that they know more about this than you ever will.

Break some or all of the above rules, when necessary.

In sport, as in life, something is always hidden.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Thanks for the request. This was so interesting, I learned a lot. Hope this helps with your writing!

[danswideslit]

slime video analysed thru horror with a queer pov

kay it gets its own post because im stil aaa bout it

This is just what I remember/was able to brush up on, since I studied this in 2019, so if anything is outdated I apologise, feel free to correct me, I love to learn!!

also I realized it has all become a lil rambly as I couldn’t contain my excitement soz

So this is my essay on the parallels of queerness in the horror genre and how DanAndPhilCRAFTS - Slime (2024) could be analysed in this light, especially given the creators’ personal history with the topic.

Among the classic tropes of the horror genre, is the topic of losing ones innocence.

Most emphasised is the loss of ones virginity, as a synonym for the innocence, although the innocence as such has many forms. As mentioned in Scream (1996), you may not survive if you have sex, if you drink/do drugs, or if you claim to “be right back” or in other ways investigate to satisfy your own curiosity.

The parallels to the christian church and societal norms are already obvious. If you deviate from the path of purity, it will lead to death and suffering. The only way to survive the night, is to stay pure. Do not be tempted by mere curiosities, for they will be the death of you, essentially.

In the same light, Baphomet is most often portrayed with characteristics from both the male and female human anatomy, and can be used as a metaphor for the inherent evil of gender expressions beyond the societal norm.

In the same light, monsters in various movies are often shown with a deviance in gender and/or sexuality. This role of ‘sexual outsider’ has, for years, been a symbolism that queer people have connected with. The has only further skewed the ‘stay pure’ narrative, as it brings on an ambience of kill or be killed. An either/or of sorts. But it has also made monsters and villains walk the line between sexy and terrifying, which naturally leads people to be enticed. We are sexual creatures afterall.

Often the monsters have an aura of masculine energy, as they make people cower, and the stereotypical jocks abandon their hardcore exterior. This, on one hand birthed the “the boyfriend is the killer” trope, but it also gave way for diving into morality, how many crimes can a villain get away with, as long as the character resonates with the audience.

This is demonstrated in Jennifers Body (2009) which was, at first, marketed to the male audience, making the monster Jennifer an attractive young woman, essentially getting the film marked as “Twilight for boys” by film critic Robert Ebert.

The ratings, however, were lackluster and claimed the movie was neither funny nor scary and thus was unsuccessful. Jennifer wasn’t “as hot as you’d hope she’d be” and essentially the “lesbians-for-the-male-gaze” marketing to boys 17+ failed. 

However, many women and young girls between 17-25 saw the character of Jennifer as empowering and resonated with the film. My theory is that the men did not like being the victim, being killed my something that they are supposed to be worse than. But the women saw a strength in the conflict between what is essentially two sides of the same existence - on one hand the rage of the injustice and gender inequality, and on the other hand Needy, who follows every character trope connected to the “last girl standing.” Except even she is tainted in the end, killing Jennifer and losing her innocence. (more talk about innocence, murder/virginity bla bla bla, okay but this essay aint about that)

All this plays a role in how the queerness of DanAndPhilCRAFTS - slime (2024) can be interpreted. Throughout all four installments of the narrative, Dan is seen being guided by Phil and scolded when he doesn’t do it right. Phil seems not at all surprised when Dans glitter face turns satanic, and by the third video, Phil hands the control over as he gives himself away.

Essentially, the indoctrination of Dans role in Phils devotion is cult-like. Cults are often hidden behind a facade of “found family” before the true behind-the-scenes terror is revealed. Dan is evidently comfortable in letting a more experienced person guide the way, despite his own hesitance. He knows that he cant do this halfway.

also the idea of Phil rising from the dead, during Easter… Jesus Christ, where would we even begin (lol)

But beyond that symbolism, It is the hesitance in Dans nature that seems to point to the “purity being tainted” horror trope. Phils devotion to Him is evident, but Dan seems more so to be devoted to Phil. A follower. Believing whatever Phil believes to be true. A Billy and Stu, Scream situation, if you will. The subtext of two lovers and the blurred lines of love and death, which has been analysed and discussed a whole while by smarter people than me. 

Dans hesitance to follow Phil guiding him to the other (queer) side. The penetrative stab and the menacing disarray of emotions on Dans face afterwards. This was anything but a selfish act, but he gave into the curiosity, he is not the last survivor, he has joined Him. This ritual was giving into love, without trying to contain, rationalise, or diminish any part of it. 

(Kind of how like dan, selfproclaimidly, would still be a ‘Daniel in denial’ if Phil hadn’t come into his life, because Phil ‘led him astray’ but he’s very okay with it and he has embraced it, and he’s happier giving in instead of fighting it?? Too far??)

[syndrossi]

Non-winter non-prompt: Baelon's stiff neck

I recently solicited a whopping 121 winter prompts, so of course the first thing I write isn't any of them. For poor @textbookchoices, who is dealing with the misery of a stiff neck, have Baelon suffering the same while Aemon pays a visit.

x~x~x

“My greeting party was absent at the Dragonpit,” Aemon complained once he had made it past the dual obstacle of his overjoyed nephews attacking his legs—Viserys for a hug, which he lifted him into, and Daemon merely to wrap around one, forming a makeshift boot. “Some might call that treason.”

“Some might call that a stiff neck,” Alyssa said, mouth twitching as she nodded toward their brother.

Aemon kissed her on the cheek, the swell of her belly noticeable as he returned her hug, albeit more gently. None could match Alyssa for exuberance in her hugs. Save perhaps her younger son, he thought with amusement as he glanced down at his leg, where little Daemon still clung. For their sake, he hoped their next was a daughter, and he knew Baelon wished the same, but given the child’s parents, there was little chance she would be any less a helion than either.

“Some might call that the gods’ own wrath,” Baelon said with an expression of utter misery. He stood stiffly, then gingerly embraced Aemon. “Welcome back, brother.”

“Where is Rhaenys?” Viserys demanded, glancing back at the cracked door, as though waiting for her to appear. “And Aunt Jocelyn?”

“They are back at Dragonstone, little dragon,” Aemon said. Recovering from a mildly unpleasant bout of Spring Fever that had spared him, but the worst was over for them at least. “I thought I might steal you from your parents instead while I am here, as I will otherwise miss them terribly.”

Viserys brightened. “Will I get to fly on Caraxes with you?”

“Of course.”

“He is in the midst of a dragon craze,” Alyssa said, ruffling his hair fondly. “My poor Meleys is no longer good enough—only Vhagar and Caraxes will satisfy him.”

“Kekepa will not let me ride Vermithor,” Viserys said with an aggrieved sigh. “He is too busy.”

“Or Vermithor,” Alyssa conceded.

The three heroes of the Dornish invasion two moons ago, though Aemon hesitated to even call it such. It had been a massacre for Morion and his fleet, one that still haunted his dreams. A bloodless victory, it was called, and it had been for both sides—but only because the Dornish men had burned, boiled, or drowned. Even after all this time, the smell of burning flesh lingered in his riding leathers.

I am no Aegon, that is for certain, he thought, not for the first time. He did not know if it would make him a weak king. It was not as though their own father sought battle, and Aemon would meet his enemies if they threatened the realm. And I shall have Baelon and Alyssa at my side to urge action, should it be warranted.

And Jocelyn to ensure that cooler heads prevailed, should quarreling break out between the two.

“Meleys!” Daemon exclaimed, glancing back at his mother, who smiled.

“My littlest dragon still enjoys his rides,” she said, freeing Aemon at last from his grip. She hoisted him onto her back, ignoring Aemon’s and Baelon’s mutual wince, given the late stage of her pregnancy. “Are mine better, or Meleys’s?”

Daemon’s chin dug into her shoulder, his sudden frown of thought so intense that Aemon could not help but smile. “Meleys.”

“You shall be their dragonrider these next few days I fear,” Baelon said grumpily. “I cannot even turn my head.”

And Alyssa had been forbidden by the maester to mount Meleys, so late with child. It was a source of great bitterness for her that she had not been allowed to join them in defense of the realm.

“What did you do?” Aemon asked.

“Nothing at all!” Baelon whined, sitting back down with a huff, only to wince. “That is the injustice of it!”

“Here,” Aemon said, holding his hands out to take Daemon from Alyssa. Strong-willed though his sister was, it pained him to see her straining herself with the babe so near. His nephew shrieked with delight, squirming in his arms almost immediately. “Gently,” he cautioned. “We are trying to make your father feel better.”

He held him up so that Daemon was eye-level with his father. “A child’s kiss is the strongest remedy to what ails your father.”

“A stiff neck?” Baelon said, leaning forward just slightly to accept his son’s kiss on the cheek, returning it with a kiss of his own on Daemon’s forehead.

“The rigors of time,” Aemon sang out, chuckling at the dark glare it earned him.

“I did wish to go to the Dragonpit,” Baelon admitted. “But the carriage ride up Rhaenys’s Hill is…not gentle.”

“Peace,” Aemon said, shifting Daemon under his arm so that he could plant a kiss of his own on his brother’s head. “You will have countless opportunities to greet me there.”

“Is your stay at Dragonstone at an end?” Alyssa asked, finding her own seat by the hearth. Though she had stubbornly made a show of energy, it was clear that she was tired.

“For the year, yes.”

Aemon liked to spend at least a few moons each year there. There was the duty of being its prince, yes, but he also enjoyed walking its halls and seeking pieces of their family’s history within. Just this visit, he had found a deep windowsill overlooking the shore that defied the cold, a pocket of heat during the chill spring mornings. Upon examination, he had found glyphs inscribed into the stone along the recessed portion window.

Dragonstone was full of small delights like that.

“Jocelyn is anxious to return,” Aemon added. She much preferred the warmer weather of King’s Landing to the damp of Dragonstone. “She wishes to be present for the babe’s birth.”

“I get to name the babe,” Viserys announced.

“Oh?” Aemon stole a glance at his brother, who made a face.

“Alyssa’s idea.” He held up a finger. “You may help name the babe.”

“If it is a boy, then he shall be Aegon. And if it is a girl—” Viserys glanced shyly at his mother. “Then she can be Alyssa too!”

“And Daemon gets to help pick out the egg,” Alyssa said. “With his brother’s supervision.”

“Kepa said that we would choose it when you came, but then he hurt himself sleeping,” Viserys said with a huff. “I did not know you could hurt yourself while sleeping!”

“Your father is singularly talented,” Alyssa murmured.

“Why don’t I take the boys?” Aemon suggested. “I must first speak with Father, and greet Mother and our sisters, but I would be delighted by their company.”

And his harried siblings could take some well-earned rest.

“I knew you were my favorite brother,” Alyssa said with a grin that only widened at Baelon’s injured expression. “Jenna can aid you.”

Daemon’s nurse, Aemon assumed, his guess confirmed by a curtsy from the young woman, who had been observing quietly in the corner, ready to intervene if necessary.

“It seems I am stealing you after all,” Aemon said to Viserys, who looked freshly delighted. He swung Daemon back around to face him, the bright joy in his big purple eyes infectious. “And you, littlest dragon.”

After all, his father could not have any realm business too troubling to present to him his first night back, and Viserys loved being read to. Hopefully the same proved true of Daemon.

[bellestarot]

Wonyoung's Reading

January 15, 2025

Right Now

She is physically exhausted at the moment. She feels that the company she works for is not fair to her, especially regarding how much they drain her physically and possibly even psychologically. She feels manipulated by someone. Despite meetings and agreements giving the impression that her opinions matter, in the end, they are never truly considered, and she senses discreet manipulation occurring.

Relationships might also be a current challenge for her, perhaps romantic ones. I think she is in a phase of self-discovery as a woman and undergoing some personal transformations.

She seems to be waiting for something significant to happen in her life, hoping it will bring positive changes.

Love Life

She was in a relationship with a much older man, someone influential whom she respected to some degree. However, the relationship ended primarily because she felt judged whenever she opened up about her feelings and thoughts—things she usually doesn't share with others. This judgmental attitude from him made it impossible for her to truly connect with him on a deeper level. There was likely a degree of conservatism in his thinking that clashed with hers. Additionally, their work schedules prevented them from spending much time together.

Although the relationship has ended, she is still hurt by its conclusion and frustrated that it didn’t work out.

However, it seems that someone else—perhaps of a similar age or slightly older, romantic, and connected to the entertainment industry—is interested in her. This person is likely someone she meets often due to shared spaces or work. She is also very interested in this person, finding them to be great company and even something of a dream come true for her. She is also drawn to their success and wealth, which they express through gifts and material gestures.

Career

She often wonders if her current career and work situation will allow her to build stability or eventually get married. While this is something she desires, she feels uncertain about whether staying in her career aligns with that dream.

She has recently developed a stronger desire to fight for justice, as there are many situations where she feels powerless. At times, opportunities come her way, but her company rejects them without consulting her. She has spoken up about this injustice, feeling as though the company is trying to sabotage her success.

Despite these challenges, many new opportunities are opening up for her, leaving her with choices to make.

I also sense that she might be planning a trip abroad soon.

Family

She deeply loves her family, who serve as her greatest source of support. They are always there for her during moments of hopelessness, providing the strength to keep moving forward. Her family shares a close bond, supporting one another in a way she finds beautiful.

There’s a particular family member—a cousin or another young relative—whom she greatly admires for being inspiring and remarkable.

Friendships

She wishes for more meaningful friendships but doesn’t see her current circle as true friends; they feel more like work colleagues. Her past relationship initially began as a friendship, and she misses that connection. However, her current friendships often feel superficial, transactional, or work-related.

Her distrust in friendships stems from past experiences where she felt judged or betrayed by those she trusted. Over time, she has built walls as a form of self-protection, preventing her from getting hurt again.

Future

Her previous partner will return to her, and they will enter a relationship again. Both are deeply passionate about one another, but a recurring challenge might be her status as an idol. Her partner seems uncomfortable with her being in the spotlight, and this could create tension.

She will also face disappointment with someone she considered a close acquaintance when this person betrays her trust. She will cut ties with them immediately after discovering their deceit.

She might also face challenges related to starting a family. Her work and career seem to interfere with her plans for motherhood, leaving her frustrated.

Ultimately, she may find herself exhausted again due to being unable to recognize the red flags in how her career is being managed. She struggles to balance her life, which contributes to this recurring exhaustion.

Advice

"Wonders have never been absent from the world; what is always lacking is the ability to feel and admire them."

— Mario Quintana

[sourvers]

I believe the real power or poignancy of Arcane that makes it so intrinsically difficult to analysis/discuss especially on moral/ethics/relationship/values and much, much more is how nuanced every character is- how nuanced the world truly is. Each character is by no means “completely innocent” yet, we as viewers experience their pains and their joy; ultimately forming interpretations & ideas based on not only the show itself but the thoughts of others and the values of our own. Arcane is a show that makes you think, and think hard.

Personally, I’ve been seeing so many interesting interpretations, opinion and analysis that sometimes I just get so lost. However, here are my thoughts on Arcane specifically on the premise of human nature.

Arcane extends beyond the concept of “twin cities”, “doomed sister”, “prejudice & political corruption,” “the cost of ambition” and so on. Arcane is this strange, twisted, gut wrenching cacophony of the human need to be seen and more importantly, felt. It is the way in which nations, societies, and individuals seek understanding. It is this gritty fight, cry, and perhaps dream that attempts others to catch a momentary glimpse of the whole picture: to be heard, to be tender, to run the course of life wild and free, to experience profound regret, to be confused, to bring about havoc, to long for rest, to let go. All these collective experiences- at the same time or not- come together with the initiative or wish to be felt by individuals or even groups with various motives. Some as personal as to not walk through life alone and others with aims at serving justice. However, to be felt utterly and wholly is impossible. It requires living that individuals life start to finish. Which is why societies and individuals strive for the closest act: empathy. This need to be both felt and seen is littered across Arcane: we have Victor and Jayce with their intertwined characters arcs, the brutality between Zaun and Piltover, along with Vi and Jinx with sisterhood, defining what sisterhood means to them, and the blunt reality of their actions and circumstances.

Through tragedies such as (but not limited to) the death of Caitlyn’s mother, enforcer brutality, discord within and between the cities, or simply the utter haunting of the past, Arcane creates a portal of seemingly endless interpretation and debate because human nature is at it’s core- debatable, obscure, and in some ways, undefinable. What defines actions as justifiable? What is justice? What defines actions as selfish or blatantly wrong when faced with the entire story? If, as Caitlyn said, “No amount of good can undo our crimes,” then what’s next? What’s next for those who carry the burden of regret? Shame? Of crimes that simply can’t be taken back? What is the fate, the outcome, judgement or verdict of these individuals, or in this case, characters? In some cases, it is evident based on morals or certain values. In others, there are spaces of grey. Then there is the next question, “When is it right, acceptable, or even necessary, to move on? Either from loss, pain, injustice, or hurt? Or is ‘moving on’ even the correct phrase to encompass the myriad emotions, experiences, and influences that lead individuals to take the steps into the possibilities of now without abandoning the people, lessons, or memories of the past?”

(There are more questions in the show that truly intrigue me and hurt my brain a touch because I personally can’t answer it. Such as “What is a necessary evil?” “Does maintaining the status quo lead to a false sense of security?” “Is violence the necessary means for change?” “What defines forgiveness and what defines naiveness?” “What justifies creation/ambition?”)

Perhaps, Arcane is just as its title suggests. Maybe I’m wrong. Ultimately, human nature is a concept not new to Arcane or any media for that matter. We have it in books, poetry, art, and music as a means to express the frustrations or pleasures of human life. We have it in math and science as a means of understanding the fundamentals of our world in attempts to rid ourselves of our fear of the unknown or perhaps to satisfy human curiosity. Maybe it’s a mix of both. Regardless, Arcane is a show that brought me to some difficult yet eye opening conversations that has reflected out into how I comprehend and approach other media. That at the end of the day is my true takeaway despite my own mixed feelings about the show— Arcane is that nuance: the nuance of life.

Feel free to drop your thoughts! (respectfully please) I’d love to read them regardless of where you stand.

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

Tuberculosis is both a form and an expression of global injustice: A disease that has been curable since the mid-1950s is nonetheless the world's deadliest infectious disease in 2024.

[gnocchibabie]

The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 2 - Under the Weirwood

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

previous chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Wordcount: 1.9k

113 AC - King's Landing

Much could change in a year. Rhaenyra Targaryen had seen that for herself.

Some changes, she welcomed with open arms.

Like Maevys. 

The once-pale, squalling babe had grown considerably in a year's time. Though still smaller than most children her age, she had already defied all the odds that were previously stacked against her – by simply being alive. 

Rhaenyra remembered the first month of Maevys's life with a shudder; it was a time of relentless worry for both her and their father. They hovered over the fragile baby, their hearts gripped by the fear that each breath might be her last, that she might slip away to join her departed mother and brother. Rhaenyra had often clung to the hope that holding her sister close would shield her from the Stranger’s grasp, believing her embrace was a barrier against fate. The princess would wake in the dead of night, her heart racing as she tiptoed to Maevys’s room. She would gently pry open the door and lean her head into the babe’s cradle to catch the faintest sound of the baby’s breath.

But a week had passed, then a month, then six, and now finally a year had come and gone. 

Rhaenyra and Viserys began to feel a tentative relief. The Grand Maester had assured them that the most delicate times had passed them, and that little Maevys were likely here to stay.

Rhaenyra had watched her little sister grow with rapt attention. Her silver blonde hair had become fuller now, curling every which way to form an unruly mess on the little girl’s head. Maevys’ vibrant violet eyes were impossibly wide for a babe’s, taking up much of her face. Rhaenyra thought it was as though the little girl was trying to take in as much of the world around her as she could. Viserys had once said her eyes reminded him of Aemma’s.

Viserys’ love for Maevys was undeniable, though he seldom found himself around to express it. The weight of his grief over Aemma, the relentless pressure to remarry, the unpredictable chaos of his brother Daemon, and the looming threat of war with the Triarchy all conspired to draw him away from his daughters.

Though, on some nights, Rhaenyra would pass by her father’s chamber, hearing the cooing of her sister from inside. Pressing her ear up to the smooth wood of the door, she would hear her father speaking to the little girl. On the other side, she could picture her father with Maevys in his arms, walking around his replica of King’s Landing, as if giving her a grand tour of the city he once shared with her mother.

One thing Viserys had been around to insist for his daughter, was that Maevys was to not be given a dragon egg. A decision that surely rose a few eyebrows within her family – namely herself and her uncle Daemon. 

“She is a Targaryen princess,” her uncle had voiced, “It would be an injustice to deny her of her birthright.”

“She is a sick Targaryen princess. That in and of itself is injustice,” Viserys retorted, “You have seen the babe yourself. Her very existence is a miracle. Surely the Gods have a hand in it…” The King had trailed off, as though lost in thought before continuing.

“The maesters predict she will remain weak for the rest of her days. I will not risk her life in the hope that she could ever become a dragonrider. She lacks the strength for it.”

Daemon’s scoff was laden with frustration. Though he knew his words might not sway his brother, he voiced his dissent. “Still, it isn’t right.”

And Rhaenyra agreed. It was unfair. How was anyone to know if her baby sister would truly be this delicate forever? If they treated her as if she were truly made of porcelain, then surely she would stay that way. That was the real injustice, Rhaenyra thought, that Maevys wasn’t even given the chance to be believed in, to grow stronger.

Everything the babe had faced so far had been unfair: the circumstances of her birth, her frailty, the loss of her brother and mother, and now the denial of a dragon.

She often wished their mother was here to see it all. To help them sort through the mess. She would be able to fix it all.

In the midst of all this, the elder princess had lately taken to scooping up the infant in her arms, showing her around the Red Keep. They now sat amongst the Godswood, under the great Weirwood tree where Rhaenyra tried to teach her sister how to say her name.

“Rhay-neera!” she would echo to the babe with great enthusiasm, overemphasizing each syllable, sending the little girl into giggles.

This routine served as a distraction from the memories of her past, memories of sitting in this very spot with Alicent.

This was the other side of the changes that now permeated her life—changes Rhaenyra found deeply unsettling. These transformations had completely upended her worldview, leaving behind fresh wounds.

Alicent Hightower had once been Rhaenyra’s closest friend. The girl she sought comfort in, the girl she found laughter with, the girl she once dreamed of running away atop Syrax with.

The announcement that Alicent was to marry her father had caught her entirely by surprise. It had taken months for the princess to accept and understand that it was her father’s duty to remarry. For a long while, she had not dared to speak to him, save for a few words. The most time they spent together was checking in on little Maevys. 

But as time passed, Rhaenyra had come to the unfortunate realization that her father was simply doing what was expected of him. He still held love for her mother, and nothing could change that.

But she had expected her father to marry Laena Velaryon.

Certainly not Alicent. 

That had changed everything between them. 

Her relationship with Alicent was now strained at best. Certainly they both had calmed from the initial storm – the tears, the scathing words, and the pleas – but the inklings of betrayal still lingered. 

Just a few months ago, Rhaenyra had helped her dear friend into her wedding gown – a splendid garment adorned with white, red, gold, and her family’s sigil. When they were younger, Alicent had often dreamed about the day they would both be married. Rhaenyra had always found it a sweet notion.

But it wasn’t meant to unfold this way.

She recalled the hesitation on her friend’s face as she carefully tied the laces of the dress. In the quiet of Alicent’s chamber, where words seemed inadequate, Rhaenyra embraced her friend, holding her for what felt like an eternity. Tears began to soak into the shoulder where Alicent had rested her head.

She wished that they would have ran away together after all, when they still had the chance. They could have even taken little Maevys with them. Together, they would have escaped it all.

But it did no good to linger on the fantasies of children. Reality was much more scathing.

In reality, a few months after the wedding, it was announced that the Queen Alicent Hightower was with child. Viserys had been overjoyed – perhaps now he would be given the son he had always wanted.

Rhaenyra hugged Maevys closer to her. 

The prospect of another sibling would have pleased the princess in any other circumstance. She adored Maevys and found great joy in caring for her – she could hardly wait until the girl would start talking, and could one day hold a conversation with her. The idea of Maevys having siblings closer to her age was an even greater prospect.

But it was not supposed to happen this way.

Alicent seemed…well, Rhaenyra was not sure. She suspected her friend put on a happy front for her husband and for the court – giving into the ruse that she should be blessed to bring more Targaryen royals into the world. Maybe there was a small part of Alicent that did find some happiness in the news. However, Rhaenyra also suspected that Alicent, like herself, could not help but think of Aemma Arryn’s final moments.

Her stomach churned and she decided to turn her thoughts to other matters. 

Nowadays, Rhaenyra and Alicent had seldom encountered each other, returning to few and far between words. 

In fact, Rhaenyra found herself seldom speaking to anyone these days. With her uncle Daemon engaged in the war at the Stepstones and her deliberate avoidance of both Alicent and Viserys, she felt that Maevys and the occasional presence of her sworn shield, Ser Criston Cole, were all she truly had.

As the babe in her lap began to babble, Rhaenyra was snapped away from her thoughts, directing her attention elsewhere. 

Wide, violet eyes looked up at her. 

“Rhay-neeerrraaa,” The princess drew out her words, trying to coax her name from the babe once more.

It was no use, Maevys simply looked to her older sister, smiling and cooing.

“Well, you’ll have to start talking eventually,” Rhaenyra teases, poking her sister’s nose that sent her into another fit of giggles.

Despite the tender moment shared with her sister, Rhaenyra’s thoughts inevitably wandered back to the upheavals of the preceding months as Maevys fell asleep in her lap.

Shortly after their mother’s death, Viserys had formally declared Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone.

It all felt like some cruel twist of fate, that it took Aemma dying for Viserys to truly see the daughter he had all along – a daughter who was as fit as any son to inherit the throne.

Rhaenyra was still unsure on how she felt about the matter. She had never wanted the crown, though she supposed that was because she never dared to imagine she would ever have it. She was Visery’s first-born, but she was not a son – a truth that permeated every aspect of her existence.

Despite being his heir, it still remained that Viserys cared little for his daughter’s counsel or opinions. When Rhaenyra had suggested to her father that dragonriders be sent to the Stepstones, to subdue the Crabfeeder once and for all, her father had quickly shot down the idea altogether. 

If her father would not even allow her to speak on matters of the realm, did he truly believe in her as his heir? And if Viserys did not prime his daughter, instruct her, or advise her as he would a son – what kind of Queen would she come to be? The only matters pertaining to Rhaenyra that he father had concerned himself with as of late, was marrying her off. 

It enraged her to dwell on it for too long.

But the more she thought of it all – the more days that passed – Rhaenyra Targaryen vowed one thing to herself: When I am Queen, I will create a new order. 

She had seen the same fate befall all of the women in her life: her mother, her best-friend, and now she herself – condemned to enter a marriage on no accord of her own, and made to have as many heirs as she could.

It was what killed her mother. And it was what left Alicent expecting her first child at only ten and five.

If Rhaenyra could not escape this destiny, she vowed that it would not claim the sister that slept so soundly in her arms. 

In their world, women were mere pawns to be sacrificed across the board, propelling their families forward. 

“But we are not pawns, Maevys,” Rhaenyra whispered aloud, “We are Targaryen’s.”

A warm breeze swayed the limbs of the weirwood the two sister’s sat under, a few red leaves dancing around them now. In the quiet of the Godswood, Rhaenyra allowed herself to smile for the first time in weeks.  

--

Author's Note: another short chapter! i promise they will start getting longer as we delve into Maevy's POV, which will begin next chapter ;) as always, thank you for reading!

Tags: @marialikescherries @3-decades-strong

[jesncin]

Far be it from me to come into someone else's house and object to the décor, but I wanted to voice my thoughts about this and you're the only people I know who might want to listen.

I have mixed feelings regarding Absolute Martian Manhunter.

You may recall I expressed hope that the Absolute approach would veer towards some combination of genres Weird and Noir, because that's where I feel J'onn's strengths reside more so than the standard Cape fare. 

And well, Camp and Rodriguez certainly have delivered something that is both Weird and Noir (albeit perhaps more Neo-Noir, with its 70s trappings, than authentic 30s Noir. I digress). Yet it feels somewhat strange that when presented with a very bracing, idiosyncratic example of the comic book form, something SO unlike any current Cape comic, one of my instincts is to say "No, not like THAT!". I'm having trouble pinning down precisely where these feelings are coming from.

The mission statement of the Absolute line led me to believe that it was aspiring for something beyond the straightforward approach of an Elseworld. DC trumpeted that it was about stripping characters back to the very CORE of what made them resonant and enduring; scrutinising, if not outright vivisecting them, and directing them towards questions about the injustices of our world. And hey, there are Elseworld tales that have become some of my favourite superhero stories, but I thought this was supposed to have more bite than that.

Credit where it's due, the appointed writers appear adamant about putting their best foot forward. Each member of the Absolute Trinity has had their respective creative teams look back and consider significant parts of their publication histories, revising and incorporating them into this streamlined whole that aligns with the mission statement. Everything is tighter, leaner, and more focused; paying suitable acknowledgement to what's been incorporated and shedding the baggage like an old skin. 

So when it comes time for Martian Manhunter's turn to be zapped with the Absolute beam...? He gets nothing. Because there is not one jot of reverence for J'onn's publication history. Nobody gives a shit about revisiting any of it because it's not seen to be worth the effort to comb through the muck for any gold. (Or maybe I should say comb through the seawater for any gold? You get my point)

And y'know who could blame them? Even if you have affection for the earlier Detective Comics material, that's still followed by a lengthy stagnation and highlights such as the tedium of the Idol-Head of Diabolu, the transparent repurposing of the character into super-spy Marco Xavier, or the highly dubious introduction of "Mars II" that saw him disappear for over a decade. J'onn J'onzz has starred in a lot of second-rate doggerel.

Just like Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman. 

That's where the disconnect comes from, I think. I was wanting the AMM creative team to step up and scrutinise Martian Manhunter through that same lens, distilling him into a character portrait that was tighter, leaner, and more focused rather than just cluttered, overlapping retcons. Perhaps something that could suitably remedy the mechanical problems that have hindered the character for DECADES. But instead they surprised me with something so creative, so radically different, that it's entirely divorced from anything prior. 

They chose to solve the Gordian Knot by chopping it in half and I can't help but feel a little bit cheated. 

I wouldn't accuse the creative team of doing so out of laziness or spite - Camp CHOSE to write for Martian Manhunter specifically - but it indicates a marked lack of interest in confronting these cumulative writing problems or consolidating J'onn's meandering publication history. By bisecting the character into FBI agent John Jones and The Martian it sort of feels like they've thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

Perhaps this approach wouldn't sting so much if we were afforded more Martian Manhunter Elseworlds than we are presently (read: something besides his role in 2004's New Frontier) but this is the most high-profile book the character has had in...I'm not even sure how long and it doesn't feel like it's actually ABOUT HIM. Absolute Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman are still examinations of their mainstream counterparts, even though they're technically different characters. J’onn not being afforded that same treatment feels in many ways like a tacit admission of his lower standing, which is especially galling when the particular injustice he's primed to address involves intersectional issues. He's perhaps more equipped to do so than any other DC superhero. 

And just to clarify: I've been incredibly impressed with Absolute Martian Manhunter's first issue. I don't want to be accused of throwing THIS baby out with the bathwater (just because it isn't what I'd hoped for based on the precedent of the other Absolute books) since it really has got my attention. It's just the sort of creative approach you desperately want to see thrive amidst the stifling pits of the Big Two and I'm pleased that the book has not only avoided falling through the cracks, but even been bolstered by lots of positive word of mouth! I'm honestly keen to see how they develop their central premise. Camp has pitched AMM as "[tackling] the big human questions through a small, personal lens", so presumably that means the book has every intention of widening the scope of its initial musings ("Why do people do things?") into a full-blown examination of the human condition in contrast to an alien intelligence. Whilst I wouldn't turn my nose up at simply being served more wonderfully striking artwork and psychedelic visuals, I do hope it's all actually in service of something at the end of the day. 

The book's first issue reportedly had 120,000 pre-orders. Those numbers are simply insane for a Martian Manhunter solo series, even one riding the publicity high of the Absolute line. Deniz Camp has just announced that, due to the overwhelming positive response and sales, DC has doubled the length of AMM from a 6-issue mini to a 12-issue maxi. Which means this iteration of the Martian Manhunter is likely going to have an impact on J'onn J'onzz in the long run...if that makes sense.

So is Absolute Martian Manhunter "Weird"? Yes. It is "Noir"? Yes. Will I read the entire thing? Most likely yes. Is it bracing, creative, and inventive? Yes, yes, YES. But is it necessarily what I was hoping for...?

Like I said. Mixed feelings.

asdfas love how this is a safe space for Martian rants (I'm all for it haha)

I have similar mixed feelings. I mean I'm a lot more unimpressed with Absolute Martian Manhunter than most people, but I recognize that the first issue is good quality. As in the art is arting and the story is storying. It's well written (tho I still think it drags on). I just strongly disagree with the direction, and I recognize a lot of it is just "what I identify with J'onn is different than how writers on DC identify with J'onn." and they'll just never be as radical as I want as a company.

To me, Absolute Martian Manhunter is a very accessible take for fans unfamiliar with J'onn's lore- which is basically most DC fans. The thing that sucks about AMM is that it feels like it's,,, punishing me for being a Martian fan lol. Like if you told a Superman fan that Abso Supes is going to be "Superman but if there was no Krypton, Kal is a specter, no Daily Planet, and Kryptonians are a concept not an alien thing" then I think most fans would be insulted. "What's the point then? Is that even Kal at that point?" well. That's what J'onn is getting. No recurring Martian cast system, just toss it all away. It's not like people will be mad, J'onn barely has fans as is.

And it's that foundational issue like you said. Bats, Supes, Wondie, heck even Flash and GL all have way more solid foundations and worlds to remix compared to the crumbling pieces of Martian lore that J'onn has. I think it's odd then, that even with all of Orlando and Rossmo's MM 2019's flaws- it felt like a better love letter to Martian fans. Orlando tried making J'onn stand on his own outside of being a League member, fleshed out his cast system- including giving K'hym and M'yri'ah long overdue characterization outside of being victims. His John Jones humansona finally gets to be Black in a prominent solo title. Recognizing J'onn's history and how it's evolved. Imperfect, but certainly a sincere attempt at fixing J'onn.

And yes, I agree Camp chose Martian Manhunter and is doing what he thinks is best. I'm just disappointed that it was "toss it all away and engage with only the loosest premise possible" instead of confronting J'onn's rocky publication history. It doesn't take a solid writer to fix J'onn. It takes a visionary to make sense of something so broken. And I just don't think Camp is doing that. I don't think anyone currently in DC can.

Kind of my general issue with the Absolute Line. All are attempting to "go back to the character's core" and apparently to DC creatives, that's a mostly white lineup of heroes with weirdly more emphasized ties to the government/secret agents than usual. It's a "punk" line- but not too punk because disabilities get cured, Krypton isn't an indigenous utopia, and a character like J'onn who has been progressively written to be more intersectional is now back to square one. So many of these characters would even be stronger as POC (Bats especially) but well. We're not getting that. That's not his "core"- can't have this character be about something.

J'onn never had a solid core other than "grieving over Mars". But if you paid attention to how he's evolved, his character has the opportunity to talk about things no other superhero could cover like he does. Alien body snatchers coming from xenophobic fear of immigrants and how that's evolved into him identifying with the marginalized. The unresolved ableism present in his origin stories. The flawed discussion of racism that comes with modern Martian Manhunter stories. The assimilation and respectability that comes with being a marginalized person in the police force. The growing queer allegory with "wanting to be seen" and how J'onn gains better understanding of himself through empathy -rather than appropriation- of others. To the AMM crew, none of these make compelling options for what J'onn's core is. His historic core is "telepathic being takes over a guy's mind and body". We get the aesthetic vibes of a trippy noir, but none of the history other Abso titles pride themselves in. It's hollow.

At some point after sinking in my feelings for AMM, I kind of just asked myself "should I quit reading cape comics? I don't seem to enjoy anything modern cape comics have to offer anymore." I've become that fan. Maybe it's the triple disappointment of MAWS (and Absolute Superman tbh), Dead In America, and now Absolute Martian Manhunter attacking my trifecta of DC fixations. Modern things everyone else enjoys and I dislike or worse: am lukewarm about. Makes fandom especially isolating lately. There's new stuff that concerns my interests, but it's like being thirsty and surrounded by salt water.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

To piggyback off of @shunnedmorlock's post here about the relative justification for both the black and green causes, and how the show presents Rhaenyra's cause as sympathetic.

The in-world choice of who to support in an internecine conflict is, for a lot of lords, ultimately going to be based in self-interest rather than legal, ideological or moral justifications. This fandom fixates a lot on who is in the "right," but the houses that throw their support behind Rhaenyra or Aegon mainly do it for self interest or self preservation. Every lord is going to have multiple literal dragons breathing down their necks, many lords are going to be offered enticements from one side or the other, and some will be considering their own personal circumstances and the precedent their choice sets. A great number of the houses seem pretty determined to stay out of the conflict altogether, even several of the houses that pledge their support in theory, wait until the risk of being caught up in a dragon battle has passed to take any action.

For viewers, our reasons for supporting one side or another are different. Strictly speaking, looking at things from a modern framework, no one has a "right" to the throne. Usurpation is not a human rights violation or even a crime by our standards. Imagine fixating on women being unable to own slaves and thinking that a woman fighting for her right to do so is an expression of feminism. Ridiculous! Certainly it is bullshit within an already bullshit system that a woman comes after her brothers in a hereditary monarchy, but in a just system this conflict wouldn't exist in the first place, not because Rhaenyra would automatically be queen, but because Westeros wouldn't have a king or a queen at all. Liberation doesn't start at the top and trickle down, but rather the opposite.

That said, to modern viewers, Rhaenyra's cause is sympathetic because it feels like an injustice. Most of us don't live within a feudal system and do not have the framework to understand why it's not a form of oppression to be denied the throne. We see it more like a presidential race, in which Rhaenyra is the Hillary Clinton who might have defeated Trump in 2016 if not for misogyny, in which even if we didn't particularly like her, we were disgusted by the fact that that man beat a woman who was at worst no different from many of the men who had occupied the seat before her. To the average vaguely liberal American watching the show, it's insane for fans to support Aegon and the greens and clearly you'd only do it for horny or antifeminist reasons. And you see that a bit in even the showrunners' comments on Alicent being a "woman for Trump," how both they and much of the audience fail to fully understand the historical framework, but in a way that's kind of understandable, because while what happens to Rhaenyra might not be injustice, it is unfair.

If you're looking at things from a historical in-world framework, this is a world in which stability takes a higher priority than equality. Inequality is everywhere, completely baked into the system. If you want to bring about gender equality in a feudal monarchy with a large agrarian population, you have to have first the stability necessary for the rise of an urban middle class which allows for more women to move into the trades, you need the printing press for widespread literacy, which means that more women are getting educated, you need movements such as the reformation to challenge the divine right of kings, and you need to reform the political structure so that leadership is not based on birthright in the first place, because that concept inherently reinforces patriarchal norms even in modern countries that allow women to become queens regnant. So making one woman queen is not going to make things better for women across Westeros, but that woman going to war to reclaim her "stolen" birthright could make things a whole lot worse for a pretty much everyone. This is why you see a lot of history nerds on this site going well, yes but Rhaenyra does have the weaker claim because common law was a big deal in the medieval world and her becoming queen is going to lead to long term succession crises due to the circumstances of her children's birth, so the thing to do would be to take the peace deal. Because while on an emotional level you can understand why she doesn't, it's not the choice that prioritizes the good of the realm.

I think on some level Condal understands (and I think GRRM probably hammered this point home) that you can't really grant anyone the moral high ground in a war of succession if you want to approach the issue with any level of nuance; Rhaenys' speech in the previews for S2 seems to indicate as much. The problem with HotD is that it wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants to say war for the throne bad, but HBO also wants to make up for the way GoT fumbled the ball with Dany and give the people their likeable dragonriding princess triumphant.

Except Rhaenyra isn't triumphant, she is felled by her own Targaryen hubris and belief that nothing could possibly overcome the might of dragons. It's not Aegon that defeats her, truly, it's the people emboldened in various ways to act against Targaryen interests. It's the dragonseeds she hands dragons to who wonder why they have to take orders from a queen or king when they have control of the kingmaking weapons of mass destruction, it's the smallfolk who face down dragons with pitchforks because they've had enough. They've backed themselves into a bit of a corner with what @shunnedmorlock called the "engoodening" of the black faction, but they can turn it around by showing that it's not enough to be nice to your family, you have to actually care about the people and at the very least (the bar is on the floor, it's fuedalism!) not throw them into chaos, famine, and war for no reason. Give us payoff for Rhaenys' dragonpit scene, have Mysaria and Alys Rivers play a role in their sides' downfalls, show how resentment on Dragonstone allows Aegon to infiltrate. And yes, show Rhaenyra losing herself and becoming a worse person, but in ways that the audience can't excuse as justified. This is how you sow the seeds for that actual progressive change that people seem so desperate to find in the dragonshow, you show how the Dance emboldens the regular people who for the first time realize they can slay dragons, dovetailing into the new show, which stars Dunk, a commonborn man from Fleabottom, and Aegon V, the only Targaryen who ever cared about the smallfolk.

Can HBO pull it off? Ehh. But I remain eternally hopeful, against my better judgement.

[crab-people-overlord]

I thought it would be fun to start a series of character analyses using different personality typing frameworks and South Park characters. Obviously, before I share my first, a disclaimer: SP isn’t gospel truth for psychological analysis, and characters can obviously be analyzed in different ways. My views on them also aren’t the gospel truth lol. Also, personality typing is in no way a real science. This is all just for fun.

Anyways, with all that aside…. My first topic is regarding the Big Five’s concept of Neuroticism. 

Both these kids clock in around 60-65% Neurotic (and honestly, they'd probably score even higher if they weren't literal children. That said, either of their neuroticism can go down with age). 

But holy shit the way Stan and Kyle express it couldn’t be more different.

Kyle’s neuroticism comes with a side of ‘fuck you, I’m right.’

He’s often the morality police, screaming at Cartman every five minutes (which is valid tbh). His triggers are injustice, idiocy, and anything that violates his moral code. This results in intense emotional outbursts that are often angry. Some things to note about Kyle’s neuroticism:

His anxiety and reactivity are highly situational. When something crosses his moral line (or… uh… someone), it’s go-time. He becomes righteous and indignant, and he is extremely non-confrontational and not afraid to get in arguments, both physical or verbal.

That said, when the stakes aren’t high, Kyle can be pretty chill and logical. He’s not neurotic all the time - just when his morals get challenged, making him fight for what he believes is the greater good.

Stan’s neuroticism is a lot more… emo/goth compared to Kyle’s fiery moral crusading.

It’s quieter, more existential, and more depressing than anxious. He’s not here to argue with you; he’s here to silently judge you while he descends into a more innerly nihilistic worldview. 

His emotional struggles are more constant than Kyle’s more reactive form. His neuroticism is much more quiet, but also more pervasive and brooding. Unlike Kyle, he doesn’t often explode - he implodes. His negativity simmers under the surface, manifesting as cynicism, withdrawal, nonchalance, and overall seeing everything as shit. 

When triggered, unless it’s for something he can still find the energy to raise passion for like animals, Stan doesn’t fight the world like Kyle does. He gives it the middle finger and checks out entirely (and can be quite sensitive and angsty while doing so). 

TL;DR: 

Kyle’s Neuroticism is visible, righteous, and fiery as fuck, leading to loud moral crusades and heated arguments. He’s someone who will yell at you for going against his morals, but also help you with your homework because he cares. His neuroticism is like a weapon he points outward (often at Cartman). And while many may view Kyle on the surface-level as being more stereotypically ‘neurotic’ than Stan, when he’s not actively fighting moral battles, he can actually keep his shit together pretty well. 

Stan’s neuroticism is brooding, depressing, and angsty. It’s like a black hole inside him that occasionally swallows his will to live.  He's less explosive but more consistently done with this shit. While Kyle's fighting the good fight, Stan is wondering if any fight even fucking matters at all.

Neither of them has a more ‘correct’ approach - they’re just different. Anyways, interested to hear other’s takes, especially on what you think other SP character’s Neuroticism percentages may be and how they add to Stan and Kyle’s!