#but that's a different discussion entirely. specifically when it comes to how much he can do TO fan xian... i wonder how he does see it.)

[mira-likes]

I found the scene of Fan Xian and Fan Jian jumping around with the discipline ruler and putting on the anger/punishment act very entertaining, but I just saw someone’s comment that like “Fan Jian knows he can’t hit him” and that made me pause. Can Fan Jian get away with flogging Fan Xian (the emperor’s biological son) if he wants to? How much of his approach to parenting Fan Xian is down to him being well aware that the emperor is looking over his metaphorical shoulder?

[anto-pops]

Sudsy Confessions - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: As the end of the school year continues to creep up on all of the seventh-year students, Sebastian has thought about what’s to come after graduation shamefully little. He’s equal parts annoyed and worried that he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, and he’s even more frustrated that he’s running out of time to tell you how he really feels about you. When a chance opportunity finally presents itself, Sebastian seizes the moment, even if the setting is a little… unorthodox.  

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub. 

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, love confessions, bathtub sex

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 with more diverse tags :))

It was rare for Sebastian to get so bent out of shape over Quidditch. Especially since it had been an unofficial scrimmage between him and a handful of friends– which he had still won, mind— but it was the topic of discussion that had transpired after the actual event in The Three Broomsticks that had gotten him all hot and bothered, and there was no way around the truth of the matter. 

Garreth had brought up graduation. 

It was a topic that Sebastian had done his best to steer clear of since he had yet to formulate a plan for himself after Hogwarts. Apparently Weasley would be starting an apprenticeship with J. Pippins at his shop in Hogsmeade, which had warranted a few hesitant congratulations from the rest of his motley group. It was obvious that Leander and Imelda assumed the same thing Sebastian did; that Garreth would probably blow up the shop soon after starting. 

Then there was Imelda. Headstrong, resilient, and determined to prove herself. She fully intended on trying out for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team after graduation and refused to believe she would do anything but succeed. There was no reason to doubt her at all– she’d always been masterful on her broom and had set new records left and right since Professor Black had reinstated Quidditch again. Sebastian only hoped that he was well out of sight in the event things didn’t go the way Imelda wanted them to. 

Leander had taken a bit of a sharp turn somewhere between the start of school and the present moment and apparently wanted to apply to work at the Ministry. Specifically, he’d been talking about joining the Council of Magical Law– evidently finding the power that would come with such a position all too appealing. Sebastian couldn’t help but think it was rather on brand for the Gryffindor to think as much, but his encouragement had been lukewarm all the same. 

Though he hadn’t joined them at The Three Broomsticks, it was already known that Ominis was also thinking about working for the Ministry, but with a different motive. He wanted to get more closely involved with the Muggle Liaison Office for reasons that continued to escape Sebastian. Whether it was to learn more about their differences to wizard-kind or to spite his family further, Sebastian didn’t know, but he was frankly inclined to believe the latter. 

Then there was you. The enigma, the mystery– the great unknown that had turned his entire world upside down from the moment you’d walked through the Great Hall doors two years ago. He had no clue what your plans were after graduation, and not knowing was slowly eating him alive. It had less to do with being kept out of the loop and more to do with his unspoken feelings for you– feelings that he had been keeping to himself for years now in a bid to keep his friendship with you unmarred. After your tumultuous fifth-year, it had understandably taken some time for the two of you to get back to any semblance of normalcy, and now that graduation was approaching, he couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers. 

Sebastian’s previously upbeat demeanor had darkened considerably after that conversation, leading him to bail entirely on drinks at the pub in favor of returning to Hogwarts to wallow in self-pity. 

He’d moved in absolute silence following his return, a metaphorical rain cloud looming over his head as he’d gone to his dorm to grab his toiletries and a change of clothes before setting off for the Prefect’s bathroom. Friday nights were notoriously quiet now that everyone’s N.E.W.T’s had been completed, and Sebastian relished in the solitude that he always found in the spacious washroom. Sneaking in and using it was well worth the risk if it spared him from more idle conversations with his fellow classmates. 

It wasn’t unusual for the door to be locked– due in large part to the fact that it always was– so he undid the latch with his wand and shouldered the door open, barreling into the humid space with the grace of a hurricane. He tossed his items down on the countertop beside the sink and ripped his toothbrush out of his bag, shoving it in-between his lips as he turned the faucet on and rifled around for his bath soaps. Disappointment clouded his mind as his thoughts wandered back to you and the unknown future. It wouldn’t take much more than courage and a slim chance for Sebastian to get his feelings for you off his chest, but his fear of rejection kept him rooted in place. He was certain that at this point, it always would. 

“Keep running the water like that and you’ll drain the entire lake,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind him. Sebastian damn near choked himself with his toothbrush as he whirled around to face the culprit, and then he found himself on the verge of fainting when he realized it was you. 

You were lounging in the massive tub with a smile on your face, not at all bothered by Sebastian’s sudden intrusion. Your hair was pinned up off of your bare shoulders in a messy heap, and the brunet stood no chance at concealing his blatant double take when he caught sight of your wet skin. The bulk of your naked body was covered by the scant spread of bubbles, but the tantalizing view of your collarbones had a flush rapidly spreading across his cheeks. 

“I– shit– I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” Sebastian frantically mumbled around his mouthful of toothbrush. Dammit, he sounded like a fool. He ripped the thin stick from his mouth and spun back around to shut off the faucet and hastily gather his belongings from the counter. 

“You didn’t really knock to find out, but it’s fine. Don’t rush off on my account.” 

Your nonchalant tone made him pause, and he hesitantly lifted his head to stare at your reflection in the mirror. True to your words, you seemed wholly unbothered by his presence, simply continuing to bask in the warmth of the water as the steam wafted up into your face.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he could have anticipated something like this happening. 

Almost reluctantly, Sebastian dropped his towel back onto the countertop, instead picking up the paste for his toothbrush before setting to work brushing his teeth. He watched through the mirror as you raked your wet fingers through the free strands of hair that had fallen in front of your face, and the sound of the disturbed water dripping down your arms echoed through the space. “Did you win your scrimmage?” Your eyes never wavered from his in the reflection, and he nodded. “Go out for drinks afterwards?” Another nod, switching to brush the other side of his mouth. “Ominis and Garreth?” Sebastian shook his head. “What, Garreth and Leander?”

He mumbled around a mouthful of foam, “An’ Imelda.”

Your expression pinched into one of confusion as you mused, “I thought you didn’t like drinking with Leander.” Sebastian only shrugged in vague response before bending forward to spit and rinse, trying incredibly hard to not think about how very naked and wet you were presently. He was unsuccessful. 

 For a brief moment, Sebastian debated on changing into his pajamas and leaving despite having come to bathe, but something possessed him to turn around and contemplate you after he turned off the faucet. The easy smile on your face and your half hooded eyes almost knocked him out, and he swallowed thickly. 

What was it he had thought to himself just moments earlier? Courage and a slim chance? Was this not exactly that? 

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his voice almost a whisper. “What are your plans after graduation?” 

You tilted your head to the side in visible confusion, a strand of hair falling in front of your eyes seductively from the movement. He tried not to stare too hard. “Plans?” 

“What will you do once it’s time to leave? You haven’t said anything to me about it– or Ominis,” he added quickly. “We were talking about it in Hogsmeade earlier, so I was just wondering.” 

You seemed to ponder his question for a minute, your wandering hands coming to a sudden halt in the mass of bubbles. Truthfully, you hadn’t brought it up to either of the Slytherin men because you hadn’t come to a final decision yet, but it made sense that with the completion of your N.E.W.T’s, people would begin planning their post-Hogwarts lives. The thought made you equal parts sad and nervous. 

“I thought about getting a job at first… to make a name for myself and save money, you know? But honestly, I think I might travel. I’ve explored virtually all of the Highlands for ancient magic sites and I think I’ve hit a dead end. I want to learn more about Isidora’s magic– the power from the Repository is still as much of an unknown now as it was two years ago. It’s just collecting dust inside of me at this point.” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink and did his damndest not to sound paranoid when he responded. “Travel? Where exactly were you thinking?” 

You shrugged and averted your gaze to the bubbles in front of you. Of course Sebastian would be displeased to discover that yet another person from his life would be departing it so soon. It was part of the reason you’d been keeping your intentions to yourself for so long. Nonetheless, you answered softly, “Maybe to Poland. Isidora’s notes mentioned that she originally hailed from there–”

“Poland?” Sebastian’s frantic voice cut you off, and he found his legs carrying him to the edge of the bathtub to kneel there and bore holes in the top of your head from across the water. “You would go that far to chase after a maybe? You don’t know for certain if looking out there will even bring you any new information– it sounds incredibly reckless.”

You fixed him with a hard, telling look. “That’s rich, coming from you. Who was it that refused to let up in his search for a cure for all of fifth-year?”

His brows slammed down atop his narrowed eyes, “That was different.” 

“How is it any different?” You sounded exasperated, and he sighed indignantly. “You wanted answers, and you never stopped looking for them. You had nothing to go off of, much like myself presently, and you were willing to do anything if it meant saving Anne. I want to use this power for something good, Sebastian. I can’t do that if I don’t know how it works. Leaving is the only plausible outcome for me.”

“It would be that easy for you, then? To leave and disappear for who knows how long searching for who knows what? Would you have even told me if I hadn’t asked just now?” 

It would be that easy for you to leave me, is what he really wasn’t saying. 

You shook your head at him, completely bewildered that he was so affected by your revelation. “Eventually, yes, I would have. I don’t understand– why do you care so much? You of all people should know I would keep in touch; I’ll send owls every week, keep you updated on where I am and what happens. Going our separate ways was practically always in the cards, Sebastian.” 

Some tiny, annoying part of him had always known that. Living at Hogwarts was a blissful reprieve from the real world, offering himself and other students a sanctuary from the concerns and problems of adult life. Hearing you voice your thoughts was a completely different thing, however, and Sebastian was woefully unprepared for the dawning realization that he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore.

He silently cursed himself for having taken this fucking long to accept how empty he would feel without you beside him. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered from across the tub, and his eyes slid shut at the sound of your gentle voice. It hurt too much to fathom not getting to hear it again, or not being able to see you and crack stupid jokes with you in the middle of Potion’s class. He wouldn’t get to duel other students with you in Crossed Wands, or go to Hogsmeade to drink Butterbeers and stop by the lake on your walks back to skip rocks. All of it would end, and he would be alone. 

Again.

“Sebastian,” you said again, and the closer proximity of your voice had him cracking his eyes open. You were directly in front of him now, evidently having left your spot on the other side of the bath to siddle directly up to the ledge in front of him. Your wide eyes gazed imploringly up at him, and your grip on the edge of the tub was white-knuckled. “Why do you care so much?” 

“How could I not care?” He forced the words out while he still had the courage, seemingly gazing into the depths of your very soul as he stared down at you. His words had your eyes widening further as a flush crept up your neck onto your cheeks, and before you got the chance to say anything, Sebastian was leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. 

A surprised squeak weaseled its way from your throat as he lifted his hands to cradle your head cautiously, and you weakly curled your fingers around his wrists as he dipped lower to accommodate for the awkward angle. Sebastian kissed you hungrily and passionately– in the way he had dreamed of doing for years. He licked along your lower lip and bit gently at it, pulling a gasp from your parted lips before one of your hands came to rest on his bent knee, leaving a wet handprint behind in its wake. 

After a few heated moments, Sebastian broke away to look at you through his lashes, more surprised than anything to discover that your face was an open book; a mixture of shock and hesitance was etched into your features while something much hotter burned in your eyes, making his head fucking spin. 

“Sebastian, I– ah…” 

He let you go and sat back on his heels then, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his forearms as he peered at you nervously. There were a thousand different things Sebastian wanted to blurt out, but he settled for staying quiet as he waited for you to say something– anything.

You gaped up at him for a moment, blinking slowly as the flush across your cheeks darkened considerably. “How long?” 

He shrugged timidly before he said, “Ages. Since fifth-year, if I’m being honest.” 

“You didn’t… say anything?” His curly brown locs brushed across his forehead as he shook his head. “Why?” 

“After everything that happened in the Catacombs, I was terrified of fucking things up again. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship– I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. So I just… kept my feelings to myself. But now you’re telling me you would leave– that it was always inevitable things would end this way– and I can’t accept that. I refuse to.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was reeling from Sebastian’s revelation, and your heart was hammering away in your chest so loudly that you were certain he could hear it. Of course you felt the exact same way, but much like Sebastian you’d been worried about ruining things or complicating your already tentative relationship– especially after the events of your fifth-year. But now here he was– on his damn knees confessing to you– and your thoughts of the future vanished completely from your mind. 

Biting your lip, you stared up at Sebastian for a moment with wide eyes. One of your hands rose off the edge of the tub to trail your wet fingers across his cheek, and as Sebastian’s freckled face moved away from his arm to swim clearly into view, you stood straight out of the water invitingly and let him wrap his strong arms around your bare waist. As the water beading over your skin soaked through Sebastian’s shirt, his eyes flickered between yours, searching for the hesitance he’d seen there before. 

It was nowhere to be found.

When your lips met with his again, the softness had left them, and the two of you kissed one another hard and needily. Sebastian straightened and nipped at your lips, smiling against your mouth as you melted into him, and your breath caught somewhere in your throat when his tongue slipped into your open mouth to tangle with your own. Holding you tighter, Sebastian trailed his hands over your slick skin– traversing up your spine and into your unruly hair to tangle his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck. He kissed you desperately, moaning softly into your mouth when he felt your hands sweep across his shoulders to fumble with the buttons at the front of his shirt. 

You’d made it about halfway down the row of clasps before Sebastian grew impatient, freeing one of his hands to deftly undo the buttons with a practiced finesse that made your mouth water eagerly. He panted along the curve of your jaw as he undressed, biting and sucking at the skin of your throat until he was pulling away to shrug the damp material off of his shoulders. His tie was still snug around his neck, clamping the collar of his button-up in place, and he growled as he loosened the thin bit of fabric before yanking it over his head and diving back into the kiss like he’d been starved of your very essence. 

Until now the bizarre angle had proved to be a non-issue– but then the pressing matter of his trousers came to light, and you felt as Sebastian blindly palmed at his belt buckle in a bid to undo it. “Need help?” Your coy offer whispered against his lips sent shivers up his spine, but he was too frantic and greedy to give you the chance to assist.

Those toned, capable arms released you so he could stand fully, his lust-dark eyes never wavering from yours as he finally succeeded in unlooping his belt from around his waist. “Just don’t move and keep watching like that– it’s helping me plenty.” 

You flashed him a mocking pout but did as he asked, settling back into the water and scanning his body longingly as he stripped down to his briefs. He teasingly ran his thumbs under the waistband of his undergarments and shot you a smug look, all too pleased with the way you licked your lips when he eventually began slipping the attire down the delectable ‘V’ of his hips. The sight of Sebastian biting his lip as his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his toned stomach had you halting your movements, though, and you audibly whimpered before the brunet threw his briefs over his shoulder and descended into the soapy water with you. 

In a flash he had you back within reach, his hands coming to cup your rear as he silently prompted you to jump into his arms so he could carry you through the water towards the rim of the massive tub. Your back bumped against the tiles there, and Sebastian took full advantage by pressing himself into you more firmly. The hard, stiff length of him rubbed tantalizingly against your folds, and you sighed contentedly before his mouth was on yours once more. 

The two of you languidly kissed for what seemed like forever, and you were more than willing to continue for as long as Sebastian saw fit. When one of the hands he had against your rear began to slip lower into uncharted territory, you smiled against his lips and huffed out an airy laugh. “Eager, are you?” 

“Shut up,” Sebastian murmured against your mouth, holding fast to your bottom harder and with greater fervor. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this.” 

You arched your hips against Sebastian’s and drew in a shaky breath at the sensation of his shaft grazing over a particularly sensitive spot. “Then show me,” you implored. 

Growling again, Sebastian wrangled you around until you were kneeling on the ledge with your back to him and your hands braced on the rim of the bathtub. His hands were seemingly everywhere; sliding down your shoulder blades, scratching at the curve of your waist, then ghosting down the backs of your thighs as he nudged your legs apart further. You felt as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against the outline of your spine, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you could smother the shudder of delight that coursed through you. Sebastian moved on swiftly, though, and began pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your lower back, curling his hands around your hips before you felt him descend closer to your nether region. In your current position, it was just barely peeking above the thin layer of bubbles within the tub, and you heard the water slosh around Sebastian as he dropped to his knees and came face to face with your most intimate parts. 

The broad slick of Sebastian’s tongue sliding through your folds pulled a startled gasp from your lips, and your forehead fell against the tile with a soft, stuttered moan. The feeling of him tasting you– achingly and deliberately slow– had you shaking in earnest as you bit your knuckle for a semblance of control. You were struggling against the urge to rock back into his ministrations, eventually settling for reaching between your spread legs with your free hand to rub at your clit for some added reprieve, but then Sebastian slid his palms from your hips to your inner thighs to nudge your hand away. 

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered to you, and you mewled softly before tucking your hand against your chest and nodding. “Don’t hold back, either. I want to hear you.”

You were on the verge of responding, but the way Sebastian slid his tongue over you again drove whatever words you’d formulated straight out of your head. His hands ghosted along your skin as he lowered himself further, the tops of his shoulders completely submerging beneath the soapy water, and he took care to trail his fingers slowly down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he made himself comfortable behind you. 

Sebastian laved his tongue over you gently and encouragingly, then experimentally stiffened the muscle before poking it inside of you, leaving you whining and gasping his name. The brunet pushed his tongue in deeper then, moaning in response to the hitch in your voice as he pressed his lips against your folds and fucked the muscle into you slowly. 

“Gods, S-Sebastian–”

The man in question sighed and picked up his pace, flicking his tongue into you and dropping messy kisses against you. One of his hands slid up to your clit, brushing two of his fingers over the bundle of nerves with a moan, and when he leaned in hard to fuck his tongue as deep as possible into you, your high, airy whimpers made Sebastian’s head spin. 

With one last pump of his tongue, Sebastian pulled away, grinning at the way you twitched in response to his efforts. You heard the water stir and felt the warm, wet weight of the Slytherin drape over your back as he leaned forward to kiss across your shoulder, his hands running soothingly up the sides of your waist. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian breathed out, prompting you to turn and look at him over your shoulder. Your half-hooded eyes and parted lips sparked something in him then, and when you reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, the brunet leaned in to meet you gladly. You moaned into the kiss, drawing a like-minded sound from Sebastian when you ground your hips back against his throbbing member. His thick hands gripped at your waist tightly as he gasped against your mouth, a desire unlike any he’d ever experienced overtaking him in a matter of seconds. The urge to feel you encasing him was overwhelming– enough so that for one brief moment, Sebastian allowed himself to press so hard against you that it stole your breath and smothered your senses. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned from beneath him. Your gaze sought him out, but his own eyes were pinched shut as he relished in the ecstasy that fell over him from merely grinding against you. It wasn’t simply the act itself that was doing it for him. It was knowing that he was doing it with you. Everything he had craved for two whole years was finally coming to fruition, and despite wanting to relish in every second of it with you, Sebastian was losing himself to his impulses. You called to him again, “Sebastian, please.” 

His chocolate brown eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice coupled with your incessant tugging on his hair, and his shaky sigh told you everything you needed to know; he was incredibly eager. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing thickly in a way that drew your attention to his bobbing adam’s apple. You merely shook your head in silent dismissal, then rocked back against him to spur him into motion. If it was guidance he needed, you were more than happy to provide it. “I don’t know how much longer I can draw this out,” he admitted with a low voice, and as though to punctuate the statement, you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your hips to prevent you from moving against him any further. 

“Then don’t,” you insisted needily, yanking lightly on his hair once more to goad him into moving. “I’m ready if you are.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice gravelly and directly against the shell of your ear. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You shivered in anticipation when you felt one of his hands trail down the swell of your rear to probe at your slick entrance with one of his fingers. His other hand traced soothing circles against lower back, relaxing you further until you had melted against the rim of the tub with your neck craned to the side to watch Sebastian as he worked. 

When he sank one of his fingers into you slowly, you let loose a shaky exhale and felt a flush creep up your neck and onto your cheeks, leaving Sebastian biting his lip at the wanton image you made as he pressed the digit knuckle deep. Thrusting slowly, he eventually managed to work a second finger into you, trying not to think too hard about the way you looked spread around him, or the way you moved back against him, or how fucking wet you were. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned. His eyes flicked back up to yours, entirely certain that he looked just as fucking needy as you did– especially given the way you shivered and rode back against his hand a little harder. “C-Curl your fingers down a little–” he did so, and was instantly rewarded with a telling jolt from you. “Oh fuck– there–” 

The sound of Sebastian moaning to himself was almost lost in the way you were gasping and keening, and he moved his hand from your back to your hip to hold you in place as he followed the same path you’d instructed him to with his fingers. He thrusted a little harder, curling his digits against your sweet spot, and the way you arched your back and spread your thighs as far as you could without slipping while you gasped for Sebastian was fucking intoxicating. 

It was too much. 

Sebastian pulled his fingers free and reached towards you without a second thought, coiling his arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn’t help but whine at the way his cock rubbed against you, and you were near boneless in the brunet’s arms as his lips molded to yours and his tongue delved into your mouth. His strong arm held you fast to him as the other braced against the rim of the tub, holding him steady above you as he kissed you senseless. When he finally broke away to catch his breath, you practically sagged into the water beneath him. 

“Merlin, Sebastian…” 

“Are you okay?” The Slytherin’s voice was rough when he asked, low and raspy with arousal, and once you gave your enthusiastic approval, Sebastian reached between the two of you to line himself up before pressing into you. 

Sebastian’s eyes squeezed shut at how you felt around him; tight, hot, and utterly incredible. He just barely managed to keep his composure as he slowly filled you, and your scarcely stifled gasps and keening whimpers were decidedly not helping him keep his wits about him. Every fiber of Sebastian’s being urged him to ram his cock into you– to fuck your brains out and hear his name spill from your lips in breathless screams. When he finally did sheathe himself all the way inside of you, he melted against your back, holding you tightly and whispering your name against your ear over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re…” you trailed off, subtly shaking against Sebastian’s damp skin. “You’re b-big.”

“Gods, darling,” Sebastian breathed, exhaling roughly into the nape of your neck. “Can I move?” 

You gave a stuttered assent, but you were still insanely tight around his cock, so for both your sakes when Sebastian pulled back a little and rolled his hips back in, he did so slowly in a bid to test the waters. 

No pun intended.

Your choked moan was more than enough of an answer for him, so he worked to set a slow, deep rhythm, buying himself time to get used to the heat wrapped around his cock. The gentle sigh that emanated from you coupled with the way your back bowed ever so slightly told Sebastian that his restraint was appreciated. But then you were glancing back at him from over your shoulder, and the rosy flush that colored your cheeks combined with your glazed over eyes nullified the majority of his self-control. 

Sebastian blindly trusted you to keep steady on your knees as he gripped your hips to thrust into you harder, moving faster and giving gasping moans as you tensed and groaned, squeezing him in the most perfect way. He pulled you back onto his cock, adjusting his hips so he could fuck into your sweet spot, and the way you arched under him and cried out was fucking amazing. 

“Oh f-fuck, Sebastian,” you moaned, reaching back to tangle your hand in his damp, brown curls, and Sebastian let you tug him closer so he could mouth along your shoulder, tasting the sweet-smelling bathsoaps as he went. The water splashed around you both, and you swore softly as a small wave of sudsy water sloshed up the side of the tub and sprayed you in your face. 

Taking note of your predicament, Sebastian slowed his movements and angled his head so he could murmur directly in your ear, “Do you want to move?” 

“We could, but– damn, Sebastian–”

Sebastian didn’t want to fucking move. He did want to see your face, though. He pulled out swiftly, and before you could move to climb out of the water, he grabbed and maneuvered you around so your back was pressed against the side of the tub with your legs bent over his elbows. When he reached back further to grip the rim of the tub on either side of you, he sank back into you with a low moan. Water wasn’t the most spectacular of lubricants as it turned out, but you were naturally slick enough that it was essentially a nonissue.

The expression that spread over your flushed face drove Sebastian a little crazy. He moved hot and slow, pulling back far with every aching thrust before filling you up and making you whimper. It’s exactly what Sebastian had wanted, but the way your eyes rolled shut just made him want to fuck you harder, water splashing in your face be damned. 

He leaned in close and nipped at your swollen lips, still rolling his hips maddeningly slow. “I want to fuck you so hard,” he managed, voice shaking. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want to see you fall over the edge so hard that you pass out in my arms.” He snapped his hips, just enough to make you cry out. “I’ll fuck you just like that. I’ll make the Prefects come running from how loud you are. I hope you don’t have plans this weekend, because you’re mine until the bell tolls on Monday.”

You whimpered and shivered under Sebastian, sucking in sharp breaths with every slow thrust, and when you rode your hips back into the brunet, he couldn’t help but let his head hang between his shoulders, his dark eyes sliding shut. The way you were sucking him in deeper was mind-blowing, the water flowing in waves around the two of you, until a burning, tightening sensation took root in your gut and made you grit your teeth together in anticipation. 

“S-Sebastian, fuck,” he thrust harder in response, grinding his hips into you and causing your back to arch with a gasping cry. “Sebastian, I’m– I’m going to–”

“Do it,” he gasped, leaning in to kiss you quickly and messily. “Let me see how you come for me.” 

Your nails dug into his shoulder before you pulled one hand away to begin frantically rubbing circles over your swollen clit. You rocked your hips back into his and worked yourself closer to your finish with a low moan, keeping your movements in time with his thrusts. The way you licked your lips and the way you watched Sebastian with a dark, fucked-out gaze made him whimper. You were so intense– your lips parting on gasping moans of Sebastian’s name– and it took a surprising amount of self-control for him to not just fucking blow it right then. Instead, he bent you back just a little further, just enough to see that needy expression fall back over your face as he fucked you just that little bit harder. 

Your moans grew higher, louder, breathier, until you were crying out and shaking in Sebastian’s arms. “S-Seb– fuck– I’m coming, I’m coming–” 

Your spine rounded and your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down tight on Sebastian’s cock, a guttural whine ripping from your heaving chest as your climax washed over you. The dexterous movements from your fingers took you higher than you thought possible, and the way you barely managed to choke out Sebastian’s name was enough to send the Slytherin over the edge. 

He pressed himself against you and buried his cock deep, fucking you through your finish with short, fast thrusts while he moaned your name against your throat, his hands moving to grip your sides tight with trembling fingers. “Fuck, darling, fuck–”

Blearily, you moved your arm and wrapped it around Sebastian’s neck as he came, who was shaking and babbling far too loud for it to be muffled against your slick skin. You buried your face into his tangled hair, jolting slightly from every miniscule movement of his twitching member inside of you. When the bulk of his post-coital high had subsided, he began wetly mouthing up your neck and along your jaw before sweetly peppering kisses over your cheek. The demonstration brought a breathless grin to your face, and your hands found their way to the hair at the back of his neck before you wound your fingers through the strands. 

“Merlin’s bloody balls,” Sebastian gritted out, sliding his arms out from under your knees to hold them fast to his waist. You followed his lead easily and wrapped your legs around his hips, sitting up to kiss him contentedly as your palms skimmed along his freckled back. He smiled against your lips and murmured, “We should probably get out. I can feel how pruney your fingers are.” 

“Mm,” you hummed softly, pulling back from the kiss to hold one of your hands up to see how wrinkled your skin had become in the throes of passion. “You’re not wrong. But it would be counterproductive to not wash off all the sweat, wouldn’t it?” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink before smiling brightly at you in agreement. Almost reluctantly, he slid free from your welcoming heat and deposited you on the shallow stone ledge, then hoisted himself out of the bath to pad over to his toiletry bag. After grabbing all the necessities and jumping back into the steaming water, the two of you took your time cleansing one another, lingering touches and thoughtful kisses being exchanged throughout the process. Eventually Sebatian found himself sitting with his back to the rim of the tub, your smaller figure situated comfortably between his legs as he scooped water into his hands and let it run over your shoulders. If your slouched posture was anything to go by, you were incredibly relaxed, and Sebastian realized dimly that he was too. To be with you in this way was everything he could ever want and more, and he didn’t want it to end. Not by a longshot. 

“Let me come with you after graduation,” he said suddenly, his voice a mere whisper from behind you. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you processed his request, the bathroom utterly silent except for the distant dripping of water from the faucet, and before long you were turning around to face him with your hands braced on his legs. “What?” 

“Let me come with you,” he said again, conviction burning in his dark eyes. “To Poland. I want to do whatever I can to help you. Please don’t leave me behind.” 

All you could do was blink for a moment before opening and closing your mouth in surprise. Sebastian’s unwavering gaze only prolonged the formation of words, until eventually you furrowed your brow and uncertainty took root. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him with you– far from it, in fact. The events that had transpired just minutes earlier had only proven that your close relationship was something to treasure for as long as possible, and you were more than ready to do exactly that. You just didn’t want him to throw his own ambitions to the side simply because you planned to travel. “What about what you want to do? Don’t you have your own plans? I thought Professor Weasley talked to you about–” 

“I never made a decision,” he stated firmly and with a shake of his head. “The Professor had her own ideas about what I would excel at, but I never agreed or wanted to pursue any of her suggestions. I honestly felt like I was in limbo until now. My point is, what I want is to stay with you. I want to help you the same way you helped me with Anne, and I really, really don’t want to end up sitting alone in some office in London waiting for your owls to reach me. There’s always something missing when you’re not with me.”

To say you were an emotional mess would be a monumental understatement. Sebastian’s words struck something deep within you, something sentimental and desperate to come to the surface. He evidently saw your tears before you felt them, because he was instantly sitting forward to cup your cheeks in his wet hands before wiping them away with his thumbs. The concern on his face was apparent, but you were already smiling reassuringly at him before he could verbally ask if you were alright. “You really know how to confess to a girl, huh?” 

He let loose an airy, relieved laugh that drifted over your nose and chilled your damp cheeks, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrists as he smiled anxiously at you. “I had a long time to practice. Is that a yes, then?” 

“Yes, you can come with me. I would love it if you did,” you said, and the giddy excitement that radiated from the man was the most palpable thing in the room at that moment. “Two heads might be better than one, after all.”

Sebastian was on you in an instant. He coiled around you like a baby mooncalf and smiled so brightly that it easily rivaled the intensity of the sun. Water splashed everywhere as he spun you effortlessly within the bath, your capricious laughter reverberating off the walls of the spacious room as elation flooded your system. Being encased in his warm embrace was all the confirmation you needed that you had made the right choice. In turn, knowing that his future was all the clearer brought a sense of peace and belonging to Sebastian that he would hold on to for as long as he was able. 

It just so happened that presently, he was holding on to you. 

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.

[moonsaver]

The isekai trope is burning my brain. Pls have this yan!alhaitham with isekai'd reader who actually tells him the deal.

---

What if you got isekai'd into genshin? (specifically sumeru for my taste of scenario)

And alhaitham actually got to know? Maybe you don't even hide it while he's talking to you and writing down whatever you're saying while you're half dazed, sitting up on the stretcher, mentioning an entirely different world. Investigations show no result for it, meaning you really must have come from a different world – which isn't entirely impossible. But it seems yours is a slightly different case.

Regardless, alhaitham still doesn't want trouble. Leaves you be with the matra to discuss and sort out your own situation for the most part.

And then you get assigned to work at the Akademiya.

Its temporary, just until you gain your bearings. And the higher-ups (ahem, Nahida), determine he's appropriate to look after you for a period of time. He's a pretty well-adjusted guy, doesn't bother much, and simple enough to not complicate things (you may protest regarding the kinds of books he reads, but to his standard, it is simple. Just don't bother with that.)

Regardless, he's now in charge of you.

He teaches you the main language Teyvat currently uses, or at least the main language talked in major parts of Sumeru. Stays with you after work hours from time to time to help you learn – but only in exchange for knowledge about your own world. He studies you – or rather your subjects, your culture, your languages. If he's teaching you, you have to appeal something to him, and of equal magnitude aswell. So for the most part, your time is spent trying to piece together how to get you back to your world, or simple cultural and linguistic discussions. Unless that isn't your thing; but you both can find a common ground even then, considering Alhaitham doesn't shy away from different areas of study.

It's only natural your bond progresses. You both go from "somewhere between acquaintances and strangers" to "might occasionally greet while passing by". It's not soon before some of the other higher ups approach you to help get a task done from him, since it always seems like he manages to evade them, going who knows where during his working hours. Maybe it's an important task that can't simply be left on his desk. But you're a bit of a special case - Alhaitham doesn't mind sharing a few details with you; as long as you can appropriately determine what is and isnt worth his time. So you somehow manage to find him and get things done.

Its a bit strange. There's only a few ever constants in his life when it comes to people, and doesn't expect much in return. But having you around is different. Having you around feels.. strangely understanding. Although he doesn't mind the solitude, a part of him has always felt secluded from the masses. And you seem to be stuck in a similar situation. It's only natural you two seem to stick together. It's natural. That's what he tells himself.

And then you start to fizzle out from his grasp.

You make new friends. Newer people who may or may not know about where you really might be from. You learn newer things, far beyond Alhaitham's scope (or rather, just his scope of teaching), you get involved with many, many, people, even get invited to events he doesn't. It hurts a bit when he sits silently at your usual table at the library, cozily tucked away from most prying eyes, sitting across where you should have been, but aren't. but he won't admit it. You did mention you're busy and might not be able to come. But something inside him twists the slightest bit.

And he will admit it– only to himself. He has no grasp on his judgement nor principle when he decides to destroy all your documents, leaving you to hopelessly and despairingly run around to somehow, someway, recover them, trying to revive all the information you earnestly gathered.

He begrudgingly gets up to attend the door in the middle of the night, almost regretting not having worn his headphones, when he stops thinking for a moment. Its you. Of course it is. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch up, but he resists. He invites your shaking, teary form inside with silence and serves you some tea, before sitting down in front of you. It's almost funny how familiar the scene is – except this time you're alone much later at night with him, and this time you're so distressed you can barely get the words out before you break down.

And he takes care of you, silently. His large, warm hand soothingly rubs your back as he gives you space to cry and blubber out all your stresses, humming to let you know he's listening, tapping the saucer of the tea cup when you're sobbing a bit too heavy and need a break. It's enough to make you realize just who you really need to stick by. None of your friends would really care for you, would they? They're simply fascinated by the strange things you say. Alhaitham and you have a deeper connection, don't you think? Maybe if you're a bit of a romantic thinker yourself, he can twist his words just right enough to even imply you both must have been meant by fate to meet.

In the end, it all settles when you decide to sleep over, cancel your plans for the next day as you get ready to sort out your information with Alhaitham all over again. And this time, he can study you closely.

-

[leonardcohenofficial]

there’s a great write up by someone on here that i will have to search for in which they discuss how the ultimate evil for david lynch is sexual violence against women (even more severe than murder, which is often auxiliary to that type of specific violence); twin peaks is incredibly soapy—on purpose! lynch and frost are playing with form and content on purpose to examine incredibly difficult subject matter through a (for lack of a better word) more palatable format—which most of the time i think works to its advantage and makes those moments of visible horror so much more effective (i use “visible” rather than “true” or other similar adjectives because the horror is always there, it’s embedded in the entire town, shows up in every generation we see in screen and we watch them grapple with it in different ways, but that’s a separate post)

however—and i’ve talked about this before—i find that once you’ve watched fire walk with me it is so much harder to watch the show because the ignorance of nearly every single member of the town (yes, including cooper) pervades the way the action unfolds. twin peaks viewers knew the premise of the show going in and we get to discover details and information alongside the characters. when albert rosenfield comes in as the only voice of reason and reality, it’s set up to be jarring to both the townspeople and to the viewer. why?

sheryl lee said in an interview, “fire walk with me was very difficult for me to watch… and, emotionally it’s a reminder: this is a movie, but this continues to happen every day and how can we stop it? when i watch fire walk with me now, as a mother, i watch it and i think look at all those signs that were being exhibited. this girl was in danger, and look at all these people that were in her life. what would have happened if someone, somewhere, somehow could have helped or stopped it? that’s hard to watch.”

much has been discussed critically about fire walk with me and whether or not it’s exploitative in the ways that it portrays sexual violence against women. while lynch does not shy away from making that violence visible, it is done so in an attempt to make the viewer examine their own relationship to that violence and how it shows up in their own lives. the audience is forced to think about the ways that they are complicit in how and why these violent acts occur and what they can do to stop it, which is why for many it is an uncomfortable watch. for others, it is a painful (and speaking from my own perspective) necessary watch because lynch didn’t make a horror movie, he made a documentary.

fire walk with me is necessary (in my humblest of opinions) to understand why the pieces that lynch and frost put into twin peaks work. there’s so much backstory to how they weren’t originally going to reveal who laura palmer’s killer was until ABC made them, lynch wasn’t around during much of the second season so things got a little off the rails storytelling-wise, etc. etc. but fire walk with me allows them to tie difficult, often horrifying threads (ben horne unknowingly attempting to have sex with his daughter, the townspeople’s distancing of albert, the hands of random townspeople trembling as BOB attempts to claw back into the material world, the list goes on and on) back to the central thesis of “sexual violence is the ultimate evil, it is completely avoidable, and you have a responsibility to recognize the signs and stop being complicit”

[mesetacadre]

Hey do you think you could watch and give your throughts on youtuber Jonas Čeika video "marx was not a statist"?

Thank you

Quite honestly, the title alone already betrays some amount of anarchist metaphysics, the concept of stateism is a purely idealist notion which only works if you are a liberal about authority. But regardless, I still watched the full thing.

The video starts with a very semantic-focused discourse on how marx never used "socialism" to mean the lower phase of communism, and way too much time on the terms transitionary period/DotP as if they weren't two terms that refer to the same thing. In the case of socialism/lower phase of communism, I think he's obfuscating. He focuses the discussion on whether Marx used a certain term in the same way we do now. This would be like spending a good 5 minutes of a video presenting, with an almost accusatory disposition against modern communists, how the bolsheviks called themselves social-democrats, pretending like the terms haven't simply evolved. He promises an "active engagement with marxist theory" and he starts by arguing semantics. He even acknowledges this possible criticism, but you also then have to defend why that criticism is not valid, instead he acts like merely acknowledging it will make that criticism invalid. I'm also spending this time on this specific point because, later, he also forgets how Marx used the word "socialism".

When he does define the lower stage of communism, he engages in a very mechanic and economicist view, with the simple train of thought: No money (replaced with vouchers) > no capital to accumulate > no classes > no state. I think that just by asking how these vouchers will be regulated and how access to wealth restricted to the use of those vouchers, the conclusion that the substitution of money necessarily leads through that chain to the disappearance of the state becomes, very transparently, downright infantile.

In his point about how the Paris Commune changed Marx's view on the state, he cites excerpts in a very misleading way. The whole point starts by pointing out that, in the preface to the 1872 edition, the experience of the Paris Commune led Marx and Engels to the following analysis: "...the working class cannot simply lay hold of the ready-made state machinery, and wield it for its own purposes". This, along with a disregard of the importance of the specific policy points they outlined in the manifesto, and the importance of absolute centralization, means to him that Marx and Engels, actually, completely disregarded the use of the state on the road to communism. To quote Lenin: "Listen, comrade from Tiflis, one may prevaricate, but one should know the limit...."

What the video doesn't directly address (and although he talks about the text extensively, It's important to cite ideas where they actually come from), is that this quote, although it appeared in the 1872 edition of the manifesto, comes from Civil War in France, a longer text on the Paris Commune. This is a more complete context of that quote that the video never gives [ID in alt text]

That quote is the beginning of a chapter in which Marx describes how the Paris Commune governed itself, and how it broke with the series of revolts that happened throughout the period of feudalism, how the class character of the Commune marked it as the significant event that it is. It is true that the Commune's aspirations for the entire world was for its form to be replicated even in the smallest hamlet, and it may even be true that this influenced Marx to generally reject centralization of the state. However, what the breadtuber obviates throughout the entire video, is that a small state is still a state, and furthermore, that revolutionary strategy is not dictated by what is right or wrong, but by what can be done to advance the cause of the emancipation of the working class. It is one thing to reject the state outright, and another very different thing to acknowledge that it is necessary to take control of the state to emancipate the working class, even if you abstractly oppose the concept of a state. Not only to take control of the state, which is the point of the original quote, it is necessary to create our own worker's state, in whichever form it best suits the concrete reality: "the working class cannot simply lay hold of the ready-made state machinery, and wield it for its own purposes". Jonas says that the proletariat should, instead, create "radically democratic working class institutions". These gentlemen think that when they have changed the names of things they have changed the things themselves.

Instead of understanding that point, he goes even further. Jonas has understood that, by praising the measures taken by the Paris Commune (which, let's remember, failed after two months!), Marx and Engels began to believe that "[the state] is by nature bourgeois". Maybe Jonas started reading Bakunin instead of Marx without realizing, this is perhaps the most liberal and historically illiterate portion of the 30+ minute video essay. Again, comrade from breadtube, one may prevaricate, but one should know the limit. In fact, Marx even says in the same text being discussed: "It is generally the fate of completely new historical creations to be mistaken for the counterparts of older, and even defunct, forms of social life, to which they may bear a certain likeness". The irony needn't be explained.

As if Jonas hadn't misconstrued the text and Marx enough, he shows the quote: "... although there is nothing socialist in them except their tendency...". At first I was unable to find this specific quote in Civil War in France, not in any chapter nor in the footnotes. As it turns out, this quote is not from Civil War in France, as Jonas so succinctly cites it, but from the draft of the text. First, it's simply dishonest to cite such a cherrypicked line from a draft and passing it off as something Marx published.

There might be a myriad of possible reasons why this idea did not make it into the final text, but in order for the audience to correctly follow along, it's necessary for them to know where an idea comes from. Beyond this, which I find misleading enough, the video makes the point that with this line, Marx is clearly differentiating between a dictatorship of the proletariat and socialism. But hang on, didn't Jonas spend the first 5 minutes of the video explaining that, in the times of Marx, socialism was understood to be a reformist and petit-bourgeois stance? So, then, how could this out of context, unpublished line be Marx making a distinction between lower-phase communism and the dictatorship of the proletariat? This is the phrase's context [ID in alt text]:

The actual point of this portion is not even related to what Jonas makes it out to be. Here, using "socialist" as another name for utopians, Marx makes the distinction between previous movements of utopians, those socialist sects, and the Paris Commune, because even though their goals, the emancipation of labor, may appear similar, there is nothing socialist [utopian] in them because their means are not utopian, but the beginnings of scientific communism. So, then, not only did Jonas go back on the first point of the video to dunk on the evil stalinists, and not only did he completely remove the context of a phrase by failing to cite properly, but he also failed to even understand the points made in the text he's cherrypicking. Is this what passes for "active engaging with marxist texts" in breadtube?

After this portion, which I still consider the better half of the video, he veers into talking about socialism in one country, first by, again, very blatantly removing important parts of the texts he talks about. The quote he shows, from Principles of Communism, is as follows: "Will it be possible for this revolution to take place in one country alone? No. By creating the world market, big industry has already brought all the peoples of the Earth [...] into such close relation with one another that none is independent of what happens to the others [...] It follows that the communist revolution will not merely be a national phenomenon but must take place simultaneously in all civilized countries [...] It is a universal revolution and will, accordingly, have a universal range." It is true that Engels states that communist revolutions cannot be confined to the national scale, but those ommissions hide a lot of nuance that is very relevant to discussing Marx and Engels' positions on the national/international question. This is the full quote [ID in alt text]:

Marx and Engels were unable to completely and correctly analyze the imperialist form of capitalism, which hadn't yet fully crystallized, economically speaking. According to them, since capitalism was the most developed in places like England or France, the proletariat was also more developed, and the socialist revolution would happen first in these places, and propagate outwards. This notion was proved false by both theory (Lenin's imperialism) and by practice. Lenin identified that, as imperialism settled down as the highest stage of capitalism, the imperialist chain could only be broken at the weakest link, which was Russia at the time. I'm insisting on Lenin's theories because Jonas also claims Lenin to the "not statist" camp, and the video very quickly loses any originality by defaulting to the narrative of Stalin betraying Marx and Lenin by rejecting the world-wide revolution in the short-medium term as a pre-requisite for the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat. I think that going more in depth into this will only make this response unnecessary longer, but to end it, I think it's apt to end with a Lenin quote which directly refutes this anti-Lenin betrayal notion:

A United States of the World (not of Europe alone) is the state form of the unification and freedom of nations which we associate with socialism—about the total disappearance of the state, including the democratic. As a separate slogan, however, the slogan of a United States of the World would hardly be a correct one, first, because it merges with socialism; second, because it may be wrongly interpreted to mean that the victory of socialism in a single country is impossible, and it may also create misconceptions as to the relations of such a country to the others.

Uneven economic and political development is an absolute law of capitalism. Hence, the victory of socialism is possible first in several or even in one capitalist country alone. After expropriating the capitalists and organising their own socialist production, the victorious proletariat of that country will arise against the rest of the world—the capitalist world—attracting to its cause the oppressed classes of other countries, stirring uprisings in those countries against the capitalists, and in case of need using even armed force against the exploiting classes and their states. The political form of a society wherein the proletariat is victorious in overthrowing the bourgeoisie will be a democratic republic, which will more and more concentrate the forces of the proletariat of a given nation or nations, in the struggle against states that have not yet gone over to socialism. The abolition of classes is impossible without a dictatorship of the oppressed class, of the proletariat. A free union of nations in socialism is impossible without a more or less prolonged and stubborn  struggle of the socialist republics against the backward states.

On the Slogan for a United States of Europe, V. I. Lenin (1915)

Overall, I think this video lacks any kind of rigor or respect for the texts discussed. Citations are pretty predominantly misleading or incomplete in some way, he extrapolates fantastical ideas from texts he doesn't appear to understand, and more in general, the way the video is concienved reeks of dogmatism, the arguments overwhelmingly boil down to "Marx said this (according to me), so it must be true". There is no actual engagement with texts, but there isn't even a will to engage with history. Marxism does not end with Marx and Engels, it's a philosophical and political framework that extends beyond the gospel of incomplete quotes. Even if Marx and Engels really did believe such anti-materialist ideas as "the state is bourgeois by nature", it would not change the facts that the history and experiences after the Paris Commune should also have weight in order to reach conclusions.

[ovaryacted]

I think Leon (4make specifically) fucking away those awful period cramps is hot ngl. He's a babygirl like that and literally anything to make his baby feel better.

Like, i think he'd suggest or heck if asked he's just there wanting to make sure you're alright and comfy first and foremost but boy does he deliver. I love him what else can i say

MDNI/18+. NSFW. | cw: discussions of menstruation & period sex note: not everyone's menstrual cycles are the same or behave the same, some people have very harsh and violent periods and others can manage their cycles better. everyone is different and that is okay, and if this doesn't apply to your situation that is okay as well. this is merely a generalization of having intimacy during that time of the month. 🫶

PERIOD SEX YEAHHHHHHHHH. But yes anon, I love him too. I feel like obviously, Leon would be attentive and soft when it comes to comforting you on your cycle, but if the horny monster sneaks up on you he won't deny it. If anything, I think he'll be the one to try to suggest it or ease you into the idea because it could help you feel better. He only does things based off of your comfort level, so unless your cramps are really pissing you off, he'll leave you alone.

Leon is much more gentle and considerate when you're on your period, a bit less handsy, and pays more attention to reading your body cues. You don't have to ask him to do anything, he's already doing it before you have to open your mouth.

You're cold? He's getting you a blanket and wrapping it around you. Your cramps are beating your ass? He comes in with a bottle of Tylenol, a heating pad, and some tea sweetened just the way you like. You're hungry or you want some food? He'll get you whatever you want or cook something if you really ask for it. Your boobs are feeling sore? He's pushing your shirt up over your chest and using his strong hands to knead at your swollen skin until you feel better.

Whatever you want, you get, even if you're not entirely sure how to vocalize the things you need at the moment.

What you hate the most about your cycle is how badly you want to be near Leon, rubbing up against his firm chest and having his hands over you. The comforting touches turn into heavy petting as you bring your lips to his own, softly grinding into his pelvis and running your fingers through his hair. You can feel him get hard against you, your body more sensitive and on edge, the ache in your gut meshing in with the light cramping.

You want more, of course you do. You're practically vibrating over Leon's lap and he can feel it from the way you shift against him. But it looked like a massacre between your legs, and the last thing you wanted was to come off as an insane horndog. Pulling away from Leon's lips, you sigh in defeat as your hormones go haywire, about to move off of him completely before his hands keep you planted on top of him.

"You don't have to stop if you don't want to, I don't mind", he tells you with plump lips, caressing your cheek with one hand and the other touching your hip under your T-shirt.

"I know but...we can't do much anyways. It feels nice just kissing you", you said with a shrug, leaning forward to kiss him again and exhale a breath through your nose.

"Says who? If you want to mess around, we can you know? It's just me", Leon gives you a lopsided grin in reassurance.

"Leon, that kind of stuff...it's weird and gross, and messy...", you were giving him excuses, looking away from him bashfully but you couldn't ignore the way his words made your body warm up at the suggestion.

"Some people like doing things while they're on their cycles, something about it helping their cramps. I read it in a study a while ago", he said as if this was the easiest thing for him to imply. He did read a study that said something about sex helping diminish cramps, and he may or may not have asked Claire for tips on how to make you feel more comfortable on your cycle.

But period sex with your loving boyfriend? That seemed too farfetched and too much to ask for.

"If you want me to help you out that way, all you have to do is ask me. I won't judge you sweetheart", Leon cupped your face with both hands, looking at you with intense blue eyes. You looked into his gaze to find any sense of deceit, but all you found was his desire.

"You sure you won't find it gross?", your voice was more curious now, the arousal you felt earlier coming back stronger.

"You're talking to someone who kills monsters for a living, blood would be the last thing that bothers me", he chuckled, giving you one final kiss on your lips and rubbing the tip of his nose against your own.

"Want me to make you feel better?", he asked you gently, and the moment you nodded at him he wrapped his arms around you to mesh your body with his own.

He's still gentle as he has you with your back pressed into the mattress, a towel underneath you and your legs wrapped around his slim waist. Leon was fucking into you at an even pace, taking it slow and focusing on the way you tightened around him every time he pushed back inside you. With every swivel of his hips, he fills you up entirely before pulling his hips back, doing it again and again as he leaves kisses all over your neck.

Your body was more responsive to him, every nerve lit like a match and burning over like melting wax. You could feel him, smell him, not wanting to part from him for one second as you whined into his shoulder.

"Feel so damn hot, so good for me baby", Leon grunts against you, nipping at your chin and hitting that spot tucked inside you. You cried out underneath him, thighs beginning to shake as you felt your release building with every thrust he gave you.

Everything felt good, better than good, your body wound tight from the pleasure that made you roll your eyes and focus on Leon's cock filling you the way you craved. You didn't know if you should be thanking him or the study he read, but turns out they were right. This was much better than taking multiple Tylenol pills at a time, and as you came hard around him, your cramps were the last thing on your mind.

[nat20composure]

Astarion and Agency- The Necessity of Discomfort to Self Discovery and the Infantilization of Victims

Minor Astarion discourse ahead that mentions the treatment of SA victims post-abuse:

I want to open this post up just with like. The statement that I don't think there is a correct way to enjoy media and that I LOVE to see individual head cannons and takes on characters in media. I think that is also, to a degree, an integral part of video games because of how unique the experience of playing a game will be to every person who plays it. But it has been making me feel so incredibly sad looking through fan content, art, or discourse for BG3 specifically because of how many people have taken the route of infantilizing Astarion.

I understand the instinct to shield or protect an individual that you love and care for. I also understand that because of the nature of the things that Astarion goes through, a lot of people also feel very deep emotional stakes in him. I'm one of the many fans of the character who is a victim of SA and CSA, I really do get it. That is also why for me personally it is so demoralizing to watch so many people treat him like he is a child who cannot make his own decisions or stand up for himself. Part of that frustration stems from it feeling like a media literacy issue, and the other part of that sense of defeat is just because it feels indicative of a broader attitude that people seem to hold towards victims of abuse, particularly those who are victims of SA.

To explain what I mean by people infantilizing him: I see so many people refuse to allow him the opportunity to be hurt, or to feel uncomfortable. They see this character who has been through an immensely horrible and traumatic experience, and their instinct is to try and shield him from anything else that has the potential to upset him. I get that the people who want that aren't doing it with malicious intent, but frankly it is not really...Helpful? To try and prevent victims from Experiencing Discomfort tm. I also think it kind of disregards the entire thesis of Astarion's character and arc.

When you go through something that robs you of your selfhood and agency, the world can become a crushingly terrifying place. In Astarion, that fear presents itself in a desperation for power, control, and at the core of both of these desires- Safety. One thing the game is clear about is that he has a right to kill his abuser. He has a right to escape his situation. A lot of Astarion's personal arc is centered around being able to finally do that. But the game doesn't just leave it off at getting him to safety. So much of it is also about him needing to take responsibility for himself and his actions, with needing to learn who he as a person is.

The inclusion of the Gur children and Sebastian as characters is a good example of ways in which the game gives Astarion the opportunity to take responsibility. I think that if the intention of the arc was meant to be that "Astarion should never ever have to deal with being afraid or uncomfortable again", then the Ascended arc wouldn't Come with such heavy moral ramifications, like sacrificing the other people just like him, killing the victims he lured in, literal child murder. The game infers that he doesn't deserve to die because of the things he Needed to do to survive, but it also makes it very clear that there is a difference between addressing an Active Threat and using your fear as an excuse to hurt others. Breaking that cycle of abuse when he finally gets the chance to is what separates Spawn Astarion from Cazador.

Taking responsibility for himself, and letting himself sit in the discomfort of vulnerability ultimately ends up being a thing that he is very proud of and cherishes. If you tell him you will make sure nothing like that ever again he himself says that he doesn't want you to be his protector. And so it blows my mind when people go into all of these discussions about Astarion with this...Weird moral high ground for never, ever making or letting him make choices that might hurt him?

I see this the most when it comes to discussions about the possible polyamorous relationship with Halsin and the interaction with the drow twins in the brothel. So many people are just...outright angry? At other people engaging with either of those options? And I feel like that anger is one) rooted in the projection of their Own feelings on non-monogamy and what a victim of SA can or cannot look like. and two) Relies on undermining the agency that Astarion BEGS you for at every turn.

When it comes to the drow twins, the game adapts Astarion's response to them based on where he is in his own personal development (a really cool thing imo). Obviously, if he still doesn't feel good or safe about engaging with sex he declines and says you can feel free, though he hopes you aren't just doing it because he hasn't had sex with you. I think this makes sense: He's just gotten out of a situation where his Safety and worth were directly tied to him having sex. I imagine he feels afraid that not wanting to have sex with you makes him replaceable or inadequate because at this point in the game, he feels like that's all he has to offer. The interaction is relatively the same if you ask him for a poly amorous relationship with Halsin: He just asks you to reassure him that you aren't only doing it because he hasn't had sex with you, and then tells you he isn't worried about it otherwise.

A lot of people have taken the expression of that insecurity in combination with him still allowing you to go forward and do these things as him just "sucking it up" because he's afraid of losing you. (I am aware Shadowheart says he wouldn't be able to handle it when you ask her if you can date both of them- But keep in mind, Astarion says she wouldn't be able to either, and THAT obviously isn't true of her. For the purposes of this discussion I'm only including interactions with Astarion as a judgement of his character.) I understand that concern, but I feel this take disregards so many other points of dialogue, and is also continually rooted in the baseline vilification of discomfort.

To further go into it, the way that he speaks about both of these interactions changes significantly if you speak to him about it once he is completely free from Cazador, and has had time to allow himself to start reconnecting with himself and his sexuality on his terms. He has absolutely No reservations about an open or poly relationship with Halsin, and says he trusts that things will be ok because he one) feels secure in Your relationship and two) Knows Halsin is experienced and trusts him to not be a messy bitch about it.

I think that shift, in combination with the in game explanation of why he isn't ok with being in that sort of relationship with the other Origin Characters (for Lae'zel and Wyll, he says they'd never agree to that. For Shadowheart, he says she's not experienced with open relationships and that he doesn't think it'd work out. For Karlach, that it would break her heart. And for Gale, he says you need standards.) is a pretty good indicator that he doesn't actually care about polyamory or monogamy. I think the vilification of that choice relies on you picking and choosing when you do or do not believe Astarion or just outright not liking non-monogamy in the first place. This interaction has more to do with the player's choice and comfort level, and so is not as important to the broader discussion I am trying to have in this post.

The interaction that is more pertinent to not Allowing him to make decisions is, I think, the drow twins. If you interact with the drow twins after the completion of the Cazador questline, he is outright giddy at the prospect of interacting with the Drow twins. Specifically stating that he is excited to see how he likes these sorts of things now that he's free.

NOW- I do NOT think that he enjoys the act. The game makes that abundantly clear, and I'm not arguing that he has a great time. He obviously does not, and dissociates during it. That being said, allowing this interaction to happen does not make a player evil or selfish. You are not playing the hero if you decide to moderate his choices just because you do not think he is ready for it. Once again, no one is evil for Not doing it either, and I am not saying anybody has to want to. I am just saying that treating this choice like it is an evil choice to make relies on completely disregarding what He wants to do.

Astarion says so many times in the game that he is anxious about finally having the freedom to find out what he wants to do, and I think that his excitement for the drow twin exchange is one of the opportunities the game gives him to make a choice. He makes that choice- And it sucks for him. He doesn't enjoy the act, and having done it he would be able to move forward knowing that. I think it's really cool and important that the game represents that facet of recovering as a victim. While you are trying to renavigate who you are, you are going to make a million new choices you never had before. And sometimes those choices are going to suck ass. It would be a different matter if he knew these things would hurt him and went ahead and did them anyway. But so many people expect him to move forward avoiding even the Potential of being hurt, and I think that is extremely reductive of his arc and who he is.

Beyond the matter of interpersonal relationships, the choice between Ascending or not Ascending Astarion is not a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. It is a choice between his fear and his humanity. Between letting his trauma and his fear define him for the rest of his immortal life, and allowing him the vulnerability of deciding who he is when he isn't running from the world. When he's willing to listen to the parts of himself that want to do right, that wants meaningful connection, that wants to be proud of himself. That wants to meet himself. To confront who he is when someone else isn't deciding that for him.

Astarion as a character is extremely ambitious, inquisitive, and adventurous, three traits that only become more and more evident as he breaks free from letting his own fear dictate how he lives his life. I don't understand how so many people can see him and want to take the core of his character away from him, when he spends the entire game fighting desperately to take it back.

Victims are not casts of the abuse they have gone through. Their shapes may be changed by the hands of others, they may have to relearn how to be the person they want to be. But they are not broken or irreparable or fragile. They do not need to be freed from the grip of one person to be held tight in the grip of another. It is so fucking unfair and self-important to think that your hands will be the ones that fix them. That your hands know better than theirs. I think the kindest thing you can do for a person is to trust them with themselves, and to listen when they tell you who they are and what they want. Please listen to the voices that have only just learned to speak. It is the only way they can get better at doing it.

[s0lemnhypn0s]

(Warning for this post I'm half asleep so I might be incoherent or have disjointed topics. Bare with me, I'm trying to express my thoughts the best I can.)

(and WARNING! i discuss personal paranoias at one point during this, which include the topic of bugs and self harm)

"Billford is ironic we're shipping them ironically" "We don't actually want to see them together" "We don't think theyre a good pair" "its irreconciliably abusive" "its one sided"

ok I'm gonna put forward a take that might be poorly recieved: I think you all are misunderstanding Billford (And each character individually) and just reducing it to "bill abused ford" takes away so much of what makes their dynamic fascinating. And also claiming "Erm its a bit" while engaging in something you "recognize" as abuse only does a disservice to the topic of abuse and how it relates to the mentally ill (I will get into that later). You are treating the relationship as a joke and only acknowledging the abusive aspects when people come at you is just pretty scummy of you. Speaking as someone who experienced a near identical abusive relationship, where my paranoia was preyed upon, causing me to still suffer from the paranoia of being watched by them or that my abuser will eventually send someone after me.

In general, the existence of abuse is a complicated one and abuse is not a catch all, end all term. Not all abuse is built the same. Billford is undeniably abusive, but there is not a period after "abusive", are you picking up what I'm putting down. It's not just "Bill was exerting power over Ford and thats it"

Lets start with: We all recognize Ford is paranoid, but we don't seem to recognize Bill as paranoid in the exact same way, dare I say - Even more paranoid than Ford. I mean, ford got his "Trust no one" quote from Bill directly saying his rule of thumb for trusting people is to just trust no one. He doesn't trust others - He simply doesn't. And this is part of where Bill Cipher's manipulation of SPECIFICALLY Ford comes in.

Now I am going to speak from a personal anecdote of my experience with paranoia and delusions - Me, I will try to "safeguard" against my every little fear and belief that something will, undoubtedly, undeniably, be out to hurt me, and these safeguards are often extreme in nature. They don't make sense to the people around me, but they make sense to me. Sometimes they hurt the people around me. Sometimes, they hurt me. I believe this is the same with Bill Cipher himself. He is taking measures to make sure his worst fears do not come to pass. And because Bill is decidedly not human, only interacts with humans when he deems neccesary, those measures often take the form of something even more extreme than, idk, me shaving my head because I thought bug eggs were in my hair or trying to cut open my skin because I thought something was living in it. They take the form of something abusive (Which is also just... Something that happens with the mentally ill sometimes. I see you guys trying to separate our mental illness from our actions and claim "thats not making you do that". I see you.). Him trying to guard himself from something so terrible(facetious) as Ford's percieved betrayal ultimately becomes a self fufilling prophecy.

Not to mention, if you guys didn't notice. Bill without a doubt projects his own insecurities onto Ford. "I make you feel important" Ford makes Bill feel important. "No one loves you" He was ostracized in his dimension. "Who will miss you" He destroyed his entire home, nobody would mourn Bill, because they were all gone, long gone. "I'm sending someone to steal your eyes" Might be a stretch, but I look towards the silly straw poem "A different kind of eye doctor, who wants to make his patient blind" Obviously the use of "blind" here is metaphorical, but I feel its still in some ways applicable.

Bill very evidently experienced medical abuse and ostracization in Euclydia, something exceedingly common for those labeled as mad. (Which also brings me to the topic of people saying "I'm so glad they didn't make Bill a sympathetic villain in the book of bill" bc. Hi. I'm a guy thats experienced ostracization and medical staff forcibly medicating me in order to fix me. I think he is sympathetic actually). Not only that, Bill Cipher had a trillion years to fester in his resentment and his guilt, and you think that like. Didn't effect him at all. I really and truly beg to disagree.

Not only that: I think Bill felt a kinship with Ford. Ford was ostracized, he was betrayed by the world (and "betrayed" by his brother), he was regarded as a freak for what he was born with, just as Bill was regarded as a freak for his mutation in Euclydia. Bill thought Ford was just like him. Bill thought Ford would understand him, and furthermore would jump at the opportunity to burn the world down with him. And. to his credit. Ford does, in some capacity, understand him. As much as Ford could understand, with Bills lies within lies. Bill craves the intimacy and fears the touch. He uses fear to get Ford to love him, not only because he thinks it will safeguard him from what he fears most, but likely because it is all he knows, all he was taught. Love through fear. Our love is painful, but we only want to help. Pain in love is natural. It's right. It will only hurt a little. This is how you know we love you. He was shocked when Ford rejected him. He thought he did everything right. He had everything planned, for them to be together for eternity.

And bare in mind also that - Bill. Most evidently. Views himself as a monster. When Ford asks about what happened to his dimension, who destroyed it - Bill responds "A monster.", he says "Sixer, it would eat you alive" when Ford offers to help hunt it down. He lets his mask of jovial, mysterious mischief drop just slightly, and we understand just a little bit more of how he feels about the euclidean massacre, how he understands himself through his actions. And what he understands, is that this is just his nature. "I liberated my dimension, Stanford", a lie but not in the way you'd think. He lies, acting like what he did was intentional, as its the only way he could ascribe "reason" to what he did. It couldn't have been an accident. That is just how I am. It wasn't an accident, and I liberated them. (I wish I could go back.) And I come back to the idea of a self fufilling prophecy, because its again- That exactly. Bill decided this was all he could be, he did everything that would make him a "monster" after the accident that caused the euclidean massacre - And so, he was. A sick prognosis that he created and fufilled with his own two hands, he became the monster he and his home dimension envisioned him as.

Abuse is a complicated subject. What Bill did was abuse, yes, but I also distinctly believe it to be a case of abuse between two mentally ill people, one of which is so old, his hate his anger and his regrets, all are ancient and yet so fresh.

I feel another part of the problem is people are taking Bill at face value. Which is exactly what he wants to do because then you dont get at what hes doing all this for and why. You don't get past the exoskeleton to the tender flesh beneath. But stop taking what he says at face value. Read into it more. Analyze the triangle.

Also it might be controversial (hyperbole.) , but I do thing it means /something/ that during Ford's part of the book of bill, where Bill and Ford's relationship is recounted from his perspective, Bill is notably absent, whereas in the rest of the book, he is guiding us through it and constantly maintains a loud presence in it. You could interpret this in a lot of different ways I think, but the way I've chosen to interpret it is as a mix of shame, regret, and an unwillingness to revisit their past together. Perhaps even Bill having enough respect for Ford to not interject his telling of their story together, if you want to get real complicated about it. Paradoxal, if you will.

(Also I find the theraprism to be a most fucked "end" for Bill Cipher due to the medical abuse he experienced as a child. Something something, mad people can never escape the institutions which seek to "fix" them.)

anyway if you read through my mad sleep addled ramblings CONGRATS! i'm probably going to make edits and add to this when I wake up in the morning but i needed to get this out or id forget. billford is abusive but its way more complex than just... abuse. Abuse is a complex subject and it exists on a spectrum, for a lack of better words. and dont twist my words - That isn't saying "this is less bad abuse", this is saying "its complicated and just leaving it at abusive does their relationship a disservice"

[autistichalsin]

One of the things that fascinates me about Halsin is how, as into sex as he is, he seems singularly focused on his partner's pleasure; he gets on his knees for them in his romance scene, but shows no sign of wanting them to return the favor.

And in fact, he is a lot better at giving advice than taking it. After flirting at the Tiefling party, Halsin tells the player not to worry about coming on too strong and that they were just seizing the moment, and yet, if the player rejects Halsin after he accidentally wildshapes, the next morning he apologizes for coming on too strong.

Whether that's just a hangup of his because he thinks he has to be the Best to make sure his lover won't leave him, or maybe some of it is a result of the Underdark, I'm not sure. But he definitely is harder on himself than others.

And I think that is one thing that would come out in his kinks; as much as he affirms that, for example, dom/sub fantasies are perfectly normal (like in that party banter to ascended Astarion, where his worry is specifically because the player is actually thralled) he seems like he has trouble affirming his own. For example, he shifts into bear form in the Drow brothel, but only does this when they express interest in his bear form; "we must give the people what they want, mustn't we?"

So it would be really interesting, then, for Halsin to have a really taboo kink/desire, and be absolutely terrified to tell his partner about it, terrified they'll think he's sick/a freak and leave him.

TW: Discussion of consensual non-consent, also known as rape fantasy or rapeplay, are under the cut. Read at your own risk.

So imagine Halsin having this fantasy. As a big guy he is used to being the dominant partner; no one has ever suspected he might like to bottom, or to be a submissive. The only time he's done such a thing was with his Drow captors. He knows he would like to give his submission willingly, and he does with his partner a few times, before expressing this particular kink.

One thing that gets horribly misunderstood is what makes one actually want CNC. It isn't that they actually want to get raped; it's the idea of having control forcibly taken so completely, while still being safe. Such people wouldn't enjoy a real assault. It's precisely because it comes from a trusted partner, who isn't actually hurting them, that people enjoy it.

So for Halsin, who always has to be in control, to want to explore his trauma where he was forced to lose control, and to experiment with elements from that in an entirely different scenario, where he can draw comfort from it, is something i could very much see him wanting. He would want to revisit those on his terms. He himself said that while under such endless stress from the Shadow Curse, he began to fantasize about his days with the Drow, viewing it as a safer place mentally. "Perhaps [the Shadow Curse] caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth..." He is trying to work out his feelings towards when he lost control.

He clearly doesn't want to return to them; if a Lolth Drow threatens to sell him back to his captors, he snaps, "you would be unwise to attempt it, trust me. In any case, the house of my captors is long-extinct." Then he pauses and has a realization; realizing for the first time that they were captors, not hosts, and that captors was a more accurate term. Halsin is still processing parts of his trauma, after all this time, and admits that his current stresses caused him to struggle with this.

So he doesn't want to actually return to them, but in his head he constructed a fantasy version of them that was safer to engage with, where the violations he endured weren't real. And honestly, in his shoes, it's completely understandable how and why that happened.

So that makes the case for why he needs a safe place to explore himself, his fantasies, his fears, all of it.

The issue of course is that Halsin is self-sacrificing and, as noted above, doesn't seem to prioritize his wants as much as his partners'. If he ever did manage to speak about this, it would be, I think, after a great deal of guilt and maybe even self-loathing, thinking there must be something wrong with him for having these fantasies.

So imagine him with a partner who is happy to indulge him, who gets him to finally open up about his desires. Who affirms that he's allowed to have desires, to process his trauma however he needs; after all, any way of working through it is better than doing nothing like Halsin has been doing for centuries. This is him finally being willing to explore it, to see how it interacted with his own sexuality; of course his partner would never refuse him such a thing.

That is the core of the CNC fic I'm going to write; showing how Halsin's unique blend of traumas affect how and why he craves this in particular.

[cy-cyborg]

Dealing with Healing and Disability in fantasy: Writing Disability

[ID: An image of the main character from Eragon, a white teenage boy with blond hair in silver armour as he sits, with his hand outstretched. On his hand is a glowing blue mark. He is visibly straining as he attempts to heal a large creature in front of him. /End ID]

I'm a massive fan of the fantasy genre, which is why it's so incredibly frustrating when I see so much resistance to adding disability representation to fantasy works. People's go-to reason for leaving us out is usually something to the effect of "But my setting has magic so disability wouldn't exist, it can just be healed!" so let's talk about magic, specifically healing magic, in these settings, and how you can use it without erasing disability from your story.

Ok, let's start with why you would even want to avoid erasing disability from a setting in the first place. I talked about this in a lot more detail in my post on The Miracle Cure. this line of thinking is another version of this trope, but applied to a whole setting (or at least, to the majority of people in the setting) instead of an individual, so it's going to run into the same issues I discussed there. To summarise the points that are relevant to this particular version of the trope though:

Not every disabled person wants or needs a cure - many of us see our disability as a part of our identity. Do difficulties come with being disabled? absolutely! It's literally part of the definition, but for some people in the disabled community, if you took our disabilities away, we would be entirely different people. While it is far from universal, there is a significant number of us who, if given a magical cure with no strings attached, would not take it. Saying no one in your setting would be disabled because these healing spells exists ignores this part of the community.

It messes with the stakes of your story - Just like how resurrecting characters or showing that this is something that is indeed possible in the setting can leave your audience feeling cheated or like they don't have to worry about a character *actually* ever dying. healing a character's disability, or establishing that disability doesn't exist in your setting because "magic" runs into the same problem. It will leave your readers or viewers feeling like they don't have to worry about your characters getting seriously hurt because it will only be temporary, which means your hero's actions carry significantly less risk, which in turn, lowers the stakes and tension if not handled very, very carefully.

It's an over-used trope - quite plainly and simply, this trope shows up a lot in the fantasy genre, to the point where I'd say it's just overused and kind of boring.

So with the "why should you avoid it" covered, let's look at how you can actually handle the topic.

Limited Access and Expensive Costs

One of the most common ways to deal with healing and disability in a fantasy setting, is to make the healing magic available, but inaccessible to most of the population. The most popular way to do that is by making the services of a magical healer capable of curing a disability really expensive to the point that most people just can't afford it. If this is the approach you're going to use, you also typically have to make that type of magic quite rare. To use D&D terms, if every first level sorcerer, bard, cleric and druid can heal a spinal injury, it's going to result in a lot of people who are able to undercut those massive prices and the expense will drop as demand goes down. If that last sentence didn't give you a hint, this is really popular method in stories that are critiquing capitalistic mindsets and ideologies, and is most commonly used by authors from the USA and other countries with a similar medical system, since it mirrors a lot of the difficulties faced by disabled Americans. If done right, this approach can be very effective, but it does need to be thought through more carefully than I think people tend to do. Mainly because a lot of fantasy stories end with the main character becoming rich and/or powerful, and so these prohibitively expensive cure become attainable by the story's end, which a lot of authors and writer's just never address. Of course, another approach is to make the availability of the magic itself the barrier. Maybe there just aren't that many people around who know the magic required for that kind of healing, so even without a prohibitive price tag, it's just not something that's an option for most people. If we're looking at a D&D-type setting, maybe you need to be an exceptionally high level to cast the more powerful healing spell, or maybe the spell requires some rare or lost material component. I'd personally advise people to be careful using this approach, since it often leads to stories centred around finding a miracle cure, which then just falls back into that trope more often than not.

Just outright state that some characters don't want/need it

Another, admittedly more direct approach, is to make it that these "cures" exist and are easily attainable, but to just make it that your character or others they encounter don't want or need it. This approach works best for characters who are born with their disabilities or who already had them for a long time before a cure was made available to them. Even within those groups though, this method works better with some types of characters than others depending on many other traits (personality, cultural beliefs, etc), and isn't really a one-size-fits-all solution, but to be fair, that's kind of the point. Some people will want a cure for their disabilities, others are content with their body's the way they are. There's a few caveats I have with this kind of approach though:

you want to make sure you, as the author, understand why some people in real life don't want a cure, and not just in a "yeah I know these people exist but I don't really get it" kind of way. I'm not saying you have to have a deep, personal understanding or anything, but some degree of understanding is required unless you want to sound like one of those "inspirational" body positivity posts that used to show up on Instagram back in the day.

Be wary when using cultural beliefs as a reasoning. It can work, but when media uses cultural beliefs as a reason for turning down some kind of cure, it's often intending to critique extreme beliefs about medicine, such as the ones seen in some New Age Spirituality groups and particularly intense Christian churches. As a general rule of thumb, it's probably not a good idea to connect these kinds of beliefs to disabled people just being happy in their bodies. Alternatively, you also need to be mindful of the "stuck in time" trope - a trope about indigenous people who are depicted as primitive or, as the name suggests, stuck in an earlier time, for "spurning the ways of the white man" which usually includes medicine or the setting's equivalent magic. I'm not the best person to advise you on how to avoid this specific trope, but my partner (who's Taino) has informed me of how often it shows up in fantasy specifically and we both thought it was worth including a warning at least so creators who are interested in this method know to do some further research.

Give the "cures" long-lasting side effects

Often in the real world, when a "cure" for a disability does exist, it's not a perfect solution and comes with a lot of side effects. For example, if you loose part of your arm in an accident, but you're able to get to a hospital quickly with said severed arm, it can sometimes be reattached, but doing so comes at a cost. Most people I know who had this done had a lot of issues with nerve damage, reduced strength, reduced fine-motor control and often a great deal of pain with no clear source. Two of the people I know who's limbs were saved ended up having them optionally re-amputated only a few years later. Likewise, I know many people who are paraplegics and quadriplegics via spinal injuries, who were able to regain the use of their arms and/or legs. However, the process was not an easy one, and involved years of intense physiotherapy and strength training. For some of them, they need to continue to do this work permanently just to maintain use of the effected limbs, so much so that it impacts their ability to do things like work a full-time job and engage in their hobbies regularly, and even then, none of them will be able bodied again. Even with all that work, they all still experience reduced strength and reduced control of the limbs. depending on the type, place and severity of the injury, some people are able to get back to "almost able bodied" again - such was the case for my childhood best friend's dad, but they often still have to deal with chronic pain from the injury or chronic fatigue.

Even though we are talking about magic in a fantasy setting, we can still look to real-life examples of "cures" to get ideas. Perhaps the magic used has a similar side effect. Yes, your paraplegic character can be "cured" enough to walk again, but the magic maintaining the spell needs a power source to keep it going, so it draws on the person's innate energy within their body, using the very energy the body needs to function and do things like move their limbs. They are cured, but constantly exhausted unless they're very careful, and if the spell is especially strong, the body might struggle to move at all, resulting in something that looks and functions similar to the nerve damage folks with spinal injuries sometimes deal with that causes that muscle weakness and motor control issues. Your amputee might be able to have their leg regrown, but it will always be slightly off. The regrown leg is weaker and causes them to walk with a limp, maybe even requiring them to use a cane or other mobility aid.

Some characters might decide these trade-offs are worth it, and while this cures their initial disability, it leaves them with another. Others might simply decide the initial disability is less trouble than these side effects, and choose to stay as they are.

Consider if these are actually cures

Speaking of looking to the real world for ideas, you might also want to consider whether these cures are doing what the people peddling them are claiming they do. Let's look at the so-called autism cures that spring up every couple of months as an example.

Without getting into the… hotly debated specifics, there are many therapies that are often labelled as "cures" for autism, but in reality, all they are doing is teaching autistic people how to make their autistic traits less noticeable to others. This is called masking, and it's a skill that often comes at great cost to an autistic person's mental health, especially when it's a behaviour that is forced on them. Many of these therapies give the appearance of being a cure, but the disability is still there, as are the needs and difficulties that come with it, they're just hidden away. From an outside perspective though, it often does look like a success, at least in the short-term. Then there are the entirely fake cures with no basis in reality, the things you'll find from your classic snake-oil salesmen. Even in a fantasy setting where real magic exists, these kinds of scams and misleading treatments can still exist. In fact, I think it would make them even more common than they are in the real world, since there's less suspension of disbelief required for people to fall for them. "What do you mean this miracle tonic is a scam? Phil next door can conjure flames in his hand and make the plants grow with a snap of his fingers, why is it so hard to believe this tonic could regrow my missing limb?"

I think the only example of this approach I've seen, at least recently, is from The Owl House. The magic in this world can do incredible things, but it works in very specific and defined ways. Eda's curse (which can be viewed as an allegory for many disabilities and chronic illnesses) is seemingly an exception to this, and as such, nothing is able to cure it. Treat it, yes, but not cure it. Eda's mother doesn't accept this though, and seeks out a cure anyway and ends up falling for a scam who's "treatments" just make things worse.

In your own stories, you can either have these scams just not work, or kind of work, but in ways that are harmful and just not worth it, like worse versions of the examples in the previous point. Alternatively, like Eda, it's entirely reasonable that a character who's been the target of these scams before might just not want to bother anymore. Eda is a really good example of this approach handled in a way that doesn't make her sad and depressed about it either. She's tried her mum's methods, they didn't work, and now she's found her own way of dealing with it that she's happy with. She only gets upset when her boundaries are ignored by Luz and her mother.

Think about how the healing magic is actually working

If you have a magic system that leans more on the "hard magic" side of things, a great way to get around the issue of healing magic erasing disability is to stop and think about how your healing magic actually works.

My favourite way of doing this is to make healing magic work by accelerating the natural processes of your body. Your body will, given enough time (assuming it remains infection-free) close a slash from a sword and mend a broken bone, but it will never regrow it's own limbs. It will never heal damage to it's own spinal cord. It will never undo whatever causes autism or fix it's own irregularities. Not without help. Likewise, healing magic alone won't do any of these things either, it's just accelerating the existing process and usually, by extension making it safer, since a wound staying open for an hour before you get to a healer is much less likely to get infected than one that slowly and naturally heals over a few weeks. In one of my own works, I take this even further by making it that the healing magic is only accelerating cell growth and repair, but the healer has to direct it. In order to actually heal, the healer needs to know the anatomy of what they're fixing to the finest detail. A spell can reconnect a torn muscle to a bone, but if you don't understand the structures that allow that to happen in the first place, you're likely going to make things worse. For this reason, you won't really see people using this kind of magic to, say, regrow limbs, even though it technically is possible. A limb is a complicated thing. The healer needs to be able to perfectly envision all the bones, the cartilage, the tendons and ligaments, the muscles (including the little ones, like those found in your skin that make your hair stand on end and give you goose bumps), the fat and skin tissues, all the nerves, all the blood vessels, all the structures within the bone that create your blood. Everything, and they need to know how it all connects, how it is supposed to move and be able to keep that clearly in their mind simultaneously while casting. Their mental image also has to match with the patient's internal "map" of the body and the lost limb, or they'll continue to experience phantom limb sensation even if the healing is successful. It's technically possible, but the chances they'll mess something up is too high, and so it's just not worth the risk to most people, including my main character.

Put Restrictions on the magic

This is mostly just the same advice as above, but for softer magic systems. put limits and restrictions on your healing magic. These can be innate (so things the magic itself is just incapable of doing) or external (things like laws that put limitations on certain types of magic and spells).

An example of internal restriction can be seen in how some people interpret D&D's higher level healing spells like regenerate (a 7th level spell-something most characters won't have access to for quite some time). The rules as written specify that disabilities like lost limbs can be healed using this spell, but some players take this to mean that if a character was born with the disability in question, say, born without a limb, regenerate would only heal them back to their body's natural state, which for them, is still disabled.

An external restriction would be that your setting has outlawed healing magic, perhaps because healing magic carries a lot of risks for some reason, eithe to the caster or the person being healed, or maybe because the healing magic here works by selectively reviving and altering the function of cells, which makes it a form of necromancy, just on a smaller scale. Of course, you can also use the tried and true, "all magic is outlawed" approach too. In either case, it's something that will prevent some people from being able to access it, despite it being technically possible. Other external restrictions could look like not being illegal, per say, but culturally frowned upon or taboo where your character is from.

But what if I don't want to do any of this?

Well you don't have to. These are just suggestions to get you thinking about how to make a world where healing magic and disability exist, but they aren't the only ways. Just the ones I thought of.

Of course, if you'd still rather make a setting where all disability is cured because magic and you just don't want to think about it any deeper, I can't stop you. I do however, want to ask you to at least consider where you are going to draw the line. Disability, in essence, is what happens when the body stops (or never started) functioning "normally". Sometimes that happens because of an injury, sometimes it's just bad luck, but the boundary between disabled and not disabled is not as solid as I think a lot of people expect it to be, and we as a society have a lot of weird ideas about what is and isn't a disability that just, quite plainly and simply, aren't consistent. You have to remember, a magic system won't pick and choose the way we humans do, it will apply universally, regardless of our societal hang-ups about disability.

What do I mean about this?

Well, consider for a moment, what causes aging? it's the result of our body not being able to repair itself as effectively as it used to. It's the body not being able to perform that function "normally". So in a setting where all disability is cured, there would be no aging. No elderly people. No death from old age. If you erase disability, you also erase natural processes like aging. magic won't pick and choose like that, not if you want it to be consistent.

Ok, ok, maybe that's too much of a stretch, so instead, let's look at our stereotypical buff hero covered in scars because he's a badass warrior. but in a world where you can heal anything, why would anything scar? Even if it did, could another healing spell not correct that too? Scars are part of the body's natural healing process, but if no natural healing occurred, why would a scar form? Scars are also considered disabling in and of themselves too, especially large ones, since they aren't as flexible or durable as normal skin and can even restrict growth and movement.

Even common things like needing glasses are, using this definition of disability at least, a disability. glasses are a socially accepted disability aid used to correct your eyes when they do not function "normally".

Now to be fair, in reality, there are several definitions of disability, most of which include something about the impact of society. For example, in Australia (according to the Disability Royal Commission), we define disability as "An evolving concept that results from the interaction between a person with impairment(s) and attitudinal and environmental barriers that hinder their full and effective participation in society on an equal basis with others." - or in laymen's terms, the interaction between a person's impairment and societal barriers like people not making things accessible or holding misinformed beliefs about your impairment (e.g. people in wheelchairs are weaker than people who walk). Under a definition like this, things like scars and needing glasses aren't necessarily disabilities (most of the time) but that's because of how our modern society sees them. The problem with using a definition like this though to guide what your magic system will get rid of, is that something like a magic system won't differentiate between an "impairment" that has social impacts that and one that doesn't. It will still probably get rid of anything that is technically an example of your body functioning imperfectly, which all three of these things are. The society in your setting might apply these criteria indirectly, but really, why would they? Very few people like the side effects of aging on the body (and most people typically don't want to die), the issues that come with scars or glasses are annoying (speaking as someone with both) and I can see a lot of people getting rid of them when possible too. If they don't then it's just using the "not everyone wants it approach" I mentioned earlier. If there's some law or some kind of external pressure to push people away from fixing these more normalised issues, then it's using the "restrictions" method I mentioned earlier too.

Once again, you can do whatever you like with your fantasy setting, but it's something I think that would be worth thinking about at least.

[aerynwrites]

Bound by The Heart (And Other Things)

Dammon x Afab!Reader

A/N: yeah uh…I don’t even have a reason for this other than I have my own personal HC that Dammon would be into bondage lmao. But like…the pretty kind. Hope y’all enjoy :3

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! NSFW. Smut, PiV sex, cunnilingus, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, bondage, rope bondage, restraints, discussions of a safe word but it;s never used, aftercare, fluff.

The weathered leather book is heavy in your hands as you examine the title. 

A Pleasurable Deal. 

The text immediately strikes you as one you’ve seen before, and heat rushes to your cheeks when the memory of a banned books list in Sorcerous Sundries comes to the front of your mind. 

You remember Gale lamenting the list, saying no texts - no matter how obscene - should never be banned. 

You hadn’t given much thought to the list until now, as the book sits in your hands. And the fact that you found it hidden away in Dammon’s side table. 

Despite having been with the blacksmith for months now, you’d never seen this specific tome. Either because it was a new item he’d acquired or…a well loved one he'd kept hidden away. 

You’re assuming it’s the latter if the worn corners of the leather cover and the bent pages have anything to say. 

You move to put the book back, not wanting to intrude on your partners privacy, but as you move to slide it back into place, another book catches your eye. This one tucked behind several other blacksmithing texts. 

It looks rather ornate, the black binding inlaid with gold colored trimmings. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re already reaching for the book, fingers sliding along the smooth cover and pulling it from its place. 

Your eyes fall to the cover, eyes widening as you read the title. 

A Madam's Guide to Pleasure. 

The cover falls open before you can think better of it, your eyes immediately flicking to the small piece of paper sticking out from a section farther into the book. You yearn to flip to that page first, but your eyes instead fall to scan the table of contents. 

Your face gets even hotter as you read over the various section titles. Everything from the basics when it comes to sex to the more debauched. 

Finally, you flip the pages to where the paper sticks out, only to have a few pieces of folded parchment fall into your lap to reveal the title of the section they were tucked into. 

‘Bondage’

The otherwise wicked ideal behind the term is hidden by the pretty flowing script on the page. Your eyes follow the words easily, slowly feeling your heart rate pick up as you take in the text. 

You’ve only made it halfway through the section when you remember the papers that fell into your lap. Setting the book down gently and open to the page you left off, you reach down and unfold the pages. 

The first thing you feel is shock followed by a sudden stab of arousal as you take in the charcoal images sketched onto the pages. 

It’s Dammon’s work, you’d be able to tell his artistry from anywhere thanks to the hundreds of sketches he’s shown you of blacksmithing plans. 

But these…these are not blueprints of swords or daggers or armor. No…

These sketches are something else entirely. Light and dark lines coming together as he depicts various different types of bondage scenarios. 

None of the pictures are lewd in anyway besides their obvious connotation. In a way…they’re quite beautiful. 

You see the vague shape of a body, legs tied together with an intricate weave of rope and knots, as if it’s meant to decorate the wearer rather than restrain them. 

Almost all of the drawings seem that way, the rope and bindings tied and wrapped in a way that’s almost artistic. 

The one that catches your eye the most though, is a page that depicts the front and back view of a woman kneeling and sitting on her heels. 

The sketch of her from behind shows her hands bound behind her back, the ropes binding her arms together in an intricately woven pattern that spans from her wrists all the way up to just beneath her shoulders. 

The other view seems to be part of the same design, the ropes snaking to the front of her body, twining delicately over her breasts, sternum and chest in complicated knots and patterns. 

You’ve just reached up to trace your finger over the sketchings of rope, when a startled call of your name rips you from your reverie. 

“What are you doing?”

Dammons voice is raised louder than he usually speaks to you, face several shades darker than usual as he practically lunges for the items in your hands, a look of utter fear and panic on his face. 

“Oh, gods,” he mutters, hastily collecting the papers before shoving them back into the black bound novel. “You weren’t supposed to see that, I-“ 

“Dammon it’s okay! I promise-“ 

He turns to you then, book clutched tightly in his hands, as he looks at you with something none other than utter betrayal. “Why were you going through my things?” He asks. 

You shake your head, heart sinking to your stomach and dispelling any feelings of arousal the drawings drew forth. 

“I didn’t mean to, I came up here looking for one of my books and I saw you stored some in here and so I thought-“ 

“You thought you’d go through my books instead?” He asks, voice now tinged with accusation as he stands, the book still clutched tightly in his hands. 

“I’m sorry Dammon,” you say from your position still kneeled on the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

“I-I’m not upset, I-“ the tiefling cuts himself off, running a hand down his face as he lets out a sigh, avoiding your gaze. “I just…need some air.”

You watch helplessly as Dammon turns and leaves the bedroom, a pit of guilt stirring deep in your belly. 

————

Dammon spends the rest of the day in the forge, which isn’t unusual, but it feels like an intentional choice today. One you don’t begrudge him considering you snooped through his personal things. 

It’s well into the evening before he comes into the house, and you’re just finishing up dinner. You watch him between plating your meals as he hangs up his blacksmith apron next to the door before heading to the water basin to wash his hands. 

You’ve just placed the last of the food onto your plates when he approaches you, taking one of the plates from your hands with a quick kiss to your cheek.

A small weight is lifted from your shoulders at that small action, and you follow him silently to the kitchen table, taking your habitual seat to his right side. 

The meal is pleasant enough, you tentatively asking about his forge projects and feel the tension lift as he tells you about them. It goes on like that - like normal despite the nagging in your mind. 

You don’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up the earlier incident. But you also don’t want to leave it how it was. You owe him an apology, a real apology, and…there’s something else you want to talk to him about too.

You finally find the courage to bring it all up as you and Dammon clean up after dinner, you drying the washed dishes as Dammon puts them away. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, Dammon,” you say softly, not missing the way his shoulders tense as he takes a plate from you, eyes avoiding yours once more. 

“It’s…It’s alright,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not angry or upset with you, not over something so trivial. I was just…” he lets out a dry chuckle. “I supposed I’m a bit embarrassed for you to have come across such things. I know they aren’t…Common desires.” 

He’s still turned away from you when he finishes, stashing the last dish before his hands fall to his sides. You immediately reach for him, taking his hand in your own as you urge him to face you. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you tell him, feeling that familiar heat creep up into your cheeks as you contemplate your next words. 

“I actually…Liked them. The drawings, I mean.”

Dammon’s eyes finally snap to yours then, bright blue iris’ completely visible to you as he stares at you wide eyed, mouth slightly agape. 

“You…what?”

You take your lip between your teeth coyly, courage slowly building up in your chest as you move to slip your arms around his waist, hands resting on his low back as returns the lose embrace. 

“I liked them,” you repeat. “It looked…beautiful really. The intricate designs and knots and I…”

You pause then, shyness creeping in one more as you look up at your lover. 

“I think I’d like to try it sometime. If that’s - if you’d want too, of course.”

You can practically see the way Dammon’s heart rate picks up, cheeks darkening with blush as his breath stutters. 

“You’d…You’d try that? With me?” 

A small chuckle slips past your lips. “I hope it’s with you.”

In an answer of his own, Dammon captures your lips with his in a fierce kiss. It’s needy and desperate and filled with a relief only you can understand as he pulls you tighter to him. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips before pulling down to trail kisses down your jaw. “We can’t do it tonight,” he says. “I need to prepare.”

You try to hide the small swell of disappointment, but Dammon must sense it anyways, nipping at the spot just below your ear as he tugs you closer to his body. 

“I’m still going to ravish you tonight though. For making me the happiest man in Baldur’s Gate.”

You smile, pulling him up for another kiss before he whisks you upstairs. Anticipation for tonight and what’s to come in the future simmering low in your belly.

—————

It’s only a few days later when Dammon brings it back up, asking if tonight you’d like to try what you all had discussed. When you agreed, a bit too eagerly, he had just let out a small laugh before laying out all of the boundaries. 

He had you pick a safeword in case you wanted out of the restraints, as well as asking you about anything you’d be uncomfortable with. In the end you’d just told him you trusted him completely and once again stated your excitment. 

Which led you here, blindfolded on the edge of your shared bed in nothing but your smallclothes. 

Dammon had tied the soft silk fabric around your eyes before leaving the room to fetch something, asking that you not remove the blindfold before he got back. You obeyed easily, but as the seconds turn into minutes, you feel yourself start to grow impatient. 

What is taking him so long?

Your fingers twitch against your skin from where your hands sit on your thighs before moving to be by your side instead, toying with the soft sheets beneath you. Every creak and faint footstep has your ears perking up, waiting in anticipation for Dammon to return. 

Finally, you hear his familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and to your shared room, the floor boards creaking beneath his weight. His steps are softer than when he left, the sound of bare soles on the wood greeting your ears as he approaches your position. 

He must have taken off his shoes. And you silently hope he took off other things as well, wanting to feel him at least a little bit before you're restrained. 

“Are you still alright?” he asks, his voice much closer than you anticipated. 

You jump slightly as you realize he’s right in front of you now, and you can feel the subtle heat radiating from his body. You nod, reaching out instinctively to touch him. 

He allows it, sighing lightly when your hands bump against his bare stomach, flattening against the taut muscle there before sliding upwards. You can feel the faint ridges and bumps unique to his skin as you continue upwards, gliding over his chest before coming back down again, mapping him in your blinded state. You only stop when your fingers meet rough fabric - the waistband of his pants. 

You hear the faint sound of his tail brushing the ground intermittently, and you can’t help but smile as your fingers curl beneath the band of his pants. But before you can get any further, familiar calloused hands stop your own, pulling you away from his skin. 

“If you do that, I’m afraid we won’t accomplish what we planned to do tonight,” he says breathlessly. 

You are still amazed that such simple touches drive him crazy, but you can’t help but relish in it, because you feel the same anytime Dammon touches you. As if your body can’t get enough. 

Tonight might be the night that it does. 

“Can you give me your hand?” he asks, and you hear him rustling around with something. 

“Of course.”

You offer him your hand and he takes it, turning it palm up and placing a long thin object in your palm. He curls your fingers round it, and when he offers no complaint, you reach up with your other hand to further investigate what it could be. 

“It’s the rope I’m going to use,” he informs you as your fingers trail along the braid material. “It’s…This is why we had to wait. I had to find someone who…dealt with these kinds of things.”

You let out a small hum as you run the rope through you hands, and you slowly begin to understand what he means. It’s smoother than any rope you’ve ever used, so smooth in fact that it feels like silk. It’s sturdy too, not too thick but not so thin it will dig uncomfortably into your skin if it gets tight. It’s like it was created for this purpose alone. 

And perhaps it was. 

You’re no stranger to the more debacuhed happenings in the city. Hells - you’ve been inside Sharess’ Caress. They probably use rope like this in abundance there.

“It’s so…soft,” you say finally, reaching out to offer the rope back to him. 

“Yes I…” He trails off for a moment before continuing. “This isn’t supposed to be painful,” he informs you, and you feel the bed dip beside you, his voice shifting to your right side. “It can be of course but…Not tonight. It’s more about the control I suppose. The art of it.”

You nod as you feel a warm hand settle on your hip. “That makes sense. The drawings I saw were beautiful in a way and also…” you trail off, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Let’s just say I was never put off by the idea once I saw it.”

You can hear the way Dammon’s breath catches, his nails digging into the flesh of your hip ever so slightly. “I should have suggested it sooner, it seems.”

You smile, leaning in to where you think his body is. “You should have.”

He lets out a sigh, and you feel the way it brushes against your temple as he speaks. 

“Well…We’re here now,” he says, slowly dragging his hand from your hip up your back before settling on your shoulder. “Are you ready for me to start?”

You let out a breath of your own, anticipation bubbling in your veins as you shift in your place, eager to get started. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Slowly and with whispered instructions he guides you so your are on your knees on the bed, sitting on your heels as you face away from him. Once you’re in position his fingers skim up to unhook the clasps of your bra, sliding it gently from your shoulders before tossing it somewhere off to your left. 

“If you wanted me naked you could have just said so,” you tease, smiling when it earns youa  chuckle from teh man behind you. 

“That ruins the fun,” he says, and you finally feel the cool slide of rope against your arms. “This is…a lot of this is about the anticipation,” he tells you, breath ghosting over your ear as he gently guides your arms into position behind your back. “The gentle touches, the slow act of tying the rope, the build of what’s to come…”

He has you bend your arms behind your back, forearms almost crossing as he starts to slide the rope beneath them, wrapping it over just a few times before starting to tie the first knot, securing your arms together. 

He continues like that for long agonizing moments. The cool rope sliding against your heated skin as he pulls, tugs, and knots the smooth cord into a masterpiece only he can see. The design soon travels from your forearms upwards above your elbows, as he begins to connect your arms together once more. He threads the rope beneath your right arm, hands ghosting across your back as he brings it over to your left, looping it over your bicep and back again, creating an intricate set of loops and ties that secure your arms behind you further, pulling your shoulders back to just the bare edge of discomfort. 

Dammon was right. This is about the anticipation.

Because with each slide of the rope, with each brush of his fingers or ghost of his lips on your skin, you feel a new pang of arousal pool in your core. You shudder with each pass of the cord on your skin, breath hitching with each knot he tugs into place. 

And Dammon, who’s never known to keep his hands from you for too long, can’t help but to touch you in between. His sharp nails ghosting along your skin, kisses pressed to your shoulder as he mutters words of praise…you can feel yourself getting wet already, and he’s barely even touched you. Not in the way you desire most, at least. 

A whimper slips past your lips when he finally pulls away from you, the last piece of rope in place agasint your arms. But his absence doesn’t last long before he’s back again, his arms snaking around you as a new rope presses against the delicate skin of your lower belly. 

“Are you still alright?” he asks, warm breath ghosting over your cheek as his head comes up beside yours to look down at your exposed body. His chin tucks perfectly against your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your cheek, waiting patiently for you to answer before he continues.

When you do find your words, they come out small, a mere gasp on your lips. 

“Yes,” you assure him. “I just…wish you would touch me. I didn’t…this is more than i expected.”

You feel him tense behind you, his hands stilling. “We can stop at anytime-”

“No!” you almost shout, leaning back into your lover in a silent plea. “Please, don’t stop. I only meant…I didn’t expect to react so strongly to just this.”

Dammon clicks his tongue, letting out a low hum of understanding as his hands start to move again, the rope sliding softly against your skin. 

“If it makes you feel any better…” Dammon trails off, wrapping the rope around your front again, allowing him to press himself against your back, the hardness of him pressing into your low back. “It’s having the same affect on me.”

His words, and the feeling of him hard as steel pressing into your skin is enough to send another bolt of pleasure through you. You expect him to pull away to continue his work, but he does no such thing, instead aiming to stay pressed as close to you as possible as he works on his art. 

Each moment feels agonizing as he slowly winds the ropes up your body, fingers braiding and knotting the pieces together, fingers brushing against your skin, but never doing much more. 

Your breath leaves you in shallow pants, and you can’t help it when you press your hips back into his own, desperate for any kind of touch, any friction to sooth the ache simmering in your veins.

A small groan leaves Dammons lips, and you feel a small tug the the ropes around your arms. “We’ll get there,” he whispers, leaning down to brush a tender kiss to your shoulder. “You’re doing so well, my love. I’m almost done.”

You fight to hold back the whine that threatens to slip past when his lips retreat from your skin, but you do, instead moving to lean back against him as he looks back over your shoulder once more to see his work. 

You can feel the way the cords constrict around you, knotting in the center of your body as it travels upwards and spans out to wrap over your ribs and around your back. Soon enough you can feel them start to settle beneath your breasts. His hands barely brush the plush mounds as he ties a secure knot between them before taking the two ends up and over your collarbones to secure at the back of your neck. 

He ties the last knot, a quiet sigh of admiration leaving him as his hands skim over his work, calloused palms ghosting over your skin. 

You feel the bed shift, his warmth leaving your back. You wonder for a moment if he’s leaving again, but you continue to feel him move, until you think he settles in front of you on the plush mattress. The bed creaks softly as he settles, and despite the blindfold, you can feel his eyes boring into you, admiring his work much like he does that which he produces in the forge. 

Dammon is a lot of things, and a proud man is one of them.

He’s never boastful or arrogant. But he loves his work - he’s always proud of what he can accomplish. And it seems that extends to you as well.

You don’t flinch when his hand settles on your cheek, thumb brushing the skin their gently, as he continues to admire you. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to cup one of your breasts gently. 

A gasp slips past your lips as he runs a thumb over the stiff peak of your nipple, nails scratching the sensitive skin deliciously as he pulls away to trail further down your body. He traces the ropes he tied into place, fingers slipping beneath them every now and again to tug gently. 

“Is it-“ another gasp interrupts you as his hands slide down to brush over your thighs instead. “Is it everything you imagined?” 

Dammon leans forward then, his hands slipping around your hips as his lips fall to your shoulder before trailing down lower to nip sharp teeth at your collar bone. 

“It’s even better,” he breathes. “You’re more magnificent than anything my mind could conjure up.” 

A moan leaves you as his mouth finally reaches your breast, his teeth scarping against the sensitive swell before taking a pert nipple between his lips. 

“Oh, gods…” you gasp, arms tugging at the rope as you instinctively want to reach up to cradle his head in your hands. 

But the restraints keep you in place, completely at his mercy as he continues to lavish your skin with praises and gently love bites. 

You’re burning up now, blood boiling in your veins and desperate for anything Dammon wishes to give you. Something he seems to sense as both arms move to slip around your back as he gently lowers you to lay back on the bed, his lips traveling lower the whole way. 

Your arms are trapped beneath you in this new position, adding to the arousal pooling in your belly as you lay completely open and bare for the man before you. 

His teeth tug at the rope around your hips, hands moving to spread your legs so he can settle between them. 

“Are you still alright, my love?” He asks, fingers creeping slowly up your inner thighs. 

Gods you love him. You really do. But in this moment you want nothing more than for him to ravish you, to tear you completely apart before putting you back together again. 

He can be sweet later. Right now, you want him to fuck you. 

“Yes, yes, Dammon I’m fine,” you assure him, bucking your hips up into his hands. “Just please…fuck me. I cant wait any longer.” 

You would usually be embarrassed by blatantly begging like this, but the feel of Dammons mouth on your wet center removes any and all thoughts but him from your mind. 

His tounge parts your folds running up to tease the small bundle of nerves that sends bolts of pleasure through you. 

You squirm in Dammon’s steel grip, your back arching as he devours you, his fingers digging into your thighs, nails no doubt going to leave behind evidence of his hold on you come morning. 

His name falls from your lips in a lewd prayer, as you buck your hips up into his mouth, seeking more despite the way his tongue moves ravenously against you. 

You feel his hands slide up to the rope around your hips, fingers slipping beneath the cord as he uses it to tug you closer to him, as if he wishes to drown in you. 

His nose nudges at your clit as his tounge prods your entrance, desperate to taste you, his moans sending vibrations through you that make that coil in your belly pull impossibly taut. 

“Fuck,” cry out when he slides one hand to rub expect circles on your clit. “Dammon, I’m close I-“ 

An expert flick of his fingers cuts off your warning, sending you hurtling over the edge into oblivion as Dammon continues to work you through it. 

Incoherent babbles of his name fall from your lips until you finally say back into the bed, chest heaving and legs twitching as Dammon continues to lick at you, certain to leave nothing behind. 

You want to push him away, but without the use of your hands, you squeeze your thighs around his shoulders gently, urging him away from you. 

He obeys with a small sigh, his hand sliding up your body, as his lips follow suit, leaving a moist trail of kisses in his wake before he’s finally pressing them to the underside of your jaw. 

“You’re doing so well, my love,” me mutters against your skin, fingers toying idly with the smooth cord beneath your breasts. 

You smile as you turn your head to capture his lips with your own, tasting yourself on his tounge before pulling away just enough to speak. 

“Can you…Will you take the blindfold off?”you ask. “I’d like to see you.” 

Dammon lets out a low hum, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your lips before reaching up to tug at the silken fabric. 

While the sun has long set, the bedroom is still well lit, lanterns and a few candles lighting the space enough for you to need to adjust to the brightness. 

You blink a few times, leaning into the hand Dammon places on your cheek as his face comes into focus. 

You’ve never seen anything so breathtaking. 

His lips are tilted up in that small smile of his, pupils blown wide with lust as he looks down at you. His cheeks are flushed and errant strands of hair fall from his usually well kept style. 

You yearn to reach up and tuck them back, to card your fingers through his hair or trace around the base of his horns, but you’re once again reminded of the impossibility of that as your arms tug uselessly at your bindings. 

It’s then that you start to recognize the ache in your arms, your hands tingling as they start to fall asleep form their position pinned under you. 

You shift beneath Dammon, and he notices immediately, brow furrowing in silent question. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice laced with concern. 

You shake your head. “No it doesn’t hurt. It just-“ you let out a small chuckle. “I think my hands are falling asleep.” 

Dammon nods, and immediately goes to help you sit up, but you stop him with a shake of your head, an idea popping into your head. 

“Wait.” You tell him, nodding your chin up towards where he was previously sitting. “Sit back.” 

He gives you a curious look, and for a moment he hesitates, but he obeys, scooting back to sit on his heels between your legs. 

You notice the hard bulge in his trousers, and any hesitance about your idea flies out the proverbial window. 

With less effort than you expected, you manage to roll over onto your stomach, gathering your knees below you enough to raise your ass in the air, presenting yourself to the man behind you. 

The sharp intake of breath is enough to tell you that Dammon understands your presentation for what it is. And soon two warm hands settle on your hips, trailing up your sides before coming back down again. 

The warmth of him surrounds you soon after, his chest pressed against your back and arms as he leans over you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders. 

“Are you sure?” 

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning your face so it’s no longer pressed against the sheets. 

“Dammon I swear to the gods, if you went through all this and don’t fuck me-“ 

His lips leave yours in an instant, the heat of him disappearing from behind you as you hear the faint rustle of fabric from behind you. 

His hands settle on your hips again, nails biting into the skin harsher than before as you feel the head of his cock nudge at your entrance. 

You expect him to check in with you again, expect him to ask if you remember your safe word or any amount of other precautions. But he doesn’t. 

Instead he presses into you in one swift thrust, his cock guided easily by your earlier orgasm. 

But it still never prepared you for the size of him. He always stretches you perfectly, the small ridges and bumps unique to his race adding to the sensation of him sinking into you. 

The groan you let out is sinful, and you can’t help but turn to muffle it in the sheets. 

But Dammon isn’t having that. 

A strong tug in the rope between your arms has you pulling up from the bed, the force of the movement pulling you further back onto him until your hips are flush with his own. 

“Don’t hide from me,” Dammon says, tugging at the restraints again, sending him deeper and making the rope dig deliciously into your skin. “I want to hear you.” 

“Oh, gods. Dammon…”

His name falling from your lips finally makes him move, pulling out of you before thrusting back in with one solid movement. 

Your name falls from his lips as he sets a punishing pace, something so different from the reverent way he worshiped your body earlier. 

He curls himself over you, his chest pressed against your back as he plants one hand by your head on the bed, his sharp nails digging deep into the sheets as he holds himself over you. 

He nuzzles his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, nose nudging your jaw as he takes your earlobe between his teeth and tugs. 

Another whimper escapes your lips as he continues his mind blowing pace, hitting that spot inside you as you writhe against the ropes fully now. Hands clenching and unclenching as you press your hips back into his own, seeking your second release of the night. 

“Gods, Dammon, please..” 

you're practically sobbing now, tears wetting your lashes at the intense pleasure that courses through you and the slight frustration of not being able to touch anything - touch him. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his free arm wrapping around your hips to hold you to him as he presses you down, further into the bed his cock pressing impossibly deeper inside of you at the change of position. 

“Let go for me,” he says, voice sinful in your ear. 

His words, and his fingers that slipped down to rub at your clit send you into oblivion for the second time. 

You clench around him, crying out his name in a desperate plea as you squirm against him, veins alight with utter pleasure.

Dammon is not far behind you, just a few more stuttered thrusts and he comes in you with a groan of your name from his lips, his chest rumbling against your back as he sinks down into you, breath coming out in short labored breaths against your cheek. 

Your mind is blissfully blank as you sink into the plush bedding beneath you, completely boneless as your lover adjusts his weight above you. 

You whine when you feel him pull away from you, the room seeming so much cooler without his body next to yours. 

“My love…?” His voice feels a million miles away as he brushes a few strands of hair from your sweat soaked forehead before pressing a kiss there. “Are you alright?”

You chuckle, but it comes out hoarse and weaker than intended. 

“You just…gave me the best orgasm of my life. I’m more than alright.” 

You watch through bleary eyes as Dammon blushes, his earlier dominant demeanor disappearing into the Dammon you know and love. 

“I’m going to untie you.” 

You nod, trying to help as much as you can in your blissed out state as he helps you to sit up, maneuvering you until you sit straddling his lap so he can more easily work at the ropes. 

He moves quickly, fingers deftly untying the intricate knots and letting the ropes fall away from your skin. When he loosens the ropes at your back, your hands fall to your sides, a dull ache running from your shoulders down to the tips of your fingers. 

You must have let out some kind of noise or flinched, because as soon as the ropes fall away, Dammon’s hands are on your arms, calloused palms running up and down your arms as he tries to sooth the aches and indentations left behind. 

“They were too tight,” he mutters softly. “I’m sorry, my love I-”

You shush him softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips to quiet his concerns. “I’m alright, Dammon. I promise,” you assure him, smiling as he continued to rub at the light indentation marks left by the ropes. “I liked it,” you finally admit. “I really liked it.”

His minstrations pauses momentarily, hands sliding down to wrap around your waist as he pulls back enough to look down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly. “You’re…not just saying that to please me, are you?”

You can’t help the playful groan that you let out, followed by a small chuckle as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. 

“Only you could give a woman the best orgasm of her life and still question whether she liked it,” you tease, practically feeling the way Dammon rolls his eyes at you.

A small squeal escapes you as Dammon wraps his arms around you more securly as he flips you onto your back again, head hitting the pillow as he hovers over your, lips turned upwards playfully.

“If you think that was the best…I think I have more work to do.”

Your brows wing up in surprise, lips aprting slightly as your mind runs wild with the possibilities. “Is that a challenge, you’re proposing?” you ask.

Dammon smiles, humming low in his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to your jaw. “It might be,” he aquecies. “But for now, i’d just like to hold you and maybe run you a bath. If you’d be so inclined.”

Warmth swells in your chest at his words. Even after something most would consider debacuhed, Dammon still manages to be the sweetest thing in the room. You turn and press a quick kiss to his lips before reching up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I’d Love nothing more.”

He smiles and plops down next to you on the bed, gathering you in his arms as he does so. His chin rests on the top of your head as you nuzzle into his chest, your leg tangling with his own until you’re both settled comfortably against one another. 

Comfortable silence fills the space, Dammon trailing light patterns on your back, as you do the same on his chest - both of you just taking a moment to bask in the other's presence. Until Dammon finally speaks up.

“Thank you…for trusting me enough to do this,” he tells you softly, voice gentle. 

You nod, moving to slip your arms around his waist, scooting closer to him. “Of course,” you say, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I love you, Dammon.”

You feel his lips press against the crown of your head. 

“I love you more.”

[thedevilspearl]

favourite time of the day — all brothers

a/n: so this one is inspired by moonlight sunrise by twice and are basically my headcanons of the brothers’s favourite times of the day to have sex. and before you tell me, i know the devildom is dark 100% of the time but these are just how i imagine them if they had both daylight and night time.

tags: all brothers. no explicit smut but consistent discussion of sex, so minors do not interact!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 likes to head to bed early; he needs his rest. so he tries his best not to be too active in the evening or else he won’t sleep a wink. that is until he’s stuck in his office with a raging boner under his desk because he thought about you for a little too long. he’s not sleeping now either way so as soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s giving you all he’s got. his evenings finally feel more fun with you. he doesn’t get any work done because his desk is occupied with your bare bodies, but this is a much more satisfying way to spend his evenings.

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍 lives for the nights. daytime is a hassle, but the night is when he peaks. more so, the early hours of the morning. the vibes of a pitch black sky signalling the end of his rowdy night out. and as much as he’d love to stay out until dawn, he’d rather bring you home safe and sound and use all of his remaining energy (which is a lot) to fuck the living daylights out of you. he doesn’t stop until the sun rises, and he finally collapses with his arms around you as golden rays fill his room, lulling you both to sleep with the added warmth.

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 finds something provoking about late afternoon and early evening. he likes dusk in particular, the air is different. it feels romantic and dreamy, but also nothing out of his comfort zone. it’s a relatively quiet time so he won’t feel disturbed. at this time, he’s tired after a long day of classes, but he’s not quite ready for dinner yet. and he needs something to fill the time which would usually be games but spending time with you will always come out on top. so he always tries to fill this time with a shared intimate experience.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 is a difficult one to figure out but it depends entirely on his mood. he doesn’t have a specific preference, but cares more about whether he will be disturbed or not. so again, it depends on the mood. if it’s a busy morning, no morning sex. but if he knows it’s a quiet morning and the two of you are alone, then he’s all for some lazy morning sex. it works in the evenings like this, too. he won’t ever make a move if he knows his brothers will interrupt him at any given minute, but perhaps when they’re busy downstairs, he’ll sneak you up to his room and give you the perfect end to your day.

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 is all about that daylight. sure, romantic candlelit sex at night is nice, but there are too many shadows working hard to hide your body from him. he doesn’t want a single inch of you hidden away from him. there’s just something so sweet about it, too. most people assume these kinds of things happen at night when it’s quiet and intimate, and that’s why he loves sex with you during the day all the more. he can escape from all of his duties and responsibilities and instead adore all of you with his undivided attention.

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 is an early bird. he rises with the sun and has the most energy on mornings when the golden sunlight pours into the bedroom, highlighting your body in all the right places and making you glow. he is definitely the type to wake you up with oral; he wants you at any given time of the day, but mornings feel special in a way. there is added intimacy from waking up in each others arms and being alone together. he can’t imagine his mornings any other way because sex with you is always the best start to his day.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 is a night guy, there is no question about it. and while he’d rather spend his nights sleeping and dreaming until his heart is content, no dream could ever beat the real thing. the night for him is long, too. it could be from nightfall all the way until dawn. it doesn’t matter to him, as long as it’s dark and he can feel the vibe of night time. it’s comforting to him, and he wants to share that cosiness with you. it’s the right amount of seductiveness and sleepiness in the dark, so sex with belphie at night is the dreamiest!

[doberbutts]

(Some other guy entirely here) I do think there's not much of a reason to be so against the terms tma/tme though, and I don't really understand why some people are? Like, in the same way we want a word to describe our experiences so do transfems, and while I do believe that all trans people are affected by transphobia and misogyny, it's obviously also true that we're affected by it differently depending on how we present, cause otherwise we'd all be satisfied with just the term transphobia (not saying anything new here so far)

So, since it just so happened that the term transmisogyny was coined to mean specifically the oppression transfems face (regardless of what anyone might feel on the matter, that is what it means in practice), what's really so wrong with having terminology to specify whether you're affected by it or not in online discussions of specifically transmisogyny? I'd think that would be relevant enough information, and you're not obligated to share it unless you want to.

I think what's really bothering a lot of people is that these terms exist for half of our community but there's no acceptable equivalent for the other half, and there's constant backlash against attempts to fill that void in the language. But that's not the fault of anyone who advocates for the use of tme/tma, or rather, they are separate issues that I don't believe should be conflated even if the proponents of tme/tma are the same people who are against specific terms for transmasc oppression.

When we do this, from the pov of trans women we are the ones rejecting their terminology and trying to silence them when they talk about their discrimination, and since we know exactly how that feels, I think we as a community should take a step back on the matter and just let it be.

Just because we feel dismissed when it comes to a similar matter doesn't mean we should dismiss in turn.

Not that anyone needs my permission or anything for this but:

I don't really have any problem with the words transmisogyny or trans-misogyny, as I think they are valuable labels to discuss a specific intersection of transphobia and misogyny.

I am not sure I necessarily have a problem with the terms TMA or TME themselves, outside of that I think it is not possible to be exempt from oppression because it will apply to you even if the label itself is wrong. This is also how hate crime and discrimination law works in this country- it is both your label and what the offender thinks of you, not just one or the other.

In other words, the guy who screamed at me about how I'm a Mexican is incorrect because I'm not Mexican, but it is still considered to be discrimination against Mexicans because it was his hatred of Mexicans that fueled the attack. It doesn't mean that actual Mexicans aren't the actual targets or this, but it does mean that it's not possible for me to be exempt from anti-Mexican sentiment. It doesn't mean that hatred of Mexicans doesn't exist, it does mean that if I want to stop getting screamed at for saying non-English words while visibly brown (I said pate, which is FRENCH and not Spanish, in reference to a can of dog food he was buying), then I need to ally myself with Mexicans and see what I can do to help decrease this hatred of Mexicans within my country.

What I do have a problem with is how these words are used and applied.

Caster Semenya is a "TME" intersex woman who was caught by transmisogynist Olympic rulings intended to hurt trans women, and to this day is still not recognized as a woman. How is this exempt from transmisogyny? She is literally being affected by transmisogyny- and interphobia, and misogynoir, and lesbophobia. And there are more examples than that, but this will already be a long enough post.

Moreover, I'm finding a lot of hypocrisy in the theory itself, labeling certain instances of oppression as things only TMA people experience and then refusing to listen when TME people say that they experience it too. I don't really care what or how people talk about their own experiences, but I do think it's a little ridiculous to be told that someone else who is not me can tell me what I experience better than I can. And then refuse to listen when I say that I have felt the hurts they're saying don't apply to me.

If TMA/TME had stayed within the limits you've set, being about descriptors of your own personal experience rather than trying to apply theory to entire demographics in a way that very little other theorycrafting does, I wouldn't have cared. Unfortunately that's not how it's being used and I don't like that.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical cursing, suggestive themes, brief mention of childbirth, kissing, domestic!Simon, brief military-based discussion

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Thirteen of Ink & Needle

Archie's solicitor comes for a visit. Evie goes into labor. You and Simon talk over breakfast.

Chapter Twelve // Chapter Fourteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Please give me some good news, Mister Grant.”

Leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, you cross your arms over your chest as Ewan Grant, Archie’s personal solicitor, comes to a stop just inside the entryway. Jennifer Hopkins, the estate agent for Evie and Archie’s house, sits on the couch with her assistant Mollie. The two of them talk in hushed voices, their gazes focused on the stack of paperwork and open laptop computer resting on the coffee table.

Ewan Grant sighs, more from exhaustion than annoyance, as he sets his dark brown briefcase on the counter and removes his tweed coat. The whole situation with Archie’s family has been a hassle for everyone, but Grant speaks with the family directly, and that is an entirely different beast.

“Will Lady Evelyn be joining us?” asks Mr. Grant, adjusting his rain-spattered spectacles.

Evie is upstairs resting. The two of you have been in Cambridge dealing with more house business over the last few days. She’s so close to her due date, and any burst of energy is starting to wear her down. While you’ve taken much of the mental and physical load onto yourself, it doesn’t seem nearly enough to do anything substantial. You’re floating in stasis. Directionless. Unsure of where you’ll float off to.

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” you chastise, a smile spreading across your face.

Evie might have gained a title when she married Archie, but she rarely enjoys hearing it used. To her, she’s simply Evelyn Green from Southern Missouri, and Archie is—was—Archie. Just Archie. That is how you see them, and it how they’ve always wanted to be seen.

Those are—were—their wishes, and you’ve always respected that.

“Old habits,” he chuckles, removing his glasses and inspecting the lenses.

“You’re forgiven,” you smile. “But really, how are things?”

Mr. Grant reaches into the front pocket of his suit jacket and extracts a small cleaning cloth. “You want to know if the Williams plan on seizing everything?”

You shrug. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

This has been an ongoing issue since Archie’s death. He wasn’t even dead a week before Evie started receiving communications from the family about “cutting off family money,” as if Archie and Evie only lived off what the family was kind enough to give them. It’s a farce. Everything given was promptly donated, and everything Archie and Evie earned on their own belongs to them.

At the end of the day, that is what needs protecting.

Mr. Grant rubs the cloth against one the lenses. “The Williams wish to contest everything. Unfortunately for them, they have little ground to stand on.”

“That’s a good thing then?” you ask hopefully, pushing off from the counter.

“Oh, yes,” nods Mr. Grant, moving the cloth to the other lens. “The family money is the only footing they have, but even that isn’t guaranteed.” He holds out his spectacles for examination. Nodding, he returns them to his face.

“Now,” he continues, opening the briefcase and removing two leather-bound folders. The topmost one he holds up in front of him. It’s thin. “This is everything they could easily lay claim to. In actual court, these assets could be transferred to the family.”

Mr. Grant sets it down on the counter. Reaching for it, you open it up, scanning through the few documents inside.

“There isn’t much here,” you muse, finding the last page blank.

“No, and it’s not anything significant. The family allowance is there but anything gifted cannot be returned. They can only shut the tap off.”

“They’ve already done that,” you mutter, closing the portfolio.

Mr. Grant presents the other portfolio. This one is larger. Thicker. “Everything in here will be much more difficult for them to seize.” He sets this one on top of the other folder. “These are all of Lord and Lady Williams’ assets. Personal investments. Property. Private income.” Mr. Grant adjusts his glasses. “Since there is also a legitimate child and heir, that will also curb much in Lady Evelyn’s favor.”

Your head snaps up. “Are they saying the baby isn’t Archie’s?”

“Goodness, no,” says Mr. Grant quickly, waving his hand in the air. “Not that I have heard. Even if they try, paternity tests are easy to acquire, and contesting the fact without proof will only put them in a bad light.”

You shut the portfolio. “But will they actually do it?”

Mr. Grant frowns. “Challenge the paternity?”

“Try to seize all of Archie’s assets,” you correct.

He nods, lips pursing slightly as he considers his next words. “You want my personal or professional opinion?”

“Both?” you ask with hesitation, wanting to know but also not.

Mr. Grant taps the edge of the counter a few times before speaking. “Professionally, they might. However, it will be an uphill battle. The Williams might be aristocracy, and their titles, land, and money seem infinite at times, but Lady Evelyn is the widow, and she is about to give birth to Lord Archibald’s child. That is far more important in the court’s eyes.”

“How so?” you ask, genuinely curious. As an American, these rules and regulations are entirely foreign to you. Yes, there is vast wealth in the States, but there are no Lords or Dukes or Baronesses.

“No child means most of his assets would revert to the family and Lady Evelyn would likely receive a comfortable settlement. But a child means the assets can move forward so to speak. That’s important to the courts. It shows a continuation. If the family tries to seize everything, it’ll place a shadow over the proceedings. The judge will want to know why when there is an heir for the inheritance.”

“And personally?”

Mr. Grant laughs. “They’re peacocking.”

You grin, covering your mouth as you stifle a snort. “So, I can start moving some of this?” You gesture behind you, indicating the house.

“The Williams Estate hasn’t officially filed anything. However, they are also immediate family, so they can contest the will. Have it picked apart for inconsistencies to make the process unbearable.” He shrugs. “Might tie up some of his assets. Make it more difficult for Lady Evelyn to use them. Assets directly tied to her should be fine.”

“Evie wants to sell the house. Can we do that?”

“The house is under Lord Archibald’s name, not the family’s estate. When I helped draw up the paperwork, I don’t recall a cosigner, but I will go through the records again to make sure.” Mr. Grant glances into the living room before his gaze returns to you. “Everything inside the home is…fair game, as you Americans put it.”

It’s a relief to hear. Evie doesn’t want to look at this place anymore. She wants it gone. If the solicitor is giving the go ahead, you can start selling, donating, or trashing items in the home before the estate agent prepares for showings.

“Thank you, Mister Grant. I’ll make sure Evie sees these and that the information is passed on.” Lifting the portfolios, you tuck them against your chest.

“How is she?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone.

Happy with a fake smile. Crying when she thinks no one is looking.

“Tired,” you answer, because it’s the truth. “She’s tired.”

Mr. Grant nods, sighing softly, his shoulders heaving. “I came here directly from the Williams estate. Usually, I don’t wait long before someone greets me but…”

“But what?” you probe.

He shifts on his feet, clearly agitated. “I don’t know if it’s even my place, but I think it should be said.” Mr. Grant glances over your shoulder at Mollie and Jennifer, the middle of his brow creasing with concern.

“Speak quietly,” you instruct, leaning in a bit.

His gaze lingers on the two women before returning to you. “When I arrived at the Williams estate this morning, I spent almost an hour waiting in the drawing room before anyone came to speak with me. That is highly unusual. Many would consider that not only improper but horrible manners. While I object to their treatment of Lady Evelyn, the family has always been traditional when it comes to hospitality.” He shakes his head. “Tis most strange.”

“Did something happen?”

“Well,” he begins. “Someone came but it was one of the household staff. Brought me tea and some finger sandwiches. Said it would be a bit longer. So, I waited. Waited a bit more. Eventually, I decided to wonder off.” Mr. Grant’s smile is like that of a child who just pulled off a deliciously perfect prank. “The estate itself is one of those old manors. The whole ‘upstairs downstairs’ business. Found a few new hires that don’t know it’s not good to talk.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Apparently, I was kept waiting because someone from British Intelligence was there asking questions about Lord Archibald’s death.”

“He was killed in the States,” you say, even though Mr. Grant already knows this information.

“‘Looking into his death’ is what they said. Sent his body back home without a proper investigation. Lord Archibald is from an important family. Covering all possibilities, I suppose.”

“Should we expect someone?”

Mr. Grant inclines his head. “That would be my guess. Unless Lady Evelyn has already spoken to someone previously.”

You weren’t here for the week of Archie’s death. Evie was completely alone. Someone might have talked to her then.

“I’ll check with her,” you nod. “Thank you for saying something.”

“We certainly don’t need any more unpleasant surprises. Given everything that’s happened.”

You rub at your temples, a headache starting to form there. “You’re talking about Adam.”

Mr. Grant snorts. “Nasty business and a deeply unpleasant man. I’m not surprised by his behavior toward you in the slightest.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “It’s over.”

Adam is the last person you want to think about. That entire conversation in the restaurant is just another thing you want to forget. Simon’s fury toward the man sent Adam into a spiral. All the chest-beating silliness between the two men only made things worse. At least, potentially. But you don’t blame Simon for any of it. He was only trying to protect you.

Mr. Grant picks up his coat and begins putting it on. “If the family contacts you directly, refuse. Make sure I’m present for any future interactions.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I can’t see them wanting to visit us.”

Mr. Grant retrieves his briefcase and the two of you head for the front door. “Though their behavior says otherwise, I suspect they’ll want to see the child.”

“Absolutely not,” you say immediately. “After everything they’ve done?”

He shrugs as he turns the handle. “Like I said. If they make an appearance, call me.”

You watch until his car disappears down the drive. When you reenter the kitchen, Jennifer and Mollie are up and alert, their faces eager.

“Good news?” asks Jennifer, her hands clasped in front of her.

“We can start selling things.” You place one hand on your hip and gesture at the large living room. “But I’m concerned about sticking to a schedule once the baby arrives. If most of this stuff needs to go, I’m not sure how often Evie or I can be here.”

Jennifer nods. “I can bring someone in to do appraisals and estimate the value of everything in the home. Perhaps even host an estate sale to help push it out quickly? You won’t have to lift a finger.”

 “Great,” you reply, throwing up your hands. “Do it.”

Jennifer and Mollie say their goodbyes, exiting quietly, but leaving a mountain of paperwork behind. It’s just more shit piled on top of more shit. It’s a never-ending river of garbage that you’re floating on. One thing can shift, and you’ll slip right down into the swamp.

Outside the patio doors, the sky is gray, and rain falls gently from the low clouds. Autumn is in full swing, nearing Halloween if you have the date right. Once the baby arrives, everything will be different. Evie will need a different kind of support, one you’re absolutely willing to give, but aren’t entirely sure how yet.

And then there is Simon. Your wraith. The man you think about nearly every waking moment.

Stress is eating away at you like termites embedded in wood. It’s dissolving the good memories you’ve recently formed with him. It’s hard to forget what he did in the dark and how he made you feel. Difficult to ignore the sensation of his mouth and tongue between your thighs, or how his fingers slipped inside and curled so sweetly.

It is odd to you that he hasn’t tried for more. Men are pushy creatures. They’re prone to acting in selfishness. At Riot Room, you and Simon were like colliding atoms, exploding and meeting in frenzied repetition. Simon is moving slowly this time. He’s being careful. Maybe he thinks you don’t see it, but that isn’t true.

Your wraith is learning your habits and curiosities. He listens, but he also talks, sometimes pushing to the point that you want to slam your fists against his chest. Simon is gentle. Rough. Sometimes all at once. There is so much comfort in the way he treats you, the way he turns to you when you’re in the same room. It is haunting. Clinging. Occupying your mind and emotions where there is already little to spare.

Every touch and kiss are laced with possession. Every glance and gesture are a mark. A statement of ownership. Yet there is nothing about Simon that feels like a cage. He’s saying mine without barricading you from the world.

And you miss him. All the time.

The moment you’re no longer with Simon, his absence is like an open wound. It cuts deep, leaving hollow spaces behind.

“Did they all leave already?”

You turn at the sound of Evie’s voice. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, dark hair a mess from the pillow.

“Jennifer and Mollie left a bit ago. They’re going to bring in someone to appraise everything. Maybe do an estate sale. If that works for you.”

Evie wraps her cardigan around her tightly, approaching the patio door, coming to a stop beside you. “That seems like a lot of work.”

“You want do it while you’re taking care of a newborn?”

Evie smiles softly. “Not really.”

“Ewan Grant stopped by as well.”

“Archie’s solicitor?” You nod. “And you didn’t wake me?”

“You need the sleep,” you counter. “Plus, if I woke you up, it would take nearly half the day for you to roll out of bed.”

Evie snorts and rubs the top of her belly.

“He left some information about Archie’s assets. We talked about—well…” you trail off, unsure of how to broach such a sensitive topic.

“It’s fine.” Evie lightly squeezes your upper arm. “I can take a look.”

Sucking on your bottom lip, you recall Ewan Grant’s mentioning of the British Intelligence officer coming for a visit. Is this the right time to ask? Should you say anything?

But when will it actually be a good time?

“Evie?”

“Hm?”

“After Archie died, did anyone come visit you?”

Evie frowns. “Many people did. Even his family though I could tell they hated it. Why?”

“I don’t mean family or close friends. People outside of that sphere. Anyone you didn’t expect?”

You’re trying to say it without saying it. The whole thing was a mess. Evie was told that Archie was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that came from the American mouth, not the British one.

Her frown only deepens. “Well, yes. I received plenty of visitors that Archie worked with or went to school with. Mostly people I didn’t know but wanted to give their condolences.”

She’s not picking up on your line of questioning which means you’ll need to be more direct.

“What about police?”

She shrugs. “When his…body came home.” Evie glances out into the rain as her eyes begin to water.

You fear pushing too much, but a surprise visit from British Intelligence sounds mighty inconvenient at the moment.

“Mister Grant brought up a few things during our conversation that I just need some clarity on.”

Evie simply nods, still staring out into the rain.

You’ll ask later. You’ll ask another time. It’s clear that this isn’t the place to do it.

Glancing down at your watch, you groan. “Oh hell. We’re running behind. We need to go, Evie.”

Bags are packed quickly, the two of you returning to London by train.

It’s late, the sun just below the horizon by the time you walk into Amelia’s house. Dinner is reheated, wine is had (only by you and Amelia), and a romantic comedy is watched with a massive bowl of buttery popcorn.

Evie is asleep twenty minutes in, and Amelia follows after thirty. You remain up, watching the rest before waking Evie and sending her off to bed. Amelia eventually finds her way as well. With the quiet, you catch up on a few work emails and finalize several things before sending them off for approval.

When your head hits your pillow, sleep hits you like a fist to the face. There are no dreams to be had, just a dark endlessness you’ll forget upon waking.

But it’s not the alarm or the morning light that wakes you.

It’s a small, warm hand on your shoulder that startles you into consciousness.

“What?” you mutter, turning over onto your back, one hand reaching out in the dark for Evie. You don’t find her, but your palm crosses over dampness. It’s not a cold wet. It’s warm like room temperature bathwater.

You blink a few times, the dark of the room still sitting heavy on your eyelids.

“Evie?” you call out, the dredges of sleep clawing at your vocal cords.

The reply is a whimper, and then a sharp inhalation.

There is fear in that breath, one that startles your senses into action. Reaching for the bedside lamp, you tug on the small chain. The lightbulb illuminates, and with it comes a brightness that makes you flinch.

“Evie?” You twist toward the rest of the room, searching for her.

She’s standing next to the bed, one hand cradling the bottom of her belly, the other resting against the edge of the mattress. Her eyes are wide and there is a dark stain down the insides of her pajama pants.

“Oh God,” you whisper. “It’s happening.”

Evie nods frantically. “It’s happening.”

The air kicks in, blowing gentle heat into the room.

Machines beep. Voices chat beyond the open door. Evie quietly rests in her hospital bed. Her eyes are closed but you’re not entirely sure if she’s sleeping or not. Using your elbow as a support, you rest your chin in your palm, staring down at the adorable little bundle in the hospital-provided bassinet.

The tiny newborn is all pink cheeks and soft coos. Lillian is a precious thing, and named after Archie’s little sister who died young. She’s wrapped up like a human burrito in a white blanket embroidered with yellow ducks. On her head is a pale pink cap.

Lillian wiggles in her wrap, her cooing becoming a disgruntled gurgle like she’s angry at the world but is too tired to voice her frustration.

A soft knock draws your attention away from Lillian and to the open door.

Amelia stands there in a yellow rain coat and black rain boots, both speckled with raindrops. In her arms is a large, flat takeout container. From this distance, you can’t see what’s inside, but you can hazard a few guesses. She’s grinning, her smile stretching toward her ears.

“Hello, Amelia,” sighs Evie, her eyes blinking slowly as she sits up to greet the woman.

“Brought you something,” giggles Amelia like she’s entirely too pleased with herself. She nearly skips over to the bed, presenting the container to Evie.

Pushing off from the ledge you’re leaning on, you go to the side of Evie’s hospital bed, extending the small tray that emerges from the side. Swinging it over Evie’s lap, you secure the safety lock to make sure it doesn’t slip away and spill whatever Amelia has brought.

Amelia sets the massive container down. It nearly dwarfs the tray it sits on. She removes the lid and sets it aside.

“You brought me sushi,” gushes Evie, immediately opening the chopsticks and lining up the packets of soy sauce.

Of everything Evie’s been craving, it’s sushi.

“Oh, yes,” replies Amelia. She glances over at you with a knowing smile, one that immediately puts you on alert. “Brought that, and a few other things.” She nods toward the door.

You immediately turn the moment a large shadow steps into view.

It’s Simon.

He looms like a dark beast in the doorway, not coming in but not leaving either. His gaze is darting everywhere like he’s checking the place out. Simon carries two backpacks. One is draped over his right shoulder and the other over his left. In his right hand, Simon grips a large, black duffle bag. In his other hand, he holds Amelia’s pink purse with white flowers on the strap.

Behind him are two nurses, their faces stricken by his sudden appearance.

Bravo is not with him.

Amelia shrugs. “Needed an escort.”

“In a hospital?” asks Evie, amused.

“It’s like having a scary dog with you,” jokes Amelia, gesturing over her shoulder at Simon. “No one stopped us.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Evie cackles as she tears open a soy sauce packet with her teeth.

Simon enters the room slowly, placing all the bags on the ledge under the window. He pauses there like a phantom, surveying the three of you before heading in your direction. Lillian coos and Simon freezes.

His balaclava-covered head turns to the bassinet. Simon shifts, leaning to the side, staring down at the small bundle. You can’t read his expression. The only thing you can gauge is his gaze. It’s intense, focused, but impassive.

“You should go home and rest, dear.” Amelia’s gentle voice tugs you away from your wraith. You turn back to them just as Evie shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth.

“I’m fine,” you reply, but even you hear the exhaustion. You’ve been at the hospital for nearly a full day, and the time between going to bed and the time that Evie woke you up was only a couple of hours.

You haven’t slept at all.

Amelia tuts. “I knew you’d say that,” she says. “It’s why I brought Simon.” She nods in his direction, but you don’t have to seek him out.

Simon is already beside you, one large hand resting on your lower back. Instinct triggers, and you lean into his touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Warmth floods in from where his hand makes contact, invading your system like a virus.

“That’s thoughtful, Amelia.” You lift your hand to gesture toward Evie. “But—”

“Shut up and go,” interrupts Evie as she talks around the sushi in her mouth. “We can manage.”

You open your mouth, another protest forming on your tongue, but Evie is having none of it.

“Go,” she repeats, shaking her head, eyebrows rising toward her hairline as she picks up more food.

You’re not about to argue with a woman who just gave birth.

“Okay,” you agree. “Fine. But call me if anything happens.”

Simon’s hand remains at your back while you retrieve your coat and purse. The two of you take public transit back to Clapton. It is then that the exhaustion truly sets in. The gentle lull of public transit causes you to drift off a few times, but Simon wakes you when it’s time to depart.

He does not take you to his flat. Instead, he takes you to Amelia’s. On the stairs, your feet are lead. They drag, and it’s a wonder how you even make it into the bedroom. Simon does not disturb you, giving you privacy as you shower and change into comfortable clothing.

You never make it back downstairs.

Collapsing face first into the bed, sleep comes suddenly. It is the dipping of the bed beneath you that rouses you briefly from sleep. Reaching out, you find Simon. Your arms wrap around something large and hard. It’s not his arm. Likely his thigh.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that he’s warm and perfect and so goddamn close. You snuggle up to him and return to that blissfully dreamless state.

When you wake again, it is with the sun’s rays on your face.

Simon is not in the bed.

Pushing up, you glance around the room. There is no sign of Evie or that anyone has stopped by to grab anything. Stretching your arms over your head, you ease out of bed, surrendering the warm covers for the chilled air in the room.

Downstairs, you find Simon.

He’s in Amelia’s kitchen. There is breakfast on the table and the morning news is on. It plays from the little, boxy television on the counter. It’s muted but closed captioning is on.

“Morning.”

Simon glances over his shoulder. The balaclava is pushed up to his nose, the rim of a tea mug hanging before his mouth.

“Morning,” replies Simon, setting the tea on the counter and striding toward you.

He always does this. The moment he can be near you, Simon takes it, seizing it like he would a prize.

There isn’t a chance to ask a question or reply to Simon’s greeting. His arm snakes around your waist, hauling you against his muscled chest, mouth meeting yours for a kiss that sucks the air from your lungs.

It is fire. It is light. It is a beating heart. Lifeblood.

Simon’s hand cups your cheek, and the possessive, nearly primal way he kisses you softens to a delicateness that sends a tingling sensation down to your toes. His thumb traces over your chin, and then presses against your bottom lip when Simon pulls away.

“Hungry?” he asks, and your stomach answers for you.

There are waffles, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, several types of juice, buttered toast with two kinds of jam, and fried sausage.

“We feeding an army?” you ask, unsure of where to begin.

Simon shrugs. “Idleness makes me nervous.”

“So you made everything in Amelia’s kitchen?” The soft song of the dryer decides to go off immediately following your question. “Are you doing laundry?”

“That a problem?”

You pause. “No.”

Simon smirks behind his mug and takes a sip of tea. Placing the cup back on the table, Simon piles his plate high with extra sausage and eggs.

Leaning forward in your chair, you decide to poke.

“Did you take the trash out?” Simon glances up, the same smirk still plastered on his face. “Vacuum?”

He remains silent.

“Clean the bathrooms?”

“Mop the floors?”

“Remove the weeds from Amelia’s garden?”

“Are you done?” replies Simon blandly, his gaze unwavering.

You shove some toast in your mouth as answer.

Simon leans back in his chair, all casual sensualness. “You’re much better like this,” he says, voice dropping slightly.

“Much better how?” you ask, taking another bite of your toast.

“With your mouth full,” he purrs.

You nearly choke on the bread, cheeks flaming. Simon’s chuckle is soft but victorious. He got you back, and he’s enjoying it.

You cough, dislodging a bit of toast. “Has anyone called?”

Simon nods. “Amelia did. Said she’s being released today.”

“When was this?”

“An hour ago.”

You sigh. “I’m not sure how it is here, but it might be a while yet before they come home.” Simon makes a sound in his throat but says nothing.

The window above the sink is cracked, and from it comes the sounds of traffic and songbirds. Resting an elbow on the table, the last two days come flooding back, infiltrating your head. Ewan Grant’s conversation whispers in your ear, insisting.

British Intelligence.

That’s what he said, and you have no idea if they’ll come to Amelia’s door. But Simon is former military, and he might know something.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon glances up from his plate. “If it’s to ask about what else I’ve cleaned I don’t want to hear it.”

“No,” you laugh. “No. I—” You pause. “I want to ask about your military service.”

The gentle playfulness melts away replaced by a neutral expression. It’s not unnerving but it does make you cautious about how you’ll approach the subject.

“Is it something specific?” asks Simon.

You shake your head. “Not exactly.”

Simon sets his fork down on his plate. Leaning back in his chair, Simon’s gaze becomes pointed. “You’re worried about something.”

“Is it that obvious?” you mutter.

“What’s wrong? Is it that prick from the pub?”

“No, Simon,” you say quickly, the stress of the last few days coming back like a hammer to the finger.

“Talk to me.” Simon’s voice is so soft, so full of concern that you blurt out the question without second guessing the decision.

“Did you ever work with British Intelligence?”

You glance up and find a blank expression on Simon’s face. He’s no longer leaning in his chair but sitting up, completely stiff and alert.

“I worked with a lot of different agencies. Why?”

You look away, staring at the clock on the wall. “So, you weren’t part of it?”

“No,” replies Simon automatically. “I was part of Special Air Service. Some of my missions happened because of intelligence information but I never directly worked with them.”

It’s helpful, but not. If they come knocking, you don’t know what to expect.

“Why are you asking me this, love? What’s on your mind?”

Sighing, you decide to spit out. You have no reason to hide anything from Simon.

“Archie’s solicitor came by. He mentioned that someone from British Intelligence was at the Williams’ estate. Following up about Archie’s death.”

“Did they come here? To Amelia’s?”

You shake your head. “No, but they might.”

Simon is tense. Not only can you sense it, but you see the tightness in the way he holds himself.

Your voice cracks. “Should I be worried?”

Simon’s shoulders heave as he inhales.

“No,” he says after a long moment. “It’s probably nothing.

“Probably,” you repeat softly, pushing the cold eggs around on your plate.

Probably, as if saying so will somehow make it true.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @theshrikeandcanary @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @c0pernicus @josephquinnschesthair @corvusmorte @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @carma-fanficaddict @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @mudisgranapat @heeheehoohoohahahihi @i-feel-violated

[yoon-kooks]

paw prints & presents | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: You and Jungkook never discussed Valentine’s Day plans, but that doesn’t mean the night won’t include corny Valentine’s cards and you getting down on your hands and knees in pretty pink lingerie for him.

⛓️word count: 2.1k

⛓️warnings: catdilf!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, praise kink, dirty talk, oc is a horny lil brat, dry humping, sex on the couch, handjob, blowjob, face fucking, cumshot, she swallows, oc makes another ignorant comment about earl grey tea lol

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: here's a lil smutty drabble i wrote up for valentine's day! (you don't have to read the other p&p fics before reading this one)💖

You’ve been acting a little weird lately. Ever since February came around, you’ve been asking Jungkook about random shit like his favorite flower (lavender), his favorite romcom (none), his favorite day of the year (nonexistent), and his go-to boba order (you called him grandaddy for saying earl grey again). The most recent question was about his taste in lingerie (doesn’t matter because you’re hot regardless). 

But whenever he asks why you need to know these things, you just shrug your shoulders and pretend like you’re too busy playing with the cat to answer him. The way you always shush the kitten as soon as he enters the room leads him to believe the two of you are up to no good. 

It’s driving him mad.

At one point, he thought you might be sweetening him up for when you go behind his back and adopt another cat because “Lucy needs a friend” and “there’s a cute cow cat at the local shelter.” But something tells him you’ll save the cow cat shenanigans for another time. 

The thing is, he’s not completely clueless here. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he’s well aware that Valentine’s Day is around the corner. It’s not a day he typically celebrates, but he also doesn’t know how you feel about it yet. If it’s a big deal to you, he’d want to do something thoughtful to live up to whatever the fuck you’re secretly plotting. At the same time, the two of you still haven’t made it official, so perhaps you aren’t scheming anything related to the most romantic day of the year. Perhaps he’s just overthinking it…

…Or not.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Jungkook comes home from class early and sees something he shouldn’t have seen. Your laptop is out in the open on his bed, but you’re nowhere to be seen—probably in the bathroom or something. He’s always been the kind of guy to respectfully look away from what’s on other people’s computers or phone screens. But it’s kind of hard to ignore the pink lingerie set you apparently just ordered. The lingerie you normally wear is a sexy black or a sophisticated neutral. But this baby pink one, with the tiny red hearts and bows, is way cuter than what he’s used to seeing you in. It’s giving submissive vibes, for sure.

The thought of you wearing that tiny thing on Valentine’s Day would automatically make February 14th Jeon Jungkook’s new favorite day of the year. And that alone is something to celebrate.

But how exactly is he supposed to celebrate? It seems you have your mind made up on surprising him with pretty pink lingerie, but what can he provide in return without being too cheesy? He’s terrible at shit like this. In fact, one of his exes broke up with him specifically because he wasn’t romantic enough. She wasn’t wrong, but it’s not like he’s going to rewire his entire brain to be romantic enough for someone else’s liking. Maybe that’s fucked up of him. Maybe a good partner would make sacrifices and force themself to change for the sake of the relationship if they truly cared. 

You’re different, though. With you, nothing feels forced. Rather, he gets an urge to do something nice for you, even if it goes against his natural tendencies. And right now, he wants to also surprise you with a little something on Valentine’s Day.

On the big day, he waits for you to leave for your afternoon class. That’ll give him plenty of time to put together the surprise. All he needs is some pink cardstock, markers, paint, ribbon, and a kitten.

As much as he hates cheesy Valentine’s cards, Jungkook finds himself pondering over what to write on the cardstock. Knowing you, it’s safe to go with something silly and funny. Thankfully, you’re an easy one when it comes to humor.

“Have a paw-esome Valentine’s Day, Mommy,” he writes in bold marker. You’ve been hesitant to call yourself the kitten’s mother despite raising her right alongside Jungkook. But it’s clear that you’re doing a good job. “Love, Lucy.”

He picks up the sleepy kitten, dips her paw pads into safe non-toxic paint, and adds her paw print to the bottom of the card like a signature. As the paint dries, he gives the kitty her first bath, blowdries her fur, and ties a pink little ribbon to her collar.

When the sun goes down, Jungkook rolls up the note and attaches it to the kitty’s ribbon like she’s some messenger pigeon. And then the two of them wait on the couch together, kitten loafing in the boy’s lap, for the door to open.

Five long minutes later, your keys jingle around as you unlock the front door.

“Go hide,” he whispers to the kitten who runs off into his room with a frisky tail in the air. She probably thinks he’s playing hide and seek with her like they normally do. Poor thing.

Jungkook makes himself comfortable on the couch again and pulls out his phone to look natural. Totally normal.

“Hi?” you say as soon as you open the door and see him sitting in the dark living room, his floating face illuminated by his phone screen. You hit the light switch as you kick your shoes off and look around for possible booby traps or jumpscares. It seems you’re very aware that the potential for a surprise is at an all-time high today. Then your eyes fall back on him. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” He scratches the back of his head.

“Like this.” You do the awkward pose thing people do when they’re very clearly failing to act natural. How do you manage to make even the most awkward poses look cute? Maybe your little black dress has something to do with it. You weren’t wearing that earlier when you left for class.

“What do you mean? I’m just here, sitting on the couch with my phone.” Damn, is it really that obvious?

“Ah, so you were here waiting for me to get back from class like a dog?” you tease as you climb into his lap and set his phone aside. Your new perfume is a sensual lavender (no wonder you asked him about his favorite flower). And your dress is so short all he can feel is skin when he grabs hold of your ass. “Don’t worry, I missed you too.”

You snake your hands around the back of his neck and devour his lips, his tongue, his taste. He’ll never get over the moans you make just from kissing him like he’s the finest dessert you’ve ever tasted. Or the way your tongue just laps him up like a kitten—

“Wait,” he says after forcing himself to pull back from your lips. The urge to put his lips right back where they belong is incredible.

“No, Jungkook, I don’t have any homework that needs to get done before we…” Your words trail off as you kiss him some more and roll your hips against his crotch. You’ll never let it go that he’s “the biggest nerd in the world” for always making you finish your homework before sex. Thank god you don’t have any tonight. Because his hard cock is already past the point of no return.

The secret Valentine’s card still needs to be delivered, though. And the poor kitten is still waiting for her daddy to come find her.

“No seriously, wait a sec,” he chuckles, lifting you off of him before walking into his room to scoop up the kitten hiding behind the clothes hanging in his closet. When he rejoins you on the couch, he passes the fluffball to you.

“Ooh, did daddy give you a bath? You look so cute,” You sniff her orange fur and find the rolled-up note tied to her pink ribbon.

Your face quickly goes from curious to smiley as you unroll the note and read the silly message. Jungkook reads it right alongside you as if he wasn’t the one who wrote it.

“Congratulations, it seems Lucy has accepted you as her mother figure,” he says in the straightest face ever.

“Paw-esome?? Mommy??” you giggle, turning to the boy whilst cupping his chin. “Is that what you think of me?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Lucy,” he shrugs. “Right, Lucy?” She meows in agreement.

Then he pins you down against the couch cushions and leans in to whisper, “You’re my baby girl, remember?”

Your face is flushed with color as you nod up at him. You grab a handful of his t-shirt and pull him in. He finds your neck and leaves a trail of little marks as your body heats up beneath him.

“I love the card, by the way,” you manage to get out between breaths. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t from me.” His gives you a few more kisses while running his hands along your dress. As hot as you are in that dress, he’d love to get his hands on everything hiding beneath it. “I didn’t even know today was Valentine’s Day.”

“Liar. You suck, you know that.” You pout for half a second before your horny eyes are showing again. “Guess you don’t want to see the surprise I have for you.”

“What is it?” he asks a little too quickly. He must sound like such a simp.

You sit up, leaning your tits against his chest, and say, “Undress me.”

Jungkook lifts the dress up and over your head to reveal the same lingerie set he saw on your computer screen the other day. Except now it’s on your body. And boy does it look good on you. It doesn’t matter that he already had a sneak peek at it and plenty of time to mentally prepare himself for this. He still can’t take his eyes off of his baby girl looking all pretty in pink. And he forgets to speak.

“What do you think?” You drop to your knees on the carpet and situate yourself between his legs.

“Hot,” is all he can say before you unzip him and get your hands on his hard cock.

“Good.” You wet your lips with a sly tongue. Your hands start stroking his length up and down as you eye his tip. “It was an impulse buy the other day when I was feeling so horny for your cock.”

“Do you need my cock that badly?” he asks, his breath getting rougher. 

You nod, licking your lips again. He’d normally make you wait a little longer before letting you give head, but fuck it. It’s Valentine’s Day, and his cock is his gift to you. You’re always begging to suck it anyway.

With a firm hand, he angles your chin up until his erection is staring you in the face. You wrap your lips around him and take him in until he hits the back of your throat. Your cute little gag doesn’t stop you from going right back in, bobbing your head back and forth, up and down his length. He decides to help by thrusting in and out of your throat.

When you stop to catch your breath, his glaze runs down your mouth. You make sure he’s watching when you lick it up and swallow before sucking him more. One of your hands grips his cock while the other travels down into your thong. He watches the way you rub between your legs and rock your body back and forth to pleasure yourself and him at the same time. 

You savor each and every drop of him as if it’s the last. Your lips glisten and swell with pleasure as you’re hard at work with his cock. There’s no way anyone else can look this good while doing what you do to him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, fucking your face faster. You moan something that sounds like his name, although it’s kind of hard to understand with a fat cock in your mouth.

At his breaking point, he pulls out and strokes his length until (most of) his cum sprays right into your mouth. You swallow it up while shooting him an awfully innocent smile. After catching his breath, he wipes up the bit of lust on your cheek and lets you suck it off his fingers. You’re such a good girl for him.

“You were so good, baby,” he praises you. You definitely need to be rewarded. “Should we watch one of those romcoms?”

“I thought you said you didn’t like romcoms.” You tilt your head. “We can find something else that we can watch togeth—”

“Pick your favorite romcom.” He shakes your suggestion off and lays you down on the couch so that you’re facing the TV. He hooks a finger on the strap of your thong and tears it off. With his lips just a kiss away from your wet pussy, he says, “I won’t be watching anyway.”