#If we start to dictate what age is allowed to read what books that's how we get to books being banned and censored

[mooncyclereader]

If you think like this you are an idiot period. People can read whatever they want whatever is their age or the level of the book

[absurdthirst]

Religious Corruption: The Path to Righteousness

Professor!Dave York x Virgin!F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.4k

Warnings: Religion kink, corruption kink, innocence kink, age gap, unbalanced power dynamic, grooming (?), professor/student relationship, blasphemy, anal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, feelings, sex toys, nipple clamps, overstimulation, cock rings, multiple orgasms, breath play, gagging, mentions of safe words/procedures, derogatory language, arguments, disownment

Comments: Dave discovers that he allows you more leeway that anyone else, letting you stay with him and dictate things. Making him wonder why as your own feelings for him become obvious.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

!!Additional Warnings!! - There are themes in this fic that might be disturbing to some. Religion/Power Dynamics/Age Gap - consume at your own risk.

|| MasterList || Religious Corruption MasterList ||

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The rhythmic humming from the radio made you tap your feet, slightly swaying your hips as you stared down at the recipe book in front of you. Dave had texted you just before your bible study session and asked if you wanted to stay at his for the weekend and of course you immediately responded yes and asked if you could cook for him and now a few hours later here you are, obsessing over a carbonara recipe you’ve made dozens of times.

He’s sitting in the corner of the room, going through a small stack of marking that he had said he wanted to do this evening so the whole weekend could be spent with you.

Looking up from a paper, Dave smirks as he watches you dance by yourself in his kitchen as you cook. You’ve gotten comfortable here, since you spend a lot of time here with him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Sorry,” you say with a giggle, “I didn’t mean to distract you.” You move around his kitchen with ease, already aware of where everything lives and you pull out a pot and fill it up with water ready for the pasta. 

“Sure you didn’t.” He snorts and smirks at you before looking back down at his papers. “You aren’t hoping one of these papers are yours and I give you a high mark because you’re shaking your ass in front of me.”

“Will that work?” You say, as you start working on the sauce. “Can I fuck my way to an A?”

“Depends on how you want to fuck me to that A.” Dave jokes as he looks up again and grins.

“How would you want me to?” You feel your face heat up a little as you ask, but you can’t deny your confidence has grown since losing your virginity.

“Nasty.” He chuckles. “The dirtiest, filthiest sex you can imagine, sweetheart. Tell me what you’d do.”

“Oh,” you say, before thinking about it. “I would ride you, in your office. During office hours and then drip your cum as you lecture us about virtue and making good choices.”

He smirks and waggles his brows. “I can make that happen. No panties. You smear my cum on your seat like the dirty little whore you are.”

“A dirty little whore?” You say as you raise an eyebrow, “Now, who turned me into one of those? And tell me… what’s the filthiest sex you can imagine?” 

He chuckles and eyes you with dark eyes. “Do you really want to know?” He asks softly.

“I do.” You break the pasta and dump it in the salted and now boiling water before turning your full attention back to him. “Tell me.”

“Bending you over that table, spitting on your little puckered hole and pressing my thumb inside while I just wreck your sweet little pussy and fill it full of my cum.”

“Will it hurt?” You ask quietly, “Do we have time before the pasta cooks?” Your body reacts visibly to his words and you know he can see your breath hitch as you think about what he said, eyes darting over to the kitchen table as the image starts to play out in your head.

“Do you think I would hurt you?” He asks, frowning slightly at the idea.

“No,” you admit honestly, “No one has ever touched me there before though.” You know he already knows this, he’s the only person to have ever touched you… to have kissed you. “I like being overwhelmed by you.”

“You know you can say no, right?” He tosses his pen down and stands, already half hard from the idea of debauching you even more. “Anytime.”

“I know. But I also know that I don’t want to say no to you.”

“Take your panties off and bend over the island.” Dave orders, voice rough and laced with lust.

“Kiss me first,” you say, each word dripping with an obvious desperation to feel his lips against yours. “Please.”

He moves over to you, aware that he should deny you, show you who is in charge. Aware that there’s been a slight shift in the way he deals with the girls he fucks. Pushing it out of his mind, he drags you close and immediately plunders your mouth ruthlessly in a hot kiss.

You smile against his mouth, unable to stop yourself as he shoves his tongue into yours. It’s not a long kiss but it’s enough to leave you breathless, the kind of kiss that has your lips tingling afterwards. The second he pulls back you’re obeying his order, hitching up your dress and pulling down your panties.

“You should just shed your panties at the door.” He chuckles, turning you around and squeezing your ass with both hands.

“You’d just add them to your rapidly growing collection and I’ve got to keep some,” you giggle, before gasping at his deliciously rough treatment of you. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t be happy knowing I'm sitting in Mr. Redgraves lectures without any panties on.”

“Fuck that asshole.” Dave slaps your ass and shakes his head. “Better yet, don’t fuck him, you only fuck me. No one else.” He growls possessively, surprising even himself from the ferocity of his tone.

“You’re the only person I want to fuck, only person that’s ever touched me,” you say as you start to drip down your legs, loving how rough he’s being. “I’m all yours, Dave. Just yours.”

He’s never been a possessive man, not with the girls that he’s chosen to corrupt. Using them until he’s done with them and then cutting them loose is his routine. But the idea of someone else touching you pisses him off. “Good.” He kicks your feet wide and presses your breasts against the marble of the counter.

You let him mould your body into position, wondering if he’ll say anything about the way you’ve soaked your thighs from the anticipation of his touch alone. “I belong to you,” you whisper, listening as he unbuckles his belt, “Just you.”

“Good girl.” He hums. “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say with a breathy moan, “Yours.”

“You should be on your knees in church.” He grunts. “But you’d rather be on your knees for me.”

You groan as he starts to push inside of you, enamoured by the way overwhelms you in the most delicious way. “Yes, Dave,” you moan, “I’d commit every sin to please you, suck your cock during service... I’d do anything.”

“Might have to do that.” He groans, imagining your mouth around his cock while the priest drones on. He twitches inside you. 

“Please,” you beg, moaning as your walls tightly hug his twitching cock. “Fuck me, Dave, I wanna feel you leak out of me as I finish cooking your dinner.”

His answer is to do exactly what he told you he would do. He spreads your cheeks apart so he can spit on your other hole. Watching is slide down and hums in satisfaction.

“Ohh Dave,” you gasp, as he spits on your tightest hole. Your pussy clamping down hard around him at his filthy little action, “Fuck.”

His thumb swipes through the spit and he starts to massage your sphincter. “Fuck, you like this?” He asks, starting to rock his hips.

Words fail you as he pushes up against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, “L-love it.”

Humming, he presses a little harder as he massages your hole, watching your cheeks try to flutter but his other hand holds them apart. “Yeah?” He groans. “Filthy thing.”

“Lie to me,” you beg, as he drives himself in and out of your cunt with vigour, playing with your puckered hole and making you come apart on his kitchen table, “Tell me you’re mine too.”

“I’m yours.” He groans, the words slipping out of his mouth easier than they should have. “All yours, baby, fuck, I’m all yours.” He promises, breaching your hole and feeling the tight ring of muscles suck him in.

You cum devastatingly hard at his words, clamping down around him so tightly that his rhythm slips and he stutters behind you. The feeling of his thumb inside of your tight little hole a little sore but you find yourself like the way it feels. Loving that he’s the only person to have touched you everywhere and content on letting him continue to take you however he pleases. “All mine,” you pant, “Fill up my little pussy, it belongs to you anyway.”

“Shit.” He hisses, clenching his teeth and he starts to rail you. Ramming your hips into the counter as he fucks into you just as hard and as deep as he can. Keeping his thumb buried in your ass and enjoying how much tighter is makes your already tight pussy feels. “My pussy, my fucking cunt, my little whore.” He babbles as he fucks you.

“Yours,” you chant over and over, as he keeps his promise and he wrecks you. Every slam of his hips designed to split you open, to make you feel nothing but him for long after he’s pulled out of you. “Only yours.”

He knows the pasta is boiling and he needs to let you get back to cooking, but he’s not stopping until your cunt has milked him dry and you’ve screamed his name. “Mine.” He snarls.

It takes you by surprise as you’re coming apart around him again, the possessive tone in which he claims you as his throwing you over that edge as he doubles down on his thrusts. Fucking you rougher than the previous times, slamming the air from your lungs and clearing your head of any thoughts that aren’t of him.

You don’t scream, but he feels you cum and it’s good enough. Another four or five thrusts has him pushing deep, groaning your name and filling your pussy full, just like you had wanted. Grinding deep while he spills inside you.

You love it. You love the way his cock throbs as it releases rope after rope of cum. You love the way your pussy sucks around him and greedily pulls him back in when he rolls his hips. You love the filth he spits down at you as  pleasure rips through him and you love the way your bodies seem to fit each others perfectly. “You’re all mine,” you mumble quietly, unsure if he’d be able to hear it over the grunts and groans he’s still spilling out of his lips.

Dave continues to grind into you until every drop of his cum pumps inside you and then he stills. Looking down and admiring the filthy scene, he enjoys the way you moan quietly when he moves his thumb inside you and twitches in response. “Nasty enough for you, little girl?” He asks with a low groan.

“Yes,” you murmur into the marble counter, slumped over in pure bliss. “You are amazing.”

He stays like that for another moment, admiring the view and his hand slides from your butt cheeks to caress your side gently.

“Gonna fall asleep like this if I don’t move soon ,” you say with a giggle, “Let me cook for you.” 

“I guess.” He huffs playfully and starts to slowly pull his thumb out of you and the pulls out of you to watch his cum drip for a moment.

You feel his eyes on you, the soft grunts he makes as he stares at your exposed core makes you flutter around nothing. “Dave,” you say softly.

“Hmmmm?” He tears his eyes away and pulls back, turning you around and kissing you once more.

“I really like staying here with you,” you say before pushing your lips back against his and then taking a step back. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I like you being here too.” It’s true, he likes having you tinker around his house, cooking or just dancing around while you are supposed to be working on your studies.

You smile at his unexpected admission, honestly thinking he’d make a remark that would have you rolling your eyes or he’d just slap your ass. You stir the pasta and turn up the heat, glad to see it hasn’t stuck to the pan and you start heating up the sauce. “How much more marking do you have left?” 

“Not too much.” Dave tucks his cock back into his pants and moves over to wash his hands in the sink. “Then I’m all yours for the rest of the weekend.” He should take you back to your dorm, but he doesn’t want to. Rather have you here with him.

“That sounds perfect… What do you have planned for me Professor?” You wink before stirring the sauce.

Smirking, he leans against the counter and watches you as you continue to make dinner. It’s interesting how at home you feel in his house, how comfortable he feels with you here. Just last weekend you had found a chair that you had said would be perfect for you to sit in and read while he graded papers. He hadn’t bought it, but it was tempting. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you. Maybe a lesson in patience.”

“And what if I don’t want to be taught a lesson in patience?”A smile spreads across your face as you turn to look at him, your heart fluttering as you take him in.

“Then I’m going to spank your ass while you are warming my cock.” Dave tells you, lifting a brow.

“You make promises like that and I'm definitely going to burn your dinner,” you say before wrapping your arms around his neck, “I really really mean it when I say I love being here with you.”

“Finish dinner.” Dave pats your ass, unable to admit that he would want you here all the time if it wouldn’t be suspicious. He kisses you quickly and smirks. “Otherwise we won’t eat.”

“Trust me… You’ll be eating,” you say with a grin, surprised at how confident you’re being.

“You think I’m going to eat your pussy?” Dave asks. “Maybe I should give a lecture on it one day? How to Biblically eat pussy.”

“I know you are,” you say as you start to drain the pasta. “And no, I don’t need to see Deandra throw herself at you any harder than she already does.”

He chuckles, amused by your jealousy. He would have never chosen Deandra for his class pet, simply because of his she throws herself at him. “Jealousy is a sin.” He warns playfully.

“Shut up. I’m not jealous,” you say, a little annoyed at just the thought of her digging her nails into him. “Do you want extra cheese?”

“Hmm huh.” He’s doubtful of that, but he doesn’t comment further. “Please.”

You giggle a little at the expression on his face that clearly reads him not believing you, before dishing out his meal with an extra sprinkling of cheese. “Eat up, old man.”

���Old man.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “How often are you the one passed out before me?”

“Shut up,” you repeat with a louder giggle. “Can’t help that you insist on fucking me into a coma.”

“Would you rather I not fuck you into a coma?” He asks with a smirk.

“You already know the answer to that,” you say before taking a large bite of your dinner.

“Considering you want me to fuck you all the time, I say that you like it.” He’s proud of that, winking at you.

“What can I say, I like being near you,” you say with a cute scrunch of your nose. “I have a question for you.” 

“What’s that?” You are a good cook, made even better by the ability to do what you want. He takes a large bite of his meal and groans happily.

“What is something I can do for you?” You ask a little timidly, “Something you’ve always wanted but never done.”

Dave chews slowly and contemplates that as he eats. Watching you watch him, those doe innocent eyes hopeful and eager to please. “Suck my cock while I eat, while I work.” He decides. “While you have a toy buzzing away inside you.”

“I don’t have any toys,” you say a little worried you’ll disappoint him, “I can’t have anything like that in my dorm… If they find it they’ll tell my parents.”

“I’ll buy you a toy,” Dave decides. “We’ll go after we eat.”

“Okay.” You take a few more bites of your food, a little bit of anxiety building up in your stomach as you do so. “Thank you.”

“Do you like the idea of a toy?” He asks, noticing that you seem a little uneasy.

“Yes,” you admit, “I’ve never been shopping for one before, so i’m a little clueless. I don’t want something as big as you. I like it when you’re the one to stretch me like that.”

“We won’t get you anything you don’t like.” He promises. “We can take our time and find some for you to use in the dorm too. I’ll call you and listen to you use it.”

“Dirty,” you tease before finishing up your dinner, “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Do you want to clean up and then we will go?” Dave asks.

“Yes sir,” you say with a wink. Taking both of your plates over to the counter and beginning to load them into the dishwasher.

“Brat.” He huffs, shaking his head at you fondly.

You finish loading the dishwasher with a big smile on your face, “You ready?”

“Food put away?” He asks, finishing his last papers and standing up to walk over to you.

“Yeah, all done.” The counter is gleaming and everything has been put away in the refrigerator. “Just waiting on you.”

“Waiting on me?” He snags the keys and his wallet out of the drawer he sets them in and smirks. “Let’s go buy you toys.”

The car ride isn’t terribly long, and he lets you quiz him on some parts of his life that he’s kept secret thus far and you decide not to pry anymore. Instead you reach over and rest your hand on his thigh, giving it the occasional squeeze as you listen to the music.

He takes you to a store that is a little farther away so there is less of a chance of running into someone you know. The sign is discreet and he smirks once he parks. “I know it doesn’t look like a toy shop, but it is.”

“The windows are grayed out? Are you sure it’s occupied?” You ask, clearly puzzled.

“It’s so people can’t see the scandalous items inside.” He chuckles and opens his door to step out of the car.

“Oh.” Following his lead you step out of the car and walk over to him. Nerves floating around your tummy as you approach the store. “Some might think you’d enjoy corrupting me, Dave.”

“Figured it out, huh?” He means it as a joke and knows you will take it as one.

“Mhmm,” you giggle, before pressing a very quick kiss to the tip of his shoulder.

He guides you into the store and stops just inside the door to watch your reaction.

Your eyes widen as you look around the room, and your hand finds his. You entangle your fingers and squeeze hard before taking a step forward.

“It’s okay. I’m here with you.” He promises. “We can go look at whatever you want to.”

You take a few more steps, eyes scanning the shelves before something catches your eyes. Two small clamps with a matching chain.

He hums as he watches you step towards a display before you stop yourself. “Nipple clamps?” He asks with a smirk. “Those would be good.”

You pick them up and test the weight in your hands, before looking back at him and nodding. “These.”

“I want you to wear these one day to class.” He tells you, taking the clamps from to hold onto.

You raise an eyebrow at him and giggle, “Whatever you want. What should we look at? What are you thinking?”

“I want to get you a lipstick vibrator and a dildo.”

“Okay,” you say before biting down on your lip, “Lead the way.”

He looks around at the signs and guides you towards the vibrators first. Wanting your opinion on the small, discreet options for you to take home. He might even get one to use on you at his house too.

“They do room checks,” you say quietly, “If they find something, anything, they’ll inform my parents. I need it to be small.”

“Like this?” He points out a vibrator that is the size of a lipstick tube and looks like it up close.

You pick it up and a smile immediately spreads across your face, “Ye-yeah, I like this one.”

“Then that’s the one you will take back to your dorm.” He hums. “And pick out one for the house.”

“You want me to pick one?” You say, a little surprised. Your eyes scan over the selection, avoiding the ones that look big enough the rip you open and you settle on a small glass pinkish dildo. “I like this one.”

“You want glass? It won’t be flexible.” He cautions as he picks it up and feels the weight and shape of it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scramble, feeling a little embarrassed. “Maybe you should pick.”

“No,” he shakes his head and hands the dildo to you. “It should be what you want. If you want glass, that’s fine. There’s no wrong answer.”

“It’s not as big as you,” you say quickly, “You’re thicker and longer and I like the real thing. I want something that’ll leave me wanting you even more.” You admit, feeling a little embarrassed at your own admission.

He smirks at your confession and nods. “Then let’s look over here at these.” He doesn’t let you put the other dildo up, he wants you to compare them. “How about this?”

“Silicone Rabbit?” You ask, “Oh, so it moves?”

“Yes it does. Vibrates and moves.”

You gently nuzzle your face into the top of his arm and nod a few times, “Okay babe. Let’s try that one then.”

“Why are you being so shy?” Dave chuckles and shakes his head, even though he loves it. “You will have fun when I’m making you cum with these.”

You nuzzle your face into his arm again and giggle, “Daaaaave, we need to get you something.” 

“What do you want to get me?” His brow raises in interest, wondering where your mind is going.

You shrug before taking a few steps, looking at everything you occasionally stopping to pick something up before popping it back down. “This looks good,” you say with a grin, passing him the small box containing a vibrating cock ring. “I think a sex swing is a little too much for my first visit here.”

“A cock ring?” He snorts and holds it up. If it weren’t for your shy grin, he would immediately say no. “Do you know what this does?” He asks.

“No,” you admit, trying not to show him that you’re a little defeated by his reaction. “I thought it would make you feel good.”

“It will make me feel good, baby girl.” He coos quietly, leaning in to whisper into your ear. “A cock ring makes it harder to cum because it restricts blood flow. I can fuck you longer with it on. Do you want that? Me to really wreck your little pussy?”

“Yes,” you say, feeling your panties dampen at the thought of it. “God, I need it. Do you want that?”

“Yes I do.” He chuckles. “We will save it for next weekend.” He decides. “Because you will need two days to recover.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, before rocking up on your tiptoes and kissing his lips, “I really like being yours.”

“You do, huh?” He smirks and shakes his head. “If your priest could see you right now, he would be very disappointed.”

“I’ll make sure I spend a little extra time on my knees to make up for it,” you giggle, before pulling him towards the cashier.

“Nothing else? Edible panties?” He waggles his brows at you playfully.

“Not this time, babe.” You say testing out the term of the endearment for the second time and seeing how he responds to it. “Let’s get back to your place and I might let you fuck me again.”

“Might let me?” He growls, frowning at you.

“Might.” You reply playfully before adorably scrunching up you nose and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Definitely.”

“Good girl.” Dave pats your ass as the two of you walk towards the registers.

“Good evening, sir” the girl behind the desk greets Dave with, completely ignoring your existence. “Did you find everything you were looking for or do you need any assistance?”

“Found everything we need.” He smirks and sets the four items down on the counter. “Thank you though.”

Feeling a little jealous, you press yourself up against his side and rest your head on his shoulder, a display that you’re unsure Dave will be happy about but figuring the punishment will involve something that’ll have you dripping arousal down your thighs.

He hums when he feels you snuggle up to him, amused by the possessiveness he sees in your actions. “We’re planning on having a very good evening.” He chuckles, nodding to the purchases. “Why don’t you go pick out a flavored lube, baby girl?”

“Banana,” you say almost immediately, not wanting to move from him. “You have some over there right?” Pointing towards the stash behind the counter. 

The girl frowns and turns around to grab the lube and slaps it down on the counter in front of you.

“Thanks,” you say with a smirk.

“Cash or credit?” She scoffs, and you begin to reach into your handbag, “Cash.”

Dave reaches out and stops you, shaking his head. “I’ll pay for it.” He tells you, not wanting you to pay for these toys. “Put your money away, baby girl.”

“You don’t have to pay babe,” you say with a shake of your head, but he’s swiping his card before you can stop him. “Thank you.”

“Of course I’m paying.” He snorts, “I want to pay.”

“Thank you,” you repeat again with a genuine smile.

****

“I don’t remember the last time someone bought me a gift that wasn’t a bible or something to pray with,” you hum as you look through the bag. Testing the weight of the clamps again. “No wait, I do! Aunt Joy. My moms sister - I met her once when I was eight, she travelled from Australia and she bought me a ‘Beach Babe Barbie’ and I absolutely loved her.” You say with a smile, thinking fondly back on the memory. “She had two bathing suits, a regular outfit and came with sunglasses and a beach ball. The day after Aunt Joy went home, barbie was sent packing too.” 

“You want me to buy you a Barbie?” He asks, lifting a brow playfully. He would buy you one too, just to see you smile happily.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head and another smile. “But thank you. And thank you for this… I feel like how a person is supposed to feel on Christmas or their birthday. I know you’ll be enjoying them as much as me, but… just thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He promises, letting you hold the bag and guiding you out of the store. “I’ll even let you put the cock ring on me.”

“You’re so romantic, did you know what?” You laugh, as you tighten your grip on his hand. Feeling an odd weight being lifted off your shoulders after revealing things about your past that no one else knew. “Take me home, babe, you can play with the chain on the clamps while you eat my pussy.” 

“Now who’s being romantic.” He snorts, opening the door for you and waiting for you to climb into the car.

Instead of climbing into the car, you seize the opportunity and slam your lips against his. Kissing him hard and a little bit messy as you wrap your arms around his neck tightly and pressing your body up against his.

He kisses you back and turns to press you against the car. Letting you lead the kiss as your tongue sides into his mouth.

Taking advantage of being in control your tongue greedily licks into his mouth and dances against his as you tug roughly on his hair, making him grunt. It’s sloppy, but you don’t care, your inexperience still obvious but all you can bring yourself to care about is him. Kissing him. Touching him. Feeling him pressed up against you. You want to wrap your legs around him and let him slip into you here and now, uncaring that you’re in public and anyone could see.

He lets you control it for a few more moments before he pulls away. “Come on, you exhibitionist.” He teases. “We don’t need to give the world a show.”

“Take me home,” you say breathlessly, arousal coating your thighs as your needy pussy starts to throb for him. “I need you.”

“Insatiable.” He’s proud that he’s turned you from a virginal mess to such a cock craven whore. His hand slides under your dress and he rubs your clit as he guides you back to the door again.

“Don’t tease,” you say, as you press your head against his chest. “Fuck.”

“Not teasing.” He hums. “Promising what is to cum.” He smirks at his pun and takes the bag from your hand, and idea forming in his head. “Get in the car and take off your panties.”

You do as he says quickly climbing into the seat and shimmying your panties down your legs, waiting impatiently for him to get in the car. They’re soaked. You know he’s going to ask to see them and you teeth sink into your lower lip as you stare at the unmistakable wet patches.

Stopping at the trunk of the car, Dave pulls out the lipstick vibrator and puts the batteries in it. Smirking to himself when he climbs in and hands it to you. “Put your feet up on the dash and spread them wide. I want to see your pussy.”

“Dave,” you gasp, “What if someone walks past?”

“Then they see a pretty cunt being pleasured.” He grunts, his eyes flashing in amusement.

You glance around and feel a little relaxed by the fact no one else is around, you do as he says, spreading your legs and trying not to cringe as he looks down at your soaked pussy. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you say quietly.

“All those toys sparking your imagination?” He asks, leaning over and sliding a finger through your folds. “I should go back inside and get you some remote controlled panties. Or a vibrator I slide inside you before class.” He hums, cock twitching in his pants.

“Fuck,” you murmur, “You could control it during class?” You ask with a moan as he teases your clit. “Babe, I need you.”

“I’m right here.” He reminds you, groaning at how wet you are. “I can’t fuck you in the car.”

“Take me home then,” you plead, desperate to be overwhelmed by him. “Dave, I need you so bad.”

“Poor little thing, you need to cum, don’t you?” He coos.

“I just need you,” you whimper, sinking down into the seat.

It’s thrilling, like a drug or a God complex, hearing those words fall from your sweet lips. Hearing that only he can fulfill your needs. He hums and pulls his fingers away. “I won’t always be there when you need me, take your little vibrator and see how it feels against your clit. I want to watch.”

You don’t want to hear what he’s saying, you know he isn’t yours but those words seem to confirm it in a way that makes your chest hurt. “Yes sir,” you say quietly, switching it on and pressing it to your little bundle of nerves.

“Good girl.” He praises. “Play with your clit where anyone could see you. Find what feels good.”

“Take me home,” you beg, but while still doing as he asks. Moaning in delight as it vibrates delicately against your bud.

“I am.” He starts the car. “Then you can have me. I’ll fuck you full again. Keep you on my cock while you play with your new toys.”

You move your legs off the dashboard but keep them spread wide, not wanting anyone to see you but Dave as he drives. “Want you to -fuckfuckfuckfuck- sleep inside me again.”

“You liked that, huh?” Last weekend, he had kept his cock buried inside you while you slept on him. Waking you up to fuck you throughout the night.

“Yes,” you gasp, as you press the vibrator a little harder against your clit, arousal dripping down the leather seats as you rapidly approach your high. “Loved it.”

“Good.” He groans, watching as you thigh starts to shake. “How does it feel?” 

“So good.” The pressure continues to build and you begin to moan his name, saying nothing but Dave over and over as you reach your peak and come hard. Pulling the still vibrating toy away from your clit as you convulse through the aftershocks.

“How was that?” He asks, his voice raspy and his cock is throbbing as he watched you play with yourself.

“Good,” you manage to choke out, “Really fucking good.” You reach over and stroke his thigh, desperate to get back to his and feel him buried deep inside of you.

“Do it again.” He orders with a smirk. “You cum until I get you home.”

Without another word you switch the toy back on and rub it against your clit, varying the pressure in which you hold it against your bundle of nerves. “You like this?” You murmur between gasps of pleasure, “Like watching me play with the pussy that belongs to you?”

“Yes.” He grunts and alternates between the road and your cunt. His eyes flutter back up to your face and he smirks. “I think you like playing with it in front of me too. Showing me what you want.”

“I do.” You say with a teasing smile, “I think about slipping my hand in my panties at the back of your lecture hall, knowing no one but you would see me, think about whether you’d punish or praise me afterwards.”

“You should find out.” He groans, imagining forcing himself through a boring lecture to equally boring students while watching you play with your cunt.

You feel yourself beginning to reach your second orgasm, and reduce the pressure wanting to drawl it out. “What if someone saw? Nicolas sits awfully close to me,” you say with a smirk, “What if he saw me playing with this tight little pussy?” You know he wouldn’t be able to, you sit so far back that the rest of the row is empty, the nearest person is nicholas but he’s tucked away in his own little corner. 

“He’ll fail.” Dave growls, scowling fiercely. 

You giggle at his possessiveness, “I’m going to do it now,” you say pressing the toy harder again, “When you least expect it, I’m going to spread these legs and slip a finger inside of me and pretend it’s you.” 

“You want me to pull you into my office and fuck you, don’t you, little girl?”

“Do you want an honest answer?” You say with a breathy moan.

“Always.” He grunts, reaching down and adjusting himself through his trousers.

“I want you to pull me downstairs and bend me over your desk and fuck me in front of everyone,” you gasp out as you teeter over the edge, “I want you to fuck me and let them all know that this pussy belongs to you.”

“Yeah?” The ironic part of this is he wants that too. Maybe have you sitting on his cock while the class listens to him lecture. He would never do it, but he’s imagined it.

“Yeah,” you answer softly before falling off that edge, cumming with an even softer moan of his name.

You are so fucking pretty when you cum, he can’t get over it. Watching as you shake in the passenger seat.

You look up at him, his eyes flickering back and forth from the road to you. Wordlessly you gather up some of the slick on your fingertips and bring it up to his lips.

He opens his mouth without hesitation, letting you feed him your taste. Groaning around your fingers and sucking them clean.

“So much for you to lick up, babe,” you say as his tongue swipes around your digits, “I love it when you eat my pussy, and you’re going to eat it as soon as we get inside.”

“I am?” It’s always fun when you get bursts of confidence like this. Thinking you are in charge.

“Yes,” you sat as confidently as you can. “I know you love it when I soak your face.”

“You cream so easily for me.” He chuckles, the sound filthy and he reaches for his phone to open it and select the camera. “Take a picture of it.”

“Yes sir.” The immediate change of control makes him chuckle again, seconds after your filthy demands you’re obeying his. You snap a photo of your glistening cunt and take a few seconds to admire the photo before handing him back his phone. “I’m excited to try the clamps.”

“I did think you’d go for those.” He admits.

“Really?” You say sitting up slightly and pressing your legs together, your poor clit needing a break from the overstimulation. “I do like it when you suck on my nipples, so I was intrigued... God, who am I?” you giggle. “It wasn’t that long ago that I had never touched myself and now I’m spreading my legs in your car.” 

“Someone who is being corrupted.” He jokes, smirking at you as he thinks about how true that is. “Next you’ll let me fuck you in the confessional.”

“Already sucked your cock in there,” you laugh. “I still don’t understand why you looked at me but I’m really glad you did, I feel alive when i’m with you.”

“You just don’t understand your appeal.” He can never tell you the real reason and he’s not quite ready to let you go.

“Mhmmm.” you hum, before reaching over and placing your hand on his thigh, “Hurry up and get us home, I need to make you feel good.”

“One day, I’ll get you to suck my cock while I’m driving.” You have lectured him on how dangerous road head was and he hasn’t pushed it yet.

“I bet you will,” you say with a roll of your eyes and a giggle. The rest of the trip is spent in comfortable silence, you find yourself more and more excited at the idea of the clamps. Loving the thought of him being rough with them as his face is buried in your pussy.a

Opening the garage door, Dave pulls the car inside and closes it behind you. “Go upstairs and strip.” He orders. “I want you on your knees on the bed when I come up. Wear your rosary.”

You nod before pressing a brief kiss to his lips, making your way up through the house and into his bedroom. You strip as quickly as you can and once you’re naked you place your rosary over your head and it hangs between your bare tits. You slide down onto your knees at the end of the bed and wait patiently for him to come in.

On your knees is where he loves to see you. Gazing up at him adoringly and willing to let him do anything he wants to your innocent body. He’s got the pictures to prove it. Unboxing the clamps and the toys, he strips himself and walks up the stairs to slowly tread down the hall.

You hear his footsteps as he pads down the hall and it makes you clench with excitement. He’s going to make you beg tonight, you can just tell by the tone of his voice, he’s not going to be content until your voice is all raspy and you’re a whimpering mess beneath him and you can’t wait.

Dave walks in, pleased that your thighs are spread so he can see your dripping cunt. Eager body ready for him. “Good girl.”

“Hi,” you respond with a smile to his praise, you watch his cock bob with every step he takes and it makes you clamp down around nothing. “I missed you.”

“So greedy.” He smirks in amusement. “Haven’t been out of your sight for five minutes and you miss me.” He teases.

“Your fault.” You say with a little pout, before shuffling a little closer to where he’s standing.

“Are you ready for the clamps?” He asks, holding them up. 

“Yes sir,” you say with a nod of your head.

He hums and sets the other toys down so he can tweak your nipple, making it perk more before he starts to attach the clamps.

  You gasp a little at the way he handles you, but excitement stirs in your stomach at what’s to come. Choosing to stay silent until he talks to you, you watch him intently, taking in just how good looking he is.

He hums, opening the small spring to widen the dull teeth of the clamp to allow your nipple to pass through it. Closing it slowly and watching your expression as the pressure starts to build in that breast.

You hiss a little, but you like it, the slight twang of pain making you want more. Gently you reach up and touch the bottom of his jaw, before dropping your hand in your lap again, waiting for him to clamp the other one.

He attaches the second clamp and steps back, looking at how filthy you appear with clamps on your nipples and your cunt dripping onto his bed.

“How do I look?” You ask, sounding more innocent than ever despite the filthy situation you’re in.

“You want to see how filthy you look?” He asks, smirking as he looks over at his phone. He likes taking pictures of you.

“Yes.” Your reply is instant, and you find yourself grinning as he strolls over to pick up his phone.

He opens the camera and takes several photos of you, enjoying the mixture of innocence and filth. “Fuck, you look good like this.”

You keen at his praise, “For your eyes only.” You tell him before slipping your hand before your legs and slightly rocking against it, moaning his name as he takes a few more photos. “Just for you.”

“Just for me.” He grunts, cock twitching and he throws the phone down so he can kneel on the bed. “My own personal little whore.” He takes the rosary and uses the cross to tap against the clamps and make you moan.

“For you to use whenever you want,” you say, before pulling him closer to you. “So use me.”

“I’ll use you.” He promises, reaching for the toy he had bought for you and holds it up. “This or my tongue?”

“Your tongue,” you reply a little too quickly. “Please.”

He chuckles, knowing you would choose that option. "My tongue it is."

You move yourself backwards and spread yourself across his bed, you love the way his mouth feels on you. You’ve become a little addicted to him licking your pussy, and he knows it. “Thank you,” you say as sweetly as you can, eager to be overwhelmed by his talented tongue. 

He hums and slides onto his belly, lifting his hips to adjust his cock so he doesn't hurt himself. Arms under your thighs as he pulls you closer to him and lowers his mouth to your wet cunt.

“Oohhh,” you gasp, as his hot breath begins to coat your pussy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair and you push him down closer, desperate to feel him lapping against your clit. “Babe, please.”

"I've got you." He pulls away long enough to reassure you before he buries his tongue back inside your pussy just like you wanted him to be.

“Oh yes,” you squeal, as he works his magic.  The sounds he’s making as he drags his tongue throughout your folds adding to the already immense pleasure. “I-I love your mouth,” you choke out, before testing the chain on your clamps. Pulling them slightly and cooing at the new sensation. 

You love when he pleasures you. Loves when his mouth is lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. He loves pulling those desperate gasps and squeals out of you. Loves how wickedly you crave his tongue. Coaxing pleasure out of you every flick of his tongue.

It’s only been a few months but everyday you find yourself biting back those three words that you know you shouldn’t admit, and when he’s pulling pleasure and worshipping your pussy like this, it gets harder and harder. Your teeth sink down into your lower lip, before a desperate moan fills the air. He’s sucking your clit so perfectly, keeping it between his lips as his tongue laps gently at it. “Gonna cum,” you babble as your hips lift off the bed and everything goes blurry. 

Dave reaches up and twirls his fingers around the chain that hangs down between your breasts and the chain from the clamps. Tugging on them as he pushes you over the edge.

You scream his name as pleasure washes over you, your thighs continuing to shake as he refuses to let up on his delicious assault on your clit. “Love… love fuck,” you babble incoherently as he yanks on the chain yet again.

There are moments where he's sure that you are about to admit that you love him. He hears it on the tip of your tongue even if you don't vocalize it.

“Kiss me,” you beg, as you come down from your high. You know you’ve soaked him, you can feel arousal dripping from you but the temptation to reveal your feelings is growing stronger and you’re certain he doesn’t feel the same. Kissing him will stop the words falling from your mouth.

He moves up your body and presses his chest against yours. Groaning when he feels your clamps against his skin. Kissing you just like you requested and letting you taste yourself from his lips.

“Mine,” you murmur possessively against his lips, before pushing your tongue back into his mouth. Your hands trail down his body, grabbing and feeling him whether you can. Loving the feeling of safety that comes from him.

Tonight is different from what he had planned, but he's not upset about it. Giving you more control to take charge than he ever did, he finds he likes your hands on him, your eagerness to touch him addictive.

“Mine,” you repeat again, a little more forcefully this time. “I wanna jerk you off,” you say as your hand wraps around him.

Dave huffs and decides that he will let you have your way, rolling you over to where you are on top. "So do it."

“You’re perfect,” you say, as your fingertips gently move down his shaft, softy stroking him. You do something you’ve never done before and once he’s staring into your eyes, you look up at him as innocently as possible before spitting on his cock. Keeping your eyes on his as you spread your saliva over him before finding your rhythm. Long, languid strokes that make him curse under his breath.

"Fuck." He hisses. "You are such a dirty fucking girl." He moans softly. "You need to pray for forgiveness. With my dick in your hand."

“Is that what you want?” You say as you increase the speed in which you pleasure him. Squeezing him a little tighter. “You want me to pray to the lord for forgiveness for something I could never be sorry for? How could I ever be sorry for touching you?”

"Sinner." He grunts out, teasing you and it makes his cock throb to hear how you didn't want to ask for forgiveness for what you do with him.

“Yes.” You say simply, loving the way he throbs in your hand. “He granted me life, right? We are gifts sent directly from him? I don’t feel guilty for feeling the way I feel when i’m with you or for feeling how I feel about you… I only feel guilty for desperately praying away the hours that I’m not with you.”

"Really?" He grunts and groans, rocking his hips up and there is a spurt of pre-cum that is released at your confession.

“Yes.” Your thumb swipes across the tip of him and collects the pre-cum and you immediately bring it to your mouth and taste him, morning at the taste you love so much. “Does that make you mad?” You ask quietly, taking him back in hand and resuming the same pace. “That I can’t stand to be away from you.”

It should concern him. That you are growing too attached. That is it getting close to time to end this little arrangement with you. He doesn't need the complication of an infatuated girl. It doesn't though, making him frown even as he tells you what you want to hear. "No."

“Good,” you reply softly, “My pussy or my hand?” You ask him, feeling yourself getting precariously close to saying those three words again. “You can fill me up or you can cum in my hands, I’ll place my rosary on your stomach and you can splatter my beads with your seed.”

"Fuck yes. That." Dave groans filthily and closes his eyes.

You remove your hands from him and gently pull your rosary over your head, placing it down gently on his stomach and you start working his shaft again. Squeezing it almost as tightly as your pussy does and you stroke him faster and faster, “Tell me again,” you beg, knowing that you shouldn’t keep asking to hear things that aren’t true, “Tell me you’re mine, like I am yours.” 

"Yours." Dave hisses, rocking his hips up and his eyes greedily fixed on your rosary and on the soft, innocent hand that is wrapped around his cock.

It makes your heart leap, a warmth flooding you as you replay his word over and over. Every twist of your wrist is designed to make him grunt, to moan your name in pleasure as you work him towards his high. You squeeze him tighter and tighter and praise him as you feel his balls pull up, “Cum for me, cum for your girl.” 

He has more control than this, but there is something about the way you beg. He's helpless to do anything but follow your order. He cums, achingly hard with your name on his lips as he spills ropes of cum over your rosary and his chest.

You pump him until he’s dry and hissing from overstimulation. “You look so good,” you say, before dragging a finger through his cum and tasting it off your finger.

"You look good too, little girl." He chuckles and pants as he tries to catch his breath.

You swipe your fingers through it again, gathering up as much as you can and licking your fingers clean. “In the morning,” you say as you climb off his bedroom and walk towards the bathroom to get a cloth, “I’m going to cook you whatever you want.. and then if you want me to I’m going to do what you said earlier.” You pick up your rosary and instead of wiping it clean you just admire how it looks for a few seconds before hanging it over the edge of the bed and then you begin to wipe his stomach clean. “I’m going to serve you breakfast and then drop to my knees and suck your gorgeous cock, whilst a toy buzzes inside of me.” 

“Such a good girl.” He teases, reaching for your hand to drag you back into the bed and laughs when you shriek. “But first we need to sleep.”

“Sleep sounds good,” you say as you snuggle up to him. “Get some sleep old man.” 

“Old man.” He scoffs, even though he is older than you. His arms slide around you easily even though he should have never found out how you felt while you slept. “Goodnight, little girl.”

“Goodnight, my love,” you whisper into his skin. You clock watch for a while, unable to fall asleep, listening to the soft inhale and exhale of Daves breathing before gently saying his name a few times and figuring he’s fast asleep when he doesn’t reply or move. “I really like being here with you. I really like you.” You say with a little sigh. “My life is figured out for me, I’m going to marry a man I won’t ever love because my parents will insist on it… and because of that I'm so grateful to you, Dave. So grateful that I get to experience how lovely it feels to be completely in love with someone, and I will be for as long as you’ll keep me around and for many years after. I love you. Have since the first time you touched me.” You snuggle back into his chest and let sleep take you without say another word, just tightening the hold you have on him as he sleeps beneath you. 

****

Dave wakes up before you do, watching as you sleep on his chest, limbs heavy and body relaxed. You trust him more than anybody else in the world when you shouldn’t. He feels guilty but tries to rationalize it by reminding himself that he promised you nothing but pleasure. Pleasure he’s provided, but it rings hollow in his chest. He sighs softly and his fingers trace your skin.

You wake up to the feeling of soft circles being drawn on your skin, and you hum contentedly, before pepping a kiss to his chest. “Good morning,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning.” He hums softly, continuing to touch you. “You slept well?”

“Like a baby,” you say, before pressing another kiss to his chest. “Always sleep well when I’m with you.”

He accepts that, wondering how you sleep when you are in your dorm without him. You text him late into the night on those days.

“You hungry? Or do you want to snuggle for a bit?” You ask, hoping he’ll pick the second option.

“We can stay like this.” He knows you want to stay in bed, your arms tightened around his waist. “We’ve got hours before you have to be back for evening mass.”

“I don’t want to go,” you groan, a little petulantly but not caring. “I could stay here,” you suggest, “And worship the one thing I actually want to worship.” 

“Blasphemy.” He cautions, even with the smirk on his face as he smacks your ass.

You groan as you think about spending another evening at mass. You tighten the grip you have on him even more and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and sigh.

“At least it’s not morning mass.” He contends. “Otherwise we would have to get up and get ready.”

You groan again, “I just don’t want to go.” You sigh once more into his soft skin before wrapping your leg around him, wanting to feel him even closer.

“I know.” Both of you know you have to though. It’s a requirement of the school. 

“I could get really bad cramps,” you say with a smirk, “You can go and I'll stay here and keep the bed warm.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” He snorts and shakes his head at your antics. “Lying on top of everything else. That’s more Hail Mary’s for you, little girl.”

You push yourself up, and throw your leg over him, straddling him. “All this sinning… What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” He teases. “I’m not your priest.” He smirks. “Though you have paid plenty of penitence on your knees for me.” 

“You’re filthy, did you know that?” You giggle, before leaning over and stealing a kiss. 

“I do know that.” He hums against your lips.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” He nods and grins at you.

“What do you want?” you say between kisses.

“You make really good omelets.” He reminds you. “And some toast?”

“I can do that,” you say with a smirk, standing up and pulling the shirt he was wearing yesterday around yourself without buttoning it up. “Come down when you’re ready.” 

He watches you walk out the door. Smirking to himself and listening as you start to rummage around in the kitchen.

While preparing the ingredients for his omelet you think about what you admitted to him while he was asleep, and it makes your heart drop. You’re in so deep now that it’s clear the only way this is going to end is in severe heartbreak, he’s never ever going to love someone like you, you think to yourself over and over. Fighting back tears and focusing on preparing him a delicious breakfast.

Dave grabs the vibrator that had fallen to the floor and carries it back into the bathroom to be sanitized. Grabbing the lube, he smirks as he walks downstairs in his boxers and sets the items on the table.

You’re just plating up his food as he walks into the room, “Breakfast is nearly done, just waiting on the toast,” you say as you glance over at him. 

Your smile isn't quite as bright as it normally is and he frowns slightly but you aren't looking at him. "Thank you." He offers, sitting down and watching you carefully.

You wait for the toast to pop up and butter it nearly before placing it on his plate and walking over to the table. “Am I still allowed to suck your cock?” You ask quietly as you hand him his plate.

"Why wouldn't you be allowed to do it?" He reaches out and takes your arm, pulling you into his arms. "Do you want to suck my cock? You don't have to."

“I do,” you say as a bright smile spreads across your face, just the slightest touch from him lighting you up. “I really like you,” you mumble against his lips, “I really like your cock.”

"I really like your pussy." He shoots back playfully. "Came close to having you for breakfast."

“Don’t tease,” you groan, “You know how much I like that.”

"Who said I was teasing?" He asks, looking at you with a serious expression on his face.

“You could have done it,” you challenge, “Instead you’re teasing me about how you could have… Mean.”

"I'm not being mean." He protests, smirking quietly. "Just telling you what I was tempted to do."

“Next time you should just do it,” you say with a shrug, before pressing your lips to his and getting up off his lap.

"Maybe I will." He chuckles at your pout.

“Can I suck your cock now?” You ask, each word drenched in accidental innocence as you stare into his eyes. 

"Fuck yes." He grunts, his cock hardening in his boxers and starting to tent it.

“Do you want me to put the vibrator inside me? Or just concentrate on making you cum?”

"I brought the toy downstairs. And the lube." He motions towards the toys.

“I see that,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I just wanted to check.”

"Someone's moody today." Dave huffs and leans back in his seat to watch you. "What is going through that mind of yours?"

“I just… I just want to make you feel good,” you say quietly, wanting to tell him how you’re feeling, but not ready for the rejection. “Can I do that?”

"Yes." He decides that after you make him cum, he will return the favor, get you out of this funk.

You reach over and pick up the vibrator, generously coating it in lube like he advised and you spread your legs, feeling his eyes on you the entire time as you work it inside of you. Whimpering as it spreads you open and meets a little resistance, relaxing yourself so it slides in and then switching it on the lowest setting. Before sinking to your knees and palming him through his boxers, “I really fucking love your cock,” you say, as you dip your fingers into the waistband and start to pull them down. Unable to stop yourself from gasping as his cock breaks free and bobs up and down.

"It's the only cock you've had." He reminds you. "You don't have anything to compare it to."

You look up at him visibly confused, “Do you want to have something else to compare it to?”

"No," He growls, furious at the fucking idea of you touching someone else.

“Good, because I don’t want anyone else.” Your tongue licks around the tip of him, he’s rock hard and pre-cum is dripping down his shaft. You take the head of him in your mouth and hollow your cheeks before starting to jerk him off.

He groans, watching as you spread your legs wider and reach down to turn on the vibrator. Enjoying the way your groan vibrates around him. "Fuck, your mouth is so fucking good, little girl." He pants. "Fucking love it.

You moan at his praise, clamping down around the vibrating toy. It feels good, but not as good as him. Increasing your pace, you jerk him a little faster, sucking the tip of him harder as your moans wrap around his cock.

"Filthy." He grunts, cupping your cheek. "Bet you think about sucking my cock every time you go into that confessional. Remembering how you took my load down your throat like a champ. Perfect little whore."

You nod up at him, confirming what he just said as true. You do think about how he fucked your throat for the first time as you rubbed your clit in that sacred little booth and the memory makes your pussy flood. You pull off him for a few seconds, continuing to stroke his length and whisper up at him, “Your perfect little whore,” before taking him back in your mouth. 

"My perfect little whore." He groans in agreement. "Jerked off thinking about that in my office later that week." 

You groan again at the thought of him jerking off thinking about you. You take him a little deeper, loving the sounds he rewards you with as you do so. Reaching down you turn up the vibrations on the toy buzzing away in your cunt and whimper as it hits that spot inside of you.

"That's it, baby girl." He grunts, watching you squirm on the floor while he pulses in your mouth. "You're gonna cum on that toy while I cum down your throat, aren't you?"

“Yes,” you choke out around him, taking him even deeper and swallowing around him as he pushes past your tonsils. You gently play with his balls, as he rocks his hips up into your mouth, chasing his high.

"Fuck." He grunts out, his fingers curling around your jaw and holding you in place while your mouth acts like a vacuum around his cock. "Fuck, you have the best fucking mouth I've ever had around my cock." He pants out.

You keen at his praise, sucking harder and swallowing over and over as not to gag as you clamp down on the toy, his praise threatening to send you over the edge. You look up at him all wide eyed and innocent and the look on his face is enough, and before you can process it you’re cumming hard around the toy.

You moans push him over the edge. Balls pulling tight against his body, he has never even touched his food as he starts to spill down your throat with a groan of your name.

You try to swallow it all, but it’s a lot, rope after rope floods your mouth and starts to drip out of the corner of your lips. Reaching down you pull the vibrator out of your overstimulated pussy and concentrate on milking him dry of his cum.

Dave forces himself to keep his eyes opened, watching you as he continues to cum. Until you have milked him of every drop and his fingers pry your mouth off of his cock.

You groan as he pulls himself free of your needy mouth, but you take the opportunity to gather up the cum that had dripped out and push it into your mouth. Moaning happily as you swallow it down. “So fucking good.”

"So fucking greedy." He pulls you to your feet and pushes the plate away from his seat to replace it with your body.

You squeal as he pushes you down and start to giggle, “I just really love your cock.”

"And I really love your pussy." He reminds you as he spreads your thighs wide. "Look, breakfast." He teases before he leans in to slide his tongue through your lips.

“Fuck,” you moan as he starts to eat your pussy, slowly swiping his tongue through your folds. “Dave,” you squeal as he starts to tease your clit before moving back down and pushing his tongue into your cunt.

He huffs at you, dark eyes on you as he silently tells you that you asked for this. You had wanted this and he is giving it to you.

“I lov-love your mouth,” you pant, loving the way he doubles down and eats your pussy like a man who’s been starved. “My clit,” you beg, “Please, Dave.” 

He moves to your clit, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth to work between his lips.

“Just like that,” you moan as your fingers twist in his hair, you throw your head back as he quickly works towards your orgasm. 

He moans into your folds, enjoying you enjoying yourself. The way you are so wanton appeals to him, making him proud to have corrupted you. You enjoy the pleasure he can bring you with zero shame.

Your hips start to rock gently, and after a few more minutes of his lapping feverishly at your clit you’re cumming. Screaming his name as your thighs shake around his head and your cunt gushes all over his table.

Groaning, he keeps working your clit. Working you through your orgasm and watching your face as you squeeze your eyes shut as if in prayer.

“Dave.” His name slips through your lips with ease, like the sweetest prayer you’ve ever said. He continues to lick your cunt, even after you’ve finished cumming and up until you gently push him away. “What did I do to deserve such heaven?” You ask him quietly.

“Told you I thought about doing it.” He smirks and pulls you into his lap. “So I just had my first breakfast, now you and I are going to split the breakfast you made me.”

“I’m boneless,” you say with a giggle and then nuzzle your face into his neck, “I can’t move right now.”

“Then you sit here until you can.” Dave chuckles, always pleased when he can wear you out.

“Again,” you say before moving to face him, and resting your forehead on his, “What did I do to deserve such heaven?”

“You didn’t do anything.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. “Just being you.”

“I really really like you Dave York.” You say with a happy sigh.

He hums and smirks at you. “I really like you too, little girl.” 

****

THE HOLIDAYS 

  It was boring to go through the holidays without you. Thanksgiving had been boring, but Dave always got a kick out of all the ‘pious’ Christians that he saw out on Black Friday, scrambling for the discounts and trying to get everything they could get their hands on. You had come back from your parents quiet and slightly withdrawn for a week. Something obviously on your mind and he knows you feel guilty. He feels guilty as well, because he should have dropped you. But he hasn’t. Now it’s nearing the end of the Christmas break and his house has been sad and lonely, although he still stares at the Christmas tree you had insisted he put up for the first time in years. A symbol of the hold you have over him. He hasn’t been able to take it down and put away the thing that had made you giggle as you curled up against him on the sofa after it was put up.

It had been a hellish Christmas break. Your mother had casually dropped in conversation that they’d found a ‘potential husband’ for you and immediately changed the subject like you were discussing the weather. 

They had spent the majority of the time lecturing you on how you had proven to be a disappointment since going off to college, how they had expected you to volunteer more of your time but instead you had ‘gone AWOL.’ And the urge to tell them why kept creeping up on you, the urge to tell them what you had really been doing just to wipe the smug looks of their faces.

It was the day after Christmas that you’d decided you had enough and packed your car and decided to go. Leaving a note on the kitchen table and just getting out of there.

You missed Dave so much that you ached, you texted a few times but your parents had you booked and busy for the majority of the time you were there. 

Neither of them thanked you for the gift you had picked out for them to share and of course ‘Christmas isn’t a vanity contest’ so there weren't any presents for you under the tree, as usual.

You had tried to send Dave a gift on Christmas day, when they had left the house you rifled through your bag and found the ‘lipstick vibrator’ he’d got you and recorded a video but lack of wifi meant the video kept failing to send. So you decided that you were going to give it to him alongside his ‘real gift’ when you got home. 

You hadn’t told him you were coming home early, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible and when you started to approach your dorm building, you just didn’t stop driving. Instead you made your way to his, pulling your car up behind his and getting his gift from the trunk and timidly knocking his front door.

He opened the door and you begged him to help you forget and asking no questions, he did that. He took you right there and then and hasn’t once complained that you’ve now been back a week and can’t bring yourself to leave his side. 

"Are you going to let me fuck you?" Dave asks the question even though he knows you will say yes. You've let him do anything he wants to you. Quite desperately, almost. Now it's New Year's Eve and you've been on his lap for hours as he plays with your body and draws out your pleasure, keeping you on the edge of an orgasm but not quite letting you cum.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

"Whatever I want?" He chuckles and raises a brow in consideration. "Hmmm."

“Anything,” you say as you place your hand on top of his and squeeze.

Dave reaches up and wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing in the exact right spot to make your breath catch and he chuckles when your eyes widen. "Are you sure about that, little girl?"

You nod furiously, wanting to give yourself to him and let him take full control. “Yes,” you gasp, “Yes please, Dave.”

He squeezes a little tighter and the lets go. “On my bed, naked.” He growls roughly.

“Yes sir,” you say before pressing a bruising kiss to his lips and giggling. You run up the stairs and immediately begin to strip as you enter his room, hearing him slowly make his way upstairs.

There are many options on how to do this. And he smirks when he decides, slowly unbuckling his belt to slide through the loops as he walks down the hall.

You situate yourself comfortably on the bed, fully bare and waiting for him. Anticipation is flooding through you as you wait for what he has in store for you.

Dave makes his entrance slow, menacing as he can manage as his eyes flit towards the bed. Pleased to find you waiting for him. “Get the cock ring you wanted me to wear.” He rasps at you.

“Fuck,” you murmur, as you think about the cock ring you bought a while back and never got around to using. You’re both usually too frantic and desperate to feel each other to remember it, so it’s been sitting unused in the box. You learn over and open the drawer on your side of the bed and pull out the box, “Here,” you say, stretching your hand to give it to him.

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Put it on me.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling at his command, “Yes sir.” You remove it from its packaging and ask quietly, “Does it need lube?”

“No.” He watches you bite your lip as you pull it out of the package. “It’s going to be tight on my cock and balls.” He reminds you. “Making it possible to last longer. At least for me.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, “Tell me if I'm doing it wrong or too fast.” You push the ring over his head and look up at it, clearly anxious you’re going to hurt him. Slowly you move it down his shaft and stop at the base of him, “Is that ok?”

“It’s okay, baby girl.” He grunts, understanding that you are nervous. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I love it when you call me that,” you say as you push up and bring him in for another kiss. “No limits today,” you whisper, “I know the safeword if I need it.”

“Say it out loud.” He grunts, kissing you again. “Want to hear you say it.” He’s adamant about safe words. While he has introduced you to sex, and now pushing the boundaries of ‘normal’ sex, he wants you to be well versed in the proper way of kink. Even if he can’t imagine you with another partner. 

“Pineapple,” you say loud and clear. “Traffic light system - green is good, amber is slow down and red is stop.”

 “Good girl.” Dave praises. “And if your mouth is full?”

 “Squeeze your thigh or arm three times, depending on what I can reach.”

 “And if I tie your hands?” Dave demands.

 “Blink three times fast,” you say, before kissing him again. “I’m ready, I know what I want… and I want you to clear my mind of everything that isn’t you.”

 Your faith in him is unwavering and he is sometimes in awe of every filthy thing you let him do. “My perfect, filthy, little whore.” He coos, reaching up and gripping your cheeks to force your lips apart. He kisses them gently before he pulls back and slowly spits into your open mouth.

You whimper at his filthy action before swallowing it down and opening your mouth for more. You love being at his mercy, you love being held by him so lovingly as he performs the filthiest acts on you.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” He smirks at the idea and shakes his head, loving the control he has over you.

You nod your head and mouth the word ‘yes’ as he tightens his grip on you.

He keeps his hand on your jaw as he picks up his belt with his other hand. Changing his mind at the last minute, the thick leather of the belt goes into your mouth instead of around your throat like he had first imagined. Letting go to wrap it around your head and buckling it right behind you.

You look at him all doe eyed and innocent as the smirk on his face gets bigger and bigger. Whatever he’s giving you tonight, you’re going to take, no matter how overstimulated or tired you are; you have decided that you are his to do as he pleases with.

He finishes putting the cock ring on, grunting at the unfamiliar pressure and twitching slightly at the thought of lasting longer. “I had thought to put my belt around your throat as a pretty necklace to wear.” He admits, starting to slowly stroke himself in front of you. “But then I realized the best necklace you could wear is my hand.”

Your eyes light up at the thought of it, the same hand that he’s using to slowly stroke his cock wrapping around your neck. You nod your head in agreement as his dark eyes burn into yours.

“You can’t suck my cock with my belt in your mouth.” He taunts with a smirk. “Don’t you want to? Wrap your lips around me and make me groan your name?”

The way you nod your head has him chuckling, you nod your head so fast that it almost makes you dizzy.

“Too bad.” He grins. “Do you know how often I think about that sweet pussy or mouth on my cock?”

You groan in disappointment, hearing that he won’t be feeding you his cock. You shake your head in response to his question, your pussy dripping as you await for him to tell you.

“Every fucking time I see you.” He keeps his hand moving up and down the shaft of his cock. “Imagining you on your knees in the middle of the lecture hall, sucking me off while I’m teaching.”

Your eyes focus on him stroking his cock, jealousy ripping through you because you want to be the one touching him. You moan desperately at his words, knowing he knows that you’d suck his cock anytime anywhere without any hesitation.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you are screaming.” He promises you. “And then I’m gonna fuck you some more.”

You shuffle towards him, desperate to feel his touch as he teases you with his filthy words. You’re dripping wet and you know that he could slide straight into you with no resistance right now.

“Lay down, spread you legs and let me see the little pussy I’m gonna be fucking raw.”

The noise you make is filthy, as you lean back and spread your legs as wide as you can. You know your cunt is glistening, arousal is coating your thighs and dripping down into his bedsheets.

“Greedy little cunt.” He coos mockingly. Shuffling closer as he pumps his cock harder. “Begging for my cock stuffed inside it. Only happy I’ve fucked it full.”

You can feel your walls fluttering, desperate for something to flutter around as he mocks you. You start to rock your hips in a silent plea for him to touch you, to fill you to give you something.

He presses the head of his cock to your clit and hums as he slides it through your slick. “Legs on my shoulders.”

You lift your legs up and carefully place them on his shoulders, chasing more friction on your clit you rock your hips again, needing to feel him pressed against your bundle of nerves.

He spends a few minutes rubbing his cock over your clit before he reaches down and turns on the vibrator built into it.

You writhe underneath him, taking everything he’s giving you and pleading silently for more. He knows how desperate you are to be filled by him, and he’s drawing it out. Loving the way your body begs for him, the way your hips rock over and over in an attempt to feel him. “More,” you start to plead, words muffled by the thick leather.

“More?” He asks, lifting a brow as he slides his cock down to start pressing against your slick entrance. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you almost scream, moving your hips in an attempt to pull him in.

“Okay.” He agrees the second before he slams his hips forward and buries his cock into your pussy to the hilt.

The air is pushed from your lungs with that first thrust, the harsh snap of his hips leaving you desperate for more. You cry his name once you’re able to inhale and fill your lungs, ready for him to steal your breath all over again. 

One breath is all he gives you before he’s pulling his hips back and ready to destroy you.

His pace is relentless, every snap of his hips designed to break you. You moan against the leather, pushing down every urge you have to scream whilst he fucks you into his mattress. The sound of skin slapping against skin drowning out your moans of pleasure. His eyes are almost black with lust as he snarls at you.

The cock ring provides more stimulation to your clit with your legs up on his shoulders, pressing them back towards your body as he snaps his hips down into your spasming cunt. One hand wraps around your throat and every time he bottoms out inside you, he squeezes.

You feel that delicious pressure building in your clit as his hand squeezes your throat. The look of his eyes is animalistic as he presses a little tighter, watching you for any signs of struggle as you lay beneath him, threatening to fall off the delicious edge at any moment.

“You’re gonna cum for me.” He spits. “Gasping for air and seeing spots in your vision.” He squeezes tighter, pushing your hips back and driving into you harder, desperate to feel you cum over him as the cock ring buzzes away against his scrotum and your clit. 

Within seconds you’re cumming, devastatingly hard around his cock. Clamping down around him like a vice as you flood his cock, a steady stream of liquid squirting out of you as he keeps his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Fuck.” His hisses, eyes widening as he looks down at the way you’ve soaked his cock and his stomach. “Dirty fucking thing, you squirted all over me.” He relaxes his grip on your throat while he grinds into you, working you through the orgasm.

You cry his name as he fucks into that heavenly spot inside of you, loving the way your walls contract around him and greedily suck him back in.

He chuckles at how insatiable you are, rolling through your first orgasm into begging for another. “More, pretty girl?”

“More,” you mumble through the belt, nodding your head.

“Good girl.” His speed starts to ramp back up, moving back to the previous frantic pace.

Your hands find purpose in the sheets, gripping them tightly as he pounds into you. Fucking you harder and harder with each measured thrust. He’s got you exactly where he wants you and the look on his face tells you that he’s only just getting started with you.

Again, he starts squeezing your neck. “Fuck, you look so- so beautiful.” He grunts. “Perfect little whore. My dirty angel.”

The unexpected praise makes you keen, tears welling up in your eyes as you replay him calling you beautiful and his as he pounds into you. He doesn’t let up on the grip on your throat for a few moments, waiting for the moment just before he thinks you’re about to struggle.

Your pussy pulses around him when he restricts your oxygen and it’s the most gorgeous feeling in the world. “Come on baby, gimme another one.” He groans. “Soak my cock again. Ruin our bed.”

‘Our’, you mouth silently against the belt. And then you’re letting go. Clamping down around him and coming this time with a loud scream of his name. The vibrations against your clit alongside him hammering into that spot inside you has you squirting around him for a second time. Covering his cock, balls and thighs with your arousal as you continue to softly pant his name throughout your high.

Dave groans, slowing down slightly to take a break while you float through the pleasure of your high. Panting as he rocks into you, he grins. “Still not done yet.”

“Mine,” you groan against the belt, as your hand comes up and softly strokes his face. You feel exhausted, the poundings your pussy has taken has you trembling beneath him but you’re ready for more, eager to feel him take you apart again.

He changes the rhythm, slowly grinding into you as he rests for a bit. Letting your body cool down.

“Wow,” you say, slightly murmured by the belt. Exhaustion sits heavily in your joints but you’re not ready for this to be over, you look up at him panting over you and move your face up to nuzzle against his. The closest thing you can currently get to a kiss.

He chuckles and leans in to kiss your nose. “Ready for a break?” He asks you softly.

You nod your head, needing a sip of water and to feel his lips on yours.

Dave is immediately moving. Pulling out of you and not bothering to turn off the cock ring before he is unbuckling the belt to pull it out of your mouth and massaging your cheeks. “Stay here. I’ll get you some water.” He tells you as he shuffles off the bed and finally stops the vibrations in the toy.

“Dave,” you call out as he shuffles away, “On the bookcase in the hall is your Christmas present… you haven’t opened it. Bring it up with you please.”

“I will.” He wonders why you are insistent that he bring it, but he snatches it up on his way back through from grabbing you water.

By the time he’s back up you’re sitting comfortably on the bed with your phone open and ready to play the video you took him. “I’ve been so distracted recently that I forgot to give it to you,” you say as you smile at the neatly wrapped package in his hand. “It’s one of two gifts, but you should open that one first. There’s a store by my parents house that makes these and I just felt like you’d appreciate it.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” He has his own present for you, but that’s besides the point. “Your present is sitting in my closet.”

“You got me a present?” You say with a wide smile, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He lifts his brow at the irony of that statement, considering he is holding a gift from you in his hand. “Do you want me to open this first?”

“Yes and then I have something else for you,” you say excitedly. “I hope you like it.”

Dave hands you the water. “Drink.” He orders as he sits down beside you, his cock still hard and in the cock ring. Careful to unwrap the neat paper and he pauses when he discovers you’ve given him a leather bound journal, embossed with his name and a matching pen. “It’s- beautiful.” He can’t believe how thoughtful it is, and he swallows as he thinks of the other journal he has. His finger brushes over the gold leaf name. “Thank you.”

“You like it?” You say happily, as you watch him study it. “I figured you could keep it in your office and then you’ll think of me whenever you use it.”

“I will.” He looks up at you and nods, reaching out and pulling you in to crush his lips to yours.

You open your mouth and let him push his tongue between your lips, pushing yourself against him as he does so. Your hand wraps around his cock and you give him a few languid strokes, smiling as he groans into your mouth.

He kisses you for a long moment before he pushes your hand away from his cock and breaks the kiss. “So do you want to give me my other present or have yours?”

“You can give me mine,” you giggle, “I think you might be a little distracted by your next one.”

“Okay.” Dave leans in and kisses you again. “I love your gift. I hope you like what I got you.”

“It’s from you so I know I will,” you say, gently gripping onto each side of his jaw, and placing a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose.

He hums and stands, setting the journal and pen down before he walks into the closet and gets out a gift the size of a shoe box. Brightly wrapped and covered with a bow.

“Oh wow,” you say as you notice the box, “It looks so pretty, Dave.”

“I didn’t wrap it.” He snorts. “I can’t wrap for shit, so I paid to have it wrapped at one of those booths.” He’s a little nervous about this, because he hadn’t planned on getting it for you. He had planned on getting you something sexual. But as soon as he had seen it in the store window, he had to have it for you.

You smile at his admission, honestly not surprised he didn’t wrap it but still grateful for the effort he went to. You take it from his hands and notice how nervous he looks, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can I open it?”

“Sure.” He nods and watches as you carefully peel away the red and gold wrapping paper to reveal the box. Making him smirk slightly when you huff, having to use your nail to cut through the tape to open the lid.

“Oh Dave,” you say softly, looking up at him with wide glossy eyes. 

“You told me once that you wanted to be a ballerina when you were a little girl.” He explains as you lift the elaborately carved music box from the one it was wrapped in. The line of ballerinas in different positions line the top of the brightly colored box. “How you would practice in your room in secret even if you had never taken a class. I thought you would like it, remember that no matter what, you can still dream.” 

Words fail you. Your fingertips delicately dance over the ballerinas and it’s only when he gently wipes away a tear that you realize you’re crying. “Dave,” you sob gently, as you take in every little detail, “This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I can’t believe it’s mine.”

“It plays a little song.” He shows you the key in the back, twisting it a few times so that the music will start to play as he opens the lid. “Something sweet, like you.”

The tears start to fall harder as you listen to the stunning melody, watching the line of ballerinas move so delicately to the music. “I love it. Thank you. Thank you so much, my love.”

“It’s a jewelry box too.” He nudges you gently, bringing your attention to the small tray inside. He hears you say ‘my love’ but he can’t comment on that right now. 

You look up at him through your teary eyes before looking back down and gently pulling open the tray. Gasping when you notice the gorgeous pearl bracelet inside of it. “Oh Dave.”

“Oh Dave.” He mimicked you and pucks the bracelet up to open the clasp to put it on your wrist. “I think there’s a parrot in here. That’s all I hear. ‘Oh Dave’.” He’s beaming as he teases you, completely joking and he looks up from wrapping it around your wrist to wink at you.

“Shut up,” you say with a giggle, “I love it,” you focus on the bracelet, beaming as you notice the tiny engraved ‘D’ on the clasp. “D?”You say out loud with an even bigger smile forming across your face. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” You take his face in your hands and move close enough to brush your lips against his as you speak, “I really love it, all of it, and you.” 

He hums and pours himself into kissing you. He can’t tell you that. He can’t do that to you. Especially when his own feelings are so fucking out of the norm for him. “Good.” He manages after pulling his lips away from yours.

“You gonna finish fucking me once we move this off the bed?” You say, still gently holding onto his face. 

“Of course I am.” Dave scoffs, smirking at you. “You can still walk, can’t you?”

“Just about,” you say, rolling your eyes as you get up and place the jewelry box down on his drawers and take a few more seconds admiring it. You kneel down on the bed next to him and give him a quick kiss, “Second present first.” You pass him the phone which is already opened to the video and wait for him to press play. “Tried to send you this on Christmas day but had no wi-fi.” 

“Ohhh I get another present.” He smirks as he presses play and immediately groans when the video starts to move. “Jesus Christ. You filmed this at your parents?”

“Yeah,” you say with a giggle, “Dad had another service and I decided to stay behind… I was really missing you.”

“Fuck, baby girl.” He grunts, cock twitching as he watches it again.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you say as you wrap your fingers around his cock again. Moaning as you see the build up of pre-cum and how purple the tip of him is. “Oh, my love, we’ve got to make you cum.”

Dave tosses the phone down and lurches for you. “Spread your legs.”

You squeal with excitement before spreading your legs. “Yes, sir!”

He thrusts back into you easily, frantically. Determined to make sure that you can’t walk when he’s done with you.

“Fuck,” you scream as he fills you with him. Your walls immediately fluttering around him as he starts to pound in and out, focusing on that spot inside of you. Your hands squeeze your tits as he grips on to your hips pulling you down to meet every harsh snap of hips. 

This time, his goal isn’t to overwhelm you, just show you how he feels without saying the words.

You reach up and touch his face, whimpering his name as he thrusts in and out, “Kiss me.”

He lunges down and presses his lips to yours desperately. Groaning as he slides his tongue into your mouth.

You press your tongue against his and they battle for dominance but you both know he’s in control the entire time, taking the breath out of your lungs and replacing it with his own as the kiss turns more frantic.

Dave groans and keeps his hips rocking as he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and pressing close.

Your hold on him tightens as he pulls you closer, you reluctantly detach your lips from his and giggle at the way he immediately growls at the loss, “Slower Dave, let me feel all of you,” you beg.

He huffs and shakes his head, but he stops the frantic thrusts and slowly rolls his hips forward.

“Grumpy,” you murmur into his soft skin with a smile, meaning his name as he notches into that spot inside of you. Your eyes rolling back and stars appearing in your line of vision.

He hums and bites down on your chin. “Yes.” He grunts with every slow thrust. “I. Am.”

“But I like it,” you say, between breathy moans.

“I know you do.” He groans, pressing his lips to yours again. Kissing you softly as his hips slow down even more.

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, as he brings you closer to that edge, “I’m gonna cum,” you babble against his lips.

“Good.” He groans, flicking his tongue into your mouth to kiss you.

With a few more measured thrusts he has you falling off that edge, clamping down hard around him and whimpering into his mouth.

Dave finally feels like he can cum. Pushing through the tightness, to thrust deep. His neck muscles strain and he practically whimpers your name as he starts to cum.

“Dave,” you murmur as thick ropes start to paint your walls, his name lingering on your lips as you bite down onto his shoulders.

He lets you mark him, not jerking away as he rides out his high and groaning at how good it feels.

"Mine," you growl aggressively as you pull him closer to you, fingernails gripping into the meat of his ass as he thrusts into you.

Finally, he's spent, lowering himself down against you, though he keeps the majority of his weight on his elbows as he relaxes. "Fuck."

You giggle as he collapses on top of you, "Ready to go again, my love?"

"Jesus." He huffs. "I need a minute. Insatiable minx."

"I'm just kidding old man," you say as you wrap your arms tightly around him.

"Sure you were." He huffs, turning to kissing you softly and sighs.

"Are you ok?" You ask, hearing him sigh.

"'I am good." He promises, unable to put anything into words "How are you?"

"Are you sure?" You ignore his question, and raise your eyebrow. "Did I do something wrong?"

He frowns and shakes his head. "You didn't do anything wrong." He promises and kisses you once more. "You want to soak in a bath?" He asks

"Depends," you say, snuggling into him, "Are you going to join me?" 

"I need to do something in my office." He admits quietly. "Do you want me to draw you a bath?"

"Sure," you say, a little confused. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm good." He flashes you a grin. "Must be getting old." He jokes. "Becoming that old man you are always accusing me of being."

"I love that old man," you say, the words sliding off your tongue before you have time to restrain them. 

Dave frowns slightly but he leans forward to kiss you instead of commenting on it. "I'll go start your bath."

You see it, the way the corner of his lips fall down and it's like a shot to the chest but you refuse to ruin the moment by crying. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby girl." He's retreating and he knows he is, but he can't tell you something that he's not one hundred percent sure of. Still trying to tell himself that he's still the same, just using you for your innocence. He pulls out of you and climbs out of the bed, removing the cock ring as he disappears into the bathroom.

You bite down the tears threatening to fall and brush yourself off. Standing up and wrapping yourself in one of his shirts and perching yourself at the end of the bed, waiting for him to come out and tell you your bath is ready.

Inside the bathroom, Dave ignores his reflection and the things that are yours and turns towards the garden tub to turn on the water, adding the bubble bath you enjoy.

You listen to him move around and to the sound of the water filling the tub before deciding to just step into the bathroom, hoping that maybe that'll change his mind and he'll join you.

Dave is setting out your towel when you come into the bathroom. "You ready?"

"Yeah," you say softly, before dipping your fingertips into the tub to test the temperature, "Perfect."

"Good." He watches as you step into the tub. "You enjoy your bath, l'll bring you up a drink."

"You sure you don't want to join me," you say, as you sink down into the inviting waters. "Promise I'll give you a break. I just want to feel you.”

"Give me a few minutes." He gives in and nods. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," you say with a smile and a scrunch of your

nose.

"I know you will, you would live in that tub if I let you." Dave snorts and smirks at you in your bubbles.

"Hurry," you say, with a roll of your eyes, "It's lonely in here."

"Yep!" He raps the door frame with his knuckles. "Back in a sec."

You lay back against the tub, thinking through the last few minutes and wondering if you've really fucked this up. You look down at the bracelet still on your wrist and closely examine the 'D' on the clasp and sigh.

Downstairs, Dave hesitates at the bottom and rubs his hand down his face. This is getting too complicated, something he's never liked. He's already spent more time with you than he had with any other girl. Ignoring the urge to go back and read his journal, he walks into the kitchen to get you a drink.

The way he reacted to your slip up still has your heart aching, you know what this is, you know that this isn't love to him. He's never said or promised you anything along those lines and the look on his face spoke louder than any words

Instead of just grabbing a bottle of water, he opens up the bottle of wine he had bought you. It's a sweet wine, one you had tasted and said you liked. He knows your parents don't approve of you drinking anything but the sacrament wine, but this is another layer to his debauchery. Or that's what he tells himself rather than it being a cozy, romantic bath with a glass of wine.

Sinking below the water you don't hear him creep in, having dived underwater to disguise the tears that had welled up your eyes. 

Dave sets the wine glass down, along with a bottle of beer he prefers and even though he's rolling his eyes, he has picked up the little pre-made meat, cheese and cracker tray. Deciding that the bath was the perfect place to indulge in a restorative snack.

You slowly push yourself up from under the water and see him perched by the bath holding a glass of wine for you. "Hey," you say softly. "Are you getting in?" 

"Yeah." He grabs another towel and sets it next to yours. "I got us a drink and that snack thingy you wanted when you came back."

"Thank you." You take the glass of wine and shift down the bath slightly so he can slip in behind you.

Dave settles back against the tub and pulls you into his arms. "Lean back." He murmurs, even though he would normally tell you to lean back so he could play with your tits.

You do as he says exhaling happily as you lie against his chest. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," you say, your teeth immediately sinking into your bottom lip to stop the flow of tears threatening to spill. "It just slipped out."

"Don't." His clipped word hangs in the air for a moment. "Don't apologize." He manages. "It's okay."

"Okay," you say, barely above a whisper. You take a few sips of your wine and nibble on a cracker, still comfortably laying against him. "I promise I won't do it again, I don't want to upset or anger you.”

Dave doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say. Instead he takes a sip of his beer and slowly starts to rub one of your nipples.

You place your hand on the top of his and just hold it still before picking it up and interlocking your fingers with his.

He doesn't pull his hand away, just letting your hands naturally fall and hold together over your stomach.

"I really don't want to go this evening," you say with a sigh.

"You need to." Dave reminds you, "You know you will be missed, again."

"Yeah." You say weakly, before closing your eyes and nuzzling back into him.

"Yeah, you'll go?" Dave asks. "Or yeah, I'm still not going?"

"Yeah, I'll go," you shrug, "Who doesn't love sitting in a room listening to a man drone on for hours and trying to work out which one of the guys there is the one who my parents have decided I'm going to marry."

"They wouldn't have picked yet." Dave huffs. "They are bluffing."

"Not according to my mom," you snort.

"Your father is going to wait until grades come out before he decides on anyone." He wagers.

"You're wrong," you say, visibly annoyed. "They told me they've found someone. They've had conversations with him, his parents and grandparents. I am the only person that doesn't know who it is." 

"So just say no." Dave snaps back at you. "You're an adult, you don't have to do what mommy and daddy want."

"Fuck you," you shoot back, "You have no idea." You grip onto the side of the tub and begin to lift yourself up.

"I have no idea?" He snorts. "You have no idea, no intention of standing up for yourself." Maybe you will do the work for him. Decide you are done and break things off so he doesn't have to think about how he can't end things with you.

You wrap the towel around yourself and just storm into the bedroom, feeling the tears you've been trying to hold back beginning to fall. He's right. You have no idea on how to stand up to your parents.

Dave sighs as you drip water all over the floor, the bath ruined. Feeling like the day has been ruined. Standing, he unstops the tub and starts cleaning it out, giving you space you want.

You perch yourself on your side of the bed, still only covered by your towel and let yourself cry. He will be out any second and you have no doubt he'll be sending you on your way.

Cleaning up the tub, he gathers up the tray of snacks, your wine and his beer to carry back into the bedroom. His own towel wrapped around his waist, he sees you crying and hates it.

You don't look at him as he enters the room, instead you just wipe your eyes and then stare down at the hand in your lap.

"I know it's hard for you." Dave murmurs after a few moments of chilly silence. "I just want you to stick up for yourself."

"It's easier said than done," you reply quietly, wiping away a fresh stream of tears.

"I know it is." He reminds himself that you are still very sheltered and innocent. "You will find the courage eventually." He predicts.

****

THE AFTERMATH.

It had been a whirlwind of a week, you had officially left St. Brennans and with Dave's support enrolled to start online classes in the upcoming fall.

He hadn't hesitated in asking you if you wanted to move in after the fight with your parents and the day after you cleaned out the rest of your things from your dorm and started to move them into your new home.

And now it's been a week, a week of hurtful voicemails and texts about how much of a disappointment you are and now your parents are standing at the doorstep of your home pleading for you to talk to them for just five minutes.

Dave slams the door in their face and turns towards you, a fierce frown on his face. "You don't have to talk to them, baby." He promises, reaching out to cup your cheek. "I'll call the police if I have to."

"It's okay, baby," you say, before pressing your lips to his. "I want to show them that they haven't hurt me." You take a deep inhale and open the door. "You have five minutes."

Your hand is being tightly held by Dave as they walk past you both and towards the kitchen. 

Dave grunts unhappily as he follows them with you. "You will not yell at her, and you will not call her names." He lays down his rules immediately, giving them no chance to start. "Otherwise you leave immediately." He's not going to put up with your parents abusing you. Not in his house. If he had his way, they wouldn't speak to you ever again, but he won't make that decision for you.

They remain silent at his demands and that's when you catch her. She walks over to the chair, your chair, that Dave had bought you and begins to run her fingers across the soft fabric.

"You can't sit there," you say, immediately finding your voice as she tries to claim yet another thing from you.

The sound of your mother scoffing fills the room, yet she doesn't move. She just keeps admiring your chair and ignoring your requests to sit at the table. You see Dave's chest beginning to move more rapidly as she blatantly ignores you and before he has time to explode you take a step forward.

"Dave bought me that chair because I fell in love with it, it's mine and I'm asking you to stop and step away from it," you say, raising your voice just slightly.

"I am your mother and I will sit where I please," is all she responds and before you have time to realize what you're saying the words are floating in the air.

"If you knew the things he's done to me in that chair, you wouldn't want to be anywhere near it.

He actually hasn't done anything to you in that chair, but it's amusing how quickly your mother snatches her hand away from your chair and manages to look like someone rubbed dog shit right underneath her nose. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad. "Sit down at the table." He orders both of them.

They both look at each other with disgust before sitting down, "We told Joshua's family that you have an appendicitis that burst," your father says plainly. "As far as he's aware this never happened and you can move on and marry him and we can put this whole charade behind us all."

"I'm marrying Dave, and I left a note in my dorm with the ring." You are absolutely gobsmacked at what your father is saying to you.

"The nice girl," your mom interrupts, "Deandra, she found the note and the ring and gave it to us. Joshua knows nothing. You are not marrying this man." 

"That's not up to you to decide." There's a new ring that will be sitting on your finger now. He had taken you to pick it out, deciding that you deserved to have the choice, although he had argued that the stone should be bigger. He had won that one. The ring should be ready to pick up sometime this coming week and he wants to see how it looks, all fitted properly.

Dave doesn't offer coffee or tea. He doesn't give a damn if they are comfortable or think that he's a good host.

"I am marrying Dave, I've officially left St. Brennans and I live here now... Can you just wait here for a moment? I want to show you something." You say before scurrying up stairs running as quickly as you can and collecting something from yours and Dave's bedroom.

You're clutching it in your arms as you sit down and you place it gently on the table, opening the box and twisting the little knob at the back. Your parents say nothing as the jewelry box springs to life and the row of ballerinas begin to move delicately.

"He saw this and he thought of me," you say, "Dave loves me. I love Dave. And I won't become bitter and twisted because I'm being forced to marry a man I don't love."

"He is too old for you." Your father scoffs. "We know what he is, what he does. He preyed on your weakness, your sinfulness." He pontificates, shaking his head. "You should be on your knees, begging God and us for forgiveness."

Dave reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and he pulls your hand up to kiss the back of it softly. He loves that you love that box. 

"You should be begging ME for forgiveness," you yell across the table, "I am your daughter and I've spent the majority of my life feeling like an inconvenience because neither of you are capable of love." You shake your head scoff before resuming your rant, "How dare you come into our house and speak about him like that? What about what you do and what you've done? What about all the times you left me alone in that house fucking terrified because you didn't want to deal with the responsibility of having a child? I would never do to a child what you did to me.”

"You were never in danger." Your mother huffs. "We were doing important work. Serving God, as you need reminding to do." The righteous sense of self importance drips off of every word.

"I was a child alone in a house." You scoff. "I was like 5 when you started leaving me. I was terrified. All of my childhood memories feel like weapons. Fully loaded and ready to strike me down." You feel an anger burn in your chest like never before, "I'm done. I don't have any interest in seeing either of you ever again.

There's a moment when you look like you are going to cave just as soon as the indignant squawking starts but Dave simply stands up and pulls you into his arms. "Please leave."

He makes sure he keeps his first ask polite so if this blows up, he can say he asked them to leave. "You are not allowed to hurt her anymore. She doesn't want to talk to you, so please leave.”

"Don't come back," is all you add. Resting your head against Dave's shoulder as you watch them get up to leave.

"He's going to wake up sooner than you're expecting and realize that you're not worth his time," your mother says, "You'll have nowhere to go. No one to turn to. You'll have nothing. Just like you deserve."

"She will have me." Dave snorts. "I am not going to abandon her. I'm giving her the freedom of choice, which was all she ever wanted. I love her, more than you could ever comprehend. And when we do have kids, they will never grow up like she did." 

His hold on you tightens as you look up at him and smile, before turning back to them, "Leave. Now."

They obviously don't want to, protesting and Dave just shakes his head. "She told you to leave."

"Do you really want to make this more difficult?" you say with a roll of your eyes, "Do you think an arrest is going to look good for you both?"

He smirks at the shocked expression on their faces that you would threaten such a thing. They have probably never imagined their daughter standing up to them. "Fine." Your father spits, glaring at the two of you like you are possessed. "Don't bother calling us when he leaves you pregnant and broke."

"I'll get a good divorce lawyer," you mock, as they scramble out the door.

As the door is yanked open, Dave busts out laughing at your comment.

You listen for the door to slam shut before spinning around and wrapping your arms around Dave. "You still haven't fucked me in that chair, you know?"

"I know." He hums, holding you tighter and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "That's your chair." He reminds you, rubbing your back proudly. "I love you, baby. Don't let them make you doubt that."

"Still get chills every time you say that to me," you admit, "I love you more. They have no influence on me whatsoever."

"I think we should move." Dave admits, wondering what you would think about that. "I've been talking to another college, a beach town." He figured that your parents wouldn't go to the school, and they hadn't, but he had been thinking about a fresh start for both of you. 

"As long as I can bring my beautiful chair, l will follow you anywhere. Say it again." 

He smirks and leans in to kiss your lips. "I love you, baby." He whispers. "Forever."

[familyabolisher]

Hi! I just wanted to say your deep readings of TLT are so smart! I've been thinking about all the genderfuckery in Nona the Ninth for ages trying to peel apart the layers behind it (the tower princes especially) and I was wondering if you have any thoughts on it?

I do! I did a post that kind of gestured towards my broad thoughts on what Nona does with gender/how it develops the groundwork around gendered relations that Gideon and Harrow lay out a couple of weeks or so ago, but I doubt I’ll be able to find it so this is a good excuse for going into more detail with the sorts of ideas I’m bouncing around.

What I was trying to get at in my earlier post about sexual violence in Nona is that Nona represents a sea change in the narrative terms; that is, the ‘rules’ determining which parts of the whole we are allowed to see at any given time are very rapidly altered such that we're pulled away from this wholly internal imperial perspective into a space which carries its consequences. Where Gideon is about crafting a narrative around a set of sociocultural paradigms, and Harrow is about digging further into both the purpose and internal consequence of those paradigms, Nona is about absconding from the limitations that those paradigms impose. Something of an autopsy of the inner world of the imperial core has taken place in the previous two books; we are presented with the dictates, expectations, and purpose of the necromancer/cavalier subject positions, and the bedrock upon which those positions are built (ie. the particular logics of power and imperialist consolidation and sexual violence), such that (almost) everything we meet with in the first two books ultimately circles back to asserting a particular form of internal/diegetic normativity. The difference in Nona is that, outside of the space where this normativity is the governing social currency and also necessarily socially enforced, the way in which social modes are articulated now begins to fall away from the anchoring of internal imperial logics. 

What this has to do with gender is that the kind of centrifugal force determining how gender & sexuality alike are received within the empire is one of what we might term homonationalism in contemporary parlance, wherein queerness becomes reconstituted within a nationalist imaginary such that queer people willing to meet with the state on the state’s terms can be incorporated into the fold of such a national articulation. As a result, we see eg. butchness (or broader strokes of masculinity expressed by women) as something legible to us as readers who bring our contemporary understanding of lesbian gender formations as counter-hegemonic (or at least, non-normative) to the table (and are expected to do so – the text v much expects us to read Gideon as a butch or functionally equivalent, Cytherea as a femme, etc etc, and proceeds from the assumption that we have picked up on such a signification), but diegetically that masculinity is hegemonically articulable. In other words, the reason we never get a sense of Gideon registering an internal conflict between her traditionally masculine gender markers (name, appearance, relationships, just about everything that’s used in-text to signal her as a butch to the audience) and her being a (presumably cisgender) woman is because those two things are not textually in-conflict, as there exists a normative articulation of womanhood that easily accounts for them. She reads to us as ‘gender nonconforming’ (imperfect term but you get the idea), but in-universe very much does ‘conform’ to the articulation(s) of gender available to her; to call her diegetically gender nonconforming (or even diegetically butch) would be meaningless. This is largely down to the “no-homophobia” premise (which is, ofc, a deliberately homonationalist premise in itself), but gets interesting when we start to see that masculinity articulated through the paradigms of cavalierhood, a subject position constituted around the conditions necessary to sustain imperialism.

My point is—across Gideon and Harrow, everything we receive in relation to gender, contemporary gender nonconformity, allusions to transness (as with eg. the androgynous Canaan House priest, the they/them in Doctor Sex, quiet suggestions that transness is an extant concept at some level), etc., has been presented to us in a format that circles back to the normative state of gender in the Nine Houses, specifically to the purpose of demonstrating the relationship that the subject holds to the imperial body. Gideon as a butch/as a woman/as a cavalier are three states that each make sense of one another and are able to exist harmoniously, and that harmonious existence is designed to tell us something about the internal imperial condition. That Nona is the text which divests from that wholly internal perspective and takes us into the social world of the imperial periphery + operates on a logic external to that of the imperial core is, I think, the reason that gender felt a lot more … like it was being played around with, or like it held less of a cohesive loyalty to particular background strictures that were shaping how it appeared on the page. Even with characters whose gender bears a relationship to that same imperial logic (Tower Princes, ofc; also Paul, Pyrrha, Palamedes), their presence in the text is altered somewhat by the fact that the text is no longer putting itself to the purpose of, like, demonstrating those internal strictures. 

And like, this narrative slippage—from something tightly delineated from which deviation is restricted into something more animate and buoyant and malleable—isn't limited to gender at all, but is happening all over. I flagged in the linked post how part of Nona hinges on the breakdown of John's constructed 'utopia' (his word!) such that things which worked to sustain it in the past no longer hold water in the present. You could even look at, like, the shift in presentation of the Dramatis Personae between the three; from Gideon, which offered this very … precise account of names, titles, ranks, with little diegetic narrative bearing, to Harrow, which mimics the style of its predecessor but manages a level of storytelling and diegetic presence in eg. the substitution of Gideon for Ortus, the establishing of Anastasia/Samael as outliers, and Gideon's name being entirely crossed out, to Nona, where it's … a birthday party invite list being transcribed in-universe. Like, even these minute changes are demonstrative of a shift away from a hierarchy that must be dissected into something of a far more humane texture. These aren't articulations of new gendered hierarchies, they're just … particular gendered modes, playing out with relative reference to a multiplicity of active norms. 

It’s interesting that a lot of the characters who we meet as, like, hotspots of textual gender-weirdness in Nona are failstates for genders that are made legible through the condition of empire as John arranges it. I think it’s fair to read Pyrrha as a trans woman in the same way it’s fair to read Gideon as a butch (in that these are not terms/subjectivities which would make diegetic sense to either, but they are subjectivities that are signaled for the sake of the audience, with the expectation that each will be read with that subjectivity in mind), but Pyrrha is also at once both a ‘failed’ cavalier and a ‘failed’ Lyctor. (A secret third thing, if you will.) So where Gideon’s butchness as we received it in the first two books has an anchor in empire, Pyrrha’s is more like the failure of an imperial gender configuration to fully realise itself, and where her gender becomes interesting & textured is through the production of dissonance (diegetically, her as an incomplete/failed Lyctor and by extension a failed cavalier; to us, as a woman inhabiting a body that we know to have belonged to a man but which is v clearly now being considered hers.) Similarly, the Camilla-Palamedes bodyshare (and then Paul, though I really don’t have a confident reading of Paul yet considering how little time they’ve had in the narrative so I’m going to gloss over them for now) is simultaneously a reversal of the Lyctorhood process (in that the disembodied necromancer inhabits the living body of the cavalier) and its reification (in that it relies on a portion of the process of the Eightfold Word, and you might even make a case for its being another form of instrumentalising and potentially exploiting the body of the cavalier); on either end, it’s definitely not what’s supposed to have happened, and it reflects something oppositional to the ethos with which the original construction was imbued. 

Past that, like, on Lemuria itself we see a multiplicity of gendered/familial arrangements that we can presume emerge as a result of the multiplicity of colonised cultures living in close quarters with one another; like, that multiplicity makes for a narrative expansiveness that I don’t think the tightness and discursive constriction of the previous two books would have allowed for. 

& the Tower Princes, similarly, are like … articulations of gender within empire, yes, but they’re specifically an articulation that can only take place once the old order (ie. Lyctors) is near enough gone, and we receive them through an external observer (ie. Nona) such that moments like Ianthe’s first introduction when we slowly realise that we’re seeing her possessing Babs’ corpse become a lot more fun. There’s a layer of ambiguity going into how Nona receives gender—from her switching between they/he/she pronouns for Ianthe-in-Babs to her they/themming a lot of characters before their gender is made explicit in-narrative, ie. not having a heavy reliance on visual cues to determine gender at a glance to the application of traditionally masculine descriptors to women (Cam, Pash, and Corona each get described as ‘handsome’ at some point)—that was nowhere near as present in the other two (as I explained above: there’s no dissonance in Gideon’s gender, there’s no sense that she’s anything other than a woman and no sense that her form of womanhood has ever been anything other than completely normal and legible in the social world she occupies). I think the Tower Princes would have made sense in any of the three so far, but they just feel a lot more fun in Nona thrown in amidst a book where gender is, in general, being treated somewhat playfully��with a lot of plasticity and malleability that I appreciated & that feels incredibly close to contemporary lesbian gender articulations.

(I keep returning, for example, to the implication that Pyrrha is passing herself off as a man in at least some contexts on Lemuria and the circles of identification and shared experience that that manages to draw between trans women closeting themselves in particular contexts and so-termed ‘passing women’ ie. butches who passed(/continue to pass) themselves off as men for safety. Like, I think it’s fair to say we can read Pyrrha as a butch or similar, and that we can read her as a trans woman, and that particular dimension is subtle but v compelling to me.)

(It’s also interesting how much we see the fixities of the imperial core echoed in the periphery in new contexts that kind of seem to extricate those behaviours from the violence they denote. John playing with Barbies as a child becomes the basis for the creation of Alecto, which of course is the inciting action towards the establishment of his empire & the social paradigms that sustain it; Kevin, too, is a boy who plays with dolls. Ianthe & Kiriona are women referred to with masculinised titles—ie. the Tower Princes—and both Pash and the Angel are women referred to as ‘sir,’ or like, Corona takes on a similarly masculinised title in BOE; you could even add an extra layer here about Kiriona and Pash and Corona and Ianthe each being related as cousins/sisters respectively, idk. EVEN something about Kiriona and Pash as, like, nepo babies to John/Wake respectively, except that the nepotism in question garnered them like vastly different levels of social rank/social currency. I don’t know that I can develop this take all that far, but like—interesting? The sense that like, queerness, gendered ambiguities, whatever else, can and should have a presence outside of an allegiance to imperialism, maybe?)

Anyway, like! These are very scattered thoughts, but hopefully they're of some use. I don’t know that I have an overarching argument besides just like, the changes present in Nona have a lot to do with how Nona moves our perspective out of the imperial core for the first time in the series and that includes how gender functions in the narrative, but hopefully you can see the arguments I’m gesturing towards at least lmao

[violethowler]

My Thoughts On Light Bringer (Spoilers)

The wait for Light Bringer has been so long that I as soon as I learned that my physical copy wouldn’t be getting delivered until after release day, I immediately went and pre-ordered the ebook version so I could start as soon as it became available. I started reading around midnight my time and I literally only got three hours of sleep before I finished the book. And holy bloodydamn shit was it worth waiting all these years for.

The title of this novel felt incredibly fitting not simply as a reference to any one character, but because after the chaos and death and violence of Dark Age, this book was a ray of light and hope, validating what I said back when Dark Age came out and filling me with such optimism and excitement for what comes next. Even after Cassius’ death, I cried tears of joy when I finished reading the book because with everything in the world being on fire – from the rise in censorship and anti-LGBTQ laws in the US to the various crises caused by climate change, to the ongoing labor issues like the writers’ and actors’ strikes – this book reminded me how to have hope for the future and to recognize that with enough time and enough people fighting back, things can get better. To appreciate the smaller, less-publicized steps forward when I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the big headlines making all the bad things seem worse.

And on top of all that, it was just straight up fun. I love Dark Age and Iron Gold, and their seriousness is important to their themes. But one of the things that I loved about the original trilogy was the capacity of its writing to spark joy and put a smile on my face. Long have I missed a new action sequence that made me cackle like mad as I realized that the tables had turned on the villains, like the escape from Venus or Darrow’s emergence from the leviathan did. Or the powerful, raw moments like Deanna’s pre-battle benediction in Lykos. Or the quiet moments like Lyria and Cassius bonding, or Darrow and Sevro’s gradual reconciliation. These are just some of the many ways that Light Bringer feels like a return to the series’ roots.

The journey Darrow went on felt perfectly timed for the series, and every character grew phenomenally in this book. Some in positive ways, like Diomedes and Lyria. And others in negative ways, like a certain hypocritical, genocidal, fascist wannabe dictator.

Despite my burning desire for Lysander’s enrollment in the Head-In-A-Box club, his POV was masterfully written, allowing us a deeper glimpse into the inner workings of the Society Remnant that we didn’t properly get in previous books, while at the same time showing us at every turn that he is ultimately no different than Atlas and Atalantia. Given Cicero’s reaction to the burning of Demeter’s Garter, I feel like it’s only a matter of time before many of his allies realize that and turn on him.

And speaking of turning, I feel so vindicated that the alliance between the Rim Dominion and the Society Remnant ultimately shattered by the end of the book. But while I didn’t anticipate how it happened, I think it’s better that it happened this way. Firstly, Lysander is the whole reason the alliance exists, so it feels poetic that he’s the one who destroyed it. Secondly, it gives closure to the conflict between Darrow and the Rim over his actions in Morning Star, and that is so much more satisfying than my prediction of the Society being mad at them for Cassius being alive.

I’m similarly impressed with how the Obsidian storyline was handled, and how Lyria’s connection with Volga played into that. In hindsight, the storyline of getting the Obsidians turned away from Volsung Fa was the one plot set up in Dark Age that I could never really think of any theories of how it could be pulled off like I could for things like Sevro’s rescue or the breaking of the Rim-Core alliance. But Lyria being able to use her connections to get to Volga and make the first crack in her armor after Volsung Fa spent eight months manipulating her into following his rhetoric was a sight to behold, and I cannot imagine any other way it could or should have played out. It feels so incredibly fitting that if I hadn’t known Pierce had scrapped his first draft of the book, I would’ve assumed that scenario was planned from the beginning.

Which is really a testament to Pierce’s writing that even if I didn’t always like the choices made in this book (i.e. the lack of Virginia chapters compared to the POVs, the clone plot on Luna being left hanging, etc.), the choices still made sense to me and fit perfectly with the story that Pierce is trying to tell.

After almost 4 years of waiting, Light Bringer defied my expectations in the best way, and I’m even more excited than ever to see Pierce bring it all home in Red God.

[thebellekeys]

Reflections: She got better after Clace concerning tropes

(NB... this is gonna be my last Reflections because I've got uni and shit to take on in September 😗)

Okay, so we know Cassandra Clare uses age-old tropes in her books: enemies-to-lovers, strangers-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, the evil seductress, the fearless warrior, the secret special snowflake, etc. However, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, becuse it’s sort of impossible to create written media without using any tropes. It’s how you use the tropes that makes written media interesting, and what I’ve noticed is that Cassie has gotten better at using tropes and paragons since TMI in her books by adding little twists and turns to them to avoid them becoming generic.

Starting off with TMI and Clace for example, we see that Clary is the classic “special teen with hidden powers that discovers a new supernatural world”, falling into that category with Bella Swan, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, etc. Jace is the aloof hottie with a Dark Past, and operates like a modern day Achilles if he made it out of Elysium, lmao. He’s pretty akin to Edward Cullen, Peter Mellarke, Dimitri Belikov, etc. Clace and their character arcs especially in the first TMI trilogy were pretty generic, even at the time they were published. (NB but Jace really is Achilles man like he’s *golden*, has the military-type fighting skills and discipline, powerful daddy issues, best of the Shadowhunters kinda like how Achilles was the best of the Greeks, feared and lauded by everyone, believed he’s destined for tragedy).

But looking at TID, for example, Cassie went with the Love Triangle trope that was especially popular around the time that TID was written, and she was like “oh hell no” and then created the greatest thing in the world known as Herongraystairs *Spongebob rainbow gif*. The late 2000s were kind of a mild time, and the rule of thumb was that the the main girl just had to end up picking one man in the triangle but nawww Cassie decided that Tessa Gray (bless her) would get both of her male counterparts at appropriate times, love them equally AND have it happen without any hostility between them. She completely outdid the Love Triangle trope.

I made a post discussing why Jemma is a great ship and a great spin on the Forbidden Lovers trope already, but I also need to say that Julian is an exceptional character. He, without hesitation, takes on the most traditional of feminine roles in the series yet isn’t feminine at all- he’s a very masculine protagonist. Julian’s more masculine roles (being a leader in a political revolution, being a schemer, being a fighter) are perfectly foiled with the traits which often assigned to female YA protagonists (no sexual experience before Emma, raises his siblings and bakes and shit, isn’t the one who’s snarky and quips or gets violent quickly). In having Julian take on the main parent role in TDA, it allowed Cassie to show a YA male lead who’s secure and doesn’t depend on what others make traditional masculinity out to be in order to dictate his behavior.

Now let’s look at TLH lastly. I’m really partial to this series as you all may know *cough*. The trope here is Secrets and Miscommunication (which I know some of you absolutely hate, but I think some of said miscommunication is actually necessary given the social context of the series but alas, I don’t blame yall for hating TLH because of this at all, lol). See, what works about the whole secrets and miscommunication trope tho is that everyone is not what they seem. Like Matthew’s the Wildean Libertine right, but he’s actually managed to use that branding as a shield from the shame of his guilt (Oscar Wilde’s philosophy laudes beauty and love, yet Matthew himself does not believe himself to be worthy of this coveted love - Matthew’s soul has turned Gothic despite his self-branding as an aesthete). Grace is the Evil Seductress, the Femme Fatale who must be eliminated so the Good Girl can get the guy, but in reality, Grace is inquisitive and inventive and loving when she’s not guarded - the one woman who the world thinks is heartless is actually the one who hurts the most and enjoys hurting the least. Then we have the James who’s the Eligible Bachelor - he’s well read, a leader, good at Shadowhunting, polite, handsome, and desired by the ladies of London. Yet at his core runs Belial’s blood and his inevitable ties to literal Hell. James, who should be the classic charming hero, is running from something very unmistakably rotten within him (even though his heritage is beyond his control). So these societal paragons are all tinged with something unexpected that makes them interesting imo.

So yeah, to conclude: yes, Cassie’s writing uses a lot of generic tropes but I’d argue that her writing has improved to make age-old tropes and epithets interesting and novel as TSC progresses. I think we also could all attribute the creation of the Herondale to Cassie: obnoxiously attractive and poetic young male with a bottomless heart and strong opinions on the proclivities and capabilities of ducks? Yeah, that’s a Herondale.

[creativecollegestudent]

Questions to ponder about social media by Alexander Gonzalez

The existence of social media has been a positive and negative influence on the world. I see social media as a business and tool for communication. However, there are many ways that I can describe or define what social media means to me. I am very biased on this topic because I am a social media manager and marketer. Without social media, I would probably be working in a much less creative field than I would like. 

Either way, social media is a way to help people communicate from all over the world. A way to share memories and experiences with people you want to interact with. It is a social tool, and it is in the name “Social Media”. But it does not stop there. It can help us stay active in the lives of our loved ones. While also keeping us informed of recent news and events worldwide.

Social media is also a capitalist manipulation business. We are fed ads and content that an algorithm decides for things we do not need. It entices us to fantasize about a lifestyle that is not realistic. It creates self-image issues and causes a strain on mental health. 

Social media has good and bad, but it all depends on how we use it. I read somewhere that the origination of social media was intended to be a communication tool to keep people connected. That lasted a few years before turning into the monstrosity it is now that dictates how we live or what we buy. 

The book defines social media as a networked hub of information and relationship management. I disagree I define it as a sales tool and disconnection from reality. 

I can only compare myself to a typical millennial who is curious about what others are doing. That is how I would say that my time is spent on social media for personal use. I am a looky-loo and nosey-nelly. I spend a lot of my free time checking to see what my friends are doing and if they are hanging out without me. I also believe that is more of a symptom of my anxiety. 

However, I do like to know what other people are doing. It gives me a sense of motivation to see people traveling or spending time in new scenery. I want to be able to explore the world and if that means exploring the photo grid of an Instagram travel influencer then so be it. It also allows me to plan future travel by scoping out places that others have been to. A much better way of checking out restaurants and tourist locations without leaving my home. 

Sometimes it amazes me what people will post on their social networks. Things that I would not like to share publicly are so easily spread across stories, posts, blogs, and photos. Nothing is secret and that is somehow liberating. Knowledge is power and I am glad to see people sharing it. 

Having grown up in the digital age has really been a head start for me with the understanding of social media. I know what it was like prior to social media and that helps me understand a world without it. I can determine the differences between what is real and fake on social media. I have an upper hand because my childhood was not publicized like a lot of people have grown up in the last couple of years. 

I know what social media was originally intended to be and how it has developed throughout the years. This also has led me into a career path that I never thought I would be a part of. I now get to be completely submerged in all things that are social media. Having to actively stay on top of changes and the ever-growing attributes of social media is a strength that I do not take lightly. 

One challenge that I have encountered is determining when I have consumed too much social media. My professional and personal life revolves around social media and sometimes it is difficult to disconnect. Something I have really struggled with is putting my phone down and shutting off the noise that social media causes. 

I would love to really refresh my knowledge of social media. I believe that learning about a topic that you are already familiar with allows you to go past what you already know. Especially with the fast-growing monster that is social media. There are so many things that I do not know, and I am hoping to gain at least one small piece of knowledge that will help me build a better relationship with social media usage. 

A lot of my knowledge comes from user experience and things that I had to self-teach. This will be a way to learn from a college-level curriculum and to me, that is more beneficial. Sometimes it takes a discussion with a classroom or feedback from a professor to help you understand more clearly. I also believe that I may have an interpretation of what I have experienced with social media whereas this class may help me understand something I could have missed entirely. 

[ladybirdwithoutdots]

talk about ~problematic ..

..and the never ending hypocrisy (of fanon!ship fans who hate on the canon love interest)

Again, I really, really can’t take people seriously when they concern troll about the age difference between Emma and Mr Knightley (that truly was the norm in 1800 and doesn’t have to be arbitrarily bad nowadays either if we are talking about consenting adults) making it the be all end all of excuses to paint their romance as problematic (because they have no other arguments and keep projecting on Emma because they don't accept it's him she loves and she really doesn't give a damn about the fact he's older than her), and play moral police with people who like it (as if anyone here is ‘glorifying’ it because of the age-gap, lol?? couldn’t be we love them because they are equals and they know each other well and they are in love with each other and a perfect match? I dunno) all the while they are out here not only giving a pass to Emma&Harriet’s (canonically) problematic ‘friendship’, but actually, actively, overinflate and romanticize that dynamic taking its most negative elements out of context, altering it all to ‘glorify’ them and present them as “best friends/relationship goals”.

(btw, nice try but the man is only 37? he's like, still young and BOTH Emma and Harriet think he can get it so yeah, stay mad I guess)

Listen, I love Emma and her character growth (she’s one of the best female characters ever for many reasons) but I’m not here to erase her flaws, and pretend she’s an angel, and the fact Harriet truly brings out the worst sides of her character and in more than one aspect, she acts like a narcissistic abuser with her in a way that can really resonate with people who experienced that both in romantic and platonic relationships. And the thing is, people don’t talk about that ENOUGH in spite of this being a very important part of the book that, truly, is not that hard to understand in its narrative devices and what kind of purpose Austen gives to this or that element (including and foundamentally the dynamics too).

Don't make me take one of the book copies I own and start to quote all the things to refresh your memory but the way Emma manipulates the girl, considers her an "addition to her privileges", thinks she can improve her, create her opinions, form her tastes and essentially turn her into everything she wants her to be is enough to make me see red flags in their so called friendship but the fact she is passive aggressive with her (pretty much telling her she won’t be her friend if she associates with people she doesn’t approve or considers below her) and actively manipulates Harriet into rejecting a man she knows that she loves? all because she cannot see herself being a friend of the farmer’s wife so Harriet must marry the guy EMMA chooses for her (creepy Elton) and that she deems right. I mean, the part where she dictates when Harriet is allowed to visit the Martins women (that Harriet considers her friends and who care a great deal about her) and how long the visit must be and Harriet does everything Emma wants her to do... like, hello??? I don’t care if Emma thinks she’s doing that for her good (as if this isn’t exactly what most of abusers think?), or if her conscience sometimes tries to make her feel sorry, her behavior is still wrong on so many levels, she is selfish, manipulative, arrogant and in no way her relationship with Harriet is that of a real friend nor it is healthy by any means.

The truth is she will understand Harriet and respect her feelings for Robert only when she herself understands her feelings for Mr Knightley (insert Demi!Emma readings here) and Harriet briefly becomes a threat for her but, for most of it, their dynamic essentially boils down to clever, rich, privileged Emma manipulating a pretty but not intellectually skilled, naive, 17 years old daughter-of-no-one making her a pet project because she’s bored and lonely, only to drop the girl like a hot potato the moment she realizes they both want the same man. When Emma is annoyed at Mrs Elton for her arrogance and the way she treats Jane as a pet project to feed her ego she’s essentially looking into a mirror that reflects an exasperated, caricature version of herself and her own flaws.

The fact the only thing Harriet and Emma have in common is being both girls would, alone, make me struggle finding potential for real friendship between them. There are moments that really emphasize Harriet’s intellectual inferiority to Emma’s cleverness and frustrated intellegence. I never get the idea they talk about anything deep, and it's obvious to me they are both blind to each other feelings about anything important, cue Emma not getting the fact Harriet wanted Mr Knightley not Frank (and Harriet worships her but doesn't see her as a human being who may have feelings too, she only cares about Emma helping her). Putting that aside, the power imbalance there is really HUGE and they are never equals and they will never be equals in any shape or form. It will always be ‘Miss Woodhouse/Mrs Knightley’ and ‘Harriet’  with the latter not really having a free choice whether she wants to be nice to the first or not. It’s even worse in the end because Emma marries the guy who owns the land and house where Harriet and her husband live. To simply put it, using what Emma thinks at one point, she’s everything while Harriet is nothing. I saw people legit comparing them to Anne and Diana and I’m like NOPE.

But I digress... back to the main point, there is no doubt that if you analyze romances written centuries ago using nowadays standards and sensibilities you are always going to find something icky or problematic in them; no one is denying that. But you can’t seriously expect me to see Mr Knightley as a villain and/or paint his relationship with Emma as problematic (for reasons that more often than not aren’t even canon ) all the while you are more or less turning a blind eye to the actual canon reasons why Emma is a villain in Harriet’s story and she realizes that she is, and that’s one of the main reasons why they have to go on separate ways in the end for the good of them both.

The fact the Emma&Harriet dynamic is romanticized is interesting in the way it also emphasizes how contradictory the "moral police" on the internet really is. When you really think about it, that dynamic does have a lot of those elements that people deem as problematic when it comes to male/female relationships. In fact, were Emma a man I have no doubt people, especially in this day and age, would endlessly complain about that relationship and see Harriet as a victim and want her to free herself from Emma asap. 

However, it seems like since the ‘bad guy’ is a woman in this instance, instead of being a man like it usually is, people not only give it a pass but actually romanticize it as if they like a woman having that role for a change (or they just don't recognize some things as bad if it's a woman doing them and it’s done in a platonic relationship instead of romance). I think while men and women never had the same power and privileges, some things are problematic no matter the gender of the person doing them and especially in Emma and Harriet’s case, in spite of the story being set in context of 1800 where women as a whole had less rights and power than men, Emma DOES still really have a ton of power and privilege compared to Harriet and in the context of her world and her reality, there is no chance for them to be equal or for Emma’s actions/behavior to get a pass just because she’s a woman.

So yeah, tl dr: if you want to concern troll about the age difference in the main couple (and project your feelings on Emma) all the while you aren't one bit willing to also take a honest, critical look at how problematic the Emma&Harriet dynamic really is, and you actually glorify and romanticize it as good and cute, in the same breath you want to policy people about whether they are allowed or not allowed to find emma/knightley cute, I'll just side-eye you and not really take your 'critique’ seriously.

[thorraborinn]

I keep seeing the notion of heathen hearth cult eg I’ve read comments of heathens saying they “skipped hearth cult yesterday because they were tired” or “I’ll join you later once I’ve done hearthcult.”

But whenever I’ve looked any deeper it seems the notion of hearth as a religious focus is more related to Greek/Roman pagan traditions.

I’m not disparaging the practice, but it doesn’t seem very historically accurate.

What’re your thoughts on this?

There’s a higher-than-normal risk of me talking out my ass about something I’m uninformed about here, because I honestly don’t really pay much attention to the online heathen spaces where this sort of stuff proliferates. But yeah, we have very little evidence for how at-home worship was done among Norse people. Not no evidence, but I don’t see a lot of influence from Völsa þáttr and St. Birgitta’s missionary work in Sweden on modern heathen hearth cult stuff.

I don’t think there’s actually anything wrong with hearth cult existing, it makes sense to me given that we are all so atomized even when we don’t have a pandemic going on but the idea that it’s “the most important, foundational practice in Heathenry” (from the Longship website) comes from absolutely nowhere and it’s a serious problem that the same sector of internet heathenry that pushes it is constantly vying for their articulation of heathenry as the objective, universalist one. They’ve managed to both insist on our fundamental, irresolvable isolation from each other and still dictate what we’re allowed to do.

Recently I’ve been recommending this book a lot, and I’m going to do it again... An Arena for Higher Powers by Olle Sundqvist makes it incredibly clear that at least in the times and places where we can compare and contrast saga descriptions with archaeological evidence, we can’t isolate private worship from social connections, positions, obligations. Admittedly, it’s exactly what we would expect to have better evidence for public (and legally important) forms of worship and celebration. But the idea that individual approaches to religious practice were fundamental rather than being in flux and reciprocal co-determination with collective approaches, or that either of these weren’t, in turn, in reciprocal co-determination with the changing social, political, and material circumstances of the Migration Age, the Viking Age, the settlement of Iceland, the formation of kingdoms, etc, etc, etc.......... is a bad idea.

It’s telling that on the Longship site they start the page on hearth cult by universalizing Durkheim as if we have learned nothing in the last hundred years, yet there is not one single reference to any pre-modern text. Abstract theoretical models are more real to these people than reality is. On their reading list they also don’t list any primary sources until the end of their suggested self-education, I guess we’re not prepared to listen to the stories our ancestors told until we’ve properly internalized early-to-mid-20th century analytics.

I have concerns that I think most people will find alarmist or overblown about Neoplatonist entryism into heathenry. I encourage heathens to read up on Neoplatonism (a lot of my own knowledge of the subject comes from these podcasts: https://historyofphilosophy.net/ and https://shwep.net/) because it’s an interesting subject for study anyway, to better understand the various lineages of Western thought generally, and so that you can recognize it when it enters heathen discourse. And if someone finds it more fulfilling than heathen reconstructionism then, cool, that’s great. But let’s please be honest about it, and I’m personally not interested in participating.

[captcas]

Something to Hold Onto by captcas

Emma Swan has always had two superpowers. First, she can always tell when you’re lying. Second, she can retreat into the magical storybook she was found with to visit her fictional friend, Killian Jones. When Emma gives the book up, she wonders if she’ll ever see Killian again. read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

Pregnant?

Emma slides down the tile wall of the Shell bathroom. Usually she’d do everything in her power to avoid touching anything in a gas station restroom. Right now she can’t find it in herself to care about the amount of infectious diseases she’s being exposed to, her eyes fixed on the two pink lines that just threatened to change her entire life.

Threatened? More like promised.

She jumps when she hears a knock on the door, “Ems? You ok?”

It isn’t until she wipes the tears from her cheeks that she realizes she’s started to cry. Neal knocks again, “Ems! You good?”

Clearing her throat, she musters up the will to answer, “Yeah, uh, just a minute.”

She scrambles for her backpack, desperate for an escape she’s not entirely confident will be there.

It’s been too long.

When her fingers touch the cool leather of the mysterious book that has somehow woven its way into every important moment in her life, a sense of calm overwhelms her. She knows that avoiding her problem isn’t going to change anything, but right now, she couldn't care less. As she settles in her lap, the positive pregnancy test laying the floor in her periphery, she thinks back to the first time it allowed her to escape.

Des Moines, IA; 1989

Emma hears footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly pulls her blanket over her head. She hates the way it makes it hard to breathe but she also fears what’ll happen to her if she gets caught up past curfew again. She holds her breath as the door creaks open and doesn’t move again until the door shuts and the footsteps walk away. Coming out from under the covers, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. Once she’s sure no one else in her bunk is awake, Emma pulls the thick, leather book out from underneath her bed. This book is one of the only things her parents left her; a book, a blanket, and a name. Ever since she could read, and even before, if her foster parents were kind enough, she’s poured into these stories– escaping reality for ogres, pirates, princesses, and true love. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the stories almost seem ever changing and expanding. She never has to choose what to read, the book opening and picking a story for her– although she finds herself partial to the updates of the young Snow White.

Tonight she opens to a brand new story titled “The Brothers Jones”. She’s never heard of this fairytale, but that’s how most of these stories start out until they twist and turn into well-known characters from movies that the other kids watch to pass time. It seems rather short, but Emma doesn’t mind, especially seeing as it’s way past her dictated bedtime. She hunkers down into her pillow and begins…

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Liam, the eldest, was outgoing and mature, helping their parents around the house and picking up odd jobs around town to help with trips to the market. Killian, on the other hand, was quiet and kind. He often found himself staying home to take care of their mother. At ten years of age he was too young to get a real job, so their father, Brennan, and Liam took care of earning money in hopes to keep their mother alive.

One night, Killian’s mother took a turn for the worse, her breathing slowing until it stopped. The family gathered around, comforting one another over the loss of Alice.

The following days seemed like a blur for the family, preparations for her funeral taking up most of their time. When the day finally came, the Jones boys were distraught. Her burial became too much for young Killian so he took off to the one place which could calm his worries, Brennan and Liam calling after him as he ran. Liam wanted to go after his younger brother but Brennan stopped him, urging him to give Killian some space.

Emma pauses for a second, shining her flashlight over the picture of the two boys which accompanies the start of the story. Her finger traces over the face of the younger one, she thinks to herself that she wishes she could meet this Killian. She glances a moment longer and turns back to the story…

Killian ends up by the docks, his legs moving on their own accord. He finds an empty slip and decides to sit on the end of the pier, crying over the loss of his mother.

Emma suddenly feels as though she’s drifting to sleep. The words seem to be floating off the page and wrapping themselves around her. When a flash of light surrounds her, Emma is sure she’s dreaming. She shuts her eyes in fear, unsure of where this dream is taking her.

Suddenly, her bare feet hit cold ground. She shivers, still too scared to open her eyes, her hands acting as a makeshift blindfold. She hears what sounds like a seagull and smells what she can only imagine is the sea. It’s a comforting quiet disrupted by the soft sound of someone crying. In a quick bout of bravery, the young girl opens one eye. Gasping, she removes her other hand from her face and her eyes grow wide. Sitting in front of her is Killian Jones, the boy from the storybook. She hesitates, but slowly walks towards him. She now knows he’s the source of the quiet sniffling and pauses, unsure she should bother him. Before she can turn around and explore more of her dreamworld, Killian looks over his shoulder and wipes his runny nose on his hand. He looks at her intently, and Emma is drawn to the deep blue of his eyes which seem to shine brighter through his tears. His eyebrows curve in confusion and he speaks, “Who are you?”

His voice is the most beautiful thing Emma has ever heard. His accent is unlike anything she’s heard before, but it’s melodic and reminds her of her favorite song. She hesitates to respond, but somehow feels comforted by his presence. “I’m… I’m Emma. Are you… Killian?”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline but he gives her a soft smile, “Yes, miss. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you here before.” He scratches behind his ear as she struggles to explain where she came from.

She’s sure she can say anything, she’ll wake up in the morning and Killian Jones will remain the figment of imagination he is, so she’s honest. “Oh! I’m not from here. I’m from Iowa! Well, at least I’m from Iowa right now…”

“Iowa?” Killian questions her once again. “I’ve never heard of such a place. I don’t get to travel much. Is it close to here?”

Emma decides to sit down next to him, both of their legs swinging over the dark water. “I think I’m pretty far from home. One minute I was reading in my bed and the next I was standing behind you.” Emma flinches at her own honesty but reminds herself it can do no harm. She’s finding peace in this dreamworld, she almost feels as though she has a friend.

“Well, Emma, I don’t know how you’re here but I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad moment.” He hangs his head, fiddling with a hangnail on his left hand.

“Your mother…” Emma says it in barely a whisper but Killian hears it all the same. She clasps her hands over her mouth.

“How did you––” He looks afraid of her and she hates it.

“Killian, I––,” She reminds herself again he’s just a dream, “The book I was reading… you were–– are a character in it. That’s how I knew your name, and about your mom. I also know about your brother, Li––”

“Killian? Is that you? Killian!” Emma is cut off by who she can only assume is Liam looking for his little brother. She scoots a bit away from him and hides her face in embarrassment while he turns to talk to his brother. Confusion was etched across Killian’s face before they were interrupted.

“Aye, Liam. It’s me. I’m sorry for running, it’s just… mother… she––” Killian is practically toppled over by a hug from Liam.

“I understand, Killian.” Liam looks as though he’s been crying but smiles and rubs his brother’s head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It’s then that he notices Emma. “Brother, who is this?”

Killian’s neck heats up with blush and Emma has to suppress a giggle. “Liam, this is Emma of Iowa.”

Emma chuckles loudly this time and Liam looks a bit confused but brushes it off quickly, “Ah, hello Emma. I hope my little brother hasn’t burdened you with our troubles too much. Where is your family?”

Killian mumbles something that sounds like “younger brother” and Liam smirks slightly. She supposes it’s something between siblings and ignores the ache for a family that lives deep in her soul. Emma snaps out of her melancholy to answer, “Oh, um, they’re at home.” She shoots a look at Killian, urging him to help her keep her secret. She once again is warring with the part of her brain which says none of this is real but shoves it down in light of Liam’s stare. “I should be going.”

Killian looks like he’s about to say something when Liam speaks, “Ah, yes, well we should be getting back to our parents as well.” Liam’s voice cracks at the word parents, but he continues his strong facade in front of his brother. “Ready, Killian?”

“Aye, I’m right behind you, brother.” Liam hesitates but turns away to leave Emma and Killian to say goodbye.

Emma speaks first, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Killian.” She looks down at her hands, she’s never had parents, but she can imagine watching one die is not easy.

“It’s ok, Emma. Liam and I will manage.” Emma can tell he’s being brave for her but she lets him continue. “You go home now, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents, I’m an orphan.” It bursts out of her before she can stop herself, her innate need to be honest with Killian taking over. She’s scowling now, ready to spit back any pity he throws her way, but when she looks up, all she sees is understanding. He nods at her.

“Will I see you again, Emma? Friends are all too rare in my life.” She smiles softly, happy to have made a friend herself.

“I hope so, Killian.” They smile at one another and she hears Liam call him from a distance. Killian nods once more and runs to his brother, glancing back over his shoulder one last time. Emma smiles, and watches him fade from sight.

As quickly as Emma landed in this world, she is back in her bed. The book sits open on her side table. She grabs it, hoping to see more of Killian’s story to add fuel for the rest of the night’s dreams. Emma is shocked at what she sees. Side by side are the text of her encounter with Killian, and a perfect sketch of the two of them sitting on the edge of the pier. Emma expects to be scared, but instead she’s comforted by the drawing of her and her new friend. She closes her book, and places it in it’s hiding spot, easily drifting off to sleep with memories of ocean air and the sound of Killian’s voice.

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

She hasn’t visited him since Ingrid— it’s not fair that she uses him like this, but she needs him.

And he promised. They promised.

With a deep breath, she opens the book and thinks of her friend as the warm light surrounds her and takes her away...

Sea air fills her lungs as she finds her footing– the breeze a sure sign she’s landed wherever Killian finds himself these days. She orients herself by finding the water and spots a ship coming into land– Emma would know that ship anywhere. While she can tell it’s the Jewel, the vessel’s usually regal presence seems tarnished somehow. As it nears the shoreline, she sees Killian at the helm. A smile spreads across her face before she can stop it– he always looked so at home on the water. As he nears the beach, Emma senses something different about her old friend. He’s older, each of them learning long ago moves differently in their separate worlds– almost as they need it to rather than on any set timeline– but she can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than age.

Killian directs the crew effortlessly, not a single soul arguing with him. The ship hits land and Killian gazes over the side long enough for Emma to notice the heavy space beside him. Something’s missing– someone’s missing. It dawns on her as the ramp hits the sand… Liam.

Killian walks off the ship with a swagger she doesn’t recognize– a false confidence she’s positive only she would recognize as a front. Second guessing her decision– maybe she’d stayed away far too long– Emma reaches for the leather book. Selfishly, she takes one more look at her friend, or the man which used to be. He scans the beach with a stoic look that only falls away when he meets her gaze. A smile breaks out across her face as he runs towards her. She lets go of the book, anxious to learn more about where she is and what Kilian’s been up to. He barely says hello before she's wrapped in his arms choking up at the pure innocence of his laugh when he picks her up and twirls her around.

“Emma Swan!” Killian puts her down, swiping a soft curl from her cheek, “It’s been so long, love.”

Emma can’t speak, she’s changed since they last met, but not like him. Studying him, she releases him from her grasp and her hands trail down his arm, hesitating when her left one hits something foreign. Killian flinches and tucks it under his jacket. She’s still unable to put a finger on what’s different, but her old friend, always sure and steadfast, seems… lost. She can’t help but speak candidly, “Killian, where is Liam?”

He smirks, a mask unfamiliar to her aside from her brief glimpse of him exiting the ship, “Ah, yes, ‘fraid my brother was lost to the sea.” He gazes off before seemingly being startled into remembering her existence, “Emma! You can’t be here, it’s dangerous.”

Emma looks around for the first time since she arrived and realizes this place is unlike any portside town she’d landed in previously. “Where exactly is… here?”

If she didn’t know better– Killian Jones is not afraid of anything– she would’ve sworn she saw fear flicker across his eyes, “Best you not know. Why are you here? Is everything alright?”

His genuine concern reminds her of the pregnancy test she left in the Shell bathroom. Never one to mince words and never sure how long they truly have, Emma breaks the news abruptly, “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

Now she knows its fear– coupled with a brief flash of sadness that she doesn’t have the energy to dissect– that crosses his gaze, “Emma, ho–”

She cuts him off, she doesn’t want to answer the questions, doesn’t want to disappoint him, “It doesn’t matter. I will be ok, I just… needed to see you.”

He nods before turning to a small man in a red beanie who has hovered close by but out of earshot for the entirety of their conversation. “Smee, it will be dark soon. Gather supplies and take the crew aboard. I will return shortly.” The man nods before yelling a feeble attempt to wrangle up the rest of the crew while Killian leads Emma closer to the water’s edge. She knows there’s more to everything happening here than he’s letting on, but she also knows that if he’s not telling her, it’s with reason.

They find a small alcove, hidden from the ship, and Killian takes her in his arms swaying slowly. She can’t help but giggle, “Killian, what are you doing?”

“Just, I know you probably don’t have long, but please– before you go, just– one dance.” She nods, this tradition is one she should’ve seen coming. They danced the first time when Emma was nervous for her first homecoming dance– he taught her how to slow dance. Her next trip was to tell him she’d moved again and never gotten to go to the dance after all– so they swayed once more... that was the last time she’d visited.

As they settle into a comfortable stance, Emma feels something cold hit the small strip of skin exposed at her back. Logically she knows it should be his left hand, but the chill feels metallic. She stops herself from flinching, not at what must be a prosthetic, but at the temperature of the metal. Meeting his gaze, she can tell her lack of response comforts him briefly before the exhaustion and fear returns to his features. He forces a smile before pulling her closer— clearly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore than she wants to be home, so she dances. Killian hums quietly, a melody she’s heard many times before and often sings to herself when she needs the comfort of her friend. They don’t speak at first, the soft sound of his hum and the distant white noise of waves hitting the sand more than enough to fill the air around them.

Emma feels another wave of fear fall over her and breaks the silence, “I don’t really know how, Killian.”

He leans in closer, “It’s easy. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He winks at her and they feel like children again— twirling in fields of flowers and playing along the shoreline. For a moment, she forgets the monumental changes waiting for her at home and just tries to be happy. Killian spins her around, dipping her, and making her laugh like she hasn’t in what feels like her entire life. He slows and begins to hum a different shanty she doesn’t recognize but causes her to sway back and forth all the same. She has to stop herself from jumping when he speaks again, “I know you’re scared, Swan, but you can do this.”

Emma doesn’t tell him that she knows she can’t, that she knows Neal can’t– or that he won’t. Instead, she just savors the moment with her best friend.

Whether he’s real or fiction or an impossible dream stopped mattering long ago— Killian is always here, a constant in her inconsistent life, and that’s worth everything to Emma. She gazes into his eyes, as easy to lose herself in as the ocean, and he looks back. They’re practically nose to nose and Emma can see every scratch, bruise, and line of exhaustion that covers his face.

He’s still one of the most beautiful humans she’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s that realization that causes her to lean in ever so slightly. His eyebrow raises quickly before mimicking her movement. They have history, it’s patchy and incomplete, but it’s theirs and no matter what Emma always finds herself back in this fantasy’s arms.

He’s fiction, always has been, but he’s been an escape all the same. Emma doesn't second guess her decision to kiss him– no harm, no foul when this is all a dream anyway…

But it never comes.

Their moment is disrupted by a loud cawing noise. It almost sounds like a bird, but the way he flinches and the stoic fear that settles across Killian’s face hints that, whatever made that noise, is not to be messed with. His back stiffens beneath her hands before he moves in front of Emma. Using his left hand– no, hook– he pushes aside the tree blocking their view, “I’m sorry, Swan. You need to go. Now.” He turns back to her frantically, and with fear in his eyes growing, she has no choice but to believe him.

Her heart is beating loud enough that she's positive he can hear it too and she’s not sure if it’s the imminent danger or the fact she almost kissed him.

He’s not real, Emma.

Still, the look in his eyes fools her into playing along once again, rushing back towards his ship as darkness falls like a blanket across the beach. Emma stops him, selfishly pulling him behind a bush for just one more moment alone. “When will I see you again?” She isn’t sure why she’s asking when it’s always been up to her.

He smiles at her before pulling her tight, “Just hold onto this— to us and our parallel existences.” His right hand cups her cheek and she takes a moment to find comfort in his warmth, “You’re one of the only reasons I’m alive, Emma Swan. Let me be your something, as you are mine.”

Emma can feel herself crying now, the reality she’s returning to feeling scarier than whatever has Killian rushing her home, but he’s counting on her to survive, so she will. “I’ll see you soon, Killian.”

He smiles at her one more time, bright and hopeful, “Aye, Swan. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she feels the warmth bubble inside of her as the light surrounds her once again and takes her back. In no time at all she’s sitting again on the dingy tile floor of a gas station in Phoenix. She holds the book close once more before putting it back in her bag. She sighs, remembering Killian’s faith in her, as she grabs the pregnancy test and goes to break the news to Neal.

As she leaves the bathroom, she’s startled by two officers with their guns drawn. As she’s told to raise her hands up, the lifted watch Neal gave her for her birthday catches the harsh fluorescent light and the positive test falls from her hand clattering against the linoleum at her feet.

Phoenix, AZ; August, 2001

“Emma, are you sure?” The doctor questions her as he wraps her crying son in a towel.

She refuses to look, the tears and sweat stinging her eyes. Emma knows if she holds the small boy, she won’t be able to give him up. The doctor turns away, placing the small boy into a bassinet behind him and Emma feels a weight lifted from her. Being given up herself, Emma swore she’d never put a child in that position, but she also never thought she’d be giving birth in prison.

The recollection of her own upbringing sparks something inside of her, “Wait!” The doctor turns around, something like hope in his eyes. Emma knows he thinks she’s changed her mind, but in reality, her decision has only been further solidified by her choice not to send him off alone. “There’s a book. In my personal belongings. It’s leatherbound and full of fairy tales– please, send it with him.”

The doctor looks at the guard who nods before sending their partner to retrieve the storybook. She’ll feel safer knowing even a piece of her— and a larger piece of Killian– will be with her son no matter where he ends up. The book made her feel like her parents at least cared enough not to send her off alone, and she hopes it provides the same comfort for her son.

It can be his something to hold onto.

Slight melancholy aches through her at the realization she’s given up her right to visit Killian ever again. She thinks he’d understand– support her even. Still, Emma smiles softly as the book is placed next to the hospital crib before drifting off where memories of distant lands keep her fast asleep.

Boston, MA; October, 2011

“Another banner year.” Emma blows out the blue star candle, and makes the simplest of birthday wishes. As she begins to unwrap the cupcake there’s a knock at the door. Startled, but curious, she opens it to a young boy looking at her like she’s standing on her head.

“Can I help you?” Emma’s had a long night, and while she could really go for some girl scout cookies, she doubts the small boy outside her door at 8pm is here to sell her any.

“Are you Emma Swan?” He tilts his head as he asks, a simple movement that Emma almost finds endearing.

“Yeah. Who are you?” She’s trying not to be impatient, but she really needs to take a shower and wash off the scum from her skip earlier that evening.

“My name is Henry. I’m your son.”

Well she wasn’t expecting that .

Storybrook, ME; 2011

Henry’s adoptive mother is– something. Regina Mills is not who Emma expected when she spent late nights picturing Henry with a family, but he has a roof over his head and everything he could ever want. And the town, Storybrook, is quaint and safe. Henry seems healthy.

What more could she have wanted for her son?

Maybe to not have the gut feeling that something— no everything — is off in this town.

Regina (aggressively) asked her to leave after dropping Henry off, but she can’t find it in herself to head back to Boston just yet. She wanders into a small diner that touts an attached inn, and the warm atmosphere is beyond inviting. Against all previous plans, she settles herself onto a stool at the bar and orders herself some hot chocolate. As she sips her drink, she takes in the rest of the diner only to realize almost everyone is looking at her. Almost. There’s a dark haired man with his back to her sitting in one of the booths. Emma finds herself fixated on him, and the fact that, unlike everyone else in the diner, he couldn’t seem to care less that she’s here.

A waitress in a short red skirt drops off soup at his table before making her way back towards Emma. “Hey, new girl. You want some food?” Startled by her forwardness, Emma responds with a stutter, “I– uh– no– I’m not– uh.. Why is everyone staring at me?”

The girl– Ruby if her name tag is anything to go by– belly laughs before answering, “Girl, we haven’t had visitors to this town in ages .” Emma isn’t sure how to take that but Ruby doesn’t seem to mind as she keeps talking, “I mean, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a visitor in this diner. Strictly regulars. That’s why they’re staring, hun. Not to mention, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.” She shrugs her shoulder in Emma’s direction and winks with a wolf’s smile.

She’s spunky and Emma likes her, “Well, I’m happy to be your first. Do you have any rooms?”

Ruby scoffs again, “All of them– no visitors remember? Except room 9, Sailor Boy over there has taken up permanent residence in that one.” The waitress motions towards the man in the back booth before flagging down an older woman asking for a room key.

Emma glances again at the dark haired stranger, wanting to know more, but having no real reason to strike up a conversation. Before she can approach him, she’s being handed a key and ushered up the stairs to her room by a pushy old lady that everyone seems to affectionately call Granny. She settles in for the night, her curiosity about the town and its residents only growing the longer she stays.

When she wakes up, it’s to Henry knocking on her door again. She opens to find him practically vibrating, “You stayed?!”

She can’t help but smile at his excitement, finding it hard to tamper her own, “Yeah, kid, I did. Don’t you have school or something?”

Henry smiles, “Not for another hour, wanna grab some breakfast?”

Emma nods and follows her son– not sure she’ll ever get used to that– down the stairs to grab some breakfast from the diner. They order from the counter when all the booths are full, but decide to move when one opens as their food is ready. Emma thanks Ruby, grabbing their plates of waffles, before turning towards the booth just as someone walks behind her. The plates crash to the ground, both her and the man she bumped into bending down to help with clean up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, lass. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Emma knows that voice– would know it anywhere.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up at her, concern etched across the animated eyebrows she’s known for almost her entire life. If she wasn’t positive before, she is now, the blue eyes that haunted her dreams for years after giving up the book are staring directly back at her. “Killian?”

He looks stunned, but there’s no recognition in his eyes— eerily similar to their first night so many years ago on the docks. The warmth of his gaze, the excitement at meeting once again, and the hint of infatuation Emma always stopped herself from hoping for are gone without a trace. The unsettled feeling that’s sat in Emma’s stomach since the moment she and Henry crossed the town line the night before seems to boil over. All the air feels as though it’s escaped her lungs, suffocating her as she realizes the only person she’s ever come close to calling her best friend has no idea who she is. Her fear is solidified when he speaks again, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​

[inevitably-johnlocked]

can we adress how toxic some of these self/harm and suicide fics are?? as someone who has struggled with these issues, treating them as just a way for the two characters to get together, or one character to be the savior who cures someone of their problems? I'm so frickin over it. continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention is a symptom of something major. This is not something i like seeing romanticized. at all.

[CONTENT WARNING FOR ENTIRE POST: heavy discussions of trauma, suicide, self harm, depression, political issue mentions, and eating disorders. Please proceed with care. I am not cutting the post because I think the message is important, so scroll past until my icon disappears <3 Stay safe, My Lovelies.]

Hey Nonny

Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here because you mention you DO have struggles with these issues, so I’m going to state right up front here and say I AM NOT DISREGARDING YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AT ALL. Your view of this topic is valid, and it’s not something I am ever going to say is wrong for you. 

I would like to offer an olive branch, here, Nonny, and give you an alternative take on this, because I’m concerned that perhaps you are still coping with your own struggles and in return, you unwittingly and unintentionally are coming off as unsympathetic to other people’s coping mechanisms.

I KNOW how hard it is to see another view when yours is the only one that seems right, especially after a tragedy or after dealing with heavy things. But all I am asking is for you to temporarily extend some empathy as I discuss my thoughts in this post, and I apologize in advance if I come off as dickish, because, again, it’s hard to see past your own feelings, and I tend to give a “firm but understanding” approach to asks like this. It’s NOT meant to call you our personally. Just asking for an open mind.

I will tackle this ask in a similar fashion to this post here, which talks about shipping vs fetishization so CW for that, as well as like this post here, where we discuss pet peeves. My assumption here is that Nonny is unsure about what “romanticizing” actually entails, and how much this ask is basically Gatekeeping Fiction 101, a thing that’s been going on since the beginning of storytelling. The ask is perceived by me to be emotionally unaware of how unsympathetic it actually sounds, and in turn can unintentionally upset people who engage in these stories.

First thing’s first, Nonny, and I said it before, I GET IT. I understand what you’re going for here, why you feel it’s toxic, and why you think it shouldn’t exist. Here’s the thing, though: what you’re ACTUALLY calling for here is censorship and gatekeeping because YOU PERSONALLY take issue with something, want the fandom specially curated just for you, because it PERSONALLY OFFENDS YOU. And that, it itself, is what’s really toxic, here. Just because YOU are offended, does not mean that it’s not helpful to SOMEONE ELSE, and it’s selfish to make such a demand of people.

Let me explain.

As I mention in the link above re: shipping, many people read and write fics to cope with the reality of their own experiences. Nonny, your experience is NOT the same as someone else’s. Your pain is NOT universal, and you DON’T KNOW what that author has been through; for all you know, they spent 6 months in-hospital after attempting suicide, and they are now simply processing their trauma through storytelling. 

Or, “continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention” ? It’s a VERY REAL THING that ACTUALLY happens in real life, and perhaps it happened to that author, or they want to write an alternate ending to their pain.

Or, “one character to be the saviour who cures someone of their problems?” is something a suicide survivor WISHES someone did for them. Because they feel alone in the world and don’t want to be alone anymore.

These stories are simply escapism for people, either to learn about or share what these mental illnesses do to people, or are the “fantasies” of survivors, of their ideal outcome to their own tragedies. Coping with guilt over the loss of someone they feel they could have saved. The brutal truth about realty.

And sometimes, it is because some people need a good cry and a feel-good happy ending, because real life? Well, it rarely has those happy endings and so few opportunities to let us cry, and sometimes life is just easier when we view it through the eyes of fictional characters. Do you not want someone to save you sometimes Nonny? And I mean metaphorically here, too. Someone to just take all of your hellish burdens off those shoulders for one day. Someone who will come in to save you from yourself. I know I do.

And, well, sometimes, Nonny, it makes people feel less alone in this socially distanced world.

They’re not glorifying that issue Nonny. They’re telling their story.

Here are some thoughts:

Romanticization: Some trendy teen outlet selling a shirt with “mentally diseased” written across it.

NOT Romanticization: A character in a story coming to terms with a diagnosis of mental illness and learning ways to adapt. Their partner is involved 100% and they learn together.

Romanticization: Sherlock merchandise being sold with “I’m a high functioning sociopath” (not mention ableist as all heck)

NOT Romanticization: A character self-harms because of depression, and character B helps the character through their pain and together they get proper therapy and treatment.

Romanticization: Calling yourself “OMG I’m so bipolar!” because it’s trendy.

NOT Romanticization: A clinically depressed author, who survived a suicide attempt, wanting to tell their story through characters the world is already familiar with, and one that a touchy subject can be expressed and understood by other people, because they’re not ready to write the “real” book. Fandom is a safety net for them.

See what I mean Nonny? We don’t KNOW what kind of pain these authors have PERSONALLY been through, and to censor them from having their voices heard and their stories told is just not on for me.

And let me be clear: YES OF COURSE romanticization happens EVERYWHERE. I am not denying that. But your ask is coming off like EVERY STORY EVER WRITTEN is glorification of something. By your logic:

Disabled people shouldn’t write about their disabilities because they’re romanticising themselves.

The authors with medical degrees shouldn’t write realistic med-fics because some where in the world, ONE person MAY HAVE had a similar experience as Character A and B.

Someone broke their foot in ballet so they shouldn’t write a story about a ballet dancer who broke their hip because it may offend ONE ballerina SOMEWHERE in space and time who got sideline at the prime of their career? 

Stories about LGBT+ people shouldn’t be written because homophobes think it’s icky.

We shouldn’t write about wizards because it offends high school catholic pastors (an actual thing that happened)? 

How about cancer stories because kids die of cancer all the time? 

Non-fiction autobiographies about holocaust survivors is not okay.

Science books offend flat earthers, so we shouldn’t write those.

Books about the Big Bang and a 4.5 billion-year-old earth offends creationists, so burn those.

A now-adult child rape victim writing their survival stories to help get their often-in-power abusers behind bars are taboo.

True crime stories from detectives on those cases shouldn’t be told because they weren’t the victim.

Non-fiction in general because someone somewhere may have had that one singular thing happen to them.

How about coping with grief over a parent’s sudden death because I personally might find offense in that since that was a horridly traumatic experience in my life?

Do you see how progressively out of touch this argument is? (the answer to all of these: authors should be allowed to write them, because stories make us human). Your argument leads down the very dangerous path to censorship of books, the internet, and history... to have people only read and learn what someone else dictates, leading to... well.

I’m not trying to be a dick here, Nonny, I’m really not. But I think you’re really missing the entire point of fiction and story telling. I feel you’re failing in the empathy game here, and failing to understand what romanticizing really actually is. 

Whenever I get asks like this, I always feel like the Nonnies don’t really know much about pre-Ao3. I come from “early internet” fandom age, and I’m talking before tags existed. Back when I had to go buy a book at Coles and guess what was in it based on a cover description. No “amazon reviews”. No “harmful content warning” stickers. You just picked up that book, and sometimes you get a sweet story about a friends exploring an alien landscape, and other times WHOOOPS ACCIDENTAL ALIEN SEX I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR. And sometimes, it ended with a dark story about death, and the reality of coping with it.

Twenty years ago, books on the shelves at bookstores and libraries were the only place you could do your reading and they certainly do NOT have tags on them... Modern tagging of stories are a REALLY recent thing introduced probably no less than 15 years ago and was perfected by Ao3 (which was started in 2009). 

These days, there is no excuse if you only consume fanfiction on Ao3. Fics are tagged with proper possible-trigger tags 90% of the time. They have a VERY METICULOUS filtering system. You aren’t being forced to read the fics, you don’t have to read the fics, so use those tag filters, they exist for a reason.

So, with that in mind, I genuinely DON’T GET this attitude about people wanting everything sugar coated and saccharine by default. Especially when you can LITERALLY CURATE YOUR OWN CONTENT. Life isn’t sugar coated. And fiction shouldn’t have to be either. People tag fics with triggers for a reason.

As they used to say back in my early internet days: Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Don’t comment, skip, next story.

And to put this ALL into perspective, so that you don’t think I’m talking out of my ass, I’m going to reveal something here: Do you know what fics I can’t read, Nonny, because they trigger me? Eating disorders. That’s self harm, Nonny, in a very different way. But you know what? I know that those fics DO help other ED people so I’m not going to sit her and tell people NOT to rec or write them. And some of those authors who write those stories are processing their own ED through those stories, healing in their own way. And you know what I do when I see one of those fics? I don’t read them, move on, next story.

I’m sorry if you perceive this as me being harsh with you here, Nonny, and you DON’T have to agree with me and you can block me and never talk to me again, and I’ll understand. As I stated at the beginning, I’m offering an alternative perspective, and helping you to see that some people take comfort in these types of stories.

I think what this all boils down to Nonny, after all of this, and rereading your question a final time to see if I missed covering anything, is that (and feel free to shit on me if I am wrong here) I’m getting the impression – as an unprofessional outsider looking in – that you’re still struggling with your inner demons, whether you realize it or not. The tone and brashness of your ask has me believing this... It feels like it was written after a trigger-moment and you needed to vent AT someone because you are alone, and that hurts my heart so much. I truly hope you find peace in your mind, soon, and I hope you have someone to talk to professionally, or at least a friend. (tw under link, suicidal ideation discussion and links to phone numbers that can help you). I only wish the best for you, my Nonny.

Anyway. I welcome other people to chime in here, respectfully, and let me know if I have the wrong take here. Because I genuinely don’t think I do, but I am not a professional, so my entire thing that took me 3 hours to write here is probably moot. I’m especially interested (on anon in my asks if you’re not comfy with revealing yourselves) on thoughts from other people who have survived the original topics here, as well as any therapists and authors as well.

Take care of yourself Nonny. And please curate your own content for your mental health. Ao3 has an “exclusionary tag system” as well, please use it. *hugs*

[bitchassbucky]

Ｔｗｉｎｅｄ: Ａ Ｓｏｕｌｍａｔｅ ＡＵ

📎Word count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: Mentions of death, f-bombs galore. MINORS DNI.

📎A/N: Hey lovelies <3 @honeyvbarnes​ and I worked on this Soulmate AU and we hope that y’all like it! I loved working with my bff and we’ll do it again hopefully <3 enjoy!

📎Honeyvbarnes’s Masterlist

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

When Bucky Barnes died back in 1943, he died knowing that he lived his life without a soulmate. 

When he turned eighteen, he waited for a flash of annoyance, stress, or anything emotionally malicious that came from his soulmate since emotional pain is supposedly said to connect two wandering souls no matter how far they are from each other.  

A bit sadistic, Steve Rogers would say. But Bucky would always counter his friend’s point with, “you see, Stevie when your soulmate gets hurt, you’re the only one who can hear them-- at least in your head-- and you can help them, you can help them find you,” 

“Still, I don’t want someone to suffer just to make a connection with me,” Steve said, ever a gentle-hearted (but strong-headed) person.

“They’re not gon’a. Annoyance is enough for them to create a short connection,”

“What I’m hearing is that I get a pass for annoying you more,”

It’s hot. Searing. Humid. The air is so thick, you can almost choke on it.

The beach is filled with people-- couples and families mostly and your mind wanders to soulmates.

You never had one and as far as you’re concerned, you’re better off without one.

Since your eighteenth birthday, you felt a great deal of stress coming off from your soulmate. You had to go through various therapy sessions, evaluations, and couple’s counseling since the supposed love of your life won’t answer to your pleas and calls as to what the fuck is going on inside their head.

They never let you in and it seems like they will never let you in.

Not now and not ever especially since the torment of nightmarish inner turmoil had subsided; granted, there are still some night terrors but it doesn’t compare to the pain you felt back then.

You started thinking maybe they were in the army or something of that sort. 

Maybe, maybe. What if, what if

That’s your inner turmoil; the boiling water inside the pot. 

You weren’t sure where to start looking for them-- you spent years trying to get through but you never get as much as a word.

So you gave up.

And not a lot of people give up on their soulmates, at least not the ones who never had to spend literal years of their lives trying to coax out a word out of their loved one.

You still get worried and anxious about them. You still try to comfort them after a particularly bad nightmare even though you know they won’t answer back to you. You still tell them that you’re always there, ready to give the comfort only a true soulmate can give.

You wanted to give them warmth not knowing that they dislike the heat.

Bucky had always hated the summer. He hated how everything is so warm and dry and humid. He hated how he can’t stay bundled up in dark sweaters and jackets, he hated the way that the glow of the scorching sun brings out the best in people. 

He prefers the cold. The harsh winters remind him of his past, and he likes to suffer, he allows the despair and loneliness to settle deep in his bones. The heat of the summer makes it more difficult for him to keep his mind separated from yours. 

Bucky Barnes died back in 1943 without a soulmate, but after his resurrection in Wakanda, he knew you were there. The dull feeling of annoyance would come in waves and he knew you hadn’t felt him yet. 

Oh, but you did, he came to realize. Over the years, Hydra had control over him, his mind, and his soul. The constant wipe of his memories not even sparing a chance for him to feel emotion, to feel you. The harsh realization that you had to feel the same pain he had, makes him sick. 

Thinking of the years of abuse and torture makes him want to apologize profusely, but would you even understand? Would you ever love the person that’s caused you so much pain? He doesn’t know who you are or your age, and the fact that his soulmate lives in an era where he was never meant to live in, still confuses him to this day. 

So he’s built up walls, a mind blockade in hopes that you’d move on without him. He doesn’t deserve love after all that he’s done. Mostly, you don’t deserve him as a soulmate. You deserve better, he thinks. 

He feels guilty shutting you out, but he forces the guilt away because he knows you can feel that too. On his bad days, you still assure him that he’s not alone in this world. You give him warmth to soothe his ice-cold heart, but he rejects it, doesn’t want it, doesn’t deserve it, he’ll tell himself. 

One fateful summer day changed that though. 

As Sam Wilson finished packing the car with what he calls ‘beach essentials’, Bucky Barnes had his mind a thousand miles away. 

“You okay, tin man? Got your sunscreen?” His dark-haired friend chides soothingly. Sam was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt, his Raybans clipped onto his lapel, and his skin smelled of berries and shea butter; he smelled and looked like the personification of summer himself.

“Let’s go, Wilson; I don’t have the patience of getting stuck in traffic with the both of ya,” Bucky rolled his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, his hair tied in a low bun, he was wearing a baseball shirt and a summer-themed beach short with seagulls on it, as per Sam’s request. His skin glistened with the newly applied sunscreen he snatched from his go-bag. 

“And what’s so bad about it?” Steve wore a flannel and dark jeans combo, his baseball cap was on backwards, because ‘I wanted to try something new,’ he said, and he opted for a pine-scented suntan lotion instead, deciding to get a slight tan.

Bucky decided not to answer the question.

The ocean mist filled your senses as your book chapter hits its end. Putting down the easy-reading material, you stretched out and propped up yourself, thinking if you should join the other beachgoers in the water.

Giving it a quick thought and then glancing at the beach’s showering station, you decided against splashing around. This is more of a reading day for you.

You picked up your dog-eared book again and started to read when a good gust of wind kicked up the sand, sending a few grains your way, you quickly closed your eyes and yet, just as fate intended, you ended up with sand particles in your left eye.

“Ow, what the--” Bucky instinctively put up his arm to protect his eyes when a breeze flew past them, “something’s in my eye.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity-fuck.

Your eye has been invaded by sand and it feels like it’s scratching your cornea raw. You can think straight, you’re in pain albeit minimal, it’s still pain.

You try to scramble for the bottle of water you kept close for hydration, hoping it will be enough to put you out of your misery, washing out the sand.

“Something’s definitely in my eye, Sam, I feel it,” Bucky tries not to squirm so much under Sam’s touch, but the pain feels almost invisible, like it’s not his.

“Stop moving so much, I can’t see anything,” Sam said, reaching into his bag to get his eye drop he was saving especially for this occasion, “I got your back. Don’t tell me that I overpack ever again,”

Drenching yourself in water was better than the agonizing pain you felt not five minutes ago. Your left eye was red, pulsating, and tearing up like a mad dog in a shed; perhaps this was your cue to pack up and go home.

Then you feel that magnetic pull again. Stronger this time.

You suddenly remembered the lore and the tall tales of the universe pulling soulmates together, literally, if they were close enough to each other. You try your best not to walk to your left side as the pull dictates.

“Where are you going, Buck? Our spot’s right here.” Steve said, unpacking the food he prepared for their beach day. Sandwiches, chips, fresh fruits, and beer are already in place when Bucky felt a strong pull to his left side.

“I just- I gotta check something out,” He said, not knowing where his feet are taking him.

The lore said when you meet your soulmate, the gravity will shift around you. The magnets of your souls will push you towards each other even if you try to pry yourself away. Your bodies were from the same asteroid before and now the universe wants you together again.

You feel your skin prickle as you try not to look behind you. You’re familiar with the tales, the personal anecdotes, how it feels to be pulled towards your literal soulmate.

Bucky just stands in the sand, his eyes not wandering too far from where you’re standing, your back behind him.

Is this it? Is this his soulmate?

What if you hate him? What if you don’t want to be with him?

Bucky’s heart quickens with the thoughts, his anxiety riddles his brain as he tries to come up with something to call you.

When the pull is strong and the bond is unbreakable, rare cases of soulmates knowing each other’s names before they met is attainable. 

A single name popped up into Bucky’s head, “Y/N.”

[meltingheartsandcores]

A tale of Wangji misunderstanding his brother.

I had the idea of LWJ misunderstanding LXC’s insistence on discussing WWX as LXC being interested in WWX and viola! I hope you enjoy!

Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting a letter from Lan Wangji, in fact, considering their latest interaction, it was the last thing he expected. But, here it was. In plain view. Waiting to be opened. It wasn’t any notice of expulsion, or else it would be from Teacher Lan. Maybe it was a warning? Gloating?

No. No. Lan Wangji wouldn’t gloat.

“Stop worrying and just open the stupid letter. You’re keeping me up!” Jiang Cheng protests. Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at him but opens the letter and reads.

And grows more confused.

“He, wants to meet me after curfew.” He also gave a place, well, he said to meet where they first fought and Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel like explaining it to Jiang Cheng or telling him. Ever.

He lost two good jars of wine that night.

“Good for you. Maybe he wants to bash your head in.” Jiang Cheng grumbles and rolls over, finally going to bed. Wei Wuxian would never actually sleep at nine, but he’ll suffer waking up at five. Mostly because he has no choice in the matter. Still, he’ll meet Lan Wangji for this weird meeting. Why it can’t just happen within Wei Wuxian or Lan Wangji’s room, he doesn’t know. Maybe he does want a rematch. But, would he break the rules for that?

An hour passes before Wei Wuxian sneaks out and heads to the rooftop he met Lan Wangji on that night. His curiosity was palpable but he stayed silent as he sat on the roof. Lan Wangji wouldn’t be late, right? It was impossible for Lans to be late, right? Their body clock was incredibly accurate. Maybe he fell asleep? Lan Wangji would’ve grown up going to bed at nine, maybe he couldn’t stay awake?

Wei Wuxian’s worrying was pointless as minutes after he starts, Lan Wangji jumps onto the roof and sits down beside him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. What’d you want to talk about?” Wei Wuxian asks, but Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. Instead, he puts a silence barrier around the roof they were on. Ohhkay. This is weird. “What’s going on?”

“I think Xiongzhang has a crush on you.”

“...what?” Does Lan Wangji have another brother? Because he can’t be referring to Zewu-Jun. That’s just- no. Not possible. Maybe he misunderstood something? Lan Wangji doesn’t always seem to grasp social situations correctly. “Uh, why do you think that?”

“He talks of you a lot. And asks me about you, along with asking how I feel about you.”

“How you feel about me?” Lan Wangji feels something other than annoyance with Wei Wuxian?

“Not relevant.” Okay, rude. “Xiongzhang seems interested in you.”

“Ohkay?” People have had crushes on Wei Wuxian before. He mostly ignored them. And considering he rarely interacts with Zewu-Jun, that won’t be a problem. Except that it’s Zewu-Jun. Lan Wangji has almost certainly crossed some wires. “Are you sure it’s a romantic interest? Maybe he’s just invested in you having a friend?”

“We are not friends.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I painted you a portrait.” Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure what he did with it once Wei Wuxian handed it over because there was an incident that distracted him. He hopes Lan Wangji didn’t shred it like that book. “And we’re gossiping on a rooftop about your brother. We’re friends.” Wait. Wei Wuxian grins, “Lan Zhan, isn’t there a rule about gossiping?”

“We are not in Cloud Recess.” Wei Wuxian huffs a laugh, his smile growing at Lan Wangji using his own reasoning from that first night.

“Fair enough. So, have you talked to your brother about his alleged crush on me?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, “I don’t believe he realizes.”

“No offence, but I think Zewu-Jun is more attuned to emotions than you.” Wei Wuxian’s comment earns him a glare and he shrugs, “You’ve been mostly isolated with only other Lans for company, Zewu-Jun has to go to clan meetings and shit. He’s more socialized than you. You literally have rules about being too happy or too sad.” Wei Wuxian could, annoyingly, recite the 3500 rules by memory now and write them all by muscle memory now. And there were far too many rules dictating what emotions you were allowed to feel and how to express them.

Lan Wangji’s glare softens back into his default expression and nods. “He is blind to his own feelings. He had a crush on Chifeng-zun throughout childhood, it was annoying. And he has no recollection of it.”

Wei Wuxian has never met Chifeng-zun, but from what he’s heard, he’s pretty sure most cultivators of their generation have a crush on him. Wei Wuxian included. He’s ripped, he’s giant, and he’s hot. Wei Wuxian has no plans on proposing marriage, he has enough anger issues from Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu thank you very much, but he’s not oppose to anything less.

“Most people have crushes on Chifeng-zun. It’s not that surprising, him allegedly having a crush on me, however…” It was doubtful. “Lan Zhan, if you’re so sure he has a crush on me, why haven’t you talked to him about it?”

“It would be inappropriate.”

“But it’s not inappropriate to talk to me about it?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, clearly, Wei Wuxian misunderstood. “He would deny it regardless. The feelings are inappropriate.”

Wei Wuxian’s first thought was the fact that the feelings are of a cutsleeve, but immediately dismisses that because they were just talking about Chifeng-zun. No, so, why… ohhhh. “Because I’m a junior disciple under GusuLan’s protection and he’s sect leader. If he were a worse person, he could use his influence to get what he wants. And if Uncle Jiang heard he might assume the worse.” Ugh. Stupid politics. Even if Uncle Jiang didn’t, someone would. They would see a Clan Leader taking advantage of a visiting junior disciple. Despite only being three years apart. Great.

Wei Wuxian hates politics.

“So, what’s your plan? Why tell me about it?” Because Wei Wuxian can’t see a reason.

“Do you return the feelings?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, because he can’t answer definitively, “I don’t know him well enough. I don’t really interact with Sect Leaders. Physically, yes, I am attracted to him. And from what I’ve heard he sounds like someone I’d be attracted to but I don’t really know him.”

Lan Wangji nods, “So you will get to know him. If you do not return the feelings then there is nothing to be done. They will disappear on their own.” Wei Wuxian isn’t sure about that logic, but maybe it was true for Zewu-Jun? According to Madam Yu, it was not true for Uncle Jiang. “If you do return the feelings…” Lan Wangji trails off, clearly at a loss.

“Offer to keep in contact once I leave? Maybe visit? If I’m not a guest disciple, but just a guest, it wouldn’t carry the same negative weight.” Lan Wangji nods in agreement.

“You should return to your bed.” Wei Wuxian nods and hurries back to his room, thankfully, he was not caught breaking curfew.

He did, in fact, wake Huaisang and immediately tell him about what Lan Zhan said. Huaisang was too groggy to properly react.

Immediately anyways.

About half a schichen later he shoots awake and wakes Wei Wuxian back up to interrogate him on Zewu-Jun’s apparent crush.

_-Morning-_

Regrettably, Operation Get To Know Zewu-Jun is on hold as Zewu-Jun left that morning for Qinghe. However, that meant Wei Wuxian had ample time to drag Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji away from people to make a plan. Since this was apparently happening.

“I still can’t believe Xichen-ge has a crush on you. No offense Wei-Xiong, but,” Huaisang looked doubtful.

“Lan Zhan said so. He knows Zewu-Jun best, right?” Wei Wuxian protests, turning to look at Lan Wangji at the same time as Nie Huaisang. Lan Wangji, looked determinedly uncomfortable.

“I do not understand what else he could be feeling. He talks about Wei Ying all the time, asks me about him, what else could that mean?” Ok, Lan Wangji sounded like he was actually confused. Well. He sounded vaguely unsure, barely a change in his tone, but, still. For Lan Wangji that’s complete confusion.

Nie Huaisang taps his fan to his chin, “That’s a good point. So what’s our plan?”

“Wei Ying will get to know Xiongzhang, if he does not return feelings we will cease.”

“And if he does?” Wei Wuxian blinks, realizing what he said and corrects, “I mean. If I do?”

Lan Wangji does not answer. Still clearly as unsure about that as last night.

Nie Huaisang, thankfully, has some ideas. “You wait until the classes are over, and you graduate, then you offer to keep in contact. Maybe do some night hunts or meet up. Go to dinner.” Nei Huaisang’s face scrunches up, “You’re going to have to get a taste for Gusu food.”

Wei Wuxian makes a similar face to Huaisang, “I can bring in chilli oil, right?” Wei Wuxian turns to look at Lan Wangji.

“Do not poison Xiongzhang with it.” Was Lan Wangji’s only response. Which was as good as agreement.

“Great. Now how do I get to know Zewu-Jun better?”

“Da Ge might know. I’ll send him a letter today, he’ll probably respond in three days. And we have at least a week before Xichen-ge comes back. So. We’ll have lots of time to practice.” Nie Huaisang informs, then asks, “But Wei-Xiong, why didn’t we bring Jiang-Xiong with us?”

Wei Wuxian makes a face, “Jiang Cheng might not respond well to my potential lovelife.”

“He makes many remarks about your lovelife.” Lan Wangji states.

“He jokes. Let’s just say it’s best if he finds out later. Will Da Ge really be that helpful though?” Nie Huaisang looked offended at the mere idea.

“Chifeng-zun became friends with Xiongzhang at a young age. His advice may be out of date.” Wei Wuxian was thankful for Lan Wangji’s support.

“But he’ll offer a different opinion!”

_—_In Qinghe_—_

Lan Xichen would appreciate it if Mingjue would stop laughing. It was not that funny! “What is so funny?” Lan Xichen didn’t think him bemoaning Wangji’s failure of a lovelife was funny!

Mingjue didn’t answer for another minute, too busy laughing. He takes a deep breath before he does, a smile still on his face, Lan Xichen couldn’t be angry with him. Mingjue wasn’t happy often anymore. Especially not to this extent. “You think Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian.” Mingjue repeats, looking very close to falling back into laughter.

“Yes. Why is that funny?”

Mingjue chuckles a little before he says, “Because. Wangji thinks you’re in love with Wei Wuxian.”

What.

“What?”

How-

Why-

Mingjue bursts into laughter again. “Stop laughing! Why does Wangji think that?” Lan Xichen demands, very much at a loss.

Mingjue’s laughter titters off, “I don’t know. He told Wei Wuxian who told Huaisang who told me. I was not privy to the inner workings of your brothers mind Xichen.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I barely know Wei-Gongzi.”

“So does Wangji but that didn’t stop you from assuming.” Mingjue refutes.

“They had a fight under the moonlight and Wangji started calling him Wei Ying after a week.” Lan Xichen deadpans.

“...Fair enough.”

“Why did Huaisang write to you?” Lan Xichen asks, he can’t imagine Wangji thinking he has a crush on Wei Wuxian was that noteworthy.

“He wanted advice on getting to know you. Apparently their current plan is seeing if Wei Wuxian likes you back after actually knowing you. They have no plan further than that.”

That… sounded regrettably like his didi.

Lan Xichen sighs, then furrows his brow slightly when he notices Mingjue looking at him intently, clearly thinking. Mingjue, was not a tactful person, he would say what’s on his mind eventually. He’s sure Mingjue has something meaningful to say. Maybe about their brothers. Maybe a solution to their new problem of his brother, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang believing Lan Xichen has a crush on Wei Wuxian. Since Wangji will take any denial on Lan Xichen’s part as polite denial based on Wei Wuxian’s current status as a guest disciple of GusuLan. So. Lan Xichen waits.

“Is there a chance you have a crush on Wei Wuxian?”

He shouldn’t have waited.

[jeannereames]

Hi Dr Reames, I hope you're well! I think I might have asked this before, so sorry if I'm being obnoxious, but do you think there is very much studying left to be done in regards to Alexander/Macedonia? Looking at the field from the outside, it seems a little bit like all that can be said, has been. Would you recommend studying Alexander specifically as a prospective academic path, or would you advocate pursuing other areas of classics?

The problem with studying ANYthing in the ancient world is always a problem of the sources. Unless there’s new material, then we’re all just doing ring-around-the-rosie with what we have. That doesn’t mean new things can’t be said. I’d point to my own work on Hephaistion, or for that matter, Alexander’s bereavement. I wasn’t looking at anything new, just looking differently at what we already had. As someone who’d done bereavement counseling, Alexander’s mourning of Hephaistion didn’t strike me as particular unusual, except in the amount of money he had and power to have his desires put into practice.

Also, scholarship tends to go through “fads,” like anything else. That is, someone makes a splash with a new approach, one that can be applied more broadly, and suddenly, a lot of people jump on board. That’s not necessarily bad, but it can result in oversaturation. Right now, one of the big fads is “reception studies.” So the rise of new directions in the study of old fields can offer alternative approaches to familiar material.

Another thing that can happen is for old fields to give birth to new ones. E.g, Charles Edson, Harry Dell, and then Nick Hammond all started asking questions about the country that produced Philip and Alexander, instead of writing just about them. Edson’s 1939 dissertation at Harvard, “Five Studies in Macedonian History” widened the lens but things really began to churn in the 60s and 70s. In 1972, Nick Hammond published the first volume in that massive A History of Macedonia, after having done Epiros earlier. He got Griffith to work with him on vol. 2, Griffith writing much of the material on Philip (which is still, btw, a pretty damn good summary of Philip’s reign, if you allow for material discovered since), then Walbank, already well-known as a scholar of Philip V, worked with Hammond on Vol. 3, which is the Hellenistic period.

Macedonian Studies was born, and by 1990, 3 different histories had appeared: a short version by Hammond on Macedonian Institutions called The Macedonian State, Gene Borza’s (still) excellent In the Shadow of Olympus, that goes up to Philip II, and Malcolm Errington’s A History of Macedonia that included ATG and the Hellenistic period. What followed (and was in between) involved numerous articles, then companions and conference proceedings. Alexander (and Philip) were still hot property, but many articles had nothing to do with them. New direction had been found.

Yet notice most of those early scholars were English-speakers. Partly, that owed to where it got started: Edson and Dell were Americans. They trained students who were also Americans. So Bill Greenwalt (Dell’s student) would go into Argead Macedonia with an interest in Illyria (and Thrace) because Dell had the same. There were some Greek scholars, such as Miltiades Hatzopoulos and Argyro Tataki doing a lot with epigraphy, and Manolis Andronikos himself, but the field was dominated by English-speakers for a while.

One of the bigger shifts in the last 20-25 years has been an expansion into other languages, plus the Greeks dominating the archaeology. When you take up high-level scholarship, there’s an assumption that you will read material in languages besides your own. When I got my PhD, aside from the ancient languages, common wisdom dictated I learn German and French.

BUT my NUMBER ONE piece of advice to anybody who wants to do ancient Macedonia today is LEARN MODERN GREEK.

Why? Because, as I said, the Greeks have taken back their own archaeology and most of their reports are in Greek. They’re talking to each other, and most (non-Greek) scholars don’t read modern Greek [that well]. That’s not entirely accidental, and some payback for the colonial dominance of the late 1800s and 1900s. (Elgin Marbles anybody?) The best way to keep out “interference” is to write mostly in a language few other scholars read well. That keeps Macedonian history in Greek hands. I would now advise young scholars that modern Greek is more important than French. Just as, if you really want to do Thracian history, learning Bulgarian and/or Russian might be a good idea.

It’s getting increasingly hard, as scholarship expands, to keep up with all the languages one needs. Current work is being done on Macedonia, as well as Alexander and the Hellenistic world in English, Spanish, Italian, German, modern Greek, and even Russian, and that doesn’t look at the wider world outside Europe (and colonial states). We’ve got a ton of talented young scholars on the continent, while jobs are lacking in many English-speaking countries, meaning students just aren’t going into it. English still remains a major language, largely because Americans and Canadians suck at learning other languages while the Europeans might speak 4-5. But English is becoming less relevant. As a grad student, I couldn’t have guessed I’d need Spanish and Italian more than French.

But LEARN MODERN GREEK, as that’s where the NEW stuff is. I doubt we’ll get much (if anything) new in textual evidence. By contrast, archaeology is rewriting what we thought we knew about north Greece. E.g., Methone now vies with Pithokousai for the earliest Greek script. Think about that a minute. Euboian Greeks and Phoenicians weren’t just hanging around off the coast of Cumai in the late 8th century, they were poking about the Thermaic Gulf, too, interacting with whoever the hell was at Pella before the Macedonians moved in (Bottaians, Paionians, somebody else…?). Who [what people] were buried at Archontiko between 650-450 BCE?? What was happening tradewise between Aiani in Elimeia and Corinth? That, to my mind, is where scholarship is going: or it should be. The Early Iron and Archaic Ages…periods before Macedonia even shows up in the written record with Herodotos.

Sure, I love Alexander, and I write about him a lot here, or Hephaistion, but I’m really an Argead specialist. I’m just as curious about how Alexander I used Persian power, then Persian absence to consolidate his own power and create Macedonia as we know it. When I first got to UNO, the Hellenistic Era was the “happenin’” place, but there are now a number of Macedoniasts doing that. Pat Wheatley (Brian Bosworth’s student) and Charlotte Dunn just (2020) published a new (probably definitive) book on Demetrios Poliorketes for instance (I’ve been waiting to see that for years). And there will always be Yet Another book on Alexander or Philip, but the place that is WIDE OPEN for research is the archaeology of Archaic and Early Iron Age Macedonia. That shit is interesting.

Go to Macedonia. Drive around and visit the museums (not just the big ones in Athens and Thessaloniki, or even Vergina). Go to Veroia, go to Pella, go to Aiani, go to Ioannina, go to Florina. See what’s up there. It’s COOL.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 26

“How are you, señorita?”

The first thing the man uttered the moment her directress left them to converse. She was obliged to tour the unexpected guest while the former needed to call her attention after sensing her spaced out actions.

Picking up a random book from a shelf, the man seemed to understood her circumstance. “Is it my poor Spanish that bothered you, or were you actually expecting someone other than me? Isn’t it, Ms. Sung?”  

Right then, she awakens from her reverie as she turns with embarrassment. “M-my apologies, sir…”

Igor Oblonsky, the Russian mafia boss himself only smiled as response. Truly, she didn’t see it coming and damn Judy for planting another rumor to her. When will she learn anyway for in it comes to him, she’s always been blinded with possibilities to possibilities. Proven how she end up dealing with a related one at this time.

“How long has it been? Three years, is it? Yet, I can still remember how you purposely scold me about him after thanking me for saving your foster parents. You’re one hell of a Gal indeed, Ms. Sung. You made this elite one a puppy, what more to him. No doubt, he’s into you.”

For she can only hide her blush by its words. “Disappointed, aren’t you?”

“S-Sir?”

“Having to expect me instead being able to see him.”

She went silent. “Ms. Sung, want me to tell you a secret? Guess, I had to share this to you anyway.” Then she listens.

Putting down the book he picked out, the elite man rested his arms at its back as they continue to walk in small steps of the venue. “You see Ms. Sung, when that boy came to me, he was a wimp but he is diligent. The first time I set my eyes on him, I knew he has the potential.  Much more after learning his true intention of joining my organization. That wise underdog kid who only clasp a hand just for his own experiment of SIESTA drug.”

“SIESTA?”

“Yes, SIESTA. You somehow heard about the drug?”

She was surprised, that’s for sure. How can’t anybody know about the famous drug which occupied most of the headlines back then including the mysterious person behind it. Just for her to learn that it was her loco all along? He’s hell of a wise man indeed for how can this important thing slip through her!

She can only look down then as she admits her incompetence. “W-who wouldn’t know about it sir, it’s been a talk in town back then, but I… I didn’t know he was involved. Into just how...” stuttered by her thoughts, the elite man openly answered for her.

“A risk taker he is, yes. He might not know about this, but I’m proud of that young man Ms. Sung. Then things happened, he became stronger while I became obsessed of his work. We bond, we became fond of each other or rather was I the only.” He laughed perhaps remembering a certain moment. “You see Ms. Sung, that lad was just too reserve on his own that you’ll actually be the one to adjust for him. A closed book I thought won’t open until you came.”

“Sir?”

Her abrupt response after hearing its last word as the Oblonsky just smiled to her. “I maybe ruthless young lady but I still do care for him like my own son. I do have a soft spot for that boy that It was easy for me to grant his wish to part ways with us. Did you know what I actually wish for him as well?”

She only looks at him as an answer, thus the latter looks back at her. A knowing stare she can’t seem to understand for she finally asks for it. “What is it, sir?”

Maintaining its smile as he wanders by the sight of the orphans. “I had wished that he’ll found a life better than he imagined. And thankfully it did. Thank you, Ms. Sung.” She was left confused.  

“I… am not following, sir. Sorry?”

Igor Oblonsky can only laugh hard as she looks flustered afterwards. “Oh, Jesus. I never thought I could still witness a cheesy lovesick schemes at this age. Child, have you ever wonder how he manage to ask this elite man in front of you to save mere strangers despite his long parting? For a mafia leader being dictated by a former man, that’s a shame on the ego you know. But how can I? I’m sure you know a bit of our little rules, try guessing.”

Indeed, she does. How can’t she if she was once surrounded by corrupting officials whom majority obviously, policeman openly boasting their petty achievements as one she repetitively learned about them was the fact that you can’t easily deal with gangs, unless…

“Consequence. H-He offered, didn’t he?”

Words starts to crack for she can actually imagine his surrendering decision back then while the latter is simply impressed as he urged her with heads on. “A smart girl you are, I see. Now, I want you to try more. Let me hear it.”

Then the rest has been bestowed upon her. All what she wanted to know, the Russian leader shared it not leaving an inch as guilt eat her once again. Because of her, he had to open the box he should have forgotten. The SIESTA drug he had to endure to remember from the failure of his lifetime. Her damn fault as it is.

Sensing her self-rue, the Russian man needed to speak. “Don’t blame yourself child. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it for you either. And even I as well.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

He turned to face her as he plastered another smile. “Like what I said I should be thankful of you, child. And this? This sponsorship is indeed my way of gratitude to you.” Ear to ear, the latter even spread its arms as a gesture of his work. Before turning to rest it behind again.

“Honestly, SIESTA was just an excuse for me to stay contact with him. I never take it seriously for I know he won’t give in anyway. It brought a nightmare to him, you see. Then that suddenly happened. A request I never expected to came through. A weakness I once tried to strike out into him was simply pluck by you. Did you know what I realize back then? Wow. My little boy, the Jang Taeyoung I once raised has finally found his life. A perfect match he wanted for a lifetime.”

Distinguishing where the topic will bring her once again, she needed to retort. “S-sir, I know what you’re thinking, but we… we weren’t like that. Our relationship, or so not even one, was just a product of hurdles needed to be compensated.” Screw herself for stuttering even.

But she was only responded by its shaking head. “I’m no love guru or something but if that’s not it then what more reason he’ll risk his own will just to save you? Compensation? Please, I had known him for so long and I never once saw him went all out for someone but you. As simple as that, child.”

Speechless. That’s all she could react for. She’s not dumb to understand either for she felt it as well. They both are, but being busted like this seemed to be a big slap for her. She’s not worth it, that’s how sudden she thought for herself.

~

Reprimanding from the downcast she felt on herself, she’s thankful how the opening of the event brought her back to distractions, letting her forget from another awakening despair as they both split turning to how their separate agenda should be. Enthralled instead from the book fair’s success like she always wished for.

She thought that was it. That was the last conversation she’ll have with the Russian leader not until the event has ended and was called for her attention once again. She was block by its car as soon as she went out of the event’s entrance. Gliding down its backseat window, she waited. “Señorita! Glad I still catch you, though.”

Peeking in, she needed to respond. “Sir?”

While the latter simply handed her a book and stilled her. The same one where she found the mysterious sticky note. This time, it was a folded one. She was bewildered for she needed to look back to the Oblonsky who practically answered her questions with swiftness. “This probably the last time I’ll be a matchmaker. So please just stop chasing games you two, will you?”

~el único arrepentimiento que tendré al morir es si no es por amor~

Reading another quote from its author as her name is next to it which actually became a sentence…

‘The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love, Sung Eunyoung.’

The Russian man knew something. Before she realized? It was too late. The matchmaker has fled to answer her proceeding ones. For their she is again, taking a never ending hope in mind for she can only hold on to the breeze she needed to breath as the shore’s solemnity would bring her peace.

Dwelled by the shutters of her eyes, alters of the blurs, she finally released the strain of her thoughts. ‘Find me, Sung Eunyoung’ Allowing herself to guise back by the puzzles of notes in her hands. She urged to remember the past.

“Why? Why did you have to say that in the first place if you intended to play with it anyway, cabrón?”

~

‘Te amo.’

That hasn’t been voice out yet she can clearly hear it. The last words which made her shatter from leaving. His dreaded frame she cannot fade away. It was all because of it. Stupefied of waiting.

Not knowing the person who’s currently occupying it has finally decided to show himself.  Full and whole, in front of her...

“Jang Taeyoung.”            

[clonewarslover55]

Walon Vau’s story

I decided to write out Walon Vau’s story, especially his home life and childhood. Why is Walon Vau the way he is? Read this and find out why. 

Notes: I used my own headcanons mixed with the small details Karen Traviss gave us in the Republic Commando books. Please don’t steal this because you think it’s all hers! 

Warnings: Bad childhood, abuse, child abuse, wounds, whipping, exile, royal drama, evil in the form of a man, thoughts of suicide, angst, 

Let’s start this off with a little bit of planet information and backstory! 

 The planet Irmenu is a small ocean world, the only land masses being large rocky islands. Most seem like mountains, with dangerous cliffs leading into the cold unforgiving sea. The ocean is riddled with beasts and monsters, but the only way of life is to sail. There are some valleys for livestock or farming, but not many. The valleys usually flood anyways, the storms always ruthless. So the Irmenu people fish and sail, searching for months on end just to survive and feed their family. 

Sailing is easy enough. The winds are strong and the seas rough. It’s cold year around, but the people have learned to adapt and survive. Wearing the fur of the air breathing sea beasts, making larger boats, etc. 

The kingdoms are clusters of islands, not one large land mass. Many islands are in large clusters, huge oceans between each cluster. The islands are all under the rule of the religious leaders, but sometimes there is still conflict. Conflict never lasts long on Irmenu though. 

This oceanic planet is in the Outer Rim, in the Belsmuth sector. Their planet is in the middle of the Crombach Nebula, which is extremely hazardous. This gives Irmenu a very good excuse to be so isolated. The leaders of the world use this to their advantage.  

This planet is a Feudal world, which means it’s controlled by a strict religion that also runs the powerful military. This means his world is very close minded and far behind on certain technologies and such. They still have spaceships and holopads, yes, but they’re out of date and ancient. 

The Imperius Priesthood runs the planet under very strict rules. They control what leaves and goes, along with who. They control the nobles and their money, using the Count’s as their marionettes. If you didn’t follow their rules/beliefs, you were either publicly executed, exiled, or sent to a nunnery. All depends on the situation. 

They’re everywhere, spying on their people and arresting whoever they please. Being so strict and ruling by fear affected the Irmenu people terribly. Most were religious fanatics, which means religion dictates every single part of their lives. They read the Irmenu Bible over and over instead of other books, and they follow the rules like good puppets. 

This planet is clearly terrible on it’s own, which only made Walon Vau’s childhood even worse. 

Walon Vau was born around 79 BBY on the planet Irmenu. He was the first and only son of the Count of Gesl, who was also an admiral in the very large Irmenu navy. Walon was raised like any royal, so he didn’t have much of a childhood.

Every second of every day was planned out by his father. He was highly educated, classes every day of the week and all day long. He rarely saw his parents, and when he did it was never under good circumstances. 

Walon learned proper etiquette, dancing, poetry, politics, and many other things he’d need to know for his future as a ruler. He was taught by a number of tutors, each brutal and cruel. He either learned, or was beaten. 

Once he reached the age of ten he began to work harder, practicing and studying for the navy. He didn’t want to follow in his fathers footsteps, but Walon had no choice. Plus he loved sailing, the ocean was calming and vast. The navy was his only hope for a better life. 

Pa Vau, Walon’s father was a harsh man. He was described as domineering, cold hearted, and unpleasable. He beat Walon when he didn’t do perfect on his lessons or training. He wanted Walon to be like him, so he tried to beat all emotion and feeling from his son. He almost succeeded. 

 A good ruler in Irmenu has no heart or soul in Pa’s eyes. 

He would never hit Walon on the face or anywhere visible, he had to have a good face as a royal. As Walon got older the beatings became more often and more brutal, because he wasn’t doing good enough in Pa’s eyes. 

When Walon was fourteen and tried out for the navy his own father rejected him, saying he was not good enough. Walon continued to train, the beatings even worse. The training didn’t help, Walon never made it into the navy. Pa was so unpleasable his only child was never good enough for him. This caused Walon to quickly lose hope, the thought of suicide seeming more appealing by the day. 

Walon only ever got to see his mother at nights, when she would come clean up his bloody lashing marks and other wounds. She was a soft gentle woman, but timid. Pa beat her as well, making sure she didn’t see her son for too long. She was never allowed to see Walon alone, because Pa didn’t want Vau to go soft by a mothers love. 

She was a religious fanatic just like his father, so she would lecture him as well. He had to be better, he had to. He was royalty, he was better than how he acted. Her words were often more cruel than intended. 

When she finished cleaning his wounds she’d read him a chapter of the Irmenu Bible, a book Walon was forced to know every last word to. He never listened though, he would always zone out and dream of a better life…….Or even of ending his life.  

His parents were never in love, their marriage arranged. His father married his mother because of her wealth and bloodline. His mother had rare golden eyes, a symbol of high status to his people. He got her eyes, but his father said that the color of his eyes meant nothing compared to how much of a failure he is. 

When Walon turned sixteen he was at a ball for some religious holiday, where we meant a beautiful princess of a neighboring province. After a few dances they quickly hit it off, and grew close rather fast. She basically saved his life, keeping him from ending it once and for all. She also changed his future for the better. 

He would sneak out as often as he could to meet her under the stars, but more often than not they wrote love letters on flimsy back and forth. Each letter, written with the finest penmanship and finest poetic words was kept by the princess. Walon kept hers as well, in a box under his bed.  

When Walon was eighteen, he asked his father if he could marry the princess. His father and her father both rejected the marriage, along with the Priesthood. Not because of politics or religion, but because Walon was not good enough or worthy to marry such a beautiful woman. 

His father was enraged that he had dared to ask such a question, so he was beaten worse than ever and nearly died. All because his father was embarrassed. When Walon healed a little he learned his love had been shipped away across the planet, to a nunnery. She would learn her lesson for sneaking out and falling in love with someone who was not of an arranged marriage. 

He knew he’d never see her again. 

Walon was exiled temporarily aftwards, being sent to some neighboring shit hole of a planet. He was eighteen and alone, with no idea of the outside world. His mother sobbed for days, her only child and her last hope gone. She prayed every night that he would be allowed back soon. 

Luckily for Walon Vau, he used to sneak out to the large library every night to read books. They had no fiction books, so he just learned about other societies and their ways. Most books pointed out how “bad” they were, but Walon always thought they were so much better than his planet's society. 

Thanks to reading, he knew a bit about the real galaxy. 

Walon had nothing but the clothes on his back. He had no money or possessions. No title, no name. So he wandered. 

Soon he ran into a group of Mandalorians, one by the name of Jaster Mereel. They quickly took in a teenage Walon, teaching him a new way. The way of the Mandalorian warriors. He never believed his home world's ludicrous ideas, so switching religions and cultures was very easy for Walon.

His family found out and disowned Walon for giving up his culture and religion. He lost his title and broke his mothers heart. His mother apparently died of a broken heart, after she heard the news that he would never return. But he knows deep down that his father finally snapped and killed her.

Walon became a perfect warrior, his body and mind already scarred from years and years of abuse. He was cold, calm, and calculated. Walon was also highly educated and very intelligent. So much so that some other Mandalorians taught him how to torture and dismember. He learned about the medical field and could have even been a doctor, but he preferred dead bodies and torturing. 

Jedi could hardly sense him in the force, his soul too broken. He was a perfect Mandalorian Warrior, fighting along with his friend Jango Fett and many others for years.  He fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars, killing Jedi with no issue. 

Early in his time with the Mandalorians, Walon met a Strill. The Strill could sense Walon’s shattered soul and broken mind, so it adopted him. The Strill was named Lord Mirdalan, jokingly after his favorite uncle. The uncle that had beaten him the less, and had been executed when Walon was ten. Walon did not miss him, or anyone from his home world. 

That’s Walon Vau’s childhood story. He’s ice cold, calm, and utterly detached for a reason. His body is scarred, as is his shattered soul. He was so traumatized and beaten down into the way of the soulless that he had a hard time trying to escape that pit. 

He was cruel to his Clone Commandos, but every day he would be up all night thinking. He wanted them to survive the war, that's all he wanted. He didn’t want them to be failures like him, he couldn’t allow it. Failures never survived.

Walon Vau hardly ever sleeps at night, his mind plagued by nightmares. Not of the wars, but of his home life. 

Mird held Vau together a little better, but his soul never healed. He could never escape the hole of his traumatic past, and it ruined his life forever. 

They call him a psychopath but he really isn’t. Walon Vau can still feel, he just doesn’t know how to. Walon Vau is just a shattered and traumatized man, one who never got proper help. One who never had a childhood. 

(Please reblog this if you like it! I worked very hard on it!) 

Tags: @leias-left-hair-bun @iamassbuttkingofhell @catsnkooks @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @jedi-mando @peacefulwizardfox @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @strangebroadwaykinks @jedi-nila-rhyn @crimson-dxwn @detroitbydark @passionofthesith

[survey--s]

01.

What are some of your favourite cities you’ve been to? Melbourne, Paris, Edinburgh, Florence, Vancouver and Singapore.

Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? (assuming you want any) I don’t see that it’s my business to dictate to them like that. I went on “dates” at younger ages than that - all we did was go to McDonald’s and the cinema, lol. But then I’m of the belief that restricting your kids only leads to them rebelling in the long run.

Did you ever go through a phase where you thought guys in bands were ‘hot?’ Sure, as a teenager that was pretty common.

What’s something about adult life you were never warned of or prepared for? How much bills, rent, utilities etc. cost every month, ha.

Did your parents teach you proper table manners when you were growing up? Yeah, they taught me the basics like no elbows on tables etc, but it was only really enforced when we went out for meals.

What was the last thing you baked? Cheesy garlic bread.

Do you live more than 5 hours away from the nearest international border? No, I live about two hours from the border with Scotland.

Does your town have a farmer’s market? No, the nearest one is about a thirty minute drive from here, but I’ve never been to it as it falls during the week and I have to work.

What was the last restaurant you made a reservation at? I have no idea...The Newfield, maybe?

When did you last feel lonely? I honestly couldn’t tell you.

Can you easily tell when others are masking their true emotions? No.

How often do you wash your car? Ha, you’re funny. It really needs cleaning out but with my job it just ends up filthy by 10am on Monday morning so it seems a bit pointless. I might do it between jobs tomorrow if it’s not raining, though.

When did you last lend money to a friend? I don’t lend money.

Which app on your phone do you tend to get the most notifications from? Facebook.

Do you own a Dutch oven? If so, what was the last thing you cooked in it? I have no idea what that is.

Do you find it easy to put yourself in somebody else’s shoes? Sometimes, but it really depends on the circumstances.

What is currently on your kitchen table? Nothing.

What is your favorite time period in history to learn about? The Tudors or the Victorians.

How old were you when you met your current best friend? I met my husband five and a half years ago.

Have you ever kissed a smoker? Yes, but it’s really not very pleasant to me.

What is the minimum age to obtain a driver’s license in your state/country? Seventeen for cars, 16 for mopeds.

^Do you think this is an appropriate age, or should it be higher/lower? Sure, it’s fine.

If you won the lottery, do you think any of your family members would ask you to give them some of your money? Probably in a jokey way, sure.

What is one of the craziest thing you’ve seen happen at your workplace? Someone got sacked for eating donuts on the shop floor, ha.

Do you own any home automation gadgets like wifi thermostats or wifi bulbs? We have WiFi heating systems.

How old were you when you started to seriously think about what career path you wanted to pursue? I never thought seriously about it, I just kind of fell into random jobs, I guess.

Have you ever disliked a book so much that you didn’t finish it? Yeah, a few times. I’m not going to force myself to read something that I don’t enjoy.

Would you rather read a book, or listen to the audiobook? Read a book. Audiobooks just don’t do it for me at all.

Do you think tomorrow will be a better day than today? Who knows. I hope I don’t have another headache tomorrow, that’s for sure.