#one or two instances where there *might* have been some dubious consent

[cerusee]

Are there any trigger warnings for goodbye my princess?

Boatloads, probably! But for this kind of thing? It might be easier to ask about any specific dealbreakers you have yourself, than for me to try think what someone else might have a hard time watching and want to avoid. (I’ll try to list anything I can think of in the tags, though! If there’s anything not listed you wanna know about, send me another ask.)

[titan-fodder]

The Warrior Experience; ft. the Marley Warriors

Rating: Explicit; mdni

Pairing: Zeke, Reiner, Porco, Pieck x fem!reader

Word Count: ~5.3K

Warnings: mildly dubious consent (reader isn’t exactly there of her own free will but is still dtf), multiple partners, voyeurism, virgin Colt, rough blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unpleasant contraceptives, lots of cum, clear bias toward Reiner

A/N: I don’t know what happened today. I just got possessed by the horny ghost. Enjoy~

It’s always Magath who retrieves you, the sour-faced General swinging open the door to your small room without any type of knock or warning. 

On most nights, he takes a look at you, frowns, then grunts the name of whoever is actually calling for you—requesting your “presence”. This evening, however, he remains silent, leaving it a mystery that keeps you curious as you make yourself slightly more presentable, pulling on a skirt, running a comb through your hair, just enough to look a little more human. 

You walk in silence down the hallways, your hands clasped behind your back as the older man struts in his usual militaristic fashion. As you near the Warrior quarters, you do your best to prepare yourself, but without an idea of who you’re meeting, it’s difficult. 

Because they’re all so different. Galliard, for instance, usually starts the nights off aggressively. He particularly likes slamming you into various surfaces, pinning you down with a bruising grip, but his demeanor changes as soon as he’s inside you. The once careless young man turns to jelly underneath you, gasping and groaning as his adrenaline wanes and he unravels. 

Always tired and slightly unstable, Reiner is soft. Even when his thrusts are deep and harsh, his hands remain gentle, calluses feather light as they dance up and down your ribs, over your breasts. His stamina varies. Sometimes, when he’s a little more out of his head, a little more haunted, he ruts into you for what feels like an eternity. Most of those instances, he doesn’t even come. You’re just there for a distraction— “A nice one,” he tells you quietly, gratefully, but you still know where you stand with him. 

There are nights when he’s desperate for release, however, taking you with quick, sloppy thrusts, spilling inside you within minutes then rubbing your clit until you squeeze him back to full hardness so that he can do it all over again.

Zeke is the hardest to predict, on far ends of one, sadistic spectrum: he either wants you to do all the work while he smirks up at you with a cigarette between his lips, occasionally blowing smoke into your face, or he wants to dominate you entirely. When he falls into the latter category, you’re in his bed for hours, sniffling or sobbing, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to stop—one, because he won’t listen, but also because it isn’t your place. 

The Warriors are honorary Marleyans which means they’re much more important and valuable than you are. Your opinion never matters, least of all in the bedroom. 

You’re more or less a toy for them to use, an Eldian plucked from Liberio and brought to the military base with no real say in it. The Warriors are all young and virile, after all. They have needs like anyone else, but despite their honorary status, they’re forbidden from sleeping with Marleyan women. 

So, you live here, at their beck and call with one purpose and one purpose only. 

To your surprise, Magath stops before you can get to the sleeping quarters you are very familiar with at this point. You stand outside of a closed door, raise an eyebrow at the General but don’t dare question him. 

“They’re in there,” he grumbles, nodding to the door before turning around and walking away.

They…

Raising a suddenly very heavy hand, you knock lightly then shift awkwardly until the door opens and reveals Galliard. His perpetual scowl is in place, but he nods his head in acknowledgment then moves to the side to let you in. 

Galliard isn’t the only one in the room—what looks like some kind of conference area with a sizable wooden table surrounded by chairs, a window on the far end displaying the night sky and twinkling stars. Nearly all of those chairs are full, one scooted back from the table that you can easily assume belongs to the redhead standing behind you.

Zeke is lounging comfortably, feet kicked up on the table as he puffs on a cigarette. Reiner is sitting in his chair backwards, slumped forward to rest his head on the wooden backing, though he lifts it to look at you with bloodshot eyes. Pieck, who you do not see often at all, is slouched with her arms pillowing her face, offering you a lazy smile that’s laced with something you cannot place. 

There’s one more person in the room, the vaguely familiar face of Colt Grice, Warrior Candidate slated to inherit the Beast Titan in a few years. You’ve seen him around the base, usually trailing closely behind Zeke, but haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet. 

You remain standing even as Galliard takes his seat again, nibbling on your bottom lip, waiting expectantly—nervously. The last time you were in a room with all of them at once was when you’d first been brought here, and that had just been for informal introductions. There had also been another Eldian with you at the time, a male to keep Pieck satisfied, but he’s… No longer with you. 

In true leader fashion, Zeke is the first to speak after taking a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head back to blow it into the air and creating a haze over himself. 

“Glad you could join us tonight, sweetheart,” he shows a short, unconvincing smile, and that paired with the condescending pet name leads you to believe he’s in one of his more controlling moods.

“I’m just glad to be able to service the Wa—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to do all that,” he waves you off. “I’ll cut to the chase.”

“Let her sit down first, Zeke, geeze,” Pieck murmurs before holding a small hand out for you, beckoning you to take the seat next to hers.

Never one to argue or disobey, you shuffle over to it and lower yourself, but you can’t relax, not with so many pairs of eyes on you. 

Galliard is twitchy, bouncing his leg up and down, pushing his hair back too often. Reiner, unmoving, just blinks slowly at you, expression flat. Grabbing your hand, Pieck offers a nod that isn’t the slightest bit reassuring while Zeke pins you with an icy gaze. 

“Colt here is gonna be a big boy Warrior pretty soon,” he says, motioning to the boyish blond in the corner who suddenly seems more interested in the floor than anything. “And, he hasn’t been given the chance to have the experiences he deserves. You follow?”

You nod, easily putting the pieces together. They want you to sleep with him, some sort of sexual initiation.

“As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Titan holders don’t have the longest lifespans, so I figure he needs to enjoy what life he has left.”

Another nod, then you start to stand only to be stopped by Galliard who asks, “What’re you doing? Sit back down.”

“Oh,” you plant yourself back in the chair, eyes growing as your stomach sinks. “I thought you wanted me to show Colt—”

Zeke laughs around his cigarette, adding even more smoke to the air around you, and shakes his head. “No, you misunderstand. You will be showing Colt a thing or two tonight, but in here where we can all watch and… Lend a helping hand if need be.”

Mouth going dry, you can’t stop yourself from frowning. Sleep with Colt… In front of all of them? You don’t fancy yourself much of a performer, doubt you’ll be able to put on any kind of good show under so much pressure.

But, you can’t protest. You can’t go against their wishes or complain. You should consider yourself lucky, being able to service the Warriors. It means you’re a half-step above the other Eldians—a devil but a halfway useful one.

“Um. Okay,” you consent.

Zeke claps his hands together. “Excellent,” then tells you. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Go rinse off, do whatever you need to do to get ready, then meet us back here.”

You don’t dawdle, doing exactly what you’re told. The restroom is obviously for multiple people, a few stalls with cheap curtains to block you from view. You make quick work of bathing so that you’ll have time to prepare yourself, starting the process of stretching yourself while under the spray. With no idea how large Colt might be, and taking into account that he might be completely clueless about female anatomy, you make sure to work three fingers into your cunt, moving them as best you can until you’re a little loosened up and wet. 

When you return to the conference room, you’re just in a towel, folded clothes under your arm and placed in an empty chair. 

“Easy access,” Galliard smirks. “Good call.” You squeak when he slaps your ass then sit on the edge of the table as you’re directed to. 

Most of them have shed their boots and jackets, looking a little more casual now. It doesn’t put you at ease—if anything, it makes you think the others will get a little more involved than Zeke originally let on, and the thought alone is enough to overwhelm you. 

It takes some prompting for Colt to muster the courage to approach you. The others scoot to the edges of the room, giving the two of you center stage. It's daunting, but you do your best to forget about them, to focus on the nervous blond in front of you. 

Spreading your legs, you pull him by the shirt to stand between them then look up at him through your lashes and ask, "Am I allowed to kiss you?" You can never assume. Everyone has different rules. 

When you're with Reiner, he has his mouth against yours more than he doesn't, Galliard will nip and suck against every part of you that isn't your mouth, and the closest Zeke gets to your mouth is prying it open to spit on your tongue. 

Naturally, Colt looks to his War Chief for answers, but Zeke just shrugs. "Your choice, big guy. You're the one calling the shots."

Colt contemplates for a little while but eventually nods and swallows. "Uh, yeah. That's okay, I guess."

He seems to feel just as awkward as you do about this whole situation, would also probably prefer for it to happen in private, but you imagine he's doing everything in his power to show that he's worthy of inheriting Zeke's Titan. He's basically in the same boat as you. 

Reaching up, you lace your fingers behind his neck and pull him to you, pressing your lips to his slowly, softly, trying not to spook him too much. 

After gaining as much experience as you have over the last year or so, it's rare for you to feel shy when getting intimate. Three of the other people in that room have seen everything there is to see about you, your most private of body parts, your most visceral, primal reactions. You have nothing to hide any more. 

Colt is stiff against you. His hands are still by his sides, lips firm but unmoving. 

He has no idea what to do. It's almost disappointing, knowing you're about to spend the evening teaching this kid, fresh faced, twenty years old at most and completely clueless. 

You're saved when a gruff voice makes you pull away: "Alright, this is hard to watch." Reiner sits up and rubs his eyes, then swings his leg over the chair to stand and walk over. "Grice, have you ever even seen anyone kiss before?"

Cheeks turning red, Colt moves out of the way, stuttering out "W-well yeah, but I never watch." 

The taller man takes the vacant space between your legs, and you inhale sharply when he slides a large hand to the back of your head, tilting your face even further upward. Reiner kisses you in a way that makes your head spin. He has that desperate taste he always has, and even without opening your eyes, you can tell he's frowning. But his hand is cautious, careful not to tug your hair just like he's careful not to knock his teeth into yours when he parts your lips with his. 

"There we go," Zeke laughs, clapping twice and cheering, "'Atta boy, Braun!" 

Reiner's tongue dances with yours in a heated back and forth for a few seconds before he pulls back. He doesn't smile, but he does sigh in a thoughtful manner before turning to Colt and pointedly telling him, "That's how you kiss a woman."

Reiner softly scratches the back of your head in a fond gesture, then steps away and motions for Colt to try again. 

He's slightly more confident this time around, starting off slowly at first but eventually pushing against you harder and harder until it's a little much, and you just barely push at his chest to get him to let up. He replaces pressure with tongue, probing and curious but not awful. 

"Undo her towel, Grice. Get a move on," Galliard demands. 

Colt reaches up with a shaky hand, breathing through his nose while keeping his lips attached to yours as he pulls at the loose knot just above your breasts. The material falls and pools around you on the table, and before he can be criticized again, you grab one of Colt's hands and place it on one of the perky mounds. You move your fingers over his, showing how you like to be massaged then guiding him to your nipple. 

"Oh, this is very romantic," Zeke drawls, snapping his fingers to get someone's attention then addressing, "Pock," who grunts in response. "You're a tit man, right? Your turn to show him how it's done." 

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor rings throughout the room, but instead of pushing Colt out of the way, Galliard stands on the other side of the table behind you, bends forward, then grabs you by the hair to pull you down. The breath is knocked out of you as your back hits the table, and you blink up at the redhead in surprise. 

Upside down, your face is about level with his hips, maybe a foot away from his pelvis, but before you can dwell on it, Galliard's rough hands are on your tits, groping, massaging, then pinching your nipples so that you arch and moan. 

"Know I probably shouldn't like it so much, but you sound so pretty, baby," he growls, flicking over the hardened buds then squeezing again. 

"We're all devils here. You can like it as much as you want," Reiner gruffs. 

"Justifying your own feelings?" Zeke snarks. 

You aren't able to see or hear Reiner's response, too busy whining as Galliard starts to slap your tits over and over, making the flesh burn and sting. 

Porco groans, "Mm, love that bounce," hitting them a few more times then stopping and allowing you to take a shuddering breath. 

Your body is hot all over, especially your chest, and your pussy is starting to throb. After playing with yourself in the shower, the heated kiss you shared with Reiner, and now the abuse Galliard just showered on your tits, you're starting to get restless, ready to be filled with something. 

"While I'm right here, m'gonna show you somethin' else, Grice."

Galliard grips your upper arms and slides you closer to him on the table, then undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. As soon as you feel the tap on your lips, you open up for him, relaxing just in time for him to shove his length over your tongue and into the tight sleeve of your throat. 

And, pride actually wells up inside of you. That hardly ever happens. 

There's no time to acclimate really, your only choice being to just lay and take it, so you do, choking and gagging around Galliard's cock as everyone else watches. Tears stream down the sides of your face, but you feel them get wiped away and open bleary eyes to find Pieck peering down at you, soft hands catching the drops as she coos, "You're doing so good, love."

You squirm on the table, start to rock your hips into nothing—no one—in desperate need of friction now. 

"You want something stuffed in that pussy?" Zeke calls out. 

The vibration of your responding whine makes Galliard curse and thrust into your throat until your forehead is pressed against his heavy balls. Strings of spit leak from the corners of your mouth. You try to slurp and suckle, but the steady pistoning of Galliard’s hips just keeps pushing more out. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Colt, you wanna go for it, or do you wanna watch first?” Zeke questions.

“Um, I—I’ll watch first, I think.”

“Good choice. See how it’s done before diving in.”

You’re barely aware of the conversation around you, mouth full of cock, gentle hands on your face. Pieck must not be fazed by being so close to her comrade’s privates because she just keeps stroking and praising you, like she thinks you might break or lose it. 

There are fingers on your wet folds, spreading them apart, then the harsh sound of spitting before a glob of thick fluid lands in your pussy. Zeke smears his saliva over your clit, and you buck under his touch, moaning when two thick digits are pushed into your heat all at once. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, getting used to it as he continues the job you’d started in the shower. 

“I don’t always do this sort of thing just ‘cause I like the way she feels all tight and tense on my dick, but if you don’t want her to whine as much, I’d advise prepping her with your fingers or mouth.”

You squirm and writhe, the glide of his fingers getting easier with every thrust as your hole drools slick onto the table beneath you. Zeke’s palm grinds against your clit, pressure and friction where you want it most for half a second before it disappears—comes back, disappears—until you’re forcing yourself down on his hand. 

He lets out one of his standoffish little chuckles as you slide up and down Galliard’s length and fuck yourself on Zeke’s fingers, but the delicious sensation disappears entirely when Zeke pulls out, probably to work himself out of his pants, then presses the blunt head of his cock against your clenching hole. He pushes the tip in only to pull it back out, tap it against the swollen bundle of nerves a few times, then finally pushes in all the way. 

You’re a little too far up on the table now, and Zeke doesn’t bother warning you or Galliard as he tugs you back down to better situate you on his cock, causing the other man to slip out of your mouth.

“Fuck man, I was getting close!”

Without a care in the world, Zeke shrugs him off, tells him, “Come on her face or something then, I don’t give a fuck.”

Your voice comes out hoarse as you moan for all of them to hear, teary eyes cracking open to see Galliard step back and lean against the wall behind him. His fist is tight around his shaft, but he’s pumping himself slowly, like he’s suddenly pacing himself despite just having fucked your throat raw. 

A rough pinch to your nipple brings your eyes to Zeke, blond hair hanging in his face, glasses slipping down his nose. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, but other than that, he’s basically fully clothed. He’s flushed from his neck down to his chest, jaw barely hanging open as his eyebrows raise. He’s certainly enjoying himself, and you can’t say you aren’t because the drag of his thick cock in your pussy is incredible. 

Your head lolls to one side and you find Colt staring at you with wide eyes, watching the way his superior sheathes himself in you over and over. It makes you blush, so you turn to the other side, see Reiner posted up in the corner, about half hard in his pants as he watches your face. 

Mouth dropping open, you shut your eyes, trying to will away the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. You raise your arms above your head, hands dangling off the other end of the table, and Pieck takes them, squeezing once before lightly running nimble fingers over your sensitive skin.

You’ve never been with her, not that you’d be opposed. She’s very pretty and seems kind enough. But you had guessed you weren’t exactly her type. Now, though, you second guess yourself since she seems more than content with touching you. 

The painful squeezes of Zeke’s fingers are batted away, replaced by the ghost of stimulation on your sore nipples. Pieck rubs over one so lightly you hardly register it, but it still shoots right to your pussy, makes you clench around Zeke. 

He’s holding you by the hips now, pulling you onto his cock, and it goes like this for a while. At some point, the wet sound of Galliard jacking off fades, but you doubt he’s come; he’s typically quite vocal when he climaxes. 

Zeke never lets up, fucking deep and fast and right over the spot that makes you leak until he suddenly pulls out and shoots strings of hot cum onto your thighs and the table between them. 

“You don’t… Inside?” Colt speaks up.

Rubbing his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Zeke answers, “Never. That’s preference, though. I just don’t want any accidents to happen.”

You would remind him that you go to the medic after every encounter you have with the Warriors to get checked out, given an unpleasant medicine that leaves you sick for a few days, but it’s hard to think straight right now. 

Before Colt can move toward you again or any more questions can be asked, Galliard is rounding the table, cock in hand once again, shouldering Zeke out of the way so that he can bury himself in your pussy. He’s a shorter length than the man who was in you just moments ago, but a little thicker. Veiny and curved upward, Galliard always feels good inside of you. Unfortunately for you, he’s basically been edging himself since you were pulled from him, so he doesn’t last long at all. 

Unlike Zeke, Galliard has no qualms about coming inside of you. You feel his seed fill you, mixing with your own wet arousal and making you drip with it when he pulls out. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” he grins before giving your pussy a slap, making you push more of his cum out. 

You hear someone suck in a deep breath, and Colt slowly shuffles over to you. He stares at your throbbing cunt for a while, raising a timid hand to stroke over now messy folds, and you let out a mewl, a very soft, “Please…”

Pieck places a tender kiss at your hairline that makes your heart jump into your throat, such a kind gesture as she murmurs against you, “You’re doing so well for them.”

“Can I—” You blink up at her face, floating upside down over yours. “Can I do anything f-for you, Pieck?”

She shows another one of those smiles, the kind that’s hiding a little something, and she shakes her head, wavy, black hair flowing over her shoulders. “I’m just enjoying watching. You’re very pretty to look at.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, so you just let her keep touching you, keep cooing and doting. You’ll never say no to affection like this. 

Colt doesn’t have any trouble finding your entrance, which is a relief. He lines himself up and pushes in painfully slowly, panting the entire time and letting out one very satisfying, “O-oh, shit.”

“Feels good, doesn’t she?” Zeke hums.

Colt nods, arms beginning to shake on the table. He seems to be holding himself back, whether it’s from coming or fucking into you is a mystery, but eventually he bottoms out and stays still save for his trembling. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you do feel very full, his hips flush against yours, cockhead nestled right up against your cervix. If he was any longer, you would definitely be in pain. 

“Grice, you can move, you know,” Galliard jabs, but Colt just shakes his head. 

“One second. Lemme just…” He shifts his hips some, not thrusting as much as grinding into you, and you cry out when he presses against that far wall. 

You can feel Galliard’s cum leaking down the curvature of your ass, pooling with whatever of Zeke’s is left on the table. You’re so wet, noisy when Colt finally does start slowly pulling out and pushing in. The squelches echo in the conference room and make you cringe, but Zeke seems to appreciate it as he hums, “Listen to that sloppy pussy.”

“Like music to my fuckin’ ears,” Galliard adds.

Colt has trouble keeping an even pace, his hips stuttering often, but the ridge of his cock strokes over the sensitive spot inside you—the one that makes you drool and babble—almost every time. Your muscles clench around him, changing the sensation for both of you, and when that rhythm becomes even more erratic, you know he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck, I—”

“Just add to the mess. We’ll clean up later,” Zeke reassures him.

Colt’s eyes find yours for the first time since he started fucking you, searching for something like permission, so you nod and show a lazy grin.

“It’s okay, you can come in me.”

That sends him over, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat as he milks himself in your cunt. You can feel the pressure of building liquid inside you, pushing on your insides, but it wanes when Colt pulls out. 

You feel swollen and used at this point, but your core is still hot with the desire to come. There’s a chance you won’t, especially now that Colt has finished, but you can always get yourself off in the privacy of your quarters if need be. 

The freshly fucked blond receives a couple slaps on the back, some patronizing comments from his War Chief, and you take the time to just breathe and melt into the table, enjoying the way Pieck is stroking your hair now, smiling at the other Warriors. 

Your eyes are just about to close when you see Reiner making his way over. He stands between your legs for a while, just looking over the damage, the slight discoloration of your chest, your raw nipples, mouth swollen from Galliard’s cock, then finally your used pussy. 

His fingertips brush over sensitive skin, making you shudder, and you nearly cry when he asks, “You ready to get yours?”

You nod, sucking in an unsteady breath. Reiner mouths the word, “Okay,” then unbuckles his pants and pushes them down to his thighs, and the tears really do start to gather in your eyes now because Reiner is big, and you're already getting sore from three other cocks you've taken. 

He rubs his hands up your thighs, tells you, “Wrap your legs around my waist,” which you somehow manage even though they’re weak with numbness. 

Reiner doesn’t push in just yet, though you can feel his warm cock rubbing between your engorged lips. Instead, he slides his arms under your back and lifts you, turning so that he’s sitting on the table and you’re in his lap, ankles still crossed at his lower back. 

“Just go at your own pace.” His voice is quiet, his mouth hovering just over yours, and here, like this, you almost forget about the others. 

You lift yourself just enough to line his tip up with your leaking entrance then lower yourself onto his cock inch by inch. His girth stretches you, always burns just a little, even when you’re well prepared. 

Your spongy walls make room for him, sucking him in even as you whine at his size. He waits for you to get settled, for you to start rocking, and only then does Reiner start moving. His cheeks are pink, light brown eyes nearly taken over by blown pupils, but the shift of his hips is slow and deliberate, hitting just where you need him to.

He keeps one hand at your back to help you balance, but his other moves down to press on the puffy flesh at the apex of your cunt. It forces your clit to rub against the coarse hairs on his pelvis, and you throw your head back as you finally, finally get that friction you were craving. 

Reiner lowers his face to your chest, warm tongue laving over one nipple in a soothing manner as it pebbles against the muscle. He moves to the other and does the same, suckles on it softly so that you dig your nails into his back.

You leak with every shallow thrust, various fluids getting pushed from your wet pussy, and the closer you get to your orgasm, the worse it gets. You squirt first, a juice thinner than your slick arousal dribbling from you and coating Reiner’s thighs. 

“Fucking—” He cuts himself off by kissing you, obviously uncaring of the fact that you had someone else’s cock in your mouth maybe half an hour ago. He licks into you, holding your body tight against his as your muscles tense, thighs rigid around his waist. You climb and climb, gut hotter and hotter until you reach your peak and moan into his mouth. 

Your hips start moving on their own accord, a little faster as you squeeze the thick cock inside of you until your body grows tired enough to stop. Reiner keeps the same, slow pace, rumbles, “Just keep squeezing me, and I’ll come soon.”

So, you do, clenching around him and trembling the more overstimulated you become because you’re so sensitive and so swollen and so full. Every part of you aches. Every shift of his cock makes you whimper, but when Reiner finally spills inside of you, holding you down on his spurting cock, you sigh and slump against him. 

You breathe heavily, and so does Reiner, his chest, now damp with sweat, rising and falling against yours. His shirt chafes against your nipples, making you hiss, but you’re too exhausted to move.

“Is that what sex is always like with you two?” Galliard scoffs. “That was some soft shit. I’m a little disgusted.”

If you were a little more lucid, you’d consider calling him out and announcing to the room how wanton he gets alone in the bedroom, but your brain is functioning at minimal capacity right now.

“Oh, leave them alone, Pock,” Pieck chides, and you glance across the table at her with tired eyes to find another one of those smiles on her face. “Everyone deserves some softness, especially this little angel after the way you guys treated her.”

“Didn’t treat her any differently than I normally do,” Zeke says, voice slightly muffled as he speaks around a new cigarette. 

“In that case, I offer my condolences,” Pieck tells you, pulling a little snort from you. 

“S’fine,” you slur. “I’m just happy to service the Warriors.”

Galliard rolls his eyes. Pieck hums thoughtfully. Zeke smirks. Reiner lets his head fall to your shoulder.

And, Colt croaks out a honestly endearing, “Well, I, uh, appreciate the service,” which makes you and all of his superiors laugh. 

It’s not an easy job, this one you've been given. You try to be grateful for the opportunity, but most days end with you struggling to find your own self worth.

Tonight is different, though. It’s rare that you feel genuinely appreciated, but right now, sitting in Reiner’s lap with Colt looking at you in both embarrassment and gratefulness, you feel that maybe you're worth something.

[ouyangzizhensdad]

Phoenix Mountain Kiss and Consent/Boundaries in MDZS

The following opinion, expressed in the recent mdzs controversial opinion thread on twitter, is actually one I’ve meant to address for a while:

Even if most of fans loves the 'stolen kiss scene' in the Phoenix Mountain in the novel, that was a sexual harassment.

People in the fandom, especially those who were introduced first to the novel through cql, have a tendency to criticize the Phoenix Mountain kiss scene, saying it was non-consensual. My problem is not that they are wrong. The kiss is (or starts as, at the very least) non-consensual. My problem with this criticism is that people point this out as if it were a mistake. As if mxtx had meant to write a romantic kiss and had instead fumbled it all up and made it not consensual by virtue of not being woke, not being a good enough writer, or being too influenced by bl tropes. And that readers are too unsuspecting or not educated enough to realize the wrong mxtx committed. 

Here’s my hot take: The kiss is non-consensual because it was written to be non-consensual. mxtx is not trying to pull the wool over our eyes. The reason why we, as readers, can infer that, is because the non-consensual aspects of the kiss are important to the events of the plot, some of themes explored in the book, lwj and wwx’s relationship after wwx’s return, and lwj’s character arc. mxtx uses this moment and its aftermaths, amongst others, to make a point about consent and communication in relationships--one of the central themes of the novel. Shocking, I know. Arguing that consent and communication are a main theme in mdsz: now that's a controversial opinion.

Now, I won’t argue mxtx always manages to develop this theme with utmost finesse. You can critique and disagree with her treatment of the theme throughout the novel (taking into consideration, as well, how it’s not just explored through lwj and wwx’s relationship). That being said, isolating events in the novel like the Phoenix kiss scene to mark them as Good or Bad without considering the context in which they happen and are explored within the novel is just bad literary analysis :/. 

Let’s first consider this simple statement: the non-consensual aspect of the kiss is not accidental--mxtx knew it was non-consensual when she wrote it, and she wasn’t trying to hide that fact. 

By the time we reach the Phoenix Mountain competition, lwj has accepted his feelings for wwx, and that these feelings will not be returned. After all, in the xuanwu cave, wwx took great pains to ‘reassure’ him that he is super-straight-and-totally-would-never-flirt-with-him. Yet, wwx continues to ‘flirt’ with him--tossing a flower at him just before the competition--which we can gather is a source of, um, great torment for him. 

We are not privy to lwj’s thought process leading to the stolen kiss. What we know for certain, however, is how he reacts to and perceives his own actions after the fact.  Through wwx’s unreliable narration, we can still understand that lwj immediately regrets his actions and feels uncontrollable anger towards himself and his lack of self-restraint. While wwx has more complicated and contradictory feelings bout the kiss, lwj clearly sees his actions as wrong and disrespectful. He is scared of what he has been capable of doing unto another person--pushing wwx away the moment he sees him after the kiss. 

The person spun around. It was Lan Wangji after all. However, right now, his eyes were bloodshot, his expression almost frightening. Wei Wuxian was startled, “Wow, so scary.”

Lan Wangji’s voice was harsh, “Go!”

Wei Wuxian, “I just came here and you want me to go. Do you really hate me that much?”

Lan Wangji, “Stay away from me!” [chapter 69]

As readers, we are told that the Phoenix Mountain kiss, nor its implications, is not something to consider lightly. The fact that lwj’s reaction after the kiss is written in, and that it is so intense for someone usually so reserved, or the fact that we learn that more than a decade later he is still ashamed of himself and describe himself as having done something wrong (or, very wrong 很不对 ), all prove that the non-consensual aspect of the kiss is not an accident and is not downplayed as something to expect from someone in love with another person. 

蓝忘机闷声道：“我，那时，自知不对。很不对。” [chapter 111]

I can already hear some people ask: even if it was not an accident, why chose to include a non-consensual kiss between the two romantic leads? if not because it is a bl trope/weird kink, why did mxtx chose to put this in her novel? what do we gain by including dubious consent or non-consensual interactions in our fiction?

The long-short answer is: because the act of crossing boundaries is a very productive story-telling device for any piece of media focusing on any type of interpersonal relationships. Crossing boundaries--willfully or unintentionally--is a source of conflict, internal and/or relational, which can drive the plot forward, shape character development and relationships, as well as be useful for certain thematic discussions. 

Current discourses regarding consent in English-speaking, mostly-western spheres of the web tend to be very polarized, painting people who cross boundaries as bad. The solution presented (i.e. how to not be a bad person) tends to be an invitation for everyone, within any relationship, to constantly negotiate consent verbally and honestly: to constantly disclose boundaries, to constantly ask for permission, etc. While I do not dismiss the value of these suggestions, it is an ideal representative of certain socio-temporally specific cultural expectations of what communication is, how communication should happen, and how relationships should be like, etc.. Human relationships are messy, people are flawed and hurt each other, and we have complex internal lives (for instance, someone might not realize their wants or limits until they are faced with them). Instead of having media show us only a specific type of idealized relationships where boundaries are never crossed, ever, they allow us to explore the implications of boundaries within interpersonal relationships. Or, sometimes, media and fiction just aim to represent or are influenced by this very real part of human relationships, and use it as a way to create conflict within the narrative and relationships (sometimes in a interesting manner, sometimes in a very gross manner).

In mdsz, the Phoenix mountain non-consensual kiss is a two-fold source of conflict:  internal (lwj) and relational. While wwx remains unaware until he and lwj are together of the identity of the person who kissed him, the implications of the kiss ends up shaping their relationship both before and after wwx’s rebirth. 

A source of (unknown) conflict between lwj and wwx after he is summoned back from the dead is the fact that lwj believes wwx is aware of his feelings. But this conflict is further compounded by the fact that lwj has once forced his feelings unto wwx, and is utterly afraid that he would dare to ever do it again. That is why, every time wwx initiates physical contact, or flirts very deliberately with lwj, lwj never goes further than what wwx has initiated. Sometimes, he even de-escalates their proximity or level of intimacy (usually by asking wwx to �� 别乱动”  or, famously during Drunk#2, by literally knocking himself out) --out of fear that he, again, would lack self-control and do something wrong to the man he loved.  He never presumes he has the permission to push their relationship further than what wwx is offering. Without that added source of conflict, would it have been reasonable to expect lwj and wwx to have realized their mutual feelings earlier, even with the issue of lwj not being aware wwx does not know of his feelings?

“In the beginning, the reason for behaving in such a manner was to let Lan Wangji be disgusted with him and kick him out of the Cloud Recesses, and they would never have to meet again, going their separate ways. Lan Wangji couldn’t possibly tell what his real intentions were. Yet, [..] even when faced with Wei Wuxian’s various actions, tricks, and pranks, Lan Wangji never once lost his temper, reciprocating with restraint and courtesy.” [chapter 99]

That is all true, of course, until Drunk 3. Here again, the ghost of the stolen kiss plays a part in accentuating the conflict. Without it, would lwj have jumped to conclusions as quickly? And, plot-wise, the shared perception of wwx and lwj that they have taken advantage of the other is a source of conflict that does multiple things--it gives wwx an incentive to go look at the temple at night to distract himself from his guilt and sadness, instead of going the next day with lwj (at which point jgy would have had perhaps already left) and it keeps wwx in the dark about lwj’s feelings until lxc reveals to him the events of the past he has forgotten. Here again, issues of consent are clearly taken into consideration as a source of conflict, shaping both characters’ motivations and the events of the plot.

Finally, the theme of consent/boundaries is an important aspect of lwj’s internal struggle, particularly in relation to his father’s choices. The kiss is part of his journey. 

It is not coincidental that the Lan motto is “Be Honorable”/”Self-restraint,” and that lwj is presented as the model Lan disciple. This element is part of the context that gives narrative and thematic meaning to the non-consensual kiss. When lwj forces a kiss on a blindfolded wwx, lwj goes against the values he holds dear and the teachings that were imparted unto him--prime internal conflict. 

But what is also interesting, to me in any case, is how consent is the thing that ultimately differentiates lwj’s choices from his father’s. 

How willing was Lan-furen to be saved by Qingheng-jun? to be taken to live in seclusion in the Cloud Recesses? to be married to him? to have children with him? The novel never tells us clearly. However, the novel gives us an idea of how lqr, lxc and lwj perceive their parents’ relationship. For lwj, we are given an insight into his perception indirectly during the following conversation between him and lxc.

[Lan Xichen] spoke, “Wangji, is there something on your mind? Why have you been so tense?”

Of course, in most people’s eyes, the ‘tenseness’ probably looked no different than Lan Wangji’s other expressions.

Lan Wangji’s brows sunk low as he shook his head. A few moments later, he replied in a low voice, “Brother, I want to take someone back to the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Xichen was surprised. “Take someone back to the Cloud Recesses?”

Lan Wangji nodded, his expression pensive. After a pause, he continued, “Take them back… and hide them somewhere.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes immediately widened.

[…]

“Hide them somewhere?”

Lan Wangji frowned softly. “But they are not willing.” [chapter 72]

Indirectly, we come to understand that lwj draws parallels with his father situation: they both want to protect someone by taking them to the Cloud Recesses, but these persons are unwilling. The unsaid question here is, would I choose to do as our father did? 

The non-consensual kiss is part of lwj’s journey, through which he comes to understand that, despite his strict upbringing and disciplined lifestyle that was supposed to keep him from becoming like his father, he is capable of being his father (or at least who he thinks his father is). He learns that he can understand what sort of passionate feelings could bring someone to do something that goes against not only the wishes of his clan members, but the very wishes of the person they love, for the sake of keeping them safe or for the sake of having them by their sides. And at the end of that internal journey, lwj chooses not be like his father--to put wwx’s decisions and wants and needs first. After buyetian, lwj offers his protection and confesses his feelings--and wwx rejects him. lwj respects wwx’s choice, while still going against his clan to protect him. He brings wwx back to Mass Grave Hill knowing full well that wwx would not survive long the wrath of the four great sects seeking revenge against him, and goes home to receive his punishment.

Overall, what I tried to say in many many words, is that the Phoenix Mountain kiss is not non-consensual by accident. It is not because mxtx is an awful person or is not educated enough, or because she thinks dubious consent is romantic. The fact that it is non-consensual is addressed within the narrative, fuels internal and external conflicts, and is as well woven into the plot structure and the themes of the novel. The kiss is not an outlier element, added to titillate a readership--it exists as an integral part of the novel.

I’m not saying it’s not okay to decide that you do not want to engage with any content that includes non-consensual interactions or dubious consent because that triggers or irks you regardless of the way it is handled. It is totally valid to not personally enjoy or have criticisms about choices mxtx made in exploring these themes, in presenting the internal and relational conflicts around consent/boundaries, or even in the way she decided to write the scenes that figure dubious consent. However, it is not really helpful to divorce an event from its context within a piece of media in order to brand it as either Problematic or Unproblematic, Good or Bad.

Note: Much more could be said about the theme of consent/boundaries in mdzs; this is not exhaustive in the least. 

Note2: Much more could be said, in relation to the question and theme of consent, about: the cultural limitations of Westerners to engage fully with a text written for a chinese audience; the limits of fan translators to fully understand  the nuances and themes of a novel and to communicate them in a different language; about the place dubious consent and non-consensual interactions has had in the romance/erotica genre for a long time, and no, not only because Misogyny or Homophobia. 

[someonestolemyshoes]

Stuck

My entry for @levihan-drabbles Smut Sunday event! My prompt this time was "Hange, why are you stuck there?". I might have gotten a little carried away, so this is uh...on the long side, but please enjoy anyway! 

Warnings: dubious consent, if you squint. Explicit consent talks, too, but if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable please be careful! 

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

By all counts, Hange was having a terrible day.

She had been late to the morning's budget report, too wrapped up in her research notes and the blueprints for her new titan trap to notice the time. Erwin had chewed her out thoroughly for her tardiness, and, to add insult to injury, had denied her request for new materials to build the trap. She had argued as vehemently as she dared that the materials were a necessity in ensuring the sturdiness of the improved design and that, built correctly, the new apparatus would reduce risk to their soldiers by over 50%. Despite her best efforts, Erwin had been resolute in his rejection.

She had also missed breakfast. After the meeting, incensed by Erwin's refusal, she had taken straight to her lab to revamp the design, ignorant of the time until well past 10am. Breakfast had been cleared long before the growling of her stomach pulled her out of her focused scribbling.

And then she had spilled a cold mug of tea, who knows how old, onto her research notes from the last experiments. The dark liquid sank into the fabric and blurred the ink faster than Hange could react, leaving every scrawled graph and table and footnote completely illegible.

Hange should have known, then, with her run of luck, that today was not a day to take risks. She should have anticipated that more would go wrong, that something disastrous might happen. But each instance had only served to anger her further, and Hange felt resolved to solve something. To get one thing right.

Starting with the titan trap was evidently a mistake.

It was a risk to try toying with the thing all alone at the best of times. Clunky chains and thick, heavy ropes, intricately looped and knotted for strength, cross-hatched to make them more structurally sound. Hange was up on her ladder with her torso threaded through one of the giant loops, stomach braced on the rope as she leaned over to adjust the bolts in one of the chains, when part of the structure gave an ominous creak. Something, somewhere, snapped with a crack, and Hange's foot slipped off the ladder.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Hange braced herself for impact, but a few feet from the floor, she jerked abruptly to a stop. The rope punched roughly into her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She took a second, gasping, to catch her breath.

In a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, Hange had chosen to wear her goggles while working. Her glasses, she knew, would have fallen from her face and shattered to pieces. Another expense for Erwin to pay. Luckily, her goggles held firm--no extra cost for the Scouts, and wonderfully clear vision to take in the remains of the trap.

As it stands, she'd gotten very lucky indeed. A section of rope had snagged on one of the hooks on the wall, breaking her fall. Her stomach felt tender, and would no doubt bruise horribly, but she could only be thankful that it wasn't worse.

Now, though, she had a problem.

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

Hange let herself hang over the rope and puffed her hair out of his face. The lab was out of the way, no chance of anyone incidentally passing by—it would be a waste of energy to try calling for help. All she could do was hang here and wait until someone—Moblit, probably—came searching for her.

She hung there for what felt like a lifetime. The rope had been plenty uncomfortable in the beginning, but had long since become painful. She was desperately considering her possibilities for the millionth time, when she heard the sound of feet stomping in the corridor outside, and the door abruptly burst open.

"Oi, shitty glasses, you missed lu—"

Levi stopped short. The click of his boots scuffed to a halt. His fingers slipped off the door handle, the hinges squeaking loud in the otherwise silence. The click of the latch rang as loud as a gunshot.

Hange waved a hand. "Yo, Levi. A little help?"

"The hell are you doing?"

"There was an incident. It's not important—can you help me down?"

Levi, overcoming his surprise, managed to take a few more slow steps into the room. He walked a full circle around her, ducking rope and stepping over loose chains, taking in the sight with the same scrutiny he examines bookshelves for dust.

"This," he announced, after completing his examination, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It's not my finest moment," she conceded.

"What even is this shit?" Levi touched the rope, running his palm over it. His voice sounded a little distant, contemplative. Hange didn't for one second entertain the idea that he was curious about the mechanics of her titan trap, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was that intrigued him.

"Does it matter? As you can well see, I need some help."

Levi hummed. He gripped the rope a little harder, followed it down to where it was digging into her waist. He gave it a little tug; Hange coughed out a breath when the movement jostled her. She suspected that Levi was trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten stuck. When his gaze travelled up to the hook, she assumed she was correct, and hoped that, armed with this knowledge, he might try freeing her. He stepped a little further behind her, out her direct line of sight. Hange waited impatiently for him to help get her out of the trap.  

But then, he did something Hange hadn't expected him to do at all.

He touched her leg.

To an outsider, it might have been an innocent thing. Something designed to soothe, maybe; nothing more or less than the simple touch of one's palm to another's thigh.

But Hange knew Levi. Hange knew that Levi was not one for casual touch. There were very few instances in which Levi touched anyone, and most were unfavourable--upon grievous injury, commonly, or else holding a comrades hand when death comes calling. But there is one other occasion in which Levi will touch her, at least. One other scenario where his hand might find itself on her leg, or her hip, or her waist. Up her shirt. Down her pants.

It's not all that often. Maybe a dozen times, give or take, over the years they've known one another. But it follows a very strict pattern: they have a shitty day. They drink. They get too close. They drink some more. Smoke, maybe, if they've ventured to a bar where they can snag a cigarette to share. Drink again, though at some point they give up ordering their own, and start passing the same goblet back and forth. Levi's leg will nudge up against hers. Hange leans heavily into him. She blames it on the drink, giggles a half assed apology into his ear. He lets her. They search for somewhere private—their quarters, if they're patient enough. Close enough. A back alley has done fine on more than one occasion.

And then, they fuck.

Sex, Hange had once thought, was a rather romantic notion. Two becoming one and all that. Something couples did, an act of feeling so absolute, so all-encompassing, that making love was the only way to truly express it. Older, and wiser, Hange knows now that sex can be many different things. Sex can be romantic, but it can also be rough, animalistic. Sex can come from frustration, from desperation, from an itchy beneath the skin that nothing else will scratch. Sex with Levi, more often than not comes from anger and sadness and manifests in a clash of lips, grabbing, yanking hands, the sharp bite of teeth. It comes from a desire to do something, anything, to relieve the helpless, hopeless feeling when they've done all that they could and somehow, it still isn't enough. A guilty, sordid undertaking, high on fumes with the dark of the night to hide them.

Sex with Levi has never begun like this, with Hange hanging from a makeshift harness in her lab in broad daylight.

It's not that she's against the idea, per se. There are times when Hange feels that restless ache without the weight of grief sagging her bones—times when she thinks it might be nice to find Levi in his room, or invite him into hers, close the doors and let loose. Enjoy the pleasure of it without the bite of pain.

But now, she thought, shivering when Levi's hand slid around to the inside of her thigh, was not the time.

Levi seemed to have other ideas.

His thumb brushed back and forth over her leg.

"Not that this isn't nice," she said slowly, "but is now really the best time?"

Levi, standing behind her now, gave a noncommittal hum. His other hand came to rest rather boldly on her ass, thumb running lightly up the centre seam of her trousers. Hange sucked in a sharp breath.

"Can it wait? I'm a little uncomfortable here."

Levi acted as though he hadn't heard her. It made Hange huff. Either he was deliberately ignoring her, or he was too preoccupied to listen and respond appropriately. Hange suspected the former, though when she shot him a look rather awkwardly over her shoulder, she did find him gazing quite intently at his own hand on her backside.

Hange had never really considered that Levi might be receptive to the idea of sex outside their current, unofficial arrangement. He never seemed all that interested—in her or in anyone else. His disinterest was so pronounced, that it had shocked her the first time he had touched her—she had reciprocated with equal ferocity, but the initial hunger of his touch had surprised her. Even then, when she had grown accustomed to the uninhibited way he would touch her during their meetings, he had seemed perfectly indifferent whenever they were together in any other circumstance. He retained his perpetual, bored expression, and gave her no indication that he even found her attractive, let alone had any interest.

And yet, here he was. Eyes flitting over his view of her ass and legs, his hands roving almost reverently over her. Hange blew out a loud breath.

"My legs are going dead, Levi. Help me down."

Levi ticked his tongue at her. "Oi, all trussed up like that and you expect me not to look?"

For a second, shock quieted her pleading. Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Levi's tone had been low, gravelly. The kind of voice he used when he hissed filth in her ear, hand at her throat and cock driving into her fast and hard. To hear something so calm from him, in that voice, sent a rush of warmth straight to her crotch.

"You've looked plenty," Hange said. She squirmed when his hand slipped higher still between her legs, finger running back and forth along the seam of her pants. The pressure against her clit made her writhe, forced a groan from her. She shifted her legs restlessly, searching desperately for some purchase, but found nothing. Levi, face inexpressive, cupped her fully, letting his thumb push against where he knew her opening was. Hange choked.

"Levi," she gasped, toes scrabbling at the floor. "Levi, c'mon—at least—nngh—at least let me d-down first." It was embarrassing, the way her voice grew higher with each word, until she was almost squealing.

"You look good here," he said plainly.

"Well, that's swell," she wheezed. "But I—ah—am a little uncomfortable."

Levi's hand was still cupping her. Her fingers rubbing lazily at her clit, his thumb threatening to press into her through the thick fabric. Hange let out a high whine and wriggled.

"Levi," she implored. "It hurts—the rope, its—digging in." She finished with an embarrassingly loud moan, because Levi chose that moment to let his mouth replace his thumb, pressing over her. Hot air bled straight through her trousers, right onto her cunt.

"It's painful?" He asked. Hange felt his words vibrate against her. For one incredibly stupid moment, she considered telling to forget about that, to keep his mouth on her instead—but it did hurt, and as good as Levi's every puff of breath felt, as the pressure of his tongue poking out to rub at her felt, she needed to get down.

"Yeah," she breathed. Hange suspected then that Levi truly hadn't considered that her position would hurt. They were used persistent press of the 3DMG belts, all held scars and bruises from the leather where it took the brunt of their weight during use—Levi likely hadn't expected the rope to be too different. But it was much bigger, and Hange had slammed down onto it with enough force to wind her. She told him so with great difficulty, for he was seemingly fixated on touching her with his fingers and his mouth. At length, however, he pulled away.

"Fine, hold on."

With an arm hooked around her upper thighs, Levi hefted Hange up a little higher, taking her weight off the ropes. Hange let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on her waist eased—blood rushed to the flesh where the rope had pinched and dug into her, making the tender skin throb. Levi used his other hand to yank at the restraints until the section that had been snagged to the hook came loose, then steadied Hange with a palm pressed flush to the flat of her stomach, and lowered her to the ground.

Hange knew Levi was strong. Humanities strongest, after all. But that title was in awe of his titan killing abilities. It spoke nothing of his brute strength. The ropes and chains were heavy, moving them usually took a couple of people at least. Levi had managed to hold her up and shake the ropes loose like they weighed nothing at all. The thought sent an embarrassing thrill of heat through her.

Hange's toes hit the ground first, but she made no effort to get her feet firmly beneath her. They sank down together until Hange's knees hit the floor. She straightened her torso up, spine popping in several places as she did.

"That's better," she breathed. Levi only hummed as he helped her disentangle herself from the mess of rope and chain. He heaved it aside once she was free, and crouched behind her. Her shirt had ridden up during their manoeuvring, revealing a thin strip of pale flesh at the bottom of her back. Hange could feel a cool draught blowing over the exposed skin, but it was followed swiftly by something a hair more solid, the ghost of a touch that made goosebumps pinch at the back of her neck. Levi's fingertip, trailing featherlight above the waistband of her pants.  

Hange sucked in a quick breath. She'd thought that Levi was done tormenting her, now that he'd freed her from her confines; she'd expected to be left flustered and frustrated on the lab floor, but Levi, it seemed, wasn't finished with her yet. He hooked his finger into one of her belt loops and yanked up and back. Hange jerked forward, slapping her palms into the ground to keep her balance as Levi raised her hips up. The fabric of her trousers, already a little tight, pulled taut—the seam pressed painfully against her sensitive clit. She whimpered through clenched teeth and gathered her knees more solidly under her in an effort to relieve the pressure.

"Fuck, Levi," she hissed. She glared over her shoulder at him to find his gaze sweeping over her. The thing with Levi was, he never looked impressed. It was impossible to tell, in moments like this, with his sharp eyes travelling over her, whether he was pleased with what he saw or simply satisfied that his view wasn't terrible. "Do you have to be so rough?"

"You've never complained before."

Hange flushed. She tried to form a suitable response, something biting to retort with, but her mind could focus only on one thing; Levi's hand, gliding up the length of her spine now, pushing the fabric of her shirt until it bunched beneath her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Levi said nothing. He skimmed both palms, this time, from her upper back to her hips, and back up again, fingers curving to follow the contour of her waist, her ribs. With her breath held, it was quiet enough for Hange to hear the way Levi's callouses caught the bandage binding her chest. His thumbnail scratched lightly at one point where the wrappings met her skin, hooking beneath it. Hange tensed, and Levi's movements ceased abruptly.

"Can I take this off?"

Hange shook her head. "Not today," she said. And then, quiet and a little guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine."

He withdrew his hands from near her chest. One hit the ground beside her, while the other sunk to her hip, fingers digging into her groin. He pulled her back towards him until her ass was flush to his hips, and at the same time, Hange felt his torso rest against her back, the buttons of his shirt pressing cool into her heated skin. His mouth settled open and hot at the base of her neck. Hange shivered as his tongue laved over the skin there, a choked out little sigh stuttering out of her—she felt hot, trapped; prey pinned by a hungry predator. It sent a tremulous thrill zipping up her spine.

Levi's teeth sunk into the back of her neck. "Down."

Hange obliged without thought. Arms folding, back arching, she sunk low until her chest met the hard floor.

"Good," Levi hummed, pleased. His voice was deep, hoarse, and barely loud enough to register, but Hange could feel the rumble of it shudder right up her spine. The change in her position made it harder for him to reach the bare skin of her neck, but she could feel, acutely, the heat of his breath billowing through the layers covering her upper back. He always had an aura of calm about him, and an unreadable expression that bordered on indifference, but there was something in the heavy pant of his breath that exposed his excitement. It was gratifying to know she wasn't the only one. 

When she was settled, Levi straightened up. Hange could feel his eyes roving over her, but flat to the ground as she was, with her face tucked into her folded arms, she could see nothing. She jumped when his hands cupped her waist, almost tenderly; he stroked his thumbs over the skin where the rope had been. It hurt, aching in the way heavy bruises do, but when Levi's fingertips pressed a touch deeper into the welts stretching over her stomach, she squirmed, and not altogether from discomfort.

"Is it painful?" He asked, almost absently.

"A little," Hange wheezed. Levi made a thoughtful little sound, brushing his thumb and fingers back and forth over the wounds, and then he shifted back—cool air flooded into the space between their hips, and Hange almost cried out in disappointment—but before she could complain about the absence of his touch, she felt instead his impossibly soft lips, smoothing over the spot his hands had been. First one side, then over to the other.

Hange's muscles flexed and twitched beneath her skin as Levi kissed her. In the handful of times they had fucked before, tender kisses had never been a part of the equation. Everything was rough, biting, scratching, choking, gripping so hard they left fingerprint bruises on each others skin. Hange had never walked away without a limp in her step and a satisfying ache in her hips, the kind that lingered for days on end, as a reminder of what they had done. In their handful of whirlwind encounters, Levi had never kissed any part of her like that. As though she were something fragile. Something precious.

Hange almost straightened herself up to look at him. He lingered so long with his gentle ministrations that Hange thought, for a moment, he might have abandoned their romp in favour of laving her in his silent apologies. But then he shifted, lips dragging to the centre of her spine and down, down, until he found her waistband, and his hands looped around to the front of her pants, finding the buckle and deftly unfastening it.

He was in no particular hurry. He took his time, running his tongue across the bottom of her back as his fingers worked open the buttons on her fly, and explored the newly exposed skin at his leisure. The tips of his fingers, at first, dipping just beneath the elastic of her underwear, running from hip to hip and eliciting shivers and huffed out breaths from Hange as he went. And then he pressed lower, until his fingers found coarse hair. He took his time here, too, allowing his touch to stray near to where she wanted it before dancing away again. Hange grit her teeth in frustration, her hips swaying of their own accord, curling and wriggling, trying desperately to meet his idle fingers. His spare hand brushed up the outside of her thigh, soothing at first, and then he gripped her tight, limiting her motion.

She could feel his smile press against the bottom of her back.

Hange hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of begging. She tried what she could to keep her mouth shut; bit her lip, bit her knuckles, bit into the sleeve of her jacket, huffing panting, needy breaths through her nose in an effort to stifle the whines and pleading moans that threatened to spill out. And she had thought, for a moment, that she had succeeded—Levi finally graced her with the touch she desired, rough fingertips grazing over her clit, swollen and aching now, desperate for attention. Her hips bucked and she moaned, knees instinctively spreading wider. But then, the touch passed. Levi's fingers brushed along her groin instead, withdrawing. Hange's throat tightened, a frustrated lump forming, choking her.

"Levi." She had hoped to sound more angry, but her voice came out high and tight. Desperate. She bit hard at her lip.

"Hm? What?"  

"You know what," she hissed. It was absurd, how badly she felt like crying. Her need was bordering on painful; a throbbing, pulsating kind of desire, hot and heavy between her legs. She felt almost dizzy with it.

Levi had never teased her before. Sex was perfunctory; a means to an end. A quick, rough fuck, just another way to burn off steam, like sparring, or running. Feeding a specific hunger; scratching a persistent itch. Drawing things out was never a part of the equation. Hange didn't know how to handle the building tension—her body screamed for relief, release, anything, but Levi seemed perfectly at his leisure. Unhurried.

"Touch me," she grit out, splaying her legs wider still. Levi rubbed his hand against her lower belly. "Please."

"You said now was a bad time, before," he said. He must have anticipated Hange's indignance, for he closed over her and pinned her chest down with a hand between her shoulder blades before she had a chance to straighten up.

"That was before," Hange ground out. "You've started something now. Finish it."  

Levi made a quiet, thoughtful sound. Hange twisted her face to one side, flushed cheek pressed to the cool floor, and tried to gauge his expression. It was as unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, face impassive.

And then, without preamble, he sunk his hand deeper into her pants, and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.

Hange swore loudly. Her hips jerked at the sudden touch. It was bordering on painful. Usually, rough was fine. Rough was good. Sex for them was often something like fighting, so Hange was no stranger to these aggressive touches. Usually, she delighted in it. Levi had learned her body well, toed the line between pain and pleasure with the same innate expertise he had for killing titans. Quick and efficient.

But this, for some reason, was too much. Hange twitched painfully and gasped his name, freeing one of her arms and reaching beneath herself, gripping tightly to Levi's wrist.

"Levi—too much."

Levi's touch stopped. His fingers splayed over her lower belly again, thumb rubbing back and forth as Hange released a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked plainly. He sounded unbothered, almost bored, but Hange knew him better; the fact that he had even asked spoke volumes of his concern.

"A little," she said. Levi curled over her and dropped a kiss to the middle of her back. He mumbled a sorry so quiet Hange barely heard him.

"It's fine," she said. "Just...not so rough, next time? I'm too sensitive."

Levi ran his tongue up the trench of her spine, between the hard ridges of muscle, and hummed quietly. He let his fingers wander back to her clit again, but they settled over her far more gently. She gasped, and moaned quietly. Levi rubbed light circles over her, eliciting more soft little sounds. Hange was used to being vocal, and Levi was used to trying to shut her up, with a hand clamped over her mouth or his fingers depressing her tongue, but he made no move to quiet her this time. She bit her lip and breathed, harsh and uneven, through her nose as Levi's strokes found a rhythm. The weight of his chest rested fully on her back.  

Hange could easily imagine the same weight pressed against her as he fucked her, pinned her down and buried himself deep within her. She could imagine the way he'd grind into her, barely withdrawing an inch but still punching the air from her lungs when he pushed all the way back in.

He was shifting over her now, his body twitching in quick, jerky motions that didn't match up with the way his fingers were rubbing her. Belatedly, Hange realised that the hand not playing with her clit was nowhere to be found; he wasn't bracing on the ground, nor touching any part of her body. Raising herself up a little, Hange turned to look behind her, and let out a low, guttural moan.

Levi's spare hand was down the front of his own pants. He stroked himself off with quick, uneven strokes, his face pressed against her back. Hange could feel his hitching, panted breaths against her skin.

She breathed his name and pushed her hips back, seeking him. Searching for the pressure of his cock against her cunt, something to ease the heavy need there. She bumped against him once, twice, before Levi withdrew his hand from his pants to grip at her hip, pulling her back.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. He pressed his forehead into her back and ground his hips forward, pressing desperately against her. He must be able to feel her, how wet she was, even through the layers she still wore, for she could easily feel the heat radiating from his cock as it strained against her trousers. Hange whimpered, resisting every urge to shove back onto him. She wanted him to inside her, wanted to feel the stretch as he fucked her open; wanted the delicious ache as he buried himself to the hilt within her, the satisfaction of being full.

Levi curved himself over her, craning until his lips and teeth nipped at the back of her neck. The head of his cock nudged right at her opening and Hange let out a quiet, needy moan, pushing her hips back towards him.

"Hange," he said. Hange gave a shaky hum in acknowledgement. "When did you last bleed?"

Disappointment and a deep, loathing kind of frustration washed over her. Her face twisted in a grimace and her hands, balled into fists, smacked against the stone. She dropped her forehead to the floor, swearing under her breath, and mumbling her response. Levi pinched her hip, brushed his lips over her skin.  

"I can't hear you, stupid."

Louder, she moaned, "Last week."

"Ah."

Too recent. Hange could hear the pang of disappointment in Levi's tone, too. He was just as worked up as she was, hard and straining, and it must be torture for him to feel Hange so ready for him, wet, tight, eager. Inviting. But the timing was off. Too soon after her last bleed. Not worth the risk. Levi knew it, and Hange knew it too, but that didn't stop her from wriggling against him, hips easing back, searching for him, desperate for his length to split her open.

Levi let out a low growl and ground against her. Hange half wanted to resign herself to an unsatisfying release, to guide Levi's attention back to her neglected clit and get off quickly, but before she could regain his attention, Levi withdrew his hand from her pants completely, and instead yanked them over her ass, and worked them a little way down her thighs. His breath felt hot and fast gainst the back of her neck as he tugged at the tight fabric. Hange felt his cock bare against her. She shivered and sucked in a quivering breath.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna fuck you," he said simply. Hange whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, make room for him between them, but her trousers, wrapped around her thighs now, prevented her from opening them, and besides—

"We shouldn't—Levi, we can't."

He made a gruff sound against her. Hange could feel his fingers trembling as he gripped the outside of one thigh, pushed her legs closer together. Hange shuffled the other further in to keep her balance, head spinning. Levi shifted so his knees, either side of hers, kept her thighs pinned together.

They couldn't—it wasn't worth the risk, she knew, and every logical part of her screamed that they should stop now, before they made a mistake. Levi dug his face between her shoulder blades and his hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock and giving it a few jerky pumps. He guided it close; Hange felt the smooth head nudge against her dripping entrance.

"We can't," she said again, weakly. "Levi, we—"

Her breath hitched as Levi applied a little pressure. She could feel herself beginning to stretch for him, opening up as he pressed a little into her. She gasped, groaned, shifted her weight; she meant to move forward, away, but her hips sank helplessly back instead. She almost sobbed in relief as the stretch increased, the sensation dizzying, delicious. She tried again to spread her legs, but Levi's legs locked her in place.

"Levi—Levi, please—" Hange wasn't wasn't sure what she was pleading for. For him to stop, before they went too far, or for him to drive into her, fuck her until she couldn't stand. She felt him hiss against her back.

"Wanna be inside you," he breathed. "Fuck, Hange—you feel so good."

Hange could barely keep herself still. It took every ounce of strength to keep some presence of mind, to hold her trembling hips in place, but it felt like a losing battle. She wanted to feel full, fucked out and satiated. She wanted to feel every inch of him spreading her open, wanted him to fuck and fill her until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give. They shouldn't, they couldn't—but Hange had never wanted anything more in her entire life. To deprive herself was the cruellest thing.

Levi came to his senses before she did. He growled loudly, teeth bared, frustration evident, but he pulled his cock away from her opening and drove instead between her legs, right up against the apex of her thighs. The head of his cock bumped her clit and Hange let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail. He tightened his knees against hers, wedging her legs as tight together as he could. He let out a low moan, pulling back slowly, savouring the tightness of her thighs pressed around him. Hange squirmed and squeezed her legs together, desperate to keep his cock pressed up against her. She ground her brow into the ground and let out a harsh, ragged breath. Levi brushed his lips against the edge of the coarse bandage, over the nearest patch of skin.

"What I'd fucking give to be inside you now," Levi breathed, strained. He drove his hips forward at a slow, building pace. Hange squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her hips back to meet him. "Fuck you just like this."

Hange whimpered out her yes, and reached down to pull one of Levi's hands from her hips, guiding it to her clit. He applied a dizzying pressure there, pressing down and rolling his fingertips against her, and the combination of that, plus the length of his cock gliding so temptingly against her, was enough to make her thighs tremble.

"Next time," he grunted. Once or twice he pulled back a little too far and for a moment the head of his cock nestled back against her entrance before popping free and sliding between her thighs again. Each time, Hange guiltily hoped he would slip inside, that they would ignore the consequences, leave it as a problem for another time. It made her twitch, and whine, and fuck her hips back harder against him.

His fingers rubbed rougher circles over her. Hips bucked harder. Hange felt the tension winding low in her gut, in her thighs--her breathing, already ragged, began to hitch and hold, punching out short little mewls and sucking in quick, uneven gasps.

"Close—Levi, I—hah—I'm gonna come—"

Levi gave an affirming grunt against her shoulder blade and fought to keep his pace even. Levi wasn't much of a gentleman in any common sense of the term, but no matter what they did, how quick and harsh sex was between them, Levi always made sure Hange finished first. It was chivalrous, in a way. She might have laughed at the thought if her orgasm didn't cut her off, choking the sound in her throat. Her mouth opened in a silent moan as her body drew impossibly tight, impossibly tense—and then the tension broke, and she was left shuddering, incoherent, disjointed sounds bleeding out of her, eyes watering with relief. Levi rode her through it, and then followed after her, with a few hard, jarring thrusts and a grunt muffled against her back. Hange felt him spill up her belly and onto the floor beneath them.

Without his hands to hold her hips up, Hange sank down to lie flat on the floor. Levi followed her down, pressed to her back, and together they lay there, gathering their senses and catching their breaths.

After a moment, Levi rolled off of her, and sat up. Hange pushed herself upright on shaking arms. She took in the mess—on her front, on the floor, between her legs. Heat rushed through her, sweeping into her stomach. In her lab, of all places.

"Stupid Levi," Hange said. She tugged up her pants and sat on her backside, levelling a kick at Levi's knee. He had already tucked himself into his pants with a grimace, but he was too sluggish post-orgasm to dodge her. "Anyone could have walked in here!"

"They didn't."  

"They could have! What if Erwin had come looking for me, huh? Or Mike? What about poor Moblit!"

For a second, Levi looked like he might smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hange flushed hot at the memory. Poor Moblit, she thought, guiltily recalling their first needy fumbling in Hange's office. She had been drunk—they both were, probably too drunk to reasonably consider the consequences of their actions—and Moblit, ever the loyal sidekick, had only come to check Hange had made it to bed. He'd hoped to find her sleeping soundly. He certainly hadn't expected to find her sprawled back on the desk with Levi's face between her thighs.

"You wanna scar the poor bastard again?" Hange hissed. Levi shrugged. Hange narrowed her eyes at him; perhaps she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw something in his expression that looked almost smug. Hange huffed at him.

They fell into a strange silence. Hange busied herself kicking and dragging the remains of the titan trap to the side of the room. She piled the ropes up as neatly as she could manage, while Levi used a napkin to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he simply sat back and watched her. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you mind? Me touching you like that."  

Hange looked over at him. His face gave nothing away, no hint of guilt or trepidation at all, but there had been something in his tone; a hesitance to voice the question out loud.

"You're asking me that now?"

Levi turned his eyes away from her.

"I figured you'd let me know. If you really hadn't wanted to."

"Most people just ask before they start feeling someone up, you know. Saves all the confusion."

Hange had meant it in a teasing way, with her tone light and her lips turned up in a wry smile, but Levi paled after she'd spoken, eyes a fraction wider than normal.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Screwed up his face, then said, "I don't—I never want to—" He let out an annoyed huff, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was perhaps the most flustered Hange had ever seen him. "I'm not into that shit. I don't get off on making people do shit they don't wanna do."

There was something imploring about the way he looked at her, after that, as though he needed her to listen. As though it were important to him that she understand.

"I know," Hange said, struck by the sudden need to soothe him. He had lost all colour, and looked oddly distressed. "I know. And you're right, I'd have let you know if I didn't like any of it."

It took a long moment, but the tension in Levi's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hange plopped down to sit next to him and nudged her shoulder to his.

"Maybe we should get a safe word for next time." She grinned, then laughed when Levi weakly elbowed her. "How do you feel about titans."

Levi scowled at her. His eyes looked dark and broody as ever, but there was a pinch to his cheeks, as though he was trying not to smile. "How do you feel about fuck off."

"Nah, you say that too much. What about Erwin's toupee."

"I don't wanna think about Erwin when I'm fucking you."

Hange's face heated a little at the brazenness in which he said it. She laughed, and said, "how about eyebrows?"

Levi grimaced. "Still Erwin."

Hange laughed a little harder. She leaned into him, so close that when he twisted his head to look at her, his fringe tickled her face.

"I kinda like it. Nice and snappy."

Levi tipped closer to her. His nose brushed against hers.

"How about stop talking shit," he said. Hange felt his breath blow hot over her lips, smelled the rich, perfume scent of the tea he'd drunk at lunch. Their brows bumped clumsily together. Levi pressed closer, more solidly to her.

"Too long," she breathed. Levi hummed quietly, tilting his face up so his nose nudged along hers. "Can we go back to titans?"

"Whatever. Use whatever shitty word you want." His voice had gone strangely low, and just a touch breathless. Hange felt her own breath catch somewhere in her chest.

"Titans it is," she said. Levi's lips were so close, Hange could feel them brushing against hers when she spoke. She and Levi had kissed a few times. The sloppy, biting kind of kiss, hot and furious. It was always part of the process—A to B, kissing to fucking. It was never something sweet, or gentle. They never kissed for the simple sake of kissing.

Hange found herself wanting to, now. She wanted to close the breath of distance between them and feel Levi's soft lips against her own. It was an outrageous thing to want, really. Kissing without the promise of something more, it strayed into unfamiliar territory for them. Dangerous territory. Hange had sworn her heart to humanity, same as Levi had—but right now, hers was beating out of her chest for him.

Levi let his mouth touch barely against hers. Hange's eyes fluttered closed and she waited, heart pounding, for him to make some kind of move. To pull away or press closer, either, something.

Instead, he said, quiet and rasping, "this safe word. How does it work?"

Hange rolled her brow against his. "You just say it, if there's something you don't want to do, or if you want to stop."

Levi made a thoughtful sound. Hange felt his fingers graze over hers where her hand was braced on the floor.

"So you'd say titans, if you didn't want me to kiss you now?"

Hange let out a long breath. She nodded, but said nothing more. Levi waited. Hange made no noise at all, and after a moment, Levi tipped his face up and kissed her sweetly. Simple, chaste, his lips pressed against hers. He sighed out a trembling breath through his nose.

They stayed like that for too long, for a kiss so simple, but Hange hadn't wanted to pull away. It was warm, comfortable. She felt pleasantly content. Levi was the first to move, and when Hange opened her eyes she caught sight of his own eyelids fluttering, blinking rapidly, as though he had just awoken from a dream. He licked his lips.

"Not bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take whatever compliment I can get, coming from you," she said. She dragged herself to her feet, dusting the back of her pants. She grimaced at the tacky, drying wetness in her underwear. "C'mon. I need a shower. And you said I missed lunch, right? No wonder I'm starving!"

Hange held out her hand for him. Levi took it, climbing to his feet while Hange hefted him off the floor. He looked equally uncomfortable with the situation in his own clothing, tugging at the sticky fabric with an angry frown. Hange hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the lab, pausing only to lock the door behind them. Levi kept step with her as they walked down the corridor. If her closeness, or her happy, out of tune humming bothered him, he didn't show it. They were approaching the end of the hallway when Hange dug her elbow into his ribs lightly.

"Next time," she said, "if you insist on fucking me somewhere inappropriate, we're doing it in Erwin's office. I don't want to put poor Moblit at risk again."

Levi pulled a disgusted face, shoving at her. Hange teetered out of his reach, gleeful.

"On his desk, maybe. Or in his chair. His room is attached, right? Maybe even in his bed—”

"Titans, Hange. For fucks sake, titans."

[mrsjadecurtiss]

Hey can I ask a question? I was rereading asoiaf and I noticed something that I didn’t see earlier…Lysa tells that she slept with Baelish when he was so drunk he passed out and when he was healing from Brandon’s wound (so he took milk of the poppy and his mind wasn’t clear)…so she raped him?

“No doubt a slow one,” Tyrion said. “My lord, you were fostered at Riverrun. I’ve heard it said that you grew close to the Tullys.”

“You might say so. The girls especially.”

“How close?”

“I had their maidenhoods. Is that close enough?”

The lie—Tyrion was fairly certain it was a lie—was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that one could almost believe it. - Tyrion IV, aCoK

In Lysa's and Petyr's backstory, we find out about two instances of them engaging in intercourse in their youth. The first one happens when Lords Bracken and Blackwood visit Riverrun. The second one happens when Petyr recovers from his duel with Brandon.

Lord Bracken's singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted. When the lords began to argue my father took them up to his audience chamber, so there was no one to stop us drinking. Edmure got drunk, young as he was . . . and Petyr tried to kiss your mother, only she pushed him away. She laughed at him. He looked so wounded I thought my heart would burst, and afterward he drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed before my father could find him like that. 

[...] That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt. He told me he loved me then, but he called me Cat, just before he fell back to sleep. Even so, I stayed with him until the sky began to lighten. - Sansa VII, aSoS

In this first instance, Petyr definitely did not give consent to sleeping with Lysa, as he did not recognize her at all and was under the impression she was Catelyn (which he appears to think until this day). It seems Lysa was not acting with malicious intent as it appears she didn't know that he thought of her as Cat until the end when it was over; some might thus at first be inclined to show a benefit of doubt as we do not know how drunk Lysa was herself, so it could have been a mutual misunderstanding. However as Lysa appears to remember it in a more lucid way and retells it in an active manner as opposed to Petyr's more passive role and his seemingly much worse state of drunkness, the story's intent generally looks to be that she was of a clearer mind and abused his decreased ability to give consent, making it a rape even if she herself would not recognize it as such.

A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandon's squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he'd been born. - Catelyn VII, aGoT

This second instance leaves a bit more room for speculation - Petyr appears to have been lucid enough to recognize and remember her as Lysa, and he reads of a clearer mind as well (making decisions such as sending Edmure away). Mind that while he would definitely be on a lot of milk of the poppy in the beginning, this would be due to a terrible wound that would also make it impossible for him to have s*x; once his healing progressed enough to have s*x with her he might not have been on as much milk of the poppy.

A favourable reading might compare Petyrs encounter with Lysa (grieving Cat's rejection and injured) with Robb's encounter with Jeyne (grieving Bran and Rickon and injured); resulting in a situation of "dubious consent". However, Petyr's injury was much worse, while Robb is implied to have healed from his wound by the time he gets the news of Bran and Rickon. Still it is possible that the encounter happened near the end of Petyr's stay at Riverrun and that he was healed enough to have the ability to consent; we have no ironclad knowledge of his medical details.

But given the history of their previous encounter, one can also be inclined to read it as another willfully ignorant abuse of Petyr's decreased state of mind similar to the first incident, which would make it another act of rape. General reader consensus appears to favour this option.

In any case it seems clear that young Lysa never lay with Petyr in a way where he was of a completely clear, happy and normal mindset and body; and his true affections always lay with Catelyn.

This is a very heavy and somewhat controversial subject, so i hope i could show it in a manner that sheds light on it in a respectful way. If you have disagreements or objections with anything, feel free to reply to this post or send another ask.

[kitkat1003]

Where the Ice Crushes the Wave

Warning, this fic contains instances of:

Dubious Consent  Possession  Emotional Manipulation  Abuse  Minor Character Death  Hurt No Comfort  Blood and Gore 

Summary:

I don't know if you've heard of Possessed Tang, but it's everywhere on tumblr, and it's basically an excuse to hurt Pigsy.  I decided to go ham. The warnings I put are real.  Viewer Discretion is advised.

AO3 Link

Pigsy notices something is wrong immediately.

It’s not hard.  He’s been watching Tang for years, knows him like the back of his hand.  He knows that Tang is always there when he opens, at least for a few minutes.  They’ll banter, then Tang will disappear for a few hours before arriving at lunch to steal some noodles.  At some point, Pigsy will yell, chase him out but not really, and Tang will laugh all the while.

On a good day, Pigsy will invite Tang upstairs, and they eat dinner in Pigsy’s apartment.  They’ll sit in front of the TV for hours, making fun of idiots in cooking shows, and Pigsy will deliberate over and over on the idea of moving his hand to hold Tang’s.  He never does, because he’s afraid to push, afraid to ask for too much and lose what he already has.  

Pigsy can feel the power he has, vibrating in his skin, hidden because the person he used to be is not who he wants to be now, ever.  He knows that if he let that loose, if he grew tall and strong and dangerous, everyone around him would suffer; he holds it all in.

He just waits for Tang.  He can be patient.  He has spent a thousand years learning to be, and he thanks his master for teaching him, because if he was to wait for anything it would be this.

He’d spend an eternity and a day waiting for that.

For four days, though, Tang doesn’t come to the shop at all.

Pigsy texts him, calls him, and gets nothing.  He shouts more, is biting and sharp for those four days, wracked with worry and desperate for answers.

He searches even the town once.  Twice.  He waits, because that’s what he’s good at, but at the same time he wants to grow large and take charge, to roar into the night and shake the world until it tells him where his Tang is.

Four days of waiting before Tang appears in the shop in the morning.  He smiles and waves, as if he hadn’t blown Pigsy off for four days, as if he hadn’t worried Pigsy sick.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Pigsy grabs Tang by his scarf and pulls, too angry and worried and hurt to stop himself.

Tang starts but gives him an easygoing smile in return.  That’s what tips Pigsy off first.  The curve of the lips is wrong, more cunning than kind.

“Sorry-family emergency.” Easy deflection. Tang shrugs.  “I kept meaning to text you back, but stuff kept coming up.”

Pigsy could almost accept that, except Tang has never brought up his family before.  To talk about them now, it seems too...convenient.  And regardless of that, Tang has never left Pigsy in the lurch like this.  It’s too out of character.  A quick text to say ‘I’m okay’ would take but a minute.  Tang is kind enough to give Pigsy a minute of his time, he wouldn’t just let Pigsy sit worried.

Right?

He stares at Tang, squinting a little, and almost lets him go.  But then.

“You changed your glasses,” he notes.

The rims are blue.  He can see traces of snowflakes on the lenses.

Tang smiles, eyes shut and head tilted to one side.  Pigsy is suddenly aware of something dangerous, sitting beneath his friend’s skin.  The hairs on his arm stand up straight, and it is so, so obvious now that this isn’t Tang at all.

“Yes,” Not Tang says, and his smile is all teeth.  “Do you like them?”

Pigsy knows a challenge when he sees one, and he takes a breath.

“Prefer your old ones, actually,” he grunts out.  “Blue isn’t your color.”

Not Tang laughs.  It sends a shiver down Pigsy’s spine.  But it isn’t just fear, no, his cheeks color.

“On that, Pigsy, we will have to disagree.” His name out of Not Tang’s mouth sounds foreign, but it’s Tang’s voice, and Not Tang curls something soft and sweet around Pigsy’s name like it knows.

Pigsy goes to work, and firmly refuses to look over his shoulder.

He can feel Not Tang’s eyes on him anyway.

MK doesn’t notice anything wrong with Tang.  Mei doesn’t either.  Not Tang tells MK a story, talks animatedly with Mei about her next race and promises to be there.  Pigsy makes a bowl of noodles on autopilot and hands it to Not Tang.  Not Tang holds the chopsticks differently.  Not Tang doesn’t slurp up the noodles and fails to give Pigsy a smirk when he finishes the bowl, like Tang would have.

Pigsy is tense the whole day, and he waits until MK heads upstairs and the shop is closed to do anything.

“Can I walk you home?  Figure we should talk.  Haven’t seen ya in four days,” he jerks a thumb towards the door.  Not Tang tilts his head to the side, and his glasses flash in a way that is so familiar, and yet makes Pigsy shiver again.

“Sure.  I missed you.” And Pigsy is taken aback, because it sounds like Not Tang means it.  Maybe he—no, he knows this isn’t Tang.

But how much is it not Tang?

They walk out of the store, and down a block or two.  Pigsy doesn’t know where Tang lives, though he suspects somewhere near the library, but Not Tang is following his lead.  Looks like Not Tang doesn’t know, either.

He grabs Not Tang by the scarf, and drags him into an alley.  He slams Not Tang against the wall, hard but not too hard because Not Tang is still Tang’s body. Tang is still mortal.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” he starts, and he lets his tusks out, baring his sharp teeth like a challenge, a growl in his throat.  His eyes glow ocean blue, his nostrils flare.  “But you better get the fuck out of my friend or—”

The words die in his throat as Not Tang laughs, cold and dark, and as he looks up and sees his own gaze met with something sharp and blue and icy.

“Or what, Bajie?” 

His voice has an undercurrent of something familiar, another voice Pigsy recognizes.  He wracks his brain.

“What, don’t recognize me?  Not surprising, when only one of your troupe ever could.”

That has Pigsy stumbling back, because he knows, now, he knows what that means.  It’s a stain on his pride, one of his many regrets, it’s—

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and she laughs.

“In the flesh, so to speak.  Does he suit me?” she asks, tugging on Tang’s skin and hair like one might with clothes.

She frowns, tilts his head to the side at an unnatural angle. “I’m not a fan of red,” she tells him. Then Tang changes, hair black to white from the roots.  It travels down, red to blue, silver to gold.  His skin gains a blue tint, as well.  The air around them drops in temperature, and Pigsy can see his breath.

She brushes herself off, takes a little bow, and all Pigsy can see is Tang who isn’t—this isn’t—how did she—

She takes a confident step forward, and Pigsy, in all his rage, still only sees blue.

“You get out of him right now, or—”

In a flash, she pulls out a knife and presses it against Tang’s throat.  Pigsy sees a few spots of red from where she’s pressing the blade, and cool terror sinks down his spine.  She wouldn’t, would she?  He can’t be sure, with how she’s wielding the weapon like a promise.  He takes a step forward out of panic, and stops when she raises a brow. 

“You do anything but what I say, and I stain this new outfit.” She smiles, and it’s Tang’s smile, the one that Pigsy melts under the sight of every time.  

But here, now, he’s ice.  Fear roots him to the spot and Pigsy swallows the lump in his throat.

“And if I tell the others about ya when you aren’t looking at me?” he grinds out between gritted teeth.

She tilts her head to the side. “Why would they believe you?  After all, you wouldn’t believe your own brother,” Pigsy flinches, remembering how easy it was to get Triptaka to banish Wukong, because Bajie never would pass up an opportunity to call his brother a liar, to hurt him.  “Turnabout’s fair play, and you’re on the losing side.”

Pigsy clenches his fists.  He can feel the desire to get big, to roar, to tear her out of him, rise in his chest.  But this can’t be solved with violence, as easy as he wants it to be.  Pigsy has never been good at diplomacy.

“What do you want,” he spits out.

She brushes Tang’s hair out of her eyes.  They glow in the evening light, bright and malicious.

“I have a few errands, and while this mortal is useful, he is a bit...weak.” She flexes Tang’s fingers experimentally.  “You’re quite the muscle.  I think you’d be quite useful, hmm?”

Pigsy does know a challenge when he sees one, but this time, he’s backed into a corner, with no way out, so he slumps his shoulders.

“Alright.  Just….just don’t hurt him.” It comes out a tired plea.  “And stop-don’t ruin him like that.” He gestures to her getup.  He’s sure she’s only showing him this to hurt him, because he wants Tang.  Not whatever this abomination is.  Just practically, it would give her away if she didn’t change back. Though he’s not sure how much of a choice he gets, regardless. 

She sighs, but after a moment the pleasant red and gold return, and Tang’s hair is black again.

“Fine.  Picky, though,” she places Tang’s hand on his cheek, cupping the side of his face, and Pigsy’s cheeks warm.  When he looks up, everything about Tang looks normal, except the blue rims on the glasses.  He looks away.

“Tomorrow,” he tells her.  “We’ll start tomorrow.  And once-once I’m done, you’re out of him, got it?” 

He glares, and she smiles, Tang’s mouth curving into something more unhinged.  Brown eyes glow light blue.

“It’s a date.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang doesn’t remember the few days that he disappears.  He doesn’t even remember disappearing, to be honest.  He just walks to the noodle shop as if nothing is wrong, because to him, nothing is.  

He can tell that something off, though.  Not wrong, but off, because when he walks the feeling of his feet against the ground is muted.  Everything is a little muted, like all of his senses are muffled by something.  He shakes his head a few times, to try and break through the fog.  It doesn’t work.

He waves at Pigsy when he walks in, and then nearly jumps when he’s grabbed.  He tries to open his mouth to say something, but suddenly everything goes cold, and he’s pushed back into his own head.  Someone else takes the reins, Something Else moves his lips.

Family emergency, he hears himself say.  He sees the reflection of himself in Pigsy’s eyes.  His glasses are different.  Pigsy notices.

He watches the Something Else make Pigsy very aware that the Something Else exists, and then he is thrown into the passenger’s seat.  When MK comes over to ask for a story, Tang is allowed to tell him one.  When Mei talks about her next race, Tang can avidly respond.

He keeps trying to explain that something’s wrong, to them, but when he opens his mouth to try and say the words nothing comes out, or the Something Else will say something.  A joke, or a fact, or nothing at all, and doesn’t silence sometimes speak the loudest.  

It knows too much about him and the longer he knows it’s in his head, the more he can feel it, cool tendrils poking into memories he’d rather have private.  It searches, it pries, and it leaves no stone left unturned, leaving Tang feeling vulnerable, invaded.

The day ends.  Pigsy asks to walk him home and Tang finds himself agreeing before he can stop himself, before it can.  He wonders if it even tried.

They walk, and it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy snaps.  Tang is honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, when he’s unceremoniously thrown against the wall.  It hurts, but much like his other senses, the pain is muted.  He knows Pigsy isn’t using his full strength though.  Pigsy can throw people five times his size out the door with ease.

He follows the conversation with bated breath, and then he sees something like recognition flicker in Pigsy’s eyes, and he hears Baigujing, and it says Bajie, and—

Oh.

There’s a knife to his throat.  

He sees his reflection in Pigsy’s wide eyes.  His hair is white.  His eyes are a startling, glowing blue, and he can feel blood welling up where the knife pierces his skin.

Pigsy buckles.  Tang watches him leave.

“What do you want?” he asks, to the Something Else.

He gets farther and farther away from control with each step she takes in his skin, every moment he isn’t allowed to speak.  He can feel cool shackles on his wrists, thick as steel.

“You like him very much, don’t you?” A voice, chilling and cruel, rings in his ears.  Tang doesn’t need her to specify who she’s referencing.  They pass by a window, a storefront.  She stops, and turns to it, so Tang can see her smile with his mouth in the reflection.

Tang’s blood turns to ice, and he wonders if it’s because she’s the one in his body or if it’s just his fear, in the end.  She grins wider, and Tang’s helplessness and terror grow.

“I am going to break him, and you are going to watch.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day Pigsy is quiet.  He doesn’t say much besides telling MK to take out the orders placed on the counter.  His eyes occasionally flick to her, to Tang, to the thing sitting on the counter that looks familiar in looks alone.

Pigsy knows he has to remember.  He can’t forget that this isn’t Tang.  Even when he sees her sitting on the same barstool with that same smile, when she learns how Tang holds his chopsticks and learns how Tang eats, even when she is already perfecting something that everyone else sees is perfect.

This isn’t Tang.  Pigsy can’t forget that.

That night, she gestures for Pigsy to follow her.  He does, walking step by step with her, waiting for her to tell him what to do.  She takes him toward the marketplace, where Pigsy goes to get his ingredients a few times a month.

“You remember that Spider Queen, don’t you?  Quite the adventure we had,” she says, and Pigsy bristles at the implication.

“You weren’t there,” he growls out. 

She places a hand on Tang’s chest, expression one of mock offense.  “How could I not have been?  I mean, you were there with me. Is this not the skin?” she tugs on the fleshy part of Tang’s wrist, hard enough that the skin goes red.  

Pigsy says nothing, and shrugs.  

“Regardless, the Spider Queen will get in my way if she isn’t handled, so you’ll take care of her.  Better to squash a bug before it grows.” She points to the Spider Queen’s stall.

“I don’t kill anymore,” Pigsy grunts.

He hasn’t for years.  He took that part of himself and locked it away, made himself small because he wanted people to feel safe around him without being scared of what he could do.  He doesn’t kill.  He makes people food, he doesn’t harm them more than any other mortal could.

The knife is back out, and Pigsy knows where she’ll imply it going.

“I do,” she purrs.  “And you’re mine, so you do too.”

Pigsy clenches his fists, and shifts.

He’d imagined showing Tang his demon form.  Imagined preparing for months, carefully explaining.  Imagined going someplace remote, someplace theirs, and revealing himself.  Imagined scenarios where Tang ran, imagined scenarios where Tang stayed.

He grows tall, and burly, and looming and powerful.  He’s about eight feet tall, here, with the muscles to match the height.  His rake appears in his hand, prongs sharp.  It’s as tall as he is, and the prongs are longer than his forearm.  She looks up at him with an impressed expression that looks wrong on Tang’s face, yet makes Pigsy’s cheeks burn anyway.

“Magnificent,” she breathes, and he shivers at the sound.

He holds his rake tight, setting it on his shoulder and glancing over to the stall.  He tries to stop his hands from shaking, as she leads him to the entrance.

“Give me a lift, won’t you dear?” she asks and Pigsy grits his teeth.

He lifts Tang up, gentle with his body because even if Tang isn’t the one asking Pigsy will be damned if he hurts him like this, and they descend.

The Spider Queen’s lair is as eerie as he remembers it, though it seems to have been upgraded.  There are pods of glowing green liquid everywhere, and a computer as well.  He catches what looks like a human bent over it, tapping at keys and sighing to himself.

“Is it done yet?  The world needs its Queen to return.” He hears her voice from the right, and shifts a little to hide as she comes in.  The man at the computer stiffens, and turns around at perfect attention, bowing.

“U-Unfortunately, such a complex undertaking is going to take more time, my Queen,” the man trembles out.

“What are you waiting for?” Tang’s voice slithers into his ear, and Pigsy fights back the urge to growl, letting out a huff of a breath and narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

“An opening,” he replies.

“This has to be done by New Years!  I want to start the Year of the Spider on time,” she growls the last part out.

“Y-Yes, my Queen,” The scientist replies.

She turns away, and that’s when Pigsy jumps down.  She just barely dodges his rake and Tang jumps off of his shoulder to settle in the shadows.  Fine.  Now Pigsy doesn’t have to worry about him getting caught in the crossfire.

The Spider Queen recovers quickly, getting into a battle stance.  She gives him a once over, and then smirks.

“So the pig is back to fight, hmm?  I would have liked to see you in this form last time,” She purrs out the words, chuckling to herself.

Pigsy charges without response.  He swings his rake, she ducks, throwing out a sharp leg.  He blocks with his arm and grunts when the blade edge of her leg digs in.  He lifts a leg and kicks her, no holds barred where her humanesque body and her spider body meet.  A weak point.

She lets out a shout of rage as she’s knocked back.  He slices to the right, knocking off her helmet.  Long, messy black hair tumbles down in front of her face.  She pushes it back, darts forward, throwing out some webs.

He dodges the first few, but one catches him by the foot, trapping him to the floor.  He twists and dodges as best he can when he can’t move, but she’s closing in.

He throws out the rake, in a last ditch attempt as she goes in for the killing blow, and catches her neck between two of the prongs, following through with the swing, bringing her crashing down onto her side.

“Fool!” she grits out, twisting her legs to try and stand.  “I am the Queen of this world!  I will feed you to my subjects, you—”

Pigsy twists the rake in one sharp motion.

Crack.

She goes very silent, and very still.  Pigsy breathes, as her body slumps down on itself.

Okay.  

Pigsy slowly, carefully, pulls away the rake.  

He waits for movement.  He finds none.

Okay.

“Do try and make sure she stays dead.”

He jumps at the sound, turning around to see Tang.

Tang is watching.  Tang.  Tang watched—

Not Tang.  He has to remember that.

Her eyes glitter in the low light.

“A broken neck can be fixed.  Make sure she can’t come back.  Wouldn’t want to have to deal with a vengeful Queen, right?” She gestures to the corpse.

Pigsy grips his rake tightly.

The prongs go through flesh far too easily.

He thinks they’re about done, but then she points to the computer.  More specifically, to the man cowering beneath the control panel of the computer.

“No witnesses,” she says. “Get rid of him.”

Pigsy is frozen in his spot.

“Please,” the man begs. “I didn’t want to help, I had no choice!  She was going to kill me-I-I’ll destroy everything I did!  I’ll delete the code.  Everything!”

“You misunderstand.” Tang-she-walks carefully towards the cowering mortal.  “We didn’t do this to save the world.  We did this to get her out of my way.”

Dawning horror flashes on the man’s face.

Pigsy hesitates.  A demon is one thing, this is just a mortal.  A human.  Pigsy glances at the man, and imagines her pointing him at MK.  Or Mei.  He couldn’t.  He can’t.

“Would you rather I do this?” She pulls out the knife, pointing it at the man.  “I know you prefer him in red, though I hear blood is difficult to get off clothes.”

At the thought of Tang, who could be still in there, having to watch himself kill, Pigsy moves.

The man hedges his bets and runs.  He ducks under the knife and Pigsy’s outstretched arm, sprints toward the exit, but Pigsy’s arm swings around after him.  He can’t take more than a step forward because his foot is still stuck by the webs, but his legs are long and his arms much the same.  He reaches over in a panic, and grabs the man by the head, aiming to muffle his shouting, stop him from doing anything while Pigsy tries to negotiate, when—

There’s a sickening crunch, and squelch, and the man goes limp.

Pigsy is very, very aware of the liquid dripping from between the spaces of his fingers.  He’s afraid to open his hand.

She claps, then is at his side, cutting him free of the webs.

“Good work.” She pats him on the side.

Pigsy trembles.  Slowly, he opens his hand.

All of his body falls but the head. The head.

Pieces drop, clattering or squishing or dripping.  Pigsy’s hand is covered in it. Hair clings to his fingers.  Skin folds in on itself on the ground, with nothing solid to hold it taut.

Pigsy feels like he’s going to be sick.  He didn’t mean….he hasn’t taken this form in years, decades, he isn’t used to the power it holds.  He didn’t mean to, he was panicked, he just, he needed the man to stop.  That was it, it wasn’t on purpose, he didn’t mean—

“Feels good,” she whispers in his ear, somehow.  “Doesn’t it?”

Pigsy stumbles away, trying to shake the pieces, the blood, the person off of his hand.  He trips over the Spider Queen’s body and crashes into the computer, destroying it.  His knees pull toward his chest as he tries to breathe.  

It takes a good minute for him to realize that she’s rubbing a hand up and down his back in a comforting manner.  He looks down at her, because even sitting he’s taller, and her smile is—that’s not hers.  

“Tang?” his voice is hoarse.  His tusks always get in the way of speaking.

Tang smiles.  It’s soft, pitying, almost sympathetic.

Pigsy feels himself melt, a little.  It’s almost familiar.

“It’s okay,” Tang says, but is it him?  Pigsy doesn’t know if he wants it to be.  A part of him craves the comfort of something familiar, another doesn’t want Tang to see him at his worst, covered in blood, with a body count.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Tang says, she says, Pigsy can’t tell.  His head is already trying to process what he’s done.  “Let’s go.  C’mon.”

Pigsy lets himself be helped up.  He lifts Tang onto his shoulder and climbs out of the cave, shivering when the chilly night air whips past him.  He still has a few hours before he has to get up for work.  He sets Tang down on the ground, shifts back to his smaller form.

Tang looms over him like this.  Pigsy regrets becoming small.

“Shall we?” Tang gestures towards Pigsy’s apartment.

Pigsy nods, and they walk home.  Once they arrive, Tang heads to the couch, and Pigsy to the bathroom.  He scrubs and scrubs at his hands, until the water stops turning pink and then some.  His palms burn, skin scraping against skin, but he can see the pieces that can’t fit in the drain.

He vomits, finally, in the toilet.  He coughs, wiping his mouth, and hunches over the sink, glancing at himself in the mirror.  Deep breaths.  He just needs to remember that this will be over, eventually.

“I’m going to bed,” he calls, as he leaves the bathroom.  

His hands are still shaking.  His throat burns, and he lets it, maybe as a punishment.  He doesn’t know.

“Goodnight!” Comes a voice that sounds too much like the real thing.  Pigsy takes in a shuddering breath and vanishes into his bedroom.

He curls underneath the blankets and tries to get the cold feeling to escape his bones.  It seems to settle in, regardless.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whatever Tang had imagined she’d make Pigsy do, it wasn’t this.  He watches as they head to the market, and then as Pigsy changes, per her request.

He wonders if Pigsy would have ever shown him this form otherwise.  As is, Tang is terrified, but not of Pigsy.  He’s worried for Pigsy.  Because he knows the power Zhu Bajie can wield. here He knows that she knows, too.

Watching Pigsy fight and kill is as impressive as it is heartbreaking.  He can see the shock, the horror, as Pigsy grapples with his actions.  Tang can’t fight the revulsion when he sees Pigsy kill the poor bystander but at the same time he can’t hate him for it.  

He could never hate Pigsy foremost, but in this instance, he can’t hold this carnage against him. Not when Pigsy curls in on himself, his bigger form trying to be as small as possible.  Not when he won’t look at his own blood-stained hands.

He moves to take a step, stumbles as she throws him the controls.  The longer he isn’t allowed to do anything, to speak, to move, the harder it is to get used to doing it when he has control.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to walk eventually.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to breathe.

He tries to comfort.  He’s not allowed to tell Pigsy that it’s him, because she won’t let him, but he can comfort, because she needs Pigsy functioning for this to work.  Maybe Tang should be offended that she’s using him, but truthfully,  he just wants to do something to help Pigsy.  He can’t just stand aside to watch.  It’s almost worth being used if he’s used to help.

Pigsy looks at him, then.  Tang wants to apologize.  To beg for Pigsy to stop. He doesn’t know if Pigsy can recognize that it’s him, either.  The words don’t make it to his throat and she throws him into the backseat again.

When they get home, Pigsy stays in the bathroom for too long.  Tang hears the sound of retching and winces.  He wishes he could do something, say something.

As he falls asleep, he still wishes he could apologize.  For something.  Anything.  Everything.

He can’t feel his legs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Pigsy gets up and heads to work.  Tang is sitting upright on the couch.  Pigsy pointedly doesn’t look at him, quick while making breakfast, eating, and grabbing his chef’s coat before heading to the shop.  He typically starts two hours before opening, setting up the dough, stringing out noodles.

He’s slow, today.  His hands shake as he tries to work, he’s halfway to where he’s supposed to be when MK comes down, on time for once.  He forces himself to speed up because he knows calls will be coming in soon.

He sets the broth to boil, stirring once, glancing down at it to check its progress, and—

It’s red.

It’s red and it’s spilling from his fingers, sticky and thick as it falls into the broth, the stench of it has him trembling violently enough that the spoon slips from his fingers.  Pieces of hair and bone bubble up from the bottom, and Pigsy sees an empty eye socket, staring at him in terror, pleading horror, begging for mercy.

He grabs the pot and pours it into the sink, he can’t let anyone see it, can’t let anyone know what he’s done, the stains settling deep into his skin with no way out, no way to make it disappear.  A man is dead.  A man is dead and Pigsy killed him and it’s everywhere and everyone is going to know and he has to get rid of it.

When he pours it into the drain, there’s not a spot of red in it.  He watches his half an hour’s worth of work disappear with an unsteady breath, setting the pot back on the stove and washing his hands.  The water boils his fingers.

“Uh...Pigsy?” MK calls.  

Pigsy turns and does not look in the direction where he knows Tang will be.  He catches MK’s expression, brow is pinched in concern.

“What?” He doesn’t mean to growl the words out as he does.

“Um, why’d you do that?  It looked almost ready,” MK points to the now empty pot.

Pigsy hides his shaking hands by clenching them into fists. “Bad batch,” He replies, succinct.

When he glances MK’s way, he imagines how easy it would be for him to repeat last night.  Would it sound the same, the skull crunching in his grip quick, or would MK’s Monkey King powers offer enough resistance so that it’d be slow?  

Pigsy remembers his old name, his old title, his old desires.  He would fight with Sun Wukong and enjoy it.  He is powerful, then and now.

He promised himself he wouldn’t be that person again, that he’d be better.  But looking back at that journey, is it any wonder that he’s so quickly fallen back into the same bad habits?  Zhu Bajie was rude, cruel, a liar.

Why’d Pigsy expect that he could change?

“A shame.” 

He nearly jumps, at the sound of her voice, his voice. He glances at the blue rimmed glasses, brown eyes.  Warm and cold.

“It looked delicious, at least,” Tang says, head resting on his palm.  He smiles, soft.

Pigsy looks away.

He gets back to work.

Some of her jobs are simple.  Break something, find an artifact.  Pigsy learns not to ask questions, because none of the answers give him much comfort.  Occasionally, Pigsy will get his hands messy, stained with the blood of demons.  Those nights he barely sleeps, too busy trying to scrape the dried liquid from beneath his fingernails.

He justifies it, even though there is no true justification for the carnage.  Thankfully, there haven’t been any more mortal deaths.  The demons he fights are bad, he thinks, as he watches them bleed out on the floor.  The demons he fights would be going after MK if he didn’t get rid of them first.  

MK mentions offhandedly that there haven’t been as many demon fights recently.  Pigsy horrifies himself with the sick satisfaction he feels, the pride that swells in his chest.

He’s able to justify his actions, but it doesn’t fix the gaping hole in his chest with every swing of his rake.  The worst part, he thinks, is that it’s becoming easier to do.  There’s a certain familiar numbness that comes with a higher and higher body count.  He went through it thousands of years ago, when he first began fighting, and he goes through it now.

It settles in faster this time.  Must be his experience.

He stays in the kitchen more often during the day.  Ignores the banter between MK and Mei when they barrel in, only half hears the stories shared.  He tries to lose himself in the motions of cooking, something that’s his, safe.  He can still do this.  So he’s fine.

She’s always there, either at the counter during the day or by his side at night.  Pigsy makes a few valiant attempts to text someone, to tell them what’s happening, but she steals his phone and Pigsy isn’t allowed to touch it.  She nearly cut off Tang’s finger when he attempted to take it back.  He stops trying.

She follows him when he goes out, whether it be to the market or just on walks.  No one raises an eyebrow at this—Pigsy has always stuck close to Tang, and vice versa.  To the outside world, this is normal.  She can tease and cloy and claw her way close to him and it’s just the silly antics everyone else expects.  Any reaction Pigsy has is normal too, when he shouts and rages and pushes Tang away, because that’s just how he reacts.  He’s loud and he��s mad.

He’s being played and he’s playing right into her clutches, but he doesn’t know what he can do.

Pigsy is so tired.  Some days, he manages to convince himself that things will be fine, soon.  He has to think it will be. If the demons were stronger than him, he thinks, maybe they’d deserve to live.

If they were stronger than him, maybe he’d get to stop.

Another development, one he can’t wrestle his feelings together on, is how Tang, how she, acts during their expeditions.  There are lingering touches across his back, fingers trailing on his neck, a palm cupping his cheek.  Sweet smiles thrown his way, gentle words whispered into his ear, arms curling around his form as he’s pressed against Tang’s body.

Every time he freezes, caught between revulsion and want, because he loves.  Desperately.

That’s why he’s doing this after all.  That’s why he even bothers.  Sleepless nights, reopened wounds, returns to bad habits—it’s all for a man Pigsy cares just a little too much for.

She gets bolder with each passing night.  Interlaces their fingers when he sets his hand on the counter during the day.  Sends him compliments that make him weak in the knees.  He knows that it’s not Tang, but sometimes he wonders.  Maybe hopes. 

Because she’ll smile at him, but it'll be Tang’s smile, soft and almost a smirk but never quite there.  He doesn’t know if that means Tang is still in there or if she’s just getting better at pretending to be him.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

It’s a little over a month later, one night after a job that leaves Pigsy’s hands bloody and his eyes weary, that he gives way, collapses in on himself.  He grabs Tang’s scarf in shaky hands and trembles, because he’s so tired.  He misses his best friend. He misses the person he’d do anything for, the person he’s doing the unspeakable for.

“Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse.  “Take me-just-I’m stronger than him-I won’t fight back, you can do all the damage you want just—” he chokes on the words.  “Give him back to me.  You can have me, just give him back.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, blinking away tears.  They fall down his face anyway.

“Please.”

He trembles against Tang, something familiar made foreign because she’s stolen it from him, against something as silence fills the space.

Soft hands lift his chin and he hears a chuckle so familiar.  He hates that doesn’t know who is laughing.

“Oh, Pigsy,” And it’s her, and it’s Tang, and Pigsy searches for understanding as a thumb brushes away his tears.  She, Tang, leans down until their eyes are level.

Pigsy searches for something familiar in them.  

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, brown with a hint of red, soft and warm.  

“Why would I need you, when you’re already giving yourself to me?”

And then Tang-she-his lips collide with Pigsy’s and-and-and—

Pigsy’s eyes are wide.  This is-he’s wanted this for years, it’s everything, nothing, all at once.

He shouldn’t like this.  This isn’t-it isn’t Tang.  But Pigsy is pressed against the wall as Tang’s body leans forward, like everything Pigsy has ever wanted, and Pigsy closes his eyes.  He closes his eyes and forgets, just for a moment, where he is and what’s happening, decides to be selfish.

When his eyes are closed, he can’t see anything.  He can only feel Tang’s hands on the sides of his face, holding him so tenderly, Pigsy’s hands still bunched up in that scarf.  He can’t see the glowing blue eyes, or the smirk, he can only feel the smile against his lips.

Tang pulls away first.  Pigsy drops his hands and nearly trips over himself, eyes wide open again to blue eyes and a wide smile and a laugh that is cruel and knowing.  

“My, my, that sure was something!  You really are desperate, aren’t you?” she says.

Pigsy wipes his mouth, trembling.  He feels sick, not because he didn’t like it, but because he did.  Does.  

“You-I—” he tries to explain himself, but she tuts and walks forward with a small smile on her face, patting him on the head like one would a dog.

“It’s alright, I understand.  For a mortal, he is attractive.” She fiddles with Tang’s hair.

Pigsy wants to throw up.  He wants to scream.  He wants to throttle her, but he can’t hurt Tang.  

He might have already.

How much does Tang see, does Tang feel?  Did he see this, feel this?  Did he watch Pigsy use him, like the monster he is, because Pigsy is selfish?  The thoughts spiral deeper and deeper into something self destructive and Pigsy bites on his thumb hard enough to make it bleed.

“If it’s any consolation, he loves you too,” she says, and Pigsy freezes.  “Do you think he never noticed how your hand would twitch toward his?  You’re terribly obvious, but he’s a coward as well.”

Pigsy feels his breathing pick up.

Tang, he, he love-loved?  Past tense, did Pigsy ruin it?  Did he break something he never even had?  Might not ever have, now?

A hand trails across his back and Pigsy shudders.

“No need to worry.” She leans in close, until Pigsy can feel her cool breath against his ear.  “If you’re good, I think I can make this happen again.”

And then she walks away, leaving him in the wreckage.  Pigsy breathes, clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting back the urge to cry because he doesn’t have the energy for more tears.  He moves to leave, when—

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” he hears, right before she’s out of earshot.

Everything goes cold.

What does that mean?  Was the kiss...was that Tang?  Or was it-what does that mean?

The more he thinks about it, the more his head goes through loops.  Tang is in there.  Tang has control-some, a bit, no specifics.  Pigsy isn’t a thinker, he doesn’t know how possession works.  Maybe-maybe Pigsy isn’t as terrible as he thinks he is.  Maybe that means, maybe, it wasn’t all a lie?

His walk home takes ten minutes longer than it should.  He keeps bringing up his fingers to his mouth, tracing the spaces where Tang’s lips slotted into, like a perfect puzzle.  Every part of him she touched tingles like static, and Pigsy can’t think, can’t find a single thought.  If it wasn’t Tang, if it was just her...

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that he doesn’t want this.  Not like this.

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that deep down, he does.  Regardless.

What kind of monster does that make him?  

Is it worse than the one he already is?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang is quiet when she kisses Pigsy.  He doesn’t feel anything, touch long lost to his senses, floating in empty space.  Some days, he doesn’t know where he ends and she begins but he knows that he has no weight to himself, not anymore.

He’s quiet, an ache in his chest growing ever painful as Pigsy gives in, and he wonders if it would have been like this if it were him.  Something in the heat of the moment, passionate, real.

He wonders and grieves a life he isn’t having.  She uses his mouth and whispers sickly sweet nothings and turns Pigsy around so that Tang isn’t sure that Pigsy knows what’s up and what’s down.  She walks away and leaves Pigsy to try and collect himself, and all Tang wants to do is say sorry.

For what, he isn’t sure.  This isn’t his doing.  But that was him all the same.  

Tang bows his head and sniffles.  He watches her wipe his eyes.

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” she says, staring down at the tears in his palm.  She flicks the water away.  “Get over yourself.  If you wanted this, you should have made it happen.  You had plenty of time.”

And the worst part, Tang thinks, is that with the years he’s known Pigsy, he knows she’s right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pigsy tries to keep some semblance of normalcy after that, though it’s hard.  He can feel Tang’s eyes on him, gaze lingering as Pigsy moves, day after day.  He tries to keep his cheeks from flushing, tries from reacting at all, when Tang looks his way.  He forces himself to remember that the kiss wasn’t right, wasn’t Tang.

But at the same time he can’t forget what he heard.  What it could mean.  Pigsy has mired himself in despair so deeply that the scrap of hope he feels is enough to keep him teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something selfish.  

There’s a change in the air between them, he knows. MK and Mei notice too, as much as he tries to keep this from them, keep them safe.  He doesn’t want them trapped, like he is.  He couldn’t handle it if they were.

“You guys have been acting weird.” Mei hops up to the counter as she speaks, glancing between Tang and Pigsy with squinted eyes.

“Oh?” Tang asks, leaning his head on his hand.

Not Tang.

“Yeah, you guys have been real clingy,” MK slings an arm around Mei’s shoulders, rubbing his chin with his hand.  

Mei brightens.

“You guys have finally gotten together, haven’t you!” She points an accusatory finger at the both of them.

Pigsy freezes.  Flushes from his feet all the way up to the tips of his ears, and Tang laughs, a soft, sweet, bell of a laugh.

“Were we that obvious?” Tang chuckles into his sleeve.

Mei bounces in her seat, and MK looks away, a little flustered himself at the idea.

“Uh, totally!  We, uh, we both saw this coming.  Yeah.” Pigsy would laugh at MK’s poor attempt at a lie if he wasn’t frozen in place, stuck between horror and something else he can’t acknowledge.

Some part of him wants to pretend this is real.  Some part of him, growing with every passing second, wants to play along until he forgets it’s a game.  Because he’s been fed emptiness and sadness and helplessness and, suddenly, there’s this hope—maybe false, maybe real, dangling in front of him.  

There’s something good, and something kind, and something Pigsy needs.  Something so cold it becomes warm and Pigsy would like to be warm.

“How’d it happen!  I want details!” Mei leans forward, face a few inches away from Tang’s, and Pigsy fights the urge to pull her away from him.  He doesn’t know if it’s because he wants to keep her safe or him.

Tang goes into a story, dipping into the tone he would with Monkey King tales, and Pigsy feels the edges of static crawling up his neck, a high pitched tone drowning out the noise of conversation as he tries to make sense of the situation he’s in.

How did he even get to this point?  He traces back memory after memory, but nothing makes sense.  The pieces don’t fall into place, even as he finds each and every one to try and put it all together.  It’s like someone has sanded the edges down, or covered them in ice, so they slip and scrape against each other.  Pigsy stands still, and slowly swivels his head to glance at his family, Mei and MK and Tang, all situated at his counter, like they’ve always belonged.

He keeps reminding himself that it isn’t Tang, not really.  But is it so terrible to pretend?  When he’s already worse than he’s ever been?

“It was really special.  Right, Pigsy?” Tang turns to him with an expectant grin, and Pigsy flushes again, a color Tang once told him was a dusty rose.  

He doesn’t snap.  He bends, because when you bend, the cracks are slow to break.  And Pigsy has always taken things slow, hasn’t he?

“Right.” He steps forward, his hand beneath Tang’s chin.  Tang has always been the most handsome person Pigsy has ever seen, and how could that change, even with blue rims?

Tang’s lips brush against the side of his face, for the effect of MK and Mei’s groans, and Pigsy smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang trusts Pigsy with his life

That goes without saying.  As he forgets what it feels like to move his fingers, as he forgets what taste is, he knows above all else that he can trust Pigsy with his life.  

After all, Pigsy is why he’s alive at all.  Anyone else would have buckled under the pressure by now, being the slave of the Baigujing.  Anyone else would have made a mistake that would have left Tang a bleeding corpse on the ground.

Pigsy shoulders on, regardless of everything, because he values Tang’s life above all else.  Tang knows this.  That’s why he trusts Pigsy.

But things are changing, just a little.  Pigsy’s desperation for something real, for Tang as he’s meant to be, is dying.  Somehow, she’s bewitched the love of his life into something that is becoming unrecognizable.  And Tang, though he is losing the memory of touch, of taste, of movement, finds this somehow more terrifying, more horrifying.  

To see Pigsy vanish, just as Tang did, with no one making him disappear but himself.

Pigsy leans into her false touches.  He melts into the kisses she forces upon him.  His resistance falls slow and Tang can do nothing but watch and wonder quietly, as numbness threatens to swallow him whole.

He trusts Pigsy with his life.

But he doesn’t know which life Pigsy is trying to save.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It keeps happening.

At night, when he gets moments of clarity, when he remembers how awful everything is, Tang will be there with honeyed words and precious touches to sweep Pigsy off of his feet and forget.  Pigsy will be horrified by the sight of death in one moment and locked in an embrace in the next, kissed with a passion he can’t help but return.

“You’re so strong,” Tang will say, with reverence to his tone.  “It’s incredible.”

Not Tang.

Pigsy will fight against the pride that comes from the compliment, then fail every time to stifle it.  Because he is strong, incredibly so, and he is powerful, and he can swipe through any demon with ease.

Nevermind the brothers, crying out for each other when he’d separated them, the way one had gone pale and quiet when the other went still, because they were a pair made one.  You can’t kill a pair at the same time, unfortunately.

Pigsy knows he should feel guilty, should fight more.  Knows that this isn’t right, it isn’t real.  It’s so easy to forget, though, so easy to cling to something good when everything else hurts.

It’s so easy to set aside the memories of how wrong it all is.  So easy to hide it all away, focus on the elation, the kind smiles, the gentle touches.  Tang washes blood off of Pigsy’s hands when they get home—it’s their home, how could he forget—and curls up with Pigsy in the night, holding him close, and Pigsy clings, because he needs this.  Needs something that makes him feel like things are okay.

The thoughts reminding him that this isn’t Tang start to slip through Pigsy’s fingers.  He finds himself relaxing around the shop, smiling when he sees Tang at his seat, squeezing back when Tang interlocks their fingers.

Why fight it?  Sometimes it hurts, and god does it, but there’s something so lovely about it now, everything he ever wanted with a price he’s fine paying.

When you take a pig out of its domestic environment, it easily turns wild.  Hair, tusks, a penchant for violence.  And Pigsy hasn’t been out of his domestic environment in years, but he’s a pig, in the end, lost in the wilderness of an icy forest and blue eyes.

“Hey, Pigsy?” MK’s voice comes from behind him.

Pigsy turns from his work to see his boy at the counter, wiping it down as he waits for orders to come in.

“What?” He glances between the pot and MK, deciding the pot will be fine for a few seconds.

“Are you doing okay?  You, uh, you’ve been kind of quiet,” MK rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly.

Pigsy opens his mouth and closes it.  He glances to the empty seat.  Tang’s empty seat.

He doesn’t actually know where Tang has gone, but it’s so rare for it to happen.  Pigsy tries to remember the last time Tang wasn’t in his spot during the day, but tracing memories that far back is like poking at the wreckage of a shattered pot; you’re bound to draw blood.

The tiny vestiges of resistance crawl from ash and leave burning fingerprints on the forefront of his mind.

Tell him, he hears himself think.  Tell him!  This is your chance!

But the truth is so, so painful, and Pigsy doesn’t have it in himself to shatter this equilibrium.  Isn’t it so much kinder to let it settle beneath the surface, to hide the pain and make it so no one knows at all?  He doesn’t want MK to look at him with horror and disgust.  He doesn’t want to have to try to fix something that might be broken beyond repair.

This is nice.  This is okay.  He’s happy like this.  Why ruin it?

He reaches over and ruffles MK’s hair.  MK playfully smacks his hands away, and Pigsy chuckles.

“It’s my job to worry about you, kid,” he tells him.  “I’m fine.  Orders will be out in a minute.”

He waves MK off, and goes back to cooking.

Tang appears a minute later, in his seat.

“Hey,” Pigsy hears, and he turns, leaning on the little divider between the kitchen and the dining area.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, and Tang smiles and kisses him soundly.  Pigsy’s brain short circuits.

“What was that for?” He asks, something like incredulous elation in his voice as he laughs.

Tang’s face screams victory.  Pigsy wonders what he’s won.

“Oh, I just felt like it.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He supposes he has his answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s finishing up another job at the end of the month when Tang claps his hands together.

“Well, I think that’s it,” he says and Pigsy freezes, realizing what may come.  “I don’t really have any other errands to run, and you’ve done your end of the bargain.  I’ll be out by morning.”

No, Tang can’t go, he can’t.  If Tang leaves, then what will Pigsy be?  He needs this.  Tang, Tang’s good for him.

He whirls around, and a hand reaches over to rest on Tang’s shoulder.  Tang.  Tang is good.

“I-wait-but,” Pigsy finds it so hard to articulate his thoughts nowadays.

He’s always been the muscle, Tang is the smart one.  Pigsy is good at doing, not talking.  He shouldn’t speak when everything comes out scrambled anyway.

“Use your words, now, dear,” Tang says, and Pigsy melts, like he always does.  How can he not, when Tang is looking at him like that?  Like Pigsy is his?

“I want to-you can stay-can you?  I need you to stay.  Please?”

Because Tang makes Pigsy feel whole, makes Pigsy feel loved.  He can do whatever Tang wants him to do, whatever Tang needs, Pigsy will make it happen.

Tang’s fingers trail down Pigsy’s face.  Pigsy leans into the touch, even though Tang’s fingers are cold.  Tang feels cold, but that’s okay.  Pigsy doesn’t mind.

“Oh, Pigsy,” and it’s Tang.  Pigsy searches for understanding, as a thumb brushes away his fears, soft.  Tang leans down until their eyes are level.  Pigsy finds familiarity in them, like he’s known them for an eternity.

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, blue with a hint of white, hard and cold.  

“All you had to do is ask,” Tang leans forward, and his lips brush against Pigsy’s, and Pigsy leans in.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When ice touches the ocean, there is no crash.  The ocean fights back against the shift in form at first, but eventually is quieted by the power ice wields.  The ice smothers, the ice settles on top as a slate, and the sea goes still, everything hidden beneath, never to reach the surface.

Tang watches, from the prison in his mind, and the cuffs  on his wrists are so much tighter.  He can't feel where the cuffs end and his arms begin. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t feel anything.  All he has left is his vision, which is more a cruelty than a blessing.

When ice meets the earth it fills in the crevices left by time and expands, cracking stones apart and leaving it crumbling in its wake.

Tang curls in on himself as she shows him a kiss he never got to give, as Pigsy leans in with no hesitation, lost in something Tang can’t save him from.  He curls away from the sight and tries to pretend that things can get better, that they can be saved, but he doesn’t know.  Not when it hurts this much.  Not when he’s lost this much.

Something like betrayal rests bitterly in his stomach.  Pigsy left him.  For an imitation, Pigsy left him, and Tang knows there’s more there, knows there has to be, has seen it unravel, but it doesn’t change the fact.  

Pigsy made his choice, and Tang is the one suffering the consequences.

Tang crumbles quietly.  He doesn’t even know, here, if he has eyes to cry from.  It feels like he’s crying.

It feels like he’s screaming. No one hears. Even him.

If the water is still, it does not crash against the earth.  There is no tide, and the earth remains unchanging.  Except, even without the waves, time erodes it all.

Tang has nothing but himself and time.

[satendou]

⟼  musical chairs

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  pairing: semi/reader

⇢ au: college!au

⇢ summary: when semi can’t seem to keep himself together, he turns to you

⇥  masterlist

⇢  warnings: psuedo-incest, mild reluctance, dubious consent, smut, oral, no prep, angst, parental gaslighting, mentions of blood

⇢  word count: 4790

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  a/n: yolo

you could hear them again, screaming and yelling at each other and your heart thumped hard in your throat. your stepfather and stepbrother were going at it again, probably over something to do with school and his music, because that’s what it almost always was. the whole household was walking on eggshells around the two of them, waiting for the next time something would set them off.

semi was tired, you knew that. he was tired of his father always shoving his wants and desires down semi’s throat in an attempt to make him into what his father had wanted to be when semi just wanted to make music. you knew as much because, though the two of you weren’t extremely close, you were also the only one who understood what he was going through, having been stepsiblings for going on ten years at that point. there was an age gap between you that meant, until you were older, the two of you had had different friend groups and interests.

when semi expressed a desire to pursue a musical career, it was quickly declined, being told that his future was set towards a doctorate degree and nothing less. it was the first time semi had exploded, startling you at the sink and causing you to shatter the cup you were holding.

he had come to apologize later for causing you to hurt yourself, taking your bandaged hand and rubbing it gently for a moment before quietly asking why they couldn’t understand. you yourself didn’t understand and it made you feel almost guilty because they wholeheartedly supported your own career choice-- psychology, with a minor in social services. it was a nice, stable path, they said, unlike semi’s, which would be tumultuous and unfulfilling-- for them.

it was unusual to see the strong willed semi so unsure of himself and for a while you just sat there with him in silence, unsure of what to say to him until you finally asked, “how bad do you want it, eita? i don’t-- i can’t say you absolutely should ignore what they say, but if you really won’t be happy until you’ve at least tried then… maybe you should.”

semi had looked at you with a pensive expression and then sighed. “they won’t be happy.”

you squeezed his hand and gave him a smile, though it was thin with worry. “i’ll support you, eita. your music is amazing, you’ll do well if you have the chance, i know it.”

the transformation in his face was staggering, and it made your heart skip a beat to see the smile that spread across it. you couldn’t blame him for wanting to pursue his dreams, and you certainly wouldn’t tell him he shouldn’t.

the fighting started more frequently after that, a lot of it revolving around him going out to open mic nights at clubs, bars, and cafes-- anywhere he could get some stage time. you also learned shortly after that that he had dropped some of his courses and replaced them with musical theory classes and the like, asking you to help keep his cover, which you agreed to without hesitation. for the most part, he had kept you from getting involved or blowing that you were supporting him behind the scenes. you often pretended that semi was studying with you while he was actually practicing his songs or out at mic nights. on nights when he couldn’t use you was when the fights would escalate, except today it seemed that it wasn’t about just his music.

there was the sound of slamming doors and then the house fell silent, which wasn’t unusual in itself, but there was something heavier than usual in it, as if something had irreparably changed. sitting up on your bed, you strained your ears and picked up the lightest footsteps coming up the stairs. they stopped just outside your bedroom and the gentle rap on your door indicated who it was, and you called him in quietly.

“eita,” you whispered, reaching out to him. his eyes were rimmed red and his mouth was twisted in a feral scowl which, in another instance, might have frightened you. but you knew without a doubt that it wasn’t directed at you, and he collapsed face down on your bed, groaning into the blanket. “what was that about?”

you had to scoot closer to hear his muffled voice against the fabric as he said, “they found out i switched my classes. they opened my fucking mail.”

“fuck, i’m so sorry, eita,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. there was a lot of tension in his shoulders even after he relaxed under your touch. “what are you gonna do?”

he shrugged before rolling onto his back. his long fingers wrapped around your hand as he did and pulled you down to splay across his chest. you wiggled around frantically, hoping to hide your fiery face before he could see it and ended up tucking your head beneath his chin. the sound of his heartbeat was erratic in your ear, belying how nervous he was under his aggravated facade.

“they want me to change the courses back or they’ll stop helping me pay,” he whispered, and his arm tightened around you.

a startled gasp flew from your lips and you pulled up, turning your body halfway so you were hovering over him. “no way, they-- those assholes. i don’t-- why can they not just accept what you want to do? i don’t get it.”

he smiled at that, a cold uptick at the corners of his lips as he said, “of course you don’t. you’re doing exactly what they want.”

the reaction was instant.

your shoulders deflated and you pulled away, sitting up cross-legged behind him. it wasn’t exactly your fault you happened to enjoy something they approved of. turning your head away, you stared at the closet door, biting the inside of your lip to stem the tears stinging your eyes. 

semi’s lips parted and he sat up as well, shifting the mattress beside you while he scratched the back of his neck. “i-- sorry, that didn’t come out the way i meant it to. you’ve always been their golden child without even meaning to. i know you enjoy what you’re doing, it’s just that they actually approve of what you’re doing. wish i could do that too.”

“you’re fine just the way you are, eita,” you whispered, turning back to look at him. you could still feel the tears sitting in your eyes, not quite heavy enough to fall but definitely there, and semi’s hand came up to cup your cheek. his brows were furrowed, guilt evident on his face, and you covered his hand with yours. “you should do what makes you happy, not force yourself to live the life they wanted to have.”

the room grew silent after you said that, unsure of what to say from there even though he wanted to disagree. it would make things so much easier if he just gave in and stopped fighting, and he wouldn’t have to worry about funding or how he was going to pay for the classes he did want to take. he propped his elbow up on his knee, resting his chin on it as he stared forlornly at your bedroom door, listening to the bed shift until there was a soft touch on his shoulder.

your head was resting on his shoulder, arm wound around his in an effort to comfort him, and he smiled. his lips pressed to the top of your head, eyes closing while a feeling of fondness overcame him. how he had never noticed, before this whole thing started, what a sweet person you were was beyond him and he realized what an idiot he had been to ignore you all this time.

“thank you, by the way. i don’t say it enough, but i probably wouldn’t still be trying if you weren’t encouraging me,” he said against your hair, and felt you nuzzle against his neck. warmth rushed through him at the small gesture of affection, and he had to resist the urge to pull you closer. he wouldn’t consider himself a bad older brother. whenever you needed help studying, he would walk you through the steps or if you had to stay late at school for an extra curricular, he would wait around to walk you home. it was just that there was a disconnect, a distance between the two of you that had a lot to do with age and his own self-absorption-- and he would be the first to admit he was pretty full of himself sometimes.

“that’s okay, eita. i want you to be happy and I’ll support you however you need,” you whispered, squeezing his arm. “wanna go get something to eat?”

“that sounds great,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

--

again. a-fucking-gain, they were fighting. you could hear stomping and yelling, cabinets slamming and what ultimately sounded like glass shattering. it fell silent just after that, and you sat in your bed with your head in your hands, just listening to the eerie quiet.

after a moment, there was a quiet conversation that made you more nervous than the yelling, and then footsteps passed your bedroom door. a door closed downstairs and a light flicked on out in the hallway, and you stood up and opened your door to find semi hovering over the sink in the bathroom, the water running a vivid red that set your anxiety off.

“what happened?” you murmured, pulling his hand out from under the stream. 

he winced as you picked up a clean hand towel and pressed hard against the wound to staunch the bleeding. “i was holding a glass and squeezed it too hard. he told me it’s stupid to pursue a career when i have no talent.”

where there should have been bitterness or anger in his voice, you heard cold amusement and defeat, and looked up at him. “that isn’t true, eita. i’m an expert, i would know.”

your joke fell flat and his chuckle was humorless and empty while he watched you examine the cut on his hand. it was shallow and had already stopped bleeding, not even requiring a bandage, and he flexed his fingers. “i think i’m just going to quit. this isn’t worth it,” he said, so quietly you would have missed it if you weren’t standing close enough to touch him.

sadness welled up, a quiet ache filling your chest for your sweet stepbrother, who was sometimes an ass and kind of a narcissist. cupping his cheek in one soft hand, his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch, frowning as you said, “if you really feel that way, then you should step back. but don’t let them tell you you wouldn’t make it. i know you would, eita-nii. you’ve never let anything hold you back when you really wanted it, and your music is amazing. you fill up those mic nights, it’s only a matter of time until someone sees you.”

his lips pursed and he looked at you, a quiet sadness in his eyes that you were sure mirrored your own as he said, “i’m not sure i’m passionate enough about it anymore, _____. they’ve taken it out of me. maybe i won’t go down the path they want me to but… i don’t know if i want to pursue music anymore.”

that was surprising, at least for a moment, and then you realized how normal that was. when you were forced to choose between the thing you loved and people you love, sometimes the love for the thing faded away because of it. you just hoped semi didn’t come to resent them too much, though they would deserve it.

“what do you think you’ll do?” you asked, linking your fingers with his. his skin was cool and soft, worn from years of volleyball and strong-- you could feel it in the way he squeezed your hand, that he could hurt you if he wanted but he didn’t. it was comforting and made you feel safe, and you found yourself lost in the sadness swimming in his eyes.

he took a step forward and you took a step back, the motion repeating until you were backed into your bedroom, the door closing with a soft click behind him. the bed creaked beneath you as he forced you to sit before climbing on beside you. he picked up the remote for your tv and clicked the power button, mulling over your question.

he wasn’t really sure, truth be told. it was something he had been thinking about for a while but when he really thought about it, he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. but the fighting was too much right now, he was too tired of trying to make them understand him to want to do it anymore, so he would find something else to focus on.

you were warm beside him, staring up at him with bemused concern as he scowled at your tv. if anyone else were to look at semi right now, they would think he was pissed, but you knew better. it was easy to see the sadness, and the confusion and fear beneath it on his face. music was something he had been wholeheartedly set on, and all of a sudden he was adrift, unsure of himself. even though he didn’t answer, you knew what it was already.

i don’t know. 

it was written all over his face, screaming at you and you stretched your arms out to him. 

he allowed himself to be engulfed in your arms, curling his massive frame down over you and resting his chin on your shoulder. his eyes remained locked on the flickering screen, unseeing as you rubbed his back and, in the end, he gave into the urge to hide his face in your neck. 

releasing a long suffering sigh, he sagged into you, but his weight was too much to bear and you fell backwards into the mattress, pulling him down on top of you.

praying he couldn’t hear your heart pounding away in your pulse, you relaxed into your pillows and wiggled until you could see the tv. he had put an anime on, probably one tendo had recommended to him, and it was at least interesting enough to keep your attention.

until semi’s hands started to move.

it started off with him adjusting his head so he could watch tv, his hair tickling your neck before his fingers started tracing patterns over your clothed stomach. you giggled and swatted at his hand and he snickered, pretending to stop until you were relaxed again and then he attacked, pinning you down while he tickled your stomach and sides.

you squealed, curling down on yourself for a moment before reaching for one of the pillows beneath your head. raining blows down on him, he used one arm to shield himself while the other continued to attack. he was straddling your hips by then while you bucked up, trying to throw him off. it was a miracle you didn’t wake your parents up with your laughter and squeaking bed frame, but by the time you were done you were out of breath, residual laughter lingering in the air between you.

staring up at him, cheeks red and eyes finally alight with something other than that lingering sadness, lips parted as he panted above you. like a switch was flipped, you realized two things simultaneously: one, the position you were in, laying beneath him as you were and two, that he was rock hard against your stomach.

“shit, sorry,” he muttered when he caught sight of your eyes widening. he made no move to get off though, continuing to stare down at you with an unfathomable look, taking in the flush in your cheeks and nervous, not quite repulsed glimmer in your eyes. your arms were spread out across the bed beside you, and you tensed when he finally moved off to the side. “roll over.”

“huh?” you said intelligently, giving him a confused look.

he sighed, pushing at your hip. “roll over. onto your stomach.”

even as you do so, you say, “um, i don’t think we should--”

but he cut you off, coming to rest over your thighs, and you clammed up upon feeling his hands slide up your shirt and over your back. you could feel his hard on, resting now between the cheeks of your ass and you were nervous but not in the way you should have been at having your brother groping you. swallowing thickly when his fingertips grazed the sides of your breasts, you wiggled and he tutted you.

“don’t fight, princess. i know you’re wet already,” he said, voice a low, not-quite-whisper in your ear and you whined quietly. his fingers hooked in the waistband of the shorts you were wearing and pulled, slowly peeling them down. you tensed your thighs to hide the fact that he was right, you were soaked but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the way your panties peeled off your slick folds or the wet spot that had been left behind on them. “oh hell.”

you bit your lip when he ghosted over the round cheeks of your ass, barely a touch against your skin and then he squeezed, parting your lips so he could get a peek at your soaked cunt. it was almost surreal, your head spinning as you wondered how you went from a playfight to semi practically eyefucking you. it was impossible to wrap your head around and you jumped when he moved so he was sitting between your legs, spreading your thighs far enough that he could lay between them..

“e-eita--,” you called out quietly, not sure what you want from him when the first swipe of his tongue covered your pussy from your clit up to your clenching hole. “mm, wait, please, we--”

“it’s too late, princess,” he groaned against you, feeling you jerk hard in his hands. he looped his arms beneath your hips and canted your hips up so he could devour you with ease. “you taste so fucking good, i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.”

the way his tongue flicked at your clit sent shocks through you, and your toes curled when he forced his tongue into your spongy walls, filling you up. he lapped at your walls, tasting you with another groan before returning to your clit. already, you could feel your orgasm building, something about not being able to see him taking you right up to the edge and when he dipped his tongue into you again, you came with a cry, legs bending at the knee and back arching down into the bed.

he continued to eat you out for another moment, until you were trembling and trying to get away, releasing your clit with a wet pop. before you could say anything, a complaint or otherwise, he was sliding his shorts down his legs and throwing his shirt over the side of the bed. both hit the floor with a faint noise, and then your shirt joined them. you didn’t argue when he settled over you again, pinning your thighs together between his while he settled his cock between the cheeks of your ass.

you knew it was going to happen regardless of if you asked him to stop. the part of you that felt it was wrong was growing smaller and smaller anyway as he rocked his hips, the soft skin of his hard cock sliding between your cheeks, occasionally dipping down to nudge your entrance. you could how big he was and your toes curled every time he seemed like he was about to slide into you. he would pull back though, and you could feel your juices on his skin, smearing it across yours.

“i don’t hear you complaining anymore, princess,” he said, and you could practically feel the smugness radiating off of him. he stilled above you, hands squeezing and kneading your flesh and you craned your neck to look up at him. 

you nearly stopped his heart when he caught sight of your flushed face and lips swollen from nibbling on them, eyes wide and glittery while you whined, “i’m not, eita-nii. please, i-- please put it in, i want it--”

oh fuck.

his cock throbbed at your words, at the nickname, so innocent and yet you used it now.

“fuck, whatever you want, pretty girl,” he whispered, barely containing his own need as he positioned himself at your entrance. he knew it was cruel, not prepping you when he was as big as he is, but you were such a good girl, he knew you would take it without complaining.

much.

even just the tip was enough to make you whine, nails digging into the comforter beneath you and you used that to try and pull away as he forced more of himself into you. it was a heady mix of pain and pleasure; you wanted it so bad you could taste it but the pain of him forcing you open was almost too much. it didn’t even feel like you were stretching, he was just pushing everything out of the way to make room for his girth.

your teeth sank into the pillow to stifle your scream, drool dripping onto the fabric as your eyes fluttered and rolled, focus narrowing down to the incredible feeling of him buried deep inside you. as pretty as you acknowledged him to be, this wasn’t something you had ever fantasized about and you were wondering if he was going to split you in half when he finally stopped. you took a deep breath, ready to cry in relief when he pulled back out and pushed in again, your cunt already partially open and offering no resistance as he worked to hilt himself inside you. 

it took a few more thrusts that left you winded and crying before his hips finally met yours and, just as he said, you didn’t complain once. 

not that you could when he took your breath away with each thrust.

he braced himself up on his elbows over you, muscles tense on either side of your head, and you tilted it back to look up at him. his face was swimming in your vision, but you thought he was smiling even though he was panting.

and he was, even though his face was twisted with pleasure over how tight you were squeezing around him. he could feel you pulsing around him, still trying to suck him in deeper even though he was already nestled right against your cervix. there was something so wrong about being buried balls deep inside you, his little sister, someone he grew up in the same house with for so many years. it was taboo, wrong, fucked up and he pulled his hips back to your stifled whines before slamming back into you with abandon.

the noise you made was choked and high pitched and he throbbed at it, doing it again just to see if you would make it again and he was rewarded for his efforts. he wasn’t going to last long with you choking his cock like that. the tight fit made incredible noises, your pussy gushing around him and dribbling down to the blanket, and they filled the room along with your muffled noises. he was grateful you had the forethought to silence yourself as his hips slammed into yours because he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to.

your legs kicked up against his back because he was grazing the swollen, spongy spot inside you with every thrust and you could feel every ridge and vein rubbing along your walls. it felt like he was dragging himself out of you every time and you gasped when he snapped back in, cunt stretching with the effort to take him even though he was fucking you like he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock into you.

his hair was matted to his forehead and there were red marks where his fingers were digging into your hips but it didn’t phase either one of you as you tightened up around him, cunt fluttering as you teetered on the edge. 

you’d never cum without pressure on your clit but there was a spot inside you that he kept fucking rubbing and you were going to lose your mind. the whines that fell from your lips were mindless, eyes streaming tears and you thought it was going to be too much just as the coil snapped and your whole body tensed because he wouldn’t stop moving. you screamed into the pillow, a loud, whiny noise as he hips continued to roll, forcing your twitching walls to part around and pressing into the spot that made you cum in the first place and the bed below you soaks.

he knew you squirted, knew you were too sensitive and when you were trembling with overstimulation he stopped and let himself cum deep inside you with a broken, rough moan. his fingers bit into your hips and ass, keeping you still until he was done and then he collapsed over top of you, forehead resting on his arm beside your face and he saw that your eyes were closed.

at least you released the pillow.

when he had finally caught his breath, he nuzzled your cheek and you sighed, leaning into it. after a moment, you turned your head and bumped his nose, blindly seeking something and sighed again when his lips met yours. the corners of your mouth turned up and he can taste salt on his tongue and he worried for a moment that he might actually have hurt you.

“are you okay? you aren’t hurt, are you?” he whispered, unwilling to break the soft afterglow between the two of you, and you shook your head.

“no, i’m okay,” you answered, just as softly, and moveed so that your arm pressed to his.

balancing his weight carefully, he linked his fingers with yours, moving your arms up above your head, so that his chest was plastered against your back and you were fully encased in his arms. “eita, what now?”

he shrugged, breathing evenly against your cheek and pressing small kisses to your skin. “what do you want to happen?”

you mimicked him, shrugging as best you can beneath him and bit your lip. “i don’t know. can we even be anything? and would it end well if we wanted to be? i just…”

his normally sharp eyes softened as you stared up at him, doubt and confusion and worry all twisting your sweet face into a grimace, and he squeezed your hands. “we’ve only lived together for how many years? we already know each other’s bad habits and negative traits. we’d probably do a lot better than most.”

“what about them?” you persisted, and he knew you meant your parents. but there was a tinge of hope to your question, a little less tension in your body beneath him, and he kissed you full on the lips again.

“what about them? if we’re careful, they won’t know the difference,” he answered, breathing the words against your lips. he was over talking now, your wet cunt still gripping his cock and he could feel himself hardening again. 

a careful roll of his hips produced a gasp and a whine, and your fingers squeezed down on his like your walls were around his shaft, buried all the way inside you. 

“e-eita-nii,” you whined, lips parting in a quiet moan as he slid slowly out and back in. you were so loose and relaxed now that he had no issue slipping back inside with a wet squelch, groaning into your ear as you swallow him whole.

“feels so good, princess. ‘m not leaving this hole all night, i promise,” he whispered, and he can feel you trying to rock your hips back into his.

“fill me up, eita-nii,” you begged, voice ragged with need. there was already a throbbing between your legs, each drag of his cockhead over your walls leading you towards your high for a third time. “want all of you inside me, all the time.”

he growled at that, jerking his hips hard and forcing himself into you so fast it took your breath away. “don’t ask for things you can’t handle, pretty girl. i’d hate to break you so soon.”

a shudder ran through you at that, his words filled with dark promise and a question, and you breathed out shakily.

“break me, eita. please, please, break me.”

⇥  masterlist

[mischiefandi]

My Blog in 2021 <3

Hi everyone!!

I’ll be writing again soon and I wanted to give you guys some information on what I’m gonna be doing on here from now on. There’s gonna be a few changes to how I’ll be handling my blog and my writing which is why I’m making this post so everything makes sense and you know what’s coming <3

everything is below the cut ! ( this is quite a serious post ngl :)

Fandoms

As you’ve probably seen on my blog these past few weeks, I’ve fallen back in love with the Harry Potter universe and I’ve decided I will be writing fanfiction about Harry, Fred Weasley, and the Marauders (Wolfstar content, Sirius Black x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, and some Marauders headcanons). I will still be writing for Peter Parker in the MCU fandom and I will also be writing for Drake Walker from the Choices fandom. However, I’ve decided that after I finish my series “A Shitty Love Song” (Stiles Stilinski x Reader), I will officially stop writing for Stiles.

He’s still one of my comfort characters but I don’t feel as inspired anymore and because Teen Wolf ended so long ago now, I just don’t feel the same love for it as I used to. I will definitely still reblog gif sets and shitposts about Teen Wolf!! and I will not stop talking about Stiles on my blog lmao but I won’t be writing about him anymore. I know a lot of people follow me for that, so I apologise if you feel let down or disappointed. 

I really appreciate all the love and the support you guys have been surrounding me with ever since I joined the Teen Wolf fandom, and I still love yall and will gladly discuss the show with you guys!! Thank you for understanding, I really hope you’ll still enjoy my blog and my content!

NSFW Content

Because I was a minor up until last August, I wasn’t comfortable with writing smut or NSFW content. My views on NSFW content on tumblr have changed a lot in the past few months and I have realised that I am now responsible for the content that I decide to share with readers and followers. I am 18 years old and I now feel comfortable writing smut, meaning I will be posting NSFW fics on my blog starting now. However, I would like to make some things clear:

If you are under 18 years old, I ask that you do not interact with my NSFW content. You are allowed to read my other fanfiction and you are allowed to interact with my blog and with me, however, my NSFW content is off limits. I know that this won’t necessarily make sense to everyone, and I know people will be upset, but this is a boundary I will enforce for your own protection as well as my own. I really am sorry if you feel disappointed or feel excluded, but smut is written pornography and there is a reason why the law prohibits minors from interacting with it. 

As a legal adult, I do not feel comfortable supplying minors with sexual content. All minors, including my friends/mutuals, will be blocked if they interact with my NSFW content, so I ask again: please do not interact with my NSFW content if you are under 18, regardless of where you live, where you’re from, and regardless of your past sexual experiences. I will not be making exceptions and this isn’t up for discussion. I really do not want to be rude or act pretentious, but this really is a necessity and I will be taking this seriously.

Like I said, I will now start writing smut, however I will only be writing smut about 18 year olds and above. I do not feel comfortable writing smut about minors, even if they are 16-17. I know that minors engage in sexual behaviour in real life, but like I said, I do not feel comfortable writing about it. I also will not be writing non-con content, nor will I write about incest or dubious consent content. I ask that you please respect my choice.

For the sake of transparency, I will keep tagging the sexual content on my blog as NSFW and I will add it in the warnings above my fanfiction every time. Again, I ask that you respect these boundaries if you are a minor. I also ask that the other adult creators tag my writings as NSFW if they decide to reblog them. Thank you!!

Lastly, because I am 18, I want to say that if you feel uncomfortable with me interacting with your content or talking to you, do not hesitate to tell me and I will respect your own boundaries. Friendships on tumblr are complicated because everyone can stay anonymous while maintaining relationships with each other, which can make some people very uncomfortable, especially minors. I will completely understand if you would rather I stay away from your blog.

What I Read

I love reading people’s fanfiction and I really try to be supportive of my friends and their content however I have realised that there are a few things I see that make me uncomfortable, which is why I have decided to tell you guys that I will not be reading NSFW content about real people anymore. I don’t judge creators that do write about real people, nor do I necessarily disagree with them, I just know that it doesn’t make me feel comfortable anymore so I will not be reading those kinds of fics anymore. I am really sorry if that upsets or disappoints you but I’m not going to force myself to read things that make me feel uneasy haha.

Also, I don’t think I have ever interacted with fanfiction that talks about someone’s real life trauma because it always made me feel extremely uncomfortable, and I don’t intend on starting now so please don’t tag me in content like that! I don’t want to disrespect your work or your writing, but I feel that there are certain boundaries we have to respect as “fans” and romanticising a real person’s personal trauma is just not right in my eyes (Dylan O’Brien’s accident for instance). Yes, this includes past relationships or exes (something I didn’t always respect but now I do).

Speaking of trauma, I would like to specify something. 

I will not, and will never romanticise a character on here who’s personality revolves around his/her/their trauma (yes, even if it’s fictional). It was a big issue with Arvin Russell in the Tom Holland fandom, and it will be an even bigger issue when Cherry comes out. I used to read Mitch Rapp fanfiction, something that I don’t intend on doing anymore, unless it’s soft Mitch who’s resolved his issues haha. If a character’s entire story arc and trauma has turned them into a violent and mentally ill person, it is not something that I want to romanticise or fantasize about. It can be harmful because it reinforces the idea that toxic relationships and/or violence are romantic or sexy things. They aren’t.

What to expect on my blog for the next few months

I will be writing again in two weeks and here is what I’ve got cooking:

I will finish posting A Shitty Love Song

I will be writing a series about Harry Potter and an OC (this is a big project I’m taking on so I won’t be giving more details until I’ve really worked on it)

I will be writing a Fred Weasley series (will include smut so prepare yourselves haha)

I will be writing more Peter Parker one-shots and I might have some series ideas for later down the line

I will be writing more Drake Walker one-shots

I will be finishing writing the song blurb requests I got way back in November (im sorry it’s been so long!!)

I will also be starting a new weekly thing on my blog. I’ll explain the details in a couple of weeks but there will be a taglist so you guys get notified when we play <3

I WILL BE PLANNING A 1.2K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION WHEN I’M DONE WITH EXAMS I LOVE U GUYS

I realise that this post is insanely long and not exactly fun to read, so if you’ve stuck around till the end, thank you so much!! Please respect the boundaries I have set for my blog and please try to understand where I’m coming from before you do anything haha. I really don’t mean to act all high and mighty or superior to anyone, I’m really not haha, but I do feel responsible for the content I share on here and this is a post I’ve been meaning to make for quite some time now. I love you guys so so so much, thank you for 1.2K followers!! I feel blessed and I am so so so excited to keep creating content for you and for myself. 2021 will be awesome <333333

tagging my mutuals and my forever tag+other posts tag:

News and Other Posts Tag

@stiles-o-dylan24 @duskholland @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @hcomet28 @decaffeinated--fangirl @teen--marvel @cheesecakes-randomshitz

Forever Tag

@stixnstripesworld @masterofbluff @drakewalker04 @superapplepie @apatheticanvas67482

Mutuals

@duskholland @thelittlestkitsune @apatheticanvas67482 @mrscutiefandobhaz @teen--marvel @aquariusholland @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @siriusly-harry @solstilla 

[rpbetter]

Hey there, check out this pinned post first!

Thanks for visiting Roleplay Better, where I believe that you can fucking do better! That kind of language, however, is why it is important for you to read this post before proceeding.

This blog and its posts are meant for an adult RPing audience; be over legal, adult age in the USA, 18+. Do not interact by submitting, asking, reblogging, commenting, or liking unless you are over eighteen years of age. By interacting with RPB or me, Vespertine, you are assumed to be following this rule. If you are breaking this rule, you will be blocked.

I have that rule because this blog can/will/does address topics inappropriate for a younger audience. Those can include, but are not limited to:

not safe for work - violence, injury, sexual language, smut, substance use

“dark topics” and themes like violence, unhealthy relationships, mental illness, trauma, graphic injury, dubious consent, substance use, and so forth addressed realistically

foul, sexual, and otherwise “Adult” language

 unpopular opinions and approaches about writing, RP, fandoms

“negativity” since literally anything can be, and my whole point here isn’t about holding back; it is likely that, at some point, in some post or another, a shoe will fit you-you need to be mature enough to handle that without taking it as a personal attack on you

images and links that may contain things inappropriate for a younger audience

this blog is founded upon the idea that fiction has reflections in reality, but that fiction does not utterly equate to reality. You should write with realism, your characters should be people in their own right, and you should absolutely be addressing many popular topics responsibly, which is to say realistically. I do not support or otherwise condone purity culture, so while realism is a big deal here, fiction = reality arguments are a no

seriously, you have no idea how fucking salty I am! I try to be fair, reasonable, and mellow with everyone, but it can and does come out.

This blog tags for common, major triggers, but it is not for those easily triggered or particularly sensitive. By proceeding, you take responsibility for yourself...like a mature adult. I expect you to utilize blacklist, unfollow, and block. Tag format is simple, it is literally just the word in most cases, with “cw” and “tw” added to particularly common things. Example, a post containing a breakdown of forms of dubcon will be tagged #dubcon #dubious consent. If that was specifically of a sexual nature, since tumblr is unfriendly to using Not Safe For Work now, I will be using #notsafe for sexual topics. In the event that this needs to change, it will be posted about, the previous tag left intact, so that you may update your blacklist.

You are always welcome to send me an ask or private message requesting a particular trigger be tagged for you. I try to check blogs I see following, especially if I follow back, so that I can tag what you require. However, I’m a person, I’m an ND, ill, busy person though, I do make mistakes!

If you find yourself desirous of telling me to tag in a hateful way, don’t. You will not be responded to with an apology and kindness. Do not be rude, it’s uncalled for when informing someone of a problem or making a request.

I will run the blog largely on a queue, and will not be following many people back. This is not personal! I just like to try to provide content at many different times, have a life elsewhere, and I am so happy that you love your fandom, but it might not be something I’ve enough interest in to have on my dash.

Don’t tumblr message me. Use the inbox or submit.

Due to recent events, I am changing this rule. It’s hard for me to receive messages unexpectedly, and I hate to imply that I’ll be able to get to these quicker because it isn’t the truth. Quicker, better responses come from the inbox. However, there have been too many incidents lately in which people needed to speak privately and had to make that a request. If you’re having a problem and need to vent, request sensitive advice, etc.? It’s alright, go ahead and drop me a PM, y’all. I’ll get back to you as soon as I am able. Please, do not be angry with me if I respond to inbox things or my queue is running! You’re important to me, I just might not have the requisite social cognition and energy you deserve at that time.

Aggressive inbox messages will be responded to in kind. I don’t care if you are on anon or not, if you haven’t an ounce of polite communication skills, I won’t have them either. This is not a “we don’t publish anon hate” blog.

I highly encourage asks and submissions on any and all RP topics, and it’s perfectly alright to be salty as fuck in them, you can totally vent here, but don’t take out your frustration on me or be demanding of me. I am always happy to help with information, advice, or just a response to your venting-it’s important to know someone is listening. However, it may take me a few days to a week to get to you, be patient. 

If you are going to vent, leave out usernames. This isn’t a callout or burnbook blog. It’s fine to state characters and fandoms, but if this becomes a problem, it’ll have to change. I don’t want this becoming a salt blog for one or two fandoms I very likely can’t even stand. Practice the fine art of alluding to things, its good experience for your writing! Besides, RPC problems are RPC problems, I promise. It might feel like it’s just your fandom, but there is something relatable in all corners.

I will not overly police comments. Keep the slurs and shit out of it, though. If there is an issue going on pertaining to a serious instance of hate speech, or behavior I, personally, deem as too inappropriate and/or immature to be taking place on my post, I will step in. Otherwise, I expect everyone to be adults in the comments and reblogs too. If you want to argue with each other, that’s your business. If you want to argue with me, I’m not sorry in advance.

Addition to the above: this is not a blog in which it will be tolerated that commentators or those submitting with the URLS are targeted for callouts, shaming, or other instances of bullying. No, I cannot make those people stop bothering you by blocking them, but the least I can do is address that by shutting down their access to this blog and it’s posts by blocking on the URLs I have for them. And I will. Fuck that “we can’t be responsible for” shit. It’s my blog, it’s my content I’m putting out there, I’m not going to just ignore shit like what went down over on COAR, thanks. Not. Cool.

This is definitely not a place for:

people who think giving muses labels, including top/bottom “dynamics,” is a good substitute for character traits, personality, and development

those with no reading comprehension skills

folks dependent upon aesthetics and aesthetics-based purple prose as filler for actual writing

anti-original character/just wants to fuck a FC or canon character club, get the fuck out immediately

y’all who see writing as an obstacle to getting down to action, be that smut, drama, or fight scenes...it’s literally a writing hobby

politics, any manner of phobe or ism, violent/non-inclusive feminists, purity/rpc/fandom/content police of any manner, and exactly any manner of racism, sexism, or religious intolerance - I give not a shit if it’s popular to hate the straights, for example, I neither believe in nor tolerate reactionary classifying of any group as blanket-statement evil

people who are going to tack onto my posts shit like, “it’s okay, OP, you can say x character.” Trust me, if I were talking about one character, I fucking would name drop them, don’t bring me into your fandom drama, I doubt I know or want to know who that anime guy is who looks like 12 other anime guys to me.

About Vespertine

You can call me that, Vespertine. I’d rather you didn’t go with Vesper, but as it is unfortunately so likely to happen, I won’t feed you to the dogs over it either. RPB Mun is also acceptable.

I’m alright with either she/her or he/him, they/them is also fine. Apparently, that was big enough clue-in for the poor reading comp crowd, so while I feel it is not of importance, I’m nonbinary, yes.

Late 30′s, chronically ill but still working adult with neurodivergence. I’m both busy and Busy, and always sick. This limits my brain power and ability to be here. I have an active RP blog that I won’t be sharing to keep responsible distance. That is always going to be my priority, it is my primary hobby.

Please, don’t tumblr message me totally random things if we don’t have that kind of relationship! I’m too ill and busy, and it really fucks my nerves to have a bunch of messages/have to suddenly interact socially with people. Don’t do it. Use my inbox, use the submit, comment on posts. I cannot do random messages of “hey” and so forth.

I only do written RP, don’t expect me to understand much of anything from tabletop. I’ve RPed for the last 23 years consistently, on every platform from AOL chats to forums to messengers and here. I also don’t do RP in discord, so I’m sorry, but I can’t advise you much on anything with a word count, except to stop it for serious RP. Other than that, I promise you that I’ve seen the trends, the drama, the fandoms. I can give a lot of advice and perspective on a wide range of topics, situations, and characters! When I don’t have a clue at all, I’ll try to do enough research to give you an answer.

Do I come off as a horrible, strict asshole? I do! I’m not going to say that I am just a shy bean who is more scared of you than you are me. I’m not. I’m honestly feral, but have common decency, compassion, and sense. All of which are lacking in the general RPC. So, if you can inbox/common/otherwise interact with anyone else on this site, you can totally handle me!

Honesty and openness are policies.

And in the spirit of that, I repeat; you can fucking do better, tumblr RPC!

[pynkhues]

Hey Sophie! I’m just starting it out on ao3 and I still don’t know how to exactly tag my fics. Do you have any tips? Don’t feel obliged to answer this.

Hey! How exciting to hear you’re jumping onto ao3 to post your fics! I can’t wait to check them out. :-) 

And of course! That’s a great question. I know tagging fic was something that I struggled to get my head around when I first started posting stories, so this has been a great opportunity to condense what I’ve learned over my many years in fandom, haha. Hopefully some of it’s useful for you, and, as always, please remember this is just my own opinion. 

The Essentials

I think that there are only two types of essential tags you need for your fics, and I classify these as ‘admin tags’ and ‘content warning tags’. 

Admin Tags are essentially just filing to ensure your story ends up in the right place, and they’re tags you should use both on ao3, and here on tumblr too when you share it. Generally speaking, I think of these as: 

Fandom

Characters

Relationships

So pretty basic, haha. A lot of people often only tag main characters and the central romantic ship, but I generally like to encourage people to tag all characters and all relationships, both romantic and platonic. Especially as the Good Girls fandom has gotten bigger and the there are so many more fics out there, I think this has become more essential. Like, I want to know if there’s background Ruby x Stan, y’know? Or if there’s Mick and Rio friendship! Knowing what other relationships your story’s going to touch on often really helps readers to prioritise what they read when they’re time poor, and makes it easier to search for again if say, I forget to bookmark (classic Sophie move, haha), and want to read it again (and bookmark it this time). 

Content Warnings on the other hand are pretty different and might not even be applicable to your story, but they’re always important to think about before you post. A content warning is basically just a flag for anything that could trigger a traumatic memory or response in the person reading it. These are not just courteous to add, but I also think, as someone who’s written a lot of health and safety documentation in her day job, an act of public safety. There are a lot of content warnings to tag for, but the big ones in fic are typically: 

Dubious consent / non consent (commonly shortened to DubCon and NonCon)

Major Character Death; and

Self Harm and Suicide

There are a lot more though to think about, and The University of Michigan actually has a great resource on this for inclusive teaching and has a list of really comprehensive things to warn for that I find is a great reference point for fic tagging too. 

As for the essentials, I’d say that’s it basically! If you wanted to, you could leave it at that, but adding more tags which help to summarise your story could really help you widen your story’s reach and appeal to more readers! So let’s take a look at that too: 

Optional Tags that Could Widen Your Reach

Settings and Context! I find these are great ones for really flagging what your story’s going to be. Is it one set in canon? If so, tag it as Canon Compliant! Is it canon until, say, 2.11, like my fic ‘verse The Center and Circumference is? Then tag it as Canon Divergent. Does it happen before the series starts? Tag it as Pre-Canon! These particular settings tags can be seen as: 

Pre-Canon

Canon Compliant

Post-Canon

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent

Alternate Universe

With canon fics, you can even get more specific and tag the episode itself, which is particularly handy! I’d say if what you’ve written is a missing scene fic from a specific episode too, it’s a really good idea. :-)

Once you’ve done that, then think a little deeper about that setting and context! If it’s a highschool au, tag it as a Highschool AU, or a fisherman au, tag it as a Fisherman AU, etc. etc. Setting tags aren’t just for AUs though either – they’re also great for tagging things like:

Established Relationship

Domestic Fluff

Slow Burn

Getting Together

Break Up

Basically, I’d suggest thinking of your setting and context tags as what you’re dropping your reader into. Where are they, when are they, and what are they? This is going to be particularly useful for people who, say, are just in the mood for fic where Beth and Rio are already together, or are wanting fics with Beth, Ruby and Annie growing up. 

It’s a sort of grounding, I think, that’s really useful! And once you’ve tagged that grounding, you can have a bit more fun with tagging for tropes and kinks!

Tropes are basically story conventions, devices and themes that are utilised in the story that you’re telling. They range from broad genres (angst!) to really specific story elements (there was only one bed!) Some tropes are heavily popularised, others less so, but tagging for them is a delightful way to ensure that your story lands in front of the eyeballs of the readers who love that trope. Some more tropes include: 

Hurt/Comfort

Pining

Huddling for warmth

Sick fic

Jealousy

Fake dating

There are a lot more, and fanlore has a pretty handy summary of a lot of them here if you’re unsure, but feel free to create your own too ;-). 

Kinks! Tag your kinks! Particularly if they’re specific, because this fandom loves some specific kinks, hahaha, like: 

Desk sex

Car sex

Hate sex

Make up sex

Oral sex

Annnd, you get the idea. Again, super handy for connecting to interested readers. 

Other tags

Otherwise, you can basically tag whichever way you want. The above are just suggestions, but ones I generally find useful to think about. I know other people like to tag tumblr prompts for instance, or if a fic is unbeta’d, or if it’s freeform, and I think that’s great. 

The only thing I generally urge away from is using train-of-thought tags on ao3 in the way we might use train-of-thought tags on tumblr. Ao3′s tag functionality after all is about categorisation, sharing, and helping people find stories that appeal to them, and train-of-thought tags generally speaking don’t do that. On top of that, unpaid volunteers go through those tags on ao3 to try and keep them organised and functional as a search tool, and I think making their lives easier by tagging specifically is a nice thing to do.

That said, feel empowered to create tags that might be a good new subcategory for the fandom (I just created a ‘Mick and Rio backstory’ tag for my latest fic that I hope people might use because I would like to read fics not written by me of this ilk, haha)

So yes! Those are my tips! I hope they’re useful, anon! I can’t wait to read your stories when they pop up! :-)

[thesecondcircleofkel]

Unconventional Assurance

Shinsou x Reader

2.1 K

Request: “Can I request Shinsou dating a short girl with thick thighs and gets subconscious about her butt and legs in a two piece because she all the other girls tall and slim at the beach and he comforts her? NSFW please!”

Warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, mild dubious consent because of Shinsou’s Quirk, but it’s nothing too egregious 

Notes: I am so sorry that this took so long to get out T.T

It was an awful thing, having all of your imperfections suddenly shoved right into your face, but unfortunately, it was also unavoidable in some instances. You desperately wanted to cover yourself up, regretting the swimsuit you were wearing, wishing that you had grabbed a T-shirt and some shorts instead. All those other girls on the beach, bikinis clinging tightly to their skin, all tight-bodied perfection with just the right amount of curves in the right places- you could hardly even imagine how you compared to them.  

It made your skin crawl, the nausea in your throat bubbling and growing stronger by the second. God, you wanted to leave so badly. This had been a horrible idea and you were really kicking yourself for coming up with it. Surely Shinsou wouldn't question it if you wanted to leave already. He didn't seem like much of a beach-goer anyways, so he'd probably be overjoyed to get away from the sand and overbearing heat.  

You looked over to where he stood at your side, his own eyes gazing off into the distance and searching for a place to set up for the day. You quietly muttered his name, low enough to where only he would hear you. The last thing you needed right now was to attract any more attention to yourself. Shinsou barely turned his head towards you, his eyes immediately dropping to where your arms were crossed tightly over your chest. You looked so small right then, as if you were trying to fold into yourself and out of existence, to hide from everything. The discomfort was evident on your face, and his own face scrunched up in frustration because he knew exactly what the problem was, the déjà vu of the situation so strong that it was practically slapping him in the face.  

He didn't say anything, just grabbed you by the wrist and started pulling you towards a wooden shack that sat far away from the shoreline and any prying eyes. It must have been used as a changing room once, but a newer, larger building had taken its place a while ago, leaving the shack untouched and abandoned most days. It still had a lock, though, a lock that Shinsou immediately flipped once both of you were past the door. He leveled his stare at you once more, waiting for you to say something instead of just standing there and practically trying to cower away from his sight.  

When it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, he let out an exasperated breath, head turning to the ceiling and eyes closing as he realized how difficult this was going to be. You'd argue against everything that he said, say that his every compliment just came out of pity, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that seemingly endless conversation yet. But then again, maybe it didn't have to be a conversation. Not a two-sided one, at least. That would certainly make his life easier right now, you being forced to listen to him without the ability to argue back. It may have been a bit underhanded, but Shinsou never claimed to play fair.  

"Y/N, what's all this about?" 

A rhetorical question, but it got the job done. You immediately started spouting off reasons why you wanted to leave, but your list was cut short, barely making it past the first item before the words caught in your throat and your eyes went blank. You were probably screaming at him in your head right then, but thankfully he wasn't a mind reader, and he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste, either. 

"When are you going to learn, Y/N?" 

It should have made you bristle, that admonishment that he had no business giving, but the way that he looked at you when he said it...it would have made you back away if you'd been able to move, but instead you were stuck there, only able to watch as Shinsou stalked towards you, his eyes only leaving you briefly to flicker behind you. 

"Turn around and walk until you're in front of the mirror." 

You could have punched him. The last thing that you wanted to see right then was the sight of your own body, although Shinsou was certainly trying to worm his way into that standing. It wasn't like you could disobey, though, and you soon found yourself staring into your own eyes, their blank gaze almost disorienting. Shinsou moved behind you, his head appearing over your shoulder before he bent down to brush his lips against your neck. The feeling of it was so light, and when coupled with the way that his breath gently flowed over your skin, it made your whole spine shiver with little anticipatory sparks. 

"How many times do we have to go over this, Y/N?"  

His voice seemed to roll right through you, leaving nothing but heat in its wake, a heat that immediately started to pool right between your thighs. Shinsou's hands gently pressed against your hips, lightly kneading the flesh there as he stared at your reflection in the mirror.  

"Absolute perfection." 

He gave your hips a light squeeze to punctuate his statement.  

"All of it."  

He trailed his hands lovingly over your stomach, briefly brushing against your lower belly as if he was going to move further down, before he suddenly changed his trajectory so he could instead cup your breast.  

"Every single inch of you is perfect, Y/N."  

You could feel the dampness gathering in the crotch of your swimsuit, and it only got worse as Shinsou's thumbs started to circle your nipples, making the peaks slowly grow taut before he added his forefingers to the mix and gave them a light pinch. It wasn't nearly hard enough to knock you out of his control, but it certainly made you wish that you could clench your thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction in the area that Shinsou had yet to touch.  

"What do I have to do to prove that to you? My words don't seem to do the job, no matter how much they rile you up." 

He brought one hand up to trace a finger along your lower lip, his gaze trained to your face as he seemed to contemplate his options.  

"I could fuck you right here in this dingy little shack, that might help to prove my point. Mm, but then you might not be able to walk out of here properly. We wouldn't want anyone to know what we were up to, now would we?" 

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he was wrong and that you didn't care if anyone knew. You'd beg him if you had to, anything to make him touch you where you needed him the most, anything to get him to make you come. He seemed content with the way things were, though, you at his mercy and unable to do a thing as he teased you. Finally, finally he trailed back down your body, his hand moving right into the bottom of your swimsuit so his fingers could trace along your soaked lips. 

"So wet. Do you want me to make you come, Y/N? Would that help you to understand my point? Will that be enough to make you go back out there and enjoy yourself?"  

He couldn't have expected an answer from you, and it almost seemed like he was contemplating something as he continued to ghost his fingers across you, just barely pushing them past your slit and lightly brushing against your clit. You would have sobbed at that barely-there touch if you could have, but again, the ability was robbed from you, bound by your lover's Quirk.  

"I'll make a deal with you, Y/N. Feeling how soaked that sweet pussy of yours is has me feeling a bit parched, so I’m going to make you come with my tongue now, and if you're good when we go back outside, I'll fuck you as soon as we get home. That sound good?" 

Again, it wasn't like you could answer, but he pretended like you could, humming in agreement before placing one last kiss on your neck. He moved your arms until they were braced against the mirror in front of you, also spreading your legs and canting your hips back towards him. He used that opportunity to grind his own hips against you, letting you feel the proof of how much this was affecting him. Taking care of that proof hardly seemed to be his priority, though.   

"Eyes forward and don't look down at me. I want you to watch your own face as you come." 

With that he slid down between your legs, maneuvering your swimsuit until your drenched heat was exposed to him. You couldn't see him, he hadn't allowed you to, but you could feel his breath ghosting across your lips, and it made every muscle in your body want to clench with anticipation. He only teased you a bit at first, just trailing his thumbs along your outer lips, running them through the wetness that had already spread there, but when he finally, finally ran his tongue along you and then swirled it around your clit, every bit of frustration that you felt towards him dissipated.  

He continued to lap his tongue against you, groaning at the taste of you, and one of his arms snaked its way up your torso, his hand lightly running over your breast until your nipple hardened enough for him to feel it through your suit. Once he found it, he teased it with his forefinger, not using enough pressure to jar you out of his control, but his light touch was still enough that you would have been whining had you been able to use your voice. He teased your nipple in time with his mouth, running his finger over it every time his tongue moved over your clit, and even though you had no control over your body, you could feel your core throbbing thanks to Shinsou's treatment.  

Heat was searing in your belly, and whereas you would have been moaning your lover's name, the dressing room was only filled with the wet noises of Shinsou devouring you, the unmistakable squelching only spurring your body on as it spiraled closer and closer to orgasm. Shinsou teased his tongue around your opening, the thumb on his free hand running along your drenched slit before moving to your clit, and once it started to circle the engorged bud, he thrust his tongue inside of you, finally, finally snapping you out of his Quirk. You immediately let out a scream of ecstasy, your nails sliding against the mirror as you scrambled for purchase. You were tempted to look down, to try to see Shinsou as he fucked you with his tongue, but you were also afraid to disobey his earlier order, afraid that he would pull back and tease you all over again if you did, or even worse, not let you come at all.  

So your eyes stayed on your reflection in the mirror, the hooded gaze staring back at you somehow both familiar and foreign. That same gaze widened as the pleasure that had coiled in your belly pulled tight, and when it finally snapped, your mouth fell open as you cried out, your upper body lurching forward so you could support yourself against the mirror. Your knees felt weak, shaky as Shinsou continued to work his thumb against you, the groan that he let out when your walls constricted around his tongue echoing through you. You keened at the overwhelming stimulation, but even when he finally pulled his thumb away from you, his tongue continued its wake, no doubt trying to capture all of the sweet nectar that your orgasm released.  

With a content and satiated hum, Shinsou gave your clit one last kiss, causing you to shudder as he stood back up. His hands found their way to your hips again, his thumbs circling and massaging against your skin as you panted and slowly came down from the orgasmic high that he had given you.  

"Better?" 

"Mhm." 

"Good girl. I'll give you a minute to calm down, but we're still going back out there. Don't forget my promise, Y/N." 

How could you, when your body still tingled from the taste of that promise that he had given you? You hardly had the faculties to compare yourself to anyone again, anyways, because it was hard to focus on what the other people on the beach looked like when you were so focused on the bliss that waited for you.  

[gayregis]

in voice of reason do you think Geralt was justified in calling Yennefer “too possessive”? what did you think of nennekes response?

ok im splitting this into two parts for the two questions!!

PART ONE: do you think Geralt was justified in calling Yennefer “too possessive”?

well, i think that sapkowski didn’t really have the lore of every single detail down-pat yet. he changes much later on - for example, in a question of price, geralt is referred to as a child surprise, but in the sword of destiny in something more, geralt clarifies to calanthe that mousesack got his facts wrong... this is sapkowski is behind the scenes retconning it.

other things also are changed, like i think it’s weird how vereena is just referred to as vereena when mr emiel regis rohellec terzieff godefroy pops up later in baptism of fire and says his name is in accordance with vampire tradition, and also vereena can turn into a bat and fly even though it’s midday (iirc... the time isn’t specified, but it’s assumedly midday?) when regis states that he can only turn into a bat and fly during the full moon, and not before midnight at that. of course vampires are such an irrelevant little detail, a footnote in the actual story, but it’s something to keep in mind that sometimes sapkowski loses consistency in his own lore inbetween books. 

i think he also stated that geralt and yennefer spent 6 months together in vengerberg, but this was later changed to a year, and then to four years... so i’m not sure how much he had conceptualized of yennefer as a character and yennefer and geralt’s relationship by this time of writing and publishing the last wish. he might have just had geralt say that yennefer was too posessive because he needed a reason for them to be broken up at this moment.

but for the sake of simplicity, let’s say that this is fully what sapkowski intended to write and convey about yennefer - it’s on the page, after all. firstly, i think that geralt is a whiny pissbaby. he just is. especially at this point in the books. he complains about everything, nothing is ever right, the entire world is out to get him and mock him. so i am inclined to not exactly believe him 100% when he complains about things being too anything, of course he would find everything too anything, he’s so sensitive, he’s geralt of rivia.

i need to analyze what it means to be called “posessive” in a relationship. and i don’t know what the original word used was, perhaps it was something more specific, as is sometimes the case with the translation. does it mean that yennefer didn’t want geralt to be looking at other women, that she wanted him to remain monogamous, and he didn’t want to be monogamous? does it mean that she was controlling of his actions? i think these are kind of both in character, i wouldn’t agree with geralt in calling her “posessive” due to the actual look at yennefer’s character that we get later on, but canonically, yennefer did want monogamy from geralt. and canonically, she did influence his behavior a lot, at least in style of manner and dress, for example she taught him how to eat chicken with a knife and fork and also dresses him for the event on thanedd. i don’t think these are necessarily negative things, it depends on how the level of willingness of geralt to be treated like this, it just depends on if he likes it or not. 

but let’s actually look at instances in which yennefer could be called “posessive” - for me, specific scenes in blood of elves and lady of the lake pop up. the first thing that comes to my mind is that triss betrayed her and used magic on geralt to sleep with him... which, obviously, is dubious consent, which means possibly no consent at all... and so, yes, yennefer has the right to be upset at triss and, depending on the context (it’s vague if geralt consented or not) possible geralt. i don’t think this is her being possessive, saying “geralt belongs to ME,” but rather, why would my best friend and my boyfriend go behind my back to sleep together? it's just one of those things you don’t do, as a best friend. it’s disrespectful. and this tension between yennefer and triss continues throughout the series, the last hostility between them in the series is yennefer threatening to snatch her by her ginger locks if she goes after her man - which i find to be just sort of a catfight sapkowski wrote in, owing to his personal biases and view of how women interact with one another. but also, in context, yennefer has just been through hell to get ciri and geralt back and safe, and triss has already gone after ciri to steal her with the lodge, and since yennefer and geralt are actually sincerely in a commited relationship by this point, i think it’s justified for yennefer to be upset at the thought of triss trying to get geralt to cheat on her again. and also, it’s sort of humorous because of how insanely much yennefer has just been through, but sapkowski allows her to have this sort of petty drama throwaway line, it contrasts with her deep character development that she just received in these last two books, and due to that, it’s funny.

speaking of best friends... the next scene that pops into my head relating to yennefer being “posessive” is when she speaks with dandelion at the beginning of blood of elves. i think a “posessive” lover would be one to try and ruin the relationships that their lover has with other individuals: friendships, family, etc. but in this scene, she’s so nice to dandelion! she’s very respectful, even when she’s hurt. and she tells him she respects him and thanks him for being there for geralt. that’s not posessive, that’s entirely the opposite - accepting that even if you don’t really like your significant other’s friends, that they like their friends, and you have to respect that relationship. yennefer could literally just threaten or kill dandelion if she was posessive and wanted him out of geralt’s life, but instead she is grateful to him for being there for geralt when she couldn’t / in a way that she couldn’t. and, in this same scene, she says that she has gone to kaer morhen as a a guest many times, never uninvited, so that confirms that she also has a good relaitonship with the other witchers of kaer morhen, geralt’s family, and doesn’t try to limit geralt’s interactions with them. she’s quite supportive of geralt’s relationships beyond her.

and finally, let’s go to the end of blood of elves, in the scenes where she becomes a teacher and mother to ciri... in the beginning, she is actually upset because she is being possessive of geralt - she resents ciri because she feels that geralt’s attention has been divided between the two of them, that because geralt has this kid now, he’s forgotten about her... but nenneke rebukes her for this, and then she realizes that that’s an incredibly immature way to behave. and she becomes a better person, she changes from her initial petty behavior and becomes a wonderful, selfless mother to ciri. in the end, she wasn’t possessive at all.

so, i don’t think that yennefer is actually “possessive,” she kind of just wants to be respected as a human being and also as geralt’s lover. geralt, in a little sacrifice, realizes that he hasn’t exactly respected yennefer, because of his own insecurities, he believed that she didn’t really fall so deeply in love with him, and that he couldn’t love her back, but she did, and he did. so his perspective changes in this moment... but of course, the voice of reason occurs way before this, when he is still acting immaturely. yennefer and geralt as characters develop together and sometimes as a result from one another. in the beginning, they’re both incredibly insecure people and that insecurity has made them act immature. but over the course of the series, they learn and grow.

in this moment, i don’t think geralt was justified to call yennefer “posessive,” because over the course of the series we see that she isn’t, but it is in character for him to say so.

PART TWO: what did you think of nennekes response?

nenneke responds to geralt by saying she’s not his mom and he shouldn’t be voicing his relationship complaints to her, and that if he has something to say or give to yennefer, he needs to do it himself.

i like this response, primarily because she urges geralt to act responsibly and maturely. geralt is, as i said, immature at this point in the books, and also is not quite experienced in love and relationships... so he is acting indirectly, almost cowardly - like breaking up over text message, or asking someone else to ask the girl in class if she likes you. it’s just like, do it yourself! have some confidence! but this is the edge to how much geralt respects yennefer and values her... he doesn’t want to do the wrong thing and offend her, so that he does the cowardly thing instead, and ends up offending her after all - i mean, leaving a flower on the nightstand? come on, dude...

geralt NEEDS someone to be the voice of reason and tell him to snap out of it, yennefer is just another person like anyone else, and you need to be direct with her. if you’re sorry, then say sorry! don’t try to give her vague presents to make up for it. that’s not how relationships work.

what i find funny and ironic is that as nenneke urges geralt to act mature and respectably, she tells him she’s not his mother in the same breath - even though this is exactly what a mother does. i think this was intentional on sapkowski’s part, since nenneke is so obviously a mother figure to geralt, having her say “i’m not your mother” aloud is something that needed to be said, because even though he sees her as one and they have this kind of mother-child relationship, she’s not. or, on the other hand, she is, and by her denying it, it’s just meant to be ironic to the audience, who understands that she is geralt’s mother but can never admit that to him.

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

mod a’s lgbt musicals

Hi there! I’m a big theatre kid so I thought for pride month I’d put together a list of LGBTQ musicals. Despite its association with queer people, musical theatre is not known for its amazing representation. I’ve put together a list here of musicals I know of with queer characters. I’ve tried to avoid those where the queer characters are incredibly minor roles or those where the representation is just not good enough to be salvageable (*side eyes Legally Blonde*) I know there are many musicals I will have missed out but these are the ones I am most aware of. Feel free to add more! So without further ado, here it is.

Fun Home

The big Tony winner of 2015! Based on Alison Bechdel, a butch lesbian cartoonist. At the age of 43, she looks for new material by trying to explore her past and her relationship with her closeted gay dad. Looks back at a version of herself when she was 10 and a “tomboy” and at 19 when she came out and got her first girlfriend. Has very cute lighthearted moments as well as very sad moments. Has a beautiful song where small Alison sees a butch deliverywoman. Problems in that since the original broadway cast, Alison’s costume has got less butch. Content warning for suicide.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMAuesRJm1E

The Color Purple

Based on Alice Walker’s novel about black women in the 1930s. Follows Celie who has been abused by men her whole life who discovers she is a lesbian but also makes a journey of self discovery and learns to love herself. Her love interest is a bisexual woman. Won best revival at the Tonys in 2016. Content warning for discussion/implied sexual abuse.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3k2xzQyT2bk

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie

A teenage gay boy in Sheffield wants to be a drag queen and go to prom in a dress.Also a nice touch that is does not focus on him having a relationship (since he is sixteen) and him having to come out as he is already out. Focuses on his close relationship with his supportive mother. Has a diverse cast. Jamie is currently played by a black actor and his best friend wears a hijab and has a very diverse ensemble as well. Unfortunately has a part where Jamie responds to a homophobic bully by calling him a bunch of ableist and classist slurs.

Here’s a clip of the most popular song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7C3FuFWDdw

The Prom

Emma is a lesbian teenager in Indiana whose prom is cancelled by the PTA after she requests to bring her girlfriend to it. A group of Broadway actors come down to help her campaign to be allowed to attend prom, as well as styling her, helping her work on her confidence and educating the town’s people. What ensues is basically a two hour musical episode of Queer Eye. Cheesy and fun with so many musical theatre references crammed in. My one issue is that the show is rather harsh on people who are closeted since Emma has conflicted with her girlfriend Alyssa because she is not ready to come out.

Here’s a clip of their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGcG_r5xv3E

Rent

Probably the most well known on this list. Artists in New York during the AIDS crisis. Two of the main couples featured are queer: Maureen is bisexual and in a relationship with Joanne who is a lesbian, and Angel is a transgender woman of color in a relationship with Collins, a presumably bisexual man. However, she tends to be played bi cis men and there are instances of her being misgendered by the main characters uncritically. In Rent Live (2019), all instances of her being misgendered were removed and her gender identity was confirmed. She was played in this by Valentina, an nb drag queen and has also been played by Pose’s MJ Rodriguez, a trans woman. Very diverse with Jewish characters and people of colour and in the live show, only 1 of the 8 main characters was white. Has been criticised over the years, mainly for its biphobic portrayal of Maureen who is promiscuous and implied to cheat, but in the 90s did a lot for the LGBTQ community and is more progressive than a lot of media even now.

Here’s a clip of Maureen and Joanne from Rent Live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06oCfKYYPTY

And here’s some Angel and Collins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hl-M94o_x8

Falsettos

Marvin comes out as gay in the late 70s but decides to move his ex wife and son in with his boyfriend. Addresses AIDS crisis in Act 2. Has “lesbians from next door” in act 2. F Revived on Broadway in 2016. All of the characters are Jewish. Unfortunately, in revival casts, very few actors tend to be Jewish.

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjnAHOdMQVk

Come From Away

In the aftermath of 9/11, 38 planes are diverted to a small town in Canada called Gander. Shows people of different races and nationalities bonding in a scary time. Addresses Islamophobia. Has one song called Prayer where prayers from different religions overlap. Has an interracial gay couple called Kevin and Kevin. They break up in the end but are very important characters. Won best direction of a musical in 2017. The Broadway production starred Jenn Colella who has referred to herself as ‘mostly gay’.

Here’s a clip of Jenn Colella singing a song from the musical: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8ukgH6U-d0

Head Over Heels

Honestly I don’t quite know what this musical is about, even by reading the plot summary and listening to the soundtrack. I know it’s set in a Tudor fantasy world and that there are wlw couples as well as an explicitly non binary character, played by Peppermint, a trans woman, and that there are interracial couples and plus sized actors. It is a jukebox musical using songs by the Go-Gos and yes the wlw anthem that is Heaven is a Place on Earth is one of them. The soundtrack is fantastic even if you can’t follow what is going on.

Here are some show clips: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx2qQ7QAPm0

Spring Awakening

German school kids in the 19th century discovering their sexuality. Two of the schoolboy supporting characters, Ernst and Hänschen, have a romance when they have a reprise of an earlier song in Act 2.  A BIG content warning as it has graphic discussions of rape and songs about it and a sex scene with very dubious consent. However there was a very wonderful 2016 revival using deaf actors and sign language.

This is another one you can very easily find the full show of on YouTube which I won’t link. However here’s the Tony performance for the revival: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSagsMcak4Q

If/Then

A woman named Elizabeth (originally played by Idina Menzel) moves to New York after a divorce and contemplated how different her life would be if she took two different paths. Four supporting queer characters. Her ex-boyfriend is bisexual and played by Anthony Rapp (who is bisexual in real life) and he gets a boyfriend in one timeline. Another of her friends is a lesbian called Kate who marries her girlfriend in the musical. Problems occur as in both timelines, cheating goes on in the lesbian relationship although they stay together in one. Elizabeth also says she doesn’t believe in bisexuals, a view no one ever challenges her on, however Lucas is very clearly bisexual which is some proof for the audience that she is wrong.

I’m not going to link it here but there are many very high quality bootlegs on it on YouTube if you want to watch,

Ghost Quartet

A bit of a weird one. This is more of a concept album. There are four performers who each play instruments and they tell the stories of many interconnected timelines. It is very hard to explain but there are souls travelling through time who keep being reincarnated as different people with different relationships to each other which usually end with one woman killing the other. In the song Soldier & Rose, the ghosts Rose and Pearl are lovers as Rose seduces the soldier for her honey.  In the song Four Friends, for one chorus the men sing “I like to put my hand on a pretty girls’s knee” and the women sing “pretty boy’s knee” and then they switch for the next chorus so they’re all bisexual. In general, a lot of fun if you like weird musicals and I mean really weird.

The full show is online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJSaEJm8pCE

Mean Girls

Yes there’s a musical of it. I was not looking forward to it when it was announced but have actually grown to quite like it. It’s hardly lyrical genius but the songs are fun and a lot of the problematic aspects of the film have been fixed. Damian is more explicitly gay in the musical and sings about an ex boyfriend in one song. Janis is heavily implied to be a lesbian (confirmed by actress offstage) and she doesn’t end up with Kevin Gnapoor. She is played by a queer actress in the tour cast. Both queer characters are much bigger roles than in the movie and get several songs each. I’d consider the musical to be quite white feminist but it does address issues such as the sexualisation of teenage girls and the notion that to be ‘sexy’ is ‘empowering’.

Here’s a clip of one of Damian’s songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-zM6QKkxEQ

& Juliet

An English jukebox musical about what might have happened to Juliet in Romeo and Juliet if she had not died at the end. I haven’t seen it but I’ve listened to the soundtrack and it is mainly comprised of 21st century songs by women. One of Juliet’s best friends is non binary although is played by a cis man as far as we know. Also I went to the same school as one of the actors which is a bonus for me. Very diverse cast.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dm2k9nS3o20

In Transit

A capella musical about several people’s adventures on New York public transport. Two of the main characters in this ensemble cast are an interracial gay couple where both are pocs. They are engaged but one of them is having trouble coming out to his mother. I found it refreshing in that his fiance for the most part was not upset with him at his struggles in coming out and they were both able to live fulfilling lives despite this. I am always astonished by the talent of a cappella singers.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhvik6qoass  Another one where the bootleg can be found very easily on YouTube

Firebringer

Remember A Very Potter Musical? Well, the company that did that are still putting out new pieces of theatre on their YouTube channel. In 2016, they put out their ridiculous comedy musical Firebringer, about a group of bisexual cavewomen. I won’t spoil the ending but trust me, it’s great. You may know it from the viral clip of one of the main characters singing ‘I don’t really wanna do the work today.’

You can watch the full musical here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmVuNlu0LCk

Special Mentions

Company

Musical by Stephen Sondheim about a man unable to commit to a relationship, surrounded by his friends who are all in couples. However, the award-winning 2018 West End revival chose to change the genders of some of the characters. The main character Robert became ‘Bobbie’ (although all of her love interests were gender-swapped as well). One of the originally M/F couples became an M/M couple. It opened on Broadway for about a week before the Covid outbreak so that will be one to look out for.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtDK03y4gT0

In the Heights

A musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda about the Latin American community living in Washington Heights in New York. The original theatre production has no explicitly queer characters. However, in the upcoming movie version (that was meant to be released this summer but has been pushed back to next summer) it has been confirmed that the characters of Daniela and Carla (Daphne Rubin-Vega and Stephanie Beatriz) will be explicitly a couple.

I absolutely love this musical and the trailer for the movie looks beautiful check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0CL-ZSuCrQ

[leonawriter]

Regarding certain implications I’ve seen referred to. Post made before watching the relevant movie, based somewhat on gifsets and various meta I’ve seen. I’m actually hoping more that I’m wrong than that I’m right, so don’t be too hard on me if I say things that don’t match with canon.

.

Something that keeps bugging me about Loki in Thor: Ragnarok - which, so far, I mostly know of through gifsets and meta posts, yet even that is enough for the general gist of this post - is how people have pointed out that there're a few things that when put together point toward the idea/theory that Loki and the Grandmaster had a... thing. An arrangement of sorts.

Now, my issue isn’t with the idea that Loki might do strange things or use dubious methods to get what he wants. My issue with what I’ve seen so far is in his reaction to having to tell people this is how he got what he wanted, or in having his methods outed without his consent.

See. The gist I’ve gotten? Is that Loki is very reluctant to share these details. That perhaps it’s because Thor’s his big brother (and no amount of weirdness from the past few years can get rid of a few thousand years of considering each other as such, growing up with each other), but... he gets flustered easily when the topic gets brought up. 

There’s a gifset that I remember where Loki mentions having been warming the Grandmaster up to him somehow, and there’s a cut to the Grandmaster, who’s making eyes at Loki. Another time, it’s Valkyrie explaining, amused and more, that the ship they’re on is a pleasure cruiser. For, y’know, orgies.

The film isn’t all that subtle about what it’s implying Loki did, if that’s what it wanted to tell us.

And... thing is? I would feel far more okay with this if Loki was more okay with this.

In the myths, Loki uses his sexuality as a weapon both as a man and as a woman, and also in other shapes and forms (hi, Sleipnir!). As far as I’m aware, it’s not that likely that he’s too bothered by this, because most of those plans were made by him. He has complete agency in the way that he uses his body in this way!

Myth!Loki has confidence both in their sexuality and also in their relationship with sex, and they don’t, as far as I’m aware, see it as a big deal.

Even comic!Loki has their gender identity as fluid (“I can change into anything, as long as it’s me,” for instance), and they do seem to have a comfortable confidence in their relationship with how they approach sex, or at least they don't seem bothered by it (they have kids, that much is true).

MCU Loki, however... well. A lot more serious, more studious, still a trickster at heart but doesn’t seem to have any of that gender fluidity that other incarnations are known for (yet, at least), and... the first sign of sexuality that we see (as far as this aro/ace is aware) is the implications of T:R. Where he’s uncomfortable.

Like I said before - my issue is not the implication that he’s done and/or is capable of doing such things, but that Loki is uncomfortable when it’s brought up.

Which brings me to two points.

The first is that from what I’ve seen, I would feel far more comfortable seeing this play out if Loki’s discomfort was more in line with ‘I’m perfectly confident in what I’ve been doing, but Thor knowing makes me uncomfortable, because he will judge me, and it’ll be awkward’. If Loki himself was more blasé about it. Please tell me if this is actually the case in the movie, because so far I’ve not seen any sign of it. Because... Loki written in this way would give him agency over his actions and his body. It would make us laugh at the scenes in which Thor finds out what his brother’s been up to, because ‘yeah, your kid bro’s more grown up than you thought in this way you hadn’t even thought of’ and ‘he knows what he’s doing’. It’d make us see those scenes with the Grandmaster with more, ah... feeling as though Loki’s in control. 

The second point is essentially linked to that last thing there, but here goes - Loki is correlated a lot with feminine traits, and has been since the first movie he appeared in. Magic and daggers and words compared to swords and hammers and might as far back as Thor 1.Tony compares him to a diva in Avengers (admittedly, also referring to himself, but still counts to an extent). Dark World had him again using more intellectual methods of fighting... to the point where he fakes his own death.

This is relevant because in casting Loki - the one with more feminine traits, who uses more intellectual ways of fighting and less brute force, with as others have said, a largely female fanbase who relate to him in some means or another - in casting this character as one who is implied to have been sexually involved with someone in order to gain ‘better standing’ and who feels uncomfortable when this gets brought up...

I don’t know how many other people have gotten the same reaction, I don’t have any idea how much I’m ‘reading too far into this’ or if I’m missing something that wasn’t in the gifsets that’s full of spoilers or if it was ‘never that deep’. I just don’t know.

But for me, it’s sending out massive red flags. Because here are so many signs and clues to someone having been sexually coerced against their will, and it’s being treated, even if not by the movie (and I have no proof there, having not seen it through) then by the overall reaction I’ve read into by fanbase, as funny. The idea that Loki could have started out feeling as though he were in control, but as time wore on it’s got to a point where he feels uncomfortable and potentially even trapped but unsure as to how to break free because he’s come so far, why waste all that time and effort?

That right there is why I  say ‘I would be okay if Loki was more in control and he saw it as a thing to be laughed at, but what little I’ve seen of the narrative and the fanbase’s reaction to it do not portray his character in this way.

For the one male character whose characterisation hinges on him being queercoded, both in terms of gender and also sexuality, to be treated in such a way, makes me uncomfortable to say the least.

Like, if I’m wrong and I’m just remembering these few clips wrong? Like I said earlier, I’d see that as a good thing. I don’t want to be right! I’m hoping that when I see the movie, it’ll prove me wrong in some way! But even if I’m just working based on a reaction from the few posts I’ve seen going around, then that’s enough for me to feel justifiably squicked out by the entire thing.

[1ovefoo1]

How to Know if A Roulette System Will Fail - Without Purchasing It

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In the event that you've been not able to confirm a gambling club game has been beaten, at that point chances are it can't be beaten. I mean genuine proof, not simply somebody's statement or talk.

You've no uncertainty known about card counters - however they don't win millions since they just marginally beat the house edge. In any case, you can peruse of individuals who have won

millions with roulette. Regardless of whether they use PCs, in any event it's in the news and evident. Connections to news stories are on my site, rouletteproof.com.

Something to make you think: "On an European wheel, the ball lands on 0. Before it landed, what were its odds arrival on 0?" obviously a mathematician will say "1 of every 37". Do you think this is right, or is there more to it than simply expressing chances? Makes you think - irregular, or circumstances and logical results? Erratic, or unsurprising?

Ask the framework merchant the accompanying inquiries:

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Q. Precisely on what standards does your framework beat the gambling clubs edge?

On the off chance that they can't clarify the specific standards, or they just give dubious clarifications, for example, they've found some mystery, they are in all probability misleading you. It doesn't make a difference what the promotion is or what their cases are, in the event that they can't give clarifications, don't confide in them.

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A few frameworks require mystery, so whether the framework genuinely works can never be demonstrated.

Q. Does your framework utilize any movement wagering?

Movement frameworks can give the transient deception that they work, however except if they originally beat the house edge, they come up short in the long haul since they either in the long run blow your bankroll, or you arrive at the table's greatest wager.

Q. Does your framework require me at all to stop when I'm up?

Regardless of whether leaving when you're up is solid counsel isn't the point. Leaving when you're up isn't a framework. It is something you do with a transient winning procedure, or in case you're playing for no particular reason. With a framework that beats the house edge, the more you play, the more you acquire. It may seem like a word of wisdom to leave when you're up, however the gambling club doesn't request that you leave when you've lost excessively... since they know whether you aren't beating the house edge, you'll keep on losing.

[friend-clarity]

Is Sex Binary?

Alex Byrne, Professor of Philosophy, MIT, Nov 1, 2019

The answer offered in a recent New York Times opinion piece is more confusing than enlightening

The answer has been known since the 19th century. As Simone de Beauvoir puts it in The Second Sex (the founding text of modern feminism), the sexes “are basically defined by the gametes they produce.” Specifically, females produce large gametes (reproductive cells), and males produce small ones. (Since there are no species with a third intermediate gamete size, there are only two sexes.¹)

In her New York Times op-ed “Why Sex Is Not Binary,” the biologist and gender studies theorist Anne Fausto-Sterling tries to set the record straight: “Two sexes have never been enough to describe human variety.” According to Fausto-Sterling, it has “long been known” that some people are neither female nor male (or, perhaps, both female and male).

Fausto-Sterling is responding to a leaked draft memo from the Department of Health and Human Services that proposes a legal definition of sex under Title IX “based on immutable biological traits.” The memo appears to be part of a regrettable attempt to remove some legal protections from people who are transgender. Although a transgender person is no less likely to be female or male than someone who is not transgender, activists for transgender rights often cite the alleged fact that “sex is not binary” to support the idea that being transgender is not a mental health condition, but instead is merely “normal biological variation.” That “sex is a spectrum,” or — as Fausto-Sterling wrote in The New York Times 25 years ago — that “there are at least five sexes,” are claims that are pressed into similar service. Fausto-Sterling’s article endorses and reinforces these ideas. But not only are the claimed biological facts far from established, this particular use of biology to guide social and legal issues is completely misguided in the first place. Transgender people, just like anyone else, should be free to live and work without being stigmatized, harassed, or disrespected. Whether sex is binary, a spectrum, or whether there are 42 sexes, makes absolutely no difference.

Let’s start with the biology. Fausto-Sterling’s approach to whether some people are neither female nor male is rather indirect. She explains the psychologist John Money’s many-fold distinction between chromosomal sex, external genital sex, pubertal hormonal sex, and others. She points out that these do not always align. For instance, there are people who are chromosomally male (XY) but whose external genitalia are female. Fausto-Sterling also notes that Money’s “layers of sex” are not themselves binary: there are sex-chromosome combinations other than XX and XY, and similarly for the other layers. But where are the original categories of female and male, supposedly the topic of Fausto-Sterling’s article? They seem to have disappeared, being replaced by chromosomally-female, genitally-female, and so on. Granted, there are some people who have XXY chromosomes, or just a single X, making them neither chromosomally female nor chromosomally male. But the question was not whether chromosomal sex is binary, it was whether sex is binary. That question has been evaded, not answered.

The categories of female and male are in fact implicit in Money’s taxonomy. To be chromosomally female is to have the sex chromosomes typical of (human) females; to be genitally female is to have the genitalia typical of (human) females, and so on. But what is it to be, simply, female or male? Forget Money’s many sex-related categories — what are the sexes? The answer has been known since the 19th century. As Simone de Beauvoir puts it in The Second Sex (the founding text of modern feminism), the sexes “are basically defined by the gametes they produce.” Specifically, females produce large gametes (reproductive cells), and males produce small ones. (Since there are no species with a third intermediate gamete size, there are only two sexes.¹) A glance at the huge variety of females and males across the animal and vegetable kingdoms will confirm that there is nothing else the sexes can be. For instance, the equation female=XX is confused for a fundamental reason having nothing to do with human chromosomal variation: females of numerous species either have different sex chromosomes (as in birds) or else no sex chromosomes at all (as in some reptiles). The XX/XY system is merely the mechanism by which placental mammals like humans typically become female and male; other animals and plants use different means to achieve the same end result. Whenever it is suggested that being female or male is a matter of having certain chromosomes (or primary/secondary sex characteristics), that is a sure sign that the discussion has gone off the rails.

There is a complication. Females and males might not produce gametes for a variety of reasons. A baby boy is male, despite the fact that sperm production is far in his future (or even if he dies in infancy), and a post-menopausal woman does not cease to be female simply because she no longer produces viable eggs. Female worker honeybees are usually incapable of producing eggs because their ovarian development has been inhibited by chemicals secreted by the queen. (In one species of bee, the female workers are all permanently sterile, even in queenless colonies.)

In the light of these examples, it is more accurate (albeit not completely accurate) to say that females are the ones who have advanced some distance down the developmental pathway that results in the production of large gametes — ovarian differentiation has occurred, at least to some extent. Similarly, males are the ones who have advanced some distance down the developmental pathway that results in the production of small gametes. Definitions in biology are never perfectly precise, and these are no exception. Still, they give us some traction in examining whether there are any humans who are neither female nor male. (It is not in dispute that some non-human organisms are neither female nor male, and that some — hermaphrodites — are both.)

Consider, for example, the “intersex” condition Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia — one of many “disorders of sex development” (DSDs). XX individuals with this rare condition can have an enlarged clitoris at birth (sometimes very penis-like), due to high levels of androgen hormones in the womb. They have progressed some considerable way down the developmental pathway that produces eggs (they have the usual ovaries and fallopian tubes), and have not even started down the (male) sperm-producing pathway. They are sometimes assigned male at birth, but are usually raised as girls, and indeed many of them go on to have children. Whether they are raised as girls or boys, the scientific literature correctly classifies them as female. As might expected, there are some other rare cases (arguably 1 in 50,000 births or even rarer) that are hard to decide, but there are no clear and uncontroversial examples of humans who are neither female nor male. (A similar point goes for supposed examples of humans who are both female and male, although here things get more complicated.) The existence of some unclear cases shows that it would be incautious to announce that sex (in humans) is binary. By the same token, it is equally incautious to announce that it isn’t — let alone that this is an established biological fact. And even if some people are outside the binary, they are a miniscule fraction of the population, nothing like the frequently cited 1–2 percent figure, which draws on Fausto-Sterling’s earlier work.²

That sex is not binary is evidently something that many progressives dearly wish to believe, but a philosophically sound case for treating everyone with dignity and respect has absolutely no need of it. People with intersex conditions have historically been subject to ethically dubious genital surgery as children, or deceived about their medical status by (usually well-meaning) doctors. It would be a huge mistake to think that such surgery is unjustified because the patients fall outside the binary, and so should not be surgically fashioned to appear to be within it. The main arguments against surgery (there are risks with little compensating benefit, and patients are too young to consent) have nothing to do with whether the patients are female, male, both, or neither.

Further, the issue of whether sex is binary, although of academic interest, is of no relevance to current debates about transsexuality and the changing models for treating gender dysphoria. To those struggling with gender identity issues, it might seem liberating and uplifting to be told that biological sex in humans is a glorious rainbow, rather than a square conservatively divided into pink and blue halves. But this feel-good approach is little better than deceiving intersex patients: respect for autonomy demands honesty. And finally, if those advocating for transgender people (or anyone else) rest their case on shaky interpretations of biology, this will ultimately only give succor to their enemies.

Notes: ¹In this sense, sex is binary: there are only two sexes. However, the interpretation of “sex is binary” relevant to the present debate is different: everyone is either female or male, and no one is both. ²The source for the 1–2 percent figure is Fausto-Sterling’s co-authored 2000 paper “How Sexually Dimorphic Are We?”. That paper estimated the “frequency of intersex” at 1.7 percent. A neglected response by the philosopher Carrie Hull corrected “numerous errors and omissions” in the data collection and interpretation, bringing the figure down to 0.37 percent. Importantly, that figure is not an estimate of the frequency of “intersex conditions” as usually understood, but rather includes any failure to (in Fausto-Sterling’s words) “conform to a Platonic ideal” of femaleness and maleness. By this over-inclusive criterion, XYY individuals, who are practically indistinguishable from normal XY males, are counted as intersex. The true figure for intersex conditions (understood as those where the phenotype has both female and male elements — a small subset of DSDs) is closer to 0.018 percent, about 100 times lower than the figure supplied by Fausto-Sterling (see Leonard Sax, “How Common Is Intersex? A Response To Anne Fausto‐Sterling”). Incorporating Hull’s corrections drops that percentage to 0.015. The present point is that even people in this 0.015 percent usually fall within the female/male binary, and that no one clearly falls beyond it. (There actually are more plausible candidates for exceptions to the female/male binary than the classic intersex conditions comprising this 0.015 percent, in particular XY gonadal dysgenesis or Swyer Syndrome.)