#it's just fragile ego central

[galadrieljones]

In my job I work with lots of men, mostly creatives. About half of them are normal and the other half are so specific, dainty, and fragile, I feel like any correspondence I initiate will be met with some sort of mild scorn or irritation. Like sorry, 35yo male, like I am being EARNESTLY NICE, and I know you're like a VERY SPECIAL BOY, but you're also DOING IT FUCKING WRONG :)

[coraniaid]

I know I keep going on about this, but I really do think that the majority of the Buffy fandom downplays the importance of Buffy's relationship with her mother to, at times, an almost ludicrous extent. Obviously it's not a perfect relationship (if you think Buffy has a perfect relationship with anyone on the show you've really not been paying attention) and indeed at times it's a very strained one, but it's a central part of understanding who Buffy is and why she says and does things that a lot of writing about Buffy on this site just ... pretends isn't there.

There are more or less extreme examples of this -- I saw a "Giles should have adopted Buffy!" post a couple of years ago that didn't even acknowledge that Buffy had a mother who might have objected -- but so much analysis of the show seems not to engage seriously with the thought that Buffy might care about her mother as a person or worry about her mother's opinion of her. And really, the show is very, very clear about this. There are multiple episodes in the high school seasons where the emotional stakes only make sense if you accept that 'demons from hell might end the world' and 'Joyce might think her daughter is getting into trouble at school' are two roughly equivalent problems for Buffy to navigate.

I recently saw a post about Season 5 that listed Joyce's death as just one of several different reasons for Buffy's burgeoning depression that season -- along with Riley leaving and her having to drop out of college -- but .... that's not right, is it? Those aren't three isolated and independent issues at all. All of those factors go back to Buffy's mom. Riley leaves her in Into The Woods because he decided the fact she's too worried about her mom getting sick to spend time humoring his fragile ego means she doesn't really love him. Buffy drops out of college in Tough Love because her mother died and she has to take care of her sister ... which, when you remember that Dawn is explicitly presented as a stand-in for Buffy ("she's more than [my sister]," Buffy tells us in The Gift, "she's me"), can only be read as Buffy dropping out because she has to take care of herself. "Who's going to take care of us?" as she asked Dawn in Forever.

Buffy's depressive spiral in Season 5 happens because her mother dies. There are aggravating factors, sure, but this is surely the heart of it. It's not because her crappy boyfriend left or she suddenly remembered she was a Slayer. It's because her mom gets sick and dies, and Buffy Summers -- who is afraid of hospitals, who blames herself for every death in Sunnydale, who has been trying to protect her mother from the supernatural for years, who hates the very thought of there being problems in the world she can't solve, who loves her mother more than she can say -- doesn't know what to do about it.

"I don't know how to live in the world [...] if everything just gets stripped away. I don't see the point. I just wish my mom was here," she tells Giles in The Gift. It's Buffy who turns to the door to let the shadow of her mother back inside in Forever, and Dawn who has to break the spell that brought her back. In Season 6, Buffy is trapped by a demon in a fantasy world where she was never the Slayer and her mother is still alive, and it's that image of her mother, telling her that she's strong and urging her not to give up which allows her to break free. When Giles comes back to England that season, and offers Buffy a temporary reprieve from all her new financial worries, the highest praise Buffy has for him is that this uncharacteristic generosity on his part is "a little like having Mom back".

There are people in the world Buffy cares about as much as her mother (but not as many as some of you think), and there are perhaps a dozen characters who appear in the show more or get more speaking time than Joyce Summers, and there are certainly lots of characters the writers obviously care much more about as people in their own right. (Like many of you, the writers seem pretty dubious about the idea that middle-aged women could ever be interesting.)

But there is nobody in the world who means more to Buffy than her mother, and I think trying to analyze the show as if there were is going to give you a very strange impression of what's actually going on. Ideas like, well, maybe Giles should have adopted Buffy.

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; ᴄᴏʀᴏɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ

(Cross-posted from my AO3)

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! Reader)

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:

Having been spoiled by your father as an only child after your mother’s death, there existed you, a young, yet rebellious maiden known amongst Midland as Princess Scarlet. Being the subject of envy by commoners who wanted nothing more than to overthrow the kingdom, you were rather…..indifferent. As a princess, you exercised pride in your achievements, deeming you fit for the role of succeeding your father on the throne.

Even after your father’s death caused by poisoning, your dream to have your own kingdom never faltered in the slightest. In fact, ruling over Midland with an iron fist has been made easy and simple considering your royal blood.

Subsequently, your ambitious demeanor and philosophy attracted none other than the military genius who led a group of mercenaries known as the Band of The Hawk. Sir Griffith; a man who never fell short of what were to be defined as a noble, if it were not for his common blood.

To put it simply, Griffith never planned on building his empire overnight. Instead, he harbored ulterior motives where he would rather…..bend you, the Queen, to his liking before taking over Midland.

….And the consequences of YOU having a fragile ego never ceased to reveal itself.

𝖈𝖜: none as of now.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

No smut for the first chapter!

To minors: this space isn’t for you. Berserk is a warning in itself. Go away. Do not interact.

Anyways, I’m back with a new fic and it’s basically my own version while still keeping the canon verse of Berserk clear.

In this verse, expect certain things:

— Princess Charlotte does NOT exist.

— YOU are the Princess/Queen of Midland.

— The story will mainly focus on Griffith, not Guts.

Before commenting, I would like to caution you for potential rape/non-con elements (it’s Griffith we’re talking about here) to be depicted in later chapters of the story.

What I write is pure fantasy, and is mostly just me projecting on my original character (in this case, Queen Scarlet) who has a rather peculiar relationship with Griffith.

Anyways, grab some popcorn, and chill a little while we watch our original character slowly get taken advantage of by the devil himself.

The Kingdom of Midland. Such is a name given to the central region of the Physical World where nobles dominate and savages eliminate. One had the luxury of resting within the comfort of their own home while dining with only the finest cuisine made known to man. The other had to hustle and kill for the sake of money and survival…....while for potential evildoers and traitors, the sake of achieving their dream.

It was your coronation day after all, one of the most awaited events in all of Midland’s history. Following your father’s death caused by an incident of poisoning, the nobles immediately turn to you as a successor to the throne. You were a bit nervous, so to speak, but ready to accept your new role and give your speech as the newly appointed ruler of Midland.

It was already sunset, the halls decorated with red roses, bushes, and your favorite type of flower, the Amaryllis. You just loved the sight of red the way you liked your tea. Red, so to speak, was your favorite color. It just looks and feels powerful, like the way sunlight pierces its way through your eyes. You liked shoving your presence down people’s throats, to make them remember your name as you rejoiced in your own superiority as the new Queen.

Red was the visual embodiment of your dream—to rule and render yourself capable of building your own empire. Because of that, the King, your very own father, feared for your safety. And boy, was that prediction true.

Not only was your safety compromised, but prior to meeting the White Hawk who was addressed as Sir Griffith, things went downhill after that encounter as a sudden number of royal guards dropped dead. Not only were you disgusted by the smell of blood that filled the hallways the week before your coronation, but the five words whispered to your ear was what sent chills across your spine. Those five words made you shiver in questionable fear despite you taking it as just an empty threat.

“You belong to me, Princess.”

And then came the surge of mysterious events such as your father’s death.

Supposedly, you were expected to be excited for such an event like the coronation ceremony as you longed all your life to become Queen, but something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. You were at a loss for words, being unable to understand why your father was poisoned in an instant and how planning the ceremony felt rushed.

You shivered at the thought of meeting the Band of the Hawk once more, immediately suspecting that one of them killed your father.

“Our beloved guests, our crowning guests, respected parents of the nobles, and that of the civilians. Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon.” announced the event speaker of the ceremony. “Once again, we have gathered here to witness the coronation ceremony of the Royal Family to be headed by Queen Scarlet and the rest of the officials appointed to serve her Majesty. Kindly rise for the ceremony proper.”

A huge audience of youngsters stood to give thanks towards your family for a job well done in leadership, singing songs of praise as time passed by. You were, of course, getting quite the goosebumps knowing your time is up as a princess. However, you can’t help but falter, thinking of your father’s untimely demise just about two weeks ago.

You were lost in thought, unable to pay attention to the songs sung in honor of you. Something was very wrong. You sweat and panted hard, not because you didn’t know what to say or do given the situation, but because you didn’t want to actually meet up with Griffith and the rest of his comrades due to some suspicions about the leader’s motives.

“Before we start, may I request everyone to observe silence as the ceremony begins to maintain its solemnity. Reserve your ‘hoorays’ for the latter part of the coronation. Thank you very much for your full cooperation.”

The rest of the coronation ceremony followed. You were nervous, biting your nails as you slowly prepared your speech in front of thousands. You knew Griffith would be watching

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Alas, it was your turn to give out a speech that serves as a public declaration of your aims, intentions, and actions to be taken to further improve the economic and sociocultural growth of Midland.

Standing up, you could feel the eyes of crowds searching you from head to toe, but none of them ever gave you the impression that someone was truly watching you.

At the exterior of the venue, there sneaked a young man with white, flowing hair and a pair of blue eyes. It was him. Griffith. He didn’t make his own presence clear before you, he covered his tracks very well. But, little did he know, you could peek at his silhouette from afar. Knowing he made his way past the guards with extreme caution showed his prowess in strategy and disarming opponents with great ease.

Yes, he just wanted to hear your speech. After all, knowing how someone would open up about a fraction of their lives would be crucial in undergoing one’s plan to achieving their dreams, yes?

This was your moment. You let out a deep breath and spoke clearly as you cleared your throat.

“Greetings, my beloved fellowmen. It’s been a pleasure having to meet with you all to this very moment.” you greeted the audience with a friendly, approachable tone. “Throughout this memorable day, I was able to discern all your prayers dedicated to me and my family, especially in honor of my father’s passing. As an inherent successor to the throne, I have maintained a significant awareness through the years that my people, spread far and wide throughout every continent and ocean in the world, were united to support me in the task to which I have now been dedicated with such solemnity.”

The muffled voice of your speech was rendered audible to Griffith from the outskirts of the palace. He was perhaps….fascinated by your rather….pushy attitude on things. It didn’t take long before he palmed the area between his hips, hiding such an unsightly appearance as he began to fantasize about you under his control. He wanted nothing more than to dissect you in every detail possible, to know your deepest fears and motives of having to rule such a flawed kingdom. But little did you know, was that he wanted this kingdom all to himself.

“The ceremonies you have seen today are ancient, but some of their origins are hidden in the mists of the past. Their spirit and meaning still rise from the flames of finiteness. Perhaps, they still shine more brightly than we’ve expected them to do so. I have pledged allegiance with all my heart that I shall lead this kingdom, uplifting it further to claiming a thousand more victories than you would ever anticipate. Throughout all my life and with all my heart I shall strive to be worthy of your trust.”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed as he hid behind the doors alongside the two guards who were apparently slain before they could even fight back.

He wanted you.

And there was nothing more satisfying than breaking one of the strongest, most powerful women who once took an interest in the art of swordsmanship. But he would rather not challenge you to a duel; not because he underestimated your capabilities, but because he saw such barbaric acts to be unbefitting of a lady with high status.

An hour later, trumpets played as the Grim Reapers of the Battlefield were to be promoted as bodyguards, yes, bodyguards, of your kingdom. The King trusted you to this group of mercenaries who promised nothing short of protecting your integrity and wellbeing as the princess. But one thing’s for sure, it’s that their leader was bound to be missing.

You stepped down from the stage to observe your audience for any problems which may arise from the White Hawk’s absence.

“Wait, where’s Griffith? But he was just here about minutes ago!” Rickert exclaimed. “He can’t just be wandering out in the open like this! Griffith! Hang in there! We’re on our way!”

“Cut the crap.” Guts said, alerting his fellow comrades. “There must be a way to proceed with the ceremony without Griffith being of any concern.”

“But Guts-”

Recognizing and appreciating your bodyguards (or perhaps, some new friends) wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps you were intimidated by some of the mercenaries, but they played an integral part of your big day.

It was only one moment within that band that spooked you, it was the White Hawk revealing himself—it was Griffith. By that moment when Griffith claimed you to be his, you began to not take those words lightly and managed to develop a slight sense of fear. What did he exactly mean by that?

You brushed off your thoughts on the matter and shook hands with nearly all the members, with Griffith being an exception (obviously). Rumor has it that he’s still hiding where the sun doesn’t shine, covering his tracks in order to reveal himself before you in the very end.

And God forbid what kind of plans he had for you that night.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

unnamed gender neutral MC x Mammon Fic:

The Vacancy

What they have always wanted was a place to belong. A place for themselves, full of love and purpose and family. Where people were happy to greet them each morning. Where their existence mattered. Isn't that what everyone wanted? Wouldn't you do anything, everything , to find that place?

Tags: •Alternate Universe •Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting •Horror •Psychological Horror •Body Horror •Fluff •Twisted & Fluffy Feelings •Mild Gore •Unhealthy Relationships •Happy Ending •Cults •Human Sacrifice

Rating: M

Let me know your thoughts! Comments kept me fed and reblogs are the only thing keeping tumblr alive

(This was originally a 11k one shot written and posted on Sept 10 2023. But I have since then added 1k more words to the original one shot, broken it down into 7 chapters and then expanded on this fic with many more completely new chapters

So if the first 7 chapters seem familiar it's because they were posted previously, just with slightly less content. A new chapter will be posted every Saturday/Sunday)

Tag List (if you want to be added like this -> post. If you want to be removed lemme know);

@ashplsstfu

@kadythethief

@aspiring--cryptid

@wanderwelle

@sansarawheelvictim

@nagitokomaeda-the69th

@knight-clover

@butterflywaffle

@believemeimeverywhere

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@jolynetodd

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@mxsunnybop @betta-phish @anxiously-sidequesting

@jabesa0

@reikabae17

@dweeb-central

[thedupshadove]

If Gotham is Baltimore and therefor in Maryland, then all the villains should be fighting over whether they're in the south or not.

In the "Yes" Camp

Killer Croc: He considers Maryland the "Fringe South" before you hit the North, just as Louisiana is Fringe South before you hit the Desert. The poetry of having moved from one to the other pleases him. (Alternatively, as above, but he's from Florida, which is the Fringe South before you hit...the southern part of Florida.)

Harley: As an expat from the Greater New York Area, the cultural differences are just too stark for her to ignore.

Poison Ivy: The fact is, this area is ecologically closer to what people think of as "The South" than what they think of as "The North".

In the "No" Camp

The Riddler: Has uncritically absorbed a lot of stereotypes and cultural messaging about "ignorant uncultured hicks". Thus, his intellectually-focused fragile ego cannot bear to let him think of himself as "A Southerner".

The Penguin: Similar to the Riddler, except his threatened self-concept is more to do with his old-money American Aristocrat image (He probably wishes I had put Boston as an option on the poll).

Scarecrow: The reverse of Harley. Excuse you, he knows the South. He was raised in the South. The memory of the South clings to him like an old baby blanket made of kudzu. And Crab Cake Central up here ain't the fuckin' South.

[xenodile]

Goddess of Victory: Nikke - Story Recap

Chapter 1: Corruption - Part 1

Marian, Rapi, Anis, and the Commander take refuge in a dilapidated building, and Rapi confirms with the Commander that they really only graduated the previous day. Commander says yes, and asks if there's something wrong with that, to which Rapi replies that she's just incredulous that the Central Government would send a completely inexperienced rookie to replace a commander who had just been killed in the field. Marian is about to object to Rapi's harsh judgement, but Rapi presses on, deciding it's not something worth dwelling on, and whether they like it not, the Commander is in charge from now on.

With that settled, Rapi gets the Commander up to speed on the mission: 46 hours prior, contact was lost with a patrolling Nikke squad in this area, so Rapi, Anis, and their late commander were deployed to investigate. Anis adds on that their current predicament is that their former commander was the only one that knew the coordinates they were supposed to search. She asks if the Commander was given that information before they were sent out, but no luck, which Anis isn't surprised by. She is surprised however, when Marian says she knows the coordinates, stating the information was uploaded to her system just before the operation began, and offers to lead the party there.

Before the group departs, Marian turns to Rapi and rebukes her, saying that as someone who failed to protect her former commander, she has no right to speak down to someone else's abilities. Marian states that even if they're inexperienced, the Commander is still risking their life as part of the squad, and she will not tolerate Rapi badmouthing them again. Anis is bemused by Marian's passionate advocating for the Commander, and Rapi apologizes for speaking out of turn, but the Commander insists there's no need, because they weren't offended by Rapi being honest. Anis is pleasantly surprised that the Commander didn't immediately fly off the handle when questioned, as her experience with previous commanders paints the lot of them as having short tempers and fragile egos.

The squad moves out, following Marian's lead towards the mission objective. She seems a bit unsteady on her feet however, and Anis asks if she's alright. Marian admits that she doesn't feel well, and Rapi instructs her to undress so they can run a field diagnostic. Marian balks, embarrassed to disrobe when the Commander is present. Anis laughs and asks what Marian could possibly be worried about. Nikkes are soulless war machines after all, and Anis remarks somewhat bitterly that no human sees them and thinks of sex. Anis turns to the Commander for confirmation, but they bite their tongue, causing Anis to remark that there's always an the exception to the rule.

Marian insists that she's fine and Rapi needn't bother, but Rapi is adamant about sticking to protocol and ensuring that Marian isn't malfunctioning. Marian relents and Anis asks Commander to turn the other way for a moment. Rapi confirms that Marian's system seems normal, and the group prepares to continue moving. As Marian is getting dressed, Anis jokes that she saw the Commander peeking, startling both of them.

Shortly after finishing Marian's diagnostic, a distorted voice comes in through long range communications, asking if Rapi and Anis copy. Rapi answers, identifying the caller as Shifty. Shifty requests a status update on the mission, and Rapi gets her up to speed on the Commander's arrival and the confirmation of the mission coordinates. Anis chides Shifty for directing the Commander's transport to go through enemy territory to reach them, but Shifty is only confused, stating the Raptures identified in that area didn't possess any anti-air weaponry.

Rapi asks Shifty to send them the data from the transport's black box so they can figure out how it went down. She agrees, but it will take a moment to decrypt everything. In the meantime, she introduces herself to the Commander. Shifty is a mission control Operator from the Ark, providing tactical information and logistic support for field operations.

With Shifty watching over them, the squad continues onward. Soon after, Shifty announces a significant Rapture presence, identifying at least one of the energy signatures as a Lord class. Anis balks at the idea of going up against such a dangerous foe, and Rapi suggests a tactical retreat. Marian objects, not wanting to abandon the lost Nikkes, but Anis says that they're likely already dead, as most of these so-called "rescue missions" are just for show, and only 0.2% of MIA Nikkes are ever recovered. Nevertheless, Marian doesn't want to give up on the chance that they might be saved.

The Commander asks if this "Lord" is dangerous, and Shifty confirms. Lords form the command structure of the Rapture horde, and are distinguished by exceptional size and combat abilities. Shifty states that the simulations of present squad strength suggest a high likelihood of success with heavy casualties, and a 24% chance of squad annihilation.

Marian asks the Commander what their decision is. They don't want to give up and abandon the lost Nikkes to their fate, so Rapi tells them to give the order. So long as they give the command, the three Nikkes will obey, no matter what. Even so, Anis warns the Commander that this may be a suicide mission, at least for them. Nikkes can be rebuilt and revived so long as their brains remain intact, but humans are far more fragile. Commander says they know the risks and they're prepared. Anis is satisfied with the Commander's resolve, and Marian steps up, swearing again that she will protect the Commander.

The squad engages the Lord and its underlings, dealing with the Raptures with brutal efficiency. Once the beast is dead, Shifty asks for a status update. Rapi reports minimal damage taken, and sufficient ammo to continue the mission. Marian has taken significantly more damage due to spending the battle shielding the Commander, though she is still operating well within acceptable ranges. Anis worries that even 17% damage is worthy of concern, and Commander retrieves more bandages from their scavenged first aid kit to patch Marian's wounds. Anis mocks the Commander for such a pointless gesture, but Marian silences her, saying the bandages do help. In fact, she could use a few more, directing the Commander to a number of scuffs and abrasions, clearly enjoying the attention, as Rapi and Anis watch in judgemental silence.

Once "first aid" is attended to, Marian leads the squad further on and indicates they've finally arrived. Anis remarks there's no sign of any Nikkes around, much less the missing patrol, but Marian insists they're here and wanders off to start searching for them. As Marian walks away, Shifty calls Rapi to say she finished analyzing the contents of the transport's black box.

It takes a moment for Rapi to receive the data, and only a moment longer for her to level her gun at Marian, ordering her to freeze. Marian complies, barely reacting. Rapi asks if Marian really sabotaged the transport. Marian flatly says no.

Anis asks what's going on, and Rapi explains that the black box report indicates the transport was destroy by two internal detonations caused by ordinance that had been loaded into the ship for use in this operation. Both payloads were detonated remotely using Marian's ID. Marian repeats herself, no, in the same flat tone of voice.

Rapi demands to know what Marian was attempting, but Marian only says that they've arrived. Rapi warns her that she has one chance to explain before she shoots, but Marian just repeats herself.

"We're here." Over and over Marian repeats the same phrase, her voice empty and her face blank as her eyes turn red. She repeats herself endlessly, her voice distorting, echoing over itself and becoming garbled.

Horrified, Shifty says that Marian is Corrupted, trying to figure out when it could have happened. Commander asks what's happening, and Shifty explains that Marian's mind has been overtaken by the Rapture, and her distorted ramblings are serving as a beacon to attract more Raptures. Rapi asks the Commander to give the order to execute Marian, but they hesitate as the ground shakes beneath their feet.

A nightmarish creature emerges from the wreckage of a ruined building, larger than even the Lord the squad dispatched not long ago, looking more like a grotesque alien crustacean covered in pulsating black muscle than a machine. With terrible speed, tentacles emerge from the abomination and seize Marian, dragging her limp body over and absorbing her into its malformed body.

Shifty identifies the monster as a Tyrant class Rapture codenamed "Blacksmith" for its ability to disassemble Nikkes and use their components to create new weapons and parts for itself and other Raptures. Rapi says it's likely that the missing squad were similarly captured by the Blacksmith, but it may be possible to save everyone, even Marian, since there's a window of time between the Rapture capturing a Nikke and "consuming" her. Rapi asks the Commander for their orders, but Anis interjects that they need to run, fear palpable in her voice.

The Commander gives the order: Save Marian.

Anis screams that they're insane and they're all going to die, but Rapi tells her that have to at least try. Anis meekly asks Rapi if she found what it was she was looking for, and Rapi says she doesn't know yet. Placated, Anis readies her weapon and prepares for battle, while Rapi asks Shifty for support. Shifty is about to tell them their odds of success, when the Commander cuts her off, saying they don't need to hear it. Rapi and Anis steel themselves, and move to engage.

Against all odds, Commander, Rapi, and Anis are able to slowly disable the Blacksmith. Commander directs fire and watches the monster's movements, warning the Nikkes when to seek cover or change tactics. Piece by piece they tear the Tyrant apart, until its core ruptures and its malignant flesh begins to tear and burst, spewing black ichor as it spasms and dies.

Shifty congratulates the Commander on surviving a battle with only a 12% chance of success. Rapi immediately rushes over to examine the remains, hoping that any of the missing patrol have survived...but they're too late. There's nothing salvageable left in the Blacksmith's innards, every last one of the missing Nikkes has already been torn apart and repurposed by the monster.

Anis asks if at least Marian is alive, and Rapi confirms, pulling their comrade out of the wreckage but...

Her head is split open. She's lost a leg and an arm. One of her eyes continues to gleam red, while the other has returned to its original hue frantically looking around as she continues to compulsively mutter, "We're here" over and over, now pained and dragged out as she struggles to speak.

Anis swears, as even if Marian's alive, she's still corrupted and her brain has been damaged...and, as Shifty is quick to remind them, Ark policy is to dispose of any Nikke that has sustained brain damage. And as her CO, ensuring Marian's destruction falls to the Commander. Rapi approaches the Commander and tells them that all Nikkes are equipped with a small caliber sidearm specifically for self-termination should such an event occur. She draws her own pistol and presses it into the Commander's hand. Anis suggests that perhaps she should do it instead, if the Commander doesn't feel up to it, but Rapi reminds her that Nikkes cannot kill other Nikkes without authorization. Whether the Commander personally pulls the trigger or not, it is their decision that will end Marian's life.

The Commander approaches Marian. They aim at her head. From this distance they can't miss. Their hands are shaking. They can't hold their aim steady. They can't pull the trigger. They can't do this. Rapi urges them not to hesitate, as the longer they wait the greater the odds that Marian's corruption will turn her into something far worse than a Tyrant, but they just can't do it.

...They falter. They lower the gun. They can't do it. They won't do it. They won't kill Marian. As they try to step away, Marian reaches out with her remaining arm and grabs the barrel of the gun. She holds it steady, trained on her head and tries to smile for the Commander, calling out to them even as her voice is strained and broken.

She pulls the Commander by the gun, and takes the their hand in her own, her thumb resting over the trigger. With what little remains of herself, she thanks the Commander for taking the time to bandage her wounds. And presses down their trigger finger.

Rapi confirms the cessation of Marian's vitals. Anis curses bitterly. The Commander lingers and bandages the fatal wound to Marian's head. With the completion of their mission, Shifty orders the squad to return to the Ark, and the three of them leave in silence.

[toon-topaz]

Top 5 Transformers (please educate me)

Oh baby I'm gonna go hammy (please note I'm mostly going off Transformers Prime iterations because that's the only show I've watched all the way through) These are my personal favorites: 5. Wheeljack

An inventor with a penchant for making things explode (sometimes on purpose), in Prime he's also a samurai/cowboy lone wolf type, a good mix of badass and goofy.

4. Shockwave

Mad scientist who runs exclusively on logic, basically warcrime central, God is probably afraid of him given how he spends his time in the show reviving actual dragon fossils like it's no big deal.

Also his lil antennas move

3. Ratchet

Tired and annoyed grandpa, he's so done with everyone's shit and a total grump, but also, a giant dork. Big ok boomer energy, did robot steroids once and went absolutely nuts for an episode, and on top of everything he's voiced my Jeffrey goddamn Combs.

2. Knockout

He's the doctor, but for the villains. I can't get enough of him, he's a flashy red sports car, so flamboyantly gay he literally is canonically married in the comics (special shoutout to his himbo husband Breakdown). He's a catty vain sadistic bastard and he carries it so well, look at him go.

1. Starscream

Poor little meow meow supreme, literally so iconic he got an entire trope named after him. He's ambitious, cowardly, treacherous and has an ego the size of a planet but as fragile as glass. He's literally so pathetic and yet somehow cool, I want to hug him and punch him in the face all at once. Not to mention voiced excellently by Steve Blum

Really just the transformer ever <3

Plus, look at his hips

[immobiliter]

"how intriguing."

such was the voice on the other end of the communicator, one that had come to grasp onto a signal that stood out among the many spun threads of amphoreus. with a click and a tap, the chord which held such otherworldly promise had been sealed off within one of the many hidden 'pouches' constructed by no other than anaxagoras himself. to the black tides with aglaea and her all-seeing threads of delusion, two could play the game of grand web maker, even if his own were far less delicate a little rougher around the edge and therefore easier to slip through the veil.

of course, he couldn't say he had expected to hear someone else on the other side of the communicator; " and here i believed that the universe was only big enough to host one ego," a direct jab towards that woman he had brought up before, one whose presence within the very conversation brought forth a sigh.

he wasn't humored, but curiosity had been piqued. "surely it seems to have caught you off guard too, judging from the way you are attempting to tamper with my connection," there'd be some tweaks made to the thread he had constructed, tapping away at the tablet that had been hooked to said thread. its signal was fragile, but strong enough to have reached out to someone, something beyond the planet of eternity. how intriguing, how dangerous.

right up his alley (was he ... smiling?)

" i would quite like to record the name of the one i have caught listening, and perhaps, if the connection allows it," he'd tap away again, see if he could change the settings of the tablet to conjure the camera. " the face of the one who asked which idiot has entered her communication central. unless, of course, i am speaking to a somewhat eloquent toad?"

       A world where three differing paths met, veiled from the wider universe, and wiped from all known records of planets gazed upon by Nous. Herta had not quite grasped just how much of a conundrum the crew of the Astral Express had come up against until she herself stood in view of the train window, gazing upon it with her own eyes. Revealed by a Memokeeper who was now nowhere to be found — no surprises there, of course — but completely inaccessible, the train unable to safely land or make contact with those on the ground. Which included two of the Nameless. They could be dead for all that the crew knew up here in orbit. Given precisely who was down there and how they had defied all the odds so far, including becoming one with a active Stellaron, Herta highly doubted it, but still — the crew was concerned, and maybe so was she. A little.

       Herta had often been sought by the likes of Himeko and Mr Yang to help them solve problems during their trailblazing journey, but never one quite like this. Never one that she had to see through her own eyes, rather than through the eyes of one of her puppets. A wonder was keeping that world concealed from the rest of the universe, and she would find out what or who that was.

       And so she had set to work, all but taking over the Express' bridge and making modifications so that she could better monitor the behaviours and signals from the planet. Elementary for a quantum physicist and a genius, though the truly tricky part was in contending with the deafening silence emanating from the world below. All planets were noisy, whether they were aware of a wider universe or not: probes and signals from telecommunications were everywhere, and with the advanced technology of Akivili, even a quieter landing spot wouldn't prove an issue for the Astral Express. But Amphoreus was watertight: nothing got in, and nothing got out. Not without great difficulty, at least. Even enlisting the help of Screwllum and his irritating Intelligensia Guild friend with replicating the planet using memoria within their Divergent Universe didn't seem to really help matters. That, after all, was a strategy that needed time.

       But she was not easily defeated, not even days in when she was slouched in her chair on the bridge, resting her eyes ( no, not sleeping ) and was suddenly jolted back into action by a sudden beep on the Express' radar. A few moments ( and a few deliberate clicks of her keyboard ) later, and she had voices playing through the speaker. Excellent. She didn't recognise the voice, she didn't particularly understand the conversation ( something about a woman being a problem which... come on Amphoreus, give her something new ), but this was more than she'd gotten from the planet since she'd arrived.

       Herta thought she'd then try something even more daring: open up the communication channel and see if her new mark noticed. For him to be actively trying to pierce or slip through the veil over his planet, he must have been bright. And, indeed, that was when the attention of this disembodied voice shifted to her.

       There was a crooked grin on her face now, and Herta leaned forward in her seat, eyes trained on the monitor and the fledgling signal she was now trying to lock onto for a more secure connection. “ Oh, there's far more out here in the wide universe than you can imagine. ” What must it be like to be trapped on such a world that could not be escaped from? To look up to the skies and be forced to dream instead of reaching for what was there? The prospect would surely have been enough to drive her to madness; for someone who did not seem at all alarmed to be talking to someone beyond the stars, Herta could only imagine what the impact might have been for him.

       Was he dangerous? Almost certainly. But that was the only person on Amphoreus worth talking to, in her opinion, particularly if there was something yet more dangerous and unknown to them lurking behind it all.

       He was quick too. Bright, quick, seemingly open-minded. A little stand-offish, perhaps, but everyone barring her had their flaws. “ No, not tamper with. Amplify. As I attempt to hone in on your location. You see, I have business with Amphoreus and so far you are the only flicker of noise I have heard from the entire planet. ” She did so want to know why that was, though the chances of this mysterious stranger being able to answer her on that front was slim. But first contact was a start: one she only intended to build on from here.

       A request. Hm. There was no reason not to oblige, though transmitting video was an added hurdle that took some wrangling on both their ends to accomplish. Still, her face would eventually come to appear on his tablet, and his on her monitor screen. Did they have... pirates on Amphoreus? “ Madam Herta. You might want to take a screenshot on that device: it could be worth some credits once the veil of secrecy is finally lifted from your world and the IPC gets involved. ” The comment would likely go over his head, but no matter. He should still take the screenshot. “ And if I may know the name of the fool who has willingly taken a phone call from an alien of unknown origin with unknown intentions? ” An easy smile sat on her face, clearly revelling in the mystery of it all — as well as her own breakthrough. “ Do not misunderstand me: from that alone I can tell we will be fast friends. ”

@avaere / unprompted herta delulu content

[the-poem-in-stories]

Toph & vulnerability - Why she is not just tough

Sometimes I see people describe Toph’s charater arc as basically non-existent, as in she doesn’t change, stable as earth. But I disagree. Her arc may be subtle and in this meta I’ll try to clarify what I think Toph’s struggles and points of growth are. Just like the element she bends, Toph can and does shift during the series.

Toph is independent, confident, and self-assured - or so it seems. Don’t get me wrong, Toph is tough but I think that toughness exists, at least in part, to protect her soft core. Her true feelings often remain hidden below her metal armor. So let’s explore Toph’s relationship to vulnerability.

1. The Struggle at the heart of Toph’s character arc

A dichotomy to Toph’s character is introduced right from the start, in the episode named after her alter ego, “The Blind Bandit”- she is introduced as a cocky master earthbender who is rightfully proud of her abilities, who incorporates the fact that she is blind into her name. But there is a fragility to her pride that appears when Aang airbends her off the fighting stage in an attempt to talk to her. Later, we are introduced to Toph as the daughter of overbearing and wealthy parents who have completely sheltered her from the world. They see her blindness as something that makes her delicate and in great need of protection, to the point of seeing her as pretty much totally incapable. This establishes the central struggle to Toph’s character: she sees any dependence on another person as threatening to her self-determination, and self-confidence. She believes she cannot be respected as a capable person while relying on others. At the beginning of her arc, Toph sees complete independence as the only way to be free and avoid being swallowed up by other people. She can’t show any feelings that are soft, that make her appear vulnerable because that would mean weakness. In a sense, the way her parents treated her led her to believe that being cared for, being protected, being loved is the equivalent of losing her self. Maybe the reason she chose her fight name to be “The Blind Bandit” is because it implies a vision of herself that is strong through and with her blindess, a vision of herself totally opposed to the young, helpless lady her parents see in her and perhaps want her to be.

2. Healing through Relationships

“The vulnerabillity journey is not the kind of journey we can make alone.” Brené Brown, “Daring Greatly”

Throughout the series, Toph is challenged by and grows through her relationships, mainly those with Team Avatar, and her conversation with Iroh. A significant episode is "The Runaway" where Toph really opens up to Sokka about her feelings towards her mother, and the episode ends with Toph asking Katara for help contacting her parents.

3. A Note on Feminity

Since performative feminity was expected of her from her parents and feminity is usually associated with being weak and less powerful, it is no surprise that her relationship to it is complicated. While Iroh’s tale from Ba Sing Se takes the cake in terms of tear-jerking emotional impact, Katara’s and Toph’s tale has a special place in my heart. I checked and it was written by two women, which does not surprise me. I love the bonding time for Toph and Katara, and how their tale explores Toph’s relationship to feminity. Feminity is strongly tied to beauty, and we see Toph hurt after fancy Ba Sing Se ladies make mean comments on her appearance. Toph’s response is to laugh it off and bend a hole into the bridge, so the ladies fall into the water- protecting her vulnerability by pretending she doesn’t care. She hides her crush on Sokka in similar ways.

4. The culmination of Toph’s arc: vulnerable and strong

In my eyes, Toph’s arc is an argument for interdependence. We can be self-reliant and capable, and we can need other people’s support, emotional and otherwise, at the same time. The final fight on the airships shows this character growth in Toph: she fights like the badass she is, and she lets herself be protected and saved by Sokka and Suki. I think she finally realized that there is no contradiction, and that people protecting her when she wants them to feels good and is necessary. Her blindness has made her particularly vulnerable in the beginning, and she became the greatest earthbender in the world because of it.

Addition: this is why I really dislike what the writers did with Toph’s character in LOK. It is a regression to see her resist hugs and live alone in the swamp, apart from her friends and family, and I am not even touching the cop thing.

[emma-percent-speedrun]

Hello, Co-Managers.

Welcome to Emma%, a blog made for my Lobotomy Corporation agents, and their way to document their path to face the fear and build the future. There will be story elements based on these agents and gameplay will be posted sometimes... but its mainly just LC OC posting (because... why not? not everything needs a reason! - X).

But first, why don't we look at our Leaders? Besides, "a majority of them would like to know more about you as a person..."

—————

This is Roselyn, the leader of the Control team. Roselyn is a former WARP Corp employee who decided to pursue something else that recently became a passion: slashing the shit out of monsters (and getting paid for it).

Roselyn is cold and unapproachable when you first meet her, but its mostly because she has a hard time unlearning the attitude she has while working in WARP Corp. You may occasionally see her chain smoking while working, or tell someone off for doing something incorrectly, whatever shes doing... you can tell that its caused by loneliness.

—————

Say hello to Vera, one of the most careless and air headed agents that has ever graced this earth... and somehow managed to snag the title "Leader of the Information Team." Vera isn't that smart (and probably shouldn't be in the Information Team for that reason), but her strongest suit is with firearms, hoping that she can one day be as powerful as her father.

Vera is a wild card, no one knows what she's thinking nor what her next move could be. It doesn't help that she is RECKLESS with the magic bullet EGO, shooting magic bullets everywhere with no one making it out unscathed, its gotten to the point that she is considered the leading cause of death for clerks (Vera says otherwise).

—————

Marinel is the leader of the Safety Team, and rightfully so. Although he suffers from emotional detachment, he tries to make it up with how he treats his co-workers and friends around him with no reason as to why. Because of his emotional detachment, he was gifted a Mini-Helper to emote for him by analyzing and predicting the way he talks.

Not much is known about him when it comes to personal affairs, as agents rarely see him do anything outside of work, and the times they do see him at work… he’s usually in a life or death situation. Marinel also suffers from amnesia, he isn’t sure what his true identity is… but whatever it is, he will still protect his team members from death.

—————

And what is Emma% without Emma herself? The catalyst for this Lob Corp run herself, Emma has seen all… done all… and remembers all. One day, she hopes to use this knowledge to find her true self…

But she is also self centered and egotistical, believing that only her herself can see past the stars of the city, even becoming unpopular with multiple agents and Sephirot in the lower layers. Emma is cold hearted and knows that everyone around her is disposable, she trains them knowing full well that they will die sooner or later… but she knows that she will be the last person the manager will throw away, she is too important to be thrown away, she is “too perfect.”

—————

Oh! This is Bella and Romi, The leaders of the Central Command Team! The reason why there's two of them is because managing a huge place by yourself is a draining and extremely difficult task.

Bella takes care of the upper part of the CC Team with an iron fist, she dislikes people not listening to her... but she's really selfless and would throw herself into dangerous situations if it meant that someone would appreciate her efforts as a team leader.

Normally this isn't an issue that our manager should care about... however, Bella's mental state is fragile, she craves praise and appreciation from others, even going as far to do things that shouldn't be humanly possible or should ever be done by a human, and she hides these desires out of fear that she would be judged.

Romi on the other hand, tends to the lower part of the CC Team with a gentle hand, he is very forgiving when it comes to people making mistakes, even offering them ways to help fix them. Romi dislikes doing suppression in the facility and would rather have people do the dirty work for him, it's not that he's lazy, its more of a mindset that he never broke out of.

Well… Romi never broke out of many habits ever since he got to L Corp, help from his coworkers were proven to be ineffective, and every attempt to find out why he acts this way has failed. There were also signs of him crying some… familiar weird green goo after wearing the black swan EGO, is that normal?

—————

Mini-Capo is the leader (and therapist) of the Welfare Team, he is efficient at keeping his coworkers from going insane (while not batting an eye to The Horrors™️ himself) and causing a ruckus in the facility. Mini-Capo is a musician who loves music, and offers to lend an ear to his fellow employees.

What he doesn't know is that his current audience is not the same as the audience from the past, Mini-Capo has kept his old mindset for as long as he can remember, even (subtly) forcing it on other agents. Mini-Capo also believes that keeping a positive mindset no matter what is important to get through every day in this hell hole, even telling others to turn to toxic positivity.

“Whats that? Why is he so small? Why is he named after an EGO weapon? Well... go ask someone, maybe they'll know something! (but maybe not now... everyone is very busy in the middle and bottom layers!)” - X

—————

Meet Minicry, the leader of the Disciplinary Team; and the former leader of the Mini-Agents. Minicry used to lead a small group of tiny agents for suppressions, slaughtering ordeals and abnormalities while also gaining a reputation amongst other employees. They believed that with everyone under their command, nothing bad will ever happen to them or to anyone else…

However, things took a turn for the worst when one of their team members had to be suppressed, killing half of the Mini-Agents. With most of their comrades dead and the other half no longer associating themselves with the team, Minicry suffered from survivors guilt, even believing that they’re a terrible leader and sacrificed their emotional health to become stronger.

—————

Mini-Paradise is the most disliked agent AND leader amongst everyone in the facility; or in Emma's terms: "Mini-Paradise is a bitch ass motherfucker-" "Mini-Para is sadistic, manipulative, and a little piece of s**t, he has done nothing but f**k up our agents! Physically and Mentally!"

It's unknown how Mini-Para managed to be the most manipulative person in the facility, but his words can easily sway people into doing what he wants them to do, and when it doesn't go his way... Mini-Para can become aggressive really quickly. There was even a time when Mini-Para had to be suppressed, with him managing to kill multiple veterans and his own teammates… terrifying every single agent that has ever gotten hired ever since.

—————

We actually don't have any information regarding the Extraction Team leader, since they are labeled as MIA and any record of them is missing. If you have any information on where they might be, please tell the manager... immediately.

—————

And for our final agent on this list is no other than Solace, the leader of the Architecture Team. Solace is nothing but a person who mourns everyone and everything who couldn’t keep up with time, she dreams of turning back the clock and changing the outcome of every decision everyone has made… not knowing that the same clock has left her behind in the past.

Solace hates being seen and prefers to be an observer, even utilizing the diffraction EGO to hide herself and eavesdrop on people. she hopes that one day she can save herself and everyone from the 99 day time loop, but for now… she looks at everyone with sadness, knowing that there is nothing she can do to change their fate.

—————

"This list is not complete and will be filled out or revised later." - Angela

"Thanks Ange! You're the best! :]" - X

(Blog is operated by @21st-sinner-of-misery !!)

[kob131]

I think I should write out a spread of what I think of each character in Umineko just to make things clear.

George- Nice guy, respect his determination and will to be with Shannon, would like it if the games could stop fucking him over. But...I feel like he’s gonna take a dark turn.

Jessica- Really cute but also very tragic, a lot of respect for her conviction and staunchness of character.

Maria- Tragic and abused child likely scarred for life by her mother’s inepititude and abuse. Her belief in witches has done nothing to help her as it’s encouraged a violent and hateful mindset.

Krauss- Bit of a dumbass, definitely has an inferiority complex about Kinzo and it has lead him to finnicial ruin. Though I suspect his redemption is coming.

Natushi- A wondefully strong woman that has earned my respect. Though Episode 5 does not look good for her so far.

Eva- A tragic case of ‘you either die as a hero or live long enough to become a villain’. There seems to be good reason why she dies early in most Epsiodes- the sexism and toxicity of the family has eroded her mind, making it very easy for her to fall into hatred, pride and envy.

Hideyoshi- A great husband and father whose done nothing but work with what he’s been dealt.

Rudolf- ... Honestly not much I can say. He’s shown a playboy-like side and yet a faithful husband-like side. But I feel like the game has barely touched him. Same with Kyrie- I know she hates Asumu, loves Rudolf and Battler and hates how her former love rival still got through her. But she still feels unexplored.

Rosa- A very odd case. A terrible mother through and through, having abused Maria to the point of ripping apart a beloved gift she made for her daughter, something she called her best friend, and clearly tramuatizing her daughter all because of her own pride and fragile ego. Yet she stared down a small platoon of demon goat butlers, dying to protect that same daughter and even throwing away her pride to try and save her. 

Kinzo- Fucking asshole. I don’t really feel much for him other than hatred for causing the events and some small respect for his ability to turn the tables.

Genji- He did good giving Shannon and Kanon peaceful deaths and Kinzo doesn’t deserve him.

Kanon- Honestly wasn’t a fan of his pairing with Jessica in the first Episode but they did a really good job making him anguished and desperate while stilling honorable in the second Episodes onward.

Shannon- Honestly. I like her for dissing Beatrice and for finding peace in her deaths.

Kurawasa- Funny but I’m eying her ass.

Gohda- A fairly okay guy whose a bit bland but also I can see why he sticks by the family.

Virgillia- I’m still holding a small grudge for her betrayal from Episode 3 and laughed as her little goat butler died in Episode 4.

Ronove- Honestly don’t know what to make of him. He’s polite and respectful and honorable. But something about his ettiqute makes me think it could be an act to bide time to get an upper hand on people.

Gaap- Nice tits.

Ange- A sad but true future that will happen if Battler fails. She deserved better than she got.

The Seven Sisters- Eh. Their bond with Ange is really sweet.

Lambdadelta- Really scared. I do not want to face her down.

Berkanstel- Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou-

Beatrice- I have no fucking clue. She’s delighted in torturing seemingly innocent people for fun but so easily shows a hurt, remorseful or even honorable side. I kind of just want to put her out of her misery at this point.

Battler- A man who is simutaineously dumb and smart, weak and strong, stubborn and wavering- I have to assume these conflicting elements are intentional.

As of Episode 5, Chapter 2- these are my thoughts. Not being very analytical here because an actual analysis would take more energy than I got right now. Also my thoughts on Battler and Beatrice are very likely to shift and change given their central character status.

[yt-playlists]

Comment by admiralasprin on Reddit

I live in Bangkok now.

A quick breakdown of my life here:

* I rent a fully furnished two-beddy place in Bangkok, about $1,700 per month which includes an amazing gym, 60m pool, social areas / meeting rooms etc and great international vibe. It's in the hipster neighbourhood of Klong Toei, nice and central and has two parking spots. Cleaner cost me about $30 per month which is vacuum, mop, laundry, windows, dish washing. The internet here is 2gbps/1gbps and cost me $50 per month.

* My landlord repainted, upgraded the bed and supplied a great smart TV *for free* and **because I asked**. In Australia, landlords will spit on you for asking them to fix a broken stove.

* I bough a condo in the North which I AirBNB and holiday in, $140k for a two beddy with nice facilities - if it wasn't for the burning season, I'd probably move there one day.

* I do freelance work which nets me about \~$80k p.a and my partner works part-time and she makes $40k.

* We work probably 30 hours per week, my partner a bit less, and nobody cares where we are, just that our work gets done.

* This is the land of smiles. Everyone is friendly, courteous, and conscientious. In fact, when foreigners here get too aggressive or kareny, I've see Thais knock them the fuck out. Public freak outs and escalation are not welcome here.

* The food culture here is amazing and its super social, staying out late and doing bbq with friends is fantastic. It's so affordable and the city is geared toward staying out late, eating and drinking beer.

* I ride my scooter sometimes without a helmet, and there's no army of neurotics to go "WHAT A DICK HEAD HOW MUCH YOU GOING TO COST ME WHEN YOU SMASH YOUR HEAD IN MATE? ...... yeah, we Aussies are pretty easy going" lol.

* Cheap flights around Asia.

* I fly my drone without lodging flight plans to CASA.

What would get me back to Australia? Nothing. I hate the crab mentality, finance bros, and hustle culture. I hate the holes and home economy. I hate how much you pay for inferior goods and services. I hate the air of superiority from a land of people who happen to live on top of vast resources. I hate blue suit wankers.

Aussies have so little emotional intelligence and empathy, that people go around angry all the friggin time and they're too stupid with fragile egos to work out why they're miserable, so they put that on you. They'd be happy if only *you* would just live up to their idiotic standards.

Australian companies are so poorly run too. I'm down to do a thing for a set price by a set date, but I won't be doing any HR mandated training modules, getting any more cereal-box certifications, adhering to set hours or set working locations, nor 'taking ownership' to cover the fact leadership doesn't do this.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

unnamed gender neutral MC x Mammon Fic Update:

The Vacancy (Chapter 1 link)

New Update -> Chapter 5 (link) - The Feast

Chapter Warnings: (Accidental?) Self-Harm, Flies & Maggots, Mild Gore, Unreliable Narrator

*is2g this is a happy fic

**MC's just really fucking insane

***some questions are finally answered

Summary:

What they have always wanted was a place to belong. A place for themselves, full of love and purpose and family. Where people were happy to greet them each morning. Where their existence mattered. Isn't that what everyone wanted?

Wouldn't you do anything, everything , to find that place?

Tags: •Alternate Universe •Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting •Horror •Psychological Horror •Body Horror •Fluff •Twisted & Fluffy Feelings •Mild Gore •Unhealthy Relationships •Happy Ending •Cults •Human Sacrifice •Self-Harm

Rating: M

Comments? Kudos? Reblogs? Theories? Hugs & Kisses? Questions? Just wanna say Hi or talk? All Welcome! And extremely loved and appreciated - Sam🐸🩷

Tag List (if you want to be added like this -> post. If you want to be removed lemme know);

@ashplsstfu

@kadythethief

@aspiring--cryptid

@wanderwelle

@sansarawheelvictim

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@knight-clover

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@dweeb-central @noblognamepleasee @fully-automatic-ass

@sweetbrier2908 @reikabae17 @emiosb

[kodokoro]

The Central Arc had cool parts, yes. However, the narrative overall fell apart when everyone thought Azami was ultimately the big bad villain and the Azami rule was a "bad administration". Though exaggerated it's clear Totsuki is a terrible administration from the start even without Azami in the picture.

The previous administration was just as bad, because then made it evident that there's room for mistakes, regardless of someone's potential. That should've been very clear of that from the start when Megumi was about to get expelled for carefully following the exact recipe and Souma was about to get expelled when he stood up to a faulty system. They had great potential but had their cooking careers easily on edge just because an alumni had trust issues.

Students were being punished left and right because their dishes weren't good enough for the alumni or even Erina who quite literary abuses her power throughout the series. The Food Wars was a make or break, and people had their passions being on chokehold all because the dean's little princess wants a personal kitchen for herself. There was also absolutely no consequence to her failing other students intentionally because they damaged her fragile ego. Even if overruled by her grandfather, it's still a problem when you have the dean's daughter putting down others and their passions and getting no consequence to it.

The internship part was also annoying considering everyone has once again have their cooking careers on the line, but you know who didn't? The dean's granddaughter. In fact, she was allowed to boss around and disrespect someone's whole business. It should have been an opportunity to improve or learn from others, but instead thst just wasn't the case for her. She was the only one that didn't show any professionalism but because she has a supposed superpower and has a family with a position of power nothing was at risk.

In conclusion, the Senzaemon and Azami administration the same. Both abusive in their power, except for Senzaemon he lets his granddaughter get away with everything. Erina? Probably that too. I mean they did pass on the position of dean to an underqualified highschool freshmen soon to be sophomore. Her only resume is "family". Nepotism at it's finest! I guess the one thing Totsuki does realistically is that nepotism runs rampant in elite schools.

[autumn-oceanopromises]

Notes For "How To Suppress Women's Writing" - Joanna Russ; Foreword and Prologue

So, it turns out that the other seminal book of feminist writing, the book by Joanna Russ, her Essays, arrived yesterday, with the excited feeling that being able to read Somebody's Trying To Kill Me And I Think It's My Husband: The Modern Gothic brings with it, but this book is the only one available in the local central libraries, so fortunately it's the one I didn't buy! I have a month with this, so I'm going through it slowly and deliberately (and first). The ebook is out, so clearly someone else is reading this too. This book seems to be about analyzing the patterns that Western (white, educated, industrial, rich) society uses to suppress women's writing. So I'm kind of keen to get into it, because it's also relevant to the Courtesan universe, so, hey. To really explore carving out agency in tiny boxes, I need to set the boxes first!

I won't go into too much detail on the text itself per se. I do want to go through this chapter by chapter (on here!) as a summary of my notes from the chapter, my thoughts on the notes from the chapter, and kinda do the same for the other nonfiction books I've borrowed from the library. Probably, nobody's going to read this, but solidifying learning is always nice and helpful. That's why it's my notes. The quotes are how I take notes, though mostly on my phone - I wish I'd learned that in college a few decades ago, though admittedly phone etiquette was different then.

This isn't a book review, though it might slip into that format every now and then. I'm not judging the quality of this work. I don't think I'm suited to - not from any wokeness or anything, though I am conscious and wary of that - but just because the skill level of the writer is so far out of my grasp and reach. This is Part 1 of my notes learning from reading this book (watch as I never write Part 2). Click on if you're interested.

*Disclaimer & trigger warning: As a cishet POC male 1.5-gen immigrant raised in a primarily Western environment to baby boomer conservative parents, but born in a conservative Asian country, I may hold some attitudes which are unsavory or may trigger; all opinions are personal. This was written in 2023. *This is done with the intention of writing better, more true-to-life, more incisive narratives, perspectives and dialogue. Any personal growth is incidental.*

Foreword

The foreword was written by Jessa Crispin, to which I'll just link the Google search. I'll be honest. Never heard of her before this, though Bookslut, her publication, sounds... kinda familiar. They closed in 2016, apparently.

There's a passage in here which I think is unbelievably poignant and accurate, which given it was written in 2018 is, uh, current with the times. (what do you mean 2018 was 5 years ago?) I'm just gonna quote it.

"...[Russ] understands how a fragile Self will need to define itself against an Other... That need for the Other to be a specific something, so that in reflection the Self can be something better... Creates a lens that makes it impossible to see the Other clearly without risking the Self."

I bolded the stuff that's the most relevant, the most groundbreaking bit to me, though all three quotes there are all really important.

"She understands how a fragile Self will need to define itself against an Other..."

The first part is kinda obvious to me as I am right now, but it sets up the next bits. Of course a fragile self-image, an ego, will need to set up an enemy. A cause always props up an insecurity. You hitch your wagon to the racing horse that is independent of you, greater than you, and you speak with its voice rather than your voice. This applies to the radicals on both sides, democratic and conservative, by the by. Insecurity, inside or external, hitched to a cause. We can see this in MAGA folk, and also in TERFs, and also in frankly speaking, radical and/or uninformed feminists across the spectrum. Activists in general, too. Without an enemy to fight, who are they? (And by setting them up like that, they're defined as the Other compared to my-Self, which is therefore perceived as better, yada yada.)

There's this thing from the Oral History of John Wick, which I'll cover too in the same way as this at some point, where it states a classification of a movie, any medium, really, is where if you take out all the elements of that genre, is there a movie left? If there isn't a movie, then it's solidly in that genre.

If you take out all the enemies in MAGAs and TERFs or radfems, radicals in general, do they have anything left?

That need for the Other to be a specific something, so that in reflection the Self can be something better...

There's a bit earlier of how cishet, rich, white men (not just dudes or dudebros) - the ones who want to be seen as reasonable, specifically - are still considered the voice of universal reason in Western society. Concurrently, (Hi, ADHD!) I'm also watching a course, in bits and pieces, done by one of those guys.

(I won't say which course because I'm 30% certain I got in the back way and I'm watching this stuff for free when it should be paid for. it's a marketing course, so, niggly niggly...)

Well, no, not done by one of those guys - done in the image, in the idol, in the name, of one of those guys. The actual person talking is one of his personality-cult followers, who is his own cult leader. I say this with absolutely no vitriol. It is what it is. These days, everything in social media is personality-driven, everything about success is personality-driven, but the personality needs to be a very specific type. And one of the key first phrases of it that I picked out is "You gotta build your audience: you gotta know whom you're attracting, and whom you're repelling. You've got to set up the Other - so that there's something that Your People are fighting against. And that'll draw Your People to you." And so this quote from Jenna Crispin really makes sense. Really makes sense. Cult leader man is "what works and how this works" - Jenna Crispin just told me why.

We're in a world now where insecurity is bred into us. Choosing to put out a perfect persona is an insecure act. The perfect persona is rewarded. But anyway. That's its own diatribe. Moving on.

Creates a lens that makes it impossible to see the Other clearly without risking the Self.

That this making of an enemy means that the perception of the enemy is distorted, tied up in self-perception and self-esteem, is just an interesting one altogether to play with.

"There is nothing more comfortable than not thinking." - Simone Weil

Yeah, no kidding. But also... more than just the obvious. It's a drive for comfort in an insecure, unfamilar, antagonistic, violent world. This applies to Youtube and digital applications, too. I don't remember where, but there was a thing that said - o. The 100 fanfiction by Chash. (And also an interview by Sam Reich and Brendan Mulligan, wrt Dropout.) woops. still, applicable - when people make digital content that's a success, people search by "feel", and that locks creators into doing the same thing, over and over. It's like a prison that gets smaller and smaller. But yes, that search for comfort is search by "feel". And that's what creators are looking to elicit, right? That "feel". Emotions, that's what really good creators do. By creating a singular experience, they use emotions and imagination and all of that to create a singular memory that moves people to action via shifting the levers of emotion.

(I'm wondering whether my main, personal, conflict is really a drive for novelty and a drive for comfort. I have this feeling it's not quite? Because it's a drive for achievement and a drive for comfort. I'd like to hitch both horses to my wagon, but they seem mutually exclusive right now.)

One of my friends is studying eliciting emotions in a social media context. The easiest emotion to elicit is, of course, anger and fear. It's not hard: exaggerate, go for the most salient and extreme. Stuff directed at the Self elicits fear. Stuff directed at the Other, and the creation of the Other, elicits anger. Super simple. Not easy, it's never easy. I should probably do it at some point. (Though, the suspension of fear - creating a low but persistent level of dread? Awesome.)

I'm more interested in the transformations, specifically transformations of anger to something more peaceful and something kind and calm, or genuinely happy. How do you change anger to ecstasy? Positive awe. Wrench open the horizons. Negative awe and you go straight into panic. Stuff like that - transformations, sublimations.

One of the ways to suppress women's writing, which Jenna Crispin mentions in this foreword, is to cut exceptional creators off from the roots and stem.

"Russ has no mothers, no daughters." Excise them entirely from the lineage. "Like Emily Dickinson: she came out of nowhere, a stunning jewel, and faded into obscurity just as quickly." We see this more than in women's writing - suppression of POC writing and queer writing is exactly the same pattern, and I honestly think it super super super harms literature in general, this kind of suppression. (I, to be honest, have my issues with POC as a term, given it's a very American white definition - you separate by Othering yourself, but ok) As that Oral History of John Wick says, which, fuck, I guess this has become a comparative post: "like in animation, it's the stuff between the keyframes that really make the animation run." All the less good, the serviceable stuff, the evolution that made the trope popular and familiar and understood.

Jenna Crispin also mentions that "it's a cliche that literature builds empathy". It can help us along, but we're in an age where you get to choose what you like to read. Empathy needs to be worked for, opening horizons due to reading a wider breadth of protagonists. People aren't beholden to book lists or what's in your local library anymore. And most people will echo chamber themselves because it's more comfortable not thinking. You can read all the books in the world but if they're all the same formula, you don't actually go anywhere.

The last line of this foreword niggles at me. It's "We are all her daughters." It aroused disquiet in me. It felt, very strongly, very clearly, that this book was not meant for me, because I am not anyone's daughter. Despite the fact that Jenna Crispin, less than two lines ago, mentioned not to focus on name, gender, worldview. To think.

It's an interesting one. I guess I can be someone's daughter. I'm just viscerally offended by the assumption, somehow, despite being quite happy to be feminine, otherwise. It's an attitude in myself that is... huh.

Prologue

From this point forward everything is written by Joanna Russ, in 1983.

The prologue opens with "Frument", an act by the alien GLOTOLOGs. A quick google search, because I swear to god I have heard of "frument" before, reveals a grain-based porridge called "frumenty". Similarly, the closest thing to glotolog is "Glottolog", a database of the world's languages. I think I'm remembering the dancing aliens of my first year undergrad psych class. It was a terrible analogy that involved sex as a resource that only one gender could give. I don't remember whether that lecturer was male or female, but it was a terrifying metaphor. Stunning in its horror and implications. Especially that you had to study that and spit it out for university-accredited tests to be considered "correct".

"Historians of the majority ignore literature efforts or condemn them as mediocre, lacking in structure, of technical interest merely, or above all, lacking in the proper spirit."

...which brings "Glotologgish" into intergalactic parlance as "information control without direct censorship," with a side note of "ridiculous self-deception bolsterd by widespread and elaborate social fictions leading to the massive distortion of information."

We're seeing it now, here, in the world - information control via mass bot and cash for shitty clickbait. No direct censorship, but if you direct the boxes well enough and offer good enough bait, you can mass information control via self-deception, easy enough. Radicalization, echo chambers, along the same track.

In a nominally egalitarian society, the ideal situation is that members of the "wrong" groups have the freedom to engage in literature or media creation, but they don't, which means that they can't. Except people will. Make the freedom, therefore, with as many barriers to entry, and then discredit, ignore, condemn, dismiss and belittle the stuff that comes out afterward. If it's properly done, then the social situation becomes that the "wrong" people are free to do it, but few do, and those who do "do it badly", so there's no point in doing it.

Methods of doing so include:

informal prohibitions (including discouragement, the inaccessibility of materials and training)

Denying the authorship of the work in question

Belittlement of the work itself

Isolation of the work from the tradition that it belongs, making the subsequent production anomalous

assertions that the work indicates the author's bad character (hello, reverse cancel culture)

assertions that since the author is of bad or scandalous character that the work should not have done at all (hello, cancel culture)

assertions that the work is of scandalous or bad topic and thus should not have been done at all

Or ignoring the entire thing as not existing, the works, the workers, the tradition.

Aaaand that's it. for the prologue and the foreword. Ooh, I'm looking forward to the chunks that come next.

General Takeaways

I think, in context with the Courtesan universe (it makes me feel comfortable to set everything in there, okay???) this is the stuff I'd like to explore:

Who's the enemy? The setup of the Other in a personality cult. Being a personality cult leader while still following other personality cult leaders, all the way up. Having courtesans be influencers as well as being other artist types. Maybe the American house, or the modern house, maybe, is almost all influencers? Ha.

Tying self-perception into creating a fake and distorted Other, an exploration of self-identity and indoctrination. Propping up self-perception via Othering someone else.

Information control through deliberately and referentially setting up echo chambers

Someone hitching their insecurity to a cause, and causing a whole lotta harm while doing so

A character deliberately preying on someone else's insecurity to tie them to a cause

"Freedom" that is not freedom at all - via deliberate scandal and bad topic and information control. Courtesan is at the core of it about parasociality taken real, love work in place of or adjacent to sex work, so this is very much in line with the underlying theme of it.

I really need to watch more of that course, dammit.

Excise the root and stem, to make someone a singular existence, isolated from the tradition that held them. There's already something in the timeline here that has context: a male courtesan that made free, Jingyun.

[usermischief]

♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot ♜Warnings: this is the lemon in the spicy fruit salad (explicit content ahead) ♜Words: 6720 ♜ AO3 (link in content source because apparently we're back in "posts with a link to a non-tumblr site will not show up in the tags" times)

---

for @amatchinwater because she derailed all of my plans with that goddamn TikTok video

---

cracks in control

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you.” Brett squints and pulls him close again, letting go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his shoulders instead. “If Satomi heard I expected you to have sex with me, she’d drop her Buddhist beliefs for the five seconds it took her to break both of my legs.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “I probably wouldn’t have said no.”

“And I probably would’ve fucked you exactly the way you were begging for.”

-----

This probably shouldn’t be weird, but Stiles still cannot shake the feeling that strolling through Central Park with Brett Talbot isn’t something that happens on a regular basis. It’s not really Stiles’ first choice for a first date either because he’s awkward and terrible at small talk. He either talks too much, or his brain turns into a bunch of little knots when asked a question. Talking to Brett, however, is not as stressful as he expected. It’s surprisingly easy even. It almost doesn’t feel like a date as they’re walking out of the coffee shop, and Brett curls an arm around his shoulders as if that’s the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe it is. Maybe Stiles is just stressing out too much over everything once again.

“So, you went from dancing and gymnastics to playing lacrosse?” Brett taps a finger against the side of his cup, cocking his head slightly to look down at him.

Scrunching up his face, Stiles sips on his coffee. “Yeah, well, you know… teenage crushes.”

“Please, don’t tell me you had a crush on fucking Whittemore.”

“Wouldn’t that just prove I have a type?” Stiles grins up at him, quirking a brow.

Brett narrows his eyes and pokes Stiles’ shoulder with a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Thin ice, my man,” he says in a very low voice. “I am nothing like him.” Huffing, Brett straightens again and sips on his mocha. He’s not entirely wrong. Brett is not at all like Jackson, yet on the other, they have enough similarities to spot them from a mile away.

“Lydia.” Even though he doubts Brett is actually mad about being compared to Jackson, he’d rather not risk being too annoying on their first date. “She dated the lacrosse captain, so I thought…” he trails off, making a dismissive gesture and sighs. Yeah, good old times. Thinking back on his crush, he feels super weird about it. Now, he and Lydia are like siblings, and Stiles is planning her wedding with her. He wouldn’t mind if he’s able to announce that he’ll have a Plus 1 for once in his life — and Jackson’s face is going to be worth throwing himself into the whole dating scene again. Jackson’s face is especially going to be worth it to ask Brett to be his Plus 1 in three months even if this whole relationship thing is not going to work out.

Then again, why wouldn’t it? How high is the chance that Brett suddenly runs into him in the middle of New York City while he’s out grocery shopping? They talked for a little bit. Brett informed him he was there to check out colleges. Unsurprisingly, he got a lot of offers due to his success in lacrosse. After he left again, they stayed in contact. It took Brett two weeks to ask him out, and he’s been persistent even when Stiles was hesitant at first. All in all, Brett convinced him within a month, and now he’s come back to New York for their first date.

Lydia told him to make sure he doesn’t run off again.

“Damn,” Brett whispers, nodding slightly. “You got good taste.”

“Your ego is gonna be exhausting, isn’t it?” Stiles elbows Brett in the side and grins up at him.

Chuckling, Brett pulls him closer. “Since you’re always brutally honest, I gotta make sure my fragile ego isn’t going to crumble and break.”

“Oh, excuse me, I can be nice.” If he wants to be that is. Sure, his default is asshole. That’s just his gut reaction. Nice, after all, doesn’t help you survive in the supernatural world. Usually, it doesn’t even help you in the very human world. He wiggles his brows and wraps his arm around Brett’s waist, leaning into him as they walk past a little girl playing with her dog. It’s early enough on a Sunday that most people are not yet in the mood for a casual walk.

Brett’s grin widens. “Is that why all your previous relationships lasted so long?”

Wow. Stiles pulls his arm back and pushes the werewolf, who instantly starts laughing and trying his best not to spill his mocha. “You’re such a jerk,” Stiles says, jabbing a finger in Brett’s general direction. But he isn’t even trying to hide his own amusement. It’s nice not to have to tiptoe around people because they might get offended by every single thing Stiles says. It’s nice to have someone who’s ready to dish out as much as Stiles serves. That’s why he and Lydia get along so well. She has thick skin and a sharp tongue. She also doesn’t get all condescending either every time Stiles cusses somebody out.

“What’s the saying?” Brett asks with a grin, grabbing Stiles’ hand to intertwine their fingers. “Birds of the feather flock together.”

Stiles grins and squeezes his hand. Everything feels so unbelievably normal with Brett. It’s like they’ve been together forever. Hopefully, Stiles can actually say that in the future. He’s not usually someone who jumps too far ahead in relationships — especially not after most of them failed in under four months for various not-so-fun reasons. Plus, if they’re actually doing this, they’re going to have a long-distance relationship for at least seven more months. Stiles would prefer to take this slow because he’s not entirely sure how many more heartbreaks he can stomach before giving up.

“Ask Lydia,” Stiles says, tugging Brett closer, and starts walking again, “she’ll tell you I turn into a people pleaser whenever I’m dating someone, and I have a knack for finding the wrong people.” He smiles a little, even though he hates that he cannot stop talking about this on their first fucking date. This should be lighthearted. This should be fun. Stiles lets out a breath. “You probably have no idea how appreciated it made me feel when you told me you booked a hotel room instead of assuming we’ll end up fucking anyway… or thinking I owe you something because of your troubles.”

Brett huffs out a breath. “I came to see you, why would you owe me anything?”

“Because you were the one who traveled.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you.” Brett squints and pulls him close again, letting go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his shoulders instead. “If Satomi heard I expected you to have sex with me, she’d drop her Buddhist beliefs for the five seconds it took her to break both of my legs.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “I probably wouldn’t have said no.”

“And I probably would’ve fucked you exactly the way you were begging for.”

Stiles stops in his tracks and stares up at Brett, eyes wide in surprise. You were begging for? He turns and looks over his shoulder, seeing the little girl in the distance. There’s a couple walking towards them, their dog excitedly jumping up and down. This is not the place to talk about this. “What?” Stiles asks anyway because, seriously, what the fuck? There’s no way Brett could know how sexually frustrated he’s been in most of his relationships. And he was, fucking hell, he really was. “What are you talking about?” Even though he’s not sure he actually wants to hear the answer.

Chuckling, Brett sips on his mocha and walks back to him. “I walked in on you and this black-haired guy during a house party.”

That sounds a lot like Donovan. Wonderful. Of course, he has Brett walking in on him during one of his worst relationships. That’s just his luck. Stiles clears his throat, staring at the ground. “That’s not… I mean, that wasn’t—“

“Good?” Brett looks sympathetic. “Yeah, that was pretty obvious.”

Stiles wishes the ground would open up beneath him. He covers his face with his free hand, feeling cheeks heat up. Oh, god. “How long did you—“ Stiles swallows, unable to finish this sentence. This is horrifying.

Quiet laughter reaches his ears, and Stiles honestly has no fucking idea what’s so funny. “Long enough to know I could do it better,” Brett informs him with the confidence only someone like him can possess — he says it like he means it, and considering who he’s talking to, Brett is probably right about it too. People back in Beacon Hills were, and most likely still are, fawning over him. Brett does not have to go home alone. When he wanted to have sex, he has options. That’s not a reputation you get from just looking hot.

Stiles remembers wanting to get with Brett, but then Liam joined their pack, Mason followed soon after, just like multiple relationships that were different degrees of terrible. He’s not a good judge when it comes to his romantic partners. He has a knack for finding pieces of shit to date. Brett is either one of them, or the universe decided that he’s allowed to have something good for once in his life. He lowers his hand and looks up, pretending like neither of them knows how embarrassed he really is. “Didn’t think you’d be into watching other people have sex.”

Brett chuckles, brushing a finger along Stiles’ jaw. “I’m not.” He smirks and leans down, pressing his mouth against his ear. “I watched you. Only you…” His voice is ever so low, and there’s no mistaking that Brett knows exactly what he’s doing to him by whispering those words, “how you clenched your fists. I saw you grinding your teeth.” He wraps his arm around him, and Stiles steps closer, hiding his face against Brett’s shoulder. “You were so frustrated because he couldn’t give you what you want… or didn’t care to.”

Didn’t care to sounds a lot more like Donovan. Stiles is pretty sure he could have given him everything he wanted if he hadn’t dated him merely for being the sheriff’s kid. Seeing how often Donovan wanted sex, there probably was some sort of attraction there but that doesn’t change the fact that he pursued him mostly because he thought he’d get away with his bullshit by occasionally having dinner with his dad and acting like he gave a shit.

“The bar isn’t particularly high,” Brett continues, lowering his voice even further as people walk past them, “but just so you know, I would’ve fucked you harder if you’d begged me like that.”

Stiles groans against Brett’s shoulder, cheeks burning with heat. “Shut up.”

“I would’ve made you come first,” Brett says, clearly ignoring his plea to stop talking. “I would’ve made sure everyone at that party knew who’s fucking you into the mattress. I would’ve done everything you wanted me to do, Gorgeous.” How can he say things like this when Brett good and well knows they’re not going home together tonight? How is Stiles supposed to sleep? How is he supposed not to beg Brett to come to his place with him? The guy hasn’t even kissed him yet. They held hands for five minutes. How—? Brett chuckles. “I could go for some ice cream right about now, what about you?”

Yes. Stiles nods, not entirely sure he’s able to look Brett — or anyone for that matter — in the eye again. Still, something cold sounds good. Very good.

———

Stiles made a lot of impulsive decisions in his life. Most of them made him question his sanity halfway through. For the first time, he does not wonder if he’s gone mad. In fact, he’s pretty fucking sure he made the right decision, and still, Stiles struggles to knock on Brett’s hotel room door. They had a great date. Brett told him he’d pick him up for lunch tomorrow. Everything felt like Brett wanted to see him again as much as Stiles, but there’s this part of him that remains terrified of being rejected. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Just knock. Just knock on that fucking—

“Your anxiety is stressing me out.”

Stiles jolts and widens his eyes. “Hi… hey.” He grins and scratches the back of his neck. Brett is only wearing a towel, and Stiles has never felt this unsure about anything in his fucking life. Fuck. This is not how he planned this to go. He tried to be smoother. He tried to be a bit more confident. He got over the awkwardness after standing ten minutes in front of his flat with a butt plug, trying to get a cab, and then going for the subway instead. That was an interesting half an hour.

“You wanna come in?” Brett steps aside.

Nodding, Stiles slips past him hastily, biting his bottom lip. Yeah, that plug is still— fuck, what is he doing? This is so going to backfire.

The door closes with a quiet click. A moment later, Brett places a hand on Stiles’ neck, thumb drawing a small circle over his sensitive skin. “Are you okay?” The touch alone makes him want to curl into the taller boy. He’s so gone on him. How the fuck is that even possible?

“Sorry, I just…” Stiles swallows, trailing off and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Should he just spit it out? It’s probably better because Brett will easily catch him in his lie. For now, his anxiety might cover up the other very telling chemosignals. But that might not last all that long with Brett this close in only a fucking towel. “I wanted to see you.” There. That’s still very true, yet he’s not kicking the door in.

Brett smiles and cups Stiles’ cheek with both hands. Please, kiss me. It would be so much easier. Stiles is terrible at making the first step. “Good because staying away from you was hard.” He brushes his thumbs over Stiles’ cheeks. For the flicker of a second, Brett’s eyes drop to his mouth. He wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t because Stiles said he’d rather go slow, and Satomi seemed to have raised her foster son well.

And that’s kind of everything Stiles needs to know. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said earlier today.”

Brett blinks and opens his mouth. This is the first time Stiles has seen him at a loss for words. It’s kind of adorable. “Uh…” Brett shakes his head and takes to step back, working his fingers through his wet hair. “I didn’t say it to convince you to have sex with me.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Stiles smiles and pushes his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Brett continues, and he looks almost a little flustered; which is surprising because they’re talking about Brett Talbot out of all people, “I’m happy you’re here, and I wanted to have sex with you ever since you mouthed off to me the first time I saw you.”

Ever since— fuck. Stiles presses his lips together, but the grin slips onto his face despite his best efforts. “That was almost two years ago,” he says, sitting down on the bed very carefully. Knowing Brett wants him just as much and seeing him stand a foot away from him in nothing but a towel isn’t exactly making Stiles want all of this any less.

“What can I say?” Brett chuckles, but his eyes follow every single movement Stiles makes, “I’m a very patient person. Plus, I like my legs in one piece.”

“That’s all very chivalrous of you, but, trust me, I would not have tortured myself with taking the subway at this hour if I didn’t want you.” Especially not with a plug, but Brett doesn’t need to know that yet. Stiles hooks his index finger around Brett’s pinkie and raises a brow. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Stiles really wanted to take things slow, but something about Brett makes it impossible. He’s never hated going home alone as much as he did today — and it’s not just because of his promises from earlier. There’s something else there. Something stronger.

Sighing, Brett laces their fingers together. “You sure about this, huh?”

“You said you’d do it better,” Stiles says in a low voice, looking up at Brett. “You should’ve interrupted him, showed him how good you can make me feel.” He licks his lips, smiling almost innocently. “Showed him how a werewolf pleases their mate.”

Brett’s eyes flash dangerously, and the next thing he knows, Stiles is pinned to the mattress. Brett is hovering above him, face inches away from his. “Mate is a weighty word to throw around after one date,” he growls. Finally, finally, Brett Talbot’s famous control is cracking. His eyes are still burning yellow, and he’s smirking around what seems to be fangs. Fucking werewolves. “We mate for life, Gorgeous. Let me at least buy you dinner first.” We mate for life, he says, like Stiles doesn’t already know that since he’s been researching werewolves after Scott was bitten.

Stiles laughs and cups Brett’s jaw, pressing his thumb against the corner of his mouth. “I know what I said,” he whispers, and Brett goes very still above him, “and I know what I want.”

Silence hangs in the air for a few very long seconds. Brett closes his eyes, leaning into Stiles’ touch. He takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s gathering his control because when he looks at him again, his eyes are blue and he smirks. “So,” he drawls, brushing their lips together, “I can ruin you for everybody else.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but Stiles nods anyway. “Yes, ruin me.”

Brett kisses him, sighing softly as if to say what took you so long. A good question, but one Stiles doesn’t want to discuss right now. Because he felt something click into place too. It’s like he’s been waiting for this very moment forever. His eyes flutter shut, and he parts his lips for Brett’s tongue, melting into the kiss. He moves his hand to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as Brett pushes a hand under his shirt. By the looks of it, Stiles isn’t the only one exceptionally impatient because Brett tugs on it one second and helps getting it over his head the next.

Grinning, Brett lies down next to him.

Stiles licks his lips. “What?”

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Brett says, tracing his fingers over Stiles’ chest. “I’ve been thinking how to talk to you, but you were always with somebody else.” He’s pressing his mouth to his jaw, dragging his thumb over Stiles’ nipple.

Stiles gasps, unable to look away from Brett’s face, whose eyes follow his thumb, tracing invisible lines over his chest, getting closer and closer to the scar across his stomach. Swallowing, Stiles squeezes Brett’s hand and holds his breath. “I—“

“I have tattoos instead of scars.” Brett shifts to lean over him again and kisses the corner of his mouth. “One for being hunted by Monroe.” He lets go of Stiles’ hand and places it over the scar on his stomach. “One for being almost killed with a garrote.” His mouth moves to the crook of his neck, sucking skin between his teeth.

Closing his eyes, Stiles leans his head to the side. The hand on his scar is still present, but he relaxes into the touch, feels heat spreading through his whole body. He whimpers when Brett releases his skin, licking the abused spot before moving down.

“One for being poisoned.” Brett kisses his way down Stiles’ chest. “One for running into an alpha before Satomi took us in.” The hand on his scar moves down, bypassing Stiles’ dick purposefully, to scratch at the inside of his thigh instead. “One for pissing off Cora Hale when I was four.” He looks up at him, smirking now when he drags his lips over the scar, sucking on his skin here and there, probably knowing exactly what he’s doing to Stiles — even though Stiles didn’t even know that was possible. He loathes that thing, and then Brett fucking Talbot comes along, acting as if it’s something to worship. “You’re gorgeous, Stiles, you know that?”

No.

No, he definitely didn’t know that.

But Brett doesn’t expect an answer. He flashes him a grin and moves back up, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s a lot different than the one before; a kiss with teeth capturing his lower lip and curious fingers slipping past boxer briefs and sweatpants to curl around his dick. Stiles moans at the contact, clenching around the plug. Fuck.

Brett chuckles. “So impatient.”

“Yes,” Stiles breathes, and he’s really, really not prepared to drag this out for long — not when he’s fingered himself open, not when he’s worn this fucking plug for however long it took to get from his flat to where he is now, not when Brett’s jerking him off painfully slow. His need is urgent, has been since he came home after their date. “Brett,” he whispers as if he somehow still needed to get the werewolf’s attention. He rolls them around, straddling Brett’s hips, and grabs his hand. Licking his lips, he guides the werewolf’s hands to his ass — unable to stop the moan when a finger bumps against the plug.

Blue eyes flash yellow. “Fuck.” Brett places a finger against the plug, applying just enough pressure that it moves. It’s not much, not much at all, but Stiles whines. It’s no longer enough. He needs more. So much more. Preferably right now.

“Fuck,” Brett repeats. For a few moments, he’s just staring at Stiles, almost as if he’s not entirely sure about what’s happening. But he’s moving the plug in small circles. His other hand starts to work on his own dick, and there’s a look on his face— fuck. “You wanted to go slow,” he whispers, and his eyes darken with every word. The smirk returns. “I didn’t think you’d be so needy.”

Stiles moans. “Please.”

“Okay, okay, Gorgeous.” Brett grabs his waist and turns them around again. It seems like he got the message because he doesn’t waste any time with getting rid of Stiles’ sweatpants and boxer briefs in one go. Brett kisses his shoulder, settling between his thighs, and looks up at him with dark eyes. “You’re going to talk to me, all right? All the way through. I need to know you like what I’m doing.” His fingers dance over the inside of his thighs. Every single touch feels electric.

Stiles laughs breathlessly. He’s not anxious exactly, but his nerves are very present despite feeling more than comfortable with him. “Is that an ego thing?” he asks, reaching up to run his fingers through Brett’s messy hair. This guy has absolutely no business being that pretty, and Stiles shouldn’t have any business being in his hotel bed seconds away from what he can only assume is going to be amazing sex.

“No,” Brett whispers, running his lips over his collarbone before looking up at him, expression serious yet not without a small grin. “But I can only pick up on so much, Gorgeous, and I really—“ he bends down to kiss him “—want you to feel good.” His hand returns to the plug, and he carefully works it out of him.

Stiles whines at the loss, staring at Brett whose eyes are locked on the plug. Something crosses his expression. Stiles licks his lips, curling his fingers around his dick. “Please,” he repeats, and he moans when Brett looks up at him with an unspoken command, “I can’t— don’t tease me.” Brett can tease him all he wants the next time they’re having sex. He doesn’t care. But not tonight. Not tonight. He’s going to lose his mind if Brett isn’t going to get a move on. “There’s lube in my sweatpants.”

Brett chuckles and drops the plug somewhere beside them. “So desperate,” he says in a low voice, but he sits back on his heels to reach for the hastily discarded clothing item. “Can’t say hate it.” He smirks, “but I need you to be a little more patient.”

Grimacing, Stiles props himself up on his elbow. Patience is really not something he has right now. Not even in the slightest. He wraps his fingers around Brett’s dick, dragging his thumb over his tip — Brett’s eyes flutter shut, and he pauses in his movements for a few seconds. There’s a slight flush to his skin. His mouth falls open for a deep breath. Stiles swallows. How can one person look so fucking hot? It’s unfair. So fucking unfair, and Stiles will have his time with exploring every single inch of Brett’s body at one point. But not today.

Well, at least not now.

Brett opens his eyes again. “I’d be a lot quicker if you stopped distracting me.” He grins when he leans down to kiss Stiles, grunting in dismay when Stiles lets go of his dick to curl his fingers in his hair instead — Brett has probably absolutely no clue how head over heels he already is for him. It’s better that way. Brett’s ego is big enough for the two of them. No need to feed it any more.

Stiles runs his hand up and down Brett’s back, dragging his nails over his warm skin. Brett shudders above him, muscles contracting under his touch. He could kiss him forever, touch him forever, just keeping him close and— fuck, seeing Brett leave tomorrow is going to be the fucking worst. The next seven months are going to be even harder, Stiles can already tell. “Brett,” he whispers between kisses, “you’re killing me here. Please.”

Chuckling, Brett breaks the kiss. “You’re impossible.”

“I just really need you,” Stiles whispers, gasping when Brett finally pushes two fingers into him. His eyes flutter shut, and he presses against his hand. Luckily, Brett starts working his fingers in and out of him quickly, almost as if he’s getting more and more impatient himself. That’s more like it. That’s good. A third finger quickly joins the other two. Stiles moans, and he’s reaching for his dick.

But Brett catches his hand. “No,” he says, sounding surprisingly wrecked. “No touching.” He crooks his fingers a little and hits that spot deep inside him.

“Brett.”

Another chuckle reaches his ears. “I’m sorry, what was that?” This fucking— Brett presses a finger against his prostate, massaging it with just enough pressure to be absolutely fucking torturous in the best kind of way.

Stiles curls his hands into fists. “Brett,” he moans, arching his back, pushing against his fingers. Heat burns in his veins, and he feels so— fuck. “Brett, please.” He opens his eyes, swallows, and forgets how to breathe when he sees Brett— his eyes are a bright yellow, lips parted and he doesn’t look away from his fingers buried in Stiles’ ass. That is, that view is a lot. Too much, almost. “Fuck,” Stiles breathes because… air— fucking hell. If this already feels like heaven. “Fuck me, Brett,” he sounds as wrecked as he feels, but he finally gets Brett’s attention again.

And the look he gives him—

Brett lets go of Stiles’ hand and pulls his fingers out. Fuck that feeling. It’s the worst, but it’s only going to get better from here on out. “How do you want me?” he asks, reaching for the lube again.

How do you want me? Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose. This guy is trying to kill him, isn’t he? “I want you inside of me,” Stiles whispers, licking his lips as Brett’s skilled fingers spread the lube over himself. Everything this guy does makes Stiles want him so much more. Even his stupid chuckle makes Stiles want to fuck this jerk even more. He probably should be ashamed of how a single date and a few perfectly chosen words convinced him to throw all of his relationship resolutions out of the window. But there’s just something about Brett, something so fucking addicting. He can’t stay away, and he certainly doesn’t want to.

Taking a deep breath, Brett grabs the base of his dick and positions himself. “Ready?”

Stiles shifts a bit, lifting his legs and hooks them around Brett. “Have been for a while,” he whispers, weirdly thrilled when he gets nothing but a groan in response. His previous partners weren’t particularly vocal, but neither was Stiles. Talking felt extremely awkward. His pleas were usually ignored as well. Brett is attentive, Brett is ready to do whatever Stiles wants him to do, and it’s the best fucking feeling in the world. Words have been all it takes for Stiles to crack and crumble and take the subway with a plug buried inside of him. It says a lot about his previous partners, doesn’t it? So, when Brett finally pushes in, he has absolutely no qualms about begging Brett to hold him close.

And Brett follows the instruction without a flicker of hesitation. “Fuck,” he moans — a sentiment Stiles would very much agree with if he didn’t have to focus so much on breathing. Because fuck, fuck. “You’re tight.”

All Stiles can do is moan breathlessly. He’s not even entirely sure what to do with his hands, so he wraps his arms around Brett the moment he’s close enough and holds onto him while he’s pushing in ever so slowly, making Stiles feel every fucking inch. It’s so good and too much at the same time, and he cannot decide if he just wants Brett to just go for it or stop until Stiles remembers how breathing works.

Brett whispers something into his ear Stiles doesn’t catch because he’s finally buried inside of him, and that’s— Stiles presses his head into the pillow, moaning breathlessly. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and digs his heels into the mattress.

“Talk to me, Gorgeous.” Brett nudges their noses together and runs his right hand up and down Stiles’ side. “What do you want?” Everything. Nothing. He’s never been so fucking overwhelmed yet felt so good during sex. That’s not his experience, and Brett hasn’t even done much yet.

Stiles breathes in through his mouth and reaches for Brett, digging his fingers into his thigh. “Don’t move,” he whispers and forces his eyes open again. “Please.” It doesn’t hurt, not really, but the stretch is still uncomfortable, and — fuck — he needs a minute to get used to Brett’s size.

Brett props himself up and tilts his head to the side, smiling at him. “You okay?”

“More than okay, I just…” he trails off and sighs, taking another deep breath in the hopes of calming down his rapid heart. “Come here.” Stiles tightens his embrace and parts his lips for a kiss. He melts into it, feeling hot and too good and comfortable. They’re so close, so fucking close, and his whole world shrinks until it consists of nothing but Brett and the bed they’re on and the room they’re in. He doesn’t want to think about anything else, feel anything else. Curling his fingers into Brett’s hair, Stiles rolls his hips. They both moan into the kiss and when Stiles does it again, Brett breaks it, eyes squeezed shut tightly. It almost seems like he’s hanging onto shreds of his control. Stiles wonders how much it takes to make him lose it. He runs his fingers through Brett’s hair, moaning into his ear as he keeps moving back and forth.

After a few moments, Brett opens his eyes again. He grins and kisses the shell of Stiles’ ear. “Wanna ride me?” This asshole and his unbreakable grip on his control.

“Yes,” Stiles breathes anyway because he’s never done it before, and he’s got a goal now. This ends with Brett pinning him to the bed and fucking him. He’d probably do it if Stiles asked him to, but where would be the fun in that?

Brett pulls out and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up until he leans against the headboard. His hands immediately find Stiles’ waist when he straddles his hips. He licks his lips.

Stiles grabs Brett’s dick and sinks back onto him. His own patience is cracking too, and he really, really needs to move, and he wants Brett to fuck him as hard as he can — but not because he asked him. He wants Brett to do it because he can’t help it. But cracking Brett Talbot won’t be easy. Stiles starts moving again and grabs the headboard himself for support. Slowly, he builds up speed, raises himself higher, but he makes sure to keep his eyes on Brett, makes sure to keep as close an eye on his expression as possible.

“Fuck,” Brett breathes, banging his head against the headboard. “Stiles—“

Fingers dig into his hips, hopefully leaving bruises, something that reminds Stiles of what’s happening right now, so he can look at himself in the mirror and see the proof until he’s able to see Brett again. Stiles moans, letting his head fall forward. He smirks at Brett, getting another groan in response. Licking his lips, Stiles bends down to kiss him and stops moving. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but Brett makes a sound in the back of his throat and grabs the back of his neck to yank Stiles close — that reaction is fucking worth it.

“You feel so good inside me,” Stiles whispers against Brett’s lips. To be perfectly honest, he’s not entirely sure where this is coming from. He’s never been like this in a relationship. But Brett is— Brett. He makes him feel so fucking amazing, better than he’s ever felt before, and fuck, Stiles wants Brett to know it.

Brett opens his mouth, but Stiles starts moving again, and whatever he’s trying to say goes under in a moan. He keeps him close, trying to kiss him again. But they’re really just breathing into each other’s mouths because, fuck, this new angle makes Brett’s dick brush up against his prostate deliciously every single time. Talented fingers curls around his dick as well, working him perfectly in time to Stiles fucking himself on Brett’s dick. His thighs are going to kill him tomorrow. Brett moans his name, and this time Stiles has to stop moving or he would’ve come right then and there.

He leans his head against Brett’s shoulder, breathing heavily. A growl reaches his ears. It’s so quiet, Stiles is pretty sure he’s not supposed to hear it. He grins and kisses Brett’s shoulder then his jaw. All Stiles wants is to mark his skin, claim him as his the way Brett could. “So good,” he moans into Brett’s ear. If he cannot mark him physically, Stiles is going to make sure he’s going to remember this for as long as possible. Stiles moves once again, keeping his mouth pressed to the shell of Brett’s ear. He moans, curling his right hand around the nape of Brett’s neck. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Brett, fuck.”

Brett bangs his head against the headboard again. His hands return to Stiles’ hips, but this time, he’s not just holding on to him. He moans, and his fingers twitch, almost as if he’s having to remind himself that he gave Stiles full control over this situation.

Stiles bites Brett’s earlobe, slowing his movements again, and comes to another stop. The growl is louder this time, and the grip on his hips tightens, but Brett still resists the urge to move him the way he wants to. Stiles chuckles, “regret it yet?”

“You little shit.”

“To dla mnie przyjemność*, Babe.”

This time, Brett makes no secret of his growl. He lifts Stiles up and pushes him into the mattress. “I’ve been such a gentleman,” he snarls, sinking into him without much of a preamble. “And you, you—“ There’s a dangerous smile on his lips and he leans down until they’re nose to nose. “You think it’s funny to tease me, huh?”

Stiles raises his brows. “A little bit.”

“Oh, Gorgeous, you got the wrong werewolf,” Brett whispers, grabbing Stiles’ wrists to pin them over his head. Yeah, that’s definitely not the wrong werewolf. He’s propping himself up on his elbow and pulls out a little. “If I’d known before,” Brett whispers, thrusting back into him. Oh, fuck. “I would’ve pinned you down the second you walked into my hotel room.” He’s pulling out more each time, starting to fuck him in earnest now. “But you were so innocent this morning.”

Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Stiles wraps his legs around Brett’s waist, moaning with each thrust. His dick is throbbing between them, begging for attention Brett surely isn’t going to give it, not with how tight his hold on Stiles’ wrist is.

“Are you innocent?”

“N—no,” Stiles moans, still remembering Brett’s order to talk to him. “Brett, please.” There’s a familiar pressure building. He’s already so fucking close, and he’s not going to last long with Brett fucking him like that.

And Brett is most likely well aware of it. He presses his lips to the shell of Stiles’ ear. “Regret it yet?” They both know he doesn’t, and Brett doesn’t wait for an answer. He fucks him hard and fast, fucks him like he’s born to do it, whispering words into his ear that make less and less sense. But Stiles doesn’t really care, not when he’s so close, not when every time Brett slams into him, he hits that spot.

“I— I’m—“ Stiles curls his hands into fists, tries to twist them free from the grip, but Brett is making sure he’s not getting free.

“Let go, Gorgeous,” he breathes, kissing the side of his neck and down to his shoulder. “Let go.” He snaps his hips forward.

And just like that, his orgasm slams into him. He’s arching his back, spilling his release over their chests, and clenches around Brett as his climax takes over his whole body for a few blissful moments. His vision blurs, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he breathes, and he feels like repeating it, because Brett continues to fuck him, but his thrusts are short, without rhythm, and just before it feels like too much, he stills and moans Stiles’ name. The grip around his wrists turns vice-like for a few seconds.

Letting out a breath, Brett collapses on top of him.

Stiles kisses his temple and finally gets his hands back as well. Smiling, he runs his fingers through Brett’s hair. “I thought there’s be more biting involved.”

Brett snorts out a laugh. “You know I can’t claim you as my mate yet, right?” He props himself up, grinning a little. “I’m a beta. Alphas have mates.”

“I knew that.” He totally did not know that. Somehow, that information must’ve slipped past his attention when he researched all of that.

Humming, Brett pushes himself up on his elbows. “So,” he drawls, the grin on his face more than telling — yeah, he’s well aware Stiles had absolutely no idea, “you also know what happens when I claim you as an alpha?” He quirks a brow, probably already aware that the answer to this very question would be no as well. Because Stiles only remembers the whole biting part, and that humans aren’t necessarily turned into werewolves when it’s a claiming bite. That’s most likely why he assumed betas could do it too.

Stiles licks his lips. “What?”

Brett kisses him again, pushing his tongue past pliant lips, and pulls out — not the most pleasant feeling — only to push something smaller back into him. His plug, and his body, the fucking traitor, doesn’t even resist.

“Oh, what—“ Stiles squirms a little, scowling at the weird sensation.

“It’s called a knot.” Brett falls onto his back next to him and pulls Stiles towards him, running a finger up and down his spine. “Your little plug is not at all the right size, but it does the job… for now, at least.” Smirking, Brett presses his finger against the plug again.

Stiles jolts and slaps his chest. “Don’t.” He’s way too sensitive to let him play around right now.

“Want me to take it out?” Brett resumes tracing his spine.

“No.” Stiles glances up at him, grinning a little when he’s faced with burning yellow eyes. Coming here was the best decision he’s made in a very long time.

---

* "To dla mnie przyjemność, Babe." - "It's my pleasure, Babe."