#<- gender tag. everything in there is Me at my core

[kookielips]

─ jeon jungkook (nsfw)

soft dom!jungkook x sub!reader

gender / tags: sexual content without a real plot, established relationship, pussy eating, fingering, f penetration, unprotected sex, slight aftercare, slight mention of sweat and other bodily fluids.

word count : 771

notes: english is not my first language, please take this into consideration and ignore any mistakes. let me know what to improve/if you liked it <3

"just one more, hmm?" you felt his breath on your neck, his fingers caressing the purple marks on your thighs "can you do this for me, baby? can you take one more finger?" you nodded quickly, seeing him tilt his head to place kisses below your navel, a smile appearing on his face as he felt you shiver.

he skillfully moved your body so that your legs rested on his shoulders, he kissed the inside of your thighs before his lips took your clit and simultaneously inserted another long finger into your cunt. the cold metal of the lip piercing made you shiver, his movements were slow, torturously too slow, which only made the knot in your stomach grow, offering no real relief other than the small sensation of pleasure that only accumulated into more lust. every time you thrust your hips towards him and let out another needy moan he would laugh teasingly against your spot, the vibrations it sends through your body almost being too much at that moment. jungkook was in no rush when it came to you, he would truly spend hours teasing you just to get these little desperate reactions from you.

when he eventually settled into a rhythm that could send you over the edge, he pulled away, his lips left your core and he retracted the wet fingers that were poking your g-spot, only to, hovering over you, stretch them towards you "suck it" his authoritative tone contrasted with the man who was laughing softly at you as he ate you out little by little, this duality it still impressed you. you did what he asked without thinking twice, tasting yourself, running your tongue around his fingers slowly "that's it". he smiled, satisfied, as he took off his own clothes and positioned his already leaking cock at your entrance.

jungkook loved this moment, where your bodies came together, he felt so close to you and so loved that he could come with just that thought. he enjoyed the short moments when he didn't move inside your hole as much as the moments he did, waiting for you to get used to it and relax around his length. he wanted to memorize everything, her face contorted in pleasure with the stretching of her pussy, her mouth slightly open, her breathing short, her nails digging into the sheet.

his hands slid down her body until they reached her breasts, he curled his hands around her around and gave it a light squeeze, getting a whimper from you. he skillfully played with your nipples between his fingers and began moving his hips against yours, fucking you expertly, the way he knew you liked it. he could be teasing when it came to foreplay, but he was relentless the moment he was inside you, chasing his own climax while doing his best to make you feel good too.

"oh, please!" the most pornographic noises left his mouth as he threw his head back, lost in the ecstasy you were making him feel, giving him a perfect view of his toned chest shining with sweat. he pulled her legs so they were better positioned around him, giving him a better angle to hit her. his tattooed hand grabbed your jaw and his thumb caressed your pink lips, a silent signal for you to open, that authority in your expression from earlier was visible now too. your eyes shone with lust as he pressed his thumb against your tongue gently, your eyebrows furrowed and you felt his dick twitch inside you.

his movements became more difficult, producing wet sounds that echoed through the room, his tip hitting your g-spot with each quick movement, that familiar feeling formed in his stomach. your vision became blurry and with a cry you came first, writhing in the sheets, your hands reaching for the headboard for stability. "i'm close" he came soon after, murmuring your name repeatedly, with last strong thrusts dumping his load inside you. he pulled away as soon as he regained consciousness just to watch, with his head half tilted and a satisfied expression, the mixture of fluids that stained the silk sheets as they left your cunt.

he sighed softly and left a lingering kiss on your forehead, his hands busy caressing your thighs. “you did so good for me, sweetheart, it was incredible” jungkook wrapped his arms around you, leaving kisses on your neck and the back of your head as he guided you to the bathroom for probably a second round.

[horse-girl-anthy]

The City and the Self: Or, the Uses of Lesbianism

someone in my server recently asked why Ikuhara seems so hung up on lesbians. I gave a short answer which in hindsight doesn't satisfy me. even this post won't touch on everything, there's plenty more that could be said, but here's a stab at a more complete answer, drawing from RGU specifically, though I think these points generalize to YKA as well.

a long time ago--around 2017, I believe--I posted in the RGU tag, asking about differences between how the western and Japanese fanbases see the show. the answer I got surprised me: I was told a popular fan theory held that Utena and Anthy were the same person. this is confirmed in the interview Ikuhara did with Mari Kotani:

Kotani: How did you think about relationships between two women, like the relationships between Utena and Anthy, Juri Arisugawa and Shiori Takatsuki, and so on? Sometimes it is thought of as one girl and her alter ego. Ikuhara: Yes, that's true of course.

at the time, this didn't make sense to me. now, though I don't take the "alter ego" concept literally, I certainly see where these theorists were coming from.

the very first impression the audience gets of the show, the opening seconds of the theme song, depict Utena and Anthy as mirror images of one another. I can't find the post now, but I once saw someone do a face swap of Utena and Anthy... and there was almost no difference in the final result aside from their eye color. yes, the show has somewhat same-y character designs (pointy chins, noses, etc.), and yes, Utena and Anthy are differentiated by coloring and height. however, there are differences in the facial features of the other characters, including other female characters like Juri and Nanami, meaning that you wouldn't get the same result from face swapping them that you do from face swapping Utena and Anthy.

visually, the show is trying to tell you something: Utena and Anthy are counterparts; not "the same person," in that there are clear contrasts between them, but perhaps different aspects of a single self. to put it another way, they cannot be separated from one another; what happens to one of them will affect the other, and how they relate to each other tells you a lot about how they relate to themselves.

RGU is not the first story to have this premise. I just watched Ingmar Bergman's Persona, which uses two women to tell the story of one woman, and that came out all the way back in 1966. I think that it's possible to do this kind of story with characters of different genders--however, it's most often done with homosexual/homosocial pairings because two people of the same gender are seen as better mirrors to one another.

when I initially gave my response as to why Ikuhara writes a lot of lesbians, I cited the influence of shoujo manga. however, I didn't detail how homosexuality was featured in those manga.

Ikuhara once said that the core theme of shoujo is "self-revelation." he wanted to capture that in RGU, and it seems to have come across. consider Takemiya Keiko's reading of RGU as "A story about independence, about finding oneself. It feels like a story about a girl defining 'what is myself?'"

this journey of self-discovery must involve encounter with the other. part of romance is other-longing, the desire to meet the unknown; love requires a separate entity which is not merely an extension of the self (this is why I don't believe that Utena and Anthy actually are "the same person"). through encountering the other, one can find one's own self, and further, through this encounter, the selves which meet can be transformed.

while plenty of 20th century shoujo did center heterosexual couples, I believe that homosexual and homosocial relations were so prevalent because they facilitated this romance more effectively. on a visual level, a homosexual pairing can create a clearer parallel, as discussed above. for a more thematic angle, RGU's lead writer Enokido has mused that homosexuality removes the issue of "genetic advantage" from the equation; since there is not a clear "survival and reproduction" benefit to homosexuality, it is easier to see it as "pure love." along the same lines, Ikuhara has said that "as soon as you see the destination point of producing children, sex becomes a social system." that's not to say that homosexual couples exist independently from social systems. the point is that writers who wish to pursue the idea of "self-discovery through the other" may wish to do so in the context where the norms of heterosexuality are not an issue, as they could muddy the water.

as an example, take Kaze to Ki no Uta, an influence on RGU. Gilbert and Serge, the lead couple, are very different people. often in conflict, their love ends tragically. that is precisely the power of the story: Serge, who is left alone after Gilbert's death, will live the rest of his life feeling incomplete, unwhole, because he has lost the "other self" by which he came to be defined. in Ikuhara's words, "It’s a story about that which forms the core of an artist - a starvation that can never be satiated."

when done properly, this kind of romance can be very moving, because it is not only a "love story" but also a story about the self and its relationship to the other. and even more potent are stories which are both about "finding one's other self" and about "the city":

Ikuhara: Out of your works, I particularly like the stories about cities... Stories of cities and “one’s other self” are enchanting aren’t they. There are a lot of shoujo mangaka who write about one’s other self, but there aren’t really any who write about cities. I think a story is weak if it only talks about relatives and neighbours and never about cities. In contrast, I think your stories which are simultaneously about cities really bring out their era. I think that allows you to mark out a line for the story of the other self. Takemiya: Personally, I feel at a basic level that stories without a sense of daily life aren’t very interesting. If one thinks of each person as a single cell, then the city becomes the “body”, and one cannot create a world without both. Based on where they live, some people become more modern or more provincial - the environment really plays a role. For me, it is a necessary component.

I agree with this exchange: the best stories about "one's other self" aren't solely about love between two people, but instead love between two people placed in a particular social context. it is that social context which gives the relationship flavor.

this brings us to the other reason that lesbianism (and homosexuality more broadly) is used in Ikuhara's works. not only does it allow him to tell stories about "one's other self," but also to tell stories about social systems. homosexuality is "deviant" within the social system that is set up to produce children in the nuclear family; thus, homosexual couples will face resistence and prejudice. as Ikuhara discussed in this interview, he is not necessarily trying to capture "the lesbian experience" in his works, but rather using lesbianism as an allegory for the sense of being a minority; a person outcast for standing out from the crowd. homosexuality thus allows for a marriage between the themes of "the self" and "the city" which are central to the telling of a great romance.

bringing it full circle, let's take a look at how this plays out in Utena and Anthy's dynamic, specifically the climax of the first arc. in the build up to it, Utena has been insisting that Anthy behave like a "normal girl," and believes she's succeeding in this venture. however, her illusions are crushed when Touga defeats her in the duel called Conviction. Anthy, now his bride, tells Utena that she likes being the Rose Bride and doesn't mind being alone.

Utena's reaction to this is interesting. suddenly, she is obsessed with being a "normal girl" herself, deftly signaling that all along, she was projecting her own conceptions onto Anthy. though she comes to realize this, Utena ultimately decides to duel again; in the episode 11 preview, she says, "Himemiya, wait! I have to try to get the real you and the real me back!" their selves are linked, tied; Utena cannot be herself without Anthy. what's more, the "false self" that Utena presents is linked to Anthy's "false self"--for, despite her words, it is quite difficult to believe that she "enjoys" being the Rose Bride, any more than Utena "enjoys" wearing girl's clothes. after Utena wins the duel called Self, she and Anthy meet again, paralleling the end of the first episode, but when Anthy tries to impart the rules of the rose crest, Utena tells her, "never mind all that, let's just go home." the two share a moment of authenticity, their "false selves" blown away like petals in the wind. they've drawn closer to each other and to who they truly are, while simultaneously gaining a level of independence from the system which seeks to define them by their gender. the rest of the show will play out in the same manner.

----

side note: I don't think that Ikuhara is more fixated on lesbianism than he is on male homosexuality; however, I'm not sure if he's focused on "mirroring" between homosexual males the same way he has between females, despite the fact that his cited inspiration for the way he wrote relationships between girls in RGU is yaoi.

[bg-brainrot]

The Night They Slept Together

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: Tav pines, and their relationship with Astarion shifts ever so slightly. (They literally do just sleep)

Tags: 2nd person POV, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Pining, light hurt and angst, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, coping with feelings, act 2, pre-confession

A/N: some light angst as Tav comes to term with their feelings but we already know where they end up, so it's okay, right? :D

Word count: ~2.1k

--

Your tryst with Astarion should be over by now.

It was supposed to be a one off moment of passion, a way to destress after all of the danger you’d thrown yourselves into. He’d asked so easily, you’d agreed just as readily– a quick celebratory moment after defeating that goblin camp, when your spirits and libido were running high.

The second time? Well, that was easy to write off as well. You’d just fought off an entire creche, moving through it like a pair of practiced assassins, a synchrony you haven’t felt since– well, you’re not certainly you’ve ever felt so in sync with someone. Either way, it was another easy nod to his sly, questioning look. 

You’d had similar excuses for your first night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, for the handful of midday, afternoon, midnight romps since.

It’s just a way for us to cope with the situation at hand, nothing more, nothing less, you’d told yourself.

That is, until you’d realized that it wasn’t just that. Not to you. 

Oh gods, I love this insane vampire.

The night you’d realized that everything had changed.

What had begun as a distraction for you both, had turned into a poison– one slowly working its way through your system, incapacitating you piece by piece at the thought of another night falling into his arms, sinking deeper into the throes of an impossible love. 

After all, what is this other than convenient? And if you continued to be a mere convenience to him, well, you doubt that this would end well for you. It’s high time that you cut off the source of this poison before it festers too far. Before it grips your vulnerable, aching heart.

That’s what you’d told yourself, but you’re finding it so much harder to cut off the source when he’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you with a smirk toying along the edge of his mouth, an eyebrow raising suggestively as his voice lowers to a sultry invitation. 

You’d come by his tent to say goodnight. Maybe, ‘Good job today.’ Any excuse to see him really, but now you’re met with a challenge.

Astarion’s words don’t make it much easier either.

“Oh my dear, you look positively wound-up after today’s bouts. Care for a little… unwinding?”

His voice drips with promise, with want, with a feeling that echoes through your own traitorous core. But, like a sweet that’s overstayed its welcome, it seems too tacky, hardening into something utterly indigestible.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask, eying him carefully, fighting down your own building desires.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” he asks, a raised brow lowering in uncertainty. 

You hesitate, unsure how much truth you’re willing to part with. Certainly not, ‘Because I may have accidentally fallen in love with you.’ And you don’t want to shove him out of your life unceremoniously either. Just… to slow down, allow your heart time to adjust– to get over him, if need be.

After a pause that goes on for a second too long, you finally settle on, “It just seems as if we’ve already had plenty of ‘fun’, don’t you think?”

Astarion’s small smirk drops, a dark look entering his eyes as he registers your words, how they directly counter his own from your first night together. How they fall between you with the full weight of rejection. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown shy now, darling?” he says, voice a bit sharper than what you’re used to.

You’d known that trying to slow down wouldn’t be easy, but his downturned lips make you want to take back your words, dive back into the intoxicating miasma of his cold embrace. But you also know that if you don’t stand your ground now, you’re liable to fall too far too fast.

“Not shy per say,” you respond, measuring your words carefully. “Merely wondering if that’s what you want.”

Astarion seems no more placated by these words than your earlier ones. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t want this?”

Fear born of your heart, insecurity born of your nerves, damned logic born of your head– there are really so many reasons he wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want you. But you don’t want to be too transparent, not when this adventure could all be over very soon. You say as much.

“Well, our days could be numbered.” Then your lips continue. “Perhaps there is someone else you would rather be unwinding?” The question slips out of you, an unbidden, unwelcome concern courtesy of the fear building in your chest.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, response quick, tone biting. His lips are pressed in a tight line, the muscles in his neck tense as he clenches his jaw.

Gods, you’d known your heart would lead you astray. Here you are, facing an Astarion unlike any that had made a home in your bedroll. An Astarion made of sharp edges and cutting words. Expression closed, mouth a tight line, you find his change in demeanor aggravating. You bristle at his accusation. “No, Astarion. I don’t want that. If I did, I wouldn’t be here, speaking with you. Though you’re making me regret doing that much now.”

He tilts back at your words, leaning back on the heels of his feet as if thrown off balance. “Then why did you even come over? To reject me then to–to taunt me?”

You had meant to do none of that. Really, you’d only come over out of habit, to see him, to… spend time with him. But it’s hard to say so without being entirely too forthcoming with your feelings. You wish that you could put your feelings into words, however it’s your burden to bear, not his. He has more than enough on his plate between the Absolute and Raphael’s deal. 

So you shake your head at him. “I didn’t mean to reject you, Astarion. I hadn’t come here for sex at all.”

Once more, he asks the question you do not want to answer. “Then why did you even come over?”

You could lie. It’s as easy as breathing for you– it’s how you and Astarion had grown so close so quickly. You should lie, you tell yourself. But one look into his crimson, pleading eyes and the lie dies on your lips.

He looks hurt. So genuinely confused at your presence in front of him, deeply convinced that you could only be here for one thing and one thing only. And you know then that you can’t lie.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, the honest words tightening your throat on their way out, You haven’t told him how you feel, but you may as well have, with the way the words sound utterly, sinfully soft, a secret lost on the cold wind of the Shadow-Cursed night.

“You… wanted to see me?” he repeats, tone losing all of its edge, losing any of its structure at all.

You nod silently, uncertain if more words would help or hurt the situation.

To that, Astarion only blinks. His mouth opens, head tilting in that cautiously inquisitorial way, as he asks, “And then what?”

There was no ‘and then’ in your mind. Merely the need to see him, spend time with him, even after spending an entire dark, dreary day with him. But you suppose he wouldn’t understand that if you said it. So you need to come up with something concrete, a reason to be here beyond words…

“I was wondering if you wanted to share a bedroll tonight. To sleep,” you say, infusing enough confidence in your words that you can hardly note the nerves. You expect Astarion wouldn’t notice them at all. 

His defenses noticeably drop, his shoulders sagging in relief, and a sigh escapes him as he shakes his head at you wryly. “Well, why didn’t you just say so, darling? I understand that not everyone has my stamina, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

You want to roll your eyes, defend your honor as it hangs on by a thread, but you’ve narrowly avoided disaster and you’re not proud enough to ruin that. Instead you play into the role, ignoring the dull twinge that twists through your heart. “I wasn’t sure you would be so magnanimous,” you say, giving him the slightest bow of your head. “I should have known.”

“That you should have,” he says with a breathy laugh and he sounds almost… relieved?

More than anything, you want to ask him, why? Are you relieved that my feelings have stayed silent? That this thing between us remains uncomplicated? That you don’t have to find yourself a new distraction?

But your questions stay just as buried as your feelings do.

Your damnable feelings, which seem to threaten to burst out each time his eyes linger too long, with every touch you weren’t expecting. It must be a talent, holding them in as you do now.

They stay hidden as he extends a hand to you, inviting you into his tent with a warm smile and a, “Shall we?”

You keep them dormant as you follow, tucking your head into the now-familiar red structure, narrowly avoiding the mess he’s left inside. 

They almost slip to the surface as he pulls you down onto his lap, and a heat rises between you as natural as steam from a hot spring.

It’s an invitation, of course. One last effort from Astarion for something more tonight, for you to be won over by his beauty and charm. But there’s nothing to be won over because you are already his.

You wish he could tell, from your drunken declarations, from the way you’ve made a second home in his arms. Maybe he can tell, but refuses to acknowledge it– you could hardly blame him if that were to be the case. But you also can’t blame yourself for barely holding back.

Even now, seated in his lap, staring into his mesmerizing red eyes, you’re not certain you could trust a single word that comes out of your lips. So you throw every word you’ve ever known, could ever know, to the wayside. And simply kiss him.

You press your lips to his slowly, contact feather-light as you balance on his thighs. Bracing yourself with a hand on his chest, you lean in, locking your lips together fully. 

They move together easily, dance partners on a familiar dance floor, to a practiced tune, but when you think of all of the things you wish you could say, an urgency rises in you– a deep-seated need to tell him how you feel, even if only through this.

So you kiss him harder, your hands holding him all the tighter. You kiss him with every word unspoken, every intangible feeling rising in your chest, every single ounce of you that he’s already won, if only he were willing to claim it.

Astarion moves to deepen the kiss, placing a hand on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back, not understanding where your desperation comes from. Misunderstanding your intent altogether. 

Of course, what was I thinking? you wonder to yourself as you pull away, panting lightly. That some magical kiss could make this man realize my feelings, could make him love me back?

But you’re not in some copper novel. This man harbors no hidden feelings for you. Only a deep need to lose himself, and you happen to be the person he’s chosen to do that with.

So, despite the confusion in his face, you crawl off of his lap. Despite the way his hand trails along your side as you lay down, you don’t get back up. You merely say, “It’s getting late, we should get some rest.”

Astarion murmurs his agreement, but you can hear the reluctance in his tone, see the bewildered expression on his face as he lies down, all of his clothing still covering his body. 

You could laugh at the absurdity of it all, how unnerved he is, how deeply your chest aches– gods, this didn’t go well at all. But you don’t laugh. Only a sigh escapes you as you wrap your arms around him, as you press your body to his with all of the affection you cannot contain.

His arms stumble, they falter, but they find their way around you as well. An awkward embrace from a man who has no clue how he’s arrived at this point.

It’s difficult at a moment like this to remember that you shouldn’t love this man. That there are a dozen reasons to tamp down your feelings, a dozen more to run away. This was never supposed to be more than a single night of fun.

But, face tucked into the crook of his neck, hands clutching his loose shirt, nose filled with his carefully curated scent– you can almost pretend that this is real.

[covetyou]

please impregnate dieter

ok bye 💜👽🛸

fine 👽🛸 beam him up, boys.

propagation

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!alien rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub/non-con (because alien abduction), alien impregnation, implied mpreg, anal sex (including rimming and fingering), tentacle (just one), belly bulge, alien gender includes humanoid alien ladies with shapeshifting tentacle dicks, spaceship bondage, light mind control. word count: 2.8k summary: He always knew their existence to be fact, but Dieter Bravo never considered their continued existence would one day rely on him.

A/N: seeded left me with too many thots, so I accidentally stayed up until 4am writing this, and finished it this morning, thanks to this comment of yours. I hope you're happy. I have very thoroughly impregnanted That Man™, with his own hypervirile sperm.

And for anyone curious, he was beamed up into the spaceship like a Sim.

tagging a few unfortunate people who have expressed interest in my little weirdo:

@sp00kymulderr @umnitsa @missredherring @thereaperisabitch @magpiepills

@pedge-page @max--phillips

Dieter has no clue how long he's been here. It could be minutes, it could be weeks. Time stopped meaning much of anything pretty quickly - that's how it goes when you're trussed up in a windowless room, strapped up by some extraterrestrial technology the likes of which he hadn't even seen imagined on the most bizarre of movie sets.

Logically, he knows he should be afraid. If there's one thing Dieter Bravo knows, it's to fear the unknown. But, some part deep inside him knew this to always be true. These things that have him existed long before he did and would go on to exist long after him too. Even deeper down he knows that what they're doing to him right now is to ensure that continued existence.

There's no other reason he can think of for being in a position like this.

Or stripped entirely naked.

And nothing else will quite explain the contraption currently strapped to his cock.

No amount of wiggling will dislodge it, and between the way his arms are strapped up and the way his hips are hoisted high in the air, his head left to dangle as it pleases, he doesn't think it's coming off anytime soon. It's a good thing he kind of likes it, even if it does make him feel a bit like a dairy cow.

In the minutes, hours, days, since he's been here, not a single soul has bothered to come in to see him. He didn't know if this damn tube that was pumping him was even okay to piss into, or where his next meal would come from. Realistically, he hadn't thought that he'd die here - it didn't feel like that kind of thing. Still, the fact remained that he hadn't seen a single living thing since the light took him and the floating feeling took over his body.

It was a floaty feeling, thanks to the position he's been kept in, that hasn't quite left him. Between that and his cock being relentlessly pumped without reprieve or release, he's starting to feel desperately lonely here, floating through space or wherever here is.

No sooner does he think it, when there's a hiss of mechanical doors behind him. Dieter opens his eyes - he'd closed them some time ago - and there she is, stalking towards him on two long legs, talking to him in a tongue he's never heard.

It's an unnatural voice. Somehow too high, and too low, and lilting, and rumbling all at once. It's the voice of a dream, one he's had before, except this time it's so very real. It wraps itself around him and lodges into his bones, vibrating sound through to his core until he's gasping and suddenly understanding everything.

This is a processing chamber. He is to be processed, bred, and released.

The newfound knowledge isn't exactly a relief, but he supposes the machine trying to milk his cock without letting him come just yet makes sense. The longer he teased himself, the more he had to give, and it seemed these lifeforms already knew that too.

She purrs, dark eyes bright and curious, and it sends a jolt to his cock, twitching and swelling in the grip of the machine. If he wasn't sure about coming before, now he's certain. He doesn't care who, or what they are. He just wants to burst, to give them every last drop he has, and to make a show of it for the alien thing standing behind him. She's beautiful. Her skin practically glitters, shimmers holographic, translucent, full of sunbeams and starlight. Her eyes trace him, examining every inch, before settling between his legs where his engorged cock hangs and his balls draw up in a desperate attempt to come.

But the machine still keeps him on the cusp of losing it.

Even when one elongated finger reaches out to stroke him, tracing down the seam of his sack, he can't come, and that's when he realizes it's her doing.

"Please. You can have it. All of it. Just please..." his voice sounds thick and just about as alien to his ears as hers did, but he knows she understands him.

He knows, because with a blip and a soft whine, he's being maneuvered in his restraints by some unseen force. With legs spread wider, and his shoulders pulled back, that ethereal voice hums through him again.

...Ready for processing...

It's her. Dieter can see her out of the corner of his eye as he twists in his restraints. But she's changed. Sort of.

She still looks effervescent - her skin shifting and fizzing under his gaze - but so much about her has expanded and grown. Her fingers have gotten longer, wider, the tips practically glowing with each throb of blood through her veins. She seems taller too, and broader, rounder, but he's struggling to work out what's a trick of the too-bright light and what's real. Fuck, everything feels so real.

Most of all what Dieter notices, and can't take his eyes off, is the swelling appendage between her legs that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. He'd almost mistake it for a cock, if it wasn't for the way it moved and writhed, as if a limb all on its own.

He should be scared. He knows he should. But he knows that all that's between him and coming is being processed, and he's quite liking the look of what that means.

Another tingle ripples through him, just as the cool weight of her drops down behind him.

...Commence lubrication...

Something slippery and long slides along his ass. It slips between his cheeks, wet and slick as it glides across his puckered hole, leaving trails across his skin. Dieter can't help the groan that leaves him. If this is lubrication, he can't wait for what comes next.

And then it slides inside, the slender tip breaching his asshole for a moment, feeling wetter than any tongue he's ever had there before. He can't help but twitch in his restraints, his legs trying desperately to give him momentum to rut into the air, to give him more friction so he can just come already.

Instead, he's held still by long fingers with too many knuckles. Fingers so long they wrap around his entire thigh, anchoring him in place. He's totally at the mercy if her and her tongue - because that's definitely what it is, even if the feeling of it swirling around his rim is more than a little different to the human tongues he was used to.

It probes into him deeper, and he groans in his restraints. The machine on his cock has stopped it's sucking, but it hasn't given up it's grip. He can't bust even if he wanted to, and he's starting to think she's never going to let him come.

He can feel it. The tongue slipping deeper, her mouth meeting the skin of his asshole, and the slick rush of liquid as it pours into his hole.

He's begging. He can hear it distantly coming from his own mouth, before the soft lullaby of her voice rings in his head and turns his bones to jelly.

But then she's gone. Her mouth unlatching from his ass, the tongue slipping from his hole, and the fizz of knowing is back in his head.

...Lubrication complete...

There's so much of it he can feel it dribble and bubble out of him, leaving gloopy trails down his thighs as he shudders in the bindings keeping him hoisted high.

He can see pools of it on the floor beneath him too, and more dripping in oily globs out of him as he shudders. No lube, or saliva, he's ever experienced is like this. Nothing has ever pumped so deep and felt so good.

...Commence dilation...

Fear.

Fear because he knows those words, but doesn't know what it means for him here and now, with his ass so he exposed to her and his cock at the mercy of the machine. Dieter tries in vain to move, to tuck his ass under so he's a little less exposed.

But it's no use.

The long fingers find his thighs again, and that voice echoes through his head, bringing him to calm as the tip of one throbbing finger strokes against the slick of his hole.

When it pushes in, the stretch feels no different to the toys he's used on his own ass, or the many people he's had fuck him before. It feels good. Incredible even. Each slight fuck of the finger into him coinciding with a deep throb in his asshole.

The bulbous tip of her finger pops in and out of him, drawing more moans out of him as his rim is stretched around the appendage.

When the thinks dilation isn't too bad, her other hand creeps up to his ass, pulling him apart and holding him open.

The stretch is deeper like this. And he's nodding his head, spurring her on to finger his ass more, to go deeper and curl just the way he loves until she's milking his prostate. He knows he can come like that. He doesn't need anything on his cock, he just needs some well practiced fingers in his ass, and he has a feeling this creature is extremely well practiced at this.

Deeper doesn't come, but the stretch does. It's the stretch of another of her thick tipped fingers being pushed into his hole. And when that pops past the resistance of his asshole, he yelps, his chin wobbling in a feeble sob. Dieter can't help but gyrate his hips. He's so desperate for more he's willing to risk those fingers pulling out and holding him in place.

Except they don't.

She lets him rut this time. He can feel the pleasant approval from her in his mind as he rocks himself in the air, fucking her fingers as deep as his shallow movements will allow.

Even when the fingers tug at him in opposite directions, he doesn't stop rocking. He feels so full and stretched, that he barely registers a third finger joining the others until it's too late.

He almost panics. Almost, because he's fairly certain at that same moment she tells him to calm, to relax, and he does. The tense muscles in his asshole give in to the fingers and let them in, all three fucking into him and stretching him beyond anything he's had before. Even a fourth, and final, finger doesn't draw response from him beyond a whimper and a sob, his hips still doing whatever they can to get the digits deeper.

...Dilation complete...

And then they're gone.

And he feels so empty.

"Please. Please you can't. Don't leave me like this, please. You've got to - I need to - please. Anything. I'll do anything."

Dieter knows he's babbling. Knows she might not even understand a word he's saying, mess that he is. But he doesn't care. He's never been so desperate in his life. He wants her fingers back, or her tongue, or even that terrifying thing writhing between her legs -

...Commence insemination...

He doesn't even hear it, even though it's right there inside of his brain, unavoidable. Dieter doesn't hear, because the moment the voice floats into his body, the slick tip of her cock, more like a tentacle than any penis he'd ever seen, slips easily inside of him.

It's immediately swelling and growing as it slips deeper. He can feel as he's stretched wider and wider around it, the whines that leave his chest turning more and more desperate with each throb of the thing plundering his hole. It's deeper than anything has ever been, he can feel it as it wriggles around through him, pushing aside organs and pulsing into the deepest parts of him. It's impossibly wide too, the deep stretch in his asshole unlike anything he's ever felt, even two cocks being no match for this thing she's wedged inside of him.

And the deeper it pushes, the wider it pulls him, the more he craves it, the more he needs something to anchor him down and ground him even as he floats along, hoisted in the air of a fucking spaceship to be bred by an alien creature.

Whoever his captor is, she's benevolent, and she gives him exactly what he wants. Her long hands wrapping themselves around his hips, finger tips pressing on the bulge in his belly, massaging him and drawing soft ah ah ah's from his mouth. She likes it when he makes noise, he can tell by the burst of approval tingling down his spine, like she's singing something beautiful to him as she destroys the very hole she just prepared.

When those same fingers trail down to his balls, the throbbing in their tips turning to frantic thrumming, vibrating his sack in her hand, he knows he's done for. The machine around his cock starts sucking in earnest, switched back on by some command unheard by Dieter. The tight grip it had around his base is gone, and all he can feel is relentless sucking, the buzzing along his balls, and the writhing tentacle cock deep in his guts, fucking the life out of him.

He feels higher than he's ever been, and before he knows it he's coming, his cock throbbing and pulsing in the tube that contains him, spilling out seemingly endlessly as the thing inside him writhes, pressing against his prostate and milking him for more and more and more.

He doesn't stop coming. It's still leaking out of him, his balls spent and drawn, but his cock red and throbbing and sore but still so drippy from the relentless onslaught in his asshole.

Around him everything whirrs to life. Lights flickering on control panels, sparkling across his vision. There's movement too, above and to the sides of him, but he can't move, doesn't even much care what's going on as he still twitches and comes and comes with her tentacock buried in him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -"

There's pulsing. The gentle throb of her fingers was one thing, but the thing inside him is now pulsing so deep it stretches him wide as each pulse ripples from the base of her through to the tip, where he can feel it burst and fill him.

And with one final wave, the biggest yet, the thing inside him throbs and bursts once more before she releases a pained gasp. The fingers around his hips don't release, the throbbing in the tips of them so quick the vibrations are numbing his skin.

Dieter can hear it - actually hear it - her voice uttering some gibberish he doesn't understand, and the thrumming pulse of her fingers eases off, even if the depth of her cock does not.

...Processing...complete...

His own breaths are the only ones he can hear among the slow winding down of the machine around him. There's other sounds too, as his vision hazes and blurs. Snicks of tubes disconnecting, the hydraulic hiss of moving machinery, the soft steps of the alien behind him as she pulls away, and out of him, with one final gasp from both of them as the impossible length of the appendage she had buried in him finally comes free.

The machine unlatches from his cock without another sound, before collapsing into some hidden compartment in the floor. The panel lights switch themselves off, and his restraints fall slack. He can finally move again, twist to see her, even though all of him aches too much to ever want to move again.

But he does. Anything to see her one last time, because he knows in his bones that this is his last chance. He's never known it himself, but he's certain she looks how love feels. Even now as she reduces back down to something a little smaller, but nonetheless imposing, he can tell that that's what she is. And maybe it's her function, the draw of her electrifying skin. Maybe she looks this way to make processing easier. Still, looking at her, he already knows he'd do it again, if only to lay his eyes on the thing that looks so much like a love he's never known.

With a final look into those beautiful, endless eyes, he lets exhaustion take him, the last remnants of her voice flitting through his veins just as he succumbs to darkness.

...Thank you...

He dreams of a light so bright he's certain he can hear it, the harsh metallic glare of it buzzing through his ears, making them ring and his head spin.

But the light gives way to darkness as he wakes, and he sees the very same stars that took him, just as distant as they've ever been, and looking down to the city below from the hills, he sees stars there too, as close as they always are, and the ache taking deep and low in his belly is forgotten, if only until dawn breaks across the horizon.

[variousqueerthings]

as someone doing my (deliberately very slow) second watch of s2 of due south with the expectation that s3-4 will be something to save for the new year somewhen, there's something very interesting about knowing a very little bit about those seasons: ray goes undercover in las vegas i believe, and leaves the show as a main, but returns at times. how many times? i don't know, don't tell me -- meg gets a cute butchy haircut that makes her and fraser's gender vibes even more intense -- there's a new guy and he is also ray, but the other one, and i get the feeling that there's a bit of role-reversal in who is getting whomst to take better care of themself... maybe

i think the way i've ended up watching the show (in no small part because im semi-communally watching with @gjdraws and eventually @hunkydorkling (no rush)) as being nice and drawn out, means ive really gotten to bask in the vibes of s1-2. they're beautiful establishing seasons that also stand on their own -- if the show's myriad of cancellations had stuck, one or two seasons would have worked (altho it would have been sad, because you do get the feeling that there is more story to tell)

it also means im definitely in a very different show to the majority of fandom, hence why ive avoided the tags and read very little fic (altho, some fic!) and only follow a couple of people, because the show, to me, is about fraser and ray vecchio because it's the only show i know (so far) and ive been marinating in that show for a few months now, to the point that im interested about how it'll feel when ray kowalski comes along

i expect i'll enjoy watching his dynamic with fraser, i expect it'll be different, and i very much expect it to feel like something that only exists because of everything that happened with fraser and ray in s1-2, because everything that fraser has gained that i feel may be relevant to that new dynamic -- self-confidence in interpersonal relationships, the ability to open up to people, the ability to stand up to people, a more grounded self, a greater self-awareness about himself as a person in the world and not just an instrument, a little battered but having begun undergoing some longer healing processes in relation to his father and victoria (and those prior relationships dealing with feelings of abandonment and manipulation/violence) -- started with ray. sometimes it literally started with ray Very Pointedly Banging A Drum about some of those things

there's a lot that's not ray ofc: his sense of right and wrong, his sense of purpose, his politeness, his gentleness, his confidence in his abilities, his single-mindedness/stubborness, his general lack of propriety (especially while solving a case) because social behaviours don't seem to be that intuitive (or important) to him (although he has that old fashioned properness to him when he's not licking things he picked up off the ground) -- but some core shifts have happened that im curious about how they'll interact with the sort of person ive gotten a sense new-ray will be (more standoffish and closed-off, initially at least, is what i think)

it's very fun to imagine how ray's influence will indelibly be on fraser, even when he's not literally there. i get the feeling that, to me, he's always gonna be the third in the room to an extent, because that's what he probably will be to me as i watch -- he's the first person outside of fraser's immediate family that truly affected him for the better and he did it by just. deciding that fraser was his responsibility, from day two (on day one i think he was still gauging him a little + he needed to make up for accidentally insulting his dead father, but hey, second impressions is what matters the most!) and then he stuck to that remit

and my first presumption/prediction is that fraser will sort of... pay that forward in a way

[whispersoflullaby]

"Breaking" the gendering of media: A case study on Shiguang

A question kept coming back to my mind again and again, that why do we tend to criminalize whenever we see a media which was "canonically" (the term canon icks me to the core) built to portray a broader political or social issue being used to deconstruct personal emotions? For example, a song used to portray the pain and horrors of partition being used to reconstruct the grief of personal loss and also about loss of identity. As if talking about personal loss is making a topic less serious or not respecting the depth of a subject. As if it is the continuation of the gendering the places being implicted upon media. The "oikos" (the personal space) , the "non serious" personal emotions are not meant to be dragged into the "polis" (the public sphere). When we take the journey from the home to the world, our personal journey becomes a palimpsest of many others which give us a feeling of community. When we get the feeling that our dilema is not only ours but a shared feeling of many, we tend to raise questions and break the boundary of the "home and the world", it tend to give us a vocabulary to curate.

Link Click as a series breaks this notion of differentiating between the the struggles. The suffering of the world is mine as well as my sufferings are also a matter to discuss, to analyze and to deconstruct, it's of everyone. For example the the incidents of sudent suicide due to excessive educational loan or even if it is about trying to save one's mother or about spreading the word of love, even if it is about the very domestic banters of Shiguang or it is about taking a step further to help Xu Shanshan and not taking money from her and just mere "helping" her to unite with her beloved .

As a very close friend of mine once mentioned " Shiguang through their love creates a brand new "vocabulary" of love" (if they gives me permission I will definitely tag them), the vocabulary enables them to question the normativity. And questioning the normativity makes you a threat to the authority - cause when you ask the right question at the right time , it makes your identity identifiable and then the authority can't treat you like a mass, a mass to be dismissed, to be discarded. I can't control my urge to quote Derek Walcott's "The Schooner's Flight" here- "I am either nobody or I am the nation" .According to me, probably this is how censorship also works - they fear the creation of the new vocab. The love which revolts but don't conform: a love which doesn't leave , but questions the normativitives. We try our best within our capacity - but what love does it doesn't know the capacity. ( They just don't know, how much love is too much love). That's what is so unique about the love of Shiguang. Here I am gonna quote TGCF " Your Highness..do you know why I refuse to leave this world?... because I still have a beloved in this world." - বিনা যুদ্ধে নাহি দিবো সূচাগ্র মেদিনী - ( I will not leave even a pinch of soil, without a fight). The guts to challange the person in control even though one is not sure about the price he has to pay, even self anhilating from each and every freaking time is probably a better option. You are not someone I choose over everything, you are the one who is inseperable from the concept of "being" of mine- you are the "I" of my eye.

The abilites here not only stand for the ability to change, but taking away the ability also stands for usurping one's ability to try, the silencing of emotions. Once your voice is strangulated you are creating a "destiny" for the opressed it is no longer their fate. Here I am gonna refer to a Bengali song "মোদের কোনো দেশ নেই,মোদের কোনো ভাষা নেই" (We don't have any country, we don't have any language)

But do you know where link click breaks the very gendering? When it identifies the silencing, the numbing. Many media portrays the consequences of the silencing, how the torture affects the people etc etc. But Link Click does is, it identifies where the mess ups are and it doesn't promise that "everything will be ok" and life will be "a bed of roses". No, it never will be- that's not what post modernism teaches us. Rather, Link Click teaches it may not be a smooth walk but still we will take the path as there is no "correct" path. As the author of the Ronxi chronicle mentions - it may not be the easiest path but you will never regret it. The concept of "correctness" is a construt, the "originality" is a mere myth and "TIME"!! … As we all know " Time is a hypocritical construct"...

[sahonithereadwolf]

Can I tell you about the very queer game I made this Pride?

In A World That Hates and Fears You, Living Becomes an Act of Rebellion.

Exceptionals is a game inspired by X-Men about and for the spaces and communities marginalized peoples make for themselves. Play as a Geno, one of little less than 0.5% percent of the population that has gone through a mysterious process called Claremont-Simonson mutation, as you try to navigate a world that won’t make room for you. Exceptionals is a game about what the mutant metaphor means to you and the different lenses through which we view it. Punch back and build something of worth together in this narrative tag-driven tabletop role playing game. 🧬Features Open-Ended Character Creation🧬 Mix and Match between (23) open-ended but guided protocols. Answer questions to create high concept and unique super powered characters where the only real limit is your imagination. Get invested in who you make as a whole person, and not just a set of powers. Build a Community 🧬Create a living and dynamic community space full of colorful characters. 🧬 Grow your base as an anchor for other geno and help fill it with the resources they and you need. Understand how your actions effect others and gain trust through the bonds mechanic. It’s a game where you get stronger by growing your community and heal by being part of it.

🧬Comic Book Storytelling 🧬 Play as a creative team of writers and editors working to tell the best version of the story you can over time and storyline-based experience to model changes of the status quo and creative direction. Enjoy panel based action pacing and the ability of characters of all power levels to coexist and carry the same amount of story weight.

🧬Not Pain Tourism 🧬 While Exceptionals offers a number of places to push back, we understand and recognize that the most important part of a punching bag is that you choose to hit it, even if it’s not at all. We recognize not everyone gets to set the issues that the mutant metaphor is used to talk about down when they leave the table and offer many ways to tell stories outside of a lens defined by pain. We also put an emphasis and mechanical weight on the importance of joy and celebration. 📚You can buy the Core Book here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals 📚You can buy the Expansions here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals-expansion-bundle 📚You can buy the bundle with everything here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals-expansion-bundle I didn’t go out with the intent of making this a very queer game. Not explicitly. I started making games because  I got frustrated waiting to feel seen or acknowledged. Another game got me mad about using my peoples stories to be transphobic, to be racist, to be ableist. Nevermind my people have more than two genders traditionally and faced a genocide. That was too much for me. I said this was enough and the quite indignities I suffered to feel included wasn’t worth it. I could do better myself.  So I set out to make a superhero game. I hated just about every comic book game on the market. It never seemed to capture what I did like about big hero comics with high concept storytelling and powers and couldn’t care less on a mechanical or narrative level about who this person was outside the mask. More focused on bashing action figures together and golden age pastiche that doesn’t really reflect the decades of character and genre developments that have happened since then. I later found games that do it better, but I was dissatisfied... I chose x-men for the homies. I’ve always been an x-men fan. A lot of people my age were. My first action figure was one of rogue I got at a garage sale, where she then went on to fight many a play-dough monster. But for many of us it was the first place we were allowed to be heroes. There are no natives on the 90′s x-men team. But I had uncles and older kids all too eager to tell me about Forge and Warpath (I hate that name) and my favorite Dani Moonstar (I ain’t the biggest fan of that name either, but she’s the closest thing mainstream hero comics have to a good NDN).

After that, things just kinda flowed from there. The X-men have such a focus on community. It’s “comics greatest soap opera”. It can be messy, complicated, beautiful and life-affirming all at the same time. They take the time to play basketball, go to the mall, and have birthday parties as they grow. Two of my favorite x-men comics aren’t about fighting at all. One is framed around a sleepover some students have, and another is about a wedding and framed around everyone filming their part of the wedding tape.

So I started thinking about the communities I’ve been a part of. A big core of the game is informed by my time and the people I met in these sort of spaces. As a native, as a queer person, as a disabled person I’ve been both someone who needed them and someone who gave back.

Which suited x-men just fine. X-men has cared about that sort of thing from about X-men #3 with the first appearance of The Blob, establishing it’s tone of sympathy and mutants as a minority analog.

I just kept going and I didn’t stop. And apparently I did a good job. Someone out there has been using my game as game-therapy and community outreach in a gender health center out in California. I got a lot of kind words for the game too (which is good, because I spent 3 years on it).

KUDOS

-As featured on; io9/Gizmodo, Kotaku, Listen to Theses Nerds, Team-Up Moves, Yes Indie'd Pod, Team-Up Moves, and The Voice of Dog -#1 Best Seller and Popular on Itch.io in both Analog & RPG Games, Sept 2021

Listen to the Team-Up Moves AP Here!: https://teamupmoves.com/runs/exceptionals "Exceptionals is a beautiful, brilliantly designed superhero RPG. It's truly a masterpiece, and if you haven't checked it out, do yourself a favor." -@PartyOfOnePod

"This thing COOKS, Sahoni doesn't just tap into the queer/minority readings of mutants, but also ties in the weirdness that really gets my mind racing when it comes to X books." -@froondingloom 

"A refreshingly different game, that strikes a good balance between unlimited player freedom and solid guiding handrails. Really gets at the full potential of what the ;mutant outcast heroes' genre should be about: found family, building communities, and lives lived to the fullest despite being lived in defiance." -@guywhowrotethis 

"The whole game oozes love for its inspiration while also going further than they dared...." -@Phoenix24Femme

"Astonishing! Uncanny! All-New! And all other X-Adjectives available. This book gets why one would want to play the Mutant Metaphor in an RPG. It cleverly weaves the power fantasy of powerful individuals with the drive to do good for one's community. It's well-researched, well-written and, well, so much fun to play! This is the superpowered game I've been wanting for a long, long time. I can't wait to tell an Exceptional story of my own!" -@Kokiteno Team-up moves even made a recommended comic reading list. It has some of the best x-men has to offer and then some. It even includes that  New Mutants comic with the sleepover. They read me for filth and I love it.

I hope you play my game too. I hope you like it. I hope you tell queer stories and build community around you. I hope it’s messy, complicated, beautiful and life-affirming all at the same time. Thank you for reading this. Please reblog if you can as well as share it with x-men and rpg fans in your life.

[abearinthewoods]

Hi, I have in fact ended up on this page from velvetvexations reblogging you to mock you, so you've got that right lol

And scrolling through your blog for a while I agree with almost all you're saying, but I'm left with two questions I'm really curious about, and I hope you do take them in good faith

Why do you describe yourself as, as you said in that post, MRA? I kinda get both people being extremely wary of hearing that term *and* wanting to reclaim it, since yeah, "men's rights activist" shouldn't be an inherently bad thing to be, but it does associate you with a specific movement that was actually really shitty, and did way more to be sexist to women that to even address the actual issues men face - which you genuienly do! That's the reason it perplexes me. In my country there's a really cool charity that works for men's rights while making it known that it's working for equality and not what the MRA movement wants - and while a lot of people do hate them just because they don't care about men at all, like, I've seen their subreddit - it's an extremely toxic environment that very much supports the same structures that do oppress men.

And second question, what do you mean when you tag your posts with "anti feminism"? I haven't seen a post when you talk about it more, sorry if I've missed that, but it shows up in your tags a lot and I think may be the other reason people are fast to dismiss you. Because, yeah, the general feminist movement has a fuck ton of flaws, and a lot of it is way closer to radical feminism than the people involved would like to admit. The theory behind it, the central idea is about equality, and there are a lot of people who still do care about it though. I generally consider "the purpose of a system is what it does" a good rule, and I'm certainly not opposed to critiquing the current feminist movement, but calling it "anti feminism" specifically does sound more like opposing the core idea, and it is what usually people mean when saying they are anti feminism . It didn't seem, reading your posts that you're against actually treating women equally, so why do you choose to use a term that does imply that? It feels kinda hypocritical if you discard the whole movement/idea, but still align yourself with the MRA movement when it's even further from ideal

Again, I'm asking this out of genuine curiosity. Sorry if you've discussed it before, I didn't manage to find it, but I also haven't scrolled too terribly far.

I get why people dismiss you, but I don't think that's fair. I'd be really happy to see more of your point of few

Context: https://abearinthewoods.tumblr.com/post/768152067433021440/everytime-misandrist-assholes-like

This ask has three parts:

Why do I call myself an MRA given the connotations™?

Simple, the connotations were always bullshit. I have been posting on reddit about men's issues since obama's first term. (and arguing about it among school since the bush administration) People have always had an *idea* about what a mra is about before they ever meet one. Reactionary people (as in reacting negatively out of impulse to the basic concept of men's equality or caring about misandry) have an even stronger idea. It infects how they see the entire movement and how they interpret our words. They read this bias into everything we write, and it doesn't matter what we say or how we say it, its always some how coming from a place of misogyny.

We want to end the male only draft because it re-enforces harmful gender roles and male disposablity? Clearly its just an excuse to imagine women dying on the front line if we actually cared about men instead of using it as some excuse for hating women, we'd fight to end the draft altogether. We want to call out misandry among women? Clearly we are just neckbeard losers who can't get laid and are lashing out at women. Want to address male rape? No if we didn't hate women we would fight against rape culture and rape of women so that there would be time for men's victimization. We want to discuss our experiences being discriminated against? No, clearly we just want to drown out women's voices. Accused of claiming women oppress men, or of hating women. Interrogated with questions to prove we aren't trying to dismiss or take away from xyz "real" oppression.

Hey wait a moment, this is starting to sound like the transmasc oppression discourse. You can take any post of a trans man talking about why they use transmisandry and transandrophobia instead of what ever assholes on tumblr tell them to use and transplant that post on to my answer to the question of why I call myself an mra and not a feminist.

I'm not interested in preforming my gender advocacy under the banner of feminism, and I am not interested in giving way to people operating in (sometimes subconscious) bad faith misreading our posts to fit the ideals in their head by changing what words I use to advocate for myself or my gender to fit their biases. Its pointless because subconsciously what a lot of them object to is the advocacy in general. They are so clearly doing it to trans men now that anybody who has been paying attention on tumblr shouldn't be blind to what I'm talking about. Is it really that farfetched to some of that which was directed at trans men's advocacy was directed at cis men's advocacy?

The rest of it, the bad apples, i consider to be a counter part to something that exists in feminism. We have our terfs you have your terfs. We have our tradcons, you have your radfems. A lot of the most "known" MRAs are just the most viral who are only viral because they are controversial and get shared via ragebait. (To the point that even the less reactionary/hatefilled MRA influencers admit to dipping into ragebait just to compete. (i'm people)).

I think MRA in particular should be protected because I found it at 4th grade. it was the obvious set of words. This would be y2k bug panic year 2000 pre reddit, google, youtube, tate, peterson 4th grade me. Its a descriptor. it can not ever be allowed to be anything else. In the name of every boy who will naturally stumble upon it after facing sexism against themselves and waking up to the concept of sexism against men like I did.

Why do I tag posts anti-feminism given I seem to genuinely be for gender equality for both genders?

One reason I do it for is to normalize criticizing feminism. Its gotten way too easy to dismiss as originating from misogyny or bad faith something or another. That needs to change.

But on a bigger note, I do consider myself a kind of anti-feminist.

I think feminism has gotten too comfortable having a presumption of the moral high ground that it does not analyze its own biases about men.

A big example of what I mean is how feminism will all too often try to theory craft some gender stereotype and harmful trope filled reason for why men do xyz thing and what I need you understand is that from my position, this theorycrafting is itself an expression of bigotry. Manspreading being casted as a "patriarchal signal of domination over public spaces"? How the fuck is that not just 100% stereotype fueled bigotry? Men spread their legs in the train more than women because parents teach only girls to cross their legs (for mostly dress reasons). Not because we are operating out some malicious desire to dominate the world. Jesus fuck. It is anxiety inducing to know feminists are looking at your actions under this kind of light purely because of your gender.

There is also the issue with how feminism's way of looking at the sexism issue actually contributes to misandry. I'm referring to the obsession with privilege and "oppression" as class descriptors and how this is used to excuse "punching up" or denying men access to services they also need, its just women need a bit more. I consider this to be a core aspect to the overall ideological identity of feminism that opposing it is essentially opposing feminism as it currently exists.

The path forward is to remove the concept of oppression and privilege and patriarchy and all the petty dick measuring and bullshit excuses about "punching up" they entail from the conversation. I think this is required to move forward on gender equality. Anybody who has seen how the same fucking arguments mras were having 16 fucking years ago about the existence and validity of misandry as a concept and term, are playing out on the transmisandry tag can plainly see by now the oppression olympics have done more harm than good. Its time to stop.

Allowing this way of looking at gender issues to exist in the culture zeitgeist harms men. I read a post on here about a guy who got SA'ed in highschool because someone made his ride back home contingent on, well, things. He mentioned how he didn't have a cell phone to call his parents for a ride home but his younger sister did, specifically so something like that wouldn't happen to her. Because of this us vs them oppressed vs privileged bullshit he was not given a tool to prevent sexual assault his younger sister got.

Nope, no more. Whats good for the goose is good for the gander. I will except no less moving forward.

Aren't I a hypocrite for doing both at the same time given I'm trying reclaim the MRM from the connotations set by the worse while holding feminism to the worst?

Here's the difference. When I find out somebody calls themselves a feminist, I don't assume things about them, laugh at their face, make some flippant remark based on my ideals about feminism, or even make them prove what kind of WRA (Women's rights advocate/activist) they are. I watch, listen and let them demonstrate what that means to them.

Be mindful of the distinction between The movement(the waves, etc), the general concept(anti-sexism), the ideology(the theory and written work), and the people who are associated by means of either of the three (feminists).

And lets be real. Feminism sits in the culture limelight, the men's movement does not. Feminism has the sway within corporate culture and mainstream political ideals to actually harm men when its misandry is allowed go unchecked. Meanwhile the MRM is listed as a hate group by organizations that command respect purely because of the existence of the same types of bitter hate filled vocal minority. This listing subtly hinders any men's advocacy, because, as i've said, Men's rights Advocate/Activist, is a *descriptor*. Like Civil Rights Activists or Women's Rights Activists. When you tie that strong of a negative connotation to a descriptor people will have a hard time differentiating between what ADL and SPLC are talking about and men's advocacy (what the the descriptor points to) in general. This can not be allowed to remain the status quo. It has to be pushed back against.

If feminism as a whole starts getting listed as a hate group because of "the worst of the worst" members by orgs with a lot of respect around the world and this hinders feminism's ability to gain any traction or do any advocacy for women calling me out for hypocrisy would start to become a fair cop.

One final note, I'm not even defining feminism by the worst of the worst. That once piece of shit radfem with her male tears coffee mugs aren't the standard i'm judging feminism by. The countless men and women who took to twitter to defend her right to have said mug and mocked any man who objected to it, is. The feminist leaning major publications that were pushing articles defending it as punching up and mocking any man who dared to express his emotions about it as a fragile wittle wite male, are. They (sadly) define feminism more than intersectionists on tumblr do. (as does Jezebel mag bragging about their staffers domestically abusing men) Ps: saturnian-catboy, I hope this helps you view my prospective a bit better. I could write for ever on the topic of feminism. thats why i got this blog, so i'm sure there are points i'll punch my self for forgetting. thank you for the kind words about my blog. I appreciated them.

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 2 – The Appointment

I’m there. The appointment that determines everything. The first time I’ve knowingly met a shifter face-to-face – even if she is a notorious gatekeeper.

She’s been questioning me for a while already. But her latest question just makes me grimace. I don’t think she’s taking me seriously.

“I already have to put up with prejudice,” I say. “I’m trans.”

“This isn’t the same,” she says. “You think this is the same? Do you have any idea how humans treat us?”

“Yes,” I say, “and it is the same.”

Her cables twitch, like a cat’s tail when it’s agitated. She’s in robot form, all sharp edges and wires, and her voice is tinny. I’d heard she doesn’t like being humanoid, and this is as close as she’ll go, but did she have to make herself look so intimidating? Unless she’s doing it on purpose—

“I think you just want to solve your gender problems,” she declares. “I’ve seen it all before. There are human ways to do that. Get hormones. Get surgery.”

“I’m already doing all that,” I say. “This is more—”

She cuts me off. “You’d stay in human form most of the time anyway, wouldn’t you? – I know your type. Why waste our gifts on you? You’re just a desperate human trying to solve your human problems. You demean us by being here.”

“No!” I say. “I think about this all the time. I dream about it—”

“Not good enough.”

“It hurts so much, knowing there are people like this and I’m not—”

“Not good enough!”

“I need this – I’ve always needed this—”

“Not good enough! Not good enough! Not good enough!”

She’s risen up on her cables, filling the room. I back away. If she would just give me a chance to explain!

“Why would you want to be like us at all?” she roars. “Why would you give up your humanity? Why should I give you anything, you disgusting bag of meat?”

“Because it’s what I am!” I yell. “In here!” I point at my heart. “I’m not giving up anything! Fluidity – change – the ability to be anything— One fixed form isn’t enough. It could never be enough. You don’t know what it’s like, being stuck— You can give me what I need. What right do you have to say no? You want to know why? – there is no why! This is what I am!”

* * *

Silence. After a while, she nods.

“And so we get to the truth of it,” she says, all the anger gone. She smiles. I blink away tears. She sinks back down, and somehow all the lines of her body soften. “Maybe you aren’t so human after all. Not in any way that matters.”

She twines her cables together into a hand, and holds it out to me.

“We can work with that,” she says.

She’s saying yes?

I take her hand. But I’m still reeling. If it’s truth she wants: “You did this on purpose!” I accuse. “You were trying to make me angry. You didn’t have to say those horrible things.”

She only shrugs. “Would we have got to the core of it if I was being nice?”

Then, on a flash of intuition: “You’d already decided, hadn’t you? This was just one more test.”

“We know what to look for,” she admits. “You would never have got this far if we weren’t confident, based on what you’d already said. But we had to know how you would react under pressure. If you had backed down, what would that say?”

I shake my head. What if I’d been having a bad day, and hadn’t had the energy to argue?

But she just smiles again. “My colleague outside will give you your medication. Next time we meet, I hope, will be on better terms. Sister.”

I leave. I did it! But when I’m a shifter – and I get to say that now, I really get to say that! – I promise myself I won’t hoard what we have. I won’t be as callous as her.

First | Previous | Next

This is the part that inspired the entire story. I had a dream like this, once, where I had to defend my right to be a shifter from someone horrible. Yes, it was a trans allegory, yes, I was imagining having to defend myself from terfs – but I was surprised by just how strongly I felt what I was saying. I yelled that last 'this is what I am' so hard I woke myself up...

...and the rest of the story grew from there!

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added):

@aiden-nevada @avery-victoria-winterlight @leahnardo-da-veggie @mint-and-authoress @sandyca5tle

@scrubbinn @wuwojiti

[ollypopwrites]

So, I'll be having some minor surgery in a couple months. I thought it would be cool to have Gale worried for/doting on [reader or tav] before and after. idk if that's weird or whatever, but just the idea of Gale being comforting, concerned, and just loving as all get out would make me feel a lot more at ease with this whole ordeal. I hope this is an ok prompt to request, but I understand if it's uncomfy for reasons.

Oh, anon I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I hope I can give you even the smallest bit of comfort, and thank you for your request 💜 here is about 1k words of pure comfort and doting.

Books and Basalm [also readable on Ao3]

Tav x Gale [Gender-nooch Tav. No pronouns used for Tav and no descriptions of any physical features at all.]

CW/Tags: medical/hospital type situation (not detailed in any way). FLUFF. All comfort no hurt.

Despite having read everything he could get his hands on about the procedure, and asking the cleric so many questions Tav had to gently tell him to leave the poor man alone, Gale was not allowed in the room. He’d made his displeasure very known, but Tav had patted his hand in a clear signal to shut up. He physically had to bite his own tongue to prevent more nervous babbling.

“I think we ought to get started,” the cleric said to Tav with a smile. Despite his obvious disinterest in speaking any further with Gale, he at least kept his bedside manner for his patient.

“You’ll be here when it’s done?” Tav asked.

Gale knelt next to the bed, ignoring the crackling protest of his knees. “I’ll be on the other side of this door the entire time.” He pointed to the very one which he would be sure not to leave. “The Gods themselves couldn’t pull me away.”

Tav laughed a little at the dramatics and leaned into the gentle kiss he gave. After a few final kisses and another pressed atop Tav’s head for good measure, Gale pulled himself away. He stationed himself directly on the other side of the door, as he had promised. He was a logical man, he saw sense and reason before much else, but he was at his core quite prone to wild emotion despite his academic mind.

Leading up to that moment there was not much he didn’t do by Tav’s side. Even when they had been out on the road, while he never had much skill in healing magic, he had always been nearby enough to know what was going on. All he could manage this time was his assurance Tav had the best healers the city could offer and a tower over-prepared to accommodate the recovery.

It took hours. He didn’t notice irritated looks of the other healers walking through the halls when he began to pace back and forth, only stopping to lean his back against the wall and then have to move again once his mind took off. It was impossible to keep still for very long.

When he was finally allowed back in the room, Tav was still asleep thanks to a potion and the cleric was assuring him everything went fine. Once Tav woke up, they could make their way back to the comfort of the tower. While the cleric started giving instructions for recovery, Gale found himself cutting him off with his new extensive knowledge on the subject, watching the cleric grow annoyed at him again. Gale was used to people’s thinly veiled irritation at his volubility, but be it nerves or something else he couldn’t stop himself.

The cleric excused himself as soon as he possibly could, and Gale sat nearby, ready to be the first thing Tav saw after waking up. He mindlessly practiced somatic movements, he flipped through his spellbook distractedly and then mentally triple checked he had everything he needed to properly care for Tav back at the tower. To him, it felt like hours, but in reality it didn’t take too long for Tav to wake up from the sleep potion that had been administered for the procedure. Eyes blinking open, Tav groaned, and Gale jumped up to shush and soothe them.

“There you are, my love,” he said quietly. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Tav groaned. “Sore.”

“Completely normal,” he pressed a kiss to Tav’s forehead, “we’ll get you home and with a cup of tea for the pain expeditiously.”

“It went alright?” Tav asked.

“The cleric has no concerns,” he smiled, “all that’s left to do is rest and recover.”

The cleric came in for a final check in, making sure Tav was alright to head back home. The waiting was the worst part, Gale was certain they need not put off leaving where Tav could rest well and with whatever could possibly be needed. It took some creativity on Gale’s part to get them both safely back to their bedroom in the tower with no added strain on Tav, but he managed it.

Tara sat perched expectantly on the bed, head tilted in quiet examination. “Welcome home,” she said, tail flicking back and forth behind her. “everything went well, I hope?”

“Besides the pain, I think I’m alright,” Tav smiled tiredly.

“Tea!” Gale said insistently. “I have tea that will be just the thing.”

Gale got Tav situated in the bed, with pillows arranged for maximum comfort and support. He opened the window for cool fresh ocean air to come in, and Gale only left Tav’s side to prepare some tea with basalm salts for the pain. While he was gone Tara had settled herself gently against Tav’s side, purring away.

When he came with the tea, water and a potion of rest, Tav could have laughed at his over preparedness.

As Tav reclined in the bed, sipping tea, he sat at the bedside in an armchair. “Gale?”

“Yes, my love, what do you need?”

Tav chuckled at his earnestness. “I’m bored.”

“Ah, well, we have a treasure trove of entertainments,” he replied, “what better to soothe the pains of ailment and the pangs of boredom than a book!” He eagerly added, “what will you choose? A stirring tale of heroics? A dissertation on the merits of illusory spellcraft? Or perhaps an anthropological study on the courts of the Feywild?”

Tav shrugged, “your choice, really, I was looking for an excuse to have you sit and read to me.”

“You hardly need an excuse for that,” Gale smiled.

He grabbed the book he was in the middle of on his bedside table, something light for reading before bed. Carefully, he nestled in beside Tav, sure not to disrupt his perfectly calibrated arrangement of pillows made for Tav’s ideal comfort. Under his watch, with tea to soothe and a book, Gale felt sure Tav would be okay.

Two pages into him reading, Tav had fallen asleep with the tea cup precariously resting in hand. Gale plucked it away, giving a gentle kiss upon Tav’s brow as he leaned over to set it aside.

Thank you so much for reading! 💜💜

[tainted-sweet-meats]

More oc lore this time with another persona oc named SH-en. please read tags before clicking read more for his info under the cut

Full name: SH-en Gender/ sexuality: ???/??? Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them/It Size: 14"8' Species: Demon of Vengeance BirthPlace/Birthday: ???/ was never born Zodiac Sign: ??? Voiceclaim: N/A (bold text for his demonic voice)

Speech quirk

"Humans are such easily manipulated creatures...in your anger, you don't even know how much you gaslight yourself into thinking your crimes are for a just cause. How narcissistic of you lot..."

"Your tears are for ones born with that level of empathy to care....I do not have such privileges..so I will not be merciful to your pleas."

"You have summoned me to cause pain to your own blood...kin that bare the same flesh as you... my.. my.. how humans are quick to be fickle yet claim such loyalties of false love to those at the moment. Very well, let there be no regret once my deed is done on your behalf."

"I was born from the vindictiveness' of man, my core developed from your bloodshed among your own.... I am the last one to ask for forgiveness... your arrogance for such assumptions will be my blight unto you."

personality music

N/A

General info

SH-en is also known as the deity and punisher of all humankind's dirty secrets and crimes. He is not born but a created demon from a human's need for revenge towards others of their own kin. While he seems calm and put together he is actually the worst out of the list of demons. He is known for his polite mannerisms but many should not be fooled by his silky sweet demeanor. Despite their blood-bound morals, he is also known for his decadence in ways of communication and business.

His personality seems aloof and nonchalant to anyone who meets him and lives to tell the tale of their encounter. Because he is human-created, he is made from the worst traits of humanity and thus acts according to said nature.

Human interaction

Summoning SH-en is actually very easy to do, he feeds off of your aggression. Be it situational towards yourself or others. You can actually unintentionally summon him without realizing it. When he is present your house is uncomfortably heavy and eerie, if not downright suffocating. Do not be fooled by his first humanoid appearance, that is not his true face.

He seems enamored with humans who are highly violent. If you reek of violence and bloodshed even in terms of headspace, he will do everything in his power to collect you and devour you. He feels consuming your hate will only make him stronger and essentially it does.

DO NOT BEHEAD HIM in an attempt to kill him. He will just grow his head back in aggravation and be very vengeful towards you. No matter what you do to try and stop him, he will make sure to rip you apart from the seams as payback. He is a very verdictive creature and will make sure to keep you alive to feel his purest agony. Once he has had his fill with your screams he will kill and devour you.

Likes: pain, violence, mental and physical decimation Dislikes: yelling at him, being physically or verbally aggressive towards him, affection

Summoning: his sigil is an upside-down triangle in blood, silver coins Offerings: self-injuries at his alter only made in self-aggression,

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 6)

Read on AO3

Precious readers,

Thank you so much for the encouragement and support. I have really leaned on it lately. This nausea is kicking my ass. Maybe that’s why this chapter is a veritable angst-fest. You’ve been warned. As always, I promise that things will get sweet and sappy and dopey and MSR-lovefest soon enough.

And just a reminder that things are not always as they seem. I had some readers feeling quite anxious that this was turning into a Fowley-Mulder romance, and it really, really isn’t. In fact, the idea makes me want to vomit (I mean, everything does these days, but still). None of my stories are Fowley-Mulder. They just seem like they are (to Scully).

tw/cw: pregnancy update below

Also, in personal news . . . I found out I'm having a BOY! As a girl mom, I am shocked to my core, even though there was a 50-50 chance of it being a boy. Boy mamas of the world, teach me your ways!!!!! (also, I fully believe gender is a construct and a spectrum and all that :) but right now, there is a tiny alien inside me with XY chromosomes, and it is wild)

tagging @today-in-fic

Breathless, Scully twists around, her eyes meeting Diana’s. She glances around the motel parking lot and sees no sign of Mulder’s car.

“He went to the police station,” Diana offers, a knowing smile rising to her perfectly-painted lips.

Scully nods indifferently, then moves to her car, unlocking the door and tossing her go-bag in the passenger seat. She’s about to slip into the driver’s seat when Diana catches her elbow. 

“Are you not checking into the motel?” Diana asks, her brow furrowing in mock confusion.

Scully considers it. There’s no way she’s sticking around today, not after all the damning evidence pointing to a dalliance between Mulder and Diana. Sure, Mulder might get a little pissy if she skips town, but he’s a big boy. Plus, by the looks of things, Diana will be there to comfort him.

“I have something urgent I have to return to tonight,” Scully replies primly.

Diana’s eyebrows tick up with faux interest. “Another case?”

Scully shrugs, hoping it’s enough to throw the woman off her scent.

Diana steps in closer, a girlish smile growing on her face. Her voice lowers conspiratorially. “Or do you have someone to get home to, Agent Scully? Someone I don’t know about?”

Scully blinks. Someone you don’t know about? You know nothing about me, you witch. This isn’t a high school sleepover where we gossip about boys we like.

She tries to settle her features, reminding herself that Diana is trying to bait her on purpose. “I have an engagement tomorrow that I can’t miss,” she deflects.

“So coy,” Diana replies, grinning. “Come on, Dana, you can tell me. Woman-to-woman. Who’s the lucky man?”

Scully glances at her car, wondering how rude it would be if she simply jumped in and drove away mid-conversation. Before she can formulate a response, however, Diana is already chiming in.

“Fox would be interested to know as well, I’m sure,” she continues. Scully’s head whips around at the mention of her partner’s name, and she knows her reaction is an error when Diana’s eyes gleam. “Last night, I convinced him to tell me more about your adventures together. A five-year partnership? That’s one for the books.” The woman steps closer, her perfume reeking of disdain and deception. “It has taken some special encouragement on my part for Fox to really start opening up to me, though. All men are the same in that way, you know. You give them what they desire, and they’ll give you just about anything in return.”

Before she can stop her body’s involuntary response, Scully’s lips part in surprise. Automatically, she clenches her hands behind her back, trying to prevent them from shaking.

“Something the matter?” Diana asks, smiling innocently.

Unable to trust her own voice, Scully shakes her head and slips down into the driver’s seat, something she’s realizing she should have done as soon as she spotted Diana. Before she can close the door, though, Diana slides into the empty space and holds it open, leaning down to meet Scully’s gaze. Scully keeps her eyes trained on the dashboard, certain that if she looks just slightly to her left, she’ll get a full-on view of that envious cleavage.

“I hope I didn’t say anything offensive, Dana. I suppose it’s a bit awkward to hear about your partner in that way. I know you two are practically siblings. Fox thinks of you as a little sister of sorts.” Diana’s hand slides casually onto her shoulder and Scully grits her teeth. “But surely you know that he and I—that we’ve been on the more intimate side as of late.”

I won’t react, I won’t react, she promises herself, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. But images assault her mind, dozens at a time. She thinks about the way Mulder looks when he’s coming, how his eyes seem to darken and his eyebrows pinch together, almost as if he’s in pain. And then there’s the release, and the joy and satisfaction rippling over his features so gloriously, it makes her feel like a queen. Traitorously, her mind flips the image on its head, inserting Diana where she herself normally is. Bile rises in her throat.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Diana continues with a squeeze to the shoulder. “We agreed to be friends with benefits, but I can see he wants more. You don’t take a woman out for dinner and drinks every time you sleep with her if you don’t want something more.” She clicks her tongue. “But that’s just Fox. He’ll always be ruled by those pesky emotions.”

She’s lying, the voice inside her head screams, but Diana’s words drown out all logic.

Tears start to build on her lower lashes and with trembling hands, Scully forces the key into the ignition, revving the car.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she mutters, and with a graceful smile, Diana slips out of the door.

“Thanks for the chat, Dana,” she says slyly. “It’s so good to talk woman-to-woman.”

Without even a sideways glance, Scully reaches forward and slams the door shut.

**

She drives to the office. It is only midday, and although her morning has been as horrible as they come, she can’t seem to shirk the sense of duty calling her back to work. At her desk, she tries to ignore the blinking red light on her answering machine, and when her desk phone rings, she is highly tempted to ignore the call. But she is a professional, and this is her work phone, and she cannot risk missing a call from A.D. Kersh. The moment she picks up the receiver, though, she knows she’s made a mistake.

“What the hell, Scully?” Mulder demands. “Did you really just up and leave me?”

She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, pausing to collect the storm of emotions brewing inside. “I had something to get back to here in town.”

Mulder pauses. “So that’s it? You’re done today?”

“I see no reason to expense the FBI for any more motel rooms,” she responds reasonably.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?”

She clacks her fingernails on the desktop. “I’m a bit preoccupied here,” she lies.

He scoffs. “No, you’re not. I know what you’re doing, Scully. I’ve been doing it for weeks. You’re sorting through bullshit requests from Kersh. None of that is as important as what we’re working on.”

“You have a partner, Mulder,” she reminds him curtly. “You have no need for me.”

“I need a pathologist, for Christ’s sake—”

“Get another one, then. I told you, I’m too busy.”  

“No, I need—I need—” He curses. “So you’re just refusing to help us out, is that right? You’re denying another agent’s request for help, Agent Scully?”  

“You’re no longer my department head, Agent Mulder,” she reminds him darkly. “You can’t make me.”

He barks an angry laugh. “No one could ever make you do anything. Much less me.”

“Are you finished, Mulder?” she grumbles irritably. “Because I told you I’m busy—”

The phone abruptly goes dead. She stares at the receiver in surprise, momentarily stunned. Swallowing past the hard knot of pain rising in her throat, she gently places the phone back in its cradle, and then as if on autopilot, turns to her computer and begins to work.

**

Scully stays at the office far longer than she intended, but it feels good to put her head down and concentrate on something other than her personal problems. By the time she looks up from her desk, most of the bull pen is empty, and since she worked through rush hour, traffic isn’t even half-bad.

She steps into her apartment with a sigh of relief, tossing her keys and weapon onto a side table and gingerly stepping out of her boots. She’s headed straight for the bathtub when a tall figure rises from the couch. With a yelp, she lunges for her weapon, finger tightening quickly around the trigger, only to loosen when she realizes it’s just Mulder.

Slamming her gun onto the table, she fixes him with a furious look. “What the living hell, Mulder?” she shouts.

He scrubs his hands over his bleary face and she realizes he’s been sleeping. “I tried to warn you,” he says with a shrug. “I called your work phone and left a message on your cell. Why are you getting home so late? I’ve been here for hours.”

Gritting her teeth, she shakes her head. “I stopped answering my work calls after a particularly onerous conversation left me with a bad taste in my mouth,” she gripes.

His lips twist into a half-smile. “Must’ve been a helluva chat.”

Ignoring his ill attempts at humor, she makes her way into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water just to give her hands something to do.

“I intended to take a bath,” she tells him when she hears him enter the room behind her.

“Be my guest,” he says magnanimously, “I’ll even scrub your back.” She hears the grin on his face and it cracks something inside her.

“Do you ever stop to think about just how infuriating you are, Mulder?” she snaps, whipping around to face him. “I swear it’s like every interaction we’ve had lately has been one nightmare after the next!”

His face falls, so slightly she almost misses it. But she catches the pain and misunderstanding that flash across his face, and it makes her feel like an ass. Mulder doesn’t know what transpired after she left the graveyard. He doesn’t know she’s in love with him. He doesn’t know she snooped through Diana’s room and found damning evidence of their relationship. He doesn’t know about her conversation with Diana. He has no idea why she’s suddenly so agitated with him.

Shaking her head regretfully, she steps closer. “I’m sorry, Mulder, I didn’t mean that.”

He shrugs apathetically, but she knows she’s wounded him. “Yes, you did. But it’s alright. I’m well- aware of my defects. It’s incredible you’ve put up with me for this long.”

“Oh, stop—”

“No, you’re right, Scully. I’m a pain in the ass to be around. I’m irritating, unlovable—”  

She groans. “Mulder, please don’t turn this into a pity party—”

“Then what is it?” he asks earnestly, stepping closer. They are just inches apart now. “What’s going on? Why are you so angry at me right now?”  

When she hesitates, he grips her hands, squeezing tightly. “Scully, is this about how I hurt you? Will you please tell me what happened that night?” His eyebrows crease in consternation. “It’s practically all I can think about.”

Oh, God, is he still on about that? Her hands burn within his grip. He looks so beautifully, infuriatingly fuckable in his black t-shirt and jeans. End-of-day stubble lines his cheeks, and normally, she’d take that as a subtle cue that he wants to eat her out, because she once admitted to him how good his stubble felt against her thighs. It’s just not fair, she thinks petulantly. It’s not fair that he can play me like a violin.

She shakes her head, tugging her hands out of his and glancing meaningfully at the kitchen clock. “Don’t you have someone you need to get back to tonight?” she asks.

He tilts his head, studying her closely. “I have a case I need to get back to, but I came here to see if you’re alright.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“Diana seemed to think you were upset.”

Her eyes flash to his. “Diana isn’t a reliable source of information.”

That seems to get his attention. He slaps his palm against the countertop. “What is your issue with her? Why can’t you stop pitting yourself against her? It’s not a competition, Scully. She can be a good agent and so can you—”

“I don’t need a lesson in relationships,” she hisses angrily. “But it seems you do.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Ever since she walked back into your life, you’ve—you’ve chosen her.” She flushes red at her admission.

“I’ve chosen her?” he half-laughs, brow crinkling in confusion.

She swallows thickly, ignoring the humiliating sting of tears on her lashes.

“For the past five years,” she says, straightening her spine and lifting her chin, “I have worked tirelessly by your side to support you and bolster you. If I have ever questioned you, it is because I care. Because I want to validate your work and because I want others to see its value too.” She licks her lips nervously. “But for the past few weeks, ever since she arrived on scene, you seem hellbent on believing that I am your enemy!”

“I asked you to come out to the field with us today, didn’t I?”

“Excuse me if it didn’t feel like the kumbaya moment I’m sure you hoped it would be,” she snaps.

“You want to know what’s going on? Diana believes in me,” he says, his eyes clouded with anger. “But when I told the OPR panel about what happened to us in Antarctica, you left me hanging! You failed to corroborate my account.” He leans closer to her, his voice growing harsh. “You want me to think that you believe in me? Try having my back like Diana does—”

“That is not fair,” she hisses. “I have gone to great personal and professional lengths to protect you and defend you—”

“Out of obligation,” he snaps. “Not out of true belief. You don’t believe in my cause.”

“You can’t expect me to follow blindly, Mulder. I am a scientist.” She meets his gaze determinedly. “What the hell happened to what you said to me in the hallway, before I was stung by that bee? Or was that all just a bunch of blabber to keep me from leaving for Utah?”

He steps back, his eyes shuttering like curtains over a window. “I don’t remember what I said.”

Her cheeks flame, fire and blood rushing to her pale skin. But you saved me, he had said. Your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me.

She meets his gaze and there is an unasked and unanswered question between them. Do you remember that you tried to kiss me? That we were walking a very fine line between friends-with-benefits and actual lovers? Or are you pretending to have forgotten that as well?

He blinks, looking away. She dips her head, heart pounding, tears pooling, cheeks pinking. “I have been made a fool many times in the past few weeks,” she says quietly. “But I will not make a fool of myself today. If you refuse to acknowledge the value I have added to the X-Files and to your work, then that is your choice. But it makes a mockery of our time together.” She looks up and finds him staring at his shoes.

Slowly, she reaches out and brushes her hand with his. It is a last-ditch effort to remind him of the sacred thing between them, of their bond.

“What happened that’s made you feel this way about me? Is this all about Antarctica and—and that OPR panel? Is there something more?” She links her fingers around his palm.

He pushes her away abruptly, shaking his hand like she’s burned it. “Don’t try that,” he snaps.

Her eyes widen. “Try what?” 

He scowls disapprovingly. “Now isn’t the time for—you know.” He gestures between their two bodies and shock slices through her spine.

Affronted, she takes a step back. “Now isn’t the time for what?” she breathes darkly. “Do you really think I’m coming onto you right now?”

He fixes her with a knowing look and her lips part indignantly. How dare he. Sweat breaks out against her neck and she feels the words rushing to her lips, too fast to contain.

“You asked how you hurt me, Mulder,” she says ruthlessly, and when he blanches, she knows she’s hit the right nerve. She takes a step closer, feeling herself growing more and more powerful. “You fucked me after our office burned down, but you didn’t even try to make it good for me. You were so rough and so impatient with me that I bled that night and the next day.” He turns very, very still, and a sick, twisted joy rises up inside her. She lowers her voice. “All this time, I knew you were just using me for stress relief, but that night, it seemed strangely like a hate fuck. Is that what it was, Mulder? Do you hate me so much now that you couldn’t even look me in the eyes that night, but instead had to turn me around so you could useme as roughly as you wanted?”  

He has turned as pale as a ghost, all color drained from his face.

She knows that when she agreed to a relationship with him, she made a serious error in judgment. For her, their intimate moments have been separate and apart from their work. Having sex with Mulder happened outside of their roles as federal agents. Their lovemaking was a physical expression of a lust and affection that had been simmering and growing and building for years between a man and a woman. Or at least, that’s what she thought.

“I know why you did it,” she adds, her power building and cresting. In the back of her mind, she knows she should stop, but she can’t help herself. The words are flowing out of her like water rushing past a broken dam, and it feels too good. “You were never having sex with me, with Dana Scully. You were always just fucking around with Agent Scully, your coworker. And as soon as Agent Scully started to disagree with you, when Agent Scully began to stand in contrast to an old friend with a far more open mind, the jig was up. Agent Scully represented disbelief and skepticism. Diana Fowley was certainty and reassurance. I should have realized that the work and the sex would be inextricable for you. If Agent Scully isn’t fully on board with your beliefs, then you can’t bring yourself to intimacy with her.” She swallows hard, steadying herself for the final blow. “So, imagine my relief when I found out that you have Diana now to satisfy that particular need.”

He seems struck dumb, so she speaks for him. Pushing past him to her front door, she swings it open, ignoring the way her entire body trembles with rage.

“In case it wasn’t already clear, consider yourself released from any further arrangement with me, or whatever sense of obligation made you come here two nights ago. This thing between us is done.” When he doesn’t move, she points at the door. “Leave, Mulder.”

As if on autopilot, he steps forward, moving towards the doorway like a dead man walking. He pauses on the threshold and she refuses to meet his eyes. She hears him swallow and squeezes shut her eyes when his hand comes to rest against her bicep.

He stays there for a long moment, his breathing quiet but erratic, and after a time, she wonders if she’s going to need to physically remove him from her apartment. But then he squeezes her arm, so lightly that anyone else might have missed it, and bends his head until his hair brushes her own.

“I am . . . so sorry that I hurt you,” he whispers brokenly. His hand slides off her arm and she waits until he is completely out of her presence before letting the door fall shut.

And when she is finally alone, she crumples to the ground and cries.

[bg-brainrot]

A Bloody Sacrament (Astarion x GN!Durge)

Featuring: Astarion x Evil!Durge

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Series: Fits into A Star in the Dark, AO3 link here

Summary: After fulfilling the Tribunal’s task and becoming Bhaal's unholy assassin, you bathe yourself in a pool of blood. You wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your day doused in red, but lucky for you, you have a lover who is only too happy to clean you up.

Tags: Violence, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood As Lube, seriously a lot of blood like too much blood please be warned, Smut, Voyeurism, Semi-Public Sex, Masturbation, Fingering, Oral Sex, Dom Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Pain, smidge of praise kink, smidge of overstimulation, aftercare sort of, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Evil Dark Urge, gender-neutral smut

A/N: If you follow me for my fun, fluffy stuff, I’m sorry, please feel free to look away c’: This is going dark and bloody (and uh, gross if you think about it too long). But sometimes I need to let my inner Durge out. Seriously mind the tags! Spoilers for all of Act 3. This is a Durge that has gone along with *everything* Astarion says, says the most evil things possible, is manipulating him just as they did him, and fully plans on taking over the world for their father. Naturally this is evil-evil Durge so like, tread carefully!

Word count: ~4k

The Murder Tribunal hums in satisfaction. You, the very slayer of Bhaal, prevail before them, standing in a crimson pool of your own making.

You have butchered the pathetic celestial, a hollyphant who dared play investigator. Now it is time to bathe in her blood, take your place as Bhaal’s Unholy Assassin, and prove yourself every bit your father’s child. Your head pounds, the bloodlust overwhelming as you inhale the scent of her ungodly demise, but you maintain enough focus to step forward.

Yes, your blood sings. Douse yourself in this pathetic creature's entrails, cleanse any remaining part of you that may still resist your calling.

Every stride brings you closer to release, to a greatness you know is yours to claim. When your foot finally dips into the pool of blood before you, you throw your head back in elation – yes, you’ve earned this.

Deeper into the basin you walk, down its slick steps, each one pulling you further down. It seems deeper than you thought possible, though perhaps it’s a matter of perspective. After all, as you surrender yourself, your body, to the cult of Bhaal, it’s clear the depths that you would go for the sake of your father’s unholy agenda are far, far deeper.

You reach the center of the pool, where you release yourself to your very nature. In the eye of the temple’s sacred bath, your body is consumed and into its crimson liquid, you sink– down, down, down…

Fantasies of a world built upon your whims invade your mind. Tears of blood run down soft, pathetic cheeks. A river of red courses through the city, fed by bodies you’ve slain. You see seas of blood that would put this pathetic pool to shame. All of it, every last drop, in the name of your lord, your god, your father: Bhaal.

It feels like years of these beautiful delusions, so when finally you snap out of them you sit up with a gasp. You’re not sure how long you were under, but judging from the unaffected looks of your companions, what felt like a lifetime was truly, merely a moment.

As you rise from your sanguine sacrament, blood drips from your hands, your arms, your legs. Every inch of you is stained red with the sins you’ve committed. It’s a delectable sensation, one that shoots up your spine, brings a heat to your core similar to when you’ve enacted a particularly brutal killing. You feel good.

You almost don’t notice Sarevok’s praise, the gift he bestows upon you– it’s exactly what you need to finally fell that wretch of a changeling you call a relative. You take it, utter some words you’re sure, but your mind is a million miles away, enveloped in images of blood and flesh.

When Sarevok and the rest of the Tribunal leave the room, you’re left alone with your companions: Minthara, Shadowheart, and Astarion. They seem to be speaking to you, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears.

You shake your head– no, maybe there is actual blood in your ears.

“Are you alright?” you hear Shadowheart ask, a hint of distaste to her tone.

Minthara’s low chuckle follows and she says, “They are more than ‘alright.’ That was glorious. When we finally take control of this city, we shall all bathe in blood once more."

Astarion is unexpectedly quiet, watching you carefully with his ruby red eyes. Ever since he completed the Rite of Profane Ascension and took his rightful role as the vampire ascendent, he’d been anything but quiet. He’d laughed and murdered with glee. He’d even killed you, body and mind, only to bring you back more bloodthirsty than ever.

Ever since, you’d felt a connection to him unlike before. The tadpole in your brain ensures that you are not subservient to him, but you still feel tied to him by an unforeseen force. One that pulls you toward him, even now. It tells you that this look is meant for you, and you only.

“It’s as Minthara says,” you answer. “I am more than fine. I do, however, need to speak with Astarion. Alone.”

The two women exchange a glance. They’d grown used to your new relationship with Astarion, just as they’d gotten used to your previous relationship with him. Both had made a few comments, thinly veiled criticism of your choices in Shadowheart’s case, unadulterated mirth in Minthara’s case. Regardless, they know better than to get between the two of you.

“We’ll be at the entrance then,” Shadowheart says, turning away. 

“And do hurry. Revenge awaits us both,” Minthara adds, following her out.

Astarion simply continues to stare at you, eyes narrowing to slivers as his lids drop in a predatory gaze. Once he’s given you a full once over, he speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble, “My beautiful, precious consort. You’re quite the mess aren’t you. Luckily for you, I would be happy to help. After all, you look good enough to eat.”

Your body warms, your limbs tingle, as if you’re able to feel every lingering trace of the man’s eyes on your body. Perhaps you can, given your intimate, everlasting bond. “Devour me then, my love,” you respond, beginning to walk toward him.

“Tut tut,” he warns, stopping you with an open palm. You pause, halfway between him and the pool of blood behind you. “You’ll receive my attention soon enough. First,” he licks his lips. “I think you ought to prepare yourself for me. Make my meal worth it.”

“Gladly,” you say, with a shallow gulp, your throat thick with a building desire. This is all part of the new game he likes to play, one you are only too happy to oblige. For you, his closest, most beloved treasure, he would do anything– but only if you showed him how much you wanted it. Begged for it.

You didn’t mind– for now. Let him have his fun and games, you think. It must be nice playing the master. But once this is all said and done, I know who shall wield the netherstones, I know who shall dominate the brain. All in the name of Bhaal.

Standing here, in the midst of your father’s bloody keep, newly bestowed with the title of his most unholy assassin, you strip your body bare.

As each piece of your armor comes off, you maintain eye contact with your lover, drinking in his wicked, openly lustful expression. At the sight of your bare chest, his smile widens. Once your bottoms are off, he takes a step closer, almost within your reach, but not quite.

Your building arousal is evident to him. Killing the hollyphant, coating yourself in blood, and now stripping before him, you certainly feel ready for him– though you know he wants more from you than that. Won’t take that final step until you’re well and truly pleading. You lower a hand between your thighs, starting with a gentle, teasing stroke.

“Good,” Astarion murmurs, eyes fixating on your hand, watching as you begin a more frenzied rhythm, as your fingers, slick with blood, are almost fumbling in their eagerness. Still, he doesn’t come closer, keeps his arms crossed as he watches in interest.

“Faster, my pet.” You go faster, beginning to pant as you work yourself up.

“A bit more pressure, darling.” You apply more pressure, barely muting the groan that comes to your lips.

“Now, now. Don’t be afraid to speak up. You do know how I adore your voice,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in anticipation.

You both know that there isn’t a door to this room, its stone entryway is wide and open to the ghosts of Bhaal’s tribunal. However, you also know that these ghosts are inconsequential, memories of those who were unable to bring glory to your father’s name– they should fear you and your ecstasy.

So you do as Astarion commands, allowing your mouth to drop open, an unrepentant moan exiting your lips as you continue to pleasure yourself.

Surely, this is enough for your lover. Your legs begin to tremble as you work yourself into a fervor and you don’t know how much longer you can last with his lidded eyes watching your every twitch.

But, of course, the vampire ascendent is unrelenting in his power. His next demand comes with a soft purr to his voice, betraying none of the wicked indulgence on his face, “My little love, relax. And make sure that you don’t ruin my meal.”

At first, you’re unsure what he means– how can you relax when the heat within you boils to a fever pitch? But you see the way his gaze drops down your body, tracing the rivulets of blood that have begun to pool at your feet. Ah.

It’s been long enough that the blood from your sanguine bath has begun to trickle off of you, a waste really. So you drop to your knees before the pool, run your hands across its crimson surface, and return to your own aching core.

Your hands a bloody red, coat your throbbing arousal in a few swift motions. Looking back up at Astarion from your reverent position before him, you ask, “Better?”

The low growl he gives you would be answer enough, but he still deigns to offer you a response, “Oh much.” His next movements are smooth, peeling off each article of his clothing as he continues to watch you through hooded eyes. “Consecrated in the blood of innocents, simply dripping for me. What more could I ask for?”

You can tell from the way that Astarion’s hands work his trousers, he’s already grown hard at the mere sight of you. The soft moan that leaves him as he brushes his cock almost brings you to the edge right then and there. Because this vampire lord, ruler of the night and nightmare among men, simply cannot wait any longer to pleasure you.

While he’s become more pristine, more poised in his ascension– he’s also become far more bestial. It shows in the way he tears an enemy in half, and it shows in the way he wantonly tears through you as soon as he's given the chance. So the lord falls, naked, to his knees before you, crawling over your kneeling body with hunger and purpose.

“Astarion,” you start, moving to reach out to him, to capture his beautiful lips with yours. But you're only met with an upheld hand.

“Not yet, my treasure.” His hand lands on your thigh, gripping it, and prying your legs apart. “I must tend to my consort first."

Then his mouth drops onto you.

Astarion's practiced tongue is normally quite an indulgent experience for you, a way for him to tend to you, as he said. But today, his tongue laps in a long, languid movement, capturing every bit of the blood that coats you. He moves so slowly, too slowly. It feels sinful, the way he teases. Your hips buck in response, your legs instinctively clench, but he grips you in place all the same.

“Astarion,” you breath out, barely able to hold another coherent thought as your bloody hands find his head, twining into his hair for dear life. ”Faster, please.”

He tilts his head up, giving you a bloody grin. “I simply must savor you first. Especially when you’ve prepared such a luscious meal.”

You can tell he likes this, your desperation. It gives him a sense of power and control he’s longed for for so long– and you, the chosen of Bhaal, his newly minted unholy assassin, are an utter prize to torment. He won’t give you what you want until he’s satisfied, and you’re starting to believe that this man can never be fully sated, even freed from his sanguine hunger.

So you plead, this time with more need in your voice, “Please, Astarion.”

“Oh, very well then. Whatever my precious consort desires,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on the soft, inner skin of your thigh.

Then he’s back on you, his tongue picking up speed as he circles your arousal. Your breath catches, your fingers tighten on his hair and once more you’re brought to the precipice. Pleasure builds in your core as he begins to suckle, drawing out of you a cry of sheer rhapsody.

The vampire’s fingers dig into your flesh as he sucks hard, and the pressure in you snaps. Your back arches as you come, thighs fighting against your lover’s grip. You hold his head to you tightly as he continues to nurse you in soft, rhythmic draws. Like the precious fiend you are, he cradles your hips to his mouth as he eases you down from your high.

Your vision swims and the blood that you’ve streaked through Astarion’s hair feels like the only thing in focus. It glistens red, whispering to you the sweet caress of blood and gore– in your euphoria, the man before you looks godly in his disarray.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, slurring your words in your stupor.

Astarion lifts his head, looking up at you through his long lashes. “As are you, my sweet.”

You produce a breathy laugh, knowing that you look a mess, still coated in more blood than usual– but also knowing that he means it. Especially as he continues crawling up your body, tongue tracing each line of blood, lapping at you as if a man possessed.

Each stroke of his tongue serves in equal measure to clean you as it does to reignite the fire in your belly. Inch by bloody inch, he licks along every rich ruby rivulet he can reach as he works his way up. The thought of this man, not cleansing you of your sins, but rather drinking them in, relishing them on his equally vicious tongue– well, you're far beyond any amount of shame, and your moans of pleasure cascade off the room's stone walls in a raucous symphony.

Finally, he reaches your face, hovering just above your lips as his tongue licks his own free of blood. "Now, my little love… tell me what it is you want from me,” he commands. 

You’re still reeling from the feel of his mouth on you, speech seems too tall of an order at the moment. In fact, right now, the only things you can think of are his red eyes, beautiful bloody hair, and his stiff arousal, pressing into you.

So you reach down, trailing your bloody hand along the length of him, guiding him toward you in a wordless request.

"Use your words, darling," he says, nearly brushing your lips with his as he grinds into your hand to punctuate his sentence.

"Take me," you manage to gasp out. Then you take a deep, shuddering breath. You let the urge overtake you. "Let us sanctify this unholy ground. Show it the depths of our depravity." You squeeze his cock in another silent demand, devouring the groan that escapes him as you cover his mouth with your own.

Losing yourself in his flavor, metallic, and tasting distinctly of your own fluids, you only barely manage to remember to breathe. Your head spins, but he is all you want in your lungs. You’re not sure what triggers this desperation, whether it be the instincts within you or the very nature of the vampire before you, but you do know that it compels you to take every bit of him you can.

So you stroke at his length, consuming each and every noise he makes like the ravenous beast you are. He nips at your lips, a playful reprimand, but one that you take seriously.

You pull away from him, and you're both panting into each other when his next demand comes, "I will give you all that you ask of me. But first, you must lay back."

First one leg, then the other, you lay yourself beneath him. As you roll back into the pool of blood you had been kneeling in, his eyes trail you hungrily. Beneath the man’s crimson gaze, you feel every bit the depraved demigod you are. Like your cruel, tool of a body was made for him to ravish.

Astarion reaches behind you, hands skimming the basin of blood and coming back dripping crimson. To your questioning look, he merely smirks.

It's only a moment later that his hands are back between your legs. Coated with blood as they are, his dexterous fingers move fluidly to work your arousal back up. "Astarion,” you gasp out, still sensitive from his mouth’s earlier ministrations. “I need you, not– not this.”

“Patience,” he murmurs, looking down at you with a deceptively soft smile. His fingers leave your throbbing core, slipping past it to find your entrance. A single gentle, probing finger teases you, as he asks, “How much of me do you desire, my sweet love?” 

“More,” you groan out, lifting your hips to meet him in your need. Again, the urge within screams. “Give me everything, and it will never be enough. I would have our very flesh coalesce so that I may be interred within your corpse at the end of the world.”

Astarion slows his finger momentarily, bends down to kiss your hateful lips, and whispers, “My lovely little lunatic, how poetic.” Then a second finger joins the first, and he’s pumping into you. Slowly at first, but his pace picks up as he finds a spot that makes you squirm. 

The sound of his blood-slicked fingers entering you, over-and-over, seems to be too much for either of you to bear for long. Soon, his fingers slip out of you, his cock replacing them at your entrance before you can so much as moan his name.

Then he presses into you, truly melding your flesh with his own. He feels harder than he has before, fueled by the basin’s supply of blood. Inch by bloody inch, he enters you, and, but for a moment, your insatiable, bloody lust is satisfied by this man. Your back arches in response and your dark urges fall to much more primal ones as you attempt to clutch the slick stone beneath you. “A-Astarion,” you pant out. “Take me. Please.”

“You’ve been so good,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around each of your thighs as he leverages himself, preparing for what you’re certain will be his finest performance yet. “It’s only right that you receive your reward.”

Then he pulls out, every so slightly, grins at you with a bloody, fanged mouth, and begins pounding into you.

Any normal Baldurian would balk at the force with which the man drives into you. But you are Bhaalspawn. You dwell within a realm where pleasure and pain walk hand-in-hand. And Astarion knows that– knows the limits of your wicked, bruised body.  

As such, his savage thrusts are more than welcome. Your eyes close and your head rolls back as you bask in them. You find yourself to be the one issuing orders as he drives into you, again and again, “Harder. Harder.”

His fingers grip your thighs tighter as he strains to pick up the pace, to plunge into you with as much force as his sordid consort demands. The loud, lewd sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, punctuated by your needy cries, your lover’s grunts of exertion.

Yes, you think. Yes, break me, break Bhaal’s chosen, so that I may be rebuilt upon my own bones. Kill me to bring me back. Strip me down to lay me to waste. Cleanse me of this blood only to coat me in your own essence. 

You feel your mind slipping away and your urges taking over once more as the peak of your pleasure approaches, as Astarion fucks the last sense out of you.  

Eyes shut, hips sore, and mouth calling your vampire lord’s name, your climax comes crashing upon you in a wave of pure bliss.

It’s enough to send the man in front of you into a renewed fervor. Astarion grips your legs all the tighter, dipping his head forward to bite into the meat of your thigh. Fangs buried, he draws a deep gulp, relishing the taste of your orgasm in your blood.

Pulse after pulse, he plunges into you while he sucks from your veins, riding your orgasm to the last. It leaves you lightheaded and breathing heavily, but euphoric all the same.

When he finally releases your thigh from his mouth, his pace grows even more punishing. You’re certain that neither of you are leaving this unbruised, and, by the gods below, you love it. The painful slap of his hips against yours is intoxicating and you're not certain you ever want it to end. The world could collapse around you both right now, and you may not even notice it over the sound of your debauchery.

Then the vampire begins to flatter, his pace cracking as he approaches his climax.

“Not yet,” you moan, unwilling to let the feeling go. “Astarion, please.”

He doesn’t seem capable of responding, his only answer is a quiet whimper. You finally open your eyes, looking down at the man between your thighs– to see the tinge of red on his cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the tension of his neck muscles as he overexerts himself. The vampire ascendant looks utterly obscene in his unraveling. 

Enough so that you clench around him, spurring on his release. “Come for me, love,” you urge, panting in anticipation of his undoing.

And he does.

Mouth open, dribbles of blood still eking out of its corners, hair shining silver and red, he looks a vision of rosy marble as he spills into you. His hands drop to your ass as he rolls into you through his climax, softer and slower than before. It’s almost sweet, if not for the bruising indents his fingers have left behind.

When he slips out of you, spent and exhausted, you can’t help but feel that in helping you clean up, he’s become quite the sight himself. You wish you could engrave this image of him into your mind, blood smeared across his face, his body, his softening cock.

You suppose it’s up to you to help him clean up.

“Astarion,” you say, sitting up and reaching for him. “Now who looks the mess?”

He gives you a low chuckle, as he crawls forward toward you, fatigued in his movements. “Oh, it’s still you, my treasure.” His crimson eyes rake across your body as he climbs lazily onto your lap, assessing the damage. “While the color red will always suit you, it wouldn’t do to waste any of this blood.”

“Was the hollyphant that satisfying?” you can’t help but ask, a smidge annoyed. “You seemed all too willing to drink from me, all the same.”

“You are the finest meal a lord could ask for, my little love,” he murmurs, before leaning forward and licking a line along your neck. “There is, however, something quite palatial about an entire pool of blood.”

“I suppose,” you concede, craning your neck for him. “If we ask nicely, perhaps my father will bestow this one upon us.”

Astarion hums into your skin with amusement. "Oh, darling. When we build our palace, we shall need a dozen such pools of blood." He pulls your hand to his lips, slowly sucking each finger clean.

You sigh, allowing the man’s clever tongue to lap at you, allowing his delusions of grandeur to comfort him. After all, when all is said and done, the realm will be decimated, destroyed in the name of Bhaal. 

At least for now, you will allow yourself to live in his fantasy. So you simply reply, "And I shall be glad to fill each and every pool with the blood of our enemies."

He continues to lick, as you lavish him with praise. All the while you can’t help but think that you quite enjoy your new position as the unholy assassin of Bhaal. Hopefully father continues to throw me into situations involving such vast quantities of blood.

[caramelrxses]

Earrings – One-shot

Pairing — Childe x gn!reader

Summary — Could you return the piece of his soul please?

Warnings/tags — gender neutral reader, pronouns aren't used; SFW; Angsty thoughts; hurt to comfort; angst with happy ending

Author's Note — melancholic, poetical thoughts from 3AM. I hope it's understandable! Love my boy Childe <3

Word count — 0.8k

"Why are you leaving?" Childe whispered as the early dawn's cold wind cut into his core. He hugged himself, it wasn't a good idea to step outside into the Snezhnayan cold dawn with only his pants on. 

 

"I have to." You answered, not even looking back. Your eyes were fixated on the red and orange horizon, and your back faced him. You snuffled, the weather sent shivers down your spine, even if you were fully clothed. 

 

"Will I ever see you again?" Childe asked, his voice trembling. You couldn't decide whether it was because of the chilly weather or because of you. 

 

"I hope so." You nodded.

 

Childe knew the day would come sooner or later. He knew you'd leave, you were like a bird who always flew away then came back. You were his bird, his little, precious bird, but he knew he couldn't keep you in a cage. Your soul was free, and you always took a piece from his whenever you left. He could only pray and hope you'd give him back that part of his soul in one piece. 

 

***

 

He could only pray and hope. But was it worth it? Until next summer, he would count the days until he saw you again. He would watch the street every day, hoping he would spot you. He would light a candle in his window, hoping you would see it and find a way back to him. He would cling onto the last strings of hope, maybe you just had to stay longer. Maybe you'll still come back, even if the summer slowly slips out of his hands. Maybe you didn't forget him, and maybe you returned half of his soul on the last day of summer – when you usually leave him.

 

***

 

Childe sometimes forgets about you. He slowly changed his habits. He would not watch the street, hoping his little bird would come back to him. He would not light a candle. He sometimes found himself forgetting you. He found himself wondering what would happen if he finally let go of false hope. 

 

He loved you, he surely did. He loved you with all his heart, but sometimes he forgot about it. He forgot that you spent nights with him on Snezhnayan summer nights, he forgot your kisses on his neck, he forgot that you existed.

 

He grew up. And in his memories, you were a faint fairytale. Like a long-heard fairytale, a faint memory of a bedtime story. A bittersweet story to wonder about on his sleepless nights. 

 

***

 

He wandered around Liyue Harbor. He kept watching people, it was his favorite thing to do when he was bored. He kept watching what they did and how they acted. Sometimes his heart ached when he saw a lovely couple. Whether they had dinner together or held hands while watching the sunset above the endless sea, he was jealous. He was jealous because whenever he imagined himself in the picture, you were with him. This time, he remembered everything. Your beautiful features, your sweet laugh, your care for him, you.

 

You sat on a bench, alone. You watched the red and orange colors have fun above the blue sea. They reminded you of him. His fluffy orange locks form a crown on his head, above the deep blue, shining eyes. Oh, those eyes. They always watched you, and they always noticed if your attitude changed. They watched over you, they admired you in every way possible. 

 

"You didn't return." You heard a melancholic voice behind you. You could recognize this voice for a lifetime. You could recognize this voice in every life of yours if there were others like it.

 

"I couldn't." You answered, keeping your eyes on the sunset. You wished you could give a good reason, but you couldn't form words, let alone think. 

 

"You left me." Childe sounded disappointed. He had every right to be disappointed in you. You didn't blame him, he was right. You left him and didn't return to him. You didn't appear on the street he always watched, and you didn't follow the candle's light he had in his window. 

 

"I'm sorry." You muttered. It felt like a dream. You two had so much to say, but you both chose not to say anything. You stayed silent as you reached up to your right ear. "This belongs to you."

 

You held the earring in your palm, offering it to him beside you. You didn't look up at him, you stubbornly kept your eyes on the sunset. It was the earring you got from Childe when you first left him. It was the piece of his soul that you didn't return to him. 

 

Childe often wondered if he wanted to take that part of his soul back from you. He was often angry that you took it, he wanted to snatch it back from you. He was often sad that you took it, he wanted to get it back so he could see you again when you returned it.

 

Childe gently closed your fingers on your palm with the earring on it. He sighed, glancing at the sunset. 

 

"You can keep it."

[hisui-dreamer]

hioooo~ i would like to request something soft for heartsbyul headcanons dating a smiling and sociable mc fem with beautiful golden curls like shirley temple or goldilocks from the tale of the bears for example ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა, well thank you and have a good day! *hug*

golden to the core

Characters: Heartslabyul (Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Cater, Trey)

Synopsis: How is your relationship like with your man when you're the literal embodiment of sunshine?

Tags: reader has blond hair, fluff, bot proofread

Word count: 1.1k+

Notes: This was very fun to think about, I love sunny happy characters hehe. This leaned more into gender neutral with golden hair, so I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Riddle was taken aback by your open demeanour at first

over time though, he starts to appreciate your positivity and charm

he’s so attracted to your warmth and friendliness and the positive energy you bring into his life

sometimes he gets frustrated at how carefree you are, and he might become irritable and lash out, but once he mellows out, he’s apologising and tries talking to you rationally

he also finds solace and comfort in your presence

everyone in heartslabyul runs to get you when he’s raging

you soften his strict exterior and provide him with moments of joy and relaxation

just seeing you will soften his glare into a lovesick gaze

appreciates you so much but he’s not great at saying it

he likes to secretly show his affection through thoughtful gestures, surprising you with small gifts or acts of service, brewing your favourite tea or helping you with homework you find challenging

or just spending quality time with you despite his busy schedule and dedication to his studies

Riddle sighs, reaching to brush away a stray lock of hair. "I know our differences can be challenging, but I'm willing to work on finding a balance between my need for order and your more relaxed approach to life. My Golden Rose, you mean a lot to me, and I want to make our relationship work," he murmurs, hoping you wouldn’t be upset at him.

Ace finds you so fun

he loves teasing you with his sharp wit and clever comebacks to make you laugh or smile

he finds you so cute! and he can get your attention, it’s a win-win!

it’s his unique way of showing affection

he has no filter on his mouth and is brutally honest

will not hold back on expressing his opinions and feelings, even if they might not be what you want to hear

but if you’re patient enough, you’ll see that he never wants to lie to you even though he’s great at lying

he’s incredibly loyal

although I wouldn’t blame you if you give him a good punch from time to time

the two of you are absolute menaces when it comes to pranks

you two are such a powerful duo, your charm makes anyone believe you, and ace can be rather crafty when it comes to pranking

he is also great at surprising you, planning creative dates, surprising you with a small gift or gesture etc.

you’re his perfect partner in crime

"I think you're secretly a fairy with that golden mane of yours, enchanting everyone around you, " Ace winks flirtingly. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on, and I'm not just saying that to get a kiss, though it wouldn't hurt!" He leans closer to you, batting his eyelashes and putting on his best puppy dog face.

Deuce is so in love with you omg

loves staring at your hair shine under sunlight

he’s drawn to your outgoing and cheerful personality

it balances out with how serious he can be

really admires you at navigating social situations with ease

with how straightforward and tactless he is, sometimes he accidentally says something that offends you

many misunderstandings

but he’s really genuine and once he figures out what’s wrong, he’ll immediately apologise and try to make it up to you

his love language is very varied, he wants to do everything he can do make you happy

his mom raised him well to treat his lover nicely afterall

acts of service!! cooking a meal for you, helping you with physical tasks, or giving you a massage after a long day, he’s at your beck and call ready to help you

also small protective gestures like placing a hand on your back or shoulder in a reassuring manner when you’re nervous or in danger

he cares about you so much and wants to keep you safe!

Deuce fidgets nervously. "I know I can be tactless at times and say or do things that hurt you. I'm sorry if I've ever offended you, and I'll work hard to be more mindful of my words and actions. Please forgive me," he pleads, resembling a sad puppy dog.

your personality matches so well with Cater!

enjoys the attention the two of you would garner from others

shares all of your experiences together on social media, as long as you give him permission of course

his magicam is full of cute couple photos, sweet captions, and definitely tags you in posts or stories, if only to show off your relationship to the world

he loves complimenting you, calling you endearing pet names, and expressing his appreciation for you, your smile, sociability, golden hair, he adores every bit of you

definitely helps you style your hair in trendy and cute ways

he really wants to impress you, so he might use his skills to find information about you on your social media and keep up with the latest trends related to your interests

sometimes he feels like he’s not good enough for you, but he’ll rarely show it

if he’s really warmed up to you though, he might let his true feelings show

he ends up seeking you for comfort when he has a bad day

give this man all the hugs he needs and wants

"We’re #RelationshipGoals, babe!" He laughs as he hugs you with one arm, the other typing his phone. "Your presence makes every moment brighter, and your personality shines just as gold. Lucky to call you mine! And… post!" He chuckled, then leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.

Trey loves how light-hearted and sociable nature you are

he really appreciates how you light up the entire room by just being there

he finds your extroverted nature refreshing and may sometimes even rely on you to help him navigate social situations that he might otherwise avoid

the two of you compliment each other so well, he’s the voice of reason and you bring warmth and charm to social settings

he admires your ability to diffuse conflicts and ease tensions, it helps so much when the inevitable fights break out

he does have moments where he feels a bit overwhelmed or uncomfortable with how outgoing you are because he doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to him

but communication is key and he will respect your boundaries as well

he loves brushing your hair for you, he’s quite good at it too having practice with his younger siblings

will also pinpoint your exact tastes so he can make treats and snacks to your liking

he loves nothing more than seeing you happy and content

even more so when it’s because of him

"Hey there, sunshine!" You turn around and you see Trey standing behind you, a warm look in his eyes as he ruffled your hair. "Haha, your smile always brightens up my day," he says, tucking your head under his chin as he bathed in your presence.

Masterlist

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[pynkhues]

Is it usual for fandom to be so strict with sexual configurations of queer couples, whether it’s top/bottom, Dom/sub, or gender roles? If you’ve preferences for a set configuration of any of the above, more power to you, but the strictness with wanting to control how others interpret the story is confounding. I wonder if it’s motivated by a sense of insecurity RE: the likelihood that strict top Lestat will lose primacy in fandom with Season 3. Some people used to act like this at even the mere suggestion that there could be something sinister behind Armand’s façade: they asserted that it was out of protectiveness of a character of colour, much in the way those against bottom Lestat or sub Lestat assert that they want to protect Louis. But insecurity is at the core of it: they see the textual evidence leaving a breadcrumb trail in a direction they dislike and they respond by policing the fandom in the here and now to feel in control.

Oh, man, I honestly don't know, anon. My last few experiences of fandom have had pretty different contexts - I was in the Succession fandom, but while I dabbled in Kendall x Stewy, I was mostly there for gen sibling stuff (and wrote a handful of gen sibling fics), and before that Good Girls, which was anchored by a delightfully deranged cis het ship, so it's been a hot minute since I've been in the trenches of a queer ship on a queer show, and - - yeah! It's certainly ! A place to be on the internet!

I'll probably regret this in the morning, (it is almost midnight here rn, haha) but like - - yeah, I do think it comes from a place of insecurity to be honest. The vitriol in the discourse in this fandom really took me by surprise, and I've thought about it a lot over the last few months, and honestly I tend to think there was this discourse about Louis as a housewife that took off post s1, which I think is an interpretation of canon, albeit not one I personally agree with, which grew during the hiatus into this femme!Louis discourse which I don't want to get into, but will say that I personally don't see. I think that has been compounded by some (not all) people having a sexual/kink preference re: top/bottom, who weaponise the language of the housewife / femme Louis discourse to try and stamp out alternative iterations of the ship dynamic in fandom.

And look, I could be wrong on this - who knows - but I kind of do suspect that Louis becoming canonically a dom in s2 resulted in that idea of him being challenged, and that a subset of the fandom accepted that, and leant into all that that opened up with Louis' character, as a part (but not all!) of his sexuality, and another very vocal part has rejected it absolutely to the point that they act like Louis was forced into the role and that its unnatural to him. As a result, that faction of the fandom became more aggressive around top/bottom discourse as a means to not only maintain their personal preference (which is actually the more popular one, I think, in this fandom), but to try and ignore the fact that their interpretation might not be the intended one from the canon view point of the show.

Which is just a way of saying - - yeah. I think this policing comes from a place of insecurity. Like as somebody who likes and writes the less popular thing, why is my ask box the one that gets bombarded with it? If they were secure about it, if they felt their interpretation was the one the show was building towards, I don't know, wouldn't I be a blip on the radar? Especially given I rarely use main fandom tags and only have like, two popular fics?

I was actually talking about this with someone earlier, but even that idea of 'textual evidence' pops up all the time in this discourse, and it's like - - nothing is real until a character says it, but as soon as Lestat - literally - says 'you can be on top', there's always different ways to read it.

And look, sure, there are! But if that's your argument, then you can't deny there are different ways to read everything else too, including your assessment of scenes where Louis maybe bottoms, becaause that's probably the most 'textual' this show ever gets.