#past rape mentioned

[walpu]

People on tiktok are discussing the possibility of Aven beings SAed and someone said this 💀

Not only this is like. Extremely stupid AND contradicts the lore since by that time Aven's master was already dead (killed by Aven himself mind you) but it's also so disrespectful to his character like the whole point is that he climbed the ranks because he's smart and dedicated and lucky. We literally saw Jade addressing it and taking him under her wing. Like WHAT does that comment even imply??? That his master promoted him, that DIAMOND abused him like what are you people on

[starscoffeecreamer]

Whirl gets sent to Lost Light after being thrown around several other farms. Every past farm they transferred him to either pushed him around too much and made him snap, or they would throw him in stalls with studs and not give him any choice in the matter. He reacted violently each time, often fighting studs they attempted to mate him with, and led to him being moved to a new facility before he even got settled. The Lost Light would be his last chance in being a good little cow despite his reputation of being volatile and aggressive, or else he'd be shipped straight to Garrus-9, the only place that'd take a badly behaved cow like him who's already had too many chances.

He's on high alert the second he's dropped at the farm. He just wants to get it all over with, fight with someone so they ship him away where at least he won't be displaced again. He assumes the Lost Light handler crew are just trying to trick him into behaving, letting him have his own stall and open access to as much energon as he wanted so he'd be nice and docile. He was waiting, on the attack, for when they would inevitably shove a stud into his stall and lock them in.

He's almost shocked when there's a knock at his stall, and it's not even a stud trying to see him.

Tailgate, incredibly nosey, is well meaning. He just wanted to meet his new stall neighbor, and he had yet to see Whirl leaves his designated area. Tailgate was very heavy with sparklings, and it almost surprised Whirl how happy he seemed about it. He was used to his old farms being solely focused on the stud's treatment, where cows were there to be used and nothing more. If Tailgate had caught on to Whirl's harsh attitude in their conversation, he was good at ignoring it. The minicow just talked on and on to Whirl about how nice the farm was, about his friends he would love to introduce Whirl to later, and what caught Whirl off guard the most, how lucky he felt to meet his conjunx there.

Whirl was so unused to being at a farm where the studs cared for the cows they'd spark up, it was almost unimaginable to him that a cow would not only pick their stud, but be able to only be with one that they loved. Tailgate talked about Cyclonus like he wanted to be with him, that hadn't been something Whirl had thought about since he started getting moved from farm to farm.

Tailgate and Whirl get closer as time goes on, but Whirl never seems to run into Cyclonus for more than a few minutes when seeing Tailgate, which he's happy for. He still didn't feel like he could let his guard down enough to let a stud in his room, but he had been more social since befriending Tailgate. He'd leave his stall to meet the other cows, and he was doing fine around studs in the common areas, he just wasn't ready to start carrying for anyone yet. It almost made him worry, but he wouldn't admit it. He wasn't ready, but he didn't know how long they'd let him stay at the Lost Light without producing. For the first time Whirl had no interest in getting himself kicked off a farm. It wasn't just because the Lost Light treated him well that made him want to stay, he finally felt like he was starting to belong somewhere. They were really nice there, but how far could he push his luck not having anything to offer? He didn't want to lose his friends all because of his attitude.

Whirl would finally have a full encounter with Cyclonus when Tailgate's latest sparklings were born. He invited Whirl over to meet the little ones first, and obviously Whirl couldn't pass that up. He goes to the next stall, and Tailgate was curled up comfortably in his nest laying in Cyclonus' lap, holding two cute little sparklings close to him. Whirl had never seen another cow look so at peace. He was used to the terrible conditions he came from, where calves would be taken away after they were delivered and cows were made to pump milk after until they were deemed fit to carry again. Tailgate invited Whirl closer to hold a sparkling, and seeing Cyclonus have no strong reaction to that, he carefully moved in.

He didn't love being so close to a stud's nesting area, but his closest friend wanted him to hold his sparklings, and he couldn't disappoint. It was all a little tense at first, but Tailgate cut right through it as he always did, babbling about how cute they were and how much he already loves them. The three of them had a nice night introducing the little ones to the world, and Whirl felt at ease for the first time with a stud so close.

Pretty soon, Tailgate was asking Whirl to watch the sparklings, just for enough time for him to stretch and have some time to himself. He was babysitting one morning when he heard a knock on his stall. He was expecting Tailgate on the other side, but froze when Cyclonus stepped in. His first reaction was holding the little ones closer to his frame, some part of his mind screaming irrationally that Cyclonus would take them and he'd never see them again. Cyclonus didn't approach Whirl further, seeing the cow tensing up. He sat at the other side of the stall and just held his hands out, wanting to hold his sparklings. Whirl passed them over silently, and the two sat together quietly waiting for Tailgate to return.

Whirl's thoughts were going a mile a minute, until Cyclonus finally spoke. He thanked Whirl, not just for watching their sparklings recently, but for being there so much for Tailgate. Whirl doesn't know what to say to that, so his first reaction, the instinct that kept getting him displaced, was to be snappy with Cyclonus. It killed the conversation quickly, luckily Tailgate came back at the right time to get them out of the awkward situation.

Whirl secluded himself to his stall more after that, only making himself seen when he finally needed some energon. All his worst thoughts came back to him hard. He had to start pushing everyone away again, but he really didn't want to. He still hasn't produced anything for the farm since he got there months ago, it was only a matter of time till they got rid of him anyways, he was convinced of it. He had no reason to insert himself into Tailgate's life, the minicow was clearly too busy with his loving stud and sparklings to need to add Whirl to his list of worries too.

While Whirl was spiraling, there was a knock on his stall. He stayed silent and listened as Cyclonus talked to him from across his stall. He was sent over by Tailgate to ask Whirl to come by since, apparently, the sparklings missed him. Whirl didn't believe it for a second, and said something nasty back to Cyclonus without turning to look at him. He wanted to bait Cyclonus into fighting with him, finally getting himself shipped off like what he told himself he was always going to do. He didn't deserve all the goodness Lost Light had offered him, after all.

Cyclonus stepped closer to Whirl, not reacting to the taunting. He got as close to Whirl as Whirl seemed he could handle, which still left him half across the room but still the furthest any stud has gotten into his stall. He told him, so genuinely that Whirl couldn't even warp it in his mind, that no matter how hard he fights it, he is wanted by both of them. Tailgate has been down lately not seeing him so often, and Cyclonus is feeling the absence in their space more than he realized he would. They wouldn't push Whirl into spending time with them, but their stall was always open to him. Cyclonus would leave after that, and leave Whirl in a completely different mess of thoughts.

Later in the night, when Cyclonus had put the sparklings to sleep and Tailgate was curled up in their nest with his belly already beginning to swell again, Whirl stepped in without a word. He nestled up beside Tailgate in his nest like it was his, and the minicow felt his spark swirl fast with joy. Cyclonus, who was situated comfortably at Tailgate's other side, was happy to move to give their surprise guest more space. Whirl said nothing about the smile he saw on Cyclonus' face or about Tailgate pulling him closer to snuggle with him, he just rested one claw hand on Tailgate's belly and held Cyclonus' hand with the other claw, and the three stayed together through the night.

After that day, studs still didn't go into Whirl's stall, but that was because Whirl didn't even go in his stall. He moved himself right in with his new amica and his conjunx. He had taken to following Tailgate more, with the minibot already waddling with his big sparklings. Whenever Cyclonus wasn't touching Tailgate's cute bump, Whirl was. Lately though, Tailgate and Cyclonus wanted their hands all over Whirl, Cyclonus especially, as he would gently run his claws over the small bump slowly growing on Whirl. Whirl was constantly running his claws over his belly, finally wanting to carry now that he felt safe and secure in his home with bots that cared about him

holy shit anon, I love how you really said "I'm gonna plot today"

Poor Whirl, I love the way you give him a reason to act out so much. Maybe his empurata was a punishment from a past farm as well. I love how Tailgate's first instinct is to befriend him. I love everything about this-

[volfoss]

i think honestly what irritates me about yoshidas work SO much is that people will tell you that banana fish is THE gay manga (ignoring the many things that came before it and were more groundbreaking, ie MW literally having on screen (or like. on panel but still.) gay sex in it and that came out like a decade before BF did) when there really isn't barely any gay rep outside of the pedophiles and the one time ash drops the f slur. like im sorry but somehow yasha, a work she wrote in 1996, has more gay rep in it but also has the same issues.

i truly do not get how people can enjoy banana fish with the rampant racism every 2 pages or the rampant sexual assault plotlines (on women and ash bc he is just... written like how yoshida writes women lmao) that are handled IMPOSSIBLY bad and sincerely i hoped yasha would be better because it had been like a decade or so between works. and then it proceeds to continue with the heres our blonde genius protagonist who everyone is weird as fuck to and will sexually harrass and everyone finds it a VERY funny joke to point out how feminine he is when theres barely any women in the work (if you exclude the ones that are being raped/killed/creepy to minors. which to be fair yasha has toned down the sa a LOT) and that its funny that hes kind of gay except not really!! and its just absurd to me how it just persists in all of her stuff because she is not an author that handles gay stuff well. like the scene in banana fish where ash is completely ok getting gang raped and did it solely to get into the hospital when its been SHOWN that he has a lot of trauma with that. and then right after his friend makes a joke at ash's expense about that. like sincerely and genuinely is this what we are hyping up as the old retro gay manga. go read some tezuka and stop reading shit that the most the main characters do is share a kiss in a nonromantic sense and is obsessed w making every gay person be evil!!

[clickerflight]

Voltober 16. When the Lambs Become the Wolves - Clove

Author's notes: BENNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY Send post

Masterlist - Voltober 15

Content: Whumpee turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee, vampire whumper, fae whumpee, mentions of past abuse including rape, brutal murder of fae queen

@voltober

Uprising | Revenge | Whumpee Turned Whumper

There was an intruder in the palace! Inermis fumed, storming through her halls. Her guards had been useless and none of the fae actually knew what was going on. Whoever was in the palace seemed to know exactly how to get around without being caught and it was making the queen of the fae very very nervous. She snarled, turning another corner, head tilted so her horns were forward and ready to attack at any moment.

She stopped when she saw the figure at the end of the hall. Familiar and yet so so different. The man that she would typically dress in tight black leathers and sashes stood there, looking more like a village peasant with an earthy blue tunic and sand colored trews, soft leather belts holding up pouches on his waist.

He smiled, his special two pairs of fangs on display. “Inermis,” he purred.

Inermis gave her most charming smile, composing herself quickly. “My husband. It is good to see you again! Have you finally realized how much you missed me?”

Benny snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Inermis didn’t let her smile drop. She had him under her thumb only a decade ago. It wouldn’t be difficult to drag him back under.

She turned up the charm, slowly shrinking her form and changing her proportions to those that she remembered he really liked. “I missed you,” she said with a little pout. She walked down the hall and sighed. “You are so handsome. I haven’t been satisfied by any other since you have been gone.” Mostly because the fae were not vampires and she desperately missed how powerful vampire blood made her.

Benny scoffed, brushing aside her charm easily. “Right. I’m sure. Do you know why I’m here?”

Inermis came to a full stop suddenly, about three strides away from him. She hadn’t considered that. If he didn’t miss her then why was he here?

He lifted his fingers, fae-like claws adorning the tips. “There are a lot of people on the mortal realm who would love to hear that the queen of the fae is dead, and I am at the top of that list. You tortured me, brainwashed me, drank my blood, and raped me. Now, you expect me to love you because of some bond you think you made with me? Because you thought your brainwashing could last this long? I’m sorry to say, dear, but you have birthed your own downfall.”

Inermis took a step back as he took a step forward, fangs bared in that terrible smile. “You can’t! You are not strong enough,” she said, trying to call whatever bluff he was setting up. “You could never hurt me-”

“How long has it been, Inermis? Since you have had vampire blood? It burns up quickly in fae, doesn’t it? That’s why you fed from me so often. You exploited my instincts so I would form a blood bond with you and make it easier to charm me into doing whatever you wanted. Unfortunately for you, that blood stayed with me. In my new claws, in my fangs. You created me. And I will end you for what you have done.”

Inermis turned to run, feeling like a terrified deer.

Benny was on her heels, though, laughing and enjoying the chase.

She slid around a corner, clawing at her very over the top restrictive corset to get it off so she could try and fly away. She managed it barely, and got up into the air only to be slammed into and dragged to the ground as Benny leapt up to grab her.

She screamed, fear suffocating her for the first time in her entire life.

He pinned her to the floor, grinning down at her. “It’s about time I got on top,” he snarled.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, that could save her life. Benny was faster. His teeth sank into her throat.

Pain exploded through her and she found she couldn’t breath. He shook his head back and forth, throwing her head around as he severed and tore out her wind pipe.

He stared down at her, spitting out her flesh, the smile gone and a serious expression on his face. “For me, and for everyone you have hurt in your rule,” he whispered before he leaned down, drinking the blood that spilled from her savaged throat.

She twitched weakly, but there wasn’t anything she could do as she was killed by the man she had once called ‘husband.’

VTB part 17

Clove Masterlist

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff 

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer 

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps @hellodecisionparalysis @scatteriskity

[irlkisukeurahara]

Weirdly specific Mouthwashing discourse but while yes I think some people openly hardcore simping for a character that's a literal rapist is weird, insisting that he HAS to be completely ugly just because he's a villain makes me wanna bash my head against the wall likeeeee. Ugliness isn't an evil trait and only ever letting “ugly” people be villains makes you weird. Perpetuating pretty privilege is weird and really really cringe just food for thought

Also don't pretend like he doesn't exist alright. The jokes are funny but also the story would never have happened without him you can't downplay his importance. Arguing about whether or not people are allowed to find his design attractive and not discussing how refreshing it is for the abuser to be so deep and well written yet not uwu soft misunderstood is a CRIME

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 12

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

After the seminar that afternoon, Vos waves Ben and Satine over. As they approach him in the emptying lecture hall, he says, “Asajj and I are thinking our livers deserve a break after last weekend. Want to order pizza? My office in thirty minutes?”

Ben looks to Satine, letting her decide. “I’d like that,” Satine says.

Ben digs in his pocket for his wallet, counting out enough bills to also cover Satine’s meal. “She’s vegetarian, and I’m not picky.”

Satine begins to protest at him paying for her part of the bill, but he waves her concern away. “I make a bit more than you,” he says. “Think of it as socialism at work.”

She’s about to argue some more, but Vos steps forward to grab the cash. “Cheers,” he says, unlocking his phone to put the order in.

Ventress smirks at Ben. “You still can’t be bothered to download Venmo?”

“The less time I spend engaging with capitalist innovation, the better,” he says in response, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

The four of them begin to file out of the lecture hall, making their way to the stairwell. As they start to climb, Ventress says, “Kryze, you should be warned: that man very well might end up a hermit. And he’ll be very pleased about it.”

Satine muses over this. “Actually,” she says, “I don’t think I’d be opposed to such a life.” They clear one landing and move up another flight of stairs. “I find most people barely tolerable. Present company excluded, of course.”

Vos snickers, and he opens the door to their floor with one hand, his other still typing on his phone.

Satine nods her thanks and heads to unlock her office. Ahsoka is already waiting by Ben’s door, and he greets her warmly as he opens it.

“I had an idea about my thesis committee,” begins Ahsoka, and Satine ducks inside her office before her face can give away that Ahsoka has already asked her to be on it.

She sits at her desk to pass the time before dinner is delivered, trying to avoid listening to the conversation next door - allowing Ahsoka and Ben their space - and she mostly succeeds. She does hear the tone of Ben’s voice. He asks gentle, probing questions about Ahsoka’s ideas and plans for her research, and Satine agrees with Ahsoka:

Ben is a good mentor.

Satine smiles to herself. Even when they were teenagers, she would have predicted he would be.

A few minutes later, Ahsoka stops by her door. The young woman gives her a thumb’s up. “We’re good!” she says, smiling.

“Pleased to hear it,” says Satine. “You know where I am, so stop by anytime you need someone to bounce ideas off of.”

“Will do!” says Ahsoka. “Have a great weekend!”

Satine mirrors her smile. “You, too.”

As Ahsoka leaves, Satine returns to her email. A moment later, Ben’s knock sounds. 

“You don’t have to say yes to her just because she’s my student,” he tells her, shoulder leaning against the frame of the door.

Satine turns to face him. “I said yes to her because she’s prepared and astute,” Satine says. “Qualities likely amplified by her apprenticeship to you.”

Ben enters the office and drops into the chair in front of her desk. “Was that a compliment, Dr. Kryze?”

“You can tell a lot about the competence of an advisor by the competence of the student. Not everything, of course, but quite a lot. I know you haven’t worked with her for long, but your influence is apparent. Not to take anything away from the accomplishments she’s made on her own, obviously.”

Ben leans forward. “So it was a compliment.”

Satine rolls her eyes. “Would you like me to make a record of it for you? Let me find the recorder I use for my informant interviews.”

He just laughs.

But a thought has occurred to Satine. She lowers her voice. “If our plan is only semi-successful - we get a dual career hire, but not here at Georgetown - what will we do about Ahsoka? Her funding is tied to yours.”

Ben breathes in and scratches his chin. “I’ve actually given this a great deal of thought,” he says. “I have a few ideas. Next year she’ll be teaching, so her funding isn’t necessarily dependent on mine any longer. She could simply transfer advisors. Ventress’ work is fairly similar to mine, and she’d likely be a good fit for Ahsoka. And, as you know, the thing about qualitative, so-called ‘soft’ science is that it requires no lab work - there’s no need to be tied to a specific location except when doing field work, which she’ll finish this summer anyway, well before our timeline is up. If Ahsoka wanted to keep me on as an external co-advisor, she could do so remotely.”

Satine nods.

“Alternatively,” adds Ben, “if she so chooses, she’d be welcome to join us at a different institution. It’s not as though advisors have never moved from one university to another before; some students go with them. There is precedent, and we could negotiate a moving stipend for her.”

“And what of Anakin?”

Ben smiles. “Anakin’s place is here,” he says, “because his wife Padma’s place is here. Her last name is Amidala; I assume you’ve heard of her?”

Satine gapes at him. “She’s that Padma?”

Padma Amidala had been recently elected to the House of Representatives after a stellar first campaign. Satine thinks she probably could have been elected to the Senate if a seat in her state had been up for grabs at the time.

Satine doesn’t like politicians, excepting Bail Organa. Padma Amidala might be another rare exception.

Ben just watches her, amused. He nods. “She and Anakin are expecting twins. They’ve purchased a home here. Because even if Padma - by some malevolent act of God - doesn’t get re-elected to a second term, she’s determined to remain on Capitol Hill in some capacity.”

“Thank goodness Anakin has already defended,” is all Satine can think to say. “Can you imagine navigating grad school and raising twins?”

Ben shakes his head vehemently. “I refuse to,” he says. “And that, perhaps, is why I give Anakin more leeway than I should, even as a postdoc.”

“That,” says Satine, “and you secretly like the idea of being the cool uncle.”

“I have made it no secret to Anakin that I will be the cool uncle.”

And, unbidden, an image of Ben cradling a swaddled infant forms in Satine’s mind. Her heart grows warm, a soft glow she’s almost surprised he doesn’t notice.

When they were teenagers, they’d seemingly always known their time together would be limited. They’d known he would go off to war, she would go off to master diplomacy. They’d never talked about a future - at least beyond promising each other that they would meet again.

So for the first time, Satine begins to wonder. What are Ben’s thoughts on children? And, just as importantly, what are her own? 

She’d never entertained the thought before; no relationship or situationship had developed enough for that to ever become a consideration.

But before Satine’s thoughts go any further, Vos walks past her office carrying their food, bellowing “PIZZA’S HERE!”

Satine and Ben share a glance, sharing silent laughter, and stand up to follow him.

---

“So how’s self-defense training going?” asks Vos as he takes a massive bite of pepperoni pizza.

Satine dabs at her lips with a paper napkin. “We’re actually going over to the Yates Field House after this to start,” she says. “You two are welcome to join, if you’d like. I get the feeling that Ventress was secretly an assassin in a past life, and I’d like to see if I’m right.”

Ventress laughs deeply. “You’re not far off,” she says from her spot on the chair they’d dragged in from Satine’s office. She’s flipped the chair around backwards and is straddling it, her arms draped over the chair’s backrest. “I was born on the lands that most people now call Russia.”

She says the last word with an obvious sneer. 

“My people refer to ourselves as Yupighyt. In English, that’s Siberian Yupik, or true people. Colonizers destroyed our culture much the same as they did here in America; my first language was Russian rather than the language of my ancestors.” She clenches her fingers into a fist. “That kind of rage - the kind they leave you with when they leave you with nothing else - it doesn’t go away. So I enrolled in a military academy to learn how to control it. What I found was better: a way out.”

She reaches over to grab another slice of pizza.

“I was under no illusions what they were training me for. But the academy - and then the university - was prestigious enough that it allowed me my choice of American graduate programs. I know America is, in many ways, Russia’s mirror image: propaganda that most of the population can’t or won’t recognize, its own history of decimating its Indigenous peoples. But at least this government is arguably one step further removed from the autocracy I left behind. Emphasis on arguably.” Ventress sighs. “Once I got here, I knew I wouldn’t go back. And I haven’t been. So my body count is actually fewer than Kenobi’s.”

Ben shifts, and Satine can see the tension in his shoulders. 

Satine had been aware, of course, that Ben’s time in the military had left him with blood on his hands. For the first time, she finds herself wondering how much blood is there.

Maybe she doesn’t want to know, she realizes.

Vos takes a swig of whatever soda was left in the department’s vending machine. “It might not be a bad idea for us to join you,” he admits, looking toward Ben. “Asajj can model the forms Satine is supposed to be aiming for, give her a point of reference.”

Ben gives Vos an exasperated look. “You just want to see me take a hit from two different women.”

Vos crushes the empty soda can between his hands and tosses it in the recycling, grinning. “Guilty as charged.”

---

An hour later, they’ve all changed out of their business casual attire. Satine takes a step into the field house studio and looks around.

If she didn’t know better, she’d guess the large room was designed for dance lessons: its walls are lined with mirrors and a ballet barre, and its floors are hardwood. But covering most of the hardwood is a massive wrestling mat in Georgetown’s school colors. She drops her bag by the door and moves to stand in front of the mirrors, one hand on the barre.

Vos stands next to her as Ventress and Ben take their places at the center of the mat. Vos is checking out Ventress’ ass.

In fairness, her tights and tank top leave very little to the imagination, and for the first time, Satine is jealous of Ventress’ history with Ben. She’d done a fair job, at least until now, of managing that particular emotion - she’d told herself that whatever Ventress and Ben had, it was clearly in the past. Ventress is married, after all. And Ben hadn’t shown any signs of lingering feelings.

But as Ventress models how Satine is supposed to react to an unwanted forward advance, her arms touching Ben’s, Satine can’t help but let envy distract her.

Here is a woman who can keep up with Ben, meet his verbal and physical spars with ease, and - moreover - beat him a good portion of the time. Why on earth would Ben want someone who can’t compete with that?

“Satine?” asks Ben suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. “You ready to try?”

Vos pushes her forward, and Ventress steps to the side.

“Let me know if you ever need to take a break,” says Ben, his voice low so only she can hear, and suddenly she’s able to push the unwelcome thoughts aside. The concern in his tone brings her back, tells her she is the priority now.

His focus is on her.

She nods. “Thanks,” she whispers back, and she begins to mimic the motions Ventress had used.

“Wait,” says Ventress, and Satine pauses as Ventress steps forward to adjust her arm slightly. “Okay, try now.”

So Satine does, and she’s relieved when she doesn’t feel completely ridiculous.

“Good,” says Ben.

“Adequate,” says Ventress at the same time, and Ben glares at her. Ventress shrugs. “Sugar-coating it won’t help anything.” She turns to Satine. “Did you ever go to sporting events at Stanford?”

Satine nods, wondering where she’s going with this.

“Did they have a dance team or cheerleading team?”

“Of course.”

“Those dancers, those athletes, they’d be performing what we call full out. It means they’re not just going through the motions; they’re not just marking moves. When you reach out, the tension needs to extend through your entire limb.” And she demonstrates with her own arm, holding it out limply. “This is marking.” Then she tenses the arm. “This is full out. See the difference?”

And Satine does. “Yes.”

“Run that same move but full out,” says Ventress. “You’re training your brain just as much as your muscles.”

So Satine tries the move again, and she can feel the difference.

“Better,” says Ventress in approval. “We may make a fighter out of you yet, Kryze.”

---

Satine and Ben say goodbye to Vos and Ventress about an hour later. Ben, as she’d expected, offers to walk her to her bus stop. Readily accepting, Satine threads her arm through his, watching their breaths fog the air in front of them.

The campus is nearly empty at this hour, with most of the undergrads out at bars or parties to welcome the weekend - and most of the faculty and staff having left hours ago. So Satine is a little bolder than she might normally be, and she pulls Ben into the shadows cast by one of the buildings on their path.

His lips are warm against hers, his skin still hot from their sparring session. His arms wrap around her back, and she can feel the surprise radiating from him. He doesn’t protest, though.

When Satine eventually pulls back, Ben grins. “What was that for?”

Satine ducks her head. “Even if the dating is fake, the jealousy is very real.”

Satine misses whatever his expression might be telling her, but a few moments later, Ben hooks a finger under her chin. “You have my permission to get jealous whenever you like if that’s how you respond,” he says.

And he leans in to kiss her again.

---

“This is depressing.”

Ben looks down at her. They’re tangled together on the couch at her condo on Saturday evening, sharing the same blanket, political commentators blaring loudly from the television. He reaches for the remote and flips off the TV, shifting Satine in his arms. “Because they’re completely off base in their analyses?”

“Well, yes,” Satine says. “Anyone with a bachelor’s in political science could tell you that. But I guess mostly I meant it’s depressing that this is even a legitimate argument they’re having. That media training of theirs dictates they have to frame both sides as though they have equal pros and cons. It’s a false equivalency. It’s a breeding ground for a human rights catastrophe. Ventress wasn’t wrong when she compared America to Russia.”

“Well, the average American doesn’t have a bachelor’s degree in political science, let alone a PhD in anything.” He taps a finger gently against her temple.

She hums. “The average American shouldn’t have to have that kind of education to protect themself,” she agrees. “And I know if it was an easy fix, it would have been addressed by now. But these news bites, these viral videos…it’s alarmingly similar to the radio broadcasts in Rwanda from 1994.” She sits up slightly. “Three decades removed from Rwanda, sometimes it’s unfathomable, the degree of radicalization…what people came to believe from what they were hearing on the radio. That so many people - a hundred thousand people - could be convinced to attack and kill their neighbors. But listening to that,” she says, gesturing at the now dark television screen, “it’s suddenly not so unfathomable.”

Ben pulls her back into the warmth of his arms, and she goes willingly. “I wish I could disagree,” he says.

Despite the general feeling of hopelessness that still hangs in the air from the news program, Satine grins against him. “Disagreeing is your idea of foreplay, isn’t it?”

He snickers. “And it’s not yours?”

“There you are again, disagreeing with me.”

“I just think you like it, too. You like when someone can match your wits. Can meet you spar for spar. And, every so often - but not too often - you like when someone bests you.”

Satine just blinks, realizing his thoughts mirror her own from yesterday, when she was assessing him and Ventress. She shrugs, trying to push the thoughts aside. “I wouldn’t know. The latter has never happened.”

Ben lets out a deep, sharp laugh, and Satine looks up to shoot him a grin. But when their eyes meet, the air in the room shifts.

“I assume you saw the test results I sent you,” she says, her voice low. “I’m clean.”

He nods. She’s already reviewed his, of course, even if she’d known he wouldn’t risk her health. 

Ben swallows. Satine can feel his heart beating under her palm where it rests on his chest. “I talked to my therapist about…initiating…physical affection after one of the partners has experienced a sexual trauma.”

His hand comes up to rest on her own.

“I wanted to have as much information as I could,” he says. “And it turns out…we’re already on the right track. What you said to me, back when I first showed you my arm?”

Satine nods, remembering.

“It was like you wrote the textbook,” says Ben. “Asking about triggers, asking about places not to touch, things I don’t like. So I think I should ask the same of you.”

And he pulls her up to put a little space between their bodies. They sit, facing each other, as Satine mulls over her answer.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I haven’t been physically involved with someone, obviously, since I realized what probably happened to me in Bosnia. There very well could be triggers I know nothing about.”

Ben nods. “We’ll go slow, then. Like we planned.”

Satine brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I went to the sexual violence support center on campus,” she says. “I saw a flyer in the library, and it…it seemed a more efficient use of my time than trying to find some random therapist who not only takes my insurance but specializes in this type of trauma-informed care.”

Ben is quiet, just listening.

She looks up to meet his eyes. “It was…surprisingly helpful. So much so that I plan to go back. It took so long to find a therapist I liked the last time I shopped around that I was convinced it would be that way again.” Her eyes drop to his knee, and she traces the seam of his trousers. “Something that they suggested was a safe word, so we know to stop immediately if one of us uses it.”

“I like that,” says Ben. “Might I suggest the word?”

Satine eyes him, knowing that tone. “You may suggest, but I am allowed to veto.”

“Calculus,” says Ben, and she bursts out laughing, remembering her outburst in the library when they were teenagers. Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one to hold onto the memory.

When she finally manages to pull herself together, she acknowledges, “That will definitely kill the mood.” She grins. “I choose not to use my veto.”

“Excellent,” says Ben, smiling widely, and Satine folds herself back into his arms.

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Winter Sounds — Campbell Bain x Reader

*This chapter has words with slashes. This is means you use the word that applies to where you live. Like GED in America means "General Educational Development Test" while there is no U.K. Equivalent (based off a thirty-second Google search) but I found A-Levels which is what Rose Tyler refers to when talking about school in the revival Pilot so... this is how I learn about things, I pick up what I've heard in TV shows. Obviously there are other countries but I’ve never heard of any other terms for these so comment if I missed some.*

Summary: It’s Campbell and Y/n’s last day together before he goes traveling for a Radio DJ competition, unfortunately Y/n can’t come with and Campbell has become a little clingy

Warnings: Mentions of the suicide of a good friend of theirs, Spoilers for Takin' Over the Aslyum, Winter activities, Skating, Implied Short Reader, Implied Non-Scottish Reader; Mention of Past Toxic Relationship; Referenced but not mentioned relationship involving rape.

Note: I had the perfect gif for this when it was on Wattpad but I have a new laptop now and they took down my account and I can't find the gif. It was a gif of a couple kssing on the ice and then they slipped and both fell down.

(Post-Asylum; May be connected to "Sweet Jane" or read alone; If you decided to include this in Sweet Jane, this takes place between the ending of the series and the epilogue written by me.)

"I want your love to consume me like an oversized winter coat. Hands clasped around my waist like buttons done up properly."

Early March, 1995 (Early Eight months since the events of Takin’ Over the Asylum)

They had known for nearly two months that Campbell would be leaving but Y/n was on her way to get her A-Levels/GED since she had dropped out of secondary school/high school to go to the asylum but now it seemed that it had hit Campbell as he was even more clingy than normal.

"Campbell." She groaned as he hugged her from behind as she was trying to make Scottish Lentil soup for the two.

"But... baaaabe, I'm leaving tomorrow. I won't be able to see you in three weeks." He whined, burying his head into her back. "I won't be able to touch you. I won't be able to snuggle you as we sleep. I won't' be able to hear your voice."

"We can still talk on the phone." She protested.

"It's not the same! I won't be able to kiss your back." He whined.

He kissed her back before trailing to her shoulder as he pulled her sleeve up to reveal her shoulder and kissed it, "I won't be able to kiss your shoulder." He moved to her neck, "I won't be able to kiss your neck." He grasped her hips and turned her around and kissed her cheek, moving to her jaw and chin. "I won't be able to kiss your cheeks, your chin, your jaw." He pulled away to ease her to the counter beside the stove before pressing her against it as she couldn't help but smile and giggle. He kissed up her face to her forehead. "I won't be able to kiss your face." He tilted her head up and he kissed her lips. "I won't be able to kiss your lips."

"Cam... we..." He kept quieting her with kisses before moving to her neck, though it seemed he was taking in her scent as he kissed her neck. She had leaned her head back so he could have access with he happily obliged with open-mouthed kisses. "Campbell, it's five. I, uh, I had some plans for a date tonight. But we need to eat first."

"What kind of date? Dinner? Movie?" He hummed.

"No, that's why we're eating now." She said.

"Wait a minute, it's nearly twelve in the morning. What date takes place after midnight?"

"It'll be outside. You'll need to dress in warm clothing. But I need to finish the soup first." 

He gave her a smile with a deep emotion in his eyes, she couldn't quite detect, "What?"

"I just love you so bloody much." He said, earnestly.

--

Campbell and Y/n walked through Glasgow with her being all vague which kept Campbell frustrated and all pouty.

"Be patient, Cam."

"I'm not a patient person!" He almost yelled.

"Oh, I know." She said, playing with her satchel that she refused to show Campbell what it contained. "Just wait and see."

"Just wait and see!? Do you have any idea how irritating that is!?" He whined.

She eventually led him to a park, it was a rather snowy March, so the pond at the park was frozen, she took a pair of ice skates out of her satchel.

"You want to skate at one in the morning?" He laughed.

"Well, I'm a looney." She teased.

"Yes, you are." He grinned and kissed her, he cupped her face with both hands. "Yes, you are."

--

Ten minutes later, Y/n was teaching Campbell how to skate, though he was a bit clumsy but she kept him up by holding his hand.

At one point, she did an impressive spin, which made her hair spin around her head like a H/C halo as Campbell watched with a dropped jaw... drooling slightly.

"How'd you learn how to do this anyways?" He laughed, flailing his arms, trying to keep himself upright.

Y/n spun around and her smile faltered before turning bittersweet, "Uh, when I first arrived to Saint Jude's... Fergus took me." 

"Oh."

"He took me a few times, not even expecting me to talk. I picked this up quick and I even laughed. He considered that a victory." She said, sadly.

Campbell slid over to her and embraced her, which he originally intended to do but also to stop him from falling. "I miss him too." Campbell said in her ear, he pulled away.

She handed her hand out in front of her, offering it to him which he took and she skated with him, he... well, to say, he got the hang of it isn't right, but he wasn't completely fall-on-his-face-with-each-stroke terrible. 

At one point, she tripped and nearly fell but Campbell caught her through this threw him off balance and he fell with Y/n landing on top of him. 

They laughed at this and kissed, they decided they had had enough and put their shoes on that they had clipped to their belts and got up on the ice.

 Campbell brushed off some snow and then turned to his girlfriend who was looking at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

"What?" He laughed.

"I love you so bloody much too." She said.

He grinned... like a maniac... like a looney and he pulled her in by the waist for a slow, passionate kiss but slipped on the ice now wearing his normal shoes and he pulled Y/n closed which brought them both down with her, once again, landing on his chest.

"I just can't play it cool." He laughed.

"I don't know. Nineteen-year-old Radio DJ. Hyperactive, loud, energetic, passionate, enthuastic, charismatic, spontaneous, easy-going, creative, independent, brave, funny, sarcastic, sexy..." He clicked his tongue and winked at her.

"Mmm, do say more things you like about my personality." He hummed, playing with a short lock of hair of hers. 

"Impulsive, loud, hard to keep track off." She teased.

"Oh, you wound me." He groaned, dramatically.

"How about this? Sweet, loyal, handsome, romantic, hot..."

"Yeah. That's the ticket." He said, nodding, "But you forgot one thing. Totally, ridicouslously in love with you and definitely going to miss you for the next three weeks."

"Me too. You've been in my life for less than a year and already... I can't imagine my life without you. You're all the things I just said and more. You are the best guy I have ever dated though granted, given the last and only other one abused me for years on end and traumatized me into muteness, that wasn't a high bar." She looked down, averting eye contact with Campbell.

Campbell tucked the lock of her hair behind her ear, "He won't ever hurt you again, baby. Never ever."

She shivered a little and concerned appeared on his face, "Shite. Your nose is all red. You're freezing. Let's get ho... let's get you home." Once off the ice and pulled him back and he looked at her.

She stepped closer, raising herself on her tip-toes while weaving her hand through his hair on the back of his head and kissed him slowly when she pulled away, his eyes fluttered open and then shook his head.

“Sorry, you know, most girls, normal girls, always dream of having the perfect kiss with the perfect guy.” She said and then cringed, “Sorry, that was like the cheesiest thing ever.”

“Yeah, it was. So that’s super embarrassing for you.” He teased but then she sneezed. “Let’s get you home before I have to drop out of the DJ competition to take care of you. Come with me, Juliet. Follow your Romeo.” Then he immediately slipped and fell back down, face first in a pile of snow.

--

Campbell handed her a cup of freshly made hot chocolate with whipped cream after she got out of the shower when they got home.

"Oh, how thoughtful." Y/n said, cupping her boyfriend's cheek and stroking it with her thumb.

She took the mug and drank a big gulp, letting it warm her insides as she had already began to get cold from the shower.

Campbell grinned when he saw she had whipped cream on her nose, he leaned over and licked and kissed it off.

"Campbell!" She laughed.

"Mmm. Tastes only slightly more sweet than usual."

"The whipped cream?" She asked.

"No, you. Your taste. The taste of your skin." He teased.

"God, you're a dork." She drank some more hot chocolate and as soon as she swallowed he kissed her, allowing him to taste the hot chocolate on her lips and she giggled against his lips. "You're so weird, Bain."

"You are simply beautiful, L/n." He hummed.

--

Thirty minutes, later at like, two-thirty in the morning, they were both finally in bed.

"Promise me something?" She asked, laying on his chest.

"Hmm-mmm." He hummed, half-asleep.

"Campbell." She smacked his chest and he propped himself of his elbows to look at her, albeit, slightly sleep blurry-eyed.

"Hmm?" He asked but she didn't answer, he looked at her and saw her biting her lip, nervously. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, "Babe, what is it?"

"Promise me you won't find some girl wherever this competition is going to to take you, someone who's willing to have sex with you..."

Campbell tilted her head up and kissed her before pulling back and looking her dead in the eye and saying, seriously, "One year ago, if someone were to ask me what my perfect dream girl would be, she wouldn't even come close to you." He kissed her gently again and then gave her a goofy smile, "That cheesy enough for you?"

"Yeah, and it was super embarrassing for you." She teased and he pulled her into his chest as they laid back down with him burying his face in the top of her head.

"I'm in this for the long run, Y/n. I promise. Your first time should've be special but it wasn't, I'm willing to wait until you're ready." He whispered. "God, I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too." She said and leaned up and kissed him.

He turned off the light and they drifted to sleep.

--

At the airport, the next afternoon, Eddie was saying goodbye to Francine while Campbell hugged Y/n, repeating how much he loved her and kissing her passionately.

"Call me? Every day. Even if it's the middle of the night for me." She requested.

He laughed, "You bet. I'll tell you about my day. Probably have to get another room from Eddie or else, I'll annoy him. You call me too. If you just want to talk, you call me. Even in the middle of the night."

"Babe, you'll be having a competition. I can't do that. You call me, I'll call you if you're awake. You call me every time you land and I'll look up the time zone differences and call you."

"I'll keep my mobile on me at all times."  He promised and kissed her.

"Campbell, we've got to go." Eddie said, irriatedly.

Campbell groaned, "Bye, babe. I love you." He said and pecked her lips before going with Eddie to board the plane.

“Wait!” Y/n shouted, running at him, he turned and felt her attack him with a hug. "Two years ago, when I was still talking, if you asked me to describe my perfect dream guy, he wouldn't even come close to you either." She said into his ear.

He chuckled, “You stole my line.”

“Campbell!” Eddie shouted.

“IN A MINUTE! I have to go. Love you.” He kissed her again and ran off with Eddie.

[minty-mumbles]

Febuwhump Day 13: Forced to Harm a Loved One

Read the full collection of my febuwhump ficlets on AO3

~~~

“N-no, no!” 

Warriors cringed internally as he heard Wild’s cries. It was terrible having to listen to the sound of his pleading and know that it was he who was causing Wild so much pain. He was the one responsible for this, he was the one choosing to do this to Wild. He was-

Warriors did his best to shake off those thoughts. It wouldn’t help anyone if he fell into a downward spiral of horrible thoughts. Wild needed him to be present and aware. And really, Warriors wasn’t the one who was hurting him. Not that he would ever say it- and certainly not now- but it was Four who was the one causing Wild’s pain. 

Warriors was just the one holding him down, not letting him get away or buck Four off of him where the smithy was straddling Wild’s weakly kicking legs. 

Warriors was just the one holding him down, and that was almost worse. 

Wild was a free spirit. Warriors had known from the day he’d met the champion that he was a hard one to pin down, figuratively and literally. He was always moving and didn’t like being told to stay still. (One time Legend had snapped irritably at Wild about his habit of rocking back and forth on his feet, and the look WIld had shot the veteran had been absolutely scathing. No one ever mentioned that particular habit of his again.)

Being told not to wander off was also irritating to the champion, but at least he’d finally gotten in the habit of letting them know when he was planning on disappearing. Warriors thanked the stars for that, as it had saved them more than one headache in the past few months.

All of this put together signaled a very free-spirited hero.

Warriors had always suspected that Wild had some sort of issue with being restrained or confined. For a split second of selfishness, Warriors wishes he was not having that suspicion confirmed.

But the life of a hero wasn’t easy. The battlefield was a dangerous place, and even if a delirious hero pleaded and begged, his blood-soaked bandages needed to be changed. Warriors wished that they hadn’t let Wild put his tunics back on after dressing his wound in the first place. But they couldn’t’ve known that the wound would end up becoming infected.

Warriors looked up to check the process, trying to gauge how much longer this was going to go on and how much longer he would need to listen to his brother cry. The smithy’s eyes were frantically cycling through nearly all the colors of the rainbow, but he kept as steady a hand as possible in this scenario. 

It took a great deal of careful maneuvering to get Wild out of his Champions’ tunic. They persisted though, even as Wild cried out in pain and panic. 

If it had been anyone else, they would have simply cut the tunic off and spared themself the trouble. But they both knew that Wild would kill them later if they destroyed the tunic his Zelda had made for him. They didn’t bother to be so careful with his undertunic, simply using Warriors knife to cut it off of Wild. He would be able to borrow one of the others' spare tunics until the group reached the next town. 

The entire process of removing his clothes so they could get at his bandages seemed to be agony for Wild. Warriors knew from experience that lifting your arms when you had an injury on your side hurt. But it wasn’t only that. 

“No, stop, I don’ wan- I don’ wanna take m’ clothes off. Sto’ it- Four, stop.” 

Wild’s words were slurred but still understandable. Warriors risked a glance up at Four, and found that the smithy looked like he wanted to cry to. He visibly steeled himself, took a deep breath, and continued. His eyes had settled on purple and green, the blue and red retreating from his gaze. 

Warriors tried to follow his example, taking a steadying breath and trying to ignore Wild’s wails.

Wild may be confused and combative- as evidenced by the bruise forming on Four’s cheek- and more than a little out of touch with the situation, but he was obviously still present enough to recognize the two of them. It only made the situation worse, that Wild was able to call out their names when he begged for them to stop. 

Wild had taken his shirt off in front of the rest of the group plenty of times, not to mention the time he had shown them all his cars. But there was a difference between removing clothing consensually when you were lucid enough to understand what was happening, and having your clothing removed and cut off when you were only partially present in your own mind. 

Warriors felt sick.

Maybe Wild had no reason to be this defensive. Maybe he was just delirious and confused. That still wouldn’t make it okay, but it would make the whole situation easier to smooth over when Wild comes back to himself. But Warriors had a sinking suspicion that the issue ran deeper than that.

Maybe, Warriors hoped, Wild simply didn’t want to show off his scars. The champion acted rather nonchalant about them, but that didn’t mean he was obligated to show them off. 

But maybe, Warriors shuddered, maybe Wild was afraid of something, something that Warriors himself had been through and would never wish on anyone. There were very few reasons someone would try to forcibly remove someone else’s clothes, and none of them were good. 

To Wild’s hazy mind, which obviously didn‘t recognize that he needed to change his bandages, there would be only one option left. Being held down and stipped out of his tunic… 

Warriors’ next breath came out as a shuddering gust of air, and he had to resist the urge to gag.

The cries of their names made it obvious that Wild knew who was trying to get his clothes off. Warriors and Four were only trying to help, but from Wild’s point of view? 

Warriors wished the other heroes were here. Twilight, at least, would be able to help soothe the panicked champion. The ranch hand had a way with the wild hero, and always managed to calm him. Maybe restraining Wild wouldn’t’ve even been necessary in the first place.

Anyone else would have been a help too. Just having someone there to reassure Wild who was actively trying to disrobe him or holding him down would have made their task easier.

But there was no one else here. It was only Four, Warriors, and Wild, alone in a strange era. The other heroes were Hylia-knows-where, separated from the three of them by the very fight that had injured the champion. 

Leadership now fell to Warriors. He was the oldest, and the highest up in the pecking order the heroes had seemed to naturally fall into, back when they had first met. He was the one in charge.

Normally, Warriors would not flinch at this. He was one of the finest captains in the Hyrulean military. He was more than used to leading, even if he had to make a hard decision that might hurt some of the people under his commands. 

But selfishly, Warriors wished that just this once, the burden of making hard decisions did not rest on his shoulders.

[fruitytrollroll]

Hello! I’ve been advised to ask you about how you would plan to write the sequel “yet i do fear thy nature.” How would you say you would go about it? - void

omg hiii hello :) @mouseyblue-ao3 and i looove collaborating on writing (see our robo scarab collection including our latest scorbo rp, our spades slick/bec noir fic, etc)! i've had the privilege of beta-ing for them several times, and they've been kind enough to make several unofficial sequels listed as "inspired by" some of my work... but I think this is the first time I'm writing a proper sequel for something of theirs?? so i'm SUPER EXCITED!!! ��✨

SO!!

My initial thought, when yet i do fear thy nature was still in the planning stages, was that I could have Orbo let Scarab stay at his home as a kind of witness protection situation, with Orbo somehow getting permission from the Boss to have his home taken "off-the-grid", so to speak--that way it would be unable to be monitored from the Time Room, and Scarab didn't have to worry about Prismo spying on him all the time after escaping his clutches. 🥺

Then, Orbo could give Scarab his own room, while telling Scarab he could "do whatever he wanted" to Orbo as revenge... resulting in some pretty spicy reclamation of agency on Scarab's part with Orbo as his willing victim~ 😊💞

But in that situation, I had imagined Orbo only as Scarab's rescuer with a long-time crush on him... So when mousey finally wrote it out, and they made Orbo not only haplessly complicit in Scarab's rape, but a fellow perpetrator, that added some interesting complications...! Most crucially, it hadn't occurred to me that Orbo might have a mancrush on Prismo--but not only did mousey make a compelling argument for that being the underpinning motivation behind Orbo saying "Prismo? Nah, that guy's cool. He wouldn't do that! <:)" they went and made it a PIVOTAL ELEMENT OF ORBO'S SUSCEPTIBILITY TO PEER PRESSURE IN THE ORIGINAL WORK!

so I'm just sitting here thinking, like... okay... I can't NOT address the Prismo thing, right...?!??!

So maybe Orbo has always been crushing on Scarab AND Prismo (this heightens the tragedy of Orbo believing he was getting everything he wanted from Prismo's deceit in yet i do fear thy nature 🥲)... Let's say his crush on Prismo was absolutely obsessive. I'm talking fanboy levels of maladaptive, parasocial admiration. MAYBE Orbo asked for his home to be taken off the grid a long time ago, citing reasons of "privacy"... I mean, it's one thing for Prismo to be a cosmic voyeur of all mortalkind in every dimension, but it's another thing to have to go to work with a guy who might have been watching you sleep or shower or masturbate while calling his name, right? Nothing unusual with Orbo wanting to keep his work and home lives separate!

But maybe with the added security of knowing his home is truly beyond Prismo's sight, he was able to feel more comfortable indulging that crush with somethingl ike, a room full of custom Prismo merchandise... painted the same sunshine yellow as the Time Room, Prismo area rug, Prismo body pillow, Prismo-themed bedspread. Obviously after rescuing Scarab he has to toss it all... But maybe Scarab catches him in the act and demands to know what he's doing with all this garbage. Orbo is mortified, bites his lip and scuffs his heel on the carpet, but he swears he's trashing it... Never meet your heroes, haha...! But y'know. Maybe Scarab snatches the gigantic Prismo plush/body pillow and takes it back to his room and locks the door... Orbo feels a little culpable for handing over such a patently maladaptive coping mechanism, but well... if anyone needs a safe stand-in for Prismo to cope with his unwilling desire and lingering trauma, it's Scarab, right? 🥺

So basically it's Orbo and Scarab living in the most fraught domestic bliss known to man (I love crippling Orbo with guilt 😇), while Orbo tries to respect Scarab's boundaries (and fails half the time bc he wants him so bad), while Scarab copes with his NEWLY ACTIVATED LIBIDO and having PRECIOUS FEW OUTLETS (he doesn't even know how to masturbate 😭) (but then, Orbo is right there...)

so like the highlight of all this and the part that's living in my brain rent free rn is the thought of Orbo knocking on Scarab's door and telling him to come down for dinner or sth, and when Scarab doesn't answer he opens the door and sees him riding the giant Prismo plush... 😵‍💫 but Scarab is so frustrated... poor thing doesn't know what he's DOING... Scarab gasps in scandalized humiliation and Orbo flushes and hastily apologizes and slams the door shut. and then thinks. well. Scrabby didn't lock the door, did he...?

so Orbo comes BACK INSIDE and gets astride that giant prismo plush behind Scarab and gently guides his hips to show him how it's done 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 hi im unwell!!!

anyway that's the plan--a few more awkward scenes like that as they orbit around each other, grow closer, orbo taking such good care of scarab... 🥺 then wrap it all up with the most disgustingly sweet domestic bliss you've ever seen in your LIFE after they get over all their hang-ups, live happily ever after, the end!! :)

[pinbones]

It really is crazy how everyone but aces seem to be completely over this site's history of ace discourse. Even some of its biggest and shittiest aphobes are still popular bloggers on here, acting like they didn't get a ton of followers by bashing queers they thought were beneath them, and hell a lot of them still act like that to this day

Out of everyone who acted horrible during ace discourse, which was 90% of tumblr users and every tumblr funnyman btw, the one I remember hating the fucking most was one user who had an uwu trustworthy artist aesthetic and posted a lot of hateful bullshit about how aces are both indoctrinated fools and culpable liars. She told an asexual to their face that aces don't experience sexual abuse or corrective rape. To a survivor of corrective rape. And then called them a lesbophobe for saying they were raped. (If you're wondering, she was applauded for this and no one thought it was cruel or strange -- that's how bad this shit was. You would see extremely popular posts on your dash all the time just blatantly sharing disinformation about how depression drugs was what caused asexuality or why the SAM model encouraged violent homophobia or that Hitler and Thatcher were asexual or how asexuals want people to die of AIDS. Telling an ace to their face that getting raped was insignificant and that they're homophobic for talking about it was literally normal discourse.)

This same user then added aro and ace flags to her dumbass pride picrew so she could crosspost the link into our tags for more attention.

Because we were always too cringy to respect but too genuinely harmless to actually matter by their own admission. Like a stuffed target dummy you could practice fagbashing on and then put away when it wasn't cool and trendy anymore.

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 10

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Satine leans back against her desk, not quite trusting her ability to remain upright without an anchor. Ben drops his bag at the door and steps toward her. “The Secretary of State is keeping tabs on you?”

She looks up at him. “It appears so.”

He looks around as though hoping he’ll find answers in the air around them. Eventually, he asks, “Satine, why did you leave the State Department?” 

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you,” she whispers, wishing she could convey everything in a glance, without words. But that would still be bringing him into the game, and she’d never jeopardize him by involving him.

Ben scrubs a hand down his face. “Satine.” He takes a step back, turns quickly, and paces across her office. The only other time she’s seen his emotions so clearly on display was two days ago, in the library, so rarely do his feelings bubble over the surface.

He stops, facing her.

“Are you in any danger?”

Depends on your definition of the word ‘danger’, she thinks but does not say aloud. But judging by his expression, he’s guessed her thoughts.

“Satine,” he says again, stepping to her and placing his hands on her elbows. “What is going on? Please. Please.”

She places a hand on his chest and pushes him back firmly. “Ben, if you have any respect for me, if you care for me at all, you will not pursue the answers to those questions. You will not even ask those questions.”

His face falls, and Satine hates that she is the reason.

“You said whatever I am going through - it is mine,” she reminds him. “At least for now. So I’m asking you to keep your word.”

There’s a sharp rapping at the door. “Kryze! Is Kenobi in there with you? Vos and I are about to head out for drinks.”

“One moment!” yells Satine, glancing at the door and then back at Ben. She lowers her voice. “Promise me, Ben.”

“Satine - ”

“Promise me.” Her voice is nearly a growl.

He nods sharply. “I promise.”

She brushes past him, but he reaches at the last second to grab her elbow, turning her back around. “Satine, I - ”

“I know,” she says, but she doesn’t, not really. She just doesn’t have the bandwidth to respond further. So, instead, she moves to the door to open it. Ventress and Vos are on the other side, and they exchange a look upon noticing that Ben had been with her behind closed doors.

But then Ventress takes a closer look at Satine’s face. “Change of plan, boys,” says Ventress. “Vos, take Kenobi. Kryze and I are going out.”

“Beg pardon?” says Satine, her head snapping up to look at Ventress as Ben helps her shrug into her jacket. Ben’s fingers linger a fraction of a second too long at the nape of her neck as he pulls her hair out from the coat, letting it fall softly on her back.

“You heard me,” says Ventress. “Kenobi, hand her her bag, and let’s get going.”

Satine sends Ben a helpless look as Ventress’ cold hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her out of the office. Ben flips the lights off as he steps over the threshold of the door, and the trio wait for Satine to lock up behind her.

“Come on,” says Ventress, and she leads Satine away from Vos and Ben, Vos shrugging, clearly used to such behavior. Ben hasn’t managed to wipe the quizzical look from his face as Satine and Ventress disappear from view.

Ventress pulls her into the elevator, and she requests a taxi on her phone. “I know a place,” she says, laughing at Satine’s wide eyes. “I’m buying you a drink.”

The elevator door closes in front of them. 

Ventress adds, “You look like you need one.”

---

Half an hour later, they step out of the taxi in front of a donut shop. “They sell drinks here?” asks Satine, not bothering to hide her confusion.

Ventress just laughs again, and Satine follows her inside.

In the entryway, there’s a small District flag hanging from the corner. Ventress pulls on the flag, which appears to be attached to some sort of pulley device.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a speakeasy,” says Ventress. When Satine says nothing, she rolls her eyes. “Academics. You all don’t get out enough.”

Then the wall by the flag starts to move, sliding a few inches, and a young woman’s head pops out. “Two?” she asks, and Ventress nods. The door opens further, and she gestures Ventress and Satine inside.

She shuts the door behind them.

Satine’s eyes adjust slowly to the stark contrast in lighting between the donut shop and the speakeasy. Where the donut shop was bright, lit with neon colors, the speakeasy’s lighting is soft, filled with small light fixtures, and much of the actual room itself is dark. From what Satine can make out, it appears to be a converted garage, filled with eclectic and antique leather chairs and old tables, and string lights hang on the walls.

The hostess says, “Table or bar?”

“Bar,” says Ventress, and the hostess leads them around the tables.

The bar is more lit, with backlights lining the shelves behind it, making the bottles of alcohol stacked there look like they glow in the dark. Ventress sits immediately on a barstool, hooking her coat underneath the bar’s countertop, and Satine follows her lead.

Satine does a double take, checking again to confirm she’s seen correctly.

“There are no men here,” she murmurs.

“Even owned by women,” says Ventress. And she grins and flags the bartender over. She orders a vodka, and then she looks at Satine. 

Satine examines the bottles on the wall behind the bartender. “Whatever you suggest mixed with brandy.”

The bartender lets them watch her prepare their drinks, and Satine is hit with the significance of a woman-owned bar, of a bar whose patrons are not men. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

Ventress seems to notice. “Want to talk about it?” she says, thanking the bartender as she sets both drinks in front of them.

Without hesitation, Satine reaches for hers. “What do you know about Malek?”

Ventress sips her vodka. “Never to be alone with him. If Malek ever stops by again, make an excuse and leave immediately. You’ve got Kenobi’s office next to yours, so literally rap on the wall if you don’t feel comfortable slipping past Malek. If Kenobi’s not in, Vos is on your other side - do the same and he’ll be over immediately.” She reaches for a napkin and then asks the bartender for a pen. Scribbling on the napkin, she says, “This is my cell number.” She writes another number below it. “And this one is Vos’. Text us both if he ever shows up again.”

She slides the napkin over to Satine.

Satine nods and slips the napkin into her pocket. “How did you know Malek stopped by my office?”

“Vos and I saw him leaving. That, and your expression after was a giveaway.”

“Do you know about him from…personal experience?”

Ventress swirls her drink around. “Luckily, no. But I was warned, just like I’m warning you. Just like we now need to warn all the graduate students.”

Satine runs her hand through her hair. She understands the implications, the undertones, of Ventress’ warning without her friend needing to elaborate. “And here I was, already worried about him professionally. Now I have to worry about physical danger, too.”

“He didn’t visit your office to make a sexual advance?” asks Ventress, surprised. 

Satine shakes her head. “It was an academic threat, connected to my time at State.”

Ventress swears. She leans in. “Listen, that man has been passed from institution to institution in the past few years, and there are more stories than I’d care to count about the women’s lives he’s shattered as he moved. Whatever he can do to you professionally, your immediate concern is to physically stay as far away from him as possible.”

Satine takes a deep drink. “Is it the usual? No woman is safe enough to testify or come forward? Each university covering their own ass, just grateful to get rid of him so that he’s no longer their problem?”

“Why do you think he’s been sent away from the War College?”

Satine sighs. “I’m going to need another brandy,” she tells the bartender.

As the bartender makes the drink, Ventress says, “While in the taxi, I texted Vos to brief Kenobi so that he knows all this as well. He’ll keep an eye on your office, which means that between the two of them, you’ve basically got your own Secret Service team.”

Satine blinks at her, and Ventress chuckles.

“Vos very nearly played professional rugby in Samoa, but decided he’d rather have a full-ride scholarship to play American football at Berkeley instead. He’s also an expert in Limalama, which is a Samoan type of self-defense. And Kenobi was an Army Ranger. He didn’t tell you?”

Satine finishes off her first drink and reaches for her second, murmuring her thanks to the bartender. “I thought he was a military translator.”

“I imagine his Arabic was probably used during some of his missions, so that wouldn’t technically be a lie.”

Satine pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, contemplating this. It’s not as though she’d directly asked Ben about his time in the military; she’d made her inferences based on casual Google searches. “I haven’t exactly been forthright with him about my professional life,” she admits finally. “I can’t complain if he acts similarly.”

“He’ll tell you,” says Ventress, and there’s no mistaking the sureness of her tone. “It may just take a while. I don’t know the details, but I imagine he saw some fucked up shit.”

“Him and me both, then,” Satine says, taking another drink.

“Speaking of him and you,” says Ventress. “You appear to have gone from it’s complicated to it’s officially complicated in the span of one week.” 

Satine nearly spills her drink all over the top of the bar. Ventress smirks at her.

“That would not be an inaccurate assessment of our relationship status,” says Satine.

Ventress takes another sip. “Progress is progress,” she says, grinning.

---

Satine is getting ready for bed when her phone lights up with a text from Ben.

Text me so I know you’re home safe.

She sits on her bed in the dark, reading the words several times, a rush of warmth flooding through her with each pass.

I’m back safe and sound, she responds.

She sees the ellipses that indicate he’s composing a reply, and she waits until the words come through.

Quinlan told me about Malek. We compared our schedules and he’s going to make sure he’s in his office next to yours whenever I teach so that someone is always there.

Satine has to lock her phone after reading this, and she tilts her head back, willing the tears not to fall. Ben’s words from the library echo in her mind: You don’t have to do everything alone, Satine.

The light returns, indicating she’s received another text.

Are you okay?

Oh, how to respond to that.

Finally, she decides on: I’m a little shaken, if I’m being honest. 

His reply is immediate. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.

Fair, she replies. And then: How was your night out with Vos?

His response takes a little more time. You mean how is it still going? We’re still out, and he’s getting another round.

Yes, she replies. I clearly meant: how is it still going?

Satine pulls her knees to her chest, hugging herself tightly, as another text from Ben comes in.

That man is not affected by alcohol whatsoever. My tolerance is far lower.

Satine lifts a brow. You’re drunk, she texts in realization, laughing. She laughs harder when she realizes that despite his inebriated state, his texts still have impeccable grammar.

Very, he replies.

I’ve never seen you drunk, she says, her thoughts wandering. You were such a golden student that we never actually drank underage.

Clearly I’m making up for lost time.

The ellipses return, indicating he’s composing another reply. This one takes far longer to appear, and Satine’s brow furrows. 

Then a voice note file arrives. Curious, she presses play.

“Satine!” comes Vos’ voice. “Ben here has been like Orpheus all night, singing your praises.”

“Quinlan, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is a tragedy - ” cuts in Ben. “Give me back the phone before you scare her off.”

“First, have you seen the way she looks at you?” says Vos, but his voice is a little faint, as though he’s holding the phone away from himself slightly. “Eurydice isn’t going anywhere. Second, grow a few more inches and put on some muscle, and then we’ll talk.”

Satine is struck by the sudden image of two brothers, the taller of whom is playing - and winning - a game of keepaway. She rolls her eyes, amused.

A moment later, the din of the bar becomes less prominent, and Vos’ voice becomes easier to hear.

“I’m trying to convince him to offer to teach you self defense,” says Vos. “Not only would it be good for you to know the basics - ”

Ben sighs in the background. “She’s a pacifist, Quinlan.”

“And who says pacifists can’t defend themselves? Look, Satine, I think you should agree because, quite frankly, you’re the only one capable of fairly getting the drop on Kenobi, and that would amuse me greatly.”

The voice note ends suddenly, and Satine suspects that Ben has managed to wrestle his phone back from Quinlan. Satine leans back against the pillows and pulls the duvet over her skin. She shivers slightly at the cool air, rolling over to her side.

Another text message appears.

My apologies. I will call you tomorrow, if you’re agreeable.

I’m very much still agreeable, Satine types, and then she presses send.

She sets the phone on her nightstand and rolls over, anticipating sleep.

But it doesn’t come to meet her.

Instead, the glow from the streetlight outside casts shadows through the dark, and memories knock at Satine’s subconscious, threatening to break in. Satine pulls the duvet up to cover most of her head, trying to slow her breathing, but her body temperature rises uncomfortably. She feels a bead of sweat roll down her back, and then another.

She hasn’t dealt with insomnia since she was a child, after escaping Bosnia. But she remembers her coping mechanisms, and all of them warn against remaining in bed just to continue to toss and turn. So she grabs her robe, tightens it around her waist, and heads downstairs.

If she’s awake, she might as well make herself useful.

She grabs her laptop and burrows into the couch, blanket covering her legs. Desperate to keep the memories out, she decides to complete a book proposal review she’d been putting off. She’s not any less tired after submitting the review, however, so she accepts an invitation to review an article being considered for a journal she’s regularly published in.

The article has a solid start, and Satine has some pointers on how to improve it, including additional literature to cite and a question about an analysis that apparently has not yet been run. When she finally submits the review, she sets the laptop on the coffee table, settling back against the couch cushions. 

This time, she leaves the light on, and she tries to sleep again.

But sleep is nowhere to be found, and by this point, her head is pounding thanks to the brandy cocktails she’d had and hours of staring at a computer screen. Satine shuts off the light and throws herself back on the couch, and the darkness provides at least some relief to her headache.

But with it come the memories, and Satine is too exhausted to continue to push them back.

Pulling the blanket over her head, she lets herself cry.

Over the next few hours, she dips close to sleep but never quite manages to sink under. She finds herself angry at the sun when it eventually rises, a constant reminder that she should also be rising as well.

Mid-afternoon, she hears Ben’s distinctive knock at her door, and she scrambles up from the couch to open it. Gesturing him inside, she rambles, “I thought you meant you would call me on the phone, not literally call upon me.”

Ben stomps the snow off of his shoes before stepping over the threshold. “I listened to the voice note Quinlan sent again - this time fully sober - and I realized I needed to apologize in person.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” says Satine, taking his coat and hanging it up in the closet. “I actually think it’s wonderful that you have such good friends. I like Vos, and I like Ventress. And it’s charming that both like you enough to tease you.”

Ben’s expression changes as she speaks, and she realizes that his gaze has dropped below her eyes.

“Ben?”

His eyes snap up. “Did I wake you?” he asks, gesturing at her attire. Satine realizes belatedly she’s still dressed in her sleepwear: leggings and the oversize tee shirt that’s fallen off her shoulder, exposing the bralette underneath.

As he takes her in, Ben’s brow furrows.

“You look tired,” he notes. “Actually, you look dead on your feet.”

Satine sighs. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” she admits. She uses her fingers to comb her hair back into place. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“I thought Ventress had you back before nine.”

She nods. “She did. My lack of sleep had nothing to do with going out.”

Ben kicks off his shoes, and before she realizes what’s happening, he’s literally gathered her in his arms, bridal-style.

Taken aback, all Satine can manage to say is, “Well, this is new.”

And, indeed - for the first time, she realizes how much muscle he truly has put on since they were young. He’d been strong, then, of course, but he’d only been eighteen and just coming out of a growth spurt. He’s broader now - properly filled out - and Satine remembers what Ventress had said about Ben having been an Army Ranger.

Ben just chuckles. “We were bound to grow up eventually.”

“Sometimes I wish we hadn’t,” Satine whispers. 

And Ben carries her to the couch, where he sits, still cradling her to his chest. He grabs the throw blanket and tosses it over them both, leaning back and positioning her so that she can stretch out against him, sharing his body heat to fight the February chill. Ben doesn’t respond, just allowing her to have her space, allowing her to have time. She rests a hand on his chest. 

“I don’t remember anything about my life in Bosnia,” Satine eventually begins. “Rationally I know this is disassociation, and it’s a trauma response to Srebrenica.”

She concentrates on Ben’s breathing.

“I don’t remember my father. I quite literally have no memories of him. I have one picture we managed to save, and the things my mother told me about him before she herself passed, but that’s it.”

Ben’s arms tighten around her.

“I already told you all this, and about my mother, of course. How those memories haunted her. And the entirety of my adult life, I resented her for not being able to live with those memories - for taking herself from me when she was all I had left. But…” she trails off, gripping Ben’s sweater. “Last night, talking to Ventress, it brought up some things. Memories I hadn’t realized I could feel, even if I can’t really remember. Ventress warned me about Malek, and it was like…like a tuning fork, causing all these other moments to vibrate to life again.”

Ben tries to lift her face to meet his gaze, but she shakes her head.

“If I look at you right now, I won’t be able to keep talking,” she whispers.

He nods against her and doesn’t push it.

So Satine continues. “Did you know the first use of the term genocidal rape was in reference to what happened in Bosnia?”

He doesn’t respond beyond a sharp intake of breath, but it is response enough.

“Not that that means rape wasn’t used as a tool of genocide well before Srebrenica,” adds Satine. “But the term was first used to describe the violence there. The concept of genocidal rape was first proposed in 1996. And I…I think it’s related to what my mother had to live with. More accurately, I think it’s what she couldn’t live with.”

Her grip on his sweater grows tighter.

“I still don’t remember anything about Bosnia. But I think she was…I think she was raped. And I suspect that if it had just been her own rape that she had to live with, she probably could have survived.”

“Satine,” murmurs Ben, and suddenly his arms are vice-like. “Are you saying…”

“I don’t remember,” says Satine. “Nor do I want to. But…I think there’s a high likelihood that my mother killed herself because she couldn’t live with the memories of watching them…”

She can’t get the word out.

“...hurt me, too. In front of her. While she could do nothing to stop it.”

She hears him swallow, can feel the tension in his jaw as he brings his lips to her temple. But she has to continue, because now that the words are half-out, she has to tell him everything. 

“I think I unknowingly endangered you, Ben. Our first time, I wasn’t tested. Obviously I’ve been tested since then and had a clear bill of health, and it sounds like you have been, too, with similar results. But I put you at risk.” She buries her head into the crook of his neck. “I put you at risk.”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, Satine, don’t say that. It’s not true. You didn’t know, and none of that was your fault - ”

“Just because it wasn’t my fault doesn’t mean it wasn’t my responsibility - ”

“Satine,” he says, and his voice is strangled. “No. It wasn’t your fault, nor was it your responsibility. You were a child.”

And her headache is back - or perhaps it never left - and it brings tears to her eyes. Closing her eyes tightly helps, but it does not keep the tears from falling.

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“As you told me earlier, I’m telling you now: there’s nothing to apologize for,” says Ben, and the silk of his voice is reassuring mixed with the steel of his arms around her. 

She hears the words but doesn’t fully comprehend them. “I’m so sorry.”

He kisses her forehead again and rests a hand on the back of her head, his fingers combing through her hair, massaging her skin. And she’s not sure what she did to deserve such divine intervention but she’ll take it - because his fingers are somehow the antidote to her headache, driving it away with each movement.

The tension begins to leave her muscles, and the flow of tears slows.

“I’m here, Satine,” Ben whispers. “I’m here.”

She nods against him. “I know,” she says weakly.

“I’m here,” he says again, and it’s the last thing she remembers before passing out.

---

When Satine wakes up, it’s dark again outside, and she immediately reaches for Ben. Instead, she finds her pillow, and she realizes that at some point Ben had carried her up the stairs and tucked her into bed. Sitting up, she switches on the lamp on her nightstand.

The duvet on the other side of the bed is wrinkled but hasn’t been pulled down, and Satine realizes that Ben must have laid with her for some time, choosing to remain on top of the comforter. Her heart twists with such force that she has to marvel at the sensation, and it occurs to her that maybe this is what it feels like to mend a heart rather than feel one break.

A soft clanging sound echoes from downstairs, and Satine notices that the hallway light is still on. She hears a faucet being turned on and then off, and she realizes Ben hasn’t left yet. Moreover, he appears to be prepping something in her kitchen.

Curious, she throws back the duvet and heads downstairs - sure enough, Ben stands at the range, stirring two pots. His sweater has been tossed on the counter, leaving him wearing a plain gray tee shirt and jeans. Satine smiles, leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs, and watches him for a moment in silence.

As though he realizes he’s being observed, Ben looks over his shoulder. Catching her eye, he gives her a soft smile. “Feeling better?”

She nods. “Much.” She shuffles toward him, standing next to him at the stove. “What are you making?”

“Garlic penne pasta with sun-dried tomatoes,” he says. He hands her a pasta fork. “Keep an eye on the pasta for me as I make the sauce?”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t burn it.”

“It’s noodles, Satine. In water. How would you even - ”

“My friend Breha wouldn’t let me boil water alone in college,” she says.

Ben takes the pasta fork back from her. “In that case…”

Satine just laughs.

“We’ll work on your culinary prowess some other time, when you’ve had a proper number of hours of sleep.”

“So suddenly you can cook?”

“There was nothing sudden about it,” says Ben. “It took many years, and many hours watching YouTube videos.”

He reaches for the colander and sets it in the sink. Satine steps back so he can drain the noodles.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock, so a few hours.”

“And you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Well, I stopped at the co-op down the street to pick up a few ingredients you were missing. But yes, I stayed. Just like I told you.”

I’m here, Satine. I’m here.

He sets the empty pot on an oven mitt and pours the now-drained pasta back into it. Satine waits until he turns off the other burner and moves the sauce to the side, and then she can wait no longer.

She pulls him toward her, rolling onto the balls of her feet so she can press her lips against his.

She immediately decides it’s been far too long since they’d kissed on Wednesday in the library; they’d been too cautious about whatever this fragile thing between them is to take a step forward and risk it being a misstep. Ben seems to agree, if the way he returns the kiss is any indication - one hand grips her hip and pulls her closer while the other traces down her spine, and she moans into his mouth as his fingers move over her lower back.

His tongue asks for permission against her lips, and she readily grants it. When he catches her lip between his teeth, she shivers, pulling against his hair, and his hands seem to drop of their own accord to her ass.

He lifts her easily, moving across the kitchen to set her down on an unused portion of the countertop, her legs still wrapped around his hips. But when she reaches down to fumble with her own shirt, he pulls back slightly, panting.

“Wait,” Ben says, hands on her own. At her questioning glance, he adds, “It’s not that I don’t want to. But given what you told me today, maybe we should take things slower.”

He gives her a chaste kiss to take the sting out of his words.

“You probably need time to process everything,” he murmurs.

He searches her face, hands coming up to frame it.

“I know you hate waiting. I know you tend to go after something as soon as you know you want it. And we’ll get there; I promise. But in the meantime, I propose a compromise.”

She hooks a finger through one of the loops on his jeans and pulls him closer. “I’m listening.”

“If you want to fool around, I’m obviously not opposed.” Ben reaches for his sweater, and he pulls it over her head, helping her thread her arms through the sleeves. “And if skin is what you’re after, then here.” And he brings her hands to the hem of his tee shirt. “In the meantime, my hands will venture no further down than here - ”

Ben places his fingers on her hips.

“And my lips no further down than here.”

He kisses her clavicle.

“And then, once you’ve talked with someone - you still have a therapist, right?”

Satine nods.

“Once you’ve talked with someone, then we’ll talk about how to proceed.” He holds her gaze. “Are those terms acceptable?”

In response, she grins and pulls the shirt up and over his head.

[sadunicorn47]

Masterlist

The Savior ~ A Loki x Reader story~

Summary: Loki's previous trip to earth as D.B Cooper was just a simple prank amongst brother; there was absolutely no hidden agenda behind it whatsoever; certainly was not a way for Loki to take a peek at his so called destined soulmate. Y/N has not had an easy life, and has been hurt by the world way too many times. Can she trust her destined soulmate, or is she too far gone to love and be loved? This story is full of love, heartbreak as well as whole lot of mischief and many talks about past abuse.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Ok tragic that game came out while Toxic Yaoi is like a big trend because now we're gonna have to wait like a year for people to realize Curly/Jimmy is not toxic yaoi Jimmy's a rapist

[puppysdog]

righttt i should say since im talking about it so much that the series has an incredible amount of potentially triggering content and to read at ur own discretion 👍

[suzukiblu]

Match/Tim + a baby for @eulaliafluffboll.

Tim is used to solving problems, and has experience with teen pregnancy in the community. 

He does not have experience with accidentally knocking up one of his teammates' evil clones. And yes, there are two teammates with evil clones, that is actually an actual thing in his life, but Inertia he's at least presuming is cisgender and also hasn’t ever tried to–never mind. Not the point. 

Really, he probably shouldn’t have assumed Match was cisgender, really, or maybe he’d have been a little bit more prepared to avoid this situation to begin with. And Inertia probably doesn’t understand the concept of rape by deception any better than Match does, considering. But Tim’s been . . . avoiding that particular thought, for now. He has other things to worry about. Like, for example, tracking down a pregnant supervillain who’s pregnant because of him. 

Or . . . was pregnant because of him, maybe, given how long it’s been since anyone last saw Match. Not that Tim has any idea how half-Kryptonian clone biology may or may not affect gestation, or if the fetus was even viable at all, or if Match might’ve miscarried or just had an abortion, or . . . 

Tim exhales.

If it was viable and Match kept it–carried it to term, he means–then he must’ve also kept it. Match is methodical and careful and thinks things through, and he’d know he couldn’t just abandon an infant with Kryptonian DNA at a hospital or church or anywhere like that. 

. . . he’d probably know. 

Would he care, Tim wonders, not for the first time. If he carried the baby to term . . . he would, wouldn’t he? Otherwise, why would he have carried it? 

He isn’t optimistic enough to think Match would try to protect the baby from the Agenda or his own lifestyle, even in such a desperate and unlikely to succeed way as just giving them away to people who had no idea about their genetic heritage. But he also knows Match isn’t with the Agenda right now, or at least wasn’t two weeks ago when he last hacked their systems.

Tonight’s plan is to hack them again, because Tim’s out of leads and the Agenda has been looking for Match too, so if they have any leads–

Then he gets a phone call on the current burner he’s keeping for Young Justice, and it’s . . . a little bit distracting as a call, maybe. 

“Alvin,” Cissie greets very, very calmly from the other end of the line. “Why is there a newborn baby sleeping in my dorm room right now?” 

“Why are you asking me that?” Tim asks as he goes very, very still. It might be a trap, he tells himself. It’s probably a trap. Or a distraction. Or–

“Because it came with a note attached, and that note was literally just an ‘R’ scratched into our wall,” Cissie says. “A very specific ‘R’, for the record.” 

“ETA eighty minutes,” Tim says, then cuts the line. 

It might be a distraction. It’d make sense if it were. Match is methodical and careful and thinks things through. And he’s a liar, and good at lying.

But of course Tim’s still going, either way.

[lesvegas]

All the discourse (read: hate) around bi lesbians just reminds me of the anon I got once that was like 'you can't be a lesbian and an asexual at the same time' followed by a rape threat, along with other asks I got around the same time about how I was confused, should try going out with a man, etc etc. Anyway queerphobia is all the same shit, exclusionism is all the same shit, and anyone who hates a certain type of queer is a bigot, no different from our oppressors.