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myers-meadow · 10 months

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The best gift he's ever received - Severus Snape x OC

Title: The best gift he's ever received

Pairing: Severus Snape x female student OC, named Minoes Haasse. Traits mentioned: long hair, afab, able bodied, older than 18, pureblood, light skinned, is in Slytherin.

Summary: During a fateful Death Eater meeting, Voldemort has a gift for Severus; a marriage. And with a marriage comes a wedding night. It turns out that this gift is his favourite student, choosen specifically for him by Draco Malfoy. Before long, the darkness that's been restless within him for years rises to the surface.

Warnings: 18 +, non-con. Minoes is a gift to Snape and he takes full advantage. Severus' gift is a punishment for someone else. Dark Severus Snape. Rough sex, hair pulling, man-handling, p in v sex, forced orgasm, sex with an audience, public sex, (mild) objectification, (mild) degradation, creampie, some mentions of blood purity, crying, begging, rape aftermath, arranged marriage, cuckolding.

Wordcount: 4908

This is my first fic about Snape! This couldn't have come to exist in this final form without the help, encouragement and many thoughtprovoking conversations of my dearest friends @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better & @devil-doll13, who proofread this for me TWICE. Thank you <3.

Reblogs and comments are very welcome, I'd love to know if you enjoyed! <3

Dividers by angels-aesthetic and benkeibear.

When Snape arrived, it was with the usual remarks and greetings. Nothing welcoming. Almost all the seats at the table at the Malfoy Manor were already taken. Everything always felt like a test when it came to the Dark Lord. But Snape was unreadable and composed, as always. As the evening drew to close, and Nagini had her meal, the Dark Lord rose, and gestured to the side, to Wormtail hovering in the shadows.

“Wormtail, won’t you bring our special guest over,” he said, his voice thin, but filled with an amusement that didn’t bode well. The ever loyal Wormtail did as he said, revealing a young woman. A student. Snape hid his surprise, wearing his eternal face of indifference, even though he knew her well. She was clever girl, good at Potions, at the Dark Arts, one of those students that showed promise, and never let him down.

And now, she was here, dressed in an already partly torn black dress, floor length, that, if it weren’t for the tears in it, would cover her as much as Snape’s robes covered him. The fear in her eyes was clear, the first tear had already fallen to the floor when Wormtail dragged her into the light, but she was dead silent. No sobs, no whimpers, no begging. Snape almost thought she was under a spell to keep her quiet, but knew no Death Eater would prefer silence over screams of pain.

“Severus,” Voldemort started, waiting for Snape’s eyes to turn to him, “you must know this sweet girl.” He reached out an inhuman hand to caress the young woman’s hair. Snape saw her initial reaction was to flinch away from the Dark Lord, but she resisted, with stone cold horror written all over her face. Wormtail copied Voldemort’s caress, and she gave him a frightening glare that made him back off swiftly, to the amusement of Snape and the Dark Lord.

“Your former student… Tell me, did you notice her before tonight? Such a pretty thing, sitting front row in your Advanced Potions class. Surely your heart and loins aren’t devoid of blood enough to ignore a girl this… This darling.”

Snape’s mouth grew dry. So that was to be the planned entertainment for the night. It made him feel sick to think that truly no one in the Dark Lord’s path was safe. Not even when they were students under the protection of Hogwarts. The darkness of the situation settled heavy in his stomach.

“And real sweet she’ll be, tonight. Especially for you, Severus.”

For him? That must be some mistake. He wasn’t some noble pureblood whose allegiance must be bought through political marriage, nor were the young woman’s parents involved with the Death Eaters.

Voldemort’s tone changed to something more conversational, lighter. “You see, after you gave us the correct date Potter was moved to a safe house, I realised something.”

The air lay heavy with tension and expectation.

“What was it, my Lord?” asked Snape, not letting his gaze flicker back to the girl.

Voldemort smiled. “I’ve rarely rewarded you properly, with something so pleasurable as this. Draco agreed that you deserve something to help you relax a little. So much so that he helped me a great deal, by choosing her for us. Minoes, her name is, right Draco?” And his inflection was purely cruel then.

Snape looked at Draco, who swallowed hard, before nodding. Lucius, who sat next to him, nudged him ever so slightly.

“It is, my Lord,” he said, clearly not as skilled at concealing his emotions as his father was. “Minoes Haasse.”

“A student in your year.”

“Yes,” Draco replied. This must be a punishment for Draco too, in a way that Snape didn’t exactly understand yet.

“And why did you choose her, Draco?” Voldemort didn’t even attempt to hide his sadistic pleasure at the situation.

Draco swallowed, stared pointedly at the end of the table closest to her, but not at her. “Because she’s the smartest and prettiest girl in Slytherin.”

“And now, she’ll be all yours, Severus.” And only then, did Snape look at her. She met his eyes, almost shy. “Why don’t you go over to him to greet him properly?”

It wasn’t a suggestion. When she caught the Dark Lord’s gaze, she held it, with just the tiniest hint of defiance, before she stepped closer to where Snape sat, to Voldemort’s left.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. Her words were softer than they were in class, clearly she wasn’t comfortable here. “Hello, Professor.”

Snape wet his lips at just the sound of her voice. “Miss Haasse,” he acknowledged with a small nod. Everything about this felt wrong. The politeness, the pretence that she was still a student of his, as if they were just passing in the hallways – as if everything wasn’t completely upside down for her.

“You can be a little friendlier, love,” said Voldemort. She took another step, within arm’s reach now. Snape pushed his seat back somewhat, so she could stand right in front of him. She hesitated, taking longer than anyone at the table had the patience for.

“A bit quicker would be nice,” jeered Voldemort. “We all know what’s on the menu today, so why draw it out unnecessarily? That poor girl.”

At that, Minoes raised her eyebrows, and steeled herself with a sharp inhale and she stepped closer, more determined now. Snape reached out his hand to her, as an invitation, to show he didn’t mean any harm. She took it, but avoided his eyes. Her hand was warm, and she squeezed his hand tightly, as if she was at the doctor’s and undergoing a particularly nerve-wracking procedure. He drew her closer until she stood in between his knees, her bum pressing against the edge of the table. Something surged in his blood, something dark that made him feel alive.

“See, nothing to be afraid of,” he murmured softly to her, sitting up straighter and letting his hands fall to her hips. “Has anyone told you what you’re here for?”

“A marriage,” her voice broke at the offending word. So that was what they told her about this. Perhaps he could give her some tenderness, to make it feel a little more like a wedding night… If the others at the table let him, that is. His hands moved from her hips to her shoulders, plucking at the buttons of her high collared blouse.

“Why don’t you take this off, first?” he suggested. She glanced over her shoulder, at Draco, before she repressed a shudder, and her shaking fingers got to work. Button for button. There were a lot of them, and the Death Eaters at the table were quick to voice their boredom.

“Hurry it up, will you?”

“That’s what you get for giving such a cute girl to Snape.”

Minoes sent a nasty glare in the general direction of the comments, but Snape tugged at her dress, sharply.

“Na-ah, miss Haasse, eyes on me.” It sounded like he was reprimanding her for not paying attention during a lecture. His tone intimidated her.

At last she reached the final button, and taking the audience complaints to heart, Snape raised himself up, caging her against the table, and tugged her torn dress down her shoulders. She gasped at his sudden ferocity, shocked at the violation. Once it was down at her hips, revealing a black bra, he took his time to caress her bare shoulders. Small scars from acne glittered in the light. He traced the lace trim of her bra, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.

“That’s a nice pair of tits,” said one Death Eater to another, who agreed with an appreciative hum.

“Would be prettier if she had a nicer figure.”

Throughout his examination of her body, she held her head high, even as her fear and apprehension began to truly show on her face. Already standing so close to her, he took in everything. She leaned her fingertips against the table, as far as she could away from him. Reluctant or not; the angle of her head as she leaned back made her pale neck even more appealing. Where her neck ended, the collarbone, the expanse of skin above the bra, her breasts moving with erratic breaths… Delectable. To think this was the same girl that he’d admired from afar during his classes time and again – at his mercy. His hands flexed at his sides. His terrible, terrible mercy.

“What are you waiting for, Severus?” smirked Voldemort. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to break her.”

Comments and soft laughter rose up from the Death Eaters again: “If I had a moment with her, I’d show them how it’s done.”

Snape’s fingers curled themselves into a fist, uncurled, curled and uncurled again. One of his hands moved to her hair, pulling the hair pin she wore out of her bun and shaking her long hair loose. He turned her face to his, truly towering over her at claustrophobic proximity. Beautiful. And just for him. What a strange turn his life took this night. Her eyes fluttered close as she felt his breath on her lips, but he didn’t kiss her yet. At seeing that tiny flash of submission on her face something stirred within him.

“Look at that, she’s so ready for him.”

“If only he did something about it,” retorted another.

“What does he think she’s made of? Glass?”

“Perhaps he’s just shy.” Followed by giggles and mocking laughter. His gaze flickered to the other side of the table, before he pushed down the rest of her dress with dramatic movements. It fell around her feet. She pressed her eyes closed, feeling exposed in the cold room of the manor. Her panties were similar to her bra; black with a hint of lace, but it wasn’t a matching set. Snape envied the men at the opposite side of the table, who got a good view of her ass.

His mouth watered at the sight of her, and his blood warmed him down there when the shivers of her body pressed her into him. Snape tugged at a bra strap and let it snap back sharply against the skin. Instantly her eyes flew open and she attempted to slap his hand away, but he was quicker, grabbing her wrist and pushing it behind her back, leaning in close.

“You’ll find this all a whole lot more pleasurable,” he said, words measured, something in his eyes made her rein in her fight immediately. “If you’re good for me. Remove the rest of your clothes.”

And what use would it be? The moment she fought against him more than was deemed entertaining, a whole table of Death Eaters would make sure she was adequately punished. Not to speak of what would become of her parents – and she shuddered when she remembered the disappearance of the Muggle Studies teacher. So she tugged her panties down with her free hand, looking mortified the whole time.

The wolf whistles and comments worsened; about her nice ass, how she kept herself untamed down there, how they’d hope Snape wasn’t afraid of a little hair. He smiled at the glint of defiance that once again sparked in her eyes.

“Let me,” he said, and reached behind her back, through the curtain of her hair, and unclasped her bra. After pushing it down her arms, he flicked it onto the far end of the table, which was met with hollering.

“That’s more like it!” said one.

Bellatrix cackled. “Show us, Severus! Show us the girl.”

Minoes shielded herself in a meagre attempt at dignity, which Snape didn’t mind, but for tonight - it wouldn’t do. Rather than force her arms away, he took her hands and pulled them around his neck. A mocking embrace. Her hair smelled lovely, that same fresh yet warm patchouli that appeared in his Amorentia last schoolyear.

“Aren’t you just lovely,” he murmured in her ear, just for her to hear. “But you’re not just for me tonight. Can you do a little twirl?”

Immediately she stilled against him, and he delighted in it. Stepped back, he raised her arms over her head by her wrists, and twirled her around for all to see. She stumbled but he easily held her up like that, running his free hand over her breasts, giving a squeeze here or there, satisfied with the hungry looks around the table. Few of the men still had their hands on the table. The power he felt sparked through him as he showed her off, as much as the pleasure did, fuelling his confidence.

“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that,” said a Death Eater on the far end of the table.

“Don’t know what to do with all that?” asked a gruff voice to his side. “Should I show you how to treat a lady?”

Before Snape could intervene, Voldemort did. “No, Gibbons, she is all his.”

The way he said it made pride swell in Snape’s chest. Gibbons slumped in his seat.

“At least he could hurry it up.”

“Go on, Severus,” encouraged the Dark Lord. “I know you want her. Or would you rather we give her to someone else?”

He hated what Voldemort’s words did to him, what they’ve always done to him. Right from the beginning, when he was a teen, that darkness resided in him. He felt it open up and blossom in his chest as he looked at her, the Dark Lord’s words resounding in his head. What resistance did he have? He looked at Minoes; her wanton expression, the glow of sweat on her skin, her silent plead for mercy... She belonged to him. That was the only thing that felt true. And he’d enjoy her, Merlin be damned. Life’s been cruel to him for far too long, and this good thing that fell into his grasp won’t leave without claw marks all over– although he knew he’d never let her go. He leaned into that darkness as he wrapped his hand around her throat and pulled her close.

“You heard them,” Snape said to his favourite little student, “playing time is over.”

With a voice so soft even he barely heard her, she whispered: “Please.” Her pleading look alone was enough to have him hard and weeping in his trousers. “Please, don’t.”

“After the meeting, you’ll have all the time for playing,” said Voldemort, over the Death Eaters mocking her begging. Fuck. Snape hadn’t considered that. A marriage, she’d said. That implied… oh Merlin.

He whirled her around to face him, and helped her sit up on the table, one finger already finding its way to her vulva, brushing the curls aside. Even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to follow it through, he sank down regardless, and leaned forward to spit on her pussy, pressing a kiss to her clit. Her gasps spurred him on. Truly, she was perfect for him.

Rowdy encouragement sounded from the table, with some complaints here and there.

“Is she wet already?”

“Bet she is, did you see how she looked at him?”

After another short lick to her clit, he moved up again, to sit in his chair. He opened her legs nice and wide in front of him. She resisted, shy even after all that.

“Open,” Snape said, voice stern like it was in class. Immediately she complied, and he smiled. “Good girl.”

Gibbons peered over Snape’s shoulder and pushed a hand inside his own pants. “She could really do with a shave.”

As Snape’s first finger pushed inside her, curling deliciously, he thought of how to take her. Aided by the spit from before, a second finger joined the first, Her hand flew to his wrist as her gasps grew louder. He pumped them slowly but deeply, going by the noises to know if he hit the right spot inside. There was no real force behind her grip, and the fluttering of her walls were good indications of how good he made her feel despite it all. Another surge of power filled him. Her other hand pressed against her mouth, to try and keep the sounds in. Another curl of his fingers and a moan made her lips part.

The response was immediate, with Bellatrix cackling victoriously as though it was her who inflicted the delicious torture upon the girl.

“Sweet heavens, is he good for something after all!”

Next to her, Draco looked mortified, cheeks red in frustration and embarrassment.

“Does she really need all this, Snape?” another complained. “Bet she’s ready and dripping already.”

“Perhaps he can’t get it up for a pureblood,” cackled Bellatrix. “You should’ve found a mudblood, my Lord.”

“Patience,” Snape reprimanded, but he was running out of his own too. “Come, love.”

And with a tight grip on her thighs, he pulled her into his lap, her breathy “no, no, no, please” were music to his ears. In stark contrast to those lovely sounds, were the sobs coming from behind her, somewhere to the middle of the long table. Draco. He smothered his cry with his sleeve, as Lucius nudged him to stop showing his weakness with a furious look on his face.

It took Snape quite some effort to prevent Minoes from looking back at Draco, gripping her tightly by the hair in the nape of her neck.

“I said: eyes on me,” he warned.

She understood clearly what he wanted from this position, eyes pressed closed with fear, but she settled down on his lap nonetheless, her legs folded next to his on the chair. With one hand Snape held her, and with the other he pried open the buttons of his trousers. Even that took him much to long for his liking, and once he freed his weeping erection, he let out a soft groan.

“Fuck, look at that,” said one, somewhere next to Gibbons, leaning over the table to get a better view. Snape grinned, pride growing in his chest. Her eyes snapped open, coming face to face with the sheer lust in his dark eyes. Wolf whistles followed and even Bellatrix kept quiet.

The way he looked at her softened her resolve and she braced against him, trying not to grind into him.

“How many have you been with?” Snape whispered. “Am I the first?”

He squeezed his hand around his cock, smearing the precum up and down. She shook her head.

“Only one.”

“Who?”

But the second series of choked sobs from behind her and her tortured look were answer enough. Draco. They must’ve been together – but in sacred pureblood families, love isn’t that easy. So this was both a reward and a punishment, two birds with one stone. Snape isn’t one to complain.

“Too bad she’s not a virgin,” said one.

“Rather a pureblood than a virgin,” retorted another.

He aligned her slit with his cock. She gripped his upper arms for stability, pleading with her eyes not to do it. Looking up at her, his hand around her neck, pulling her closer, and the moment their lips met, he pushed his hips up sharply. Moaning into her mouth as she let out a high-pitched screech. Tight, so hot, so tight. He filled her completely and only half of him was inside. Fuck, her cries were bloody arousing. As if this was what he’d been waiting for all these years.

“The two of you are perfect,” complimented Voldemort. “She must be so glad that it’s you, Severus.”

He tasted the salt of her tears in their kiss and nipped her lip. The cruelty of the Dark Lord’s words was delightful. His hips rolled, in and out, languid movements, letting her adjust just a little bit more. The silent sobs made her body jerk in his grip, making her spear herself further on his cock. Part of him wanted to look Draco in the face and say: ‘See how I’m fucking your girlfriend? See how much better a real man does it?’

“Merlin, he’s such a tease,” groaned one Death Eater to the other.

“She’s so fucking tight,” Snape said through gritted teeth, not to anyone in particular. His answer was met with hollering. “She’s so tight it almost hurts.”

He kissed her again, wet and sloppy, grinding into her. His grip on her was so tight that he remained in complete control over both their movements. Despite her best efforts to stifle her sounds, she couldn’t help it. He filled her completely. Each sensation built on the ones before it in the most harrowing torturous way. Each time he slid out was a loss and a promise. Each push in dragged past all the most sensitive parts inside of her. When he was all the way inside he breathed out sharply, brushing his nose against hers.

“Now that’s not so bad is it?” he taunted, sounding just like he did during when he made her redo her potion in its entirely after messing up one tiny thing. When no response came, he gripped her by the chin. “Is it?”

Jarred by his sudden cruelty, she instinctively replied: “No, professor.”

“How does it feel?” And he pushed himself back in to the hilt again. The pace was slow, letting her feel every bit of him.

Gibbons saw his chance: “If she’d rather have a different dick to sit on, she can try mine.”

Bellatrix giggled and others cheered.

“Yeah, pass her around!”

Minoes’ gaze lingered over each of the faces with disbelief and disgust. Some of them were stroking themselves openly. It felt filthy, to be seen like this. As if being ripped from her boyfriend and gifted like an object wasn’t bad enough, they all had to watch. And enjoy it too. Snape’s hips snapped up, hitting her cervix and she yelped, losing her balance and causing her to stumble into his chest.

His grin grew sinister. “Well, love, how does it feel? Do I make you feel good?”

He was the only one who could control her fate. She just had to be brave. To say what he wanted to hear. Another roll of his hips made her whimper, the pleasure making her voice sound breathy and wanton. “Good, professor. I- ah, it feels good.”

“Yes?” he said, voice turning mean, even despite the lust sounding in his words. “Who’s making you feel good?”

Breathy moans tumbled from her as his pace increased. “You- you are making me feel good. Ah- fuck. Please…”

“Please what?”

Tears sprung to her eyes. She just shook her head and pressed her eyes closed. That wouldn’t do. Movements mirroring the cruelty of his words as he pulled her off his dick, standing them both up. She whined pathetically at the loss of his warmth and the emptiness that his cock left behind.

Digging his nails in her back, he whirled her around and bent her over the table, chest to the cold wood. His fingers trailed over her slit, before lining himself up with her hole. As he pushed in, none too gently, he pulled her back by her hair, close to the nape of her neck, as she yelped at the roughness. Her breasts were on full view like this and the hollers were immediate. Facing the lustful Death Eaters like this made her sob through the moans.

“Now this is a show!” said Bellatrix.

“Fuck, you can hear how wet she is,” said another.

One of them stretched out his hands to touch her breasts, but Snape slapped them away.

“No touching, Carrow,” came his stern voice, somehow still authoritative despite his breathlessness. He pulled Minoes close to him and squeezes her breasts from behind as he pounded into her at an increasing pace. Her back arched of its own accord, making him hit the best spots inside of her, clenching around him every time he did.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he mumbled in her ear, getting drunk off the pleasure. Pinching her nipple with one hand, the other moved down her tummy, and rolled her clit between his fingers.

The effect was immediate; her soft moans turned to needy mewls and she clawed at his arms, tugging up the sleeves to find purchase. “Please, please, oh please, professor, don’t- no, oh god please…”

With a sickeningly sweet voice, Snape asked: “Please what? Use your words, love.”

“I’m- I can’t… it’s too much, please…”

The mocked from the table was immediate, laughter and degradation mingling with the sound of skin against skin.

“Little girl can’t take it?”

“She loves his Death Eater cock.”

He shushed her, ignoring the others, pressing sloppy wet kisses in her neck and all over her shoulders. His fingers rubbed her clit in slow but steady circles, making her walls clench around him deliciously. “Miss Haasse, do you want to cum on my cock? Beg for it.”

Next to him, Gibbons spilt his seed with a loud grunt.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Snape moaned, partly to mask the sounds of the audience, “now beg for me.”

“Please, professor- please let me cum.”

He pinched her clit to hear her shriek and buck away from his hand. Her vision went hazy as his fingers soothed over the sting.

“Do you want your professor to cum inside you, love?”

“Yes, please- yes.”

His pace increased. Opposite of them, another Death Eater reached his climax with a blissful expression and filthy grunts. Snape pulled her close to him, her face to the side, nipping at her lips with his teeth, too caught in open mouthed moans to kiss her properly but wanting all her attention on him and him alone.

“Such a sweet girl,” he mumbled, “so polite, so good… Cum for me.”

And she did, with loud, erotic whimpers. Snape too, was close, and fucked her through her orgasm, deep and deeper still, before his hips stilled, grinding against her while all the way in. His lustful moan was similarly delicious, and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment in pure bliss. It seemed like the darkness that came to fruition inside him truly served him well.

“Severus, that was wonderful!” said Voldemort, breaking them from their post-orgasm haze. He pulled out of her, turning her around and let her lean her tired body into him. He caged her in his arms, shielding her from the cold with his robes. “What a revel. Truly wonderful. Don’t you all agree?”

Sounds of enjoyment, some cheers and more pleased comments sounded from around the table. Draco’s sobs had long since dried out, now he avoided looking anywhere near his girlfriend. Snape couldn’t stop the smile on his face and pressed a kiss to Minoes’ sweaty temple.

“I assume this concludes the meeting,” he said, back to his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“Of course, of course,” said the Dark Lord, smile in his thin voice, “you two have the rest of your wedding night ahead of you still.”

His words were met with snickers all around, and a soft murmur arose as everyone stood up and got ready to take their leave. Minoes bent down to pick up her clothes on shaky legs.

They were tired, sweaty, in need of a proper shower, but before Snape could apparate away to his home in Spinner’s End, Lucius stopped him to shake his hand.

“I’m glad we could solve this like we have,” he said, as though it was a business transaction. “She certainly seems… adequate. Her family isn’t much, but she’s from a good enough house.”

Snape just nodded. Minoes quickly threw her dress over her head, not bothering with underwear, just wanting to be covered again. Snape wrapped his robe around her shoulders.

There were more comments before they got away.

“If you get tired of her, you know where to find me,” growled Gibbons.

Or Carrow: “Let me know when she gives you a hard time. You gotta keep girls like this in check.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Snape said, to placate them. When he looked at the girl at his side, he found her glaring daggers at everyone else.

Once they were at his home, he let her in first, and she took her shoes off by the door. He pulled her close once again when they reached the living room, kissing her forehead.

“You were so brave…” he said. She shook her head, sighing deeply. The silence of the house was nice. Better than the filthy comments, than the hollering, than Bellatrix’ laughter. “I’ll run a hot bath for you. Why don’t you make some tea?”

Tea, yeah, she could do that.

When she sank into the tub, he wasn’t kidding; the water was quite hot. Spots on her hips or shoulders stung from where his nails had dug into her skin. He joined her, setting his mug of steaming tea on the edge. This was the first time she saw him nude. Going for the sponge and one of his homemade soaps, he made a mental note to retrieve the healing salve later.

Folding her arms around her legs, she said the first words since they arrived at his home: “I am glad that it’s you, professor.”

His heart surged in his chest. Putting down the sponge, he intertwined their fingers. “After we’re done in the bath, I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “We can take our time now that no one’s watching.”

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eldritch-spouse · 7 months

Note

Good morning!! I’m just thinking about your demons again. I ADORE the new additions. 💕

What kind of traits do demons typically find appealing romantically? Like, I know how to woo these folks for the most part, but what passive traits do they find impressive?

Like, I know they’re diverse and no two people like the same thing. Just wondering about “beauty” standards in the circles (not beauty, we know about beauty, I can’t think of the right word). Like, I assume gluttons would appreciate other big eaters, or good cooks, and concubi can appreciate promiscuity of all sorts, or on the flip side, find purity appealing and/or cute.

(I especially would love to know what pride demons typically find attractive.)

[Thenk you! <:7]

That's a little bit vague, I'm not too sure where to go from here, so I'm kind of going to ramble. Not that it's hard to guess. I'll stray from physical descriptions.

There's a trick to this I'll explain at the end.

Wrath demons tend to romanticize hard-headed bulls who never back down from a challenge, as you might imagine. People who stick by their values and exude determination, not easily swayed. People hardened by time and their environment, who rise from the lowest lows to the highest of platforms with grace and respect.

Others may enjoy someone whose fury is subtle yet extremely well calculated, strategized, flawless. Of course, many of them fetishize murderers, violent miscreants of all kinds, serial killers and the aggressively insane;

Greed demons will naturally flock to anyone who's financially "abundant". People who spend carelessly because they earn carelessly. Though many of them will also keep a sharp eye on stingy people who count everything down to the last penny. Sometimes saving a huge chunk of money by executing a series of cheap and clever exploits is enough to have these demons fanning themselves;

Many other greedy demons have fallen for notorious heist authors, prolific robbers, successful scammers, and all sorts of scummy people;

Gluttons do gravitate towards chefs, big eaters and those who own large chains of food, maybe well-known restaurants or even some brands of snacks that they really like. It varies. Those who are always hungry are obviously picked sooner, followed by those with a variety of eating disorders;

Although not as common, some more well-off gluttons pick partners who are extremely thin or otherwise unable to satiate their hunger due to a less genuine drive to "fix" that, or somehow captivate that person by letting them overindulge;

Envy demons tend to hover around those with great social influence. People that fawn attention, people who can start shit in public and get away with it. Celebrities, moles, those who spread their roots everywhere and have way too many connections. A good ability to adapt socially in short spans of time is also extremely coveted in partners;

Likewise, those at the very bottom of the latter, practically foaming at the mouth with their jealousy, ready to perform the most heinous of acts to attain even a crumb of their desires, are also appealing to these demons. The perfect cup-sized storm ready to burst;

Discussed plenty already, concubi are lovers of shameless sensuality and high-libidos. People who control chunks of the porn industry are highly sought after, those who own sex shops, who design the toys they use and abuse, those who write eroticas or administer large kink communities. Where perverts gather so do they, always ready to pick and pluck their favorite heathens;

Still, the fantasy of purity and corruption is very present in many concubi alike, which is what leads them to infiltrate communities of sexually frustrated people and drive them insane with want. Many go a step further and seek to scandalize people of faith, engaging is rancid displays inside sacred locations because the thrill of getting someone so disciplined to give in makes their heads spin with pleasure;

Sloth demons are into soft-spoken people. Those who live very comforted lives with little to get in the way and all the pleasures they could wish for at the tip of their fingers. Those whose hands are uncalloused because they've never had to work for anything in their lives, who might even take it all for granted;

In stark contrast, many will also seek people who are exhausted in all senses of the word. Who can never seem to get enough rest, who work themselves to the bone, frail and weathered and so chewed up inside, the plight for a break present in those heavy bags under their sunken eyes;

Pride demons covet the image of perfection. Whether or not that immaculate presentation is true or not matters none so long as it appears that way outwardly. They seek someone who can elevate them, someone who usually has others trailing after them, people with titles and so much arrogance it might physically hurt to be near them for long periods of time;

Many are also opportunistic however, willing to pick a partner who is down in the slums, dirty and ridden of all dignity. Someone who can't afford to say no to them, can't leave them, will see them as very center of the universe because what would they be without that demon? Nothing. The truest form of adoration for them, total worship, total dependence.

As you might have already guessed, there's contradictions here. The reason why is simple.

Demons of lower rank will usually choose those who are more true and successful representations/reminders of their sin. Because they have a lot to gain from pairing with them.

Demons of higher rank are already after those who desperately need their services, who covet what the sins can offer. Because people in their service and debt make for good lovers, in their eyes.

Mid rankers are a bit of a toss up.

This is not to say that there aren't exceptions to these tendencies, or that they can't exhibit completely opposite tastes, it's the general rule, the norm so to say.

#general tce #vaya-mernda

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aboutbirds · 5 months

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He is not here, the old sun, As absent as if we were asleep. The field is frozen. The leaves are dry. Bad is final in this light. In this bleak air the broken stalks Have arms without hands. They have trunks Without legs or, for that, without heads. They have heads in which a captive cry Is merely the moving of a tongue. Snow sparkles like eyesight falling to earth, Like seeing fallen brightly away. The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound. It is here, in this bad, that we reach The last purity of the knowledge of good. The crow looks rusty as he rises up. Bright is the malice in his eye… One joins him there for company, But at a distance, in another tree.

Wallace Stevens, "No Possum, No Sop, No Taters," from Collected Poetry and Prose

#wallace stevens #no possum no sop no taters #collected poetry and prose #out of my collection

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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"Hellfire."

Pairing: Monsignor John Pruitt x F!Reader

Summary: You are called first to receive everlasting life from the angel's blood during Easter Vigil.

Warnings: Spoilers for Episode 6 of Midnight Mass and all the content that comes with it. Language. Taking some liberties with how the angel's blood works uhhh hehe. Millie who's that AU. Going off of the stream of consciousness / dream-like writing I am trying so hard to stay out of my head and just write what comes.

"Brothers and sisters,” Monsignor Pruitt concludes. “On this most holy night I come to you with good news. Not only the good news of the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who arose to forgive us of our sins after three days in the tomb. But, also the resurrection of ourselves."

He clasps his hands together in makeshift prayer, eyes sparkling an unfamiliar orange glow that you've never seen before. That of a feral black cat's eyes bouncing back light. The ones that hunt on the outpost of the island, all teeth and heat and hunger and sex and wild and and and--

Visions of nocturnal holiness.

"I ask you. Trust in me. And God will reward your loyalty heavily. Know that I would not ask of the ultimate sacrifice of your life if I did not have utmost faith in our God for the miracle he is about to bestow tonight."

The silence within the church is deafening. Not a soul rises for his offer, parishioners stunned to their seats. His eyes scan, searching for a familiar face. Finally focusing on yours.

“Please. [“____”]," his voice like liquid honey calls to you, echoing through the church. "I call upon you to take the plunge first, my sweet child. Show the good people of Crockett Island that there is nothing to fear. That there is paradise waiting for us all tonight."

He leaves his pulpit, descending down the steps towards you. His arm reaches out, using his slender fingers to beckon you to him with a "come hither" motion. White vestments flowing, covering his human visage as he moves, billowing out like an angel's wings.

Devils were once just fallen angels. Symbols of purity be damned.

He notices your trepidation.

"One moment of pain, perhaps. But an eternity of youth and love and worship in His name. We have been given a tremendous gift, sister ["____"]. Be brave.”

Beverly Keene remained tucked in the upper corner of the church, stirring the choice of death for this evening. She's always been a witch in your eyes; now the harsh comparison rings true more than ever as she concocts a deadly potion of sickeningly sweet liquid.

The smell reminds you of too hot summers and running against the shoreline as the waves lap against your ankles and buying popsicles at the general store and sticky raspberry juice running between your fingers. Familiar memories and tastes intermingled with rat poison.

“And so Jesus rose from the tomb, trampling down death. As will we. I am with you, and you are with me. There is nothing to fear."

Don't drink the kool-aid, the old adage goes.

But you wonder how vanilla and raspberry taste mixed together.

Jonestown redux is standing before you, with his hand outstretched for you to take; his body backlit by the illumination of hundreds of candles. You look up at him through your lashes, lips slightly parted. Your eyebrows upturned and eyes reposed.

"Monsignor. Forgive me, but I cannot," you swallow hard. Back yourself from that cliff, you have one leg dangling over the edge now! "For I have not taken communion as my sins have been too weighty, too difficult to ever be forgiven. I believe I did not deserve the body and blood of Christ at that time, which is selfish of me. Forgive me.”

John almost considers this for a moment, his thick eyebrows furrowing together as he stares down at you.

"There is no resurrection for me. I will die,” you state bluntly. Your words are finally registering.

Back away back away, make distance between the cliff.

But he smiles, against your expectations. A tight lipped smile, his eyes kissing at the corners when his cheeks raise. Missed by the miracle of reversed age, not reaching the crows feet that reveal only when he's truly happy.

"My angel. You've taken more than enough of my seed in your womb, and down your throat. The blessing is already inside you."

His hand grazes your cheek, and Hellfire reigns down as the finality of his reveal sets in across the room. Hot and prickling at the back of your neck. High pitched buzzing of bees in your ears. Whore of Babylon comes to Crockett Island. Mary Magdalene weeps. Hundreds of eyes descend upon your form, fragile and ready to break at a moment's notice.

Hell has a special place reserved for you for tasting the most unholy fruits. You wear guilt like a halo.

John positions his index fingers and thumb underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. Your eyes dart away, unable to face him. For sure your very skin would burst into flames if you stared too long.

"Look at me," he demands. "Look at me, angel. Do not be ashamed.”

Oh, you’re more than familiar with this position.

Your eyes tilt back, big and yearning and scared yet wanting more. More of John, more of his smell on your bedsheets, more of his fingers in your mouth more of the salty bitter taste of his skin more breaking the boundaries between heaven and hell more more more more flesh more blood no sin no death no guilt.

Hell has a special place reserved for you in due time.

But real hell is living without him. You slip your hand into his, rising from the pew.

The church is silent, conversations about your unforgivable sin now hushed to murmurs. Somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle song of night crickets that intermingle with your delicate footsteps across decades old wood. A resounding creak and moan of the floorboards that echoes through the small church that makes it become an entity of its own, ready to swallow you whole.

Someone is crying, quietly muffled pathetically behind a cloth. A woman blesses herself using the sign of the cross as you pass.

A dead girl walking, and this is the sound of your funeral march.

Your toes bump into the first step leading up to the chancel. Guiding you by your waist, John spins you to face the congregation. Expressions of the crowd are unreadable.

Are you Joan of Arc or a witch about to be burned at the stake?

Blasphemy, blasphemy stood before your friends, family, acquaintances.

A light. The vision of John blocks you away from their watchful eyes as he stands before you, cupping your face within his hands. Your eyes lock together. Gently, he presses a chaste kiss to the center of your forehead. Lips just barely ghosting over your flesh. You tremble before him.

Bev stands behind you, both arms outstretched forward, bent at the elbow. You’re smart enough to realize she’s ready to catch you for when you involuntarily start seizing, your body putting up its final fight against the poison coursing through its veins.

Life. Death. Rise.

A sob starts in your larynx, unable to burst fully to the surface The warmth of his hands removed from your face, now reaching for Bev's as he takes the small plastic solo cup of juice from hers into his.

"I am with you," he whispers as he holds the cup up to your lips. "As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death I am with you, and you will come out on the other side anew. Whole. Pure as a reward for your devotion to Him."

Raspberry and vanilla threaten to break the seal of your lips, the cup tapped against it. His other hand snakes his way up your back, weaving his fingers within your hair. The digits tug against your locks slightly, tilting your head back.

"Open."

Saliva gathers at the back of your throat.

You can't, you can't, you can't.

You cannot dare to lose the chance to miss another one of those too hot summer days where the children of Crockett island throw their books haphazardly into their backpacks basking in their first hours of summer vacation and the salty water clinging to your hair making it curly and sticky raspberry juice dripping between your fingers–

But oh the visions of him with and the way he whimpers into your neck when he thrusts into you, his hot mouth on your pulse point, the way his hand pin down your wrists forcing you to stay still. Murmured praises and bedroom hymns whispered as the moonlight coats both of your bodies in a ghostly blue glow. Was it truly ever living without him? No more hiding no more secrets you are his and he is yours. A boundary death cannot even cross–eternity is a beautiful thing to imagine.

A tear slips out of your eye, rolling down your cheek. The pad of John’s thumb gently rubs it away. Sympathy for the condemned.

"Drink."

And you do.

#father paul hill x reader #monsignor john pruitt x reader #midnight mass #hamfam #father paul x reader #monsignor pruitt x reader #hamish linklater x reader #hamish linklater imagine #Caitlin loses their damn mind over the fucking hot ass priest cant keep living like this I am literally so insane and feral #please send help #Caitlin go to hell challenge (real)#a/n: rat poison supposedly tastes like vanilla so that is where the reference comes from if that was confusing at all

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goobyblob · 1 year

Text

you haven't been here in years, but it's just as you remember it. dusty pews scattered with light from grimy stained glass. there's a smell of age in the air.

except, this time, the pews are empty. and she's there.

you know she's your girlfriend. objectively. your sinful, hedonistic, god-hating homosexual of a girlfriend.

she plays a priest quite well.

her dress is different, and her face is twisted into a scowl, and as her gaze finds your eyes you feel a pungent stab of shame and anxiety. your eyes flick away, unable to hold her gaze.

her hand roughly grabs your chin and wrenches your gaze back to her eyes.

"kneel."

you collapse onto your knees without a second thought. you're barely able to stand anyways. she keeps her hand on your chin, nails painfully digging into your skin. she pushes your cheeks in and you feel your face morph into something pathetic.

"what has become of you?"

she got the tone right, perhaps too well, the ink of judgement and disgust staining her words. again, a deep flush of shame floods you, but a drop slowly falls down your spine until it plunges into your core, a deep throb just barely noticeable. for now.

"you were sweet. godly. we taught you well."

she glances up and down your body, a sour expression on her face.

"clearly, not well enough."

"what happened? when did you first let another woman debase you so? when did you surrender your purity for pleasure?"

a few moments go by, and you realize she truly was asking you, though her grip on your face didn't lessen.

you answer meekly, words stumbling through smushed lips.

she tuts.

"of course. where else would it be."

"did she know what you were? did she find pleasure in dragging you from godliness, in corrupting you with her fingers, rotten and stained with sin?"

"or were you already corrupt? did you hind behind a mask of purity as you debased yourself? did you spend late nights dreaming with your fingers in that nasty cunt? did you lie to her? did you say you were experienced just so she wouldn't hold back, fuck you deeper and harder and nastier than a pure girl deserved?"

you can only whimper. the low hum in your core is now a deep, pulsing, overwhelming throb that beats along your heart. with a whine your hips buck and find nothing but air, your slick cunt desperate for any stimulation or friction at all.

your gaze meets hers again, and the sheer disgust on her face draws out another whine from you.

"you will never step foot in this church again. you should be banished to the sinful, the hedonistic. you will become their plaything, for even they know there is no value for one as depraved as you beyond a sloppy hole."

she tilts her head.

"something tells me that isn't so upsetting to you."

her foot rises and finds your waist band. with one push, she tugs your clothing down with such heft that you are forced to the ground too, bare cunt now resting against her boot.

from this angle, collapsed on the floor, she looks massive, towering over you. the sun comes out behind the clouds and illuminates the stained glass behind her, forming a crown of light around her head. in that moment, even the most logical parts of your mind surrender.

the woman above you is holy, divine, sent from above to punish your sins and right your ways. and you're desperately humping her boot.

the shoe is so slick from your own wetness that it doesn't even provide good friction, your cunt sliding along it as your hips buck and jolt in erratic movements. your cheeks are burning hot, and they find solace on the coolness of her leg, your arms wrapping around it as you cling desperately.

though the friction is dulled you're almost grateful, as the bits of pleasure you get are almost overwhelming in their magnitude. your linked hands on the back of her calf are the only thing holding you up, the rest of your body weight pressed against her boot, and as you look up you see that gorgeous, holy woman above you, and the thought of how far you've fallen is what finally tips you over the edge.

something shatters inside of you and the knot of pleasure inside of your core finally tumbles apart, and a wave of golden overwhelming sensation spreads to the tips of your toes to your scalp, and your mind surrenders to the golden light for longer than you know, until it's fading and you're collapsed on a boot, cheeks sticky from dried tears, thighs sticky from the drenched boot you're still weakly humping, muscles worn and mind foggy.

she picks you up with surprising strength. you don't know where you're going, but she's so, so comfortable.

and then you're set down on your back, splayed out across something, and something thick and heavy just settled on your bare stomach. something familiar, something you've felt deep within you before.

you open your eyes, and you're surrounded on all sides by gorgeous, holy paintings, light from the stained glass shining on your bare, sticky body.

she leans over you, until her lips are slotted right next to your ear.

"what's one more sin?"

her lips curl into a smile.

"though I can't think of one worse than getting fucked on the altar."

#nsft wlw #wlw nsft #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw #i dont have religious trauma #but ive got the kinks as if i do #catholicism kink #religious kink #priest kink #blasphemy kink #complete and utter sin here folks

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trans-axolotl · 2 months

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hello elliott! right now in school i'm learning about chinese immigration to the southwest in the 19th century, specifically ways that immigrant mobility was controlled by white settlers. one of those tools was the 1875 page act, which required chinese women to provide additional documentation proving they weren't sex workers in order to immigrate. the page act created crazy gender imbalances in immigrant populations (95% men in some places) and prevented most immigrants from starting families. i knew there's a long history of using purity politics surrounding sex work to control other populations, even right now with things like fosta/sesta, but i've never learned about how this worked earlier in american history (and how it intersected with racial/class issues, specifically). this is a vague question, more of an invitation but - do you know of other early examples of this that you want to talk about? no worries if not!! best wishes :-)

hey! YES i'm super interested in the history of sex work + how criminalization of sex work acted as a form of social control that targeted many groups beyond just sex workers. haven't spent as much time studying this as some other stuff i post about on here so just general disclaimer that all this info is certainly very incomplete.

the Page Act sort of started an era of increased federal attention to sex work. previously to the Page Act, sex work was considered a matter left to the states--various states had many different legal approaches to regulating sex work, and sex work was not universally criminalized at that point. there are some really interesting examples of this type of purity politics in the 19th century--mostly in the context of "moral reform" movements in the Second Great Awakening. I think this is an example of a place where we start to see the rise of this myth and moral panic about connections between immigration and sex work and this idea of the "fallen woman." One really interesting example of the purity politics of the time is the Magdalen Society of Philadelphia, which ended up creating the Magdalen Asylum as a way to "redeem fallen women." And this is a really interesting intersection with mad studies to me--looking at this within the context of mass institutionalization and the age of the asylum, and how the Magdalen Society utilized the tools of the asylum--confinement, isolation, discipline--as a way to attempt to forcibly prevent women from engaging in sex work. And how this was only really possible because of the context of an ableist society where asylums and the tools of pathologization are accepted as an reasonable pathway to "cure" for a wide variety of things, from madness to sex work to poverty. This article goes a lot more in depth to the history of the Magdalen Society of Philadelphia and the Asylum.

After the Page Act, the most major federal legislation around sex work was the Mann Act in 1910 which I think is one of the biggest examples in American history of how sex work criminalization is used as a tactic of social control for a much broader set of populations. The Mann Act is very explicitly racist and the intent of the legislators at the time was very clear, in that the Mann Act essentially categorizes all sex work as illegal sex trafficking and creates this racist myth looking at the "white, pure, innocent girl trafficked into prostitution by immigrants and people of color." and so this act has impacts for SO MANY people beyond just sex workers--this enabled widespread criminalization, and an excuse for increased surveillance, policing, and arrests of men of color based on this myth. The Mann Act is also really connected to the creation of the FBI, actually, because the FBI was created in 1908 and charged with investigating interstate violations of the Mann Act and trying to find this "conspiracy" that didn't exist, and the FBI's enforcement of the Mann Act ended up legitimizing the FBI as a national law enforcement agency essentially investigating anything they labeled as "deviance." so that's an act that still has really widespread implications to this day, in terms of policing of racialized groups alongside the criminalization of sex work. i haven't read this book so can't give a review or recommendation of it, but Policing Sexuality by Jessica R. Pliley is about this.

anyway those are just a few examples i can think of on hand and there's still so much i want to read and learn about the history of sex work and policing in the US so if anyone else has examples or reading recommendations please add on and let me know!!

#asks #sw #sex work history #sex work is work #whatever. can't remember what tags people use for sw stuff on here these days #prison abolition #decriminalize sex work #racism #whorephobia #ableism

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duckprintspress · 6 months

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7 Stories for Genderfluid Visibility Week!

This week is Genderfluid Visibility Week, so the Duck Prints Press rec list contributors present: 7 of our favorite stories with genderfluid characters! Note that, in a lot of settings, it wouldn’t make sense for these characters to label themselves with the words we use now, so it can be challenging to identify characters who are genderfluid. For several of the characters on this list, their gender identities are open to interpretation, and while the Press contributors who suggested these books have interpreted them as genderfluid, it would also be valid to interpret these characters as (for example) non-binary or trans. If you read these books and didn’t feel the character was genderfluid – we support you! But they spoke to us as examples of genderfluid characters, and so we’ve included them.

Dreams Bigger than Heartbreak by Charlie Jane Anders

They’ll do anything to be the people they were meant to be — even journey into the heart of evil.

Rachael Townsend is the first artist ever to leave Earth and journey out into the galaxy — but after an encounter with an alien artifact, she can’t make art at all.

Elza Monteiro is determined to be the first human to venture inside the Palace of Scented Tears and compete for the chance to become a princess — except that inside the palace, she finds the last person she ever wanted to see again.

Tina Mains is studying at the Royal Space Academy with her friends, but she’s not the badass space hero everyone was expecting.

Soon Rachael is journeying into a dark void, Elza is on a deadly spy mission, and Tina is facing an impossible choice that could change all her friends lives forever.

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

In Norse Mythology, Gaiman stays true to the myths in envisioning the major Norse pantheon: Odin, the highest of the high, wise, daring, and cunning; Thor, Odin’s son, incredibly strong yet not the wisest of gods; and Loki–son of a giant–blood brother to Odin and a trickster and unsurpassable manipulator.

Gaiman fashions these primeval stories into a novelistic arc that begins with the genesis of the legendary nine worlds and delves into the exploits of deities, dwarfs, and giants. Once, when Thor’s hammer is stolen, Thor must disguise himself as a woman–difficult with his beard and huge appetite–to steal it back. More poignant is the tale in which the blood of Kvasir – the most sagacious of gods – is turned into a mead that infuses drinkers with poetry. The work culminates in Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods and rebirth of a new time and people.

Through Gaiman’s deft and witty prose emerge these gods with their fiercely competitive natures, their susceptibility to being duped and to duping others, and their tendency to let passion ignite their actions, making these long-ago myths breathe pungent life again.

Heaven Official’s Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

A GOD FALLEN, A GHOST RISEN

Born the crown prince of a prosperous kingdom, Xie Lian was renowned for his beauty, strength, and purity. His years of dedicated study and noble deeds allowed him to ascend to godhood. But those who rise may also fall, and fall he does–cast from the heavens and banished to the world below.

Eight hundred years after his mortal life, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for the third time, angering most of the gods in the process. To repay his debts, he is sent to the Mortal Realm to hunt down violent ghosts and troublemaking spirits who prey on the living. Along his travels, he meets the fascinating and brilliant San Lang, a young man with whom he feels an instant connection. Yet San Lang is clearly more than he appears… What mysteries lie behind that carefree smile?

She Wears the Midnight Crown, an anthology of sapphic masquerade stories, specifically “Are you in love with the squid?” by D. A. Hernández

She Wears the Midnight Crown features 17 stories of wlw characters exploring their relationships as they develop, grow, and change during (literal or figurative) masquerades! Our contributors have stretched their imaginations to present innovative stories exploring what a masquerade can be…and, of course, tell rich, engaging tales of wonderful queer folk finding love, companionship, acceptance, the queer platonic relationship of their dreams, or the found family they deserve. The collected works feature characters in all the colors of the Pride rainbow, queer and genderqueer, and these diverse individuals inhabit worlds ranging from science fiction settings where everyone must be masked to breathe, to fantasies where no one wears a literal mask but everyone shows the world a false guise, to iterations of the real world where some people lean into deception.

Rust in the Root by Justina Ireland

It is 1937, and Laura Ann Langston lives in an America divided—between those who work the mystical arts and those who do not. Ever since the Great Rust, a catastrophic event that blighted the arcane force called the Dynamism and threw America into disarray, the country has been rebuilding for a better future. And everyone knows the future is industry and technology—otherwise known as Mechomancy—not the traditional mystical arts.

Laura disagrees. A talented young mage from Pennsylvania, Laura hopped a portal to New York City on her seventeenth birthday with hopes of earning her mage’s license and becoming something more than a rootworker.

But four months later, she’s got little to show for it other than an empty pocket and broken dreams. With nowhere else to turn, Laura applies for a job with the Bureau of the Arcane’s Conservation Corps, a branch of the US government dedicated to repairing the Dynamism so that Mechomancy can thrive. There she meets the Skylark, a powerful mage with a mysterious past, who reluctantly takes Laura on as an apprentice.

As they’re sent off on their first mission together into the heart of the country’s oldest and most mysterious Blight, they discover the work of mages not encountered since the darkest period in America’s past, when Black mages were killed for their power—work that could threaten Laura’s and the Skylark’s lives, and everything they’ve worked for.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

A lone human ambassador is sent to the icebound planet of Winter, a world without sexual prejudice, where the inhabitants’ gender is fluid. His goal is to facilitate Winter’s inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the strange, intriguing culture he encounters…

Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction.

Alanna: The First Adventure, by Tamora Pierce, as well as all the books in the Song of the Lioness series

From now on I’m Alan of Trebond, the younger twin. I’ll be a knight.

And so young Alanna of Trebond begins the journey to knighthood. Though a girl, Alanna has always craved the adventure and daring allowed only for boys; her twin brother, Thom, yearns to learn the art of magic. So one day they decide to switch places: Thom heads for the convent to learn magic; Alanna, pretending to be a boy, is on her way to the castle of King Roald to begin her training as a page.

But the road to knighthood is not an easy one. As Alanna masters the skills necessary for battle, she must also learn to control her heart and to discern her enemies from her allies.

We would love to read more stories with genderfluid representation – tell us about the ones you’ve read!

#duck prints press #rec list

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ltleflrt · 10 months

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can i ask - what are you thoughts on the current anti-shipping phenomenon in fandom? I've recently gotten into SPN fandom and fallen in love with your fics, but the state of the fandom puzzles me a bit.

Anti-shipping is not a SPN fandom phenomenon, and maybe it seems to be a bigger deal to you because it's a bigger fandom? Wincest and Destiel shippers have been at war since episode 04x01 aired lol...we even have derogatory names for each other: Wincels and Hellers.

(Jokes on the Wincels, because Heller is a fucking awesome name.)

(Wincestiel shippers are fandom unicorns, and they deserve love and respect.)

I've only been involved in fandom since 2011, so most of what I know about anti-shippers comes from piles and piles of posts talking about fandom history, but the gist of it is that this is not current, it is ongoing since the dawn of fandoms, we just have names for it now. Think about Spirk back in the 60s...there were lots of rabid fangirls who saw nothing romantic between them too. We just don't hear as much about them, because they lost their fandom war lol

It's just really loud right now with the rise of conservatism, fascism, and terfs. And social media amplifies all of the above.

Anyway, my thoughts on anti-shippers is that they need to grow up and mind their own business. I am a pro-shipper, which means I believe that anyone has the right to love any ship, no matter how problematic, no matter how much it squicks me out. I believe everyone should be allowed to read whatever vile smut they want, because thought crimes are not real.

Unless a real person is being hurt, have fun.

Antis claim that problematic ships and kinks hurt people, but I think it's important to understand that there's a big difference between accidental and deliberate harm. And harm mitigation is highly important in a world with 7+ billion people and 7+ billion different lived experiences.

If an anti-shipper is hurt by a ship they don't like, they need to learn how to block and filter content so they don't see it, and on the opposite side of that, the vile shippers/kinksters need to tag their nonsense so that they're not accidentally burning someone's eyes out. Which most people ARE kind enough to do. They sit around in their little ficcing circles and cackle over the evil things they're putting their blorbos through, and they put up warning signs, but the antis come barging in to bug them anyway.

In my opinion, many antis are big fucking bullies and do a lot more harm than they claim to try and prevent, and they can all go fuck themselves with something hard and sandpapery.

So uh... yeah, that's how I feel about it 😁

(okay actually I'm not done, there's a lot of anti-shipping discourse about age gaps and what counts as incest that are just... really fucking stupid, and I honestly believe that shit started out because people were grasping for straws to justify why their ship is better than the ship they don't like. unfortunately, the youngins have been soaking up that moral purity language as Objective Truth because they're little sponges. i hope they outgrow that bullshit eventually. i will forgive and forget if they leave behind their purity police badges.)

#ltleramblings #reply #anonymous #purity police #anti shipping #pro shipping #yes i do enjoy the 'problematic' stuff myself #i don't like wincest at all #but i respect people's rights to ship it #i mean i ship cas/jimmy as twins soooooo #pot kettle blah blah blah #someday i want to write a darkfic that alienates my reader base #oh the darkfics that live in my head #i just can't seem to get them out of my imagination and into a fic #the two times i've tried they turned oddly romantic #HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?#THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DIRTYBADWRONG #sigh oh well

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inkcorperated-blog · 1 year

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The End - [Alch3mist]

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mezmerspoems · 5 months

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Half Black Shack: pt II

..The definitive dream I had of you whispering so quietly I couldn’t hear.. I felt the blurry magic kisses graze my skin. A familiar place draws my gaze.

From our roadside benches, a trail edged the trees, not far from where compromise died. From the shores of safety turned a putrid green, drowning adoration in uncertain trenches, our reflections are forever etched in the still lake’s gleam. In a fearful climax, I awake.

I rise to displace stones littering the road of finality. Yes, they too, were paved in regret. Disappointed to travel, purity shudders with each fallen step, luring me to ruins of the Faustian bargain we bartered... complete in lust

I pause and turn to find you, stalking, trailing me. Your features personify the crippling debauchery that did me to filth.

You take my hand. Onward to a hollow house, and I enter in after you. Monotone rooms going on forever, beating me in the face one after one. Trauma ensued by the fleeting dawn, triggered realization—trembling across the lawn.

This is all there ever was. What we had, and what is left: our lifelong lovebound plan obstructed by lust; charred, shattered, crushed. For what it’s worth, I take your hatred in stride.

We travel more until no more steps fall. Whatever divides us is etched into eternity. Even if I shriek in a panic I've never known, at least I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful summer to spend with you before it died like a childish dream.

It couldn't have been a waste. The sensations of memories we could never replace lurk in one room left to us and what remains of our trust.

Our bodies still cry side by side. Black and white shacks wait for us to come back. I heal slower when I recall a gentle "you"...Perfection incarnate is only memory

#poems on tumblr #poetry #spilled thoughts #mezmer #free verse #mine #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #I don’t know wat to tag these

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poedameronthighs · 2 years

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up with the sun | steven grant

steven grant x gn!afab!reader

word count: 1,694

kinktober: day 6 - morning sex

warnings: NSFW 18+, morning sex, mild comeplay, vaginal fingering, vaginally sex, SOFT it is so soft, background Marc x reader, sleepy sex, autistic!reader, autistic!Steven, fluff & smut, COZY so cozy, unprotected sex

a/n: using from @the-purity-pen kinktober list. God this is so soft and sweet I really like it tbh. very proud of it. little different than my usual thing. yeah :"). steven. pls don't come for me over the stupid title

read on ao3

You are comfortably warm when you wake, cozy and in the absolute most perfect position on the mattress, so contented that you almost let the drowsiness pulling at your limbs pull you back under into a warm doze, but the soft rise and fall of your beloved's voice calls you to wakefulness, sure as the gentle touch along your waist and hips. You can't tell who it is yet, still too groggy to fully understand what he's saying - but as you blink your eyes open, reaching to scrub at your face with one hand, his words filter through your ears like music through water and you start to understand what he's saying.

"...there you are, waking up now? Slept good, yeah? Marc took good care of you, last night, eh, love?"

Steven. Steven. Your back is to his chest, the same way you'd fallen asleep with Marc last night, and you sigh, relaxing into his touch as he strokes his palm lightly down your bare waist and hip and thigh and back up, murmuring softly to you and kissing your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, wherever he could reach.

"Mm, morning, Steven," you croak, yawning and stretching, and - oh -

You feel Steven's smile against your neck when he slips his hand down between your thighs when you stretch, brushing lightly against your cunt, the mess that Marc left last night (the reason you had slept so long and hard).

"Oh," Steven murmurs, sounding pleased. "Made a mess, did he? Left me some work?"

Your shaky exhale turns to a whine when he drags his hand up, brushing against your clit as he goes, dragging his hand up your belly, your chest, your throat, until he closed his capable fingers around your chin, pulling until you were looking over your shoulder - until he angled your head and leaned in to press his mouth to yours. The soft, gentle way he kisses you good morning is completely at odds with the way he holds your chin in place, and with the way you can feel his arousal digging into your ass. Steven pulls away to catch his breath, brushing his thumb across your lower lip.

"This alright?" he asks softly. The orange morning light coming through the window casts a halo around Steven's messy curls, sleep-creased face gazing down at you with a soft expression that was overwhelming - you didn't really want to parse what it meant.

"Yeah," you murmur. You wish you were facing him fully so you could run your hands across his chest and shoulders and hold his face in your hands when you kiss him, drag your fingers through his hair. You settle for opening your mouth to him when he leans back in to kiss you, slicker, distinctly filthier, his other hand worming under your waist to pull you flush against him, fingers splayed across your abdomen.

Steven pulls away and drops your chin, shoving the blanket further down your waist so he can see what he's doing, the cool morning air sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin, and you shiver. You shiver again for an altogether different reason when he curves his hand around your thigh, pushing it forward, until your knee is crooked at a right angle. Steven makes a low sound in his throat when he touches two fingers to your cunt from behind - Marc had left a mess; a mess of his cum and yours, leaking out all night and still -

Steven brings his fingers to his mouth and you can't see it, but you can hear the slick sound of him sliding his fingers into his mouth, tasting what Marc had left on you - can feel his cock twitch where it is pressed to the small of your back. You moan weakly when he pushes his fingers in gently, still too freshly awake to be loud, too sleepy to hold back, and it feels so good.

"Yeah, there you go," Steven says softly, dropping his lips to your neck, kissing you softly as he strokes at your inner walls, still sensitive from last night; sensitive enough that you are floating on a pillow cloud of pleasure without much work. "So good for me."

It's good but it could be better - and like he's reading your mind, Steven withdraws his fingers, much to your chagrin, but he readjusts his angle, reaching around between your thighs so he can grind the heel of your palm against your clit and -

You make a sound akin to a keen, because Steven knows just how to touch you, and it's so good, and just like that you're climbing the peak, and he's pulling you along, and you're right there -

Steven withdraws his fingers again, turns your chin towards him again with damp fingers and kisses away your cry of indignation, shuffles his hips until you can feel the warmth and thickness of his cock.

"Think you can take me like this, love?" Steven asks, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb, and you blink at him because -

"Please."

Because why would you stop now? But he was Steven - wonderful, loving, kind Steven, who takes such good care of you, wants to make you feel good, and he does it so well, so of course he asks -

Steven groans and keeps his hand firm on your belly holding you in place and reaches with his other to line himself up and then -

It feels like he pushes all the air out of your lungs when he slides in, and the stretch is good and it feels like home, and the way he settles his hand on your hip is good, God, everything is so good, it's so good-

Steven shushes you gently and you realize you've been chanting it aloud - good, good, Steven, God, it's so good - and you want to be mortified but you just catch the flush on Steven's incredible cheekbones and you think - well maybe that wasn't so bad.

He bottoms out and your hips are flush against his and you feel so full, you can feel it it in your throat, and Steven's palm is still splayed firm against your belly, and you wonder if he can feel himself -

"Steven, please," you moan, and Steven moans in return, and begins a slow, steady, utterly devastating pace.

It's easy. It's good, the rhythm you fall into, the push and pull and slick clutch of your cunt around his aching cock. Steven buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and you wish you could kiss him, touch him more than you can now, but you don't want to move, fuck, it's so good this way.

Still, Steven is taking his time, content to keep the pace languid and liquid, nuzzling into your neck, kissing you there, scraping his teeth across your pounding pulse point, licking away the sweat gathering at your throat. You moan, deep in your throat, and he answers with a rumble you can feel in his chest where it is pressed to your back.

"Ste-" you cut yourself off with a whimper as he bucks his hips and strikes something high up in your guts that has you clenching around him. "Please, Steven, I-"

You don't even know what you're asking, just that you need something - more, anything, just something more - but Steven seems to know even when you don't and shushes you gently, petting your hip as he pulls out all the way. You make a sound that is uncomfortably close to a sob and Steven shushes you again.

"'S'alright, love, you're okay - turn over for me, yeah?"

Somehow managing to get your limbs to cooperate, you do just that, rolling over until you are face to face and burying yourself in his arms. Steven catches you easily, drawing you close, stroking one hand up and down your spine, using the other to catch your knee and pull it over his hip. When he notches his cock at your entrance again and pushes in, your eyes flutter closed and all the air in your lungs escapes in a gust.

You like it like this better - face to face, where you can kiss him and touch him and hold onto him for dear life when he starts up his devastating rhythm again, a touch faster than before. One of Steven's hands comes up, curves against your cheek. You pry your eyes open - you hadn't realized you'd shut them; Steven's eyes are wide and his cheeks are dusted pink and he looks at you like he can't believe his luck, like he's the lucky one, and not you.

"Steven," you gasp, suddenly right on the edge. "Steven-"

"I got you," Steven reassures you, holding your face tenderly even as he bucks into you more roughly than he has all morning and it is so - "Come on, let go, I'm here."

Come on, let go, he's here - he's waiting - all you have to do is jump and he will catch you without even thinking -

You come on his cock with a ragged cry, clenching around him, and Steven swears and fucks you through it until his swearing turns incoherent and he, too, lets go, pressed as deep inside you as possible.

When you finally catch your breath, feeling achy in the beat way, Steven is petting at your waist, your shoulders, pressing fond kisses wherever he can reach. Sighing contentedly, you stretch your arms and wiggle closer, and Steven makes a strangled sound because he hadn't pulled out yet.

"Oh, baby," you say, laughingly, reaching to run your fingers through his hair, and your good humor catches, and Steven huffs a laugh, ducking to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Oh, I could go back to sleep."

"We can't sleep all day," Steven objects, brushing your hair back out of your face. "It's our day off!"

"Which is exactly why we should stay in bed all day," you shoot back with a smile. Steven laughs and the sound makes something light up in your chest and you know that whatever you end up doing today, it will be a very, very good day.

#kinktober 2022 #tppkinktober2022 #steven grant x reader #18+#kinktober #steven grant x gn!reader

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