#i may have expose an internal fantasy of mine

[mistysolitude]

hey (with the intention of dancing with you around a campfire in the deep woods as we chant ancient hymns in ode to nature)

[shrimpmandan]

don’t answer if ur not comfortable but how do u differentiate truly having a harmful paraphilia from intrusive thoughts abt it? im someone who has intrusive thoughts abt 2 out of the big 3 as well as other sexual things that can’t be done morally and i often stress that that means i am a paraphile (ik that’s a broad term but i don’t like specifying which ones yknow).

to my understanding, non offending big 3 paraphiles experience with their attraction seems similar to intrusive thoughts because they cause distress and such, so i guess im wondering abt where the distinction lies? i also find the psychological aspects of sex and sexuality interesting in their own right so beyond my own concern i’d be interested to learn cuz it’s just really fascinating

thanks dude!! :)

No worries at all anon! This is a HUGE SpIn of mine and I'm always happy to provide any perspective, even if I'm not a professional and all that.

The biggest distinguishing factor between an intrusive thought and a regular thought is if it's voluntary, and if the thought is welcomed or wanted. Intrusive thoughts are out of your control and often incite feelings of revulsion, disgust, discomfort, fear, anxiety, or rejection. They are thoughts that you want OUT of your brain as soon as possible. When you talk about paraphilias, the waters can muddy a little.

Paraphilias do not necessitate that the thoughts are unwanted. This may be true of paraphilic disorders, wherein the patient experiences clinically significant distress over their paraphilia (this doesn't necessarily refer to one of the big three!), but it's not inherent. A lot of paraphilic fantasy rejection can come from internalized shame due to outside social stigma and personal morality... but so can intrusive thoughts. There's no clear cut distinction between the two due to how much influence society has over our thoughts and how we respond to them, HOWEVER, you may want to consider looking into something like POCD.

POCD, while not an officially recognized diagnosis, is a subset of OCD that specifically centers around pedophilia. There exists also ZOCD (zoophilia OCD) and NOCD (necrophilia OCD), however POCD is by far the most well-researched out of these. POCD involves obsessive and/or compulsive behaviors regarding proving or disproving if one is a pedophile, such as through intentionally exposing themselves to distressing imagery on purpose or engaging with intrusive thoughts related to children. More often than not, people with POCD don't end up having any paraphilic attractions at all-- they are worried about the concept of being a pedophile and if they'll enact tangible harm, not grappling with actual attraction.

I've struggled with POCD for some time now, but I'm fairly confident in that I don't have any attraction to IRL children. The extent to which I'll engage with my thoughts is in fiction, and even then, it's more of a curiosity as opposed to something that's a consistent turn-on-- which is in direct contrast to my other paraphilias which are much stronger and carry with them less internalized shame, and more externalized fear over being harassed, abandoned, and/or doxxed. I don't experience fear over IF I'll offend, because I'm confident that I won't under my own circumstances. But this is something that can vary from person to person.

Some potentially helpful further reading:

r/OCD also may be potentially helpful! Plenty of people on there have talked about experiencing zoophilic, necrophilic, or pedophilic OCD. Just type one of those words into the search bar and you'll probably find someone who's going through the same thing.

[ohnomytummy]

hello! just found your blog, leafed through it... hmm what a captivating read ~<3

here's a little fantasy of mine for your perusal: imagine... we are in a lift together, maybe it's some sort of symposium or convention or work trip; perhaps we are distantly acquainted, not close or anything, but, perhaps, I have been stealing glances at you from across the hallway... will neither confirm nor deny, heh.

It would seem like a prime opportunity to start a casual conversation right now, except... my tummy is terribly bloated. It's bubbling and churning; I have been gassy all day but i have been holding in the farts in public, and my bowels are squirming and aching for release.

I try to act casual, I lean on the wall and huddle on myself a little, so as to ease the pressure on my poor belly; I can only hope that you don't notice that I have covertly undone the button on my trousers, or that I'm holding my tummy with my hand inside my pocket. I have been sneaking short moments when i could rub my belly at least a little bit throughout the day. And now, it's mere minutes away; I cannot wait to run into the privacy of my hotel room, kick off my clothes and moan in pleasure and relief as i hold and massage my deflating tummy and fart. It's so close...

The lights flicker. The lift grinds to a hault.

It seems we are stuck here for a long while. The slow realization... the desperation... the loud gurgle in the sudden quiet. Just you and I and my painfully bloated tummy.

Welcome to my kinkyness :)

I’ve had this exact scenario in my head before, anon. I know I’d be able to tell your tummy was bothering you, I’m quite the watcher most of the time, especially when cute bellies blow up in confined spaces.

I’d have my eyes shyly on your growing gut the whole ride, knowing your lack of conversation has everything to do with your insides blowing up like a balloon. When the lights start to flicker and the floor bounces to a halt beneath us I’m internally ecstatic. We’re trapped—there’s no use ignoring what I know to be true.

“Alcohol belly, huh? Worst timing for an elevator malfunction.” Your cheeks go crimson at my blunt comment on such taboo small talk: tummy troubles. But I’ve caught your interest, your embarrassment tells me everything I need to know.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to mumble while I watch the shadow of your thumb caress the edge of your belly in your pocket. “They really push the free drinks at these things.”

“And that large order of fried onion rings must be giving you the worst grease burps.” I shamelessly stare at your gut, which has grown even larger in the last few moments. That’s right, I’ve been watching you gorge the entire night.

“I—“ The sheer amount of erotic tension sends a massive sick, wet burp up your throat, and for a second I think you’re about to let everything loose out of shock. But you keep it in…can’t let us sit trapped in an elevator with a pile of tangy sick on the floor.

“May I?” I gesture towards your belly. All you do is nod and go even redder. I chuckle and begin unbuttoning your dress shirt, pulling your undershirt out from your already unzipped pants and placing my cool firm hands against your stomach. “You were probably looking forward to doing this yourself in your room, huh?” You groan in response and stagger your weight against the wall of our stalled elevator. “Poor baby,” I coo, watching your eyelids flutter closed, popping every gas bubble.

We exchange names while I lead you to the floor, letting your body relax and expand into my hands, enjoying the new added softness of your slouched belly. For the next 20 minutes, I massage your belly while you moan. We don’t even hear the sound of the maintenance crew opening the doors, and that’s how they find us: on the floor, me rubbing and kissing your bare belly while you burp and groan above me.

“Thanks, boys,” I smile and stand as I see them. Completely unashamed of our position. I put out a hand and pull you and your still exposed belly (and unbuttoned clothes) up into my arms. As we walk away, I whisper in your ear, “why don’t we continue this in my room. This happens to be my floor.”

[krisravencroft]

An Introduction

I am Kris Ravencroft, author of The Darkwhisper Chronicles.

The Darkwhisper Chronicles is a book series that I am currently working on, and it is not yet released. With the nuances of my writing and storytelling, as well as my protective nature over my creative vision, it is possible my work will be too niche and strict to ever be formally published by a company. If such is the case, then I intend to at least self-publish, unless something catastrophic prevents even that.

I have been simultaneously developing these characters and building this world myself (and for my own entertainment and creative channeling) since my adolescent years: starting roughly between late 2011 and early 2013. It is only recently (roughly a year and a half ago from this post) through changes in my life and the encouragement of a dear friend that I have decided to tell these stories in novel form. If nothing else, doing so would allow me to immortalize my stories in writing and gift them to the friends who have known of them for a long time, but certainly, the temptation to share them with any kindred spirits that might be interested has also driven me forward: especially now that I have reached a place in my life where I am confident I can render these stories with their best possible face.

Currently, I am working on the first nine or so books in the series, seven of which I am -- at present -- writing concurrently. Internally, I dub the nine as "the starter novels/saga" or "The First Wave," as I view all of them to be perfectly valid entry points into the series which will uniquely frame how a reader engages with the rest of them. This is intentional, as with the nature of my storytelling and the diversity of tales to tell, the reader will be exposed to several main characters all at different points in their respective arcs and all driving their entangled stories forward. I currently have over twenty books planned, and in the total absence of padding, my novels are each likely to be between 500 and 900 pages if I can keep myself from going over.

The identity of The Darkwhisper Chronicles is fully fleshed out and that will be palpable in the reading experience, but pinning down how to describe the series is daunting even for me to explain. When reduced to its absolute bare-bones, it is generally an adult high fantasy and gothic horror series -- meant for veterans of the genres -- that also has dramatic (and conscious) shifts in tone, perspective, narration style, and general flavor based on not only the main protagonist of a given novel, but the driving protagonist of a given scene within said novel. These shifts can be from fast-paced and utilitarian to tranquil and contemplative; from heavy and dramatic to light and comical; from adventure to horror; and from swords and sorcery in a medieval backdrop to noir against a diet steampunk backdrop.

It is worth noting that I subscribe fully to the mindset that a protagonist is someone we follow, rather than the hero/good guy/agreeable figure of a narrative, as many of the primary protagonists will be established as flawed people at best and outright villains at worst, and depending on the perspective of the character as it influences my narration, who serves as protagonist and antagonist will shift just as often as the tone and perspective of a story.

These characters -- and the world they live in -- are very near and dear to my heart, and I look forward to eventually being able to share them with others. For now, I am going to keep track of my progress, use this blog to establish that I am well into the project, and when it sees the light of day, I can interact with those who've enjoyed it. In time, I may give updates here, but I am still thinking on it.

I am open to receiving questions, but keep in mind that I will not be sharing crucial information to the development of the series, and I want to ensure that my ideas remain mine with no room for dispute. Prior to the publication of the novels, I ask that none of the information I share here be used in any capacity, unless specifically stated otherwise.

I simply wish to document and share a bit of my journey as I write.

[jonmcbrine-author]

Discussing your desire can be embarrassing. Exposing your ambitious passion can often times make you feel as if you’ve mutated into cringe incarnate. The dream that accompanies every waking thought - which essentially dominates your brain to the point where it’s difficult to talk about anything other than your creative goals - is the same concept you suppress from casual conversation. If these fantasies and lofty career aspirations make up such large portions of our gray matter (and can even feel physically beyond, seemingly flowing within our whole body’s bloodstream), then why is it sometimes awkward to publicly display?

The reason for me (most of the time) is to not sound pretentious. Who am I to boast of any ideas? Have I sold a bajillion copies of anything? Compare and despair plays a big part in my hesitancy to share my deepest daydreams of making it big as an author. I don’t want to sound like the middle-aged dude in a go-nowhere band, or the man-child all-day gamer. Even writing that makes me feel like I should apologize and that I don’t have anything against late-in-life goals or hobbies. Heck, I fit the bill when it comes to both, though I’m not much of a gamer, and a lot of my extracurricular activities are brainless time-wasters. A large chunk of my hobbies, though, are ultimately contributing to an even huger target. Still, the creative pursuit can at least look like a frivolous endeavor that friends and family humor. Writing fiction is, of course, a passion of mine, but it’s also a frustrating one when there isn’t much in the way of instant gratifications.

A lot of the time I resist the urge to indulge in my author-related projects unless the topic of conversation is initiated by someone else. Despite having a legitimately intrigued audience, I will still attempt to limit the info-dump I’m avalanching upon the well-meaning yet unsuspecting person. The self-censor is partially out of politeness but mainly for myself to not sound like an utter weirdo. Recently, however, I had the gift of a certain kind of freedom - a liberating moment where I could fully immerse myself in inspiration.

This flow of exciting ideas was a silent, internalized experience - and brief - but it was a welcome release of fretting over any outward appearances. No, there wasn’t an opportunity to shout these story ideas from the rooftops, but my mind’s unraveling of characters and their fantastical actions didn’t need to be anything other than an interior wandering. Normally, taking a trip into my “mind palace” would be reserved for spare moments throughout the day or perhaps a random idea would manifest itself within my brain and I’d follow for however long I could before resuming whatever daily work or routine I’d be doing at the time. This particular instance from only a few days ago at the time of this writing occurred at a time where it was appropriate and okay to mentally lose myself in a sequence of scenes for a piece of fiction I’ve been developing. My muse in this case was none other than the ocean.

Beach vacations are known for the relaxing times of peaceful meandering and/or serene introspection. My recent trip provided these things, sure, but like with many excursions, there are planning elements, as well as the stress of navigating through a different environment. My sandy getaway may not have offered as many thought-clearing states as I may have liked, but the idyllic moments the vacay did offer were priceless gifts.

I stood knee-deep in cool seawater, enjoying the mercifully mild weather, and permitting myself to know that at that very moment, my situation was a safe and acceptable one. I had achieved the stress-free comfort that soothing shorelines are capable of giving. It was during a time where few others occupied the beach, so the atmosphere was even more freeing. Even the stronger waves’ crashing carried dulcet tones, and the soft breezes blew around my body, reminding me of how wonderfully insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things - while simultaneously assuring the importance of me and everyone and everything else. It’s a good place to be.

The moment evaporated as it reached what was apparently its natural conclusion, but I was gifted the time of mental exploration. Undisturbed yet swirling with activity like the ocean itself, I allowed for some unadulterated imagining. I believe what made this experience more noteworthy than any other time I happen to think of soothing that would be cool to throw into a story is that this was fully acknowledged and embraced. At the risk of coming off as strange or humiliating myself with “gee whiz” naïveté, I am publicly posting this blog that may or may not get read. Cringe or no cringe.

Stay in the loop for more details by following Jonfiction Blog on Substack and be sure to check out jonmcbrine.com for more info about this and all my books.

Unsecret Identity: Eric Icarus - Book One is available now from the Amazon Kindle store.

https://a.co/2XAtxvH

New blog every Monday. Newsletter first Monday of every month.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - June 26th (pt2)

Happy Sunday!! Here's part two of this week's list, as promised!

***Marks my recent favorites 

~*~ 

***Emergency Contact by valdomarx

Steve has been exposed to sex pollen, and for some reason Tony is the person who's been called in to assist him.

Tony knows that he can't take advantage of Steve in this desperate state, but it's awfully hard to remember that when Steve is rubbing up against him and describing all of his deepest fantasies in excruciating detail.

***If Only by FestiveFerret

Steve wasn't gay. He wasn't. He'd know that about himself. He had no problem whatsoever with men who were attracted to men - he was dating one of them - but it wasn't him.

White Lies [The True Things Remix] by FestiveFerret

Tony Stark, Steve has long learned, lives by a set of internal rules, meticulously and aggressively adhered to, even if he gives off an air of chaos and hedonism. For the most part, Steve likes the structure, finds it a pleasant surprise coming from a lustful lush with more money than God.

There's one rule he doesn't like, though.

one true thing by Welcoming_Disaster

Captain America, Tony has long learned, lives by a set of internal rules so convoluted and esoteric that he himself sometimes gets lost in them.

Holding Out for a Hero by mariana_oconnor

The serum did a lot of things to Steve, but one thing he hates about it is how sensitive it made him, too sensitive. After it contributes to the end of his relationship with Jan, Tony offers to help him out.

Saffron by FestiveFerret

The club is called Saffron, but there's no sign outside to let you know that.

There's A History Between Us (and people think it's mine) by IamShadow21

A moment is all it takes to open up the box and confirm his suspicion.

“I think you're right, Cap,” Tony says. “This isn't my area.”

bring him home by parkrstark

During the clean up after the Battle of New York, Steve finds a little boy in the rubble of an orphanage. He finds out this little boy is almost as strong as he is, and he knows he can't let anyone get their hands on him. People would do crazy things for a mutant child. Steve vows to protect him so he can grow up as a child and not as a lab rat.

From Philly to Brooklyn by FestiveFerret

"Sorry," Steve murmured, exhausted from balancing his humiliation with sympathy for his exhausted son.

The man waved a hand vaguely towards his head. "Too much loud music and machinery. Doesn't bother me. He okay?"

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "Just been a long day." 

Peter stopped sobbing for a moment to rub a snail trail across the front of Steve's shirt to turn and face the man, brow furrowed with skepticism.

Steve shook his head, unable to help smiling. 

"Hey, kiddo," the man said. His lips twitched to the side. "What have you got to complain about, huh? Too many bills to pay? Boss treating you badly? Furnace needs replacing?"

Threadbound by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)

After they find one another in Battle World, Steve and Tony have a lot of work to do to get back to where they were before. The red thread on their fingers may tether them to one another, but it's always been a choice. It's time for them to choose one another yet again.

you are the reason by AvengersNewB

Steve and Tony are seeing each other in secret. An unfortunate encounter with Tiberius Stone, just as Steve decides to talk to Tony and define their relationship, makes things complicated.

Always Be Prepared by ladyshadowdrake 

Caught in enemy territory with important technology to get home, Steve falls back on a peculiar truth he learned during the War:

No one is going to perform a body cavity search on Captain America.

we have nothing but our winter by meidui

“You have to kill me,” Steve says, almost pleading. His ankles and wrists are red and raw where he’s been straining against the cuffs, and it hurts to look at. “You have to. HYDRA’s in my head and I’m going to kill the Avengers.”

****age is an irrational number by valtyr

Steve and Tony grow old together.

In Every Universe by Captain_Panda

"Tony had a headache.

And its name was Steve.

. . . But not that one."

Today is going to be an interesting day. Because a portal has opened, and MCU Steve and Tony are about to meet Steves from just about every other Marvel universe that ever was.

Time for gods, cowboys, and doggos!

I Can Talk to Anyone by Carsonian

NATASHA: Okay, fine, you caught me at a good time.

NATASHA leans back, ushers the camera in closer.

NATASHA: So they had a little argument. It's pretty standard. Tony said something callous, Steve got upset and confronted him about it in a weird way, they both did a terrible job of communicating their viewpoints, and then stormed off in opposite directions. The roles change a little, but the formula's pretty consistent.

(The Avengers have a camera follow them around for a 'documentary'. Shenanigans ensue!)

years we held on to by Areiton

It happened like this--

He put the Valkyrie down, and he didn’t even mind, knew damn well it meant he’d die and he was almost grateful. They’d burnt Hydra out of Europe and the Nazis were being beaten back--the war was almost over.

What use was there, for the world’s only super soldier, when the world knew peace?

He put the Valkyrie down and he didn’t die.

****Misunderstandings and Five Year Plans by Tahlruil

Captain America and Iron Man had gotten off on the wrong foot - there was no question about that. Maybe it was because Tony Stark had grown up knowing, thanks to Howard, that Captain America would despise everything about him. Or maybe it was because Steve Rogers had no idea how to handle the world he had woken up in, and the man in the Iron Man armor was a dazzling display of everything the 'future' had to offer.

No matter the reason, things had not gone well during that initial meeting.

Tony was fine with that, honest. There was absolutely no pouting on his part because Cap didn't want to be his friend. He wasn't even that upset about the way Cap could hardly stand to look at him. It was fine. Completely. His feelings weren't hurt even a little.

Steve hasn't been able to look away from Tony since they met. Once his initial fumbling was over and he came to terms with the fact that he'd survived the crash after all... well. He'd fallen fast and hard for the flashy inventor. He just doesn't know how to get the idiot to understand that.

[urlkssknt]

office shenanigans

assistant!nanami x boss!fem!reader (mentions of gojou)

warnings - nsfw content!!! oral (f receiving) inappropriate use of the workplace(?) p*ssy slapping fingering

a/n - this is very poorly written and not proofread but nanami kento makes me feral

A small knock alerted you of the presence of a certain stoic man, the one that had been occupying your thoughts, particularly the fantasies filled with lust. Kento nanami applied for the position as your assistant four years ago when you first got your high-earning job. He was a diligent worker, always ready to serve you to the best of his abilities, always ready to exceed your expectations. As you came to work with him, you couldn’t help but compare the men you took companionship to your loyal secretary. Kento had become your standard and it was impossibly hard to find anyone that met them.

“Ma’am, the man from last night is waiting for you,” the blond man stated in a bored tone, almost as if he was also bothered by the other male presence. Your eyebrow would have raised if you weren’t overcome with instant regret, you just had to ignore everyone’s warnings about Gojou Satoru. At least the dick was worth it, you thought to yourself.

In annoyance, you mutter under your breath, eyes closing as you pinched the skin of the bridge of your nose, “so fucking clingy.” The clear eyes of your secretary widened at the vulgar language escaping your pretty mouth. It was Kento's job to understand you, it only took him three months to realise that you wouldn’t settle down with any man you had a ‘relationship’ with, simply using them for your sexual needs. The longest you had been with a partner was for six months before calling it quits. Kento noticed that you got bored easily. He understood, more than anyone, that your current lifestyle was not suitable for a stable romantic relationship. It was just more simple to have a strict sexual relationship.

Kento walks over to your stiff figure, slumped over the large desk filled with documents after documents. You didn’t notice how close he was until soft words were spoken into your ears. Kento was so close you could smell the rich cologne he wore ripple off him, the scent went straight to your head, swirling your thoughts together into a puddle. A hand settled at the top of the leather seat whilst the other rested near your own, caging you between himself and the chair.

“Should I get rid of him for you?”

Slowly, you lifted your gaze up to the deep brown eyes staring back at you, there was a coy smile along Kento's face, the sight caused your brain to stop functioning for a moment. Has your assistant always been so attractive? Your eyes stopped on his sharp nose whilst sinful thoughts crawled to the front of your mind. God would you like to sit on his face.

A deep hum sounds from his throat, “hmm, would you like me to do that for you,” kento takes a pause, fully aware of the hungry lustrous look swimming in your eyes, a look he was more than familiar with, however you were far too professional to make a move on him, “ma’am?”

Thoughtlessly, all you could manage to do was nod at the diligent blond man. Your assistant left without another word to go follow out your demand, leaving as quickly as he came.

Finally, you were alone with your thoughts. A shaky breath slipped through your parted lips as an attempt to get rid of the dirty thoughts running through your mind. You couldn’t help imagining the muscles hidden underneath his crisp pristine white shirts. You would be lying if you didn’t wonder how it would feel to have Kento’s large hands wander along the expanse of your skin, squeezing at the flesh of your hips, as he takes you from behind, bending you across your desk, fucking you till your legs become sore and lose feeling. He didn’t have a girlfriend, that much you knew, so you felt no ounce of guilt for your fantasy, it also meant you won’t feel any guilt when you will touch yourself to the thought of him, stuffing your cunt with your fingers pretending it’s his hard cock. The throbbing of your clit became more uncomfortable as you continued to think more about your assistant’s godly features, particularly his thick muscular thighs. Shifting around in your seat didn’t help ease the tension you felt, it only worsened your need. Rubbing your thighs together in an attempt for a form of friction was useless as well. Maybe you should have invited Gojou back into your office, at least your mind would be thinking about something else other than your assistant. A sinister thought crawled to the forefront of your dazed mind. Why not deal with your sexual urges right now? Kento would definitely take a few more minutes to deal with other things and to send an egotistical maniac away. Biting your lip out of frustration, you thought, fuck it, people have done worse things in the workplace and this was your office. Just before your small fingers could slip past the waistband of your skirt and a voice sounds through the room, stilling you into shock.

“Ma’am,” suddenly, Kento’s voice reaches your ears and shocks you to the point your blood runs cold and you think you may have a heart attack.

“Fuck, why didn’t you knock?” You seethed through your teeth, a tone you used with inferiors who didn’t do their job correctly. The sexual frustration you were feeling a few seconds earlier just turns into full on rage. It amused Kento.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a sweet tone and an even sweeter smile, it was sickly. He chose to feign innocence to your obvious frustration. The man found your anger adorable. Of course he had witnessed it a thousand times in the length of his career, never being on the receiving end, but this time around. Kento’s heart soared at your deeply furrowed brows and tightly clenched jaw. “Did you want to get yourself off, pretty girl?” A hand grasps at your chin, tilting your face to look at the blond figure, “I can help you with that.”

Before you know it, the hand on your chin travels into your hair, intertwining itself with your locs, as his lips press a gentle kiss on a space on your neck behind your ear. A sigh falls from your lips as you succumb to the ministrations of his lips along your neck, lapping at the soft skin to soothe it after biting down harshly. As you whine at the loss of touch, Kento chuckles softly. He bends down to kiss you again with more fervour, wasting no time to explore the cavern of your warm mouth.

The sight of your assistant sitting on his knees caused your brain to melt, no longer having the ability to form coherent thoughts, his large palms radiating so much heat as they caressed the exposed skin of your thighs. “Let me make you feel good.” You gulped loudly. A smirk spreads along Kento's lips, pride swelling in his chest at the fact he was the one who caused you to lose composure.

“Okay,” you agreed, voice barely over a whisper. Internally, you slapped yourself for sounding so weak and small in front of your employee. Kento’s hands grab at your waist to drag you to the end of the leather seat, barely able to hang on, before you knew it your skirt was being pushed up and your soaked-through panties were dragged down your legs, secretly stashed in Kento’s pocket.

You sighed at the feeling of the warmth of the muscle against you, a stripe licked through your folds. Widening your legs out of reflex, your fingers grazed through Kento's blond locks before tugging at them, bringing him impossibly closer to your cunt. Kento's sharp nose brushed against your clit deliciously as he lapped at your entrance like a starved man, the small action sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your hole was seeping with sweet wetness, just waiting to be collected by Kento’s hot tongue. He couldn’t help the moan escaping his throat as he devoured your pussy, you tasted like heaven.

“You’re skilled at everything, huh?” you managed to breathe out in a steady voice, surprising yourself. The low hum kento let out sent vibrations against you, adding to the pleasure, making your head spin. “Fuck, I should raise your salary for this.”

If someone could be pussydrunk, it would be Kento Nanami. There was something so addicting about the way your slick tasted, bitter yet sweet, he never wanted to detach from your cunt, he couldn’t bring himself to do such a thing. Especially not when you whimpered so softly it barely reached his ears. With two fingers, Kento spreads out the folds of your pussy to admire the slick mixture of your wetness and his spit all along your sex, some of it trailing down the skin of your bottom. Just before you could protest and whine about the withdrawal of Kento’s touch, a sharp slap against your cunt causes the words to choke in your throat. You were stunned. No man had ever dared to slap you, it would have infuriated you, however there was an unfamiliar look in Kento’s eyes, one that made you want to be quiet and cower. It also didn’t help that the slap against your pussy felt so good, it made you forget about the pain.

“This pretty pussy,” another harsh slap landed against your cunt, you couldn’t stop the high pitched whine leaving your lips, “is mine,” Kento slapped you once more to punctuate his words. The man was getting high off the reversal of roles, normally he would be the one to follow your every command, always so eager to please you by any means necessary. The image of your chest raising and falling, hips thrusting to gain more friction, your tight skirt pushed above your hips. Kento could have cum from just looking at you. No wonder you had so many incapable men crawling back to you, fully knowing that they will never get a second glance.

“Say it.”

A thick finger began to slowly inched its way through your gummy walls, taking much longer than needed, your tight walls welcoming the pleasing touch, begging to be filled. If anyone had walked in on the scene, they would have guessed that a porno was being filmed from the heavy stench of sex in the air to the lewd squelching sounds of your drench cunt, especially with your slick glistening against Kento’s chin and nose.

“All yours,” you sighed breathlessly when Kento was knuckle deep, no longer being able to hold yourself up, you fell into the chair behind you, “this pussy is yours.”

Satisfied with your response, Kento’s finger began curling against the walls of your warmth, trying to find the certain spongy spot to make you see stars. His lips attached to your swollen clit, the slow circling of his tongue was torturous, you couldn’t even buck your hips as his hands held them down to stop your squirming. It wasn’t enough. The high of your orgasm was approaching and you desperately wanted to cum.

Studying your expressions, Kento knew he found your g-spot from the moan you emit and the tug against his hair, the aggressiveness made him groan into your clit. Tears began to brim in your eyes, fingers curling in the blond hair, mouth gaping open. You were so close. From the clamping of your walls against his singular finger, Kento knew you were close to cumming.

The speed of his finger quickened, pulling out of your cunt to thrust it back in again, consistently hitting against your bundle of nerves. It was a spot you couldn’t reach yourself when you touched yourself, your fingers were never enough.

“Come on pretty girl,” Kento coos as if were praising a child, he desperately wanted to experience you fall apart, all because of him, “cum all over my finger and I’ll make sure it will be my cock next.”

As if on command, your body listened to softly spoken words and let the orgasm ripple through you, a sinful moan filling the walls of your office, which quickly turned into another whine as the thick finger leaves your cunt, completely soaked with your cum, to only have Kento’s tongue lap at your arousal.

“T-too much,” you spluttered out, trying to use the minimal energy you had left to peel the blond away from your abused cunt. It was no use. Kento was much stronger than you and the grip he had on your hips was like a vice.

A grin stretched across Kento’s face as he rested against your thigh, finally allowing you to climb down from your orgasmic high, this was the first time you had seen him smile in the years he’s been with you. He looked like a child who had been given candy. You felt the beating of your chest skip a beat.

“Pretty girl gets sir’s cock now,” the smile drops from his face as Kento stands to his full height, towering over you like a giant. You couldn’t help your eyes falling onto the prominent tent in his slacks.

“Maybe overtime will be fun today?”

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Light Novel Review – I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2

A Defining and Relentlessly Queer Work in the Next Era of Yuri

I have backed myself into a corner and see no way out of it. For I have already awarded Inori's I'm in Love with the Villainess a perfect 10/10 score for its stellar first outing. And then, upon seeing what Inori did in the second book, I regret my choice because I have no way to raise the bar on perfection as Inori did in her light novel. Indeed, it has taken me far too long to write this review. My mind is thoroughly exhausted after pondering what I read and accepting the honest truth: that that may very well become a defining work in the next generation of Yuri. For as much time as I spend diving into the Sapphic news of the day, I devote even more to looking to the next big movement of Yuri. If I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 is a signal of what Yuri's future holds, then we are entering an extraordinary queer era.

The story takes off shortly after the first book. At least for the moment, the commoner revolt is quelled, and Rae continues schooling alongside her beloved Claire. Storylines include a new transfer student rivaling Rae for Claire's affection and the girls going on vacation to visit their families. However, the story takes a pretty dramatic and welcome turn halfway through the book. Through a combination of luck and her expect negotiation tactics, a fruit of her intimate knowledge of Revolution's world and inhabitants, Rae is tasked with investigating corrupt nobles. This change allows Inori to take the world and characters further than in the previous book. While the first volume did an excellent job establishing the world inside the school, this entry ventures beyond the academy's borders into international relationships, the church's role and goals, and the dealings of various factions and political parties. It is appropriate progression and one that lends to the story's main arc well.

While all of these events occur, Rae continues her mission of protecting Claire from the inevitable new order. By the time the finale rolls around, it is so immensely satisfying to see all of her plans and strategies pay off. It carefully balances rewarding the reader's attention and keeping them engaged with new twists and revelations. As the story develops, Claire is exposed to more of the reality of common life through Rae and comes to appreciate her privilege and understand the realities of socioeconomic inequality, evolving from the arrogant young woman we initially met. This path has two effects on the story; first, it allows Inori to explore real-world economic disparity issues while still worldbuilding. Second, it ultimately continues the story of Rae's plan, as she wants Claire to be in the commoner's good graces.

These elements make for a fantastic story in a rich, developed fantasy world. However, I adore I'm in Love with the VIllainess not for its intricate magic system but because of the phenomenal LGBTQ+ representation. I was floored by a frank, open, and wonderfully thoughtful discussion of queer representation in the first volume. Few, if any, Yuri works have done anything similar, and it was honestly an inspiration for me, so much so that I awarded it a perfect score almost solely for that passage. However, Inori once again usurps her own throne, taking this forthright and deliberate queer content and turning it up to eleven!

It is almost easier to count the number of main characters not confirmed as members of the LGBTQ community. Figures big and small have their identities explored and revealed during this novel. Some began believing themselves to be straight and exploring their sexuality further. In contrast, others are comforted by Rae's fierce, outspoken, and brazen support and pride in her identity to come forward. One particular scene that comes to mind is when she scolds a pair of nuns for using religion to justify their homophobia. This moment was particularly satisfying to return to after the Catholic Church's recent disavowing of same-sex marriage.

The series even has a character struggling with gender dysphoria who is liberated from society's expectations thanks to a rather ingenious plan of Rae's and her friends, new and old. While not exactly an example of authentic transgender representation as we consider it, as the character's struggles with gender result from a magical curse, but the parallel is clear. Speaking of reality though, the volume grants some glimpses into Ohashi Rei's life, the woman that would one day wake up as Rae.

Rae's experiences with LGBTQ+ identity, set in the real world, are powerful and pull few punches. It is perhaps here that Inori gets most honest and tragic, as Rae painfully describing the ostracization and suffering faced by queer people, culminating in a trans man's suicide (the author thankfully does not describe the actual death). However, Inori balances this pain with the thrill and joy of discovery and accepting oneself, and finding kinship. It is writing that could only come from an author who had experienced these feelings herself, and they will be immediately understood and have a visceral effect on queer readers. I love these moments so much for their vulnerability and relatability. But my favorite part has to be the ending (skip to the final paragraph if you want to avoid spoilers and somehow have not seen the cover of Volume 3).

We finally come to the big queer happy homosexual ending, which is also gay, and my great Yuri goddess, it is perfect! After wading through a revolution and enough surprise revelation to last a lifetime, Claire and Rae settle down into their new life together. Although they cannot legally get married, despite their best efforts, they are absolutely wives. Their families support them, they love each other, and they even have kids! Yes, this unexpected and blissful development, the final gift of this volume, comes in the form of adopted children May and Aleah.

As I exclaimed upon the reveal of Vol. 3's cover, which features the mothers and children, "WE DID IT!! YURI FAMILY!! In Yuri, there are virtually NO stories about queer women raising a family with children together. It is a long dream of mine, the YuriMother, to promote such stories. To have one of the most profound and explicitly queer Yuri stories end in such a happy and new way brought me to happy tears. Except, this is not the end! There are two more volumes beyond this one that continue the story of Claire, Rae, and their children! There is even a very sweet and wonderfully sappy, tear-jerking, bonus chapter of the mother's bonding with the children and helping them recover from their traumatic past. And even become TEACHERS; I could just die happy in this Yuri paradise!

'We need to show we are prepared to live happily ever after, as a family of four. So, I swear to God: I will always love May, Aleah, and Rae.' When Claire said this, she broke out into a tremendous smile and I found myself once more overflowing with love for her. I held her close without saying anything.

Inori's I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 is precisely what an excellent sequel should be and everything I have ever wanted from a Yuri story. It appropriately raised the stakes in every way, expanding the world, flushing out its many factions and conflicts, and setting a new bar for queer representation and discussion in Yuri. Everything Inori writes feels so perfectly slotted together. Each set piece adds to the character development; each queer issue and identity showcased helps build towards the satisfying and exceptionally gay finale. It is a superlative weaving and integration of the priceless artifacts into an absolute masterclass of LGBTQ+ storytelling. I suspect that this is one of the opening works in Yuri's next era, and I cannot wait to see what follows.

Ratings: Story – 10 Characters – 10 Art – 4 LGBTQ – 10 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 10

Check out I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 digitally and in paperback today: https://amzn.to/39gE664

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

My sincere thanks to Jenn Yamazaki, Nibedita Sen, E.M. Candon, and the rest of the team at Seven Seas Entertainment for translating and adapting this light novel.

[cinnamonest]

with all this recent stuff that’s just happened, this guilty feeling of mine has come out, and I just gotta ask...

is it bad to read noncon and stuff? gosh, with any other friend, I’d talk about how this kind of writing is weird, even just the fluff kind of stories, but they don’t know im reading noncon like every day and all this shit. i feel kind of guilty but i just love reading this kind of stuff and i... ajdjdkgkgg

when I found your account like two weeks ago it was genuinely the best thing that could’ve happened (though i ended up locking my liked posts and blogs im following from view HAHA)

and idk but I love your blog so much HELP

Not at all!! Literally, I have discussed this with my psychiatrist, who actively encourages it and taught me a lot about how beneficial it can be.

That's the thing about antis, any mental health professional will tell you this sort of thing is fine. People like it for a wide variety of reasons and all of them are totally valid.

The only times an adult person should not be exposed to this content/avoid consuming it is if they have any mental health issues that might inhibit their ability to distinguish between fantasy and reality, or very recently traumatized individuals, who may retraumatize themselves and be prone to erratic behaviors.

On the latter, it is actually surprisingly common for recent rape victims to seek out dangerous situations with the subconscious intent of being assaulted a second time - this is especially likely in women who are raised in misogynistic environments, because they often feel their trauma is not "valid" enough and subconsciously seek out the situation a second time to feel validated in victimhood, often seeking one even more dangerous than the initial one. Thus, these people should seek professional help and be assured they are in a healthy state before consuming content like this.

However, adults who do not fall under these categories are fine. Fiction can actually help prevent you from subconsciously seeking out abusers in real life. Many people with csa or other sexual assault trauma often feel drawn to abusers because it provides familiarity, or because they do not feel comfortable with people who do not abuse them. Fiction can sort of scratch that itch for those behaviors, and when that hunger is satiated, we are better able to recognize and evaluate the behaviors of real life people and avoid abusers.

Time to overshare, me personally it's partially a religious trauma thing. I live in a very conservative area and went to church and church school every day for 18 years, we were heavily indoctrinated with misogynistic ideology and taught to behave a certain way, which is why I now fetishize it so heavily - it feels "right" to be looked down on as inferior for my sex. It's probably one of the most problematic fetishes I discuss/write here, so I feel I can take this opportunity to explain how it helps. I used to have a lot of internalized misogyny and behaviors/views that reflected that. I've found that fetishizing it actually helps reduce that a lot - the more I fetishized it, the more ridiculous it feels to think some men actually feel that way irl, and feel much less self loathing over being female, which is an actual problem I used to have.

Tl;dr: it's not bad at all, and can be very good.

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

What’s the first death in media that you were exposed to, that you can remember?

Mufasa is the first one that comes to mind for me, but easily on the heels of that is Kocoum from Pocahontas. I already had an understanding of what death was, because of my great-grandfather.

How we portray death in media is important, and I think in a way, that’s why Mufasa stands out among so many others I may or may not have seen. It meant something.

Then there’s shows like Squid Game or Hellbound, which have numerous deaths as just par for the course. Very few, if any, mean anything. The lives mean very little, and the deaths are used for shock and horror – and perhaps, because we get used to it – to remind us how normal it is, and how quickly we accept it.

I said today we’re talking about Death in Media, so I want you to reflect on the top three deaths that have influenced you, and your understanding of death – negative or positive. Then I want you to reflect on how this could be improved. What we consume is, after all, so much of who we become, and most importantly, who our society becomes.

I don’t think it’s really surprising why Saw and Squid Games were popular, given the society we live in.

As for mine:

1.      Mufasa of Lion King (movie)

2.      Aerith of Final Fantasy VII (video game)

3.      John Coffey of The Green Mile (movie)

That’s not to say there aren’t others – Stephen Simmons of The War, Nick Andros of The Stand, Sirius of Harry Potter, Master Yoda and Qui-Gon Jinn of Star Wars, and plenty of others, but when I reflect, it’s these three that stand out in my mind.

Mufasa will always have a place of honor. It’s the first one I remember. It’s when I was told that all those who died became stars, and hey look – the movie confirms it! Of course, I know better now – they’re just balls of gas. I think at a young age, I still internalized the “they’re always with you”, in a way, though. I’ve matured that thought to match my adult understanding better, as I know they are not literally with me, so much as they come forward.

Aerith of FFVII, I knew before it happened. I still spent countless hours trying to bring her back, using endless cheats, like naming her “Easy”, and other stupid things, in the vain hope I could restore her. Because this was a video game. And everyone comes back in a video game. I suppose, Aerith, and the many attempts to bring her back, was my first exploration of “death denial”, even though the game makes it clear precisely why Aerith has to die at the end. Because Holy wasn’t enough – but the power of nature, of the planet, was able to save itself. All the lives that died, saved the planet for the living. It was a story about Nature, from the start, as the terrorists are Eco-Terrorists. It was a story about really saving the planet. And for that to happen, people do, in fact, have to die. But I restored her in fanfics. I tried to restore her in the game. She was my favorite. I suppose it says something, too, that I related to her so much and fell into such death denial back then.

Then, John Coffey. My dad was a huge King fan. And so am I. We would watch Shawshank Redemption and Green Mile often, to the point of beating a dead horse, really, but I loved it. And I loved John Coffey. I related to him like Aerith – another healer, another man out to fix the world, just on a much smaller scale, a much more personal scale, and he gets executed for trying to help. For being black, dumb, and in the wrong place at the wrong time. I suppose, this was my introduction to the cruelty and unfairness of life. Aerith’s death was present as an event by someone trying to destroy the world – reasonable, narratively. Coffey’s death was always unreasonable. The cruelty, always unreasonable. There was no justice, there was no understanding, he was just dead. And that’s how it is, isn’t it? A harsh wake-up call. But I’d watch it, again and again, because I liked Coffey. I liked the mouse. I liked everything, until he died.

And then he’s just…gone. I think that, too, was my introduction to the Nothing of death. Because Mufasa persisted, and so does Aerith. But Coffey? He’s gone. Sure, there’s talk of an afterlife, Christianity dominates, but…John’s not coming down to deliver messages from heaven after he’s dead.

I think these three do highlight much of what I’ve brought forward, the good, and the bad.

Death Denial’s there. The INJUSTICE and ANGER of it – dying too young, dying too soon, dying at all. That’s there.

There’s also that understanding of its naturalness woven in, even though all these characters died unnatural deaths.

And that’s where I think there should be more improvements: we don’t see many natural deaths.

Moana is one I can think of that may qualify, her grandmother was old, likely ill, and passed on. Only it didn’t feel too expected.

I’d like to see a long, drawn out illness more often. Or at least the implications of one, if this is something done at the start of a film/first half of a film.

Perhaps it’s out there, and just not in the media I consume as much. If so, I’d definitely like some tips of things to watch, because literally only Moana comes to mind right now.

[datsrightbby]

Marko + David (TLB) x Fem!Reader

Insatiable Habits

Warnings: NSFW/Smut, cursing, voyeurism, threesome

It had started off as subtle teasing at first, the kinda stuff that made you blush. Like, a gloved hand skimming your thigh and creating shapes across the exposed skin, or a lingering kiss on your neck, and the occasional whisper in your ear that had you burning crimson red and burying your face into the crook of his neck. It was the minute his palm went that bit higher on your thigh, the minute his thumb ghosted over your clothed crotch, did you start feeling flustered to the point of rubbing your legs together in need of friction. 

Not often did you and the boys stay back at the cave the whole night, but tonight was one of those rare occurrences when all of you were content staying in. David took full opportunity, of course, and kept you on his lap. The night had just begun to seep into early hours of the morning, which reminded you -

"Don't you guys need...food?" It's not as though you were ignorant to the fact of what they were, it was more so you'd refused to fully wrap your head around the idea that the four guys you met, one now your boyfriend and mate, were violent in any way. Though if you could avoid talking about it, or thinking about it for that matter, then you'd be okay. 

"Dude, I’m starving -" 

" - Yeah we should leave before the sun starts coming up." Marko remarked, putting down his sketch book and standing up to tug his discarded jacket on. You went to move off David, but his hand on your hip kept you in place on top of him, the subtle gesture telling you that he planned on staying with you. The boys gave you both a once over as they headed toward the stairs, smirks decorating their features at the sight. 

"Guess David's passing up tonight for some other kinda food." Paul hollered and Dwayne sent you a wink, which internally made you roll your eyes, but you grinned back at them anyway. Marko had hestitantly headed towards the steps after them, albeit a few strides behind -

"Marko!" There was a pause as Marko's attention turned back around to David, eyes skimming across your figure before focusing intently on the man who's lap you resided. 

"Stay." It wasn't a question, it was a demand, and Marko didn't seem to have much to say about the ordeal. You couldn't pinpoint why David had asked Marko to stay behind as it was implied, from both the endless teasing and staying behind, that the two of you were gonna do a little more than some heavy petting. David reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, lighting it in one attempt and taking a deep intake, exhaling toward the ceiling as to not get smoke all over you. 

Marko had resided back to the couch, while you and David shifted against each other, you placing little kisses on his jaw as he blew smoke toward the ceiling again. 

"Why did you ask Marko to stay behind?" You whispered lowly, hoping he couldn't hear. 

"I have an idea." It was all he said before dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, your head fell back and you let out a low, breathy moan as he rubbed languid circles against you. The cigarette he lit hung loosely from his lips, ash falling onto his lap haphazardly. In the corner you heard Marko shift in place and you panicked, reminding yourself of his presence and trying to pry yourself away from David's fingers, which had now entered you and pumped in and out a few times. There was no reaction from Marko other than staring at the sight in front of him, though you were sure he wasn't expecting to see David’s fingers working sinfully against you when he looked up from his previous activity.

"Relax kitten, I know what I'm doing." You looked up at him in both shock and confusion, but didn't question his motives, he'd never done you any harm before and you trusted David. Perhaps, if you hadn't been so worked up from his endless teasing all night, things would be different under the same circumstance, but that was neither here nor there. Relaxing into his touch, opting to close your eyes and focus on the feelings rather then the wandering eyes, you allowed for the situation to continue.

"Let us hear you -" David's voice growled in your ear and you moaned explicitly, louder than you had expected.

"That's my girl." You whimpered and bucked your hips up into the palm of his hand, knowing he was smirking down at you right now. 

Your arousal laid thick in the air to the vampires, it was sweet and intoxicating, and Marko swallowed thickly at the scent of it. Just when you felt as though your high may have been approaching, David pulled out and sucked on his fingers, licking off any trace you'd left on them. Marko watched you intensely, eyes lingering on any exposed skin they could get too. You felt erotic and filthy, but in the best way possible. The way the two looked at you sent goosebumps flying across your skin, it was as though you were the prey and they were the wolves, every fleck of color in their eyes had turned to black in desire and need, and you knew where this was headed simply by how they stared at you. On somewhat shaky legs you stood from your spot on David's lap, he waved his hand in Marko’s direction as if to tell you to go over to him -

“Remember you’re still mine.” Nodding, you thumbed over his jaw before sauntering over to Marko, who'd watched your every step approach him. In a surge of confidence you placed your hand on his shoulder, laying him back against the couch, sitting on his crotch with your thighs either side of him. You grind against him slightly, noting that his cock was already hard as sin. Marko let you have your fun, looking over to David who only watched while smoking the remains of his smoke, with a nod from his leader he had all the knowledge he needed of the situation. This wasn’t planned, but Marko was aware David knew of his feelings for you and it seemed he was letting him indulge a little. Instantly he had spun you both over, thrusting against you, a moan skipping past your lips. You'd been teased all night, so feeling his erection right where you needed him most, well, it was heavenly almost. 

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this." Marko teased your neck with kisses and nips, his eyes closed and he inhaled your scent; the way your hair smelled, the arousal between your legs, the perfume you wore, you were intoxicating and it's no wonder David could never keep his hands off you. Who could resist you?  

David had long stubbed out the rest of his cigarette as he watched the two of you toy with each other and tease, he watched as Marko whispered dirty things in your ear and how you replied with giggles, and he soon unzipped his fly and freed himself of the restraints his cock was behind, stroking himself at the sight of the two of you. This wasn't just because he knew you found Marko cute, or the fact that he knew Marko had been in love with you since he met you, no, this was David's fantasy too. 

It didn't seem long before Marko had ripped your clothing off of you, you'd responded with as much fervor. His hands roamed every inch of you in eagerness, he relished in the soft curves of your body and the way you shivered beneath him. It seemed too good to be true, having you here now was better than he had ever imagined. Marko kissed down your body, nipping here and there, which caused him to grin up at you every time you jumped. He stared at you for a moment, breath heavy and chest heaving, eyes pleading with you -

“Please let me have a taste?”

You weren’t sure if it was a question for you or David, but you’d instantly whined out a ‘yes’ and he wasted no time working against you. His tongue teased your clit in circular motions and you shook underneath his grip on your thighs, hips moving up against his mouth in need of more friction. The desperateness of the night took over you; David’s consistent teasing since you’d arrived, your forgotten orgasm from David’s fingers, and now Marko’s tongue wickedly lapping against you, you couldn’t help but huff out in neediness. Your head lolled to the side and noted David palming himself through his jeans, it appeared he was enjoying this just as much as you and Marko. A bite on your thigh had your attention back on the curly haired blonde in between your legs in an instant, he grinned and delved further into your wetness, giving you the relief you’d been craving.

“Use your fingers, she likes that.” Per David’s request Marko’s middle and index finger entered you and your head fell back against the couch, hands holding his head in place as his tongue roughly explored every inch of you. You couldn’t help the curse words that slipped, and the slap on your thigh because of it had you whimpering. 

“I - I think I’m gonna cum” Marko only sped up his ministrations, adding another finger inside you, stretching you out, he played with the spot that had you shaking the most until your body was overtook in blissful release. Never once did he stop, even as your hands attempted to tear him off of your spent body, he continued until he was sure the taste of you was burned into his memory. His body moved up you once again, claiming your mouths together in a sloppy kiss, the taste of your arousal still heavy on his tongue. His mouth moved from yours to you ear -

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me inside you for a week.” he whispered so possessively it had you clenching around nothing and praying he’d live up to the promise. The sound that came out of you was borderline pornographic, though you were beyond modesty at this point. Marko lined himself up with your entrance, looking down at you for silent permission, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close, his cock slipping into you with ease and stretching you out deliciously. Between Marko’s moan and your choked sob, you knew you were gonna crave the feeling of him being inside you for weeks after,  he was inside you raw, and he took a moment in awe to rejoice the feeling of you, knowing it was probably the only time he'd ever get to have this experience, and he wasn't about to let this go to waste. He was going to fuck you so good you'd remember it forever, remember him forever. The pace he set was fast with deep, hard thrusts that had you clawing at the couch underneath you to keep you still. Your mouth hung open from the intense feeling of him pounding into you, your lips spewing out a mantra of curses and Marko's name. 

“Do I fuck you good baby?" You moaned louder at his words, trying to find the will in you to focus on anything other than his cock filling you to the brim with every movement of his hips. When you didn't answer him, he opted to slap your thigh, an echo wondering around the cave because of it. 

"Tell me."

"Y-yes - you feel amazing- ugh" 

Your head coaxed to the side, noticing David had now freed himself and was stroking his cock to the same pace Marko fucked you at. "Oh fuck -"

You didn't know who to look at; Marko fucking you into next week, or David getting off to the sight of you being fucked. It was overwhelmingly sexy having the two men desire you so greatly, being shared between them made you feel powerful. 

David watched your thighs flex around Marko’s torso, the way you threw your head back in pure pleasure, how Marko’s cock disappeared between your legs over and over again. He stood and sauntered over to the two of you, placing his cock at the tip of your mouth, asking for entrance into your, all too willing, mouth. You happily accepted and took as much of him as you could fit at once, though David soon had a hand on the back of your head and his hips thrusting his cock into your mouth. All you could do was relax and let him take you, forcing yourself to hold back chokes and spit as he fucked your throat with ease, all while Marko rammed his painfully hard cock into you, your thigh now over his shoulder and the new angle allowing him to be so deep inside you it hurt, in the most pleasurably painful way. It wasn’t long before you felt your second orgasm build up, the aftershocks of the last one still lingering and causing you to tremble against the two men ravishing you, tears spilled from your eyes as Marko fucked you through it. Soon your body was convulsing and shuddering underneath them, David’s cock still deep down your throat, and Marko’s deep inside you. You clung onto Marko’s shoulders for dear life, heat spreading throughout your entire body and turning you numb as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensations, both of them were close, from Marko’s messy pace to David’s twitching cock, you moaned around him to spur him along, while Marko chanted out in whines as his release approached -

“Don’t you dare cum inside her.” Marko did as he was told and pulled out quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach, David soon cumming down your throat and making you deep throat him as you swallowed every last drop, you grabbed his thigh and squeezed, a sign that you needed to stop and relax a minute, which he did immediately, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning down to your eye level. 

“Are you okay kitten?” You nodded, noting how your body ached from the rough actions it had endured. Marko placed a kiss on your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. “You sure? I can get you anything you need.” You gave him a weak smile and stroked his cheek, trying to reassure him as best you could that you were, indeed, fine, but fucked out. 

The boys helped clean you up and take you over to the make shift nest David had built you a few months prior. Though, one question lingered in your mind. Where does your relationship go from here?

[silhouettica]

Disclaimer: image shown above is not mine; source is linked to the image.

____________

It’s been a long time since I’ve written an anime review, but this one is too well-deserved to pass up.

I tend to have a love-hate relationship with the sports-shounen genre in the manga industry. On one hand, good quality stories have great characters, undeniably well-drawn images, and okay storylines... but--- technique-wise, there was just too much suspension-of-disbelief required to go on reading.

Take for instance, Kuroko no Basuke and the legendary Phantom Sixth Man who is capable of magically disappearing in court; or, there’s Prince of Tennis and the gravity-defying non-arc path that their tennis balls traverse -- OR do not traverse, as do those which avoid the Tezuka zone. Basically, most popular and long-running sports genre mangas have a tendency to go borderline fantasy in many elements, or otherwise tend to sport some rarely-seen-in-a-thousand-years genius to spice up the story, which is understandably unrealistic (after all, this is fiction we’re reading). But perhaps, after almost two decades of watching anime and reading manga, my personal preference is now leaning towards the comfort provided by the slice-of-life genre, and against typical expectations, there’s that lingering desire to taste the slice of life in a sports manga...

Enter: Haikyuu.

Haikyuu was already a famous anime when I heard that it revolved around volleyball. When I heard that, the first question that occurred to me was, How much plot can be formed around such a sport as volleyball? Don’t get me wrong -- I’ve only ever been involved in two fields of sports: one is track and field, and the other is volleyball, so I at least like the sport. But since we’re used to being exposed to mangas centering around basketball or some martial arts, a story revolving around volleyball was foreign territory. But it was already famous, and with fame comes expectations --- thus, for fear of suffering from failed expectations, I deferred, or more like skipped out on Haikyuu.

But, well, with FB Watch capable of being a demonic source of temptation, Haikyuu showed up in my Watch Feed, and poof! - I was hooked. Manga was finished in less than a few weeks, and episodes repeatedly watched on FB (still ongoing, haha). In my personal list of top mangas, it has far surpassed even One Piece. It’s that good.

What’s so attractive about Haikyuu is that above being refreshing character and plot-wise, it was also obviously painstakingly created with so much attention to detail, in terms of the technical aspects of volleyball. I mean, just watch the videos contrasting Haikyuu to real-life volleyball matches - there’s almost no difference to be seen. The accuracy is admirable. In this regard, suspension of disbelief is very minimized --- well, except for the repeated overtime in matches; but if they stuck to the usual 15 or 25pt matches, we wouldn’t have much screentime to make a viable story, now, would we? So it’s an understandable adjustment to accommodate for the sake of cultivating the story.

Beyond this, Haikyuu boasts of a roster of interesting and complex characters littered throughout the storyline. Honestly, I can’t hate any single one of them. Your heart would go out to every character in every team. It’s amazing how the mangaka depicted each character differently, with all their bias and flaws, besides their refreshingly non-OP strengths, all combined to portray each individual’s humanity. And gah, when they’re made to mix together - the rapport between and amongst such variety of personalities is just fascinating to behold. And then comes character development - whoosh. How one person’s evolution affects the quality of a team’s mixture is another feast to behold. So much respect for this mangaka for bringing to life such abundance of quality complex characters. Seriously. Shounen x Sports x Slice of life + epic ups and downs + epic ending arc (MOST SATISFYING ENDING TO SPORTS GENRE EVER).

This is plain epic.

At first glance, any reader/follower would be drawn to the main characters - there’s Kageyama, Hinata, Ushijima, Oikawa, etc., all those OP-level players (or at least potentially so, for Hinata). 

Well, Hinata is the main character, as the story is dominantly affected by his actions and skill development. Watching his character growth is a treat, in and of itself. Seriously. Hinata may be boke at times, but isn’t really stupid. He’s just less-skilled than others (understandably so, given his lack of experience), but he more than makes up for it with his bottomless enthusiasm. And that innocence... Kawaii~. His love for the game is just contagious. Freakin’ want to buy a volleyball just to start playing on my own.

Kageyama may be called a genius setter, but really, he’s far from being the complete package. And he’s one of the more complex characters that really steals your heart. Like Hinata, he just overflows with love for the game, but his innocence is of a different level. After being shown his blindspot, he tempers his snobbishness, and literally BEGS for help --- I mean, look how he bows to Tsukishima for help in acads, or towards his senior Oikawa, in order to improve in volleyball. He’s mostly snobbish only towards those who don’t do their best (besides being just plain socially awkward). But he’s a very good kouhai, and it’s especially touching how he and Hinata paved the way for Asahi’s attack against Date Tech. I appreciate that he’s not so OP-level that he didn’t need anyone to improve -- he was helped by their coach, he was helped by Oikawa, there’s his senpais guiding him somewhat, etc. He’s not the Echizen-type who can learn on his own. He has so many blindspots, but he listens and asks for help once he’s shown that they exist.

There are a wealth of other characters worth mentioning, but recently, when I think of relating to the characters, what I easiest to resonate with are Yamaguchi and Ennoshita. Tsukki is another runner-up, being one who’s overly phlegmatic, with a defeating inferiority complex, but with a taste for vengeance... Bokuto’s answer to his existential question on why they play volleyball was very insigtful --- you don’t enjoy volleyball probably because you suck in it. HAHAHA. Isn’t that true for all of us - how we superficially hate some things when actually it’s because we just aren’t good at them. But at the very least, Tsukishimi Kei has so many qualities that puts him above others, it’s hard to compare oneself to him. On the other hand, there’s Yamaguchi the one-trick pony and Ennoshita the returning quitter. Sometimes I think of quitting when the academic “training” gets tough, but coming to think of Yama, I’m reminded that this is my one sword. The only reason he enters the court is as a pinch server - apart from that, there’s nothing else. So if he gets cold feet and settles for an easy serve, he forfeits the right to enter the court. If he lets go of the jump float serve, he has nothing else. Similarly, there’s Ennoshita who actually quit the team, but returned because the comfort became uncomfortable... I dunno if I’m the only one who’se quit in at least one point of my life, and took an easy way out or through something, but Ennoshita’s lesson is true for all of us - we’d regret quitting. Quitting is a no-go.

Anyway, I can’t describe all the other characters, else, this would be too long. But it’s just so amazing how Haruichi Furudate was able to create so many complex characters, each with their own backstories (okay, unrealistically, no sob stories here since this isn’t a drama) and no antagonist to hate, but the story was was just so complete and wholesome. I mean, take the Nekoma team, for one - they’re supposed to be Karasuno’s biggest rival, but they’re the ones who gave them a fighting chance to improve. Sportsmanship really dwells high on this one. Bokutooo, that once-spoiled ace... Oikawa, that snobbish great king who only recognized Kageyama as his junior when talking to Ushijima... The side characters who made up each respective team’s coaching, managerial, and cheer squad... There’s just so many personalities to admire and be thankful to the author for.

Haikyuu is truly a story about volleyball --- it’s not a story about inter-high, it’s not a story about high school; rather it’s a story that explores the different aspects surrounding volleyball - from childhood, as between friends, to high school and inter-high competitions, to the coaches and managers and trainings behind the scenes, to (SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!) in-house vs. beach volleyball, to a professional career and international competitions. It’s really volleyball in different seasons of lives of a variety of people.

One poignant fact is that for most people, playing sports would be limited to high school. After inter-high, teammates would separate and a new team will be formed, year after year. That’s why it’s so precious how (SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!) the manga showed the fanatic-highchoolers-turned-professional players being watched by their previous volleyball teammates and competitiors --- something I’ve never seen in other sports mangas (which mostly had to do with players getting some injury, going to rehab and recuperating, and so). Previous teammates faced each other as competition, and previous rivals became comrades. It’s just. so. epic.

Anyway, thank you,  Haruichi Furudate-san. May the anime remain top-notch in quality. Viva Haikyuu!!

[canchewread]

Editor’s Note: our Book Blog feature combines a shareable quote from, and a short review of, an important left wing or left-leaning work of nonfiction I’ve read and would like to share or expound on.

Terminal Point

A little while ago, I published a lengthy piece about how corporate media coverage of the so-called “migrant crisis at the U.S. border” uniformly conformed to the dictates of the Chomsky-Herman propaganda model; regardless of the ideological bent of the outlet publishing that coverage. Towards the end of that essay, I discussed the difference between describing how America created the crises driving migration, and what is actually happening on the ground in relation to those crises; before recommending readers who wanted to know more, check out “The End of the Myth: From the Frontier to the Border Wall in the mind of America” by Greg Grandin.

As longtime readers of this blog may remember, I’ve always been a big fan of Grandin’s work; in particular his scholarship on U.S. imperialism in Latin America is absolutely first rate. Given these factors, today I’d like to return to that portion of the discussion by offering a quote from (see above,) and a brief review of “The End of the Myth” here on Can’t You Read. 

Frankly, for a guy whose writing is so accessible, Greg Grandin remains an extraordinarily complex thinker whose historical analysis explores a sometimes overwhelming number of “variations on a theme” in the larger scope of his primary thesis. Given the sad state of the term intellectual in our society, I won’t burden professor Grandin with the title, but as scholars go this guy genuinely fulfills his obligation to present the facts, and challenge established assumptions vigorously where warranted. 

In that vein, the author opens The End of the Myth with a fundamentally sound, but deceptively simple thesis; that America has always resolved the staggering contradictions between its stated ideals, and its horrifying practices by projecting its identity, and even its very conception of the term “freedom” through the lens of an endless expansion across a wholly mythical, and ultimately metaphysical, frontier. Indeed, as Grandin notes quite early on in The End of the Myth, the contradiction between the colonial enterprise that eventually became America, and escaping the crushing poverty and violence of the old world was resolved by a genocidal project to claim the frontier before early-American settlers even had a word for the frontier. The story outpaced reality, right from the beginning.

Tracing the line of history from the foundation of the colonies, through the American Civil War, and into the modern era of Pig Empire dominated globalized trade, Grandin demonstrates that at each phase American society resolved the deferred promise of freedom inherent in its foundational mythos, by projecting the violence and conflict inherent to its settler-colonial, hyper-capitalist nature, outward and against a constantly-shifting “other.” From Manifest Destiny, to the Monroe Doctrine and on through our modern War on Terror, the solution to America’s problems has always been found in the destruction of an external enemy, and the expansion of the mythical “frontier.” 

Where Grandin’s work really starts to get interesting however, is when he meticulously dissects the internal conflicts a settler colonial project of genocide and slavery created; conflicts that a romanticized vision of endless frontier expansion both rationalized, and reinforced. It is in this analysis that the author exposes the myth of freedom for those who can claim it on an endless frontier, as the skeleton key for understanding the increasingly critical flaws in Pig Empire society. After all, all wars, even an endless war based on the myth of infinite growth, have casualties, and the unrelenting legacy of violence, dehumanization, and ruthless exploitation of the eternal other have fundamentally altered American society in ways no idealized frontier could ever heal. In a wholly disturbing way then, the very existence of marginalized nonwhites inside “the nation” becomes a taunting reminder of a faltering white supremacist legacy the Pig Empire has never made any attempts to reconcile with, let alone end.

These consequences are the dark, unspoken truths of both American history and America’s present; and they are rarely if ever exposed to the public eye. In doing so, Grandin lays bare the roots of American imperialism, white supremacy, colonial exploitation, and even U.S. dominated “borderless capitalism” in the modern era. Like a cancerous tumor, the myth of the American frontier has fueled the endless growth of a Pig Empire capitalist class that threatens to unleash fascist violence to maintain control now that the frontier thesis has run into the hard walls of both history, and reality. By exposing the catastrophic fallout of worshipping frontier mythology in America’s past, Grandin does much to reveal how “the land of the free” has never really stopped being “the home of the slave.”

Importantly however the author does not remain entirely in the past. Grandin also draws stark attention to the fact that although the myth of the frontier has lost its power to obscure America’s horrifying contradictions, it has done nothing to satiate the greed and arrogance of the primary beneficiaries of those contradictions in modern life:

“The fantasies of the super-rich, no less than their capital, have free range. They imagine themselves sea-steaders, setting out to create floating villages beyond government control, or they fund life-extension research hoping to escape death or to upload their consciousness into the cloud. Mars, says one, will very soon be humanity’s “new frontier.” A hedge-fund billionaire backer of Trump who believes “human beings have no inherent value other than how much money they make” and that people on public assistance have “negative value,” a man so anti-social he doesn’t look people in the eye and whistles when others try to talk with him, gets to play volunteer sheriff in an old New Mexico mining town and is thereby allowed to carry a gun in all fifty states. Never before has a ruling class been as free - so completely emancipated from the people it rules - as ours.”

Greg Grandin, The End of the Myth.

Of course, given that The End of the Myth was published in 2019, a certain percentage of the book is focused on specifically what Trump, Trumpism, and Trump’s promise to build a border wall mean for modern American politics. Even this seemingly contemporary discussion however, offers timeless insights on both the past and future of an America that continues to embrace nativist ideas and ideology. Although Grandin never uses the term, he subtly notes that in many ways Trumpism itself represents an explicit ideological rejection of endless growth along an infinite frontier, and even offers a horrifying “solution” to our present day climate crisis - white nationalist infused eco-fascism.

Look, you probably don’t need me to convince you a Pulitzer-prize winning book by a celebrated American historian is “a good read.” What I’d like to add here however is that Grandin’s book isn’t just a guide to understanding American nativism, immigration policy, and right wing fantasies of migrant invasions; this book is a guide to understanding both American political thought, and rising Pig Empire fascism - which in a lot of ways, are very much the same thing.

I don’t know if this is the best American history book ever published, but frankly I suspect it’s in the running. Even though I don’t agree with everything Grandin says in The End of the Myth, I’d still ultimately give it an enthusiastic five star rating. More importantly, I would strongly suggest this work as a must-read volume for folks looking to understand why the Pig Empire works the way it does.

Additional Resources:

Infinite Frontier (The Nation review)

America can no longer run from its past (Guardian review)

A Monument to Disenchantment (Jacobin review)

Slavery, and American Racism, Were Born in Genocide

- nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

Updates available on Instagram, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.

Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites

Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

[haljathefangirlcat]

Okay, pls tell me about this: "heartfic au"

As you MAY have already guessed ;) it’s a fic inspired by @janiedean’s beautiful ASOIAF heartfics. 

For those unaware: one day, an anon suggested Janie write an ASOIAF fanfic set in an AU where, after suffering too much pain and trauma, people’s hearts (represented by glowing spheres of light) may crack and bleed and, eventually, spontaneously disappear from their owners’ chest to reappear wherever their soulmate is. Said soulmate then takes care of the heart, trying to heal its wounds and/or stop its bleeding, until they’re finally able to give it back. And then, ofc, romance and (more) hurt/comfort ensue. I think the initial prompt was JB, because iirc that’s what the first heartfic was? But Janie also wrote similar fics about other ships, like Davos and his wife getting Stannis’ heart or Sansa getting Sandor’s.

Janie has said on a couple of occasion that she’s fine with other people using the same concept, since it was that anon who came up with it. I decided to write Arthurian fic about it because the whole idea was just screaming GALAHAD/MORDRED!!!! over and over at me. 

Basic plot is “kid!Galahad gets a cracked, bleeding heart and figures it’s that of a damsel in distress he will have to save one day because ofc, he’s Miracle Boy and everything, but oh no, all the ballads say brave noble knights marry the damsels in distress whose hearts they heal, and he has to stay Pure to find the Grail!! ... but hey, maybe they can be just friends?? Then he grows up, goes to Camelot, starts this weird friendship (?) with Mordred as the two Local Subtly (Or Not So Subtly) Ostracized Awkward Prophesized Bastards Of Very Important People, and realizes it was never about a damsel at all. Cue DRAMA on both sides (”WAIT HOW DOES IT WORK DOES THIS MAKE IT BETTER OR WORSE I MEAN CAN WE HAVE LIKE A PLATONIC VIRILE FRIENDSHIP OR DO WE HAVE TO --” “OH GREAT I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH EVEN FOR MY GD SOULMATE NOW” and a bunch of other stuff) until Galahad leaves on the Grail Quest and experiences a lot of horrible shit until his own heart goes to Mordred to protect itself, proving they truly ARE meant to be together and prompting Galahad to refuse the Grail and ascending to Heaven (after a lot more internal turmoil, probably) so he can come back to him.”

Here’s a peek from a scene I’m particularly proud of:

As it turns out, he wasn’t lying.

Mordred can’t deny it as he stares at the thing Galahad took out of the chest under his bed, the thing that was in the leather pouch, the thing wrapped in wool like it was fragile and precious. The thing in Galahad’s hands, held gently, shivering like a branch in the wind, glowing like live coals, pulsating – no, not pulsating, beating.

The void in his chest longs for it, aches for it, covets it. No. No, it’s more than that. It’s not just desire but a need, a hunger. It makes him helpless before it, pulls him towards it like a riptide, and it’s all he can do to struggle against it and resist it, holding his arms rigid by his sides and not moving an inch from his position.

«It’s yours,» Galahad say, uselessly, and he opens and closes his mouth and lowers his gaze like he doesn’t know what else to say.

«Yes. It’s mine,» Mordred replies, just as uselessly. Then, after a moment, he adds: «Those are even my colors.» More because he’s just noticed than for any other reason. His bewildered tone probably makes his words sound even more foolish. But he won’t blame himself for that too much, not right now, because the first thing he noticed was the redness – the blood. The splotches of blood and the many, ragged scars. Hard to notice anything else, after seeing that.

His heart is an ugly thing. That’s not surprising, at all, but he chokes back bitter laughter all the same. 

Galahad’s head whips back up at the sound, and he looks startled and a bit confused. «Uh. Ah, yes, that’s true. I hadn’t thought… or, mh, noticed…» He stops, frowning.

Right then, a thought strikes him like a slap across the face, part hope and part dread and entirely stupid. «Gaheris has silver and purple in his arms, too.» Mordred hesitates and bites his lip, feeling inexplicably like a child about to confide some secret that’s at once all too important and too silly to be exposed, and then continues: «Not only that, but the silver reminds me of Orkney’s sea in winter… and that purple, of a flower that blooms sometimes on the heaths near the sea. My brothers and I all used to play on the coast as boys. They already did it long before I was even born.» Another pause. «As for the flower, I think we all picked it for our mother at least once.» And now, its color is dirtied and muddled by bloodstains.

Galahad shakes his head. «I’ve never thought too much about what the colors might mean. But I’ve also never felt like it could belong to any of your brothers.» There’s a light flush on his cheeks, now, a thin note of something that’s almost stubbornness in his voice. Mordred is aware that he could use that to tease him.

He doesn’t feel like teasing him. «Still… how can you be so certain?»

Galahad blinks and then stares him right in the eye, and suddenly his chest is tight, full of something that itches and stings and prickles under the other man’s calm, blue gaze. «Aren’t you? Don’t you feel it’s your heart?»

He does. He does, and that’s just the problem. The itch grows more intense, more unbearable with every moment he keeps his mouth shut to avoid answering. He drops his gaze to the thing that’s still in Galahad’s hands, the thing that’s calling to him and only him and seems to be beating faster and brighter the more he looks at it and does nothing else, almost like it’s yelling at him in its own way for making it wait so long.

«What if I don’t want it,» he says, and his voice sounds rough and weak to his own ears.

«Why wouldn’t you want it?» Galahad asks that like he honestly can’t think of any reason why, like this is the first time anyone in the whole world has ever said anything like what Mordred, not-so-secret bastard prince and prophesized kingslayer and kinslayer of Camelot, has just said. Maybe it is. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard any songs about any beleaguered damsel who simply told the dashing hero at the foot of her dreary tower, oh no, my good sir, you may keep it, I was fine without it and I will not need it anytime soon.

But Mordred is not a vulnerable maiden or locked up against his will and at the mercy of a cruel brother or uncle or eagerly waiting to be rescued since he was half his current height, so he steels himself and tries again: «What if I’m just fine the way I am now? What if I don’t need it, after all? I’ve spent years not feeling anything, I’m used to it.»

He looks up in time to catch the flash of naked hurt that crosses Galahad’s fine features, briefly replacing startled incredulity before it turns into barely concealed worry. «Are you sure?» Then, he seems to really think about it… and the fingers of his right hand start stroking the thing, lightly and unthinkingly. «I… I can imagine something has happened that you may not want to remember. Maybe you’ve felt things you don’t want to feel again. But is this really better? Would you really keep living like this?»

The spark of anger mixed with spite that flares up in his gut – at Galahad’s questioning and his assumptions that he can imagine and that he knows what living like this is like, those soft caresses that feel so impossibly familiar and intimate when at most they should be irritating or even disturbing in their presumptuousness, the way he feels himself ache for entirely new reasons – tempts him to say that yes, he would, and yes, this is better. It has to be. Has to be better than this ridiculous, confusing, terrible mess that Galahad’s dragged him into. Had he never come to Camelot, or least, had he never come to him with truths that sounded like bad jokes and his honest, open gaze and their stupidly engaging arguments and the quiet evenings spent together hiding away from everyone else and…

«Aren’t there things you’d like to feel? For your family, or your friends, or…»

Mordred sighs. There were lots of things, back when he had first given up his heart and spent his every waking moment wishing to get it back somehow. That was years ago, though, and after some time had passed and he had finally figured out that wishing never helped with anything, all of them had started to seem less desirable, less important… just, less. They didn’t matter anymore, and so he didn’t want them then and doesn’t want them now. And yet… it seems foolish to even think about it, like he’s slipping back into stale old fantasies and half-forgotten, senseless hopes, but… maybe there are a couple of new things, now.

He sighs again, this time trying for a slightly exasperated but mostly careless tone, and holds his hands out in front of him as soon as he’s sure they’ve stopped shaking. He swallows and says: «Alright, I think I’ll give it a try. But know that I might just throw it out again and then you’ll be stuck with it.» He tells himself that he’s not afraid. He is, of course, but he’s such a convincing liar, he knows he can convince himself. It can’t be too hard, right?

Galahad grimaces, and that’s not too encouraging, even if he’s quick to school his features before he slowly, almost gingerly reaches his hands out to him, too. Mordred has half a mind to snap at him and say, look, I was only jesting, I’m not saying you’ll really have to keep it or that I’d care if you left it on the wayside or threw it into a well, but then he worries that the bile might blend with actual pity and so he says nothing except for: «How am I supposed to do this, then?» The songs, of course, skip the boring technical details.

Galahad fits the glowing sphere between his palms like he’s putting a newborn into the cradle, touches his fingers to make them curl over it as if he’s afraid he’ll drop it. The sphere is light as a breath, yet somehow solid, and warm like a living thing… which it truly is, all things considered, although that thought still feels a little absurd. Galahad’s skin is warm, too. «I’m not sure,» Galahad admits. «I’ve… never done this before.»

«Yeah, well, neither have I.»

[elefics]

torment / chapter 3

word count: 3.5k

For the next two nights, my dreams were plagued by Michael. I couldn’t stop thinking about his hand gripping the back of my chair, his hair falling into his face, the gold chain peeking out from under his shirt, and how it would look against bare skin, his or mine…

Stupid. I’d barely said a word to this guy, and I was dreaming about him? Like some vapid schoolgirl with a crush. It wasn’t like me at all, I felt like a different person. Something about his eyes, the way they pierced right through me like a laser, made me feel exposed.

I decided that morning to put him out of my mind completely, or do my very best to. The warlocks being on civil terms with the witches didn’t mean anything. Trying to reassure myself, I thought, I may never see him again. I ignored how that thought made my stomach flip, dread gnawing at my insides.

“What has you so upset?” Penny, the witch who stayed in the room next door to mine, asked. “I could feel it through the wall.” She plopped down onto my bed with concern plastered across her face.

Penny was an empath to extreme levels. She felt what you felt, exactly how you felt it. When she was younger, she told me she had to avoid crowded rooms because the mix of emotions made her vomit. Now, with years at the Academy under her belt, she’d learned to control it – but somehow my emotions had knocked a hole through the drywall and her willpower.

“I’m fine.” I replied.

Penny frowned. “That’s bullshit, and you know I know. What’s going on in your head, Ly?”

I sighed. “The warlocks. I can’t figure them out, or what they’re up to. Makes me uneasy.”

I figured that wasn’t totally a lie. A half-truth – I was worried about the warlocks. I just failed to tell her it was one in particular that was bothering me.

“I feel you,” Penny said casually, and I smiled because she did, literally. “But if Cordelia thinks this is a good idea, I trust her judgment. You should too.”

She was right. But something about the whole thing just felt off.

“I had my doubts,” Cordelia appeared in the doorway, giving us both a fright. Our Supreme had a habit of sneaking up on people.

“I understand your apprehension. But I think that unity is in the coven’s best interests. I wouldn’t have invited them otherwise.” Cordelia said.

“I know. We trust you.” I nodded. I hated the idea of Cordelia thinking we didn’t have faith in her. She was the best woman and witch I’d ever known.

“You two better get ready for lessons.” Cordelia concluded, before drifting out of the room.

After hours of potion-making and practising tricky incantations, we had finished up for the day and a few girls were lounging in the sitting room. I was playing cards with Zoe, a witch-version of those memory games you play in grade school. Instead of guessing with memory, I guessed with divination. It wasn’t my strong suit; she beat me four to one.

The rest of the girls stepped into the room, followed by Cordelia. We all sat up straighter, knowing something was coming. She only called all of us into one room if there was an important announcement to make.

“My girls. Ariel and I have had several meetings over the last few days. We think what we all need is some fun,” She smiled.

We all paid more attention.

“Next Saturday, we are attending a ball. A reconciliation ball, for witches and warlocks to come together and enjoy themselves. A celebration.” Even Cordelia looked excited as she explained.

Girls squealed and immediately burst into chatter we pounced at the chance to get dressed up.

“We’re taking a trip into town tomorrow, after your morning lessons. All of you will pick out a dress, or suit if you prefer. I want you all to visualise your truest form, and show up as them. Pick whatever makes you feel most like your most beautiful, confident, powerful selves.” Cordelia said.

---

“Does this look ‘me’ enough?” Zoe asked, holding a lilac blazer up to her slender frame.

“I think you’ll look stunning in anything.” I assured her. We’d been into three shops already and I still hadn’t found the perfect dress.

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering. Nobody has asked me.” Penny lamented as she tried on another jumpsuit.  

There was gossip that some witches had been asked to the ball already. Apparently, some warlocks had sent notes, enchanted to sing on arrival. The peak of romance, as far as the younger witches were concerned.

“Who cares? We’re going together anyway. Date or no date, we go together. Sisters.” Zoe asserted, rubbing Penny’s shoulder.

Flicking through another rack, my fingers landed on something red and velvet. I pulled the gown out to get a better look, purely indulging a fantasy that it might suit me. It was strapless, structured around the bodice with a flowing skirt.

“Lyla! Try it on.” Zoe exclaimed, shoving me into the change room.

“I doubt it’ll even fit…and red really isn’t my colour.” I sighed. I stepped out once I’d slipped it on, needing Zoe’s help to zip me up.

Looking up into my reflection, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “Is it too much? It’s a little bold for me.”

“You look hot! You have to get it, Ly. I’m convinced nothing else will look this good. It’s like it was made for you.” Penny grinned from behind me, squeezing my hips.

---

In the week leading up to the ball, the doorbell rang constantly. Each time, a girl would answer the door and close it with the hugest grin, pleased with their date. Each time, my irrational heart raced, hoping it would be someone for me. Each time, I was disappointed.

The dreams about Michael didn’t stop. I dreamed that he tapped on my window, climbed inside my room, and asked me softly. In my dreams, he was gentle and tender, not tense and severe like he acted at breakfast. In my dream, he whispered it, begging me to be his. Michael’s lips against the shell of my ear sent shivers through my entire body. When I woke up, I swore I could still feel his breath against my neck.

When the doorbell rang on Friday morning, I pitied the girl who was about to be asked to the ball this last minute. It was almost lunch time, but I hadn’t had classes that day, so I was studying in the sitting room in my pyjamas. Annoyed at the disruption, I moped over to the door.

“Hey, who are you looking for, I’ll go get h-” I was cut off as I opened the door and met his eyes.

Michael stood in the middle of the front patio, holding a thin black box.

“Michael – hi,” I stumbled over my words, suddenly embarrassed of my pyjamas so late in the day. He must think I have no life. “So, who are you here to see? Most of them are upstairs.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“You, actually.” He said evenly. My eyes must have widened, because he licked his lips, “Are you surprised to see me?”

“I guess. I just wasn’t expecting it.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“Why? Who were you expecting?” His expression darkened, a crease forming in his brow. I could feel his walls going up…was he jealous?

“Nobody.” I said quickly. I didn’t want to waste an opportunity to see him, even if he made me uneasy. He was magnetic – it felt like there was a rope tied around me, pulling me closer to him.

His smile returned, smug. “Well, in that case, you’re coming with me to the ball.” He declared.

I raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not asking, just telling?”

“Precisely,” He said smoothly. He held out the thin black box. I reached out, and his fingertips grazed mine. I stared at his hand for a beat too long before I took the gift.

“You didn’t have to get anything. I can’t accept this.” I rushed.

“You haven’t even opened it yet.” He spoke softly. His intense gaze made my cheeks hot.

I pried the box open carefully, and saw the glint of cubic zirconia in the sunlight. The wind was almost knocked out of me. A thin chain of gems formed the most delicate choker I’d ever seen. I imagined it wrapped around my throat, and then I imagined Michael helping me clasp it, his fingertips grazing my neck. I shivered.

“Michael. I can’t take this. You don’1t even know me.” I said quickly.

“They’re real. I wouldn’t give you fakes,” He said, his nose wrinkled with disdain.

“How did you-” I whispered.

How did you know I thought they were fake? How did you afford this? How did you end up in my life, on my doorstep like this? A million questions raced through my mind at once.

“Wear it tomorrow.” He commanded softly, interrupting my internal monologue. I got the sense that it was an order, not a request.

“I – okay.” I gulped, unsure of how else to respond.

Michael smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Meet me there.”

“I’ll see you then.” I said meekly, feeling a little lightheaded. This was all too much.

“Oh, and Lyla,” Michael reached his fingertips out as I retreated back inside. My name in his mouth was a dream, the way he drew out the syllables like he savoured it. I felt a pull like gravity towards him; he was the sun.

“Sweet dreams.” He spoke, before the door swung shut.

---

Saturday evaporated into thin air – the hours seemed to fly by, and I was quickly running out of time to get ready. I’d often find myself distracted, thinking about what he meant yesterday. Sweet dreams. It had to mean something, but it didn’t make any sense. Could he hear my thoughts? Did he know I’d dreamed about him? Could he hear how my heart raced whenever he looked at me? Could he tell how I was somehow both attracted to and afraid of him?

When my hair and makeup was finally done, I fiddled with the clasp of the choker Michael gave, struggling to latch it.

“Need a hand?” Penny offered. I bowed my head as she helped me. “Woah. When did you get this?” She asked.

“Um – yesterday. Michael kind of…gave it to me.” I confessed.

Penny’s fingernails dug into my shoulder. “You like him!” She yelled excitedly.

“I guess there’s no point trying to lie to you, right?” I blushed.

“Damn, you really like this kid. Dreaming about him?” She said, hands on her hips.

“How did you know that?” I questioned.

She closed her eyes and moaned exaggeratedly, “Michael, Michael.”

She told me she’d heard me talking in my sleep when she got up for a glass of water last night. I was mortified.

“Just…be careful. I can’t feel him. Usually, I can sense someone like that, someone we know. When he was here, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I was in the dark.” She murmured.  

Penny’s warning stuck with me because I didn’t stop thinking about it all night.

When we arrived at the ball, I stepped out of the car carefully, so I didn’t step on my dress. My heels were a little too high for comfort, but I felt unstoppable.

There was a set of wide marble steps up to the ballroom, and inside the building glowed gold and warm.

I looked for Michael, hoping to find him waiting for me outside. My heart sank to my stomach when he wasn’t. Immediately assuming the worst, I thought he’d stood me up. Of course he did. This stupid ball didn’t mean anything. He’d invited me for a laugh with his boys. He never wanted to come in the first place. It wasn’t his scene.

“Earth to Lyla. Are you ready to head in?” Zoe asked. She looked like a badass in her purple blazer, tapered black pants and heels.

“Yeah.” I mumbled, linking arms with my sisters and walking towards the building.

We were only a few steps from the entrance when a strong hand grabbed my waist, pulling me away. I was about to scream when I saw Michael’s smirk in the shadows. I flinched at his touch, but his eyes lured me closer. Zoe frowned, but told me she’d see me inside. Her raised eyebrows silently said, If I don’t see you inside in ten minutes, I’m calling a search party.

When we were alone, tucked into the dark space between a marble pillar and the fence, Michael’s eyes almost glowed in the dark. His stare didn’t break from mine once.

I shrunk into myself, avoiding his skin. His bottom lip jutted out.

“You were so hot last time. Your skin, I mean. It burned me.” I rubbed my arm at the memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He smiled innocently. “You look beautiful.” He said, hands around my waist, keeping me locked against his body. It was warm, but not scalding. I relaxed into his arms. With anyone else, this would be too much, too fast. With Michael, I felt like I couldn’t get close enough.

“You too.” I was breathless.

“I look beautiful?” He laughed.

“Yes.” I said, without hesitation. He did – his suit was pressed immaculately, black jacket over black shirt, with a thin black tie. His shoes were polished, his hair was brushed out and wavy, and this time, his thin gold chain was hanging out neatly underneath the collar of his shirt. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that somehow it was because he knew – he knew how much I thought about that damn chain, dangling over me. It was a taunt.

He grinned. I’d never seen him smile like that. Being the reason behind it made my heart hammer in my chest.

“Are you nervous?” He was smug.

“Maybe. Are you?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes. I wanted to know that I had just as much of an effect on him as he did on me.

“You wore it.” He whispered, bringing a long finger up to my throat, tracing the thin chain of diamonds there. Goosebumps sprang to the surface of my skin.

“I did. Thank you – I don’t think I actually said that yesterday.” I closed my eyes, melting at his touch.

“You’re welcome.”

I tugged at his chain softly, “I like this. You should wear it out more.”

“I know you do.” He smiled. He looped my arm through his, nodding gentlemanly. My mind reeled through the possibilities of what he meant by that as we walked in together.

Zoe’s head was swivelling around the room, waiting for me to enter. Once she saw me in one piece, she smiled and waved me over.

“Will you come sit with us?” I asked Michael.

He was scanning the room, too preoccupied to hear me.

I squeezed his arm, and he snapped back to attention. “Come sit over here with me.” I repeated.

His lips twisted, considering it. “I shouldn’t. They’re your friends.”

“Just come.” I pleaded.

He rolled his eyes, and it was then that I knew he had a soft spot for me. He stood up taller, and we walked to our table.

Over dinner, I took the opportunity to get inside his head a little. I had to figure out how he knew so much, and how he made it feel like I had a magnet in my ribcage, drawn only to him.

“You said you’ve only been at Hawthorne for a few weeks. How did you end up there?” I asked.

He paused halfway through cutting his steak. He seemed to consider his next words carefully.

“I got myself into some trouble, my powers got a little out of control. Somehow, Ariel found me. He got me out of there, and I didn’t look back.” He smiled sweetly.

“Got you out of where?” I asked.

“A jail cell.” He replied darkly. I saw the flicker of a smile in his eyes.

I froze. The sudden realisation that I didn’t know the first thing about Michael hit me like a tonne of bricks. I had no idea who he really was. But here, sitting elbow to elbow with him, wearing diamonds he bought, I thought, who the hell am I?

“How did they find you, the Academy?” He asked politely. It always felt like a power play – I asked a question, he ignored it or gave me a half-answer, and then he’d ask another question like nothing had happened.

“I broke my teacher’s arm.” I said flatly.

He grinned, clearly entertained. I softened a little – when he listened to me, he really listened. He watched me intensely and nodded with encouragement. He made me feel like the only person in the room.

“So, Michael,” Penny called from across the table, breaking our bubble of conversation and bringing us into the rest of the group. Next to her was Jerome, Zoe, and a few other warlocks I didn’t know well. “What’s your story?” She asked. She was watching his every move like a predator.

“Not much to tell. I just started at Hawthorne not long ago. I’ve been fortunate enough to do well in my classes. Favourite colour is red.” He replied cheekily.

Under the table, his hand came to rest on my knee, drawing soft, absentminded circles against the velvet. I pretended it wasn’t happening, despite the swarm of butterflies in my stomach. He gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye.

“What are your parents like?” I asked.

He smiled with raised eyebrows, giving me a look that said, I know you’re trying, but it’s not working. He was being strangely evasive, even for a reserved person. “My father wasn’t around much, and I never knew my mother.” Michael explained, his hand travelling up to my thigh.

He was trying to distract me, but I wouldn’t have it. I felt terrible for asking, but I had to know more. I had to understand him. “Who raised you?” I blurted out.

“I stayed with a few different relatives growing up, before a…family friend took me in. Miriam Mead – the best woman I know. Closest thing to a mom that I have.”

“What’s she like?” I asked, pressing further.

“Let’s dance, shall we?” He said through a fake smile, taking my hand and pulling me forcefully towards the dancefloor. It kind of hurt. The worst part is that I didn’t even care – he could drag me to hell and I’d still follow him.

Not many other people were dancing, but everything else faded away once his arms were around me. I was totally entranced.

“What do you want?” Michael growled, the sound low and menacing.

It shocked me. I was suddenly aware of how much taller and bigger he was than me, and how easily he could hurt me if he wanted to.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling away.

He yanked me back into place, holding me hard against his chest. “You’re pretty, but you’re not dumb. What are you playing at?”

Despite my heart pounding, I felt my cheeks go pink.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Michael. But I have questions, so many of them.” I shot back hotly.

“Fine. Your turn.” He spat, keeping us gliding effortlessly across the floor. To an outsider, we looked like any other couple dancing.

“Can you read minds?” I whispered. I don’t know why I felt like it had to be kept a secret. I had a feeling Michael was a lot more powerful than he let on.

“Yes. My turn. Who are you, really? What are you trying to do, finding out so much about me?” His eyes narrowed, snake-like.

“I’m Lyla, and I’m just trying to figure you out.” I squared my jaw.

“Figure me out.” He mused, hand gliding across the small of my back.

I nodded. “My turn. How did you burn me last week, when you touched my arm?” I asked.

Michael looked down at his feet, his first sign of insecurity all night. “I lost control,” He sighed.  “You…make me feel like I could lose control, all the time. I have to be careful.” Golden hair fell into his eyes. I brushed a lock aside and my fingers lingered by his ear, feeling how warm his skin was.

“I’m stronger than I look. You don’t have to worry so much.” I lied. My heart was jackhammering against my ribcage.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I could kill you, Lyla. And I don’t want that. Not yet, anyway.” He smiled.

“How old are you?” I asked Michael, for the second time.

“That’s two questions, wait your turn.” He chided. He craned down to my level, brushing his lips against where my neck met my shoulder.

“Why are you so weird about age?” I whispered.

“Because it’s a very long and difficult story, one for another time. Can you just dance with me?” He murmured. He clung to me like static.

I sighed, leaning against his chest. His lips still dragged softly against my skin, and my nerve endings felt like live wires. When he reached my ear, I could feel his smile against my skin. Memories of my dreams from the nights before flashed like déjà vu. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but he silenced me by squeezing my hip.

I wasn’t going to get all my questions answered tonight, but this was a start.

taglist: @angelicmichael @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael​ @leatherduncan​ 

(let me know if you want to be added!)

[bookendbookbegin]

Book Review: “To Kill a Kingdom” by Alexandra Christo

(Contains spoilers)

What does it take to kill a kingdom? Violence, destruction, death? Or simply open-mindedness, and a belief that people can change?

In her novel, To Kill a Kingdom, Alexandra Christo poses these inquiries to her readers, making us question our morality and ethics, and understand that hate is the antithesis of progress.

Lira is a siren, daughter of the Sea Queen, and destined to one day sit on the ocean throne. Elian is a prince, the heir to the kingdom of Midas, condemned (as he would say) to be a king on land when he feels such a strong pull from the sea. They are enemies, as Lira pursues princes’ hearts, and Elian believes siren hunting is his true purpose. One mistake made by Lira sets off a chain of events that consequently links their two futures, taking them on a quest around the globe in order to find a way to end their two species’ antediluvian conflict.

I love rereading books, because you know what you are getting from the beginning. There is no wondering whether or not the book will impress you, or live up to its marketing image. I first read To Kill a Kingdom when it was published in 2018, and I think I like it even more now on my second read-through. By and large, the first time you read a book, you read for the plot. The second time (and so forth) exposes you more and more to the intricacies of the writing itself. I was certainly more attune to Christo’s descriptive writing this time; so much depth was added to the narrative as a result of her beautiful use of literary devices. There were these lines that could have been drawn from poetry, adding such an elegant flare to the prose. The sarcastic dialogue and witty banter were no less entertaining – I found myself still laughing!

To Kill a Kingdom is a dark young adult fantasy, addressing topics such as genocide and whether or not it is ever justifiable. Elian believes it is his destiny to rid the world of sirens. He has resigned himself to the extinction of an entire race purely because it benefits his own. This idea of his does eventually dissipate, for he realizes that violence is not a solution, and an outcome is not always vindicated by the methods employed to achieve it. Subject matter such as this is heavy. Why did Elian ever consider slaughter to be an acceptable trajectory? Why does the Sea Queen continually commend cruelty? It is very much this subject of genocide that makes readers question our ethics, question our decency. And with all that is happening today, these are important points to ponder.

The internal conflict we feel as readers is mirrored by the characters. As aforementioned, Elian struggles with his murderous tendencies, and so does Lira. These characters are far from perfect, and that is what makes them remarkably singular. Their worlds may seem black and white, but they exist in gray areas, unique among those with whom they surround themselves. This is evident in their individual, internal conflicts. I loved – and still love – that Elian and Lira accept each other’s positive and negative traits; they drive one another to be the best version of themselves. The rapport built between the two throughout the course of their travels, of both friendship and romance, is what finally allowed for the resolution of the war, and with both sides needing to sacrifice very little.

Regarding Elian and Lira’s romantic relationship, I was quite pleased by its gradual progression. For there to have been an immediate affinity between the two would have greatly detracted from my enjoyment of the novel as a whole. Despite Elian’s ignorance of Lira’s true identity, she knows him in the beginning to be an enemy. An attraction then would have been forced and unnatural. Owing to inconsistencies in pacing, there are points where the romance does appear manufactured, but this does not make it (overall) any less believable. Readers know it to be genuine. I fully understood Elian’s attraction to and fondness for Lira on page 235: “I laugh and consider what smart comment I could make…but then Lira’s eyes quiver back and there doesn’t seem to be much point in being funny if she isn’t the one to hear it.” In that moment, Elian’s internal musings hold nothing back – it is clear to us readers that he is absolutely enamored of her.

I greatly enjoyed the switching perspectives between Lira and Elian because I was able to understand and hear the internal thoughts of the two leads. This technique allows for better character formation and development, and for readers to more effectively connect with individual persons. As a female, I particularly appreciate a male perspective.

Now, transitioning away from romance and into villainy…the Sea Queen was a highly effective antagonist. While Elian may despise the Princes’ Bain (Lira), he also knows that she really only acts on behalf of the Sea Queen, and therefore hates them equally. Though the Sea Queen may be Lira’s mother, she is ruthless, berating Lira constantly for having emotions and not being as merciless as herself. She is well-founded villain because she forces Lira to confront all of her suppressed emotions, enabling her to mature and become a more sympathetic character. Additionally, the Sea Queen’s depravity is what unites the humans and sirens, for they realize they have a mutual enemy.

The final chapter is best described as an epilogue. I found myself simultaneously content and dissatisfied – quite the odd combination. Perhaps I simply did not wish for the novel to end, and isn’t that the truth! Elian’s narration sufficiently summarizes the aftereffects of the battle with the Sea Queen and how the world has since changed. Christo leaves us with this idea that, at times, personal desire must bow to duty, yet there is always a means by which to satiate both.

Seafaring, fantasy novels have consistently been favorites of mine, and given this circumstance, it is no wonder why I was so drawn to and fascinated by To Kill a Kingdom. Should fantasy novels that center upon adventures on the high seas be of interest to you, this is a work I fervently recommend.

Rating: 4.5/5

Read To Kill a Kingdom? Tell me: What were your thoughts?