#it sounds as if lust were solely and exclusively one only thing when that's not true

[sallieraptor]

can I say something .. the idea that all Asmodeus demons that are women are succubus and all men are incubus is just so boring ,, and ALL of them being pan too like lol?? what the fuck, you know??

[mrbopst]

My Sound Advice column for Brick Weekly 2/10/20010

It is reasonable to wonder if love is always a good thing. For it’s many virtues, love compels many who feel it to act in ways that are thoroughly unsavory. It is a blinding emotion where thought and reason are often forsaken. Maybe that is why there is such a need to be in love. Thought and reason requires considered contemplation where as love operates almost exclusively on pure emotion. 

And when people are driven by pure emotion, bad things happen. 

Recently, a Daily Kos/Research 2000 Poll of 2,003 Republicans conducted this month has found that a little over a half (53 percent) actually believe Sarah Palin is more qualified to be president than Barack Obama. I know this may be impossible, but divorce how you feel about either of these people and evaluate both purely on their merits as if both were turning in faceless applications for the job of running the country. One candidate is a former beauty queen contestant that has a Bachelor of Science degree in communications-journalism (with a minor in political science) from the University of Idaho and the other is a graduate of Harvard Law School, magna cum laude and Columbia University with a BA in Political Science. One worked as a civil rights attorney and taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago Law School before becoming a three-term senator from one of the most populated states in the union and the other served on city council in Wasilla, Alaska (population 5,469) later becoming the Mayor of city and eventually governor of the state a position the applicant resigned from before the end of their term. Based on this information alone, which of these two applicants would you hire to run the country? Is it even close? If it is, if you are actually in a quandary over who is the most qualified of the two, well, I don’t know what to say. 

Obviously, judging qualified candidates isn’t your forte.

People love Sarah Palin. I think this because a lot of her followers want to fuck her. When I went to the Palin rally at the Richmond International Raceway in October of 2008, I overheard more people talking about her physical attributes than her potential governing ability. Many seemed to be enamored with her solely because of her fuckability. And it is because of these lustful urges that the true devotees of all things Palin can not view her objectively even when her rhetoric and actions are in direct conflict with their romanticized image of her and the movement she come to represent. At the first Tea Party Convention held last week in Nashville, the populist movement turned out to be big money politics as usual. The convention was held at the upscale Gaylord Opryland Hotel, charged $550 for admission and organizers of the event (the for-profit Tennessee corporation Tea Party Nation headed by Nashville-based criminal-defense lawyer Judson Phillips) have been accused of secrecy and corruption by the very people it claims to speak for, threatened lawsuits against dissenters unhappy about the direction of the event and overall movement. When some voiced their dissatisfaction with the event, their ire was not directed at Sarah Palin despite her reported and decidedly un-grass rootsy $100,000 speaking fee that resulted in $349 per-ticket cost to people who wanted to attend the speech. If anything, any reasonable criticism of her frightening lack of competence only strengthens the irrationality of the love they feel for her. "I doubt there is another public figure in our country who gives liberals a bigger case of the hives than our special guest today," Texas Gov. Rick Perry said at a campaign rally on Super Bowl Sunday in his introduction for Palin who is endorsing the governor in the upcoming election, "At the very mention of her name, the liberals, the progressives, the media elites, they literally foam at the mouth." That’s a pretty strange proclamation of someone’s worth, isn’t it? If the ability to offend is the yardstick by which someone’s worth is measured, then I know a lot people who are stellar individuals, but the larger question is this; Is that rage, that frothing of the mouth of which Perry and other Palin enthusiasts site as her defining attribute really just a perfectly justifiable response when reasonable people are confronted with something ethically repugnant? Like someone who keeps sticking his dick in a blender after they’ve been told what irreparable physical harm it will cause them, they cling to their bloody stump logic that Sarah Palin is what our country needs.

But that’s love for you. It sometimes makes people stupid.

Chris Bopst February 8th, 2010

[thecameronchronicles]

Never Really Over

TW: Smut. Language. Cheating.

SUMMARY: Although you have been dating Topper for the last several months, you just can’t seem to stay away from a specific blonde haired, blue eyed boy who is nothing but trouble…

WORD COUNT: 1500

*Requested*

Never Really Over

It always just seemed to work out better that nobody knew. After all, they’d never understand how you could ‘slum’ it with the likes of him. But they also had no idea how his touch felt climbing up their thighs or his tongue felt drawing you to that orgasm only he could. Those thoughts and sensations were reserved exclusively for you. This was why when you had begun dating Topper, you didn’t necessarily end your ‘friends with benefits’ situation with JJ because he was the only one who was able to silence that internal beckoning-the one seemingly made for him. 

And it was situations like tonight when he wore that cut up shirt that showcased his muscles at each and every turn that drove the most carnal of your thoughts out of hiding. Even as Topper’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, his friends inviting you into their group and commenting how you two looked so good together, all you could think about was JJ’s touch. And once his eyes met yours, reading that familiar lust, he understood this as well, and reciprocated it with a ‘come hither’ all his own. 

“I’ll be right back…” You lied, having no intention to return to them, even if it meant being discovered as the call to his touch was THAT strong. This was because he was meticulous in his actions. 

Oral sex wasn’t just foreplay, it was an art, and he used his talents to their full range of his skillset. He also didn’t rush through anything, which made for some instances where you needed a quick release to be somewhat frustrating. But he would make up for this by the way he’d make you come for him-that plea of satisfaction always a pleasant numbness when the moment would come to an end. 

“Something I can help you with, princess?” His voice made your skin chill with excitement as his lips teased you from behind, your eyes fighting to roll, before you swallowed hard to accept this veiled invitation. 

“It would be stupid…” You reminded him, hoping he’d damn your words into silence as you faced him. 

“Well…stupid things have good outcomes all the time…” His eyes drifted down your frame as he was a glutton for punishment when it came to you. He could watch you from across any scene, basking in knowing he got to feel your body in his hands. Even if it wasn’t solely to him, it was enough to bring that fire from behind his gaze, now to the surface, shamelessly and reserved for you. 

His words, always somewhat charming when laced with naivety, had pulled you to initiate what would be your latest sexual row. Moving away from the crux of the bonfire, slithering beneath the cover of darkness, his hands on your hips would suddenly pull you to face him. 

“You wanna do it here this time? Ten feet from your pretty little boyfriend?” Although you knew his words should have brought guilt, they only exhilarated you in the rush of getting caught. And it was enough to drive your own sinister smile made up from your lips.

“It’s a bit more than ten feet there, J-”

“Still close enough for him to hear all those pretty little sounds we both know you’re gonna make for me…” You blushed, knowing this was true, as even in your damndest attempts, he always made you more of a screamer. 

“A bit cocky tonight?”

“No need to be when it’s the truth…” He moved against you, lips captivating your own in those slow kisses that would be romantic if not for the desperation of his tongue sourcing for entry. This simple action having been enough to make you moan against his kiss while he tangled his fingers within your hair, remaining this way, before his touch moved to your clothes. 

“You know the deal when you want me…” He teased, reaching beneath your skirt to find his request fulfilled. No panties. ‘Saving time’ as he called it. 

“Good girl…been wanting this all day?” But you couldn’t help to torment him as he had done to you, always waiting until you couldn’t take anymore. 

“Maybe they were for Top…”

“He wouldn't know how to handle you with a manual…Not like I can…”

“Then do it, JJ…Show me you’re better.” His brows raised before you were lifted against the tree, the sound of his belt and descending fabric informing you he was now revealed just beneath you, validation coming from the tease of his cock between your folds. 

“We both know he can’t get you that wet…and we both know there’s no one better than me-” With this, he brought you down onto him, his cock offering that familiar fulfilment only he could. Of course, Top was above average, a reason behind such an ego, but not like JJ. Not when he used it in a perfect mix of compassion and carnality; both of which you were given in this moment. 

“Fuck-” His hand wrapped suddenly around your mouth. 

“Wouldn’t want your golden boy to know how deep I’m pounding his precious little girlfriend right now, would we?” You moaned loudly into his hand, allowing every ounce of your tension to come through this groan, all while he smirked to your reaction and adjacent desperation. 

“How well you take me? Every fucking way I want-”

“J…” You whimpered as he only continued to smirk. 

“You don’t think so?” He teased, thrusting harder. “You don’t take it well? Because the clench you have around my cock is saying otherwise…Does he know that I’ve touched every part of you? Do you think he can tell?” He questioned, lips tracing your neck. 

“Don’t…”

“You don't’ want me to mark up this pretty little skin? Don’t want him to get a little jealous to know whose hands have been on you? Whose lips? Whose cock?” He groaned as you wrapped your arm tighter across his shoulders, nails eating into his naked shoulder. 

“You thinking of him or me? Hmmm? You probably think of me when he tries to make you come.” He chuckled. 

“Probably HAVE to think of me just so you CAN come?” You nodded, shameless to this confession as it had been the truth. Topper was sweet and even a bit possessive, but he wasn’t exciting like JJ, he wasn’t unpredictable like him. And this is what always had you coming back-well, that and the way he brought you to that edge. 

“Like right now? Hmm? You gonna come for me already?”

“JJ! FUCK!” 

“You’re already doing that, sweetheart.” You whimpered into his hand, your body buckling around him as his own hands stationed on the tree behind you, the bark eating into his hands as he was carless to its sting when the pleasure between his thighs was enough to silence it. But he would let you bask in your high for as long as its duration, before now setting you back onto your feet. 

“Let me see that ass…” He spoke into your neck before turning you away from him, lifting that skirt to reveal his desire. 

“Perfect ass…Perfect pussy…Perfect…” His words made your eyes roll as he was inside of you again. Only now, it was for his own pleasure. He bent you to achieve this proper angle, the overstimulation of those rubbing motions making you grip into the trunk before you, as he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the rush of this pleasure. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re so goddamn tight…Need to come again?” You nodded as he smirked, driving his fingers into your clit and manipulating its sensitive skin as you jolted against him, only adding to his own pleasure. 

“Come with me…Then go back to him dripping with my come-him none the wiser just how dirty his perfect little girl is…” He scoffed at your back as your eyes pulled into a roll, that second release prompting his first before his withdrawal left you in a momentary pout as he brought you to face him. 

“One of these days we should try that closer to them-”

“JJ…”

“Maybe sitting next to each other…my fingers curving inside of you as he watches, no idea how good I’m making you feel…We both know it wouldn’t take long for you to come…”

“That’s-”

“Stupid?”

“Reckless…” You corrected as he cocked his jaw and shook off the thought. 

“Well I’ve been called worse, princess…” You grinned, shaking your own head in disbelief before feeling him offer his signature kiss of parting, a soft peck that acted almost as a promise as well as a seal that this would happen again, whenever either of you wanted, but without devotion-and that’s what made it perfect. It was passionate. It was easy. But it was never really over…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @pankhoeforlife

[yinses]

blissful madness 

| here he has exclusive rights to everything, including your body |

sukuna ryomen rating: 18+  —use of aphrodisiacs to alter mindsets. this is just really dirty. im so sorry to subject you to this.

a/n: not a request. just a bunch of filth with sukuna ruining you within his domain. probably going to end it with this one. this was a lot for me. 

he must mix some sort of sweet aroma within the low lying miasma floating throughout his domain. the thick haze makes you feel like you’re walking on clouds the moment you step foot into his temple. 

at first you think its to hide the less appealing parts of the area- tucking away the crackling bones of his conquests. it brings a laugh bubbling to your lips to liken him to a boyfriend coating his room in cologne to mask the smell of his living arrangements. but sukuna was certainly not a boy.

and by the time you realize it’s meant for something else. 

well, your thoughts fade away right then and there. 

the two of you had taken a final residence at his throne. your body was draped across his, writhing on a mess cum and saliva, as your lips were parted and they were greedily lapping on sukuna’s fingers. that pink muscle ran up and down those digits, cleaning off the remnants of the last orgasm. your eyes were completely shadowed a haze of agreeableness, making you lust and yearn for more for his attentions. 

" ’ryo... more?"

your lips curved into an arousing smile, making the curse hums as he idly strokes your sweat drenched hair from your forehead before nodding at your request. that mouth of his, still filled your own slippery taste, pressed onto your submissively parted lips. the thin trickle of your essence trailed sloppily down your chin, splattering into a sticky mess against your chest. 

sukuna chuckled, followed by a cooing sound of encouragement. his large hands rubbed against your sternum and down to palm at your breast. smeared it all over your skin and making you break from the hungry kiss to sigh wantonly at his wandering touch.

 the other hand traveled lower to delve deep between your thighs and probed in a few fingers into your dripping core. a thumb teasingly rubbing circles over your clit to make you come again.

your mind seemed to nibble at the edges of thoughts, perhaps whims. sometimes a sound or broken word bubbles to your lips before its chased away with a hard tsk.

let me take care of you, kitten. don’t worry your pretty head about anything tonight. 

and you decided again that its for the best. especially when it rewards you with him biting your neck with those sharp canines that leave deep imprints on your skin. your body trembles as you gasp and shudder whilst his hand worked overtime. 

instinctively your legs close in on sukuna’s hands, trapping it there, and the curse raised his head to look at you with those disturbingly tantalizing eyes. and then, almost sadistically, he pulled away and watched in evident satisfaction when your body arched slightly at the loss of motion and your hands automatically flew to pull him against you.

flush. skin to skin. breasts against chest. 

"mhm..’ryo..please" he heard you shamelessly beg, too desperate for another release. "please... let me come..."

"i don't feel like making you come again with only me doing all the work," he chuckled darkly, eyelashes half-lidding his scorching gaze. instead, he chose to lean back, elbow resting against the arm of the chair as he just observes. "don't you feel hungry...? you must be quite famished, don't you? being a slut must be so exhausting for you."

"hungry..." you echoed, attention zeroed in on him and only him as you slowly sat up. the weight of his hand remain temptingly near your throbbing heat. but it didn't budge. 

your mind supplies the first thing you think will match his demands.

"yeah... hungry. i want to eat ryomen..."

one of the his dark eyebrows, the action pulling at near by tattoos. he chuckled amusedly, running those fingers covered in your cum against his lips as he swiped a talented tongue against one of it.

 "eat me...? did you go and turn into a curse behind my back?." he mocked quietly, smirking at the way you were steadily staring at him like he was your only salvation for release. "i knew you were obsessed with me, kitten, but to disappoint humanity?- how endearing."

you make a happy sort of whiny sound, taken solely by the praise latched on to the end. you gingerly raised a rise to hover over his thighs, pressing your torso against his chest. you looked down at him with those glassy eyes, lips parting to release a sigh. your hands caught his face and you made him take a good look at you while you took your bottom lip between your teeth, biting on it in an insatiable appetite for another round. 

sukuna’s low chuckles fed into your desires. "what are you going to do now...?"

"i'm going to..." you teasingly rubbed your wet core against his member and coyly smiled when sukuna hissed at your action, his hands moving to grip your hips with a bruising force. "i'm going to eat you... ‘ryo. i'll eat you up..."

the first lesson you learned from the curse was that he did not like to be teased. 

he was the one who preferred playing the merciless master, taking in pleasure at how others begged and pleaded for him to help them. the hands that were grasping your hips immediately pulled you down and you cried at the surprising intrusion–"big, too–big, 'ryo!"

 your thighs quaked against his sides as you struggled not to lose balance, emitting more pleasured moans as a mixture of your combined capitulation dribbles out between your legs at the forced movement. 

"with this..." sukna growled, maniacal eyes glowing against your pleading ones, "you're the one who's eaten up in the end..."

"please, ryomen... please..."

"you're so dirty..." the curse allowed his lips to curl into a simpering smirk at your continuous demand, slowly pushing you against the ground as he braced himself over your body with one hand whereas the other pushed your tied wrists together over your head, restricting your movements. his pupils became thinner as he took in how helpless you looked, mouth hanging open and more than ready to say his name all over again, and he chuckled at that. "i want you to follow exactly what i tell you to do, all right?"

your body arched, trying to make him sink in deeper, but the brunet remained motionless at your teasing. a sobbed gasp echoed in the corrupted situation."any–anything..."

"good. wrap your legs around me."

you complied obediently, adding a slight wriggle of your hips to accommodate him better.

"don't do anything to throw me off my rhythm."

"n–nnh... okay..."

"don't. make. a. sound."

a large inhale. "but–"

sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "not. a. word."

you were too desperate for this. a wordless nod became your answer and you bit your lips harder to keep your mouth shut.

"and lastly... keep your eyes closed. just like that."

only he was able to witness your face shifting into an expression of more ecstasy when started a rhythm of rough thrusts. he hit that spot again, again and again. spiralling you down further into your frenzy.

then he unexpectedly stopped and watched in cruel approval when you opened your mouth to make a sound but promptly fell quiet again when you remembered his law. you bit against the meat of your tongue as sukuna shallowly pressed into your core again, making you buck against him to make him go faster, but he simply punished you with stopping altogether. 

"ahn–’ryo–!"

sukuna mockingly brushed his lips against the peak of your breast. "you're a bad girl... you broke the rule..."

a flick out a tongue against it was all he needed to make you arch against him desperately.

“just what am i going to do with you, little one?”

[ill-skillsgard]

Ugh this Mickey sex worker drabble is sooo good. You can't leave us like this 💦💦

Previous imagines here - [x]

Warning: 18+ BDSM themes, mentions of sex work, bondage, toy-play, teasing and overall mature themes. 

Blindfolded, Mickey counted twenty steps until the balmy night air cooled at his back. The soles of his worn ankle boots crunched gravel, then mounted stone steps, crossed pavement, stepped over a threshold of unknown size, and stopped on a plush runner. The new atmosphere keened with scents of teak and sweet pea, dividing the outside — with all its cricket choruses and damp breezes sighing for the coming heat-storm — from the inside of her home. He knew the area of town but hadn’t wasted a venture through the streets in years. These places were littered with miraculously large homes—the likes of which Mickey never dreamed of visiting. Nothing about this end of town was for him or his kind.

He cycled through her rules in his head as she led him by the elbow down a wide corridor. The clicking of her high heels threw off the walls, and for a moment, sounded as though half a dozen well-dressed women marched alongside him through a tunnel. They turned right, and she cautioned him up the stairs—fourteen steps, a landing, another right turn, then six more to the second floor.

The thought occurred to him several times that she very well could lead him to a violent death, and the wealthy end of town would be the last place anyone might think to look for his body. You never knew with the rich types. All that money and power had twisted ways of moulding people into elusive beasts; their predatory appetites wet for suffering. For all he knew, he could have been hand-selected as some billionaire’s newest flesh-pinata and was none the wiser.

Mickey cursed himself for watching too many horror movies.

“You remember everything I told you?” Her voice tickled his right ear.

With his vision cut, the din carried dizzying potency. Mickey lost his equilibrium and shot his hand out, nearly keeling over. He snickered at himself. How silly he must look wearing a leather blindfold, tripping on thin air, and having to adhere to his mistress like a toddling child.

“My memory isn’t so good, ma’am. I wouldn’t mind a refresher course, so I can better serve you.”

Sometimes he impressed himself with how quickly he snapped into submission. For such a well-paying gig, he figured she and her husband deserved his unadulterated efforts. It was only an acting job. The aroma of money and the promise of mind-blowing sex sweetened the deal. Mickey had no problem fully committing to pleasure the woman leading him deeper into the house.

“No back-talk. I want you to be the most well-behaved boy anyone could ask. Do not toe the line tonight. I need you obedient, respectful and very enthusiastic. Tonight, I am the ultimate authority.”

“Yes, my goddess.”

She smiled. At first, she had been unsure of Mickey’s candidacy, but the farther she led him, the more his attitude subdued. She expected smart comments, platitudes and that downtown grit to make her regret her choice, but Mickey had buttoned his mouth, save for answering her questions, and was off to a good start. Mickey’s engagement pleased her, as she had fantasized of this moment for many nights, and he played his part well.

“Soon, we will enter a room where you must strip down. I’ll then escort you to the playroom. There’s a bed you will lie down on, and then we’ll get started.”

“Will my mistress be the one stripping me tonight?” Mickey asked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I will be the one to dress and undress you when you’re in this house. And no more questions.”

“I’m sorry, goddess.”

“You’re still happy with the agreement? You remember your word and the number you gave me?” She asked.

“Margarita. Eight.”

“Do you wish to change anything before we begin?”

“No, my goddess,” Mickey’s voice barely breached a whisper.

“Good. Here we are. Watch your step.”

She led the tall man through a set of double doors, into a boudoir that boasted a French rococo vanity mirror and matching armoire, a changing screen, a dusty lilac chaise lounge in the corner and various full-length mirrors for appreciating one’s opulence. Mickey saw none of these things but suspected he was in the company of many possessions exclusive to the super-rich. Something about the proud silence of the room murmured of immaculate furniture, gold and satin.

They worked together to rid Mickey of his clothing. First, he kicked off his boots and socks, then waited for her to undo his belt buckle. He stepped out of his pants and let her work his shirt up over his head without skewing the blackout mask shielding his eyes. Even if he wanted to look around, circles of fine leather prevented this. Tilting his chin did nothing to reveal even a sliver of his surroundings, but he decided, back in her car as they pulled up to the estate, that he didn’t want to spoil the fun by peeking. All the mystery had his skin prickling, the fine hairs standing on the back of his neck. And they paid him for these thrills. Looking would only cheapen the experience, so he maintained a ninety-degree angle between his chin and throat.

A furious rush of nerves came over him while he stood naked, the blindfold his only cover, and waited for his mistress to change into her evening attire. She noticed his gooseflesh when she came to collect him and ran her fingertips up and down his right arm.

“It will be fun, trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Mickey.

He followed her by the hand from the boudoir into the next room. His soles sank into the plush fibres of a rug as the heady scent of oiled leather aroused his palate.

Guided by his goddess, Mickey climbed onto a vast bed draped with silky sheets and laid on his back, spreading his limbs to each corner. She fastened his wrists and ankles with tough leather cuffs — no beginner ropes or slippery sashes out of which he could worm. Constructed of a thick material like the leather eye mask, the bindings had one aim: to hold him in place, whether he liked it or not.

“He’s on his back, naked, hands and feet tied down, eyes covered,” said his mistress.

Unsure if she spoke to him, he maintained silence.

“Tall... Very tall. Brown hair, green eyes. Several small tattoos on his arms and fingers. One red rose tattooed on his groin. Uncircumcised. Large feet and hands. Long, long limbs. Full lips. Small pink nipples. Underarms are unshaven.”

Mickey listened to her description of his body, a lustful inflection in her voice whenever she exalted his stature. It became clear at that moment she had chosen him for a reason. His mistress had an affinity for height. It caused him to smirk, imagining what she might say once he became hard.

“Hello, pet. You may greet me,” her voice floated on sweetened air.

“Hello, goddess.”

“Tonight, we begin with a riding crop. Cherry wood handle. Black tip, of course. Italian leather.”

The cool material first met his right thigh, dragging down his leg to the tip of his big toe. Then the leather foot of her instrument graced his other leg. Mickey quivered.

“The pet shivers from having his thighs stroked. His cock bounces as his blood churns. He’s eager.”

Confused by her narration, Mickey tried to relax and let the tension from his muscles until he remembered what she had told him of her husband. Another presence was in the room. She was describing the scene for this third party.

Mickey held his breath as the leather tip of her riding crop coasted up and down his legs and arms. Only when it met his pubic bone did his body twinge in surprise. But the material lifted, and he was alone. Now he prickled and waited for the next stroke of her leather, his anticipation thickening with every second that passed.

It continued for what felt like hours to Mickey. Whenever she neared his cock, she jumped to another point of his body — his feet, the column of his throat, the deep ridge of his collarbone. Anywhere but his groin.

“Do you grow impatient, pet?” She asked.

“No, mistress.”

“Your hardness tells me otherwise. Hm?”

“My patience knows no limit, goddess.”

Mickey thought he heard a slight chuckle under her breath or a chafe of movement from somewhere else in the room. In the infinite blackness, it was impossible to know. He hoped the sound came from her lips and that his obedience pleased her.

“The pet has become fully erect from ulterior touch alone.”

He hoped that whoever watched from afar appreciated his size. Mickey had been praised for his endowment plenty of times before, but the approval of his mistress and her superior held more weight than the clients whose compliments came standard and frequent.

“Enormous cock on this one,” she stated. “Symmetrical... Supple tip. Teardrop-shaped slit. The left testicle hangs lower than the right, but they’re tight and shorn. The pet has trimmed pubic hair leading up to a trail below his navel.”

Mickey bit his lip. She pressed the leather tag against one testicle, and then the other, hefting them both with the crop. The veins in his shaft swelled.

“Does the pet enjoy my leather?”

“Yes, goddess.”

She batted the underside of his shaft gently with the flat tip, causing him to jostle and open his mouth.

“How about now?”

“Yes, goddess,” whispered Mickey.

“Pardon me?”

He cleared his throat and repeated himself. It pleased her, but it didn’t stop her from fluttering the loop against his frenulum until it came away with a clear web of liquid, temporarily connecting the bat to his manhood. She smacked him a few times around his groin, measuring her force not to cause anything worse than a warm sting. Mickey was grateful and sighed when she lifted the crop away.

“I’ve grown bored with the crop. The pet’s prick is leaking and swollen red. I’ll now ring him and use the stroker—”

Her voice cut off, the abrupt silence punctuating a change of plan. She abandoned Mickey on the bed. He listened to the footsteps and strained his ears to take in any voice from someone other than his mistress. The curiosity was inescapable. Mickey wanted to know who else was watching him have his cock tortured. Before he grew too inquisitive, she returned to the side of the bed and leaned in close.

“Next comes a cock ring. Metal. Titanium, to be exact. Around the shaft and balls.”

This was no amateur set up, Mickey decided then. Perhaps another night, in an area of town not well-known for its poshness, he’d have plenty to say. Even now, Mickey reeled comments in from bouncing off his tongue. If he wanted to get paid and invited back, he had to keep quiet. And he wanted her to ask him back, so he chewed his bottom lip while she affixed the hilt of his cock with a cold metal ring.

The circle was heavy, tight, and held all the blood inside him until his length betrayed his pulse. A gust of air over his groin then made him blush. Would she touch him? Or would she beat him with a fresh instrument? He recalled her saying something about a stroker, but the buzz of something else caught his attention—a vibrator.

A jarring bolt of electricity shot through his pelvis when she held the tip against his balls.

“Oh!” Mickey cried out.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“No, mistress. No.”

She nudged the metal supporting his manhood with the vibrator, a rumbling echo engulfing him, tickling every nerve.

“Oh, ma’am. That...” He trailed off in fear of punishment for speaking out of turn.

“I’m teasing his cock with a vibrator. He can hardly keep still.”

It was true, Mickey tugged at his restraints, not for want of escape, but for the need to curl into himself, away from the excruciating tingle fizzling through his limbs. He regretted boasting about his stamina, fearing his new master might take it to heart and torment him for the entire night.

The woman controlling his pleasure was not merciless, but she was thorough. She put on a stunning show and brought him to climax using a well-lubricated silicone sleeve to jerk his shaft until he shot his first and most potent load of the night. The contractions wrang him of several impressive bouts of cum, more than he was used to producing. He blamed the hours of teasing.

Never had he experienced such a mixture of conflicting sensations. He had wanted his mistress’ cunt badly, and for her to allow him inside as he was used to doing, but the toys gave him new gratitude for unconventional methods of stimulation. And she had wielded them so professionally. He tasted her appreciation for her armaments in the air between them. It made her subtle groping that much more delicious.

As she had promised, she released Mickey from his bonds and escorted him from the room. They veered down a hallway, the air so fresh compared to the playroom it chilled his bare skin. His feet slapped against polished marble while her heels clicked next to him. A door opened, and she ushered him through, closing it and locking the handle behind them. There was carpet under his feet again, and a bright, feminine aroma about his head.

Finally, she took off the blindfold. The light scorched Mickey’s pinhole pupils, and he rubbed his eyes until they adjusted to sight. There was no time to take in his surroundings before she grabbed his cock and kissed him. Mickey kissed her back only until her grip reminded him of the shuddering orgasm she’d just stolen. He winced, and she stepped back.

“I thought you said you could go again,” she said.

“Yeah, I can. I can. It’s just... That was intense. Can’t I take five?”

She shook her head, and all the excitement snuffed from her eyes in a blink. “There isn’t enough time. I told you twenty minutes is all I have, and we’ve already wasted a quarter of that already.”

“Hang on, now. Why don’t I eat you out? Or I can finger you, or both. Whatever you like. Work you up a bit while my nuts get a refill.”

“Just kiss me. Shut your mouth and kiss me now, Mickey.”

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Reader and her boyfriend get into an argument at the tower and he hits her? Dick is furious because he’s in love with her but the reader is just embarrassed?

Thanks for the request and I’m so sorry it took so long! But alas, here it is. I really wanted to write this one, as well as some other I have pending, but I just couldn’t find the words. I’m not 100% satisfied with this one (there’s no lemoney or anything unu), but I think I made my point across towards the important thing of this relationship. Don’t stay in one where physical abuse is condoned!

SUMMARY: As stated by ask, thought I think I took some liberties, Reader has been a Vigilante for some time in California, all on her own. The Titans arrive, and both join forces: Dick and Reader click specially well together, but to his demise, she is already in a relationship. A happy one? He cannot really say, specially when the red flags start to arise and a surprising discovery comes up.

WORD COUNT: 4780

TW: Swearing and past mentions of physical abuse in a relationship. It’s not hardcore, as always I try to make it somewhat vague, but I thought I should let my readers know. Oh, and warning, I THINK, Dick in this one is somewhat OOC. I think it might be due to my lack of sleep, but just beware.

Please don’t give it up — Dick Grayson x Reader

They all dealt with their own human affairs in the best fashion that they knew. The secret identities were given; it was something that no one was supposed to share unless absolutely necessary (which hadn’t been the case yet), and thus the exertion of powers was forbidden (unless, again, of absolute necessity). No one got into no one’s business, and as hard as it was becoming, Dick himself made that rule after having Kori meddled into his own private relationships. So now he couldn’t come between (Y/N) and his stupid human boyfriend, as much as he wanted to. It was stupid anyways – as much people liked him in, he was definitively not supposed to be there.

           But he should start from the beginning. (Y/N) had joined the group a little after the Titans had settled themselves down on the Tower. She had already been a Vigilante in San Francisco; thus “they” were the ones entering her territory. She worked the city alone, and as such received the help without resentment or suspicions. After all, all she wanted to do was keep safe as much as anyone else. It was her home after all. As a lonely vigilante (Y/N) tended to go on her own, and maybe that’s why she had such a crazy magnetism to Dick. She never spoke too much of anything unless questioned, she was intelligent and clearly knew everything she talked about. In that sense she was a bit like Tim: definitely not the star or talker of the room, but the most intelligent by far. She had started to join forces with the Titans before her official joining months before their first crisis on the city: massive bombings, attacks on civilian areas. It was pure terror, specially in the famous Golden Gate Bridge (who would have said they would be JUST like those superheroes in movies?). That was, if Dick remembers correctly, the first time he saved (Y/N)’s boyfriend. Now he wishes he would have just let his car sunk in the bottom of the ocean.

           The crisis had made them both coordinate; she had taken care of a certain area of the city all by herself (she had been backed up after with the help of the Titans, reluctantly he must said), while his group and some more had taken care of the other. They had been a good team, good leaders. (Y/N) accepted her place within them, as one more but always above everyone else. Dick and everyone else thought something would flourish between them that same night, when they got tipsy and drunk celebrating the latest addition: they had been a bit touchy, jabbing each other with witty jokes and comebacks, until… She had just excused herself, saying she had to go back to her own apartment. He perfectly remembers the conversation and the silence following it:

           “You know the Tower is just your home as much as-“

           “Yeah, no, absolutely. You’re the sweetest. Seriously, I just have to go check on somebody after the crazy day. And I should definitively feed my dog.”

           “Oh yeah? I had one too back in Gotham. Well, half. Ace was never really mine.”

           “Really? I’m sure he misses you. I would.” And yes, she must have been flirting; the rest of the Titans had given them space, moving towards the windows while they appeared to be exiting. Her small and hot hand had paused on his chest, maybe just trying to keep stable. “Byron is always like crazy when I get home. I really hope Daryl has taken him today to the vet, though. Ugh, who knows, he told me-“

           “I’m assuming Byron is your dog and Daryl your br-?”

           “Boyfriend, yeah. We’ve been now some time.”

           At that point they had been at the elevator, she almost in and him in a “suave” manner leaning into the iron of the doors so that the conversation could go in a little bit more. But he almost stumbled into it as soon as she said that: and everyone else could, seeing as there was a bit of a silence and after some not-so-glamorous half-laughing half-choking sounds from Wally.

           And that had been one of their last nights alone. At least for some time, seeing as Dick thought it would be just a momentary infatuation, a bit of a crush. Something temporary based solely on lust, seeing as he knew little to nothing on her. She was secretive still, quiet, as commandeering as she could be at times. She was an enigma that Dick liked to detangle and know more than he would admit to himself. It had taken months for him to finally acknowledge that what he felt was definitively something more meaningful that a simple crush or shallow sexual desire.

           That’s when he knew he was fucked.

           …

           “Oh, no, no, he is currently working at the San Francisco Chronicle. Yeah, he’s a photographer. Would you mind if maybe we… Posed sometime for him? Or gave him something exclusive? I mean, I would do it myself but he knows me too well. He would know it’s me.” Dick, Wally and her had been sparring for a bit. More concretely, she and Wally had been. He was correcting both of them from aside, seeing as it had become increasingly difficult to talk without actually falling for her. Wally honestly felt bad for him.

           “What do you mean? Haven’t you-? Does he know?”. Wally was probably the only one with a stable healthy relationship. Linda knew. They were perfect. Everyone knew they would get married, and that’s why Dick had backed off, thinking that was the case for (Y/N) and the nameless perfect boyfriend he had pictures in his own mind.

           “No! No, fuck, no. Daryl is… Difficult, to say the least. He thinks I’m working at some crappy editorial. He’s a bit protective. And a bit of an asshole.” It sounds slightly bitter, added in the last second, improvised. Like she didn’t mean to say it. Her eyes cross his, and she quickly averts it, going back to Wally’s. “We’ve been together for years, but it’s not the type of thing I would tell him”

           “Yes, I know. It’s the type of thing you tell to a stupid bunch of teenage kids with delirious dreams of sweet greatness and-OUCH. That hurts!”

           “Keep your head on the game, West.”

           He gains hope. That small breach he has caught you on, after some months half-ignoring you half putting distance between you both, he thinks he may be able to fill. He can be the glue. He will try, as douchey as it can sound.

           …

           “You are insufferable, Dick Grayson!”. She shouts, as they enter the kitchen. She is using a small towel to take off the sweat from her forehead. Wally had been more of a tutorial in comparison with Dick’s force. He had full on challenged her. “So smug, fuck… And now I have to go back home like this. I hate you.”

           “Can’t help it. You like to be riled up”. He is bold. Wally chokes on his water, and quickly excuses himself, probably knowing which way he was trying to take things to. And he definitively was not good at hiding emotions.

           “Oh, come on, like you don’t like to be defied and challenged. You have a huge masochistic streak, Grayson”.

           YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW, he screams inside his own head, smiling just a bit, in that way that makes her roll her eyes off. Even if she claims some kind of rush when saying she has to go, he can see she doesn’t want to. Her arms rest on the kitchen counter, cool marble that has her face in pure bliss, and her legs, he imagines, are jelly. She should just-

           “Why don’t you take a shower at the Tower stay? Or… At the very least I can call you a taxi.”

           “I don’t have clothes here, and it’s fine. I’m not spending much time at home anyways; I think it will be good…” There’s a small silence, where he thinks he might have fucked it up. Did it sound too forward? Could he ask how things were with the famous boyfriend? No, that was probably too petty, too jealous-“… But I won’t say no to the taxi. Just today, though.”

           “Sure. Let me call it up.”

           …

           That brings the problems.

           “I’m sorry, I will be back in a second. It’s urgent.” They were in the middle of a debriefing. Patrols for the week, which she takes more seriously than anyone – but the mobile had started vibrating like crazy, even she had it on silence. Apparently, that one contact was special and overruled every control and silent tone. Dick could only imagine who it was. “Just continue.”

           She takes it up, and her voice changes immediately: sweet, cheerful, giggly. Even as he continues talking, Dick can hear her feet on their way to the lounge, as far as possible. Is it that private? He can’t get distracted as he is giving out missions, but her tone makes all of them stop, stare at the door where (Y/N) is elevating her voice. Dick shushes the Titans up like a bunch of kids with the latest gossip and orders them to stay, as he gets out of the room towards her.

           “No! What the fuck is your problem, D.?”. Ouch. She had been using the same name with him in their latest sparring session. That fucking hurts. “No! Of course I’m not, how-! No, oh my God, if I have to repeat myself one more time, Daryl! I’m not cheating on you!”

           There’s a deafening silence, a small dance of victory in his own head. He knows he should be taking it more seriously (they might break up and he knows she loves him), but he can’t help but take this small point from Daryl’s ghostly presence whenever they talk and he gets brought up.

           “A friend, Daryl. He got me the taxi because I was tired, I had been at the gym, I told you! Fuck, you never listen to me. And after that I even had to take Byron out, even when you promised-“. She gets cut off, again. It’s annoying really, and she sighs, loudly and exasperatedly. “Listen, if you are just going to shout like a fucking caveman be my guest, but I’m not listening to anymore of this bullshit”.

           “(Y/N)!”. He shouts so loud from the phone he can even hear it. Then she hangs up and lets herself drop on the sofas. She looks tired; his smug and hopeful detective abilities tell him, shout him, it’s because this is not the first time you’ve had that conversation, at that level of heat or shouts. Has his name been brought up at any point? He feels really like a small kid, wishing for little and petty things like that towards her.

           “Eavesdropping is not very nice, Grayson. Care to come in or are you going to make me stand up?”. She asks, sarcastic as ever and inviting him to sit in the place next to her, patting the velvet slowly of the furniture. “Just come in. And don’t say anything. Just hug me.”

           He complies.

           …

           They have been flirting a bit more this time. (Y/N) is not sleeping there anymore, and from what Dick knows, they talk everyday for a couple of minutes, in an almost muttering tone, sometimes with too many silences and too many breaks on both behalves He wishes he could feel bad for her, she is suffering a bit after all, but every time they laugh together and she punches his arm, jokingly, he thinks he makes her forget about it.

           Until that happens.

           It’s a shooting in one of the top-rated working areas of San Francisco, where a lot of offices are conglomerated together. It is a panic. The fact that they have to deal with human weapons, rather than with some random and new alien race, makes it easier to control, but nonetheless it’s hard to see the blood, get in the midst of the terrorists. Especially when they get into the Chronicle’s tower where (Y/N)’s boyfriend is working at that same morning. None of them had truly made bonds with the city or its inhabitants, but she has been raised there. It’s her home. Without thinking, not too much, she gets midst of the flames, with all the smoke and possibility of collapse when Daryl tells her that he is still inside, trapped with some colleagues. There’s no time to do anything other than follow her; Wally helps, but he is the only one save (Y/N) and Dick to enter the building, save the civilians left inside and… Fuck, her boyfriend who immediately recognizes her. It was not too difficult, to be honest, especially when they know each other so well and with half a mask broken (bullets, fire, desperate attempts to get there as fast as possible).

           It’s a week after that and no one knows a thing about them. (Y/N) has completely disappeared from the tower, and save the occasional “I’m okay” texts he sends to Dick, just so that he can sleep, no one knows what’s going on… Until she appears in front of the doors of the Tower with him by her side. It sickens Dick to the pit of his stomach.

           …

           They are mostly staying there. He goes back for Byron, for work, for meeting some friends, but he waltzes around the Tower like he is one of them, when he isn’t. When he voices his concerns, he is met with protests and mumbles of him being too grumpy, too attached to the rules. He is not! But it is supposed to be top secrecy, and there they have a civilian who is… Too touchy for his own like. For anyone’s, really. Dick is not comfortable at his own home and that (Y/N) starts to notice. They still spar, talk until late, but it weird to have Daryl always gazing directly at him: he is sure, he knows. But he never says a thing, and thus it is… Okay. Until it stops being and the red flags appear. The incredible rage within Dick Grayson wakens.

           “You are just so controlling! All the time!”. She shouts. There’s no one else at that hour in the tower. It’s way too early, and his early-birds are already on patrol outside. “You don’t-can’t control me! Okay?! This was MY thing even before you knew about it! Nothing has ever happened to me, fuck, and if it were to happen-“

           “You are a woman, (Y/N). Biology-“

           “Oh my God. If you are going there Daryl Lane-“

           “But it is true! It’s just-!”

           “No, shut up or I’m going to punch you, I swear on everything!”

           Things are silent after that, but there’s an obvious tension on the room until he decides to leave, in a rush. Dick hides in the shadows, at a corner, hoping he won’t see in time, but he is too blinded by rage. He turns around, hoping maybe she will come to him. But he doesn’t know (Y/N) at all. She won’t come, specially not on a subject like that. And as he expects, he gets alone on the elevator before disappearing from their sight. He is tempted to go by her side, but she needs space. And more than anything, he doesn’t want to get accused of being a stalker.

           …

           Daryl stops coming. Fall passes, and winter comes in: thus the appropriate parties, alcohol, and inevitable encounters are to happen. Their final one is the night before Christmas Eve. They are celebrating, as usual, some white Christmas with a wave crime that has almost disappeared from California. They can actually take time for themselves, and (Y/N) and him are closer than ever; they talk until very late, then sometimes take it to one of their bedrooms, a midnight improvised snack, or sometimes marathons of stupid black and white movies (which she loves, adores. She is going to love her gift, he knows). Everyone knows they are crushing on each other hard; one would think that her boyfriend would be still an obstacle, but they are not talking anymore. She went to see him once, and that has been it since; after, she has just perfectly fitted into the Titans, like a second family. And of course, she has brought Byron with her… Who is the first that knows someone has entered the Tower.

           “B.?” She asks, confused as the dog runs from the table where they are all clinking their glasses. Dick doesn’t notice, hasn’t been paying attention to security these days, and that might have been his fault. It wasn’t supposed to happen. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

           The tone makes everyone turn around – and there he is, Daryl in the flesh, slightly drunk and freezing, it appears. He looks embarrassed, but confident at the same time. It’s strange. She gets up, in all her elegance, and grips Dick’s shoulder before going to him. She mutters, almost only to him: “Don’t come”. The rest will understand, but he knows she considers him the closest one. The only one who could actually come and intervene, if he wanted to. They are close friends, after all.

           “I’ll be back in a sec. Stay here”. He says, after a couple of seconds, getting up and coming onto them, the closest room where they have entered to talk in private. The door is slightly opened.

           What he sees shocks him. From his position, she is giving Dick her back, thus letting him see the tense and anxious lines of her shoulders and neck: almost scared, fearing the encounter. Her legs are in a battling position, even when he is not doing anything, just talking-

           “I’m sorry, you have to believe it. I didn’t mean to-I would never-you know I’m not the type. I didn’t mean to shut you. Slap you.”

           Out of everything, he did not expect that. If anything, he sounds honest, but his own blood is boiling and there’s nothing that can stop that for the moment. It is her business to deal with… But still, they had grown closer, she could have told him.

           “I don’t know what the fuck you are doing here, but you should go. You have no right over me, over anyone, woman or man, to put your hand on them like that. You are a piece of trash, Daryl.”

           “I know, I-“

           “No, you are scum, I-I don’t really know what you expected. That you would come here, sit with us for dinner and after-what? Go home, have sex and everything okay?”

           “(Y/N), I-“

           “No, fuck off! I have been hiding so much for your sake, so that you wouldn’t feel like less! I feared your reaction about my other life a lot, Daryl. I felt s bad because I know how much you hated lies, how you felt about it, and I loved you. I loved you so much, but you are just a piece of shit, trying to put me in your small traditional box! I am not going to do your dishes, clothes or work! I am not your sweet little girl for you to care and patronize-“

           “What, so you are his?! You are such a hypocrite, (Y/N).And the worst kind, a bitch. You are for his use alone or what? You never let yourself be pampered like that, treat like his own little princess-“

           “Who are you talking about?!”

           “Your friend Nightwing! Fuck you, you have been having these little chats, secret meetings… Have you fucked him? Have you sucked his cock while I was here, waiting for you on bed and cheering you on?”

           “You are piece of scum, Daryl! I have not been rejecting you these last months because of him. Yes, I do like him, but I would not go behind your back like you did! Fuck you!”

           “You are such a-“. His arm moves. His hand gets higher. He knows he has to act quick, and thus opens quickly the door, shoving her behind him, directly going against him to push him brutally into the wall against his back. It cracks behind them, pictures hanging on that same wall falling to the floor. The commotion makes everyone move, to their room, worried to what might be happening. “Fuck!”

           She gets in the middle, Dick already up and prepared to get into a fight at any moment, while the other is still confused on the ground. He can feel his own raged breaths: fury, instinct taking over rationality. He is destroyed on the floor but he still wants to annihilate him. How dare he, how would he-?

           “Dick, Dick. Hey, look at me. Richard!”. He looks at her, smaller in frame, tugging at his chest in the opposite direction of the room. She is trying to separate them. “Just go, please, don’t do anything else. Shut up, please, go and-“

           She seems to be close to crying, desperate in her voice and trying to get him out, as she is making him go through the door. Her eyes won’t even reach his, and he is now desperately trying to make contact, even as she shoves him out the door, with a whimper and finally closing the studio off. He is just as confused as the rest of them, but he won’t talk.

           …

           “Can I come in?”. Dick looks surprised. Did he not hear her? She had been looming around her own room for some hours now, everyone in their respective rooms after the night had been fucked up like that. No one felt like partying or drinking anymore. Still, his door had been opened, explicitly for her. He nods, and she finally comes in, closing the door behind them. “Okay, I’m going to talk, and I really don’t expect you to understand but… Okay.”

           >> Daryl and I had a very complicated relationships for some years. His family is fucked up and he had substance abuse problems in the past. I’m not excusing him, Dick, don’t roll your eyes. I just want you to understand where he comes from, why he is the way he is. He is not a bad person. No one is… But he thinks like that. He has to be the very best man, the most masculine out of everyone and always the best. It is his problem, but I tried to make it mine and help him. It did not work and it only put me in a difficult position, you know: always trying to be less so that he could be more. That’s partly why I never shared my secret identity with him. And why Cali’s own Vigilante was born. I needed something like this for myself. I was drowning, otherwise… And then you appeared.

           She laughs in pure incredulity; her hands gets buried in her own hair, as she brushes it off and goes to his bed, where he has been laying waiting for her. She sits down, her hand resting on his leg.

           “Okay, “you” as in “The Titans” appeared. That saved my ass because… Well, California is enormous. I could definitively NOT cover it all, so you all appearing was a miracle, honestly… But you appeared, Dick. You, as in Nightwing, as in Richard Grayson and the rawest “you” possible.” She looks at the door, almost embarrassingly, laughing a bit to herself. “I had such a big crush a couple of years ago I almost didn’t believe that you were right in front of me. Or that we got on so well, apparently… I kinda wished I didn’t have to go back home a lot of times, and… That’s because I felt something for you. And that was dangerous, because I had a boyfriend but-but things didn’t click with Daryl the way they dd with you, D. Really, truly. It is such a big cliché, but you made me feel seen, heard. You made me feel special, and I got hooked onto the feeling but-but I’m not like that. And I still had a boyfriend. Fuck, hell, I thought I was only lusting for you, but then-then months came by and it was still the same. And then we talked night after night, we cuddled under blankets, we took care of each other and… And things started going bad at home. He knew I was not in love with him anymore, and who could blame him? And while I didn’t want to act on my feelings with you, he did. Physically.”

           She sighs, like it’s taking a bit out of her. She frowns, looking at her own thigs as she gets both legs on the bed. Dick has the urge to embrace her.

           “The second time you offered me a bed here I wanted to take it in so badly, Dick. I swear to God I didn’t want to back there. No one had ever hit me, and-“. She chokes. She is… Strangely embarrassed, panicked. She won’t look at him, making herself small in the bed, vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do. I still loved him; not like before, but wanted to stay true to him, be loyal, and he hit me. He said sorry after, he had been too drunk, but I knew he wanted to. And I just didn’t know how I could stay there after that, but still I-he promised things would get better, and I believed him, Dick. And then they didn’t.”

           She confesses she trusted things to get better because they normally did. She had been hit before, but she couldn’t tell anyone; she was alone, isolated from her family. And the Titans, they would mock her! Obviously not to her own face, but someone like her being slapped by her very normal and human boyfriend?! The laughing stock. She felt embarrassed by it, not being able to stop him, the red mark on her cheek, shameful and making her weak, less.

           He felt enraged. Not at her, of course not: at Daryl for making her feel powerless like that, stupid and less of the incredible woman she was because she was being hit. No one should feel embarrassed by it, much less be silenced for it. Dick embraces her, piecing the rest together all by himself. Things had started to go well, but the taxi had made him feel insecure, and thus they had exploited at each other not much later, resulting in a second slap in a short period of time which made her put distance between them. Intelligent. But then he had come and-

           “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have felt like that all by yourself… But I understand. It was your own struggle to deal with, and you didn’t want anyone else to know, but… There’s people here that love you, (Y/N). I love you, for starters.” He blurts it out naturally, taking both by surprise. He gets red, closing his eyes and trying to keep his cool. “I meant-What I mean is that I feel something strong, or rather strong for you. Since the start. Or something like that, fuck-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come off so strong, but… But fuck yes, I-I do love you.”

           She climbs him. Slowly, almost torturing him in the silence of the room, sheets rustling as he moves his back up to straighten it. He is nervous, maybe as much as she is.

           They kiss. Lips trembling, fear still in he system, an intense desire to care for the other in his. It’s a long but caring kiss as he opens slightly his mouth and she enters his cavity, her tongue conquering space and his hands going for her hips, stabilizing them. He has been dreaming with that for at least three months.

           “Be my girlfriend.” And she can’t help but nod, as she kisses him up again. And again. And again, until they both are a mess of juvenile panting and squirming under the sheets.

           “Get properly into bed, I want to cuddle you.” She says, turning off the lights and getting closer to his face, climbing him up until her face can be buried in his neck. He kisses her forehead, heart beating fast but tranquil, at the same time. They have time, she loves him, and the only thing he wants now is to protect her between his arms.

           And she couldn’t feel any more secure, as she gets into bed and closes her eyes near his neck, protected and cuddled up by his strong arms on her waist.

[katsukikitten]

Lust and a whiskey neat

"Really you're going to see that crack head who dyes his hair fire truck red?" Your friend asks applying a hefty layer of lip gloss before she poses for a few hundred selfies for her Insta. She angles the camera down and it captures her tits and pouty mouth.

"Tacky really." She says as the sound of her nails click on her phone screen. She's probably sending it to six different guys first before posting it to the gram with some basic bitch caption.

"He isn't tacky." You roll your eyes as you apply your eyeliner on thickly. It's black as your heart and as sharp as a knife. Perfect to match your all black aesthetic

"He's a pro hero you know." You look at her a moment in your giant shared mirror staring at your complete opposite side. She was always about looks, caring solely about catching a man's attention.

Whether it be good or bad as she smiles mischievouslly at her matte pink phone, with a little cellphone charm swinging as she replies furiously.

The white and red catch your eye and you smirk, applying your mascara.

"You think Todoroki's red hair is tacky too then?" She gives you a rare look at her real eyes far from the normal doe look she gives guys. It is sharp and unforgiving, tactful as she speaks.

"Please Todoroki-sama is far from tacky." She wants to hold your gaze but you're too busy making a little heart beside your eye, she chooses to admire herself. Wiggling in her too tight mauve pink dress, adjusting her tits to sit better. She smooths her long dark hair, her bright nails with a single rhinestone catch your eye.

"I'm not seeing him tonight. I'm working remember." You step back and look yourself over. Adjusting your low cut shirt where it shows just enough cleavage for extra tips from guys but not too much that women will not tip you at all. You slide your cellphone into your ripped black jean shorts.

"Besides he is just a customer who comes in and sits at my bar every now and again after a long shift."

She gives you a pointed look, texting without looking.

"Oh so every night for the past month is every now and again?" She rolls her eyes, "Then I only talk to about six guys at a time every now and again."

You laugh at her bluntness. It's true she always kept men on the fringes, never fully letting her guard down. Plus why would she when she was the top escort at Madam's.

"You know you'd make more at work if you escorted someone." She looks you over, you're both naturally pretty. Having this sort of magnetism about you, "Like a lot more."

She eyes your boobs and ass, mentally comparing them and making a satisfied face.

"I couldn't balance it as well as you." You admit.

"You're fucking right about that!" She snaps a selfie, pulling her dress past her nipple but hiding it behind the fisted fabric, "But you're lucky. You're the type of girl that one guy will pay to be exclusively theirs for fucking life."

She smirks as her phone pings in reply.

"But..." You hesitate as you lace your black converse, Madam has asked if you'd like to try, that if you wanted you could be more than the bar keep and the bouncer rolled in one. Most of the girls were quirkless or cared so little for their power that majority of them were beginning to forget how to use them.

Your friend didn't bother to even learn how to control hers, though her power must be difficult to aim as she has always had fortune, Lady Luck on her side if you will.

Even getting out of being arrested when the officer watched the crime with his own eyes.

"Akime..."

"No you don't have to fuck any of the customers. Madam prefers that you don't." She holds your gaze, "I'm serious."

"Well what I was going go say is get your fucking shoes we're gonna be late."

"I'm never late as nothing starts until I arrive."

Its slow even for a Thursday but that doesn't stop you from pouring a whiskey neat and setting it at the bar stool off to your right.

Like clock work the hero comes in, still dressed in his uniform, though there isnt much of one for him to wear before he sits in his usual stool.

"You remembered." He smiles but the joy stays out of his eyes. You bite the inside of your lip, this is abnormal for him and you should know cause you can read body language as if it were a simple book. You're a bar tender it's a prerequisite. Talking and sounding like you care equals big tips.

"What's eating you tonight?" You ask, deft hands shining glasses, setting them up neatly for the order that's going to come from table two. Ruby eyes stare into the brown liquid that he swirls. He bites his lip, debating on telling you.

"I've uh... I've got to find a date for this big gala thing." He downs the whole glass and you blink.

"Well don't look so downtrodden, you're in the perfect place. Our hybrid bar is for meeting people or escorts." You gesture behind him and he looks over his slumped shoulders spying a too tight pink dress, he's had his eye on someone at this place.

"We've got booze and bitches." You laugh at your own joke and he turns to give you a softened look.

"No these women are so kind, far from bitches." You refill his drink off record as an apology, "You're right I am in the perfect place with stunning women on short notice but..."

"But?" You turn to grab the top shelf tequilla, he hardly let's his eyes linger over your sculpted legs. He looks over his shoulder again, as if debating. He swallows his drink whole again, slamming the glass down.

"But I have to get a date for a friend too." He looks crestfallen at the bottom of his empty glass. You refill it before continuing your specialty 'lust' margaritas.

"Well we have a variety of women here to choose from. Bring him in, he's bound to see someone his type." You says as you place the blood oranges just right on the rim of the glass careful not to disrupt the red salt and pink sugar.

"That's the problem he has no type!" He sighs frustrated, "Hasn't for as long as I've known him. Work is his only type."

"Oh he's a virgin then." You wipe the base of the glass before setting them on a tray for Momo, "Yikes."

She grabs the tray with a smile as she sashays to her usual customer. The red head laughs aloud.

"Far from!" He chuckles into his drink, "He's slept with lots of women."

"Oh then what's the problem?"

"That it's a 'date', pretend or not he's awful at PDA. Our PR manager says we need this exposure. A little love drama." His red eyes become puppy dog big as he looks at you as if you have the answers.

Akime makes her fake laugh loudly, her nails catching your eye as she makes her hand signal to ready her drinks. You make quick work on a lust margarita and two shots of vodka. You slice another blood orange as she sways her hips your way.

"Are they almost ready Y/N?" Her tone is all sugar but only because someone is at the bar, she mock gasps as if she didn't see him. Leaning over a bit to give him a better view of her overflowing breasts.

"And who might this be, Y/N?" She smiles, eyes flickering to you.

"Oh ah...actually I don't think he's ever introduced himself. I only know his hero name. Red Riot." You say sheepish for the first time in your life.

"Kirishima Eijirou." He says gently. You see Akime's plan of adding him to her throng of followers set in motion.

"Ah your red hair is so cool!" She says fingering the strands gently. You inwardly roll your eyes.

"Oh thank you. Not as cool as your Louboutins." He smiles a sharp toothed smile, you notice a dusting of pink on Akime's cheeks. Could she always fake a blush like that or...or was that real?

"What's your name?" His voice is butter smooth. She blinks at him wildly, noting that his eyes are, and have been, firmly locked with hers.

"Akime. You sure know your shoes."

"Your Prada dress is gorgeous too." He offers his sharp smile again and this time the blush deepens just a hue, "But you could wear a potato sac and it still wouldn't distract me from your stunning eyes."

"M..my eyes?" You cannot hide the surprise on your face, she has never stammered before. Kirishima nods as the man from her table calls out, his beady eyes glued to her ass.

"Akime dear.."

"Coming!" She sings back, blowing him a kiss before she almost glares at the bar's new ruby eyed patron.

He doesn't watch her go, a feat you've never seen any man take. Instead he sighs into his drink, mind clouded with worry.

"Well he's bound to like someone here." Your eyes gravitate to Madame's highest earner who also just happens to be your roommate. Kirishima follows your line of sight, watching the woman in pink take a shot.

"Yea...someone."

Your night with the red head is filled with odd conversation as he tells you all about his hero work.

Honestly you welcome any conversation that isn't about a sad broken marriage like the sob stories you normally get.

You laugh loudly when he tells you a blunder that Chargebolt did on a job and how angry Ground Zero got.

You do not notice how his ruby red eyes shine when you belt with joy. The clock tower near by chimes, singing its praises for closing time.

"Oh ah I'm sorry Kirishima-san but it seems its quiting time." You smile sweetly as Akime makes her way to the back room for her jacket.

"Ah will you ladies be safe to walk home this late at night?" He asks, voice suddenly sober with concern. You giggle , Akime returns from the backroom quickly in her pink faux fur jacket eyes narrowed to slits. She slips her hand onto his strong arm, pressing her glossed lips to his ear earning a huge blush.

"Y/N could kick your ass and I would be happy to watch. Please leave fire engine." She is no longer wearing her persona, something you've never seen her show a male before. He blinks, stunned at the sudden switch before he turns to her with a wide smile.

"I knew you that dumb doe look wasn't real." He squeezes her hand to his chest with his arm, this time leaning his lips to her ear, "Real men actually enjoy a woman with intellect. I believe you've been holding the attention of too many boys"

He gives her a cat like smile before stopping at the front door.

"See you tomorrow ladies. Same time." And with that he leaves with a wink.

&&&&

8:15pm comes soon rather than later and you've got a whiskey neat lined up in his usual seat, another glass pending a drink as you're expecting his friend but you do not want to assume.

Kirishima waves with a sharp toothed smile as he walks in followed by an extremely grumpy looking ash blonde.

You smile as they take their seats, except Kirishima sits a seat down from his usual, putting him on the end of the bar where he faces the length of the bar but can turn his head to the side to see the low couches.

You swallow as the angry blonde takes his seat, scarlet eyes glowering at the drink.

"This shit must be for you, shitty hair." He says as he slides the whiskey neat as if it were poison. Kiri retorts with a smile before his ruby eyes settle over the low couches. You follow his gaze to see it settled on *her* couch. You sigh turning to the agitated blonde.

"What can I get you?" You're cheery and offer a bright smile to which he sneers, you offer a drink menu when he does not answer you.

"Why the fuck did you drag me here?" The young hero asks, dropping his giant and in your opinion gaudy, grenade vambraces. They hit the floor with enough weight that all the glass behind the bar rattles. You send a nasty glare that goes unnoticed as he stares at Kirishima.

"Ah well..." He scratches the back of his head as he sips on his drink.

"He's trying to find you a date. Which to me already seems next to impossible considering how rude you are." You fake a smile at the end as you add "Now do you want anything to drink or no?"

The blonde glares your way for the first time tonight.

"I want a drink that will make you less of a bitch." He growls and you feel your temper flair.

"Oh so sorry, I can't make one of those for you, just like I can't make a drink that will make you less of a fucking asshole. But maybe a vodka Sprite will shut you the fuck up." You snap, pouring his drink with speed before slamming it down on the bar to attend to the incoming Friday night crowd.

You pour hundreds of drinks in the span of just a few hours as you submerge yourself in your work. Serving the drinks that are ready for tables by the edge of the bar where Kirishima sits and taking new orders from waiting customers all the while a set of scarlet eyes watch.

Watch you flirt.

Watch you bend over just enough for guys to get a better view of your tits earning a better tip.

They watch you smile and it causes his heart to race, especially when you share it with another man hinting at an innuendo.

Through all that you still manage to refill Kiri's and that damn ash blonde's glass, though you give him something different after each drink.

You set the house special of Lust before him and he stares at the red sunset colored drunk.

"What the hell is this?" He asks gruffly, the first words to you since your comment.

"Lust." You smile at him, a real smile as you are delighting in his slight discomfort, "But maybe I should make you a drink called love instead..."

"No, I told you that my services don't go that far."Akime laughs though you know she's holding back rage, "Please I enjoy your company and don't want to ask you to leave."

You don't catch the first que as the blonde yells in your direction.

"I said no!" And then she giggles but his hands try to pry her crossed legs open.

Kirishima notices, a hot rage burning in his stomach as he picks Akime up gently, placing her on her two feet in her prada shoes behind him before he leans in real close to the mans face.

"I think you should get your hearing checked. The beautiful lady said no, not convince me." His voice is dark and the drunk man rears his fist, his gaudy rings catching the light attracts your eye and you jump over the bar.

You didn't do your research on Red Riot, so you wouldn't have known that the man swinging would have broken his fist against a stone face instead you slam your own fist so hard into greasy skin that two gold teeth and a string of blood fly out.

Unfortunately for you, you've just hit a pretty notorious boss and his goons rise from the surrounding couches. You smile as they lunge your way.

Most of them are easy one punch K.Os, your fist meeting flesh and making that satisfying crack.

Your favorite sound as you feel the orbital bone give way under the force of your fist, power singing through you before they can even use their quirk.

You don't notice the last one coming out of the bathroom, his eyes wide as he stares at his boss lying facedown with a bloodied golden suit. The ox like man charges for you like a bull sees red.

You're turning too late to counter or even block the on coming bear paw. As you brace yourself for what should be a sliding impact you feel a muscular arm wrap around your thick waist as a a powerful palm catches the meaty fist. A series of pops dance along his tight forearm as steam hisses from his palm.

"Tsk. You're really starting to piss me off fatty." His eyes glow red as his tone turns dark

"G...Ground Zero!" He stammers, "Y..you can't sc..scare me."

"Wasn't trying to, tiny." He tightens his grip around his fist before twisting the baemeth's wrist the wrong way. Cracking echos through the quiet room as the man falls to his knees.

The blonde squeezes your hip gently before letting go to walk forward and further damage the man. His snarl turning into a small manic smile. The man shakes beneath the hero. You pull the broad shouldered blonde from the man just to earn a glare.

"I was handling that." A growl, as the man cradles his wrist.

"Yea so well too." Sarcasm drips over every syllable, "Well enough you were planning to take a direct hit to the face."

"I. Had it. Under. Control." You bite out again pushing him, letting your temper heat your blood.

For whatever reason you HATED having a man come to your rescue.Mostly because anytime one of them did, they expected something. You feel the ghost of his hand on your hip, further fueling your rage.

Arrogant

Asshole

Is all you can think as he steps closer, looking down on you as your chests touch, forehead almost touching yours.

"Do you know what his nickname is?" A growl so dark your stomach twists and your muscles tense ready for a fight, "The bone crusher. Do you know why?"

You stare him in the face, starting to see the edges of your vision turn blood red.

"His quirk can shatter bones with just a flick of his fingers. You're lucky I know how to counteract the force," Another growl, "But of course you wouldn't have known what is quirk was because you're too busy flashing your tits for fives."

You see completely in red as your first moves on it's own accord right into his pretty, arrogant asshole mouth. Causing him to slide into your precious bar, wood splinters beneath his weight. He spits blood onto the shining wood top.

But you aren't done there, no you were in full on berserk mood as you jump into the air to get a more intense impact because right now you want to see those kissable lips and those burning eyes bloodied.

"ENOUGH!" You are frozen mid air before you fall to your knees powerless as madame's graying hair stands stick straight. Kirishima and Katuski share a look as they watch the older woman reminding them of their old Sensei.

"A round of free drinks on the house. Mina!" Madame calls, the pink skinned girl bows.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Get started on those orders and make sure they are delicious drinks please darling." She's all sugar before she turns to you, "My office now! All four of you!"

You struggle to stand as your power has been sapped for at least ten minutes.

You feel oddly human and you do not like it as your body seems to weigh too much even for your powerfully toned legs. A busted lip blonde offers you his hand with a scoff and when you push it away he growls, placing his arms beneath your triceps pulling you to your feet before he shoves his hands in his black pants.

He spits blood on the floor again as he follows Kirishima who is gently guiding Akime to the office with a large palm on her mid back.

You and Akime take the two seats across from her oversized desk in her cramped office as the two men stand behind you. She smooths her hair down before setting her sights on you.

"What the hell happened out there?!" A shrill yell, "That's a high ranking thug you've hit out there and do you know who that is?"

You follow her finger over your shoulder and huff angrily. His arms are crossed and his scarlet eyes are averted.

"No ma'am. I do not."

"Well you should!" She slaps a newspaper on the desk for you to see, you peer down at the blonde who, even though you'd hate to admit, looks cool as hell as he crouched, just dodging a punch and already mid counter.

"He's tied for number one!" She slams the paper with her wrist for emphasis, "And you bruised his handsome face!"

"I..."

"No, no excuses. Now Red Riot and Ground Zero what brings you two here today?" Her dark eyes slide over the built men. Kirishima laughs, scratching the back of his head.

"Well we need dates for this gala...." He says honestly as the aura from behind you goes from pissed to seething, you can almost hear the popping sound of his quirk.

"You're in the right place." Madame smiles, "Did you have any ladies in mind?"

His ruby eyes fall to your friend who is sitting with her hands in her lap, fighting mixed emotions about tonight. Though to the naked eye she seems relaxed, bored even.

She inspects her matte pink nails to further emphasize her facade.

"Well only if she agrees to it." He says softly before meeting the gaze of the older woman.

"Akime will accept. Now love what is your external rate at these days?" Madame asks, plucking a pen from her chaotic desk with ease.

"250 an hour, and additional 50 an hour if there is physical contact. Kisses on the cheek are 20 bucks and kisses on the lips are 55 a piece." Akime says as she reaches for her phone to text idly.

Kirshima feels his soul leave his body as Katsuki's eyes narrow on his supposed friend.

"And for your friend?"

Kirishima's eyes shift to you wholly noticed by Madame.

"I'm not sure who he would pick but as far as her prices I can't..."

"You won't have to. I will lend these two ladies to you free of charge as an apology for the rough night Y/N has put you through." She scribbles on paper.

"That is very generous but.." Eji starts only to be interrupted once again.

"There are no buts in this conversation. I will allow you these two women for the whole evening. Return them at midnight or let me know other wise should they somehow fall in love with your boyish charm and his brutish way of showing affection." She does not look up from her notes.

"Th..thank you madame." Kirishima bows as Katsuki sucks his teeth before they both leave with her business card in hand to provide details for later. The second the two men leave you find yourself and Akime speaking over one another.

"He's such a fucking brute. Why did you pick me? He should take Urakaka san or one of the other hmm I dont know actually escorts."

"Madame I cannot be SEEN with firetruck and especially not for FREE?! Ugh and it matches his sparkling eyes and it's kinda cuu... really ugly madam I cannot go on like this. I'm being punished. I was the victim here!"

"SILENCE BOTH OF YOU!" You both flinch for fear of her power stripping quirk. It even makes the quirkless feel weak.

"I'm still going to pay you both. Just not your external rates Akime. I'm going to pay your normal rate doubled as with you Y/N." She finally holds eye contact switching between you two, "Do you know what this will do for the escort services and the bar? Hero exposure will have this place skyrocketing, we won't even have to advertise that is our establishment as everyone knows where Akime works what with her large male following. And with the world renowned drinks you've made Y/N everyone will be all over this joint. And hell Akime maybe you'll even catch the eye of Todoroki."

You both stare dumbfounded.

"But.." You say in unison.

"But you both need to leave before I make these a series of dates."

[theculturedmarxist]

What will reading Marx do for my bank account?

At the very least, because the people that determine what is in that bank account study Marx, and so you should as well.

A valid, but very revealing question. It’s a common sentiment, especially considering all the economic factors effecting the working class today, everywhere in the world. The accumulation and capital is an overriding concern, both for practical reasons, as well as the logic we absorb from living in a capitalist society. All human endeavor is reduced to cost analysis. Time spent not making money is time wasted, and wasting time—not making money, either for yourself or others—is a cardinal sin of capitalism. The drive to convert every aspect of the lives humans live into a monetary transaction is relentless, and has become so common that it simply goes without question. It has seeped into and colored everything people do, their romances, their careers, their passions, their lusts. The logic of accumulation and transaction eliminates the person and in its place leaves a bank account, a debit card, a dumb repository of value in relation to what they can do for someone else.

The less you eat, drink and buy books; the less you go to the theatre, the dance hall, the public house; the less you think, love, theorise, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you save  – the greater becomes your treasure which neither moths nor rust will devour – your capital. The less you are, the less you express your own life, the more you have, i.e., the greater is your alienated life, the greater is the store of your estranged being. Everything ||XVI| which the political economist takes from you in life and in humanity, he replaces for you in money and in wealth; and all the things which you cannot do, your money can do. It can eat and, drink, go to the dance hall and the theatre; it can travel, it can appropriate art, learning, the treasures of the past, political power – all this it can appropriate for you – it can buy all this: it is true endowment. Yet being all this, it wants to do nothing but create itself, buy itself; for everything else is after all its servant, and when I have the master I have the servant and do not need his servant. All passions and all activity must therefore be submerged in avarice. The worker may only have enough for him to want to live, and may only want to live in order to have that.>

So entrenched has this mindset become that in the mainstream it goes utterly unquestioned. People are immersed in it from birth, and might go to their grave without even knowing that there was any possible alternative, or even that they should desire one. Marx (for instance, he’s certainly not the only one) offers both a perspective outside of this logic as well as the analysis that can not only allow people to see it, but dismantle it. Marx and Marxist analysis provide a vocabulary and framework otherwise missing from the average worker’s lexicon. They are missing not because they are so esoteric and abstract that they require an imparted understanding, like a teacher to a child, but because the people in charge of workers’ lives—government officials, police, landlords, institutional educators, and bosses most of all—have done everything they can to strike them from the record. Billions are invested in making the thoughts themselves impossible, in inverting human tendencies and behaviors and values to make even the idea that the system is unfair a shameful one. Everything drives at ensuring that the worker stays isolated, ashamed, and desperate.

The benefit of reading Marx and other communists is that they understand this arrangement, go to great lengths to explain its whys and wherefores, and offer workers the tools not only to reframe the narrative in a manner of speaking, but the ideological guidance necessary to undo and escape it. Where capitalism breeds alienation, communists advocate socialization. Where capitalism fosters isolation, communists urge community. Where capitalism cultivates war and hatred, communism professes peace and international solidarity.

Marx tells the worker why he has to consider his bank account in the first place. He explains the mechanisms by which it is filled and drained and to whose profit. The confusion of chauvinism, nationalism, racism, classism, genderism, and so on is dispelled when revealed to be the deceptive antics of the very people that keep the working individual in perpetual anxiety over their bank account.

And still, even though Marx was writing about events that seem like a distant memory, does any of this sound familiar?

Dazzled by the “Progress of the Nation” statistics dancing before his eyes, the Chancellor of the Exchequer exclaims in wild ecstasy:

“From 1842 to 1852, the taxable income of the country increased by 6 per cent; in the eight years from 1853 to 1861, it has increased from the basis taken in 1853, 20 per cent! The fact is so astonishing to be almost incredible! ... This intoxicating augmentation of wealth and power,” adds Mr. Gladstone, “is entirely confined to classes of property.”

Again, reverse the medal! The income and property tax returns laid before the House of Commons on July 20, 1864, teach us that the persons with yearly incomes valued by the tax gatherer of 50,000 pounds and upwards had, from April 5, 1862, to April 5, 1863, been joined by a dozen and one, their number having increased in that single year from 67 to 80. The same returns disclose the fact that about 3,000 persons divide among themselves a yearly income of about 25,000,000 pounds sterling, rather more than the total revenue doled out annually to the whole mass of the agricultural laborers of England and Wales. Open the census of 1861 and you will find that the number of male landed proprietors of England and Wales has decreased from 16,934 in 1851 to 15,066 in 1861, so that the concentration of land had grown in 10 years 11 per cent. If the concentration of the soil of the country in a few hands proceeds at the same rate, the land question will become singularly simplified, as it had become in the Roman Empire when Nero grinned at the discovery that half of the province of Africa was owned by six gentlemen.

In the domain of Political Economy, free scientific inquiry meets not merely the same enemies as in all other domains. The peculiar nature of the materials it deals with, summons as foes into the field of battle the most violent, mean and malignant passions of the human breast, the Furies of private interest. The English Established Church, e.g., will more readily pardon an attack on 38 of its 39 articles than on 1/39 of its income. Now-a-days atheism is culpa levis [a relatively slight sin, c.f. mortal sin], as compared with criticism of existing property relations. Nevertheless, there is an unmistakable advance. I refer, e.g., to the Blue book published within the last few weeks: “Correspondence with Her Majesty’s Missions Abroad, regarding Industrial Questions and Trades’ Unions.” The representatives of the English Crown in foreign countries there declare in so many words that in Germany, in France, to be brief, in all the civilised states of the European Continent, radical change in the existing relations between capital and labour is as evident and inevitable as in England. At the same time, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, Mr. Wade, vice-president of the United States, declared in public meetings that, after the abolition of slavery, a radical change of the relations of capital and of property in land is next upon the order of the day. These are signs of the times, not to be hidden by purple mantles or black cassocks. They do not signify that tomorrow a miracle will happen. They show that, within the ruling classes themselves, a foreboding is dawning, that the present society is no solid crystal, but an organism capable of change, and is constantly changing.

The colonial system ripened, like a hot-house, trade and navigation. The “societies Monopolia” of Luther were powerful levers for concentration of capital. The colonies secured a market for the budding manufactures, and, through the monopoly of the market, an increased accumulation. The treasures captured outside Europe by undisguised looting, enslavement, and murder, floated back to the mother-country and were there turned into capital. Holland, which first fully developed the colonial system, in 1648 stood already in the acme of its commercial greatness. It was

 “in almost exclusive possession of the East Indian trade and the commerce between the south-east and north-west of Europe. Its fisheries, marine, manufactures, surpassed those of any other country. The total capital of the Republic was probably more important than that of all the rest of Europe put together.” Gülich forgets to add that by 1648, the people of Holland were more over-worked, poorer and more brutally oppressed than those of all the rest of Europe put together.

Today industrial supremacy implies commercial supremacy. In the period of manufacture properly so called, it is, on the other hand, the commercial supremacy that gives industrial predominance. Hence the preponderant rôle that the colonial system plays at that time. It was “the strange God” who perched himself on the altar cheek by jowl with the old Gods of Europe, and one fine day with a shove and a kick chucked them all of a heap. It proclaimed surplus-value making as the sole end and aim of humanity.

Even these examples removed by time have their parallels and echoes today. Now just as then, capitalists refuse to raise wages, claiming it will bankrupt them. Now just as then, capitalists accumulate by rape and pillage the wealth of lesser nations. Now just as then, capitalists one and all make their fortunes through the pitiless exploitation of the working class. You worry about your bank account because it’s been emptied to fill the hoard of the person that owns all you make and for which they’ve never labored themselves.

That’s why you should read Marx and all the rest, because you have a bank account to worry about in the first place—a clock perpetually ticking down towards your ruin, and the only means of escape is joining with your fellow workers and building Communism.

[gaycrouton]

Massage

Words of Lust 13/27 [ Scully's feeling a little tense and Mulder just wants to help.]

Massage: (noun) the act or art of treating the body by rubbing, kneading, patting, or the like, to stimulate circulation, increase suppleness, relieve tension, etc.

Ten. Ten autopsies in one day. He wasn’t sure what the record was, but he knew Scully was damn near it. He had overheard scattered corners in the hall talking about “the talented FBI gal,” and he heard enough to know Scully hadn’t had a break, or any help, all day. Ten bodies were found, preserved with an unidentifiable substance, and he knew Scully never liked working with other people on cases where she would just have to listen to them marvel at the mystery of the unexplainable. It distracted her. By the time he had come back from scavenging the forest with the local police department, it was six in the evening, and she was practically dead on her feet. When he found her in the morgue, she was sitting on a rolling stool with her arms crossed on a desk in front of her, her head resting on top of them like a pillow.

“Hey Scully, ready to go?” he asked as he walked up to her hunched form. He was puzzled by her lack of response until he got close enough to her to notice she was fast asleep. He squatted down so he was face to face with her and he couldn’t repress a smile from the sight. Her eyes were closed and her full lips were slightly parted. A tendril of hair hung loosely in front of her face and each breath sent the strand fluttering away from her face. To top it all off, the tiniest line of drool was leaking from her open mouth and pooling on her arm. It was painfully adorable.

He tentatively raised his hand and ran the back of his index finger along her delicate cheekbone, relishing the feel of her smooth skin. Scully let out a soft “mmm” and shifted a little, but didn’t wake up.  Being a little bolder, he placed the palm of his hand against the side of her head and started running the pad of his thumb across her cheek, gently murmuring her name.

His heart leapt in his chest when her lips twitched into a contented smile and she nuzzled into her arms to get more comfortable. If he hadn’t been so close, he would have thought he imagined it, but he saw her lips move softly and heard “Mulder” in a sleep ridden whisper. His attempts to wake her seemed to be just putting her to sleep furthur, so, with his free hand, he gently grabbed one of her hands and squeezed it lightly while saying her name a bit louder.

With the small smile still on her face, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him with a glossy stare, trying to focus her eyes. “Good morning sleepy head,” he teased. The sound of his voice helped her get her bearings, and her sated smile quickly morphed into shy embarrassment. She sat up and swiftly ran the back of her hand against her mouth, erasing the light drool that had been there. He had removed his hands when she started to sit up and was now just playing with his hands idly in between his bent knees, the sensation of her skin still burning his fingertips.

Her eyes scanned lazily around the room as she remembered where she was. She turned to him and cleared her voice before asking, “Did you find anything in the forest?”

He found himself getting distracted by the sight of her trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes and took a moment before answering, “Afraid not, I was actually dropping by to pick you up and go back to the motel. We’ve both had a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” she mumbled as she got her jacket and followed him out. The drive home was filled with idle chatter as she slouched in the passenger seat with closed eyes. He made a quick stop to get Chinese take-out, knowing her order from years of experience, and they were back at the motel soon thereafter.

In normal routine, they were going to spend the evening typing up field reports in his room while eating and watching tv. “I’m going to change into my pyjamas, I’ll be over in a second,” she told him as she got out of the car and unlocked the door to her room.

He set the chinese on the queen bed, turned the TV on to the Sci Fi channel, and changed into his own pyjamas, which consisted of long, loose running shorts and a plain white t-shirt. As soon as he was pulling the shirt over his head, he heard the adjoining door open and a small gasp from Scully. He pulled the shirt all the way down and was met with a wide eyed Scully looking at everything except him. “I’m sorry, I should have knocked first.”

“Trying to take advantage of me and compromise my modesty, how devious of you, Scully,” he teased, making her roll her eyes as she walked towards the bed. She had truly only seen his chest and abdomen, maybe a bit of his hip bones, but it thrilled him to know he could fluster her just from that bit of exposed skin.

Okay, so the normal routine was actually Scully being the only one working on field reports while he sat against the headboard, laptop in front of him, watching her work. Tonight was no different. They had both finished their food sometime ago, and now he was flush against the grain of the headboard as she was parallel to him, laying on her stomach, typing on her keyboard, a rerun of Star Trek faintly playing in the background.

His eyes raked over her form appreciatively. Scully wasn’t the type to be verbal with her feelings, so he had to perfect the art of picking up on her subtle cues. Her pyjamas were a prime example of this. For the first year or two of their partnership, barring that first case, in terms of pyjamas she would only let him see her in exclusively; a long sleeved top, long bottoms, slippers, and a tightly closed robe on top of it. Her vulnerability was hidden from him and she was reluctant to show him anything other than Agent Scully.

Flashforward to now, she was laying in front of him wearing just a small t-shirt, which was riding up ever so slightly to reveal a pale sliver of skin, teasing a glimpse of her tattoo, and a pair of cotton short-shorts, which were just barely long enough to not be considered underwear. Her shapely legs were bare and she was idly running one foot against the other, just a comforting thing she would do when she was relaxing. Her posture was the pinnacle of ease and openness. Her outfit and demeanor were just a touching display of her pure trust in him.

He quickly snapped out of his reviere when she started to slid off the bed. “How many field reports did you catch up on?” she asked while tucking her laptop into her bag.

Mulder took a tentative glance down at his laptop’s blank screen and in a hesitant voice replied, “Uhhh.. I got a good start on the first one.”

“Oh really? And without even touching the keyboard once, you’ll have to let me know how you do that,” she teased.

Busted. He let out a self-deprecating laugh and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I pulled up a document, so I did start a little bit, in my defense. This is a really good episode.” She cocked her eyebrow at him and he knew she didn’t buy it, but wasn’t going to press him. She lifted her bag to lay it on the motel table and a grimace passed over her face. “Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

“Yeah, but almost a full day hunched over and working with dead bodies really took a toll on my own.” She cracked her knuckles before she started stretching her arms, each time she did it there was a series of “pops” and “cracks” emanating from her sore joints. She did the same with her legs and it had the same effect. However, she tried to stand up straight, nothing happened, she leaned back and one sole pop occurred, but nothing else. The frown on her face told him that it was not the outcome she was hoping for.

“Do you need help?” he asked, already getting off the bed to move towards her.

“Help how?”

“I can crack your back,” he stated. Her doubtful expression was in full force and instead of explaining himself, he decided to just show her. “Turn around and cross your arms over your chest,” he commanded.

She did what he said and asked over her shoulder, “Like this?”

“Exactly.” He hadn’t done this in a while, let alone on someone so tiny. He stood behind her and bend down a little bit, so that his chest was on her back, before crossing his arms atop of hers, pressing them into her chest. He felt her about to ask what he was doing when he stood up fully, taking her with him. She squealed a little bit and wiggled her feet, which were now about a full foot off the ground.

He tried to ignore the way her hair was tickling his face and how her body felt squirming flush against his own, so he started arching his back and leaning backwards. As he did this, her body reclined with him, and that, and the weight added from gravity, created a series of what felt like twenty cracks along her spine. During the series of pops, she involuntarily let out a moan from the relief and let her head fall back, laying gently on Mulder’s shoulder.

The sound of that moan did more for Mulder than he’d care to admit, and he didn’t want Scully to feel that reaction pressing against her butt, which was pressing sinfully against the front of his pants right now. When he was sure he got all the pops out, he gently put her back down on her feet and quickly stabilized her when she stumbled a bit.

She turned around with a goofy smile and just said, “Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Do you feel better?” he asked, enjoying seeing her so serene.

“Aside from aching muscles, I’m feeling great,” she declared, stretching a little bit and reveling in the new found relief in her back.

“I could help with that,” he offered. He had a girlfriend a few decades ago who was interested in massage therapy and taught him a few things. They only lasted about a week together before he was too weird for her and she broke it off, but he was still pretty good at giving a massage.

The skepticism his last offer was met with wasn’t present in her new response, instead she just looked a little pensive before replying, “I’d appreciate that. Where do you want me?”

His mind immediately went dirty, but he knew he needed to reign that in. He wanted to help, but he knew this was going to be tantalizing and he needed to be as detached as possible. “If you lay on your stomach near the edge of the bed, I’ll sit in a chair and be able to work over you.”

She, yet again, did as he asked and sprawled out on her stomach near the edge of the bed. He brought a rolling chair over and elevated it so that he could hunch over her and have full access to everywhere he needed to reach. He was glad that the television was still on, or else he was positive she’d be able to hear the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. As he pulled up, he looked down at the soft, delicate body laying before him. She looked like an angel.

He decided to go from top to bottom. He placed his fingertips on the crown of her head and started massaging circles into her scalp, utilizing his nails to add an extra sensation. When he first started, he noticed she inhaled a big breath, but as soon as the ministrations started, her breathing evened out. He relished the feeling of her silky strands of hair falling through his fingers, the auburn tresses highlighted by the dim light from the motel lamp.

He massaged down her scalp, behind her ears, and on the nape of her neck before he began utilizing his whole hands versus just his fingers. He put one hand on either side of her neck which blended into her shoulder and started applying more weight. Scully wasn’t wrong, he could feel how tense and hard her muscles were. He spent a good amount of time using the balls of his hands to massage away her tension, using the pads of his thumb to massage her spine. When he got to the lower part of her upper back, he split off and started focusing on one side at a time. He started at her shoulder blade farthest away from him and gently moved his hands around it. He hadn’t realized it until this moment, but with the sensation of her thin shirt moving against her bare skin, he realized that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

He delicately traced his hand in a line of where her bra strap would have been before moving onto her arm. Leaning over her like this made him really realize how tiny she was, he grabbed her biceps with both of his hands and he could almost wrap his fingers around her arm. He just worked his way down her arm, squeezing and caressing until he got to her hand, figuring they had a workout today, he spent extra time rubbing circles into her palm and working on her fingers, from base to tip. When he was done, he repeated the process on her other side. This time when he got to her hand, he felt her subconsciously twitch, as if her hand was trying to hold onto his.

When he was done, he returned to his place in the middle of her back, continuing to work his way down. His thumbs worked her spine, the palms of his hands kneaded the muscles of her back, and his fingers rubbed along her sides. When he got all the way down to her tattoo, he took a moment to appreciate it, and let her feel where his eyes were. His thumbs met at the top of the ouroboros and they rubbed along the circle until they met back together at the bottom. He saw, as much as he felt, her breath hitch, but she didn’t move to stop him.

The tension was near palpable in the air as he reached the top of her tailbone, he could practically feel her curiosity burning his fingers. As much as he wanted to, fully palming Scully’s ass was probably not the best idea. So, he teasingly ran his fingers over the dangerous line of back-meets-butt until he was safe at her hips, massaging down until he was in the safe zone of her legs. When he had asked her to lay down, she kind of just face planted like a log, arms at sides, legs together. As he massaged she loosened up, so her top half was a haphazard sprawl of limbs, but her feet were still together. See the note about ass grabbing and also apply that to the concept of shoving his hand between her thighs.

As he had predicted earlier, he was sporting a slight hard on from feeling her soft flesh under his palms, and her lying on a bed so accepting of his touch. He bent over a little bit, so if she turned to look at his she wouldn’t see it, and cleared his throat of any lingering arousal, “Um, Scully. Could you spread your legs a little for me?” Wow, smooth.

He waited with a heavy breath for her to call him a pervert and storm out, but instead, she simply spread her legs as asked. He let out the breath softly and repressed a smile at the development. She was displaying a whole new level of trust with him and he didn't want to do anything that would make her regret that. He worked on her legs in the same way that he had with her arms, one hand on either side of her leg, making his way down. Except, he started a little farther down, below the hem of her shorts, as to avoid touching any of the intimate areas he was only acquainted with in his dreams. Regardless of where he started, he couldn’t help but revel in the fact he was palming Dana Scully’s inner thighs. The same thighs he spent countless nights imagining on either side of his head or wrapped around his waist or quivering from- too much, too much.

He wanted to slap himself for packing running shorts and just wished for her to remain face down in the bed because there would be no way he could hide his erection tenting in his pants. He worked on the other inner thigh before going past the knee, just so he wouldn’t have to go through that again. When he was finished, he resumed rubbing down her calves and feet one at a time. When he was on the tiny toe of her last foot, he felt himself not ready to give this up yet. Physical contact between them wasn’t necessarily rare, per se, but never had it been this intimate and for this long of a duration.

In a moment of surprising boldness, he moved the chair so he was back near her head and he gently commanded, “Roll onto your back.” He hunched over once more so as she transitioned from her stomach to back, she wouldn’t accidentally catch sight of the front of his pants. Within a few moments, she was on her back with her limbs sprawled openly beside her.

He had to take a moment to build his confidence, but he moved his fingertips up to her hairline and started brushing her hair back. She was so peaceful and still that, had he not been able to see her eyelids fluttering under her eyelids, he would have assumed she had fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember a time where he had been so gentle and through with a task. His hands were practically ghosting on her skin. After touching the length of her hairline, he moved to her temples, gently rubbing circles with the pads of his thumbs along the pressure points. He couldn’t remember what the specific name was, the sight in front of him was more than slightly distracting, but she looked like a model from an old painting, Like an angel on the Sistine Chapel.

He continued his exploration of her face by running his index fingers over her brow bone and  going down the slope of her nose. He never expected she would allow him to do this, and was happy to see this was actually relaxing her. He ran the backs of his fingers along her strong jawline before running them up her smooth cheeks. There was one last place on her face for him to explore and this would really make or break the tranquility of the moment. With one tentative hand he placed his palm against her cheek, so that he was cupping it, and started moving the pad of his thumb to outline her lips.

Her lips were the first thing he had noticed about her all those years ago. “Agent Mulder, My name’s Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you.” She had on a reddish coral lipstick and it suited her beautifully. He had spent years watching those lips. As she talked, as she ate, as she breathed, they were mesmerizing. Now they were under his touch, and they were fuller and softer than any fantasy could have imagined. He traced the outline first, then ran the digit over her top, then bottom lip, relishing the slight tug from the friction of the contact.

He almost jumped out of his seat when he felt her lips press against his thumb in a kiss. His eyes darted up to look at her eyes, only to see that they were hooded, and watching him intently. He had been so focused on his own ministrations, that he had no idea how long she had been watching him. While he was making eye contact with her, he felt her lips part and her tongue dart out to lick the pad of his thumb, then gently suck on the surface.

Now it was his turn to have his breath hitch. His eyes kept darting back and forth between her sensual gaze and the sight of her mouth working the tip of his thumb. Her lips were coated with saliva and she placed one last kiss to his thumb before whispering in a husky voice, “Keep going.”

Holy fucking shit.

He drug the saliva coated thumb down her chin and along the expanse of her exposed, creamy white throat. She tilted her head back to give him better access, and in a moment of intuition, he blew a stream of cold air to her throat and watched her eyes close and goosebumps spread across her skin. He took a few moments to massage her clavicle, which had been hidden in her previous position. He still didn’t know how far she wanted this to go, so using only one hand and two fingers, he rubbed his way down her sternum, in between the valley of her parted breast, taking great caution to avoid touching either mound. He didn’t know if he was hearing things, but he could have sworn he heard a sigh of frustration when he got passed her chest and was in the safety of her rib area. He added his other hand back in and used the palms of his hands to rub down both her sides and abdomen, stopping at her hip bones, which he circles tauntingly.

He didn’t know where to go from here and he felt like an awkward teenage boy again. He already got all of her legs, he didn’t know if it would be creepy if he went back to an area already covered, and he wasn’t going to touch her in the areas left undiscovered until he got her explicit permission. Oh yeah, and his cock was still rock hard so he didn’t quite feel like calling it quits right now. He glanced back up and gulped when he saw she was still staring at him, that mysterious look still behind her heavy lids.

“You’ve been missing some major areas. If you need to take off my clothes to get to them, you’re more than welcome to,” her words were coy but her tone was beyond suggestive. She had made his choice for him and he was more than willing to oblige the request. His hands, which were still moving on her hip bones, slid up so his fingers crept under the hem of her shirt. In one of the most arousing gestures he had ever seen, she arched her back so it came off the bed, which allowed him to slide her shirt up and over her head. As soon as they were revealed, his eyes were glued to her breasts. He licked his lips unconsciously and he instantly recognized she laughed lightly at the gesture.

He looked in her eyes one more time for permission, still not believing this could possibly be true, and she gifted him with a coquettish smile. That’s all he needed before raising his hands and cupping her breasts in his hands. They were ample and firm, and everything he had dreamt of. As soon as he made contact, her eyes fluttered shut. He started experimenting with her as if he was playing an instrument, a pinch of a nipple made her bite her lip, a blow of air made her gasp, a firm squeeze made her eyes flutter, cause and react in full effect.

After a few moments, when her gasps started to become more audible, he decided to continue exploring. He snaked his hand down her smooth stomach until he reached the hem of her shorts. In an opposite arch to before, she lifted her hips up and helped him slide her shorts down her creamy legs. She had only been wearing shorts and his erection appreciated that heartily. When she lowered her hips back down and let her legs sprawl out, he got to fully appreciate the sight in front of him. Dana Scully was lying naked and wanton on his bed right now and if he died right now, he would die the happiest man in the entire world. His hand continued downward and it quickly started raking through her soft auburn curls. He knew she was a real redhead, but having the evidence right in front of him made him inexplicably happy.

Moving one final inch, he parted her fold and was immediately met with what would become the biggest source of pride in his life. Scully was soaking, correction dripping wet, and it was all because of him. He was almost shocked when he felt it, but it just fueled his desire more. Using one digit, he swirled his finger around her aching bud and relished in the sound of her hearty moan. It was his turn to watch her, and he was pleased to see her head lolling back and forth as her hips gyrated against his hand. After a moment or two, he felt her dainty hand reach down to grab his wrist.

He was initially afraid she might have regretted it, that she was going to say this had gone too far, but all fear was replaced with unrepentant arousal when she throatily groaned, “Let me make you feel good too. Join me.” After the words left her mouth, she moved so she was on the bed on her knees in front of him, pulling him into a standing position in front of her.

He was mesmerized by her poweress in this moment, he could see her arousal coating the insides of her thighs, but she was still so in control of her actions. She quickly grabbed the hem of his shirt and he was all too ready to help throw it over his head. With another fell swoop, she shoved his shorts to the floor and took in the sight of his exposed erection with greedy eyes. She leaned back so she was on her butt with her legs wide open as she grabbed his arms and pulled him on top of herself, her enthusiasm earning a hearty chuckle from both parties.

Laying on top of her like this was pure bliss, the complete skin-to-skin contact of their bodies was almost too much to take. He looked down at her and was speechless at the woman laying underneath him. Her eyes were filled with mirth and longing and he was so overcome with emotion that he closed the distance and pressed a searing kiss to her lips. His heart leapt once more when he felt her return the kiss with equal vigor, opening her mouth so their tongues could play with each other. He felt like he may never sleep again, what was the point of trying to dream when reality could provide such perfect moments like this?

She pulled back for air with a laugh and his lips quickly sought to keep their connection in a different area, landing squarely on the pulse point of her neck. He moaned deeply against her flesh when he felt her hand snake in between them and take his length into her grasp. She stroked his tip along her folds, coating his length in her arousal to lubricate him before easing him into her. She moved her hand away and wrapped her arms around his neck, tandemly wrapping her legs around his waist, beckoning him to continue.

He kissed her on the lips one final time before plunging into her. Their moans were in perfect harmony and they quickly found their pace as they started thrusting against each other. Their were many moments in their partnership that contributed to him considering them to be a perfect match, but none compared to this. She felt like home, her smell, the feel of her body against his own, the music of her moans, everything made him want to live in this moment forever.

They had been going at it for maybe a minute or two when he felt her freeze. He was about to ask her what was wrong until he felt her vaginal walls clamp painfully tight against him and she cried out his name in a breathy whisper. He thrusted in deeper, grinding his pubic bone against hers to prolong her orgasm and he could swear he felt her heartbeat in his cock. She released her grip on his neck and fell back onto the bed, bucking against him in spasms, her eyes fluttering and her lips curled into a sweet smile. He just made Scully’s eyes roll from a powerful orgasm. This was undoubtedly the best day of his entire life.

He looked down at her with a proud smile, trying to commit the image of her underneath him naked and sated to his memory forever. She returned his smile with a shy one of her own and melodically laughed, “Usually I last longer, you just did such a fantastic, through job before.” It had to be impossible to love someone this much.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that. Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered. She blushed and averted her gaze in shy embarrassment and it made his heart hurt. This woman was practically Aphrodite reincarnated and he didn’t like the idea of any self-doubts or insecurities making her question her beauty and skill.

“Scully,” he prompted, waiting until her eyes flitted back to him to continue, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. I adore you and I love you.” She was openly smiling and beaming up at him and he could have cried from the unyielding trust that was in her gaze.

She snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him sweetly. When they parted, she looked up at him and whispered, “I love you too, but we’re not done yet.” To emphasize her point she thrusted against him again, re-sheathing his arousal deep into her head. His moan reverberated around the room and he started thrusting into her continually, fascinated but the sight of her panting mouth and her breasts bouncing up and down on her chest.

Watching Scully cum was like a drug, he had seen and experienced it once, and he would be chasing that high for the rest of his life. He just wanted her to be encapsulated with pleasure and he wanted to be the cause of it. He put his hand at the apex of her thighs and found her swollen clit, playing with pinching it and rubbing it. From the sounds coming out of her mouth, she was more than appreciative. After a few moments, probably since she was already sensitive from her last orgasm, another came rippling through her body, clenching around him like a vice, this time taking him with her over the edge. They stayed joined for a while afterwards, relishing in the sensation of each other’s pleasure.

“To repeat your eloquent sentiments from earlier; wow” he teased, breaking the silence.

She laughed heartily at this and rolled onto her side, into her arms, “I stand by that, and I’m still impressed,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

[mx-requests-forum]

[Fulfilled] Wasted Confidence

Prompt: MX is having a party after a concert or something and kiho both get really drunk and hardcore make out in front of everyone. the next morning, neither of them remember what happened but everyone else does :o kiho are a little shy and awkward around each other for a bit after that but then they end up alone together again and confess their feelings

Fulfilled by Moderator M~

Sorry for the delay in getting this fic written! I hope the requestor still enjoys this regardless! <3

Words: 3606

AO3 Link 

Done in conjunction with the MBB Req Spot~

Knocking back his third can of beer, Hoseok starts beginning to feel the blissful release of tension that he’d been so desperately craving all day. They were back at the dorm after the Seoul concert for their 2nd world tour and having one of their (now annual) world tour celebratory drinking parties. Hoseok normally doesn’t drink, but after what happened tonight, he needed something to help him forget.

“Hyung, pass me the lime,” Kihyun drunkenly called out from across the room, and Hoseok crunched up the beer can in his fist, setting it down onto the table with a shaky hand. Kihyun… The whole reason why Hoseok was drinking tonight. During their concert, Kihyun portrayed a sexiness and charm that Hoseok found himself much too enamored with; needy, romantic thoughts clawing into his consciousness and making it damn near impossible to focus on his performance. Hoseok had a bit of a secret- he was sort of crushing on his bandmate, and times like this made him glad that he was particularly susceptible to alcohol. He didn’t drink much, and already he was able to focus on something other than Kihyun.

“Hyung, you okay?” Kihyun asked when Hoseok neither acknowledged him nor got him the slice of lime he was after. Hyunwoo ended up passing him the lime when Hoseok barely so much as blinked in his direction, but Kihyun was still curious. Hoseok normally wasn’t like this- he never downed so much alcohol so quickly… he looked dark, brooding, like he was stewing on something serious. Kihyun thought he looked pretty sexy like this, but still wanted to know what was going on.

Snapping out of his trance, Hoseok’s eyes dart up into Kihyun’s, and he’s suddenly bombarded with memories of his presence on the stage earlier. How deathly attractive Kihyun looked with purple hair, how his body moved and grinded with the rhythm, how he would appeal to the crowd in any way he could think of. Hoseok felt his whole body get warmer, and he took in how Kihyun was looking at him right now. His hair was still styled from the concert, but he was in casual clothes, the thin, oversized white shirt hanging off his tight body attractively.

“Kihyun… you wanna know something?” Hoseok asked, unable to stop his drunken ramblings before they happened. He felt warm, much too warm, and the pleasant fuzziness was blurring his vision, making Kihyun seem more like a dream than reality. “You looked really hot during the concert tonight,” he complimented, shuffling around for another can of beer with painstakingly slow motions. He knew he probably shouldn’t be saying something like that, especially when all of their other bandmates were around, but he couldn’t help it. Kihyun was so fucking sexy.

“Thank you,” Kihyun replied in a soft voice, his face heating up. The rational part of Kihyun’s mind was telling him that it was just the beer talking, but the hopeful and drunken part of him wondered if maybe Hoseok was harboring similar attraction to him. Kihyun had kind of assumed that his crush was one-sided, but… He winced as Hoseok bumped a little too hard into the table, not even flinching despite the loud, resounding bang that filled the air. Naw, Hoseok was totally drunk right now.

“I’m serious Kihyunnie,” Hoseok drawled out, drawing out the final syllable for no less than 5 whole seconds, finally having gotten another can of beer. Kihyun chuckled a bit, quirking an eyebrow in interest. Sure, Hoseok was probably not in his right mind right now, but Kihyun wasn’t hardly sober either. He’d been shooting tequila for the past 30 minutes and his inhibitions were pretty much out the window at this point.

“Then what was it about me that was so hot, hyung?” Kihyun prompted with a flirty tone, almost masochistically. He knew Hoseok couldn’t possibly be interested in him, but in his current state, he couldn’t really think of the downsides. The other members looked on at the interaction with curious gazes, some chuckling and others looking a little disappointed. Hoseok hummed thoughtfully, his beer forgotten as he looked into Kihyun’s face. Kihyun’s eyes were half-lidded, something mischievous sparkling in them. His shirt kept slipping lower off his shoulder too, exposing his pretty collar bone and slender arm. Hoseok swallowed thickly.

“Your body, your face, your mannerisms,” Hoseok answered in one fast exhale, his expression totally honest. Kihyun blinked a few times, biting his lip gently as he pondered how to reply. “Your lips,” Hoseok continued, and when Kihyun tried meeting his eyes, he realized that Hoseok was solely staring at his lips, watching the way Kihyun absently bit his lower lip. Oh…

“You must really think I’m hot then, huh?” Kihyun asked cheekily, licking his lips and watching Hoseok’s eyes follow the motion. “You must think I’m irresistible,” Kihyun half-asked, half-said, his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth a little bit more lewdly. He giggled after doing so, but he was starting to get slightly aroused just by doing this. Hoseok was staring at him like a starving dog at a plate of meat. Kihyun purposefully dropped his shoulder a bit lower, feeling his shirt slip off his arm a few more inches. Hoseok groaned, and completely forgot about every other person in the room as he watched Kihyun’s overt sensuality. His tongue was so pretty and shining slightly in the light, Hoseok wanted to lean forward and kiss him so bad he was already starting to move towards him.

“Yes,” Hoseok answered, his voice heavy with implication and lust. Kihyun shivered, his eyes darting down to the table as he processed Hoseok’s statement. He grabbed his pre-filled shot glass and took it quickly, not even flinching at the intense burning sensation as it travelled down his throat. He could hear some giggles from the side, but they didn’t matter. He barely had the mental capacity to deal with Hoseok, let alone anyone else. And the booze gave him confidence, gave him the nerve to say the next few words that left his mouth.

“Then what are you waiting for? Come here,” Kihyun slurred out, waggling his finger in a beckoning motion. Hoseok blinked a few times in confusion, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. Kihyun’s finger was… what did that mean again? He wanted him to come closer? Okay, he could do that. Lurching his body forward, Hoseok wobbled unsteadily towards the other man, making the short distance seem like a long trek with how slowly he was moving. Eventually, he sat down right next to the boy, blinking a few times and inhaling slowly as he tried to regain his balance.

“I think you’re pretty fuckin’ sexy,” Kihyun confessed, his pretty lips parting as he got closer to Hoseok. “And you think I’m hot,” he continued, almost totally closing the distance between them. The air around them turned hotter, and Hoseok swallowed nervously, his eyes staring at Kihyun’s lips exclusively, watching his mouth form the next words with a racing heart. “So let’s just make out,” he offered, and Hoseok didn’t need any other encouragement, his lips crashing against Kihyun’s like a force of nature.

Breath catching in his throat, Kihyun slowly moves his lips against Hoseok’s, shocked that Hoseok actually was kissing him right now and didn’t immediately recoil at the offer. He hears Hoseok groan a bit, his voice cracking slightly from the strain of the concert earlier. Cheeks flooding with color at the sound, Kihyun deepens the kiss, his hand reaching out to grip Hoseok’s shoulder for support. Hoseok’s tongue rubs against his still sealed lips, and a muffled moan escapes Kihyun’s mouth, mind going crazy from the influx of sensations. Hoseok was really kissing him right now, that was his tongue swiping across Kihyun’s lips.

Opening his mouth, Kihyun moans desperately as Hoseok’s tongue swipes across his own, the harsh flavor of beer and something else, something distinctly Hoseok flooding his senses. He wanted more, so he delved his tongue into Hoseok’s mouth, his other hand cupping Hoseok’s chin and angling it better. Kihyun could hear noises, probably from their bandmates around him, but he didn’t give a shit about anything else. Hoseok’s tongue felt so good, so smooth as it works its way into his mouth, Kihyun was addicted already.

With the haze of drunkenness still clogging his senses, Hoseok was on cloud nine. The only thing that existed was Kihyun, who was currently kissing him so passionately that he couldn’t even consider the fact that alcohol might be altering his judgement. Kihyun’s body was so warm but so far away still, so Hoseok reached out and grabbed him, pulling him closer until he could feel Kihyun’s chest against his. His tongue rubbed against Kihyun’s, and he moaned, finding it increasingly harder to think straight.

Body wracked with the desire to get even closer to Kihyun, Hoseok leans closer to him, pushing his body against his and pulling him closer simultaneously, their lips still intertwined. With the motion, Kihyun loses balance, and Hoseok falls against him, the two now laying on the floor totally flush against each other. They finally part lips, mouths parted in laborious breathing as they stare into each other’s eyes. Suddenly, reality comes crashing back full force, and neither know what to do with themselves.

The next thing Kihyun sees is the sight of Changkyun, shaking him awake with desperate motions. Eyes cracking open in frustration, Kihyun rubs the back of his head, wondering why his skull was pounding so much this early in the morning, and why the fuck the sun was so goddamn bright.

“Hyung, you need to get up already and talk to Hoseok-hyung,” Changkyun said, his expression turning into a small pout. Kihyun flops his head onto his pillow, his eyes squeezing shut as confusion fills his mind.

“Why the fuck do I need to talk to hyung?” Kihyun groggily asked. He couldn’t fathom why this was of such dire importance that Kihyun had to be woken up when he was clearly sporting a rather severe hangover. He couldn’t remember what all he drank last night, but judging by this pain, it had to have been more than just the tequila he’d vowed on solely consuming.

Changkyun sighed heavily before answering. “Hyung has been a wreck all morning and can’t remember why. You need to tell him how you feel,” Changkyun said, and at that, Kihyun’s attention was fully piqued. He sat up in his bed, giving Changkyun a steadying look.

“…What do you mean by ‘how I feel’?” Kihyun repeated, his heart-race increasing. He could feel vague, hazy memories start to surface but shoved them down, still praying that maybe it was all just some dream.

“Hyung… y’all tongued each other in front of all of us last night,” Changkyun revealed, and Kihyun felt his heart stop. “I’ve known for a while that you both have been harboring feelings, but didn’t think it would lead to that so soon…” Changkyun continued, but his words were totally lost on Kihyun, who was still reeling from the impact of the words Changkyun had said prior. Groaning in embarrassment, Kihyun flops his body back onto the bed, bringing the sheet up to his face and covering his flushed cheeks.

“Fuck,” he cursed out, his mind flooding with memories of the night before. He remembered it now- the passion, the intensity, the pleasure. If he focused on it, he could feel Hoseok’s tongue inside his mouth, could practically taste him on his lips. It was electric and sensual, and even though at the moment he saw it as sexy, Kihyun realized that it couldn’t have been completely consensual given how drunk Hoseok was at the time. Hoseok probably would hate Kihyun for it if he realized how he took advantage of him…

“I can’t tell him,” Kihyun says in a soft voice. He remembered what happened after their kiss- Hoseok had left the room. He was tired, said he was going to pass out early. Kihyun drank then, too, downing his mixed feelings in a myriad of different liquors. He drowned it all in laughter in dumb drinking games with his bandmates, trying to play it cool, but even then, he knew it wasn’t totally right.

“Fine, then I’ll tell him. But you two need to talk,” Changkyun said, shrugging a bit as he exited the room. He’d been tiptoeing around Hoseok all morning, unsure of what to do with him, but after Kihyun had been AWOL for hours- it was time he ended it. Walking into the kitchen, Changkyun breathes a sigh of relief when he notices that Hoseok is the only other occupant of the room.

“Hyung, I need to tell you what happened last night,” Changkyun declared, and Hoseok turned around quickly, his eyes wide. He couldn’t exactly remember when he went to bed last night, and hadn’t drank in quite a while, so the memories of the night before were fuzzy at best. All Hoseok knew was that he felt weirdly guilty and embarrassed, and whenever he mentioned it to the others, everyone started acting strange around him. It only heightened his suspicions, and he desperately wanted to know what actually transpired last night.

“You and Kihyun-hyung made out in front of everyone,” Changkyun said, finally spilling the beans. Now everyone knew what happened, and they could figure out the rest themselves. Watching the horrified reaction spread on Hoseok’s face, Changkyun winced a bit, briefly wondering if he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“That was… real?” Hoseok murmured out, mostly to himself. Memories were flashing in front of his eyes, visions of Kihyun’s sexy body writhing against him, of Kihyun’s tongue grazing against the roof of his mouth… when he woke up, he had those same visions, but assumed they were a beer-induced wet-dream or something. Now knowing that it was all real, Hoseok couldn’t even figure out how to shut his dropped jaw.

“Yeah, it was. I think you and hyung should talk about it,” Changkyun suggested, praying that at least one of his two hyungs would be responsible and talk about his feelings. When Hoseok shakes his head vigorously, Changkyun practically watches his hopes fall.

“I don’t know what to say,” Hoseok replies in a shaking voice, panic starting to set in. Fuck, Kihyun probably knew how much he enjoyed that- Kihyun just did it as a joke, right? There was no way he actually had feelings for him, they were both drunk and tensions were high. Kihyun probably thought he was disgusting. Feeling tears well in his eyes, Hoseok willed them away, shaking his head again. “Thanks for telling me, Kkungie, but I… I can’t say anything to him right now,” Hoseok concluded, and then walked away, grabbing his keys from the counter and walking towards the front door.

Changkyun stood frozen, watching his hyung leave with wide eyes, disappointment flashing in his expression. If they’d actually talk, maybe they’d realize they had the same feelings for each other… Shaking his head, Changkyun started walking back to his room, hoping that his hyungs would figure out their relationship soon.

Sadly for Changkyun and the other members of Monsta X, the two avoided each other all day, and when they were forced to be in the same room or car together, they ignored each other completely. It was tense, and awkward, and honestly- everyone just kind of wanted it to be over with already, including Hoseok and Kihyun themselves… but neither had the nerve or courage to actually do something about it, not yet. Both went to bed that night feeling regretful and icky, but the next morning promised new beginnings for them both.

Stretching his arms far above his head, Hoseok groaned pleasantly as he slowly gained consciousness, happy to have been able to sleep well that night despite how bad he felt when he went to bed. He’d been able to sleep on the events that had transpired a night ago, and was now seeing it all in a more rational light. He was drunk off his ass, sure, and definitely did some things he regretted, and he definitely needed to apologize to Kihyun, he still believed this. But, something about Kihyun’s attitude in response to it was a lot clearer to him now. Kihyun was so into the kiss, and judging by how nervous he seemed around Hoseok yesterday, it only made sense for him to be interested in Hoseok, at least a little.

With this in mind, Hoseok gets out of bed, walking towards the living room in nothing more than a pair of pajama pants. Just like most mornings, when Hoseok approached the couch in the common area, Kihyun was already sitting there peacefully, eating a bowl of cereal. Upon closer inspection, Kihyun wasn’t even wearing pants, just an oversized tee and his bare legs on full display. Hoseok’s heart jumped into his throat, his cheeks tingeing a shade of pink just at the cute appearance of his friend.

“Good morning,” Hoseok managed to greet without stumbling over his words, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and trying to act casual. Kihyun looked over at him thoughtfully, immediately seeing the change in his hyung’s demeanor. Something had changed over the night, something big.

“Morning,” Kihyun replied, but he couldn’t help but feel a little wary about the suddenly improved communication between them. Clearly Hoseok had come to some kind of decision about their relationship, but whether it was what Kihyun wanted or not was unknown as of yet.

“I… I need to apologize about the other night, I should know better and not let my drinking get out of hand like that,” Hoseok said, pursing his lips. Kihyun seemed a bit surprised by that admission, clearly not what he was expecting to hear. Nodding, Kihyun moves to sit closer to Hoseok, rubbing his knee comfortingly.

“It’s okay, hyung. I’ll do better to keep you in check in the future,” Kihyun replied, smiling a bit. Hoseok took a steadying breath, and then continued his confession.

“That isn’t all, though. I did some stupid things, I hit on you a bit too much and it escalated pretty far,” Hoseok continued, licking his lips as he looked over at Kihyun. Just at the allusion to their, rather intense, make out session, Kihyun feels his body react, and he bites his lip.

“You were pretty plastered though, it’s okay,” Kihyun said, waving his hand in dismissal, hoping to ease any of Hoseok’s worries- he couldn’t quite tell where Hoseok was going with this, but if anything, it was Kihyun’s fault, not Hoseok’s.

“I know but… I actually have feelings for you, and that’s what makes all of this kinda fucked up,” Hoseok finally admits in a hushed voice, his eyes staring intimately into Kihyun’s. He felt bubbling, nervous tension threaten to eat him from the inside, but he ignored it, desperate to hear Kihyun’s reply.

“…I have feelings for you too,” Kihyun responds after a few tense seconds of shocked silence, his chest physically hurting from how fast his heart was racing. Was this really happening right now? Hoseok wasn’t mad at him, didn’t think he was taking advantage of him? He had feelings for him too? In disbelief, Kihyun stares down at the floor, his mind working hard to crack the mystery. Across from him, Hoseok’s bright, genuinely happy smile overcomes his face immediately.

“You really mean that?” Hoseok asked, and Kihyun nodded, his eyes flashing back to Hoseok’s face and heart melting at the adorable sight. Hoseok looked so relieved by his confession, so joyous. “Then what we did the other night, we can do it again?” Hoseok asked, not even thinking about how quickly they’d be jumping into things if he were to pick up from where they left off last time.

“Hah, yes, if that’s what you want, too,” Kihyun answered, his cheeks dusting red and eyes nervously flickering back to the floor when Hoseok’s excitement gave him too much second-hand embarrassment.

“Can I kiss you?” Hoseok asked, his voice a little softer, a little more timid. Kihyun was a bit startled by the question, but if it meant making up for their drunken first kiss, then he wanted to. Damn, he really wanted to.

“Yes,” Kihyun responded, his breath catching in his throat as he leans forward, the warm rays of early morning sunshine peeking through the window and haloing them both in a pure, honest light. The miscommunication was over, the weird situation had come to a perfect conclusion. Kihyun closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Hoseok’s for their real first kiss. Hoseok reciprocated, and they held it for a few seconds, just reveling in the innocent, pure gesture.

Parting after what felt like eons, but what they both realistically knew was only a few seconds, Kihyun smiles at Hoseok, chuckling a bit at his cute expression and flushed cheeks. Just as he’s about to say something, a voice interrupts them.

“That’s sweet and all, but no more making out in front of us all, okay?” Changkyun’s voice sounds from the doorway, and Hoseok spins around, looking in that direction to see the rest of the members all groggily peeking through the doorway, small smiles on their faces. Chuckling, Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting over to gauge Kihyun’s reaction. Watching the embarrassed flush cover his bandmate’s face, Hoseok can’t help but want to watch him get all flustered again.

“No promises~” <3

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

I got a nsfw ignis idea- Blind Ignis smut but More focused on arousal and teasing. Just bc how would the strategist react to these things without visuals? Low sultury voices and warm smells and hot kisses 😏 you feel?

I’m actually working on a multi-part story that addresses many of the points in your prompt, alexinotherlands, but admittedly I am quite a ways away from posting it here, if this work deadline I’m currently chafing under has any say in the matter. So to tide you (and anyone else interested) over in the meantime, I’ve come up with a new recipeh a few disjointed pieces of headcanon I would ultimately like to include in the final fic. Enjoy!

Kinda-sorta NSFW

It’s conceivable the strategist would choose not to indulge in intimate relations with anyone for a long while after the loss of his sight; he has more pressing matters to tend to—mainly, revisiting the royal tombs in search of any clues that might assist the heir to Lucis upon his eventual return—and engaging with a paramour would serve only to distract him from the vows he has made to the crown. He may even persuade himself to remain entirely celibate until the end of the long night; his duty of love is to protect the weak and defenseless, and he is married solely to the task of restoring safety and light to Eos.

There is another, more somber reason why Ignis would reject the solace he might find in the comforting embrace of a lover; the trauma he sustained in Altissia has lingered long after the fateful events of the Hydraean catastrophe, the nerve damage that impaired the use of his left eyelid merely a visible symptom of more severe injuries that plague other areas of his body. He isn’t even sure if the parts still work properly, and he fears any attempt at expressing himself physically with another would only result in their everlasting disappointment.

Should Ignis happen to find himself alive and somehow still kicking in a post-apocalyptic Eos, he’d likely consider it his responsibility to perpetuate the species—if he were even capable of doing so, that is. There is, admittedly, only one way to find out, but it would take an individual of exceptional patience and sincerity for the strategist to overcome his own feelings of inadequacy that stifle his confidence and bare himself to them, figuratively or otherwise.

The frosted visor he hides behind at all times has less to do with his chronic sensitivity to light in his right eye—although that is partially why he wears them—and more to do with not wanting to subject the public to his gruesome scars. Removing his spectacles is a particular source of distress for the blind strategist; the gasps of shock and pity that are audible in his wake hurt more than any tangible pain he has experienced, and the notion of frightening a lover with his disfigurement is a thought he cares little to entertain.

But when Ignis finally meets someone who views his wounds not as unsightly blemishes, but as marks of distinction in service to a greater cause, he finds his emotional defenses waning, the walls he has built around his heart slowly ebbing. And when he feels their soft lips brushing gently against the vertical scar that splits the corner of his mouth, he discovers that the parts of himself he feared had been damaged beyond repair work just fine, after all.

Making love to a partner without the use of his eyes is somewhat challenging to the strategist at first; the visual cues he had relied on heavily in the past are lost to him now, and this new learning curve is undoubtably a steep one. But the muscle memory is still there, and he has four other senses at his disposal besides; his hearing has grown more acute over the years, for instance, to the point where he can distinguish the sound of his lover’s breath shortening inside their lungs and their pulse fluctuating in response to his sensual ministrations.

One obvious facet he had overlooked when he still had his sight was how unique each individual part of a person’s body felt to the touch; now, though, he spends countless hours exploring his lover’s entire anatomy, mapping every line and curve with strong hands in an effort to paint a picture of their figure in his mind. The skin on the back of their knees is baby soft and ticklish to even the lightest of caresses, the firm tissue of their shoulders more resilient and ripe for sinking his teeth into; his palate has changed as well, and he is able to discern even the most nuanced of subtleties that differentiate the crook of their neck from the flesh of their buttocks. Likewise, he has never tasted a nectar so sweet as the flavor of his partner’s trembling sex on his tongue.

But it might be his perception of smell that is the most honed of his newly-heightened senses; the intoxicating scent of his partner’s ardor swirling in his nostrils activates a deeper, more primal area of his brain than, say, the fragrance of their perfume. The strategist can identify the slightest of changes in their body chemistry simply by nuzzling his nose against their earlobe, although admittedly his sensitivity to seductive aromas is prone to being muddled at times when the heat of their mutual desire mingles with the efflux of their light perspiration.

By and large, the cold and aloof exterior Ignis had crafted as a young man has given way to a much more open and earnest demeanor; his injuries have forced him to accept his vulnerabilities and embrace the kindness and support of others. As such, he is more willing to follow a paramour’s lead rather than instinctively take control in instances of intimacy, and indeed he discovers a previously unrealized delight in having his needs met without taking the matter of his pleasure into his own hands. In hindsight, he wonders why it took him so long to recognize just why this was the case; the pure, unadulterated joy of bringing a lover to ecstasy was not exclusive to him alone, and his lust is never more unbridled than when he can hear the inkling of a mischievous smile in his partner’s voice.

There is one thing, however, that has changed little about the strategist in the years since he went blind; he is still quiet when he makes love, not because he is ashamed at expressing his own euphoria, but because the sensation of his rock-hard desire buried deep within his partner’s walls and cocooned in an ethereal warmth simply takes his breath away. Furthermore, releasing a carnal growl would serve only to disrupt a more beautiful symphony filling the atmosphere, since he wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the songs of his lover’s rapture over the sound of his own ragged gasps, nor would he be able to hear them whispering his name tenderly in his ears. So Ignis Scientia speaks with wandering hands instead, communicates his innermost thoughts with the touch of his lips, and says everything that needs to be said merely through the beating of his own heart.

[republicstandard]

Pedophilia is Being Normalized by the Liberal Media

Having sex with people who are neither physically nor mentally mature enough to consent to it is rape. This is apparently an increasing controversial hill on which to die, but so be it. If you read the left-wing press, whenever they tackle the issue of pedophilia it is unanimous that pedophiles are just misunderstood.

“The current misconception is that every pedophile is a child molester, and if they’re not, it’s just a matter of time. It’s important to show the world that that’s not the case.” https://t.co/rV4SexSO5f

— VICE Canada (@vicecanada) February 8, 2018

When Ender Wiggin was banned from Twitter last December, it wasn’t because he was a far-right troll or Nazi sympathizer. In fact, Wiggin had an army of pizzagaters harassing him all hours of the day, insisting he kill himself right up until the moment his account was disabled on December 14.

That’s because Ender—aka @enderphile—is the pseudonym of a “non-offending” or “anti-contact” pedophile: someone who is attracted to children but claims to be against adult-child sex and child pornography. Inside that community, he’s known as the unofficial leader, and claims he’s been using social media to reduce the stigma associated with pedophilia, showing other pedophiles they can live lives without offending. Jackson Weaver, VICE Magazine

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VICE used to be awesome. Even after the McInnes era, some of their reporting, articles and video journalism was top notch. Nowadays the company is riddled with sleazeball liberals who can't treat women with politeness and literal endorsements of pedophilia. Worse, it is not just VICE Canada that is as insane as Justin Trudeau. Salon published another self-described "Virtuous Pedophile" in 2015, claiming that he was a poor suffering lamb, who just wants to be loved.

Nice to meet you.  My name is Todd Nickerson, and I’m a pedophile. Does that surprise you? Yeah, not many of us are willing to share our story, for good reason. To confess a sexual attraction to children is to lay claim to the most reviled status on the planet, one that effectively ends any chance you have of living a normal life.  Yet, I’m not the monster you think me to be.

Such degenerates as Todd and those in the VICE article describe themselves as non-offending pedophiles. The natural question then is this- if you are a non-offending pedophile, how would anyone know? The answer is that nobody would know. You would tell nobody. So why are "non-offending pedophiles" identifying themselves?

Jackson Weaver of VICE expends a lot of energy gathering quotes and making the case that kicking wannabe child-molesters off social media platforms is counterproductive, citing that peer support- i.e., other pedophiles- is essential to stop non-offending pedophiles abusing children. However, he also writes of one prominent online pedophile that

"He’s been using social media to reduce the stigma associated with pedophilia."

The unambiguity of his words should tell you all that you need, but let us spell it out, clear as day. Pedophilia must be stigmatized in society. It must never lose its stigma. The very idea that a pedophile should feel without stain is a very dangerous idea indeed. One may feel a certain level of sympathy for the pedophile- I sincerely doubt that anyone would choose this life- but to empathize with them is a path to ruin.  No doubt Weaver and others in the liberal press will deny it, but the agenda here is clear. Leftist activists are using the liberal media to convince people that pedophilia is not immoral.

I had an interesting conversation on Twitter yesterday about the hijab. The hijab, as you know, is not ubiquitous in Islam, nor is it solely Muslims that wear a head covering for modesty. It is almost exclusively Muslims that apply this modesty rule to children, however. The conversation came about in a thread begun by regressive left darling Mike Stuchbery, an unemployed failed supply-teacher-turned-banal-Twitter-chimp who goes on lengthy rambles about how history disproves conservatism, in search of Patreon dollars. The tweet, -which Mike subsequently deleted- was his standard fare of prostrating himself before Islam and coming out against a school administrator who had suggested that girls under the age of eight had no need to preserve their modesty from sexually active men. The administrator, after talking to the community, stepped down.

“Having spoken to our school community we now have a deeper understanding of the matter and have decided to reverse our position with immediate effect.”

Mike supported the people sexualizing kids, in this instance. So did some of his followers, who stated that no-one should force girls to wear anything they didn't want to, but nor should they be forbidden from wearing things that they did want to wear. I contend that as a culturally mandated practice, the hijab is a forced item- and this brought us to the topic of agency in children. We have rules about what children can and cannot do because they do not possess the experience or ability to comprehend consequences that adults are supposed to exhibit. This is why we have an age of consent, an age at which one can drive a car or fight in wars. You need to be able to understand what you are getting yourself into.

It is therefore curious to me that the case of the hijab is so contentious in the West. It is a garment for a particular purpose- it is not even a religious purpose per se.  According to the Quran, Muhammad, when encountered with a woman wearing see-through clothing, averted his eyes and told her, "After a young woman reaches the age of puberty, nothing should be seen of her except this and this," motioning to his face and hands. That has been interpreted in many ways.

This is King Abdullah II, the King of Jordan. He is the direct descendant of Prophet Mohammad, and this is his family. The question is, what on earth happened to wearing the Hijab and Burqa? ..... *Cricket Sounds* ..... pic.twitter.com/fqQEUR9Mmr

— Imam of Peace (@Imamofpeace) February 9, 2018

The modesty of grown women is preserved in most Islamic cultures by some form of veil- burqa, niqab, or hijab, depending on just how barbaric the men of that culture may be. In the more advanced places like Iran, you may only be beaten severely by religious police for not wearing your hijab. In Taliban controlled Afghanistan, to go without your niqab means summary gang-rape and murder by stoning or immolation. If you aren't murdered by your rapist, you may not survive being murdered by your own family in an honor killing.

It is the woman's fault in both cases of course because the woman is immodest- a man cannot help but rape everything that he is aroused by, so it is essential that a piece of fabric is used to reinforce the generally accepted global social norm that no raping people in public is allowed. Some particularly advanced societies have even extended this emancipatory ideal to include not raping people in private, too. In all but the most fundamentalist and stone-age interpretations of this cultural practice, the veil is the reserve of adult women- at least by the standards of Islam, which is 9-years-old for some. Sadly, the fundamentalist and stone age ideals are in the ascendant.

Naturally, I oppose the sexualization of children and therefore reject the idea that an eight-year-old-girl (or younger) should be forced by her parents to wear a modesty-protector. She is a child. She is not sexually active, and therefore outside the remit of modesty- unless we are to accept the pedophiles delusion- that children are sexy. The intrinsic concept of modesty is to avoid encouraging sexual attraction in others. Modesty only exists when the person being modest understands that they are sexually attractive- the Islamic understanding is that this is a female power over men, and therfore the female's responsibility.

I am unsure why I am a better feminist in this regard than most feminists, but the world is a crazy place of late. To cut a long story short- the responsibility for being sexually attracted to children does not lie with the immodest child. Childhood is a sacrosanct garden of learning -at least Western civilization has tried to make it so- and must be innocent. This means that parents make responsible choices for the child's actions. This means no hijabs, as it infers that adult men cannot prevent themselves from rape without it being worn by all females of all ages. In essence, the hijab forces children into a sexualized state of being.

And so, we are brought back to the topic of the pedophile acceptance movement. These child molestation acceptance activists will demand that children be given the right to decide for themselves whether they can have sex with adults. This is the agenda which lies underneath the non-offending pedophile movement. If they can normalize attraction to children, goes the rationale, then what next? It is the very spirit of regression to wish Western culture back into the dark ages of marrying old men to prepubescent girls. At least in antiquity, the basis of such unions was for politics or economics, rather than to sate the lusts of mentally ill degenerates.

If you were a secret pedophile who never offended, why would you tell anyone? Perhaps there is the Catholic confessional route to salvation at play but surely there are few other benefits to proclaiming yourself as a theoretical child molester. The only logical -if logic can hold under such circumstances- is that you realize that the route to satisfying your sex drive and not being murdered or arrested is through public acceptance and ultimately legalization of pedophilia. So, you out yourself as a public pedophile with the relative safety of an anonymous Twitter handle. Maybe you write for Salon or encourage leftist media muppets to interview you about how misunderstood the whole issue of having sex with children is.

The very definition of pedophilia -or any sexual philia- is an abnormal appetite or liking for. For example, you might be a pogonophile and have an abnormal appetite or lust for beards. As a bearded man, I am abnormally attractive to you- irresistibly so. While it's funny to think about on the surface, it is actually utterly superficial. You do not know me. You do not care about me- all you want is my beard. If I were to shave it off your attraction would evaporate as rapidly as the steam on my mirror. In a similarly disordered manner the pedophile is not interested in children in the romantic way typical humans fall in love or feel attraction. It is sexual desire of prepubescent children in the same irrational and alien way that the pogonophile is drawn towards beards. Incapable of love, the -philiac is attached only to that which arouses them; when the object of desire changes -by shaving a beard off, by a child entering puberty, or whatever other form the abnormality takes- the philia goes unsated and the desire for what once was irresistible is gone. The -philiac must find another locus of arousal.

Pedophiles do not love children. One cannot love children and be a pedophile. The pedophiles use children to satiate their base desires. This is why pedophilia is an abnormality rather than a sexual orientation- A chronophilic disorder. A person may well find a much older person attractive, but when they only find the elderly attractive, this is beyond merely a sexual preference- it is gerontophilia. The attraction in this case is still a disorder but as it affects only adults there is no need to legislate against it within our society. Not so for the person who is inescapably attracted to children. It is as far from being a sexual preference or orientation as it possible to be; consider those poor souls who find themselves irrevokably attracted to tractors or who marry bridges. It is impossible to normalize even those people who harm no-one with their behavior, let alone those who wish to normalize attraction to children.

This is why the gay movements around the world have struggled so hard to distance themselves from pedophilia, with varying degrees of success. Once more for those in the back- pedophilia is not normal. In a nightmare future, the Western child is forced into the hijab and made to answer questions about whether they are ready to have a sexual relationship with an adult. How culturally enriched we will be.

Last week our Conservatoire Nursery held a (Drag Queen Story Team event to promote social inclusion. Thank you to the nursery team and parents for being open minded. pic.twitter.com/XfugTWFopv

— LEYF Nurseries (@leyfonline) December 1, 2017

June O’Sullivan, chief executive of LEYF, said:

“By providing spaces in which children are able to see people who defy rigid gender restrictions, it allows them to imagine the world in which people can present [themselves] as they wish.”

This is the motivation behind Drag Queen Story Time-  The project also seeks to tackle misogyny, homophobia, and racism, so it's just your small-scale neo-Marxist indoctrination of 3 year-olds, who clearly are already so bigoted against blacks and gays that they need to be taught how to think by drag queens.

If pedophilia is normalized also, then it will become acceptable for a man who is sexually attracted to kids to run a similar project. Conservative philosophy is concerned with the preservation of the pillars of our civilization. The very concept of what makes up a family has been under attack for more than a generation, producing the tragedy today that in America 40% of children are born to unwed mothers and 25% of all children under the age of 18 — a total of about 17.2 million — are being raised without a father. 35% of these broken families are poor. The story gets even worse once we break that figure down by racial demographics.

The bedrock of our great Western Civilization is the family unit. In 1933  Christopher Dawson wrote “The Patriarchal Family in History,” and drew parallels to the decline of the Greek and Roman civilizations that preceded our own.

“As in the decline of the ancient world, the family is steadily losing its form and its social significance, and the state absorbs more and more of the life of its members,” Dawson wrote. “The functions which were formerly fulfilled by the head of the family are now being taken over by the state, which educates the children and takes the responsibility for their maintenance and health.”

Can any deny that 85 years on from Dawson we are even further along this path to destruction? Instead of addressing this matter with concern for the very fundamental building blocks of society itself, the radical intersectionalists of the left have instead pared the pieces apart with the hatchet of Social Justice. The family is irrelevant when there are transgender identities to care about. The environment that children are raised in produces racists and homophobes, so therefore society must take over the raising of children from the inadequate parents. So often unwed and solitary, the single parents of this generation and the last have gladly relinquished responsibility- and who can blame them? As a culture we have produced untold millions of people without an coherent identity of their own to pass on to the next generation.

" Ender claims that any attempt to make another account—under any name—was initially blocked following his ban, but thought they had reconsidered their stance after he was able to log back on. Following his most recent ban, he's less optimistic. Until Twitter directly addresses how they’re going to deal with users like Ender, non-offending pedophiles exist in the same state. It’s a kind of limbo, where they’re able to speak about their attractions to children publicly, but without knowing for how long." - Jackson Weaver, VICE Magazine

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This is a progressive magazine with a culture of sexual harassment towards women. This magazine -with a huge readership- is appealing to one of the biggest social media networks on the planet to stop banning pedophiles. More than this entire article up until now, this should tell you everything you need to know about the pedophile normalization movement. Non-offending pedophiles want to become pedophiles who are non-offending because the abnormal sex they desire has become socially accepted. While the majority of people will be repulsed by the behavior, once the normalization of degeneracy has become ratified then it is then bigotry to criticize it. It is now normal for an adult man dressed as a woman to teach your three year old son how not to be a homophobe. Don't tell me this is a leap of the imagination.

Still, it is conservatives who are the problem, right? We are the ones holding society back from true progress. Progress towards what exactly? A society of fatherless sons with no role-models, no aspirations and the exaltation of self-centered gratification of the basest desires of the depraved. No thank you, not on my watch.

No empathy for the devils.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine http://ift.tt/2G4oSjx via IFTTT

[lordfartwaat]

The Incident at Bear Creek

Juliet Mace

Everyone who lived in Bear Creek was on the verge of discovery. Emily Griffith’s father was on the verge of discovering a new strain of super-gonorrhea and unbeknownst to her mother, using himself as a test subject. Finn Deely’s mother was on the verge of discovering her son was a homosexual with a boy from Wilmington. And Rebecca Barnett was on the verge of discovering she didn’t really have any friends at all. Horrid people they all were.

As I walked into Finn’s house, relatively unnoticed, there they all sat in plaid skirts, khaki pants, and starched collars, fox pelts capping their heads--screaming life into a stuffed iguana. From what I know, Finn had quite the affinity for exotic pets and being one of the worst pet owners on the far side of West Valley, that affinity soon switched to being for taxidermy. His walls were lined with pipes made from a Fennec fox, a Chinese water dragon, two ocelots, and of course an iguana who had been so dutifully named Ralph. Poor, poor Ralph--what an unfortunate end to become post-mortem paraphernalia.

I had made my way in the front door and began searching the crowd. At a Wilmington party, half the time would be spent searching for narcotics, but not at Bear Creek. A mix of affluenza and lack of parental supervision made every Bear Creek event a cesspool of hedonism and indulgence. The parents of Bear Creek had no reason to interact with their children as they were merely a symbol of immaculate suburban life. Knowing these truths, I was not searching for things but instead people, in particular, people who were indulged enough to not notice my poorly replicated Bear Creek uniform: khaki pants, white button up, saddle oxfords, and an embroidered BC insignia on the collar.

Bear Creek had been created for one reason and one reason only: to keep out the “other.” It was an all exclusive utopia for the elites of West Valley. Soon after its creation, the amenities came: hospitals, court houses, bakeries, movie theaters, and of course Bear Creek College Preparatory School--the crowning achievement of the new found community. The school ranged from preschool to high school so there was no need to go anywhere else. Everyone knew everyone and above all they knew Rebecca Barnett. I will never know why Rebecca was so renowned in the community. She wasn’t particularly talented or extremely beautiful. Granted, she was pretty, but only for the same reason any other Bear Creek female was: money. From what I had gathered, Rebecca had gained her recognition soon after her 13th birthday. Alofted some would say, she seemed to float above the whole town. My understanding of Rebecca came solely from the thoughts of others so when I saw her in Finn’s living room, she was an enigma interacting with those around her timidly as to not ask too many or the wrong type of questions. Well trained I had thought.

Past Rebecca, I wandered into the kitchen. A granite centerpiece gave me an ideal location to play out my fantasies. I imagined myself doing body shots and taking my turn lighting Ralph. Wilmington night life had given me little to no experience with marijuana, but as soon as I smelled it, I knew exactly what it was and as soon as I knew what it was, I craved it. A few late entrees to the party dispersed my illusion, and as they crowded in, every inch of the house filled. Walking through was truly an art form, and I commended anyone who managed to do it with grace. Among those I recognized at the party were Emily Griffith and Finn Deely--Rebecca’s two closest companions, but even they fell to the distance of Rebecca’s exalt.

Emily followed Finn like a puppy, awaiting his commands. Although Emily was always in the vicinity of Rebecca (because of Finn), I imagined she never actually conversed with her. Rebecca seemingly didn’t give any direction at all. Oddly enough, Finn treated Rebecca like anything she said held this immense value, but all of his declarations to and at the partygoers seemed only to come from his own agenda. The trio never ventured too far apart as to uphold a status symbol. I think Finn knew Rebecca was simply a ticket to upholding the power he so desired and I think Rebecca knew Finn only stayed around because of this, but I also think they were so desperate for the illusion of friendship that those details didn’t matter.

I continued from the kitchen up the stairs. I caught the sounds of intimacy coming from a white door with blue illumination leaking from the underside. I wholeheartedly believed I would be walking in on two Bear Creek residents deep in the tangles of passion, but I was too entranced by the novelty of the party to care. My body followed my eager toes in investigative desire. I opened the door to find a small theater with the furnishings of an upper middle class suburban home. Three partygoers lounged lazily over the loveseats, separated by what I saw as the warmth of liquid depressants. I snuck in behind the trio unnoticed as the hallway leading into the room was relatively dark. An older man donned the screen deeply enthralled in the lust of a younger woman. As he performed his tasks the partygoers laughed wildly. “Emi..ly! You..have to see...this!” one of the viewers screeched in between laughter. Emily entered the room giggling, an inconspicuous bottle in hand, “What the fuck do you wa….” The screen caught her glance. She paused for a second as if she were about to faint, but darted for the bathroom instead. A flood of laughter along with the sound of projectile vomiting filled the room as I realized where I had seen the man in the video. I had watched many a time as that man had given Emily cash, food, alcohol--anything to appease her without having to actually engage with her. The man was Emily’s father and from the age of the girl in the video, I assumed that she wasn’t Emily’s mother.

I sat in the corner of the darkness waiting for the laughter to die down to execute my escape. Finn entered and beckoned everyone out of the room. “I knew that camera I set up in her dad’s office was going to be fucking hilarious! But get outside my mom’s coming home in like a minute.” They all shuffled out followed by Finn who skipped over to the bathroom and knocked on the door rhythmically. “Come on you fucking lightweight! I’m sorry your Daddy’s an asshole, but we need to get outside. My mom is coming home.” I heard the door open and reluctant footsteps hustle down the stairs. I dared not look out of my hiding place, but I imagine Emily followed Finn with the utmost compliance careful not to speak as it would lead to her sobbing.

After I was positive the couple had wandered out of the house, I made my exit. Although the house was pitch black, I managed to squeeze my lids tight enough around my pupils to convince myself I could make out the shapes of Finn’s house as I stumbled out of the hallway down the stairs. The partygoers crowded out of the glass sliding doors in the kitchen at Finn’s command. I managed to catch a glimpse of his phone flashing a white light onto his mouth upturned in a smirk as if he imagined reacting to the text the way he would if the sender stood before him. Once he was convinced the party had in full left the house, he ventured back inside to confront his mother. I thought this ritual to be strange. The parents of Bear Creek would not condemn their children for having a party in fact they would encourage the festivities--anything to keep their requests of affection and guidance at bay.

I could’ve very easily followed the crowd out of the house, but I was far too taken with the intrigue of Finn’s exotic treasures. I had found myself intrinsically inching my way back to the living room to admire the man’s craft. Ralph, in particular, caught my attention. He was held physically and metaphorically higher than the others. From what I knew of Finn, Ralph had been the first in a long string of animal mishaps and therefore, the favorite. I picked him up, black soot staining my fingers from overuse. I turned his head toward me and jumped back. In the blackness of the unlit house, I could’ve sworn I’d seen a glimpse of life in him, but as I knocked myself back into reality, I could only see myself in the glaring reflection of his eyes.

The light tap of tiptoeing from the other side of the room caused me to instantly return Ralph and spin to face the source. The darkness had a quality over this body that it didn’t have over any other Bear Creek resident, and as I trembled forward, I began to realize it wasn’t one at all. Jackson Nell, a Wilmingtonian that I had met in passing stood before me. I knew in that moment he was why Finn had ushered the party outside. Unlike me, Jackson would never be able to secretly participate in the Bear Creek festivities. His complexion, much like the quality of the unlit house, prevented him from doing so. As our eyes met or seemingly met in the veil of darkness, I imagine we mutually exchanged a Neither of us belongs here, so keep your mouth shut, and with that exchange, he dashed out the front door. I began to return to where the rest of the party had migrated, when I noticed a heated yet hushed dialogue coming from beneath a lit door.

“After tonight, you are never coming back to this house, Finn. You will ruin this family. Do you know what we mean to Bear Creek? The Deely’s were a founding family.. We have an image to uphold and you have ruined that tonight.” No response was given or at least the response was too quiet for me to hear. The voice continued with disbelief, “My son’s a n***** loving f*****!” My mind blurred the slurs into a black stain in the back of my head. I cringed deeply as invisible fingers trickled down my backbone. I had heard the words in passing and knew what they meant, but hearing them in a mouth that held the privilege of having never been around the people those slurs described made my body cold. I heard the door creak open and I receded behind the darkness of the hallway. Finn’s mother rushed out beside me. I think the sleeve of my shirt had lightly touched hers as she passed, but in the shield of black she dismissed it. I waited in utter stillness--more than enough time for Finn to return to the party.

When I finally decided to venture back to the kitchen, I was not met with the darkness, but instead Finn’s eyes in a clean cut towards mine. Before I had seen his eyes, I had imagined them to be puffy and red, but they were sunken and sullen. I came to the conclusion that Finn Deely did not cry at least not anymore. I was frozen. I believed I would immediately be found out, but Finn took the same path as his mother and darted past me towards the kitchen. I followed quickly as to not give up the gift of Finn’s decision to ignore me.

I closed the sliding doors of the kitchen to reveal the mass of guests indulging in anything available. I made my way to a patch of grass in front of Finn’s garage, and took refuge in sitting there. I was far enough away as to not reveal my identity, but close enough to look as if I belonged. Rebecca’s snorty laughter drew my attention to her. She was so oblivious to her “friends” woes, but then again I don’t believe she would’ve cared much if she did know. Finn grabbed her arm forcibly leading her away from the crowd. “Come on, bitch. I need some air.” She pulled away snapping her arm from his grasp.

“You don’t need me to get air. Why don’t you ask Emily?”

“I don’t give a shit about Emily. She is nothing and we both know that.” Finn spoke loudly as to get the attention of Emily who had her back turned toward the two, and by the tears welling up in her eyes, she had heard Finn clearly.

“Finn. I’m not leaving. Go by yourself. I’m busy.” As she said this, her pointer finger placed a white tab on her tongue. She then turned around to the crowd and screeched which was returned by the entirety of the party apart from Finn, Emily, and me. Rebecca returned to her activities and Finn stormed off to another area of the party where he seemingly knew he would be welcomed as a king. Rebecca, Finn, and Emily, even at different corners, seem to radiate in halos of light. They were exalted like gods and no one at the party dared question it.

After quite some time studying the exploits of the Bear Creek party, I noticed the high hit Rebecca with quite a force as she stumbled around rambling nonsense. No one paid attention to it as I’m sure this was not the first time the crowd had seen Rebecca Barnett on acid. She floated around as if she were wandering a forest peeking in and out of people that she understood to be trees. At one point, she tripped causing her shirt buttons to fly open exposing her breasts, but again the crowd was unphased. She did not try to refasten her shirt or retain modesty; she just seemed so free as if the confines of the parties expectations were lifted by this little white drug. Rebecca made a final round of the party before retreating inside. I believed I would not see her again. I imagined she would’ve fallen asleep on Finn’s living room couch or immersed herself in the trinkets scattered throughout the house, but moments later, she reappeared on the roof of Finn’s garage.

Rebecca’s toes clenched the edge of the roof tile as the entire party refused to notice her, and I, being nowhere near apart of the party, refused to not notice her. She reached out, grasping for anything that could’ve been held in the acid-spiked daydream. An inch too far. Just an inch. You would think the overwhelming thud of a body hitting concrete would entirely outweigh the crunch of bones, but all anyone could hear was the crunch. The kind of crunch that makes you cock your mouth open and forcibly rumble your eardrums to drown it out. The kind of crunch that you feel in your jaw where you imagine the sound coming from your own bite. The kind of crunch that would render an entire Bear Creek party mute.

There weren’t any gasps or screams just a deafening silence that begged some nocturnal force to let out any semblance of a sound. We all stared at her crumpled body sprawled out on Finn’s driveway. I, along with the rest of the party, had seen and admired Rebecca’s tits a billion times over, and even in the immense fracture of her frame they stood perky--nipples still hard. They could have stood that way for many reasons: she could have been experiencing the chills of concentrated THC, she could of been irreconcilably horny, or more than likely she had been afraid. In the few moments just before she hit the pavement, Rebecca Barnett was terrified--something no one would’ve believed of her pre-death.

Blood dripped from her nose and pooled out beside her head down the cracks of the driveway onto the street. Her lips were ever so slightly parted as if she had been meaning to scream as she fell but no sound came out. I had fully expected for Rebecca’s eyes to succumb to the tell-tale of death, but they looked utterly the same. I came to the conclusion that perhaps Rebecca was always afraid--terribly obsessed with her classmates opinions. Quite honestly, people had stopped forming opinions of her as she was the most well-known 17-year-old this side of the West Valley. And now she was a lump. A matted lump of flesh on the sidewalk.

“What a dumb bitch!” Finn screeched as the whole crowd lit up with laughter. Then a chant all too familiar to the voices speaking it filled the air.

“Smoke her! Smoke her! Smoke her!” Finn rushed to his garage as people furiously took selfies with the body expertly avoiding the excrement that trailed behind her impeccable ass. #BeccaSplat drowned every centimeter of the internet that night. Emily Griffith had started that trend as she had most others in Bear Creek. She had started the trend of wearing fox pelts at parties, she had started the trend of smoking out of Finn’s taxidermied pets, and now she had started the trend of defiling her so called best friend. Rebecca’s body was thrown around mangled. People stretched her eyelids and tongue to make faces in the flashes of their smart phones. This was the the closest anyone had ever been to Rebecca. What a fucking rush!

Finn shooed the crowd as he arrived back with a set of tools. Everyone held their thumbs at attention devilishly eager to record the ritual. “Bitches of Bear Creek. We are gathered here today to honor our dearest friend Rebecca. Coincidently, this is the most lively I’ve ever seen the cunt!” The crowd fired off with an uproar of laughter which Finn quickly silenced. “Anyways. Rebecca was an ok person. I guess. Someone may miss her.”

Emily’s voice snapped in the crowd, “Probably not!” The masses started up again which Finn shut down even quicker than the last time.

“Alright. Alright. Let’s all calm down and do this shit.” The crowd resumed their chant. Finn pulled out a tile cutter and revved it. Cheers exploded from his viewers. He straddled Rebecca's flat body and tilted her chin up exposing her neck. He began his work by lowering the device onto her throat. Rebecca’s skin twisted around the tool like rubber bands. As it ripped, blood checkered Finn’s face and he smiled as he licked the blood from his lips. Once the hole was deep enough, Finn stepped back to admire his work. “Shit! The holes too big! Does anyone have a filter big enough to fit in her giant fucking throat?” Everyone began to check--so, so eager. After a minute of Finn’s impatient sighs and snarky asides, he had received his filter. He returned to Rebecca’s throat, lightly fingering the hole to widen her pipes. Rigor Mortis had not yet set in her body, so it was still malleable and his fingers appeared, stained red, in Rebecca’s mouth.

He placed the filter into the fresh wound. Blood seeped through the mesh until the entire piece gleamed in crimson. From the toolbox, Finn grabbed a plastic bag filled with what the residents of bear creek would call “good shit.” He crumbled the shrubbery in between his thumb and forefinger before dropping it into a silver cylinder with the crest of Bear Creek engraved into the metal. Finn twisted the cylinder till he had a fine green dust to place in his new piece. Finn whipped around to the crowd letting out a screech that the partygoers repeated in unison. “Which one of you bitches is first?” A frenzy of hands appeared in the air. Eyes were bulging. I imagine everyone had thought of touching Rebecca’s lips in some context--for those attracted to her, a thought of her lips on or in the vicinity of their genitals, and for those who weren’t, a thought of their knuckles feeling her lip burst under the pressure of their fist’s blow. I had imagined both of those scenarios and both were fucking amazing.

“You.” All eyes darted to meet mine. “I’ve never seen you here before. Who invited you?” I will never understand why Finn had lied to the partygoers about his relation to me. He had in fact seen me before moments ago in the dark hallway. Perhaps he was protecting his own image knowing what I had witnessed, maybe Jackson had quickly texted him who I was and he was finally exposing me to the masses, or most likely of all, Finn had figured out that I wasn't one of his own and decided to use me very strategically as a pawn in his newfound power game. I quickly returned the lie.

“Rebecca. We were childhood friends.” In fact, no one at the party had invited me. I had seen the Bear Creek festivities from a distance. My house resided on the border of Bear Creek and Wilmington. I had sat on the brick wall surrounding the entirety of Bear Creek and watched the exploits of prep school teenage woes. The wall, sitting at no more than 5 feet, was less of a protection measure and more of a symbol of absolute exclusivity. I remember totally immersing myself while seated on that wall. I had wanted so desperately to be every single person at those parties--to experience every frustration and desire the attendees endured in the fucked up whirlwind of Bear Creek. I was finally in the middle of it all. Finn seemed to respond with trepidation as if he didn’t believe me, but I never worried that he would question it. He couldn’t. The only person who could invalidate my story was dead.

“What’s your name Rebecca’s childhood friend?”

“Charlie. Charlie Atkins. I’m from Wilmington.” I will never fully understand why I had told them I was from Wilmington and even more so, I will never understand why I was not immediately thrown off a roof myself.

“Well Charlie Atkins from Wilmington. You’re up first.” I hesitated. I knew that after I completed this ritual the years of want would be fulfilled. I would finally be a piece (however miniscule) of Bear Creek. Did I really want it or was I more obsessed with the idea of it? I wasn’t given much time to sit on this question before Finn chimed in, “Hello? I said you’re up. Do Wilmingtonians understand that? Helloooo? Charlie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, you’re Charlie or yeah you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The crowd cheered in a mix of complying to Finn’s leadership and jealousy of the glorious gift he had bestowed upon me. As I got up from my cross legged position, I noticed Emily’s face scrunch up and flush. She hated me. I knew in that moment that I had taken her place. I was Finn’s new right hand. But all she could do was shut up and join in the crowd. We had all seen where defiance had gotten Rebecca and Emily was not about to lose her reputation over some dumb kid from Wilmington.

I flashed in and out of consciousness as I walked toward her body. The cheers were deafening and heightened with every step I took. My breathing became an unbearable weight on my chest so I held my breath till I straddled her body. I looked in Rebecca’s eyes. I had wanted this scenario so badly--to be on top of Rebecca Barnett, but in my dreams, I had imagined her eyes to hold desire, but they were glazed and I could only see myself in them. Finn squatted next to me.

“You know how to do this right? You inhale. Don’t just suck it up and hold it in your mouth. You have to inhale it, alright?”

“O.K.” My eyesight grew hazy and the hum of the crowd succumbed to the heartbeat pounding in my ears. He pulled out a lighter from his back pocket which he sparked twice before a flame appeared. Finn plunged the the fire into the powdered herb. I lowered my head closing my eyes pleading to myself to not fuck up and miss her lips; they were somehow so soft and warm--nothing you would expect from the deceased. I inhaled deeply feeling the smoke wrap around my lungs and setting my chest on fire. My entire life, I had heard about the taste, the smell, the feel of marijuana, what made a strain good or bad, how you were supposed to enjoy it, when you were supposed to enjoy it, but in this moment, all I could sense was blood--the taste and smell of iron, the feeling of it dripping down my mouth, and the clearest vision of red I believed anyone had and would ever see. I opened my eyes. A trail of smoke lightly feathered out of Rebecca’s mouth. I held mine in, my face strained and hot. Finn grabbed my shoulder,

“Let it out dude.” He patted me on the back and I coughed out a few white puffs. The crowd exploded as Finn held up my hand to show I was the newest addition to Bear Creek. As Finn ushered me towards the center of the party, I looked back. Poor, poor Rebecca Barnett--what an unfortunate end to become post-mortem paraphernalia.