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uovoc · 3 years

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Murderbot privacy

“SecUnit is a very private person, it doesn’t like to talk about its feelings” made me do a double take because I was like, SecUnit, who’s listening to you right now? Since when has it cared about privacy? Because while MB is a secretive fucker, it sure doesn’t extend that courtesy to others. And what I could figure out so far to explain this apparent hypocrisy is some more-or-less coherent stuff.

Summary:

MB conflates personal, private, and secret because these categories could not exist separately under the regime of surveillance and objectification inflicted upon it in the CR. This meant that the development of MB’s sense of personal identity was limited to its internal self. As a result, MB has a good instinctive grasp of the right to privacy regarding one’s emotions and internal state. However, its lack of bodily autonomy and background as a cog in the CR surveillance state have led it to regard physical privacy as a personal privilege rather than a right.

2200 words below the cut. I think about Murderbot a normal amount

Terminology

For clarity, the terms personal, private, secret, and privacy will be defined basically by their Merriam-Webster definitions. Personal will be used to mean relating to an individual’s character, conduct, motives, or private affairs. Secret is defined as kept from knowledge or view; hidden. Private will be used to mean 1) intended for or restricted to the use of particular person, group, or class. Privacy will be defined as the quality or state of being apart from company or observation; freedom from unauthorized intrusion. These are not comprehensive definitions, but for clarity’s sake they’re the ones I will use here.

The connotations that they carry in this analysis are:

Things that are secret are actively concealed. If something is secret, people are not aware of its existence. Secrets carry the implication of potential harm if divulged.

Privacy and things that are private are generally kept as such by social norms rather than active enforcement. The existence of things that are private may be known, but the details are limited to a restricted (trusted) audience. For instance, to quote Beatrice-Otter, “the contents of my underwear drawer are private, but not secret.” If you’re at someone’s house, you could technically go look in someone’s underwear drawer – it’s not like they can stop you – but out of the mutually agreed-upon respect for privacy and definition of what qualifies as private, you don’t. Things kept private tend to be done so for personal-emotional reasons rather than practical reasons.

These are limited definitions and not mutually exclusive. For instance, privacy can be enforced by gates and barriers like secrets are. These definitions aren’t meant to be comprehensive, but just to establish the meanings and connotations that I’m working with.

Privacy in the CR versus Preservation

Murderbot’s approach to privacy reflects the attitudes of the Corporation Rim. Preservation regards privacy more like a personal right and establishes it through primarily through societal norms, while the Corporation Rim treats privacy more like a personal privilege which individuals are responsible for securing and maintaining. In Preservation, freedom from observation is the default, and surveillance is the exception. To MBs annoyance, unless a space is singled out for security reasons (cargo spaces and high-traffic zones on the station), it’s generally left unsurveilled (residential areas, pedestrian corridors, most of the planet that we see in NE). Preservation also has cultural expectations of certain types of spaces being private. MB doesn’t share these expectations, as it notes in NE when it admits that its eavesdropping habit is “a little incriminating with the whole listening to private conversations in secured spaces and personal dwellings thing.” The specificity of “secured spaces and personal dwellings” makes this sound like something someone else said to MB that it’s now repeating, especially since it doesn’t agree that what others consider private conversations or private spaces are inherently off-limits to observation.

Unlike Preservation, MB sees privacy as a privilege rather than an inherent right, because it’s more used to the attitude of the CR surveillance state. In the labor installations that MB was deployed on, everything people did was observed by SecSystem at all times. If you wanted privacy, you had to pay for it, as MB notes in ES when it’s complaining about the lack of cameras in the fancy hotel that it books when it arrives. Even then, you might not get what you pay for, and MB take steps to secure PresAux’s own camera network that they later set up. In the CR, privacy is closer in meeting to secrecy, something that must be actively enforced and secured against intrusion. Corporate entities in the CR are motivated to erode personal privacy for profit in the form of datamining and workforce control. Privacy is thus a personal responsibility, since the surrounding environment is one that seeks to undermine it. This is the attitude towards privacy that MB is working with, and part of why it feels entitled to constant surveillance of its humans. In contrast, privacy in Preservation is a right maintained by the collective expectations and policies of the larger community. Station Security doesn’t exactly approve of MB setting up its own surveillance network, but nor does it do regular drone removal sweeps. MB expects privacy to be actively secured, and sees Preservation’s easily breached systems as the equivalent of leaving your valuables out on the lawn. If you don’t want to be surveilled, don’t go around being surveillable.

Surveillance exemptions

Instances where MB appears to respect the notion of privacy are sex/bodily functions, proprietary data, and feelings talks. However, out of these 3 categories, feelings are the topic where MB’s motivations align most closely with the human understanding of privacy. MB’s aversion to sex is more of an ick factor thing, since it repeatedly states that it finds human bodily functions to be disgusting. (I think touch aversion is also part of the sex-repulsed thing, but touch aversion aligns more with ick factor and also with lack of bodily autonomy, discussed below.)

Proprietary data is another topic on which MB appears to be on the same page as humans regarding “private” as being restricted to a particular group: it doesn’t tell the Mensah parents about Amena’s creepy date, and it removes the audio when it shows Indah the video of Mensah complaining about another councilmember. In both of these cases, there’s the potential for harm if the information is divulged: Amena would get scolded and possibly grounded by her parents, and Mensah’s relationships with the Council and Senior Indah would be damaged by her lack of professionalism. In a business context, proprietary data is information kept within a company because it would give your competitors an advantage, or because your competitors could use it to put you at a disadvantage – pretty much the same results, in the game of capitalism. Although both of these examples deal with personal-emotional information, the concept of proprietary data is closer to secrecy in its potential for harm and complete concealment of the information’s existence.

The third type of situation where MB appears to be on the same page as humans regarding privacy is people talking about their feelings. After Arada gets back from the Barish-Estranza negotiations, MB pointedly does not watch her and Overse make up because of the high likelihood that “they were having sex and/or a relationship discussion (either of which I would prefer to stab myself in the face than see).” Sex falls under the ick factor, but there’s a number of reasons the fandom collective braincell has pointed out for MB not wanting to watch people talk about their feelings:

MB exercising the privilege of not having to care about human feelings, as a formerly enslaved person subjected to human whims.

Secondhand embarrassment because MB would never talk about its feelings.

Related to the above, MB reflexively recoiling out of empathy because if it was in their position, it wouldn’t want someone listening in on its feelings.

Actually, now that I think of it, MB doesn’t go into great detail on why it doesn’t like watching humans talk about their feelings, unlike how it explicitly expresses its disgust for anything involving human fluids. Which is why I’ve got the suspicion that when it comes to feelings, MB does have a strong instinctive understanding of what it means for something to be private and, as a result, gets uncomfortable observing a moment that is not meant for others to see. MB has an easier time understanding how privacy applies to feelings rather than acts because unlike its body, its feelings are strongly tied to its concept of what is personal.

MB’s internal and external self

To paraphrase this one MDZS meta, MB’s body is not its own. MB’s sense of what is personal to it, or its sense of unique identity, applies more its internal self than its external self because of its former nonperson status in the CR. This informs what MB considers to be inherently private. While in the CR, its appearance and configuration were decided by the company. To be fair, humans don’t get to choose our original bodies either, but our bodies and the modifications we make to them tell a story of our personal background. The history inscribed in MB’s body, down to the logos etched on its structure, is that of a mass-produced piece of corporate equipment. MB does not have a particular attachment to its external appearance (“standard human”) because its appearance reflects the company’s choices rather than its own. (This changes after it gains the freedom to choose its own clothes and gets tabletop surgery from ART, discussed at the end.) Although MB’s configuration is what makes it a SecUnit, and being a SecUnit is an essential part of its identity, it’s not an identity that’s unique to MB.

For most of its life, MB’s actions have also been extensions of the company. Its actions have either been dictated by its clients and governor module, or it has had to pretend to be controlled by those things, which means making decisions which could conceivably have been issued with the governor module’s approval. MB is also used to selling its body, since it’s expected to literally sacrifice pieces of itself to keep its clients safe (an expectation it continues to hold). MB has been ship-of-Theseus’d to hell and back. The lack of both bodily autonomy and bodily safety due to its nonperson status in the CR means that MB considered its body to be neither private (restricted to the use of only one person) nor entirely personal (pertaining to its unique character).

As a consequence, MB doesn’t consider its external self to have the right to privacy. Although it doesn’t like being looked at, it’s reaction is to hide rather than ask people to stop. (This is also because MB isn’t used to exercising its personal preferences regarding other people’s actions, but that’s a different angle.) It doesn’t like it when Mensah walks into the security ready room, or when its humans and ART’s crew are watching it come out of involuntary shutdown on the deck, but it doesn’t tell them to stop. In general, MB doesn’t like being looked at because if it’s falling apart, it’s in a vulnerable state, and if it’s not falling apart, then being paid attention to used to carry the threat of abuse/incoming orders/being clocked as a rogue. These reasons are more about safety than privacy.

However, MB specifically doesn’t like people looking at its face are because its face shows its emotions, and its emotions are a reflection of its internal state and, by extension, its internal self. MB considers its thoughts and emotions to have the right to privacy because they are the aspects of itself that it has been able to control, and thus has been able to make personal. When Gurathin reveals its name, it grates out, “That was private.” On one level, Murderbot’s name is an honest expression of what it thinks it is and all the associated self-loathing and guilt. MB does NOT want humans to know its name because then they know how it feels about a topic truly important to it. On another level, its name reveals its self-deprecating humor, something a ruthless killing machine is not supposed to have.

Everything that MB considers personal, it has also needed to keep secret, because in the CR, it’s not supposed to be a person the first place. Conversely, the only reason it’s been able to have personal opinions and emotions is because it has been able to keep these things secret. Anything MB would have wanted to be private – restricted to a trusted audience – would have also needed to be secret because of the pervasive surveillance present in the CR, the nonperson status of constructs, and the fact that it had no trusted audience with which it could share private information.

Conclusions

MB conflates the categories of personal, private, and secret because these concepts could not exist separately under the regime of surveillance and objectification inflicted upon it in the CR. Anything in one category had to be able to fit into the others, which limited the development of MB’s sense of personal identity to its internal self. Although MB has good instinctive grasp of the right to privacy regarding one’s internal state, MB’s lack of bodily autonomy and its background as a cog in the CR surveillance state have led it to regard physical privacy as a personal privilege rather than a right.

Now that MB’s in a safer place (kidnappings by giant asshole research transports aside), it’s beginning to separate out those concepts a bit and allow things to be personal and private but not secret (its desire to be with ART, its affection towards Mensah). It’s also starting to allow things that are neither secret nor private to be personal (expressing preferences in its hairstyle, clothing, and aversion to physical touch), which can also be considered MB reclaiming its external self/body.

#murderbot

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lilsuzn · 3 years

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MLQC Lucien - NSFW abc headcanons

Sorry I was gone for so long. I was busy doing hot girl shit.

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen's Choice

Warnings: S.M.U.T. (the reader is gender neutral, but I quote Lucien’s “silly girl” at one point so idk)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It’s probably because of this relationship you two have. One that Lucien thought he could never have.

Frankly, he didn’t really want one. Even with you.

But it was impossible to stop himself from jumping into that rabbit whole.

You are not even a human for him. You are far superior.

A goddess.

A greater being that must be worshiped. Cherished. LOVED THOROUGHLY and Lucien can't stop himself from doing all that.

He would help you clean up with so much care. Hold you like he’s about to lose you. Wisper praises and declarations of love into your ear.

Prefers to stay in bed, but wouldn’t mind to do it in a bath either.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He never really gave it much thought, but if you’d ask him, he would probably say - his neck.

Because he noticed how much attention you give it. That given a choice you would always kiss and bite on the neck.

And the unreformable tease he is - he loves your ears.

The way you twitch and squirm when he licks the or softly blows around them. The way you flush when he leans in to whisper directly to it.

All those small reactions get his blood pumping.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A big fan of cuming onto you.

Your ass is his staple favorite, but chest, stomach, back or… basically anywhere else is not bad at all either.

If he ever comes inside you without a condom… and gets to see his seed dripping out of you… IT’S SUCH A BEAUTIFUL CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE FOR HIM.

Nothing can beat the look of his seed spilled on your pretty butt, BUT… damn that’s a nice sight.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t believe that some deeds can be dirty or naughty.

He's a scientist. Explorer of human's brain. He knows that every single of those is a normal, human thing.

But given that we all know what is this question all about…

Lucien really liked to draw when he was a kid and he still does it from time to time.

And what else could he sketch in his free time if not the most beautiful creation of this world? You. Naked.

He has countless amounts of those at this point. Every part of you has a separate piece. He likes to go through them from time to time.

Meaning every day when you're not around.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucien is not a virgin but he had never been in a real relationship before you.

He had some one night stands. A few booty call relationships, but he had never been with someone the way he is with you.

So you were still a challenge, because he could not allow himself any shortcomings when it came to you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

That’s a spoiler for the future, but Lucien is more than willing to try everything and he doesn’t really feel any special bond with a particular position.

However he does have a particular group and if you remember what I said in C above, you know where I’m going.

From behind. Seeing your butt shake. He’s an ass man. (would love to try anal if you’d show an intrest in that)

Major bonus points if you turn your head to the side and look at him. With your lovely, beautiful face that he loves oh so much.

He instantly speeds up to the point that no man should ever reach and will happily carry you around for a day or two - you’ll need it.

Because after that there could never be only one round. Or even two or three.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I wouldn’t call it goofy.

It’s very intense. Almost in a spiritual sense.

For Lucien sex is a metter of high importance. There’s no room for fooling around.

He needs to focus, so afterwards you’re completely spent, blissed and fucked to the point where you could never enjoy sex with any other man.

Toxic trait of this cutesy otome boy - possessiveness, and although he won’t try to control what and with who you do...

(the man has some dignity and respect for your autonomy)

He will make sure you won’t be able to forget who makes you feel so f*in' good and being ‘goofy’ won’t make the statement.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think Lucien would be somewhat groomed, but not bold.

Shaving just isn’t natural and therefore necessarily good for one’s body.

Therefore, if you shave he might try to convince you to stop.

I want to touch a woman, not a girl - he would say.

Carpet matches the drapes (however I like to think that Lucien has ginger pubes dontjudgeme)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Said first in A, now will be more specific.

With Lucien sex is some kind of a ritual of worship.

It’s a sacrifice for his goddess. His energy, his time, his most attentive care.

Love beams from his eyes even stronger than light does from the sun.

The foreplay will be elongated. You need to come at least twice before he enters you (see T).

During he roams your body with his hands. Boldly, but not aggressively… unless you’d like it.

Afterwards… well, just read A again.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s a very busy man, so he doesn’t get many chances, but…

When he can he’s right at it… thinking of that pretty ass of yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lucien is quite kinky.

He's in for anything that doesn’t go under N conditions. Anything.

Likes bondage. No. He loves it. On you. And blindfolds.

SPANKING.

DOM BOY, but wouldn’t mind to go sub from time to time for you.

You want you to submit thoroughly, so he can thoroughly please you. Give you all that can be given.

Lives for roleplaying.

He also is really into body worship. He will praise you to the point of incredibility.

See T gir. It’s really an intense game.

Lives to hear you beg for him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He likes to be in a private, comfortable place, when he doesn’t have to worry about any interruptions or other inconveniences.

Best in your or his place.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

First of all he really needs no convincing.

BUT.

The beast is awake momentarily when you wear his clothes. Like his sweater when you're cold. Or a shirt after a passionate night.

"You make a very nice sight indeed."

Other thing is lingerie. He likes it dark and erotic. Satin and straps. Maybe some nice, sheer mesh.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No humiliating one another.

Nothing that even comes close to making you feel like he might have attempted to disrespect you.

Also - no outsiders.

And no hiding one another's fantasies. He’s there to please and satisfy you. Don’t take it away from him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Eghem.

Can you stay up all night

Fuck me till the daylight

34+35

If you don't get it yet, it means he wants to 69 with you.

All night. Every night.

The taste of you in his mouth is heavenly.

The feeling and sight of your mouth enveloping his groin is pure ecstasy.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He doesn’t have much of a fav.

It all depends on his mood.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Meh...

It’s not like an unacceptable option, but he prefers delayed gratification.

Will agree if you insist, but won’t ever offer.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

OF COURSE. YES. PLEASE.

Why would he ever limit himself to known and obvious, when there might be something far, far superior to what both of you already know.

He enjoys erotic literature. Sometimes reads online articles about interesting positions, toys or new ways to make you come harder and faster.

Won’t shy away from many things. Just remember about what I said in N.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man rarely sleeps. Rarely even rests.

This man is a rabbit.

It's more likely you will pass out of exhaustion then that he will take a break from fucking you. Weather it's with his hands, dick, lips or… other things.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Speaking of other things.

And fucking.

Lucien invested in a nice collection for the two of you. Vibrators. Rings. Suckers.

He likes to please you in every way he can.

While the toys take care of you, you suck onto him.

Sometimes you just embrace yourself as the toys take care of your needs. And you go like this for hours. Until you can't take it anymore.

And let's not forget the bondage equipment. Ropes, handcuffs, blindfolds, gags, whips….

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Obvi. What did you expect?

A lot.

For hours.

Until all you’re able to say is “Lucien” and “Please”.

Edging is not negotiable. Happens every time. Often to the point when you come so fast and unexpectedly he just couldn’t stop on time.

Will talk dirty to your ear in public to then “accidently” stroke your nipple or if he feels particularly bold that day - your crotch.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not shy at all. No shame.

Will moan, groan, pant and hiss all he wants and as loudly as he wants.

Let the neighbors hear. Why would he feel ashamed of fucking you?

LOVES when you do the same.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would love to take you for a weekend trip. In the mountains. Renting a nice cottage.

Necessarily with a fireplace. And a jacuzzi.

He would have it decorated with many, many gleaming candles. Set all around the cottage.

The soothing music would play.

His fingers would play with your sex while you soak yourselfs in the jacuzzi.

Then he would lay you on a soft carpet in front of the fireplace and make love to you. True, unmistakable love.

It would be a trip to remember for the rest of your lives.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

First off all, see this meme.

He just emanuates that massive dick energy. That’s just facts. No one in the bunch can relate. I’m sorry stans of the other 4, it’s not my fault, don’t @ me.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Very high sometimes.

Okay - usually very high, sometimes extremely high.

All nighters will happen at least once a week unless one of you really has a tough week or just had one and still tries to get everything together.

Otherwise no mercy. His lover needs to have all her needs fulfilled. Lucien would never allow you to walk around hungry or cold. Why would he let you be unsatisfied in this category, silly girl?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not right away for sure.

He wants to watch you fall asleep. And then see those cutest expressions you make in your slumber.

Sometimes he just grabs a book and holds your hand until you wake up.

Other times he isn't able to resist it and falls asleep. You in his arms. His world at peace.

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic #mlqc hc #mlqc headcanon #mlqc lucien #mlqc smut

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fatalism-and-villainy · 3 years

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I’m going to preface this post by saying that I am well aware of the circumstances that have given rise to the kind of rhetoric I am about to be critical of. I know that there is a vast contingent of fans who make incredibly aggressive, vitriolic, and bad faith attacks on MDZS and its author, and that a lot of the positive discussion of the novel has in many ways been constrained by this context. I am myself generally defensive of the novel, and I think the amount and nature of the backlash it has received is awful. This argument is also not directed at any particular person or post - it’s the product of a conglomeration of numerous posts and the general impression I’ve gotten from them.

That said, there is a particular kind of defense of the novel that I think is misguided, and misguided in a manner that actually capitulates to the premises of a lot of the criticism, and does the novel a disservice. And that defense is, specifically, how the sex scenes or general romantic development are discussed.

To be more specific – I definitely appreciate the commentary on the themes of consent in Lan Wangji’s arc, and how that ties into the development of the novel’s central relationship, and more broadly the way in which MDZS constitutes in some ways a self-aware engagement with its own genre. But I think a lot of these defenses are framed so as to downplay the fact that, regardless of its subversions or active engagement with the parameters of its genre, MDZS is, ultimately, still a romance novel.

And I say that not in a disparaging manner, but rather to emphasize that the structure of the work, and the reader response it is broadly geared towards, are difficult to separate from this. Assuming that sexual appeal, or romantic fantasy, are not intended components of MDZS, or that it would weaken the novel if they were, is I think, wrongheaded, and it does a disservice to MDZS (and the romance genre more broadly) to assume that the appealing or titillating elements of its romantic plot or sexual content need to be downplayed in order to argue for its quality as a work of art.

(I don’t want to imply that this is the intention of anyone making these kinds of arguments, but the combined weight of these talking points, or rather the frequency with which I’ve seen them invoked, is starting to give off that subtext to me.)

To be more specific – I see objections to the nonconsensual Phoenix Mountain kiss being countered with arguments about the role of that scene within the narrative, and Lan Wangji’s struggle with his parents’ history and the themes of consent that tie into that. And I agree with this reading! I think that is certainly the way we are supposed to connect the dots. But I have seen the general implication of “Well of course that scene isn’t sexy! It’s a commentary on consent!” To which I make the reply, “why can’t it be both?”

For me, that scene is operating on multiple levels. It is a moral breach (as Lan Wangji himself acknowledges when they talk about it at the end) on a more grounded and realist level, as well as an important bit of characterization of Lan Wangji as complex and dealing with some considerable internal struggle. But, on a different storytelling level, the more romantic, wish-fulfillment level, it’s a fun little titillation fantasy! The idea of a powerful person being so overcome with passion for you that they have to have you and can’t be held back by their own moral values, is a pretty common fantasy! I think that it flattens the scene considerably to erase that aspect of it, because I think the way it balances both of those realities is actually a triumph of MXTX’s writing, and one of the things that makes the novel so rich.

I will also say that something else I appreciate about that scene, along with Wei Wuxian’s post-resurrection harassment of Lan Wangji, and the way the drunk sex scene is negotiated (or… not negotiated), is the fact that it doesn’t operate based on a rigid set of interpersonal principles. Or, to put it another way, I think the development of Wangxian’s relationship in the novel is very much a demonstration of the fact that people often do cross boundaries, make mistakes, and commit ethical infractions in their interpersonal relations with others, and that that’s not actually the end of the world and doesn’t make you irredeemably bad. It is entirely one’s right to cut off contact with someone who commits such infractions, but it’s not actually necessary to do that if your general relations with that person have been positive or you think they have demonstrated considerable evidence of improvement. I think a lot of people who attack the novel are operating on a very rigid moral framework when it comes to evaluating those situations, and I would rather not concede to that view in my evaluation of them – which I think downplaying the expectation of reader enjoyment of scenes like that does effectively do.

I’ve seen similar criticisms of other sex scenes responded to in similar ways – when people have some objection to how a sex scene is written, whether of a moral nature or simply a personal preference nature, I often see that countered with “well it’s not supposed to be hot, it’s there for characterization/theme purposes.” And I understand this impulse, considering the current backlash against sex scenes and the accompanying disavowal of the value of sex scenes in developing characterization. But, honestly, I don’t think it’s reasonable to chastise people for wanting the sex in a romance novel to be sexy. It is generally part of the structural contract in the genre that a romance will culminate in sex, and that the sex is there, at least in part, for fanservice. And there are plenty of people who enjoy the sex scenes in MDZS, or who do think they’re hot. The fact that they don’t appeal to everyone (which is inevitable) doesn’t mean they’re not meant to appeal, or that theme, characterization, and other components of the craft of writing can’t coexist with that intention.

There is a broader strain of literary criticism that I disapprove of that follows this sort of logic – that any sort of more visceral reader enjoyment (and not just sexual enjoyment – aesthetic enjoyment also qualifies) constitutes a lack of critical thinking on the part of the reader, a lack of awareness of the fact that the author actually meant you to be critical of this thing that looks appealing on the surface. But they are not mutually exclusive. And I think it’s a fairly conservative view of sex in particular to assume that sexual appeal or arousal precludes critical thinking. And with MDZS specifically, I feel as if some defenses of the novel have the unintentional effect of flattening the novel into didacticism. Which is a shame, because I think the way MXTX engages the themes surrounding consent, and associated expectations of the romance genre, is actually quite subtle and nuanced. It’s not a text that spells out all the answers about this issue, and, despite what the detractors say, it doesn’t have to.

Anyway. The sex scenes do some fascinating character and thematic work, and they’re sexy. And that’s not a bad thing.

#mdzs #my meta #mdzs talk #dubcon/noncon discussion in the post

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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My actual point writing this here is that a year into the war when Obi-Wan (36) starts really bonding with Cody (14/28) he feels super weird about it on a bunch of levels because its Cody who’s loyal and hot and smart but does this make Obi-Wan a creep? Or is it more offensive not to sleep with him? (Not to mention it’s easier to think about consent in terms of numbers then the insane command structure and slavery thing because they’ve got a pretty healthy relationship all things considered and he’s already promoting the man as fast as possible anyway but clones have no legal rights)

Obi-Wan sleeps around with various terrible choices, sexual tension builds. FINALLY after two years of war they get stuck in a cave, naturally huddle for warmth, things escalate positively and Obi-Wan’s like WAIT I CAN’T

There’s some horny exasperation, but they care about each other, and don’t want to sour what they have with regrets. Eventually Cody (15/30 at cave time) and Obi-Wan agree to wait another 3 years so they’ll both be at the legal human age of consent and the age difference will drop to just 4 years. By then the war will be over anyway, right? So the whole jedis-own-the-clones thing that’s really underneath all this will HAVE to be resolved.

They spend the rest of the night cuddling with uncomfortable boners.

Another year passes. Lots of longing glances, lingering hand touches, tender bandaging of wounds, suggestive lightsaber holds...you know. YOU K N O W. Plus a little private teasing about the jailbait thing because they’re literally running a war together

Order 66.

When asked, CC-2224 can’t believe he ever considered himself close to a traitor. He doesn’t think about it the rest of the time.

Obi-Wan has plenty of regrets. This is probably the easiest one to bear, and the only one that makes him smile to think of.

Things could have been left at that, but once Fulcrum disseminates the knowledge on exactly why the clones turned, a number of early rebellion task-forces dedicate themselves to de-chipping/disabling the chips. Beyond the whole sentient rights thing, its good tactical sense. They’re a well placed MAJOR military asset that could quickly start providing immediate returns if suborned. Worst case you’ve just activated a number of extremely effective suicide bombers

It takes over a year and a lot of good men die, but a desperate rebel cell manages to infiltrate purge trooper barracks. They go undiscovered just long enough to plant a few extremely well-calibrated electrical devices. Bomb sweep fails to register them. The whole terrorist group is wiped out of course, but the EMPs activate overnight as planned. Massive damage to Imperial Military resources and overly hasty brain surgery follows.

Like I said, a lot of good men die.

But Cody, now that his head is more or less his own, has a little more hope than the average CC (not a lot, but enough to stave off going out in a blaze of glory). General Kenobi’s body was never found after all. He knows- he looked.

He quickly joins up with the Onderran campaign- he can’t go on many imperial raids- he understands that his brothers would rather die than live as they are but that doesn’t mean he can pull the trigger. But black ops? yeah. Rumour is they’ve even got a Jedi on the next mission- he’d be irritated at the bad operational security but that specific rumour passes around so often its essentially useless to spies anyway.

Team members are independently directed to assemble at a safe house, their arrivals deliberately staggered. Cody steals and ditches two different ships, not to mention spends a week in a sewer, before finally arriving. Organa himself had stressed that one of the crew is taking time off of a top-secret long-term protection detail for this and no chances are to be taken with being tracked.

He arrives late at night, with two days left to spare.

Two unknown near-human fighters (Guerra trained by the looks), a Mon-Calamari smuggler, and a Gand mercenary who he’s fairly confident used to work for the separatists greet him cordially enough at entry; his reputation proceeds him. If anything, the former Marshall Commander of the 7th Sky Corps is overqualified for this sort of mission. He’s vaguely pleased to find another trooper present- a heavily scarred arc commando wearing 187th colors. The commando is actually smiling, seated across from and deep into conversation with a robed figure,

Cody’s heart jumps to his throat. Their conversation halts. Everyone watches. And General Kenobi slowly turns to face him. The air’s too heavy with tension for the others to think about leaving discretely, even if they were willing (the chips are a poorly-understood open secret at this point, and the five bystanders are well trained enough to brace themselves for the worst case reunion).

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

The Jedi looks terrible. In the two and a half years since the end of the war and the start of the empire, the man seems to have aged faster than a botched clone.

He’s using his stupid earnest voice where he means what he’s saying and its important that Cody know that. Like he’s actually, truly happy to see Cody even after what the clones did to their Jedi. Even after what Cody tried to do to Obi-Wan. Cody’s had plenty of time to think of what he might say if he ever saw the man again, but he hadn’t used it- it was too painful to imagine anything personal anymore. What apology could be enough? What right did he have to express grief in the face of Obi-Wan’s unfathomable loss? To Cody’s absolute horror, what comes out his mouth is

"I’m not jailbait anymore, you know.”

The words hang in the air, and Cody is now ready to die. Maybe if he moves suddenly enough one of their captive audience members will reflexively shoot him.

Sure, after their long talk in that cave, Cody had spent an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming variations on ‘I’m a real man now we gonna fuck or what’

but that was before he became a kriffing PURGE TROOPER what the actual hells was wrong with his brain

Obi-Wan...Obi-Wan blinks rapidly. Then grins. It was honest delight mixed with Negotiator smarm crossed with an about-to-get-laid-leer.

Cody’s heart starts back up with a vengeance.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about it,” Obi-Wan drawls. He shifts in his seat, straightening from a weary hunch to lean back cockily, hands behind his head and legs spreading even wider than their customary sprawl.

“Oh, did I miss your 18th decant day? I’m ever so sorry my dear, I do hope I can make it up to you somehow. Incidentally, have I ever mentioned that contrary to popular opinion, the Jedi Code doesn’t actually require celibacy?”

Cody let out a strangled noise at the pickup line that had, almost impressively, become even less tasteful since the last time he heard it. He must have moved forward somehow, because the next thing he knew the General’s chair was toppling back and his legs were wrapped around the Jedi’s waist and Obi-Wan’s tongue was doing incredible things to the inside of his mouth. There's a sense of hasty movement, the slam of a door, then a bed.

The next morning, Cody stares intently at the briefing’s logistical diagrams, carefully avoiding everyone else’s eyes. There was next-to-no-chance that their moaning and thudding had gone unheard. But they were all professionals, not to mention used to people letting off tension in high stress environments.

He does, however, desperately hope that everyone somehow missed the hours of incoherent crying that interrupted and followed otherwise fantastic sex.

Plans are finalized, weapons are loaded, and comms are distributed. Two more rebels arrive. Pre-mission banter stays fairly tame, even after claiming one of the two bedrooms for themselves for a second and not significantly quieter night.

All things considered, when it comes time to establish operational codes, they don’t really have it in them to put up a fight against their unanimously designated callsigns.

They are a little less gracious on future missions when the code names repeatedly return.

Nearly two decades later, at the physical ages of 72 and 58 respectively, Cody and Obi-Wan have more or less resigned themselves to being officially introduced as 'jailbait’ and ‘cradlerobber.’

#star wars #my au #starwars au #star wars au no 36 #fanfic #codywan #crack #cradlerobber au

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earthly--truth · 3 years

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What I believe in

These are my beliefs as someone who aligns with democratic socialism and progressivism. Feel free to critique it, challenge it, even just a few sections, whatever, but this is what I believe will make the world a better place, because people (and animals) deserve to live the best possible lives they can live with the only chance at life they got. This is going to be super general and long, and not get into nearly everything, but I hope it sheds a positive light on leftism.

Strong unions so that workers (the majority of people in society) have the ability have better footing to negotiate better wages, work hours, vacation days, benefits, etc. I also believe that in instances where it’s pragmatically viable that there should be a push for more worker co-op’s, in which every employee has a stake in the company they work at, and the ability to give their input (all companies should strive for more democracy). Both of these contribute to healthier, happier, and, and better payed people.

Raising the minimum wage in the U.S to $15 an hour. The current wage of $7.25 is way too low. It’s just not a livable wage. There’s a reason why McDonald’s and Walmart are called corporate welfare queens, and it’s because they’re employees require welfare to survive, despite being the biggest corporations on the planet with multi-billionaire CEO’s. The richest in society should also pay more in taxes.

Stop investing so much in the American military, cut it by a third if you can. (Firstly this frees up a lot of money for other things) Get the military out of the middle east, and create other more peaceful avenues to ensure it doesn’t crumble like every single time the military pulls out and doesn’t try to actually fix the mess they created. The people in the middle east deserve to be able to rebuild and they’ll need help to do that (just not the type of help where america installs their own leaders).

Healthcare should be universal, paid for by taxes. Every developed nation is capable of doing it. Many developing countries are doing it. Americans pay more in taxes for healthcare than so many other countries, yet a trip to the hospital still can put you in debt for the rest of your life. That is inhumane, and people shouldn’t have to choose between crippling debt and their health.

There’s also an argument to be made for free/way cheaper university, since countries like Canada or America force people to get a degree if they want to live a decent life, yet in order to do that you have to pay $15,000 a year for university. A system like that either forces people to skip out on uni, or again go into major debt. If Europe can figure it out, I think the U.S and Canada can figure it out too.

Black Lives Matter. To be more specific, I want police/criminal justice/prison reform. I want police de-militarized and to stop acting so abusive towards to civilians and real justice for the police that do, I want an end on the war on drugs (this helps drug addicts get help and delivers a blow to gangs and the cartel). I want an end to mass incarceration and laws that make it easier to throw people in jail for years for basically nothing. I want an end to for profit prisons. I want an end to the policy of retribution rather than rehabilitation for inmates (countries who rehabilitate are way more successful at non-returning inmates). I want an end to treating prisoners like slaves so corporations can get cheap labour. I also want the government to actually start caring about the poorest communities, many of which are predominantly black and latino (in cities anyways). (Also the indigenous in Canada). Better infrastructure, better public works programs. These all contribute to the proliferation of these communities and helps lessen the potential for criminality by making their lives better.

The dismantling of gender norms and roles, and de-stigmatization of LGBTQ+ people. I want people to be whoever they want to be. For far too long we have expected men and women to act a certain way. Women have come a long way, but there are still remnants of the old way of looking at things. We still have a lot of social stigma about how women should look, and that they are not worth even paying attention to if they aren’t conventionally attractive. We still have social stigma about sexuality and sex work. We hyper sexualize women in the media, yet shame women as sluts if they have a lot of sex. We shame women who choose abortion as murderers, yet don’t offer any support for the mother once the child has arrived. On top of that, the positions of power are still predominantly very old men. I also believe in helping men. Men are lonelier, men are increasingly staying sexless (not by choice), men are getting more suicidal. I want to address this two ways. One, by tackling toxic masculinity (not masculinity itself, just the bad parts). TM is telling men to man up and not to cry, TM is telling men not to act feminine or gay. TM is telling men to bottle up their emotions and resolve their problems through violence. The second way to address this is through my beliefs about workers. Men are the most suicidal in countries where there is a heavy work culture, like Japan and South Korea. Where they can’t have lives, and live to make money for the company they work at. That isn’t good.

When it comes to LGBTQ+ people, we need more positive representation in the media. We need people to see gay, trans, and non-binary people as normal people. When it comes to trans people specifically, we need to end the constant wars against them. Whether you’re talking about bathrooms, or sports, or children/teens receiving trans affirming healthcare. Let trans people be the gender that they say there are in the places they want to be, and allow them to receive the healthcare they need which is just the overwhelming medical consensus. This, combined with more supportive parents. all goes a long way to reducing the suicide rate amonst trans people.

The proliferation of the developing world. I want developing countries to be more autonomous, and to stop being under the boot of western corporations. I want an end to sweatshop labour or borderline sweatshop labour. I want the west to stop treating these actual people like their robots for pennies to produce our ungodly amounts of junk, and to actually pay these people decent wages. I want the world bank to stop giving money in an exploitative way to poor nations so that they cave to western business interests. These are people, human beings, and they deserve to develop and live good lives just like us. I also want them to fight for democracy in their countries.

Environmentalism. To go off the last section, 100 Corporations are contributing 71% of greenhouse gases. That needs to change. Corporations are participating ungodly amounts of devastations to eco-systems and the atmosphere. Ecosystems destroyed, and the exacerbation of the climate crises. I want a green and blue earth, and that can start by a) changing to green energy as much as humanly possible; solar, wind, and even nuclear (and whatever we come up with in the future) are far better than the fossil fuels we use now, which we’ll run out of anyways. And second we need to hold corporations accountable for destroying the planet. If we don’t do this, we risk the climate crises getting really bad. Oceans rising which will flood coastlines, creating millions of refugees, more periods of extreme dry (no water/bush fires) and extreme cold (look at what happened to texas). Something needs to be done about it.

Finally, veganism, for many reasons. One, the switch to veganism will be a big contributor to saving the planet. Whether you’re talking about the devastation we do to places like the Amazon Rain forest and other ecosystems to clear the way for animal farming, or whether you’re talking about reducing emissions. Most emissions and waste from agriculture are from the production phase of animal farming. So much food, water, and energy is wasted by giving it to billions of animals that we purposefully breed into existence, then slaughter, rinse and repeat, every single year, when we could just grow food and give water to people and skip out the middle man (think about how many people are hungry and without water in the world).

Philosophically, it is also wrong to kill a living creature that desires to live, that is able to connect with other living things and it surrounding, to form bonds. A cow, pig, chicken, lamb, sheep, are no different than a dog, cat, or rabbit, and they should not be killed, exploited, and tortured (confinement, abusive conditions in industrial farms) for pleasure. I know it’s pleasure for most people, because vegans are living proof that you can live happy and healthy lives without animal products. Vegans are statistically healthier than non-vegans, and we can get all the nutrients we need, even on an inexpensive diet. There are exceptions of course. A very small portion of people literally cannot eat plants and can only eat meat, and the developing world doesn’t have the same access to vegan products as the developed world does. Those people are valid, but many many people can make the switch and they should, especially in the developed world

All I see from this is making the world better. Hopefully you can too.

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grabthemhorns-old · 4 years

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Satan’s NSFW Alphabet - Obey Me!

I’ve had a few requests for Satan here and twitter, so here we are :3 Hope you enjoy! I always love to know what you think.

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- Satan is often one of two - the quiet observer, and affectionate need. He loves the intricacies of how pleasure and sex affect everyone’s bodies, minds, emotions, differently, and no matter how you react to the come down after, he’s there for you, observing how your body winds down from the release and reacting how you need him. A touch where it hurts to soothe, wiping away the streaks of blood; the curl of his tail around your back, pulling him against you softly as his hands wipe away your tears; he throws you your clothes if you’re up, about, laughing at the experimentation of your last position, drinking in your every word as you act so comfortably around him, despite what he is; he’ll make the tea afterwards, draw the bath - observing what you need, and giving.

-The time his affection craves, he often just, curls into you, quietly, horns and tail away, making himself as small as possible. He still can’t quite believe that you - you - want him, flaws and all. And there are many flaws. Sometimes he’s really vulnerable during these times. Talking quietly about things he never usually would, exposing words to the pillow, to you, that he’s desperate for you to know. Intimacy has broken the barrier, away, down.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- Satan likes his hands, and what he can do with them. He keeps them well cared for, nails and claws pristine and painted and moisturised. He loves to see them pressed against your body, spread over your legs, wet and sticky from between your legs, wrapped firm around your cock - he’s imprinting on you. Touch, to touch. And each time he feels closer, like he knows you a little bit more. He loves to play with your hair, and feel it slip through his fingers. Bite his fingers, suck them, smother them with a moan.

-His favourite part of you is your back, spine and neck. I HC that the back and spine are highly desired in Devildom due to an ancient fable, and that it’s become fashion to emphasise the back with clothing and jewels - like the neck/chest for us. I wrote a bit about it in THIS drabble about Satan’s pact seal which I also mention here. He will lavish it in kisses, in touches - and he especially loves giving back rubs to you, watching the spread of his hands across your back, how your muscles move beneath his touch.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- Satan loves to cover his hands in cum - and yours. He loves seeing his hands sticky with yours, and to lick his fingers clean, hungrily. But he much prefers to watch you lick it off his hands, slowly, feeling your hot, wet tongue roll over each finger, in-between, and oh so careful against the slide of his sharp claws where it drips.

-Edge him. Edge him until he’s tearing down the walls of Hell with his gagged screams, until he’s begging you, desperate, tears in his eyes. He absolutely loves it. It ties in with his self control over his anger. And letting you have control over him in such a way, helps.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- He likes to touch himself in the library sometimes. During his young formative demon years, when he visited the human realms, he particularly sought out libraries and book stores to fuck his chosen humans in. And devour.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- Satan is one of the more experienced of the brothers. Maybe he doesn’t have the age span of the rest, having never being an angel, but he’s made up for it being a demon. Satan uses casual sex a lot as release - as a way to cope with the rage, the anger that broils beneath, desperate to get out in a plethora of ways. It’s a way to help keep it in check. He absolutely knows what he’s doing, and is not afraid to communicate with his partner about what they want and what he wants to from sex.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

- Any position that he can lavish attention on your back, especially since that’s where he branded you with his pact seal. He can see the script colour change and react to your bond and joined emotions - it really does it for him. But he also loves to be able to finger/stimulate you at the same time as fucking you. -Holding you against a wall, your face pressed so hard at an angle it hurts so he can bite your neck, your hair caught in your lips, and you struggle to breathe. But you don’t care. You don’t care. It’s his favourite quickie position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- There’s a dark, dangerous humour lingering beneath Satan that comes out a lot during your sex. Especially when he’s being rough and playful - he feels safe with you to really let himself be and let loose. The times he is serious, there’s an intensity to him that makes you feel like you’re not the only one in Devildom, but the only, one. It’s like the world just, falls away, crumbling around you, and if you blow, it’ll scatter to dust, and all that’s left is Satan, and you. He takes away your breath, and you sometimes wonder if he’ll take away your heart too and wrap it in his claws. And you think in that moment, you’d be happy if he did.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- He’s groomed well down there, with smooth blonde hair shaved to a small patch which surrounds a black birth mark, extended around from his back. There’s little room for negotiation if you like it otherwise, though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- He will whisper your name against your skin, he will tell you he loves you, each word pressed closer along your neck until the last is etched against your ear with his lips. But it’s not in your language, it’s in demonic. The more intimate, more sensual your sex is, the more he slips into his own tongue, writing it all over your body. Satan is a very expressive person, although you’d never initially have known it. It’s only when he’s with you alone do you see it. His body talks for him, his tail acts as an extra limb, stroking your hair as he holds you impossibly close. It holds you steady as he fucks you hard, so hard, your knees are bleeding. The intimacy is intense, and often you can feel his underlying sin simmering beneath. But you’re not afraid.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- Satan enjoys masturbating. He does it regularly - and it increased when you arrived, before he made his move. He uses it a lot to release his frustration and anger - sex and orgasms being such a good release for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

- Bondage with chains - on him especially. Satan is definitely a switch, and in scenarios like this, he enjoys being the sub, wrapped in heavy, enchanted chains to dampen his demonic powers - or hurt him - when he tries to use them. He likes to feel the weight of them over ropes or ribbons - truly something he cannot escape. His rage and body contained and in your hands. He especially loves doing this for a long session, and not necessarily with lots of sexual stuff. But things like: -Pain. Use your heels. Use candles. Use blunt objects against his skin, marking him. He especially enjoys this as a distraction when his anger gets so much he doesn’t know what else to do. Bind him and gently hurt him. Then fuck him. -Edging. Edge the fuck out of this boy. Do it. Do it now.

Roleplay! This is one Satan likes to keep very quiet, but he loves to roleplay his favourite book/tv characters and scenarios with you. It’s really quite cute because he really enjoys keeping to the exact scripts and dialogue sometimes, and dressing up like the characters. Sometimes he’ll make up his own scenarios with fun tropes for you both to act out. It’s one of his absolute guilty pleasures. Please indulge the boy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

- The library is a natural favourite of course. The smell of books, old and new, is a favourite for him. Lucifer’s study :3 He’s slowly ticking off all the surfaces in there. Both of you find it hard to keep down your laughter during those ventures. His bedroom, over yours. He’s always felt your room is too impersonal - it hasn’t spent long enough as yours. It’s just going to be the next exchange student’s isn’t it? Satan is all about sentimentality.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- Particular smells are a turn on for Satan; the smell of books, the tea you drink; the moisturiser you use on your hands; the smell of the first meal you shared together; the flowers you keep in your room. It’s specific, and sometimes obscure, but you begin to understand what pushes his buttons, and you gently rub that moisturiser on your hands - slowly - some mornings at breakfast before class, catching his eye; you bring a pot of your favourite tea to the lounge while he’s reading, watching as he turns the pages slower. Satan won’t easily admit it, but he’s hugely turned on by short shorts and short skirts. He loves things being teased, while also just being covered. Entice him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- Don’t call him daddy when he’s the dom. It does not do it for him. Something something Lucifer issues. -Like many demons, there’s not much he won’t do if you are okay with it. They are demons after all :3

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- Satan loves to receive. He can run his hands through your hair, he can watch you take as much of him in as you can, and if you really want to treat him, put on some kitty ears and a tail butt plug, so he’s looking down at you on your knees dressed as such, and it’s a delight. He’ll never shy away from giving, and sixty-nine is really fun for him since it feels more involved.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- Satan has no shame in admitting his preference is fast and rough. It’s one of the best releases for his anger, and after admitting this to you, he tells you that sex has so often just been that - a release. Something to keep something else in check. But with you - he wants it to be different. He knows the need will always be there for that release of his wrath, but with you, he’s felt growth, and he doesn’t want to go back. Sometimes it’s so fast and rough you ache for days after. But he always, always tends to you after. And he won’t touch you again until you are absolutely ready. You both understand how rough it can get, and he needs to make sure you know that. There’s a safe word there, and an action, when your mouth is otherwise occupied. In honesty, it’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

-When he’s slow and sensual though, he makes it count. It’s loving, it’s intensely intimate, and you feel like you’re being utterly adored, from head to toe.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- Quickies are one of Satan’s favourite things. Sometimes if he’s taken over by a bout of anger, or he’s just fucking horny, he’ll grab you for a quickie at RAD, or in the nearest room in Lamentation. He doesn’t mind who ends up taking charge. The riskier, the better.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- Satan enjoys the risk of being caught. So doing it in risky places or scenarios he enjoys a lot. Although being someone who has experimented a lot sexually and has a lot to bring to the table, you are initially the one to suggest a lot of things first because he holds so much of himself back with you. But when he starts to open up, and relax and trust, that changes.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-Demons of course have a lot of stamina, and Satan is no different. As long as you need to go, he can go. Sometimes though, when Satan is driven by his wrath, it feels as though he can go even longer than normal, and you gently remind him that you are still human. He can cum a good few times in a long session. He prefers the build up and to make himself last.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- Satan has a gorgeous and impressive collection of cock rings. From normal human ones, to magical infused Devildom ones especially for his demon shaped cock. He enjoys them for their aesthetic as much as their effect. -Because he loves using his hands, Satan has a lot of unusual things that can be put on the fingers and inserted to increase stimulation. Or just things that he can use with his hands on you. And not always downstairs either. Stimulation for the nipples - and if you’re okay with it - temporary magical clamps and piercings for the back and spine for some foreplay. -Toys are quite a fun and integral part of your sexual relationship. Especially during foreplay. Satan enjoys the build up - more so on himself. He likes to see you succumb to as many orgasms as his hands can serve until you cannot move. And the toys extend out to bondage play gear - with softer things for your human body like rope and ribbons, rather than magic infused demon chains......unless you want to use them, of course. He has a set of custom chains that fit his horns, hands and tail all together in a beautiful arc. -He also has a delightful collection of gags to quieten his - and your - moans. But he especially enjoys them being used on him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- There is an urgency to Satan that sometimes eclipses his desire to tease. He wants, he wants and he just has to have. However, in his more calm moments, he likes to be teased. When you figure out his turn-ons, he enjoys the show you put on with them to entice him and draw him in, seeing how long he will last until you’re dragged off to the nearest room, or simply right where you are. -However, sometimes during sex, he enjoys being teased, especially if you’re in the position of the dom, and vice versa. One of his favourite things is seeing how long it takes for you to tease out his demon form when he’s purposely holding it back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- Satan tries to make himself quiet - he wants to be - but he’s loud. You usually have to stuff his mouth with something - your hand, some clothing, sometimes he uses his tail. He makes quick, low, guttural noises, raw and menacing that match the demonic he often speaks during sex. Sometimes you let the gag slip, desperate to hear more of his feral, demonic sounds. They sound so unlike anything you know or have heard before, and they drive you wild.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- Satan likes to fuck you with his tail while he reads a book, making himself simply listen to you, and feel you through the touch of his tail while his eyes, his mind, are otherwise occupied. It somehow feels....dirty to him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-It’s coloured and textured the same as his tail. It takes a bit of getting used to, especially since it’s really thick. On the underside, there’s a large indent, about the depth to sit your finger, and you just love running your tongue along it. And you soon find out it’s very, very sensitive. There’s no defining shaped tip like a human cock.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- His drive is pretty high. He doesn’t mind one bit if you can’t - or don’t want to - keep up with it. You feel sometimes that his horny is in tandem with his rage, and that he tries to keep it pushed down or locked away until it just explodes. But it’s always, always there, simmering away, needing to be tended.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- Satan doesn’t really fall asleep quickly after. He’s so used to casual sex and leaving after, that falling asleep next to someone takes some getting used to. He also struggles a lot with insomnia, so he worries about that, and worries about you sleeping next to someone like him. It’s sometimes why he likes to be the little spoon with you, to nestle in and at least pretend he’s asleep in your arms - sometimes he hopes he can fool you, until he actually starts to fall asleep there, and it’s the best sleep of his thousands of years.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me masters #obey me satan #satan/mc #obey me smut #desdi writes #my writing

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gallavictorious · 4 years

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“Will you suck my dick whenever I want?” Sex, Power, and the Gallavich Modes of Communication.

Becaue of reasons I want to talk a bit about the rather infamous “suck my dick” scene of 4x08.

This is a complicated scene and I have complicated feelings about it, which is pretty much the above-mentioned 'reasons' for writing this exploratory meta: when in confoundment, hash it out by putting all your thoughts down on paper. Fair warning: this is long, and since it deals with dubious consent you might want to give it a miss if discussion of that sort of thing upsets you. Same goes if you believe that Ian really is just asking for unlimited access to blowjobs, or find extensive (over)analysis of fictional works silly.

The accusation sometimes levelled at Ian in regards to this scene is that he's being manipulative and practically forcing Mickey into performing sexual acts he would otherwise not perfom, taking advantage of Mickey's emotional vulnerability to secure sexual pleasure for himself. He certainly issues an ultimatum and this scene is uncomfortable to watch because of that, but at the same time it's always seemed pretty obvious to me that endless blowjobs isn't really Ian's objective here. If that's all he wanted, he could easily get that without having to resort to extortion: finding sexual partners has never been a problem for him. No, there are other things at work, and below I try to figure out what.

Let's kick of by a quote from Oscar Wilde: “Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

Because yes, this is about power rather than sex – which is another way of saying that what Ian truly wants isn't for Mickey to give him a blowjob, but for Mickey to agree to do it in spite of his initial reluctance. Which still isn't a very flattering look for Ian, because neither demanding blowjobs nor demanding your partner's submission is particularly charming (outside of negotiated kink, of course). However, I think it's fair to say that the power Ian seeks here is not the power to (permanently) place himself above Mickey, but the power to once more level the playing field between them and regain some sense of the agency and control that Ian felt he lost during the whole mess leading up to Mickey's wedding.

From the very start, Ian's been wanting more from Mickey than Mickey's been willing or able to give (not because Mickey isn't as into Ian as Ian is into him, but because of all that other shit: you know well what I'm talking about). To a large extent, Ian's been reining himself in, wary of asking too much, lest he scare Mickey off. Whenever he's openly pushed for more – trying to kiss Mickey, putting his hand on the glass, insisting that Mickey do not murder his father – Mickey has brusquely rebuffed him. However, he's had quite a bit of success with less direct methods, as when he 'gets' Mickey to kiss him by explaining that one of the reasons he likes Ned is that Ned isn't afraid to. (And for the record, I don't think this was a conscious ploy by Ian: he was simply being honest with Mickey, in a way that also conveyed his disappointment in Mickey's continued unwillingness to kiss.)

Ian's been in love with Mickey for a long time. For a long time, he doesn't tell Mickey this, which is partly due to the above-mentioned fear of scaring Mickey off, and partly due to Ian genuinely not being sure if Mickey likes him back. (“How do you know if a guy you've been hanging out with likes you?”) But following the very obviously jealous beatdown of Ned, the kiss in the van, and the invitation to a sleep-over, Ian is finally convinced that Mickey does indeed like him too – only 3x06 happens and Mickey is not only shutting him out again, he's getting married to someone else.

But knowing what he now knows – i.e. that Mickey is in love with him – Ian doen't back off or try (to the best of his feeble ability) to play it cool. He puts himself out there, he puts his emotions on display, and he repeatedly begs Mickey not to get married.

Mickey gets married all the same.

Now, Ian has a strong sense of integrity and does not enjoy having to depend on someone else. Ian is not very good at admitting when he's wrong. Ian is proud. Because of this and quite apart from the heartbreak of losing Mickey to marriage, I'd imagine that he's feeling less than great about being scorned after having been so open about his wishes. (Well. Scorned is a somewhat strong word: Mickey's obviously still down for him, but he's not willing to give Ian what he wants – a real relationship, as Ian defines it.) As far as Ian is concerned, the situation has created a tangible power gap between them, with Mickey having the upper hand. (It might be argued that the power gap's been there the entire time, with Ian wanting more than Mickey was willing to give, but up until that point Ian has not actively asked for things Mickey's made clear is out of bounds but has accepted Mickey's marking of boundaries with a shrug and an 'oh'.)

Mickey's broken “don't” as Ian announces his intention to enlist isn't enough to bridge that gap: it's an admission of feeling, of need, but does not indicate any intention on Mickey's part to further act on that feeling. It doesn't change anything: Ian still wants a commited relationship, Mickey still wants Ian around to fuck him even while he stays married to Svetlana.

And for all that we sympathize with Mickey – which we bloody well should, because he was the victim of a horrible crime and trapped in the shittiest of situations through no fault of his own – it isn't unreasonable of Ian to not want to be the secret 'mistress' of a closeted man. He's been there, done that, and quite understandably wants more from Mickey. He isn't wrong for trying to extricate himself from that situation, even as it's utterly understandable why Mickey isn't able to give him what he wants at the time.

Life's like that, kids. Sometimes there are no good choices, and sometimes no one's at fault even though everything's an absolute mess and people get hurt. (I mean, Terry's at fault. Terry is a huge fucking cunt.)

It bears saying that Ian isn't a saint and doesn't behave perfectly in this situation: he shows little understanding for Mickey's entirely justifiable fears, and rather than telling Mickey that he loves him, he insists that Mickey admits that he loves Ian, which I do find a bit presumptuous. Ian's small smile when Mickey comes close to breaking when Ian announces his plan to leave indicates that he finds some small measure of pleasure in knowing that he's hurt Mickey the way Mickey has hurt him: though I think it's not primarily pleasure in the hurt itself, but rather pleasure in what it signifies, i.e. that Mickey does care about him too. But that isn't enough; that isn't really news.

So he enlists and that goes the way it goes and then Mickey seeks him out at the club and brings him home, to the bed Mickey normally shares with his wife. This, I think, tells Ian something; it suggests something beyond Mickey just having feelings for him. It's just a suggestion, mind, so it doesn't actually resolve anything, but it's enough of a something that Ian's willing to have a conversation about possibly returning when Mickey comes to see him at the Gallagher house.

But Ian has a problem. If he simply goes back to be being with Mickey without anything changing he has effectively agreed to the sort of arrangement he joined the army to very pointedly escape. Quite apart from him not wanting that sort of relationship, it would signify a failure to proud guy Ian, and following his failure to even make it through basic, I think that's not something he's willing to allow. He still wants to be with Mickey, though. Knowing that Mickey is as unlikely to divorce his wife now as he was to call off the wedding, Ian can't ask for that; he can't ask again for the type or relationship he really wants – but he can't go back to what they had previously either. This puts him in a pretty tough spot, and I think this is why he asks for Mickey to suck his dick. While not achieving exactly what he wants it still gives him enough of a something that he feels comfortable resuming his relationship with Mickey:

Firstly, it serves to even the score and redistribute the power between them. Yes, this is him asking Mickey to submit to him and for Mickey to acknowledge Ian's power over him, but it's a request made from what Ian perceives to be a position of weakness (because of the whole Ian putting himself out there and Mickey getting married in spite of that). By momentarily placing himself above Mickey, Ian seeks balance the scales, bringing them back to an even level. This is a one-time thing, over and done with once Mickey agrees. Evidence suggests this works very well, too: look at their interactions the next day, when they're back to their normal and easy back and forth. Even so, it's a pretty fucked up thing to ask for, but we need to remember that Ian has a fairly complicated relationship with sex, given all that he's been through, and probably doesn't take this kind of thing nearly as seriously as we might want him to.

Secondly, Ian wants Mickey to commit to an emotional honesty he has so far resisted. If they can't be an official couple, he still wants that much. They were getting somewhere before Terry fucked everything up, and Ian has zero interest in going back to a relationship where Mickey pretends that it's only about the banging and shies away from any notions of an emotional involvement.

Ian wants Mickey to let himself be vulnerable with Ian, and while performing a sexual act to signify a commitment not to let things be only about sex seems pretty damned contradictory at first glance, this specific type of sexual act – which is bitch-coded in the enviroment Mickey has grown up in and which he probably finds hard to admit that he likes (until he doesn't: “I suck his dick and I love it” – but this line really supports both the idea that Mickey doesn't in fact mind sucking Ian's dick and that it's something that isn't “appropriate” for him to like; else he wouldn't have thrown it in Terry's face like that) – signifies more that just the sexual act itself: Ian knows that Mickey likes sucking his dick, and he wants Mickey to own that (as Mickey owns being a bottom): he wants Mickey to lay off the bullshit and be honest about who is and what he wants, to Ian, if not to anyone else at this point. The last time Ian asked this of Mickey, Mickey kicked him in the face, so I don't think it's too hard to see why Ian would go about it in this way rather than asking for what he really wants outright.

What he seeks here is a promise of a long-time commitment, and that's why the “whenever I want” bit is significant, because it points ahead to the future, even if Ian has no intention of enforcing the actual sucking of dicks bit.

And I think it's very important that both Ian and Mickey are ver clear about the fact that Ian will not enforce this. I think they are: for all that they have trouble communicating at times, this is the sort of subtle signalling they are pretty good at. I guess it comes down a bit to character intepretation though: I just don't think Ian would seriously ask this of Mickey, and I don't think Mickey would agree to it either. They both see this for the one-time act of submission it is, with all that it signifies and symbolizes.

(Let's be clear: if Ian had actually continued to enforce this demand, leading them down a path of a 'blow me right now or I'm leaving' that would have been pretty damned horrible. The reason I don't think this happened, apart from finding it OOC, is the complete lack of evidence that things are weird between them going forward, and if Ian had been forcing Mickey, a rape victim, into performing sexual acts, things sure as hell would have been weird between them. After this, they're back on an even footing: they sure have conflicts, which culminates with Mickey coming out [and, yes – demanding that someone come out isn't great, especially when that someone is facing the kind of threats Mickey is, but at the same time it's perfectly reasonable for Ian not to want to stay in a secret relationship: again, it's a fucked-up situation with no good choices], but they're on level fighting ground. It's not the sort of conflict resolution I'd recommend, but it apparently worked for them, and given their generally messy dynamic, I'm not really surprised.)

In fairness, Ian isn't really being nice about this whole thing, and there's absolutely some glee and triump when Mickey actually agrees to do it. A sense of vindication, surely, after what happened between them just before Ian left. But do notice that while Ian kind of does rub it in – “suck my dick, whenever I want” with that pleased smile – he doesn't in fact make Mickey say it, even though Mickey's request – “don't make me say it, asswipe” – does make it clear that if Ian demands it, Mickey will. There is an element of payback to this whole exchange, there's no denying that, but Ian's not out to actually be cruel to Mickey: he wants them to be back on even and equal ground, and he wants Mickey to own his desires and emotions.

So yeah, it's still not great by any means, and it's still uncomfortable to watch, but if we take into account Ian's somewhat causal relationship to sex in general, as well as Mickey's unwillingness both to emotionally commit and to actually talk about things, I think it's fair to say that Ian is not trying to manipulate Mickey, but rather to stand his ground and express his wishes in a way that he believes Mickey can and will play along with. (I, incidentally, think that Ian might be wrong, and that it's possible that Mickey has missed him enough and worked with himself enough that if Ian had made instead asked “will we actually talk about our feelings” Mickey would have gone along with that too, to the best of his ability – but this is actually way easier for Mickey to roll with.) It is pretty messed up, but viewed through the lense of their shared history and less than straightforward modes of communication, it does make a whole lot of sense.

To me at least – as always, feel free to disagree or add your own perspectives. I view meta as an invitation to discuss, not as a finalized argument to end discussion, and there are certainly aspects I haven’t touched upon here. And if you have seen this discussed before, I'd be super grateful if you'd point in me in the right direction.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #4x08 #tw: dubious consent #meta #yeah i might have gone a bit overboard with this whole thing #but it IS a very complex scene #and this is how i make sense of things #rambling endlessly about them #my stuff

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star-killer-md · 4 years

Text

Dream A little Dream of Me Pt. 7

Welp. It’s been uh, a long fucking time. My only excuse is college is hard and also I’m lazy. Anyway, here she be. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this cause I need it to exit my brain and it’s incredibly nice to not just like, scream Kylo porn into the void.

I hope y’all enjoy and feel free to leave me a comment or reblog or dm if you are so inclined.

AO3 mirror

Part 8

Warnings: Inappropriate use of the Force, Force sex, angst, nsfw, y’all know the drill

Summary: In which answers are found.

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

The room smelled too sweet, the kind that lodged under your tongue and ached in your jaw. It made you long for the silence of your seaside room, made you strangely thankful that Kylo Ren often never filled it. But only for a minute. Because thinking of him reminded you of how you’d woken to an empty bed and cold, damp sheets and that you were certainly not thankful for.

Meanwhile, Lem Alba seemed intrinsically compelled to do exactly the opposite.

In fact, once he’d guessed you wouldn’t chew his head off every time he opened his mouth, it never closed again. You weren’t entirely sure if this annoyed or pleased you. But when Lem came to your door and invited you to brunch before all campaign staff were carted off back to the Federal District, you agreed.

If only to avoid being left alone with your thoughts.

“Not to grandstand,” Lem babbled between sips of his drink, “but I often feel some of my skills are wasted working just as a personal aide.”

You glanced up from your plate and nodded, “I think most people in this profession tend to believe that. We’re all a bit insatiable.”

He chuckled, soft voice melding perfectly with the chatter and bustle of the surrounding tables. You couldn’t help but think that Lem fit in well here, as much as he tried to deny it. His edges blended seamlessly with the velvet and silk background. It reminded you of when he’d plucked you right out of the crowd your first night here.

“You First Order people have a way about you. Something in the way you stand a bit too straight.”

Something in the way you’re always waiting for the ball to drop.

“Yes well, I’m not gunning for a power grab,” Lem sighed and rolled his eyes.

He looked very much like a scorned child and you felt a twinge of remorse, “No, I didn’t think you were.”

“It’s alright,” he ran a hand through his neat hair and stared at you over the rim of his glass, “I just get so bored of it all sometimes.”

“Mm, me too,” you said around a bite of some extravagant concoction that dripped embarrassingly down your chin.

You thought of blood and saltwater rolling across your skin and quickly wiped it away with a napkin.

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that would be an issue for someone in your position.”

You had to try very hard not to scoff out loud, settling for a disbelieving raise of your eyebrows. Piles of paperwork taller than the Commander filled your head, glowering officers and incessant incident reports—your life nothing more than a series of other people's mistakes that somehow became your fault. Grey walls and meetings that never ended.

Come to think of it, you’d been bored and tired and frustrated your whole life it seemed. Although, not so much anymore. Still just as exhausted and angry, but less like a pacing animal in a cage. The thought sat uncomfortably in your stomach as you wondered when exactly that had changed.

Of course you already knew the answer.

You always were attracted to things that kept you on your toes.

“Should we discuss this speech I’m supposed to be giving?” you asked.

If Lem noticed your less than subtle change in topic, he didn’t show it for which you were grateful.

“Certainly,” he gestured for you to continue.

“Well, I’ve had it outlined for quite awhile since the powers that be were oh-so specific about the subject matter,” you began, watching Lem grimace sympathetically.

“Yes, I believe I’m meant to collect a draft from you by the end of the week.”

The joints in your shoulders popped when you slumped forward, hanging your head against the weight of far too stringent deadlines.

“I’m well aware,” you sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t be so neglectful of the timeline, I’m just having a hard time...focusing.”

The barely concealed mark on the curve of your neck throbbed as you recalled the massive, decadently handsome distraction that consistently occupied your workspace. Really, how were you expected to get any quality content produced with that dark, looming shadow always poisoning your mind with questions and completely inappropriate fantasy.

Currently, your entire body seemed to constrict at the notion that it was no longer strictly a fantasy. Your muscles corded taught, pulling like a ruched seam and tugging painfully at the sinew. It felt almost as if you were a marionette with invisible strings controlled by equally invisible hands that tingled as they jerked you about. You got the distinct sensation that someone was watching you, but resisted the urge to turn and look.

Lem—completely oblivious to your inner turmoil—perked up and offered you a blindingly white grin full of ramrod straight teeth.

“I have an office I’m more than willing to loan out if you’d like to make use of it,” he said.

You considered the idea, chewing on your lip. Maybe getting lost in speech writing would be good, you thought. Something easy, something formulaic would do wonders for taking your mind off, well, everything.

“As long as you’re offering,” you flashed him a strained smile and went back to shuffling things around your plate.

Lem continued to spew an endless stream of comfortingly meaningless ramblings and you bathed in the sound of it, looking up occasionally to offer a hum of acknowledgement. You didn’t really care what he was saying—whether it was opinions for opening lines or who you should thank first or what color to wear that he thought would bring out your eyes—but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a friendly conversation with...anyone.

So you let him talk, and nodded every once in a while and basked in the normalcy, the mundaneness of the scene. Until, of course, the peace was shattered when your server returned with a new cocktail for Lem, who promptly spilled it all over the table.

You watched it unfold like the audience of a holodrama: the waiter, tall with an abundance of black curls and long fingers extending the glass, their hands touching for just an instant, the scarlet blush that tinted Lem’s ears when he glanced at the man’s face and stared transfixed even as the drink spilled off the table and onto his slacks.

It felt very suddenly as if you were seeing something you shouldn’t be.

But the moment ended quickly and quietly, fizzling out with a whimper as the waiter with all his curly hair frantically mopped up the mess. His voice was low and pleasant when he apologized and rushed off to get another drink mixed.

For once, you had the urge to participate in the conversation.

“Who’s that?” you asked, flicking your eyes up briefly and then back down to the wet mark on the table cloth.

Lem shrugged and fiddled with the stain on his pants, “Nobody.”

And for once, it seemed, he had nothing else to say on the matter.

It was truly a challenge to keep the amused smile from splitting your cheeks as Lem so clearly tried and failed not to make a complete fool of himself every time said server returned to clear plates. And when a beautifully decorated fruit tart found its way to your table—decidedly marked as ‘on the house’—you were graced with an extraordinarily toothy, childish smile from your dining companion.

Your chest ached with it, the display of reality.

On your first night here, you’d thought Lem looked too much like all the other First Order officers you were forced to work with. Thought his hair was too perfect, his suit too pressed, words too cherry picked.

But here you were again, getting drawn in by these stupid, simple instances of existence in relation to others. You craved the feeling of fading into the background as Lem stuttered whenever he tried to thank the boy with his curls and warm smile.

It was strange too, to see that people truly did flush and brush hands and chew their lips and smile so freely. For whatever reason, you’d been under the distinct impression that was an exclusively fictional pursuit, saved for holofilms or storybooks.

Did those things exist in you? Were there times when you’d fluttered the way Lem did now, cautiously stealing bites of his tart, trying to preserve the delicate design for as long as possible? Or had they atrophied and fallen to dust from disuse, nothing more than a vestigial organ, unnecessary and forgotten—ready to pump your body full of toxins at a moment's notice should it burst.

And that only raised more questions. How incomplete had you been this whole time? How long had you been ignorant of your deficiency?

And did it matter?

But that was not something you could ever answer. So, you sat back and watched and listened and breathed it in.

Appreciated from afar this show of innocenceweakness.

You jolted in your seat, shoulders bunching together as if a hand had grabbed you from behind. The double voice rang out in your head, echoing up like it was shouted from the bottom of some pit inside you. You knew that voice though—would know it anywhere by now.

It was him, of course it was.

You could feel Kylo Ren like a shroud, a dampening of the outside world. When you listened closely, you swore you could hear the sound of crashing waves, the crunch of sand under boot heels. The smell of salt and skin and bloody water filled your nose. Your chest was burning, a prison for some roiling, angry creature that flung itself against the steel bars of your ribs.

His ribs.

His heartbeat, a pounding and ruthless tattoo.

His feet already moving in time to the beat, carrying him farther and farther—

Is it? you shouted back.

The words tore at your throat even as you sat in silence at the table. But no response came, instead the chatter of the dining room returned and Lem tilted his head in concern, standing and gathering you up by the arms.

He pulled you down the poshly ornamented halls, chattering still but shooting glances down more often with his brows furrowed. You let him lead you, thin arm looped around yours, back towards your quarters to ‘help you pack,’ he said. And you didn’t bother discouraging him.

You already knew the room would empty.

***

The meeting had been dragging on for quite nearly an hour already. You were seated at the far end of a comically long table staring off into oblivion, eyes having glazed over nearly ten minutes in when one of the relations staff started going on about color coordinating suits.

Although, you were not completely tuned out. It was very hard to be when just a few seats away sat the Representative himself with his grotesque excuse for an advisor positioned at his right hand. Fortunately he hadn’t spared you a glance, but it was a challenge not to keep one eye on him at all times—to not consistently feel your calves twitch, ready to bolt through the nearest exit.

You understood now what it must be like for all those prisoners sitting in the Finalizer’s belly—backed into the final corner, waiting for Kylo Ren to swoop in like a shadow and leave them flayed open to be tossed out with the rest of those who have outgrown their usefulness.

You’ve been trying not to think too specifically about...him since you’d returned to the Federal District, your room here just as empty as the one by the sea. His shirt, the one you’d stolen was still packed neatly into your bags. You thought about throwing it away, or tossing it in the corner for him to find. But then you remembered the bits of torn up packaging and lace and that you would not sink to that level. Physical reminders aside, your head had been blessedly—or maybe concerningly—devoid of any voices that were not your own since your, well, ‘fight’ you supposed was the word for it at brunch.

Then again, all you ever did with him was fight, but this felt different.

There were plenty of reasons for the Commander to be angry with you, in fact, you didn’t think there could ever be a shortage. However, this seemed just a little too...petulant for your liking.

You recalled some of Hux’s old rants. Generally, you’d just let him rave like you were just another piece of furniture in his office, stewing in the same hot, bubbling pot of indignation. You could hear him now:

“He’s a child, a sulking, immature youngling completely incapable of a single rational thought.”

And you finally understood what he meant.

If only you were allowed to use the silent treatment, but that seemed to be a privilege only for those higher up in the food chain.

Besides, you were far too classy for such elementary tactics.

You spat the last words and hoped to the stars that wherever the hell Ren had run off to, he heard them. Which one of you was the weak one now?

It was Lem who pulled you from the dark, brooding hole you’d dug yourself as he caught your eye from across the table. The speakers were switching, a half-hearted applause ringing out in the cavernous room and he flashed you a quick roll of his eyes. You bit back a smile at the way he jumped when Gahl turned to rattle off some inane order and Lem scrambled to take a note down.

Watching it reminded you of how he’d nearly leaped out of his suit when the waiter boy with curly hair brought by your plates. Jane was his name. You’d discovered it while Lem was helping you pack, happily filling the silence with how he was much too smart to be working as a server.

And as you thought, your traitorous mind led you inevitably back to the looming, black specter that haunted your every waking minute. You would be kidding yourself if you thought you could ever have given the Commander the cold shoulder when truly he was all you ever thought about. Even before, even if it was just to remember how much you despised him.

Past tense now, you noted worriedly. What a terrifying concept.

But your brain was moving quickly past that, tucking it away in some far, deep corner to only be touched on long nights when you were up far past the shift in day cycles.

Now it was replaying your brunch, closing up on a still of Jane’s hand on the glass about to tumble, on the lip biting, starry eyed and heart pounding look in his eyes. And then he was changing, the skin of his hand growing lighter, milky and soft with scattered freckles.

Then it was your hand reaching out. Your hand slipping on the glass and Kylo Ren—sweet smile on his face—staring down at you blushing like a ripe fruit in summer.

His lovely crooked teeth flashed behind lips like pillows filled with the softest featherdown.

The tips of his fingers brushed your hand, light and nervous in that not-quite-accidental way that should have made your heart leap into hyper drive. Kylo’s eye flicked down at the floor, downcast coyly and glancing every few seconds to catch you staring at the pink in his cheeks.

You watched the scene as if through water, some stark, salty barrier that coated him in a film of non-reality. You waited for the star shine look of his eyes to pull you in, waited to feel your hands shake and your pulse race and any number of other inane, fluttery things that you had seen Lem stumble through.

But the sight of it, the look on this man's face—because it was most certainly not Kylo Ren looking at you with honey eyes, sparkling shy dips of nectar—it was...

It was not at all what you’d thought.

It was revolting.

It was an antithesis come to life.

It made your skin crawl with the unnatural feeling of it all.

Kylo Ren’s face was not built to look at you this way, did not contain sickeningly gentle smiles, his hands knew no soft brushes of fingertips.

No, they wielded saber blades and crushed bone and spilled blood.

They tangled in your hair and molded mottled fingerprints into your skin

His lips were carved from marble that could not comprehend such an innocent up turning, unless it was to mock his opponent.

They sucked permanent brands of ownership into your skin, and made them throb when you thought of him.

And that was all you would ever want him to do.

As much as he roused the caged and angry beast that resided in your bones, as much as he lied and withheld and left you to wake alone—

You couldn’t bear this bastardized, cheap imitation that stared at you sweetly.

That was not your Commander.

That was not your Kylo Ren.

And you would not have him any other way.

That thought sat heavy with you and called to life something in the depths of your being. A fire, red and electric sparked to life. You recalled the vision he’d shown you. Recalled his words echoing:

“All I see is a whore who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.”

You felt yourself slip into the memory of his hands burying themselves in your flesh. The image of yourself—ruined, marked, and so clearly his—was crashing to the surface of your thoughts like whitecapped waves on a stormy sea. The ache in your neck returned, as though his hands were wrenching your head back to make you watch as he split you in half with his cock. You saw it in incredible detail, the veins of his length sinking into you to the hilt in one long roll of his hips. It stung and made your nerves sing with the pain of taking him.

It was delicious.

It fed you the pit inside you like meat thrown to a starving beast.

This was how he was meant to be taken: painful in his beauty, lovely in his destruction.

His skin was so warm when he pressed your back to his chest and growled in your ear:

“So desperate for your Commander’s cock, aren’t you?”

And yes, of course you were, of course you always were because really had you ever felt complete or whole without him filling you to the brim? But it wasn’t just his cock you needed buried in you. No, you craved him in a way that transcended your physical being.

Separate. That’s what he told you, that there was something more to you than just your body that could exist outside of yourself, could slip into his head and find him even when you were dreaming.

And you were desperate for the feeling of his thoughts. For his mind, for whatever it was that let you hear him whispering all the things he could never say aloud.

His voice in your head was the only thing that soothed the churning in your guts, it was like salve on a burn, cooling like the mint of his breath. The steady beat of his blood the only thing that truly set you at ease.

Yes, that was your Kylo Ren.

Possessive and withholding, saying everything in brief glances and the twitch of of jaw. Complex and often painful and perfect.

You wanted him that way.

And you needed to hear him.

You couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Kylo?

The single word echoed across whatever void your mind was inhabiting, crosses bounds to seek out something on the other end.

You waited and wanted and—

And then you were not so alone in your head anymore.

But the meeting room was coming back into focus and everyone was staring directly at you. The large holoprojector in the table’s center showed the first, familiar graphics of your portion of the presentation. From across the table, Lem was staring at you, brows furrowed and questioning.

“Right,” you said, making your way to the front of the room.

You felt as though you were back in the academy, bland and boring faces all staring up at your false smile. You tried not to focus on them too hard. “As the delegate from the First Order, I’ll naturally be making the announcement of endorsement. This will be submitted to Mr. Alba for review by the end of the week along with the Order’s formal statement of apology.”

You nodded and the projection moved on, showing the next set of animations, “Now, as I said, these will be submitted at the end of this week, so if there’s any—”

There was a hand sliding up your thigh. It was distinct and massive and coated in leather, the feeling of it so incredibly acute under your clothing you almost choked in shock. But when you slapped a hand down, there was nothing but empty air.

The crowd for the most part seemed not to have noticed your pause, too caught up in whispered conversations to the side or staring blankly at the tabletop, so you cleared your throat, “If there’s anything you’d like to be included that should be given to me by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the pulse of it clear all the way to your fingertips. Taking a shaky breath you continued to go over the list of other asinine requests, falling easily into a familiar rhythm. Presentations like this were half your job back on the Finalizer. It was home turf, and you were able to flick on autopilot long enough too—

What was that? you asked incredulously into the void of your mind

Silence echoed, and you glanced briefly around the room, though thankfully you’d looked down at your notes when the hand returned. This time much, much higher. The unmistakable feeling of leather catching on the edge of your panties made your jaw drop.

You called.

Kylo’s voice reverberated through your skull, his tone was blank but you could feel the strange mixture of amusement and annoyance that was not yours. It was irritating on a level you’d thought impossible.

Well I’m a bit busy if you hadn’t noticed, you snapped, grinding your teeth when his disembodied scoff graced your ears.

You’d think it might be one of the most alluring things you’d ever heard if the stares of so many faceless campaign staffers weren’t pinning you down at the same time.

Hmm, he hummed, unconcerned or unbothered by whatever was going on outside of the little world that consisted of just the two of you.

His hand—because that’s what it had to be, his hand, somehow—curled under the hem of your panties, ripping the elastic to the side where it dug painfully into your skin.

Stop, you hissed it, spat the word at him and tried to will away the fingers that pulled the meat of your thighs apart.

But they only spread your legs further, a rush of cold air hitting your cunt and tensing your stomach as his fingers drew up up up—

You’ll just have to keep quiet, won’t you?

And, of course, since you’ve never been all that good about following orders, the second he plunged two, impossibly thick fingers deep into your pussy, your voice caught in your throat. The garbled half cough half moan half wounded animal cry made every head in the room turn to face you.

Even Atreus, whose dead, white blue eyes locked in on your face and never blinked.

You froze, struggling to recall your place as Kylo worked his unseen fingers father into you, coaxing a wave of slick heat to drip from your core. Your hands bunched into fists, nails digging crescent moon holes into the skin of your palm in an effort not to gasp when he hit that lovely spot inside and made your knees threaten to give out.

Don’t stop, now. Unless you’d like them to know what a little whore you are, Kylo growled from somewhere deep inside you.

You caught your breath, plastering a smile on your face and taking a sip from the glass of water being offered to you.

“My apologies, where was I?”

Shuffling through your notes, you picked up where you’d left off with proper terms to use when addressing members of the Order. You tried not to move, focusing squarely on the projection and schooling your expression—at least you hoped you were. Atreus’ stare never left you now. Like he could smell the lie on your face. Or the way your pussy gushed with ever renewed thrusting of Kylo’s leather fingers, the ridges creating a sinful drag against your walls.

Well if I’m a whore then what are you?

From whatever corner of your mind he was lurking in, Kylo chuckled softly.

Much worse, he mused.

You bit back a scream when his thumb found your clit, rubbing swift circles with the smooth material.

But in your head, your voice rang free, and you let out the string of curses you’d been holding back, voice cracking into a whine when he added a third finger. And just as he spread you open, scissored your entrance and glided against your walls, something else opened too, gaped wide and you spilled into it.

You could see him, but it was a different him, from a different time, walking the halls of the Finalizer. His boots ran out against the durasteel until they came to an abrupt halt and silence filled the corridor. There was a slight tremor in his hand, a minuscule shaking as he gripped his thigh and fell back against the wall, breath coming heavy through his mask.

It was practiced, the movement of his hand that fumbled with the layers of his robes until his cock sprang free, hard and leaking and with a lovely red flush to the head. Your mouth watered at the sight of his hand stroking long and fast along the shaft, thumb teasing his tip and collecting the little beads of precum that glistened there.

This is what you do to me, he said. I hear all of it. Every thought you have. I hear how badly you want my cock pounding into you and my hand on your throat and—

He groaned in your head, the same way you knew he must have in whatever memory you were viewing. Distantly, you could just barely feel the movement of his hand as he jerked himself, hips bucking up into his fist.

You were not faring much better. The words kept tumbling out of your mouth, sometimes trailing off on a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. Your head spun with this new confirmation. He’d heard all of it. Every frustrated thought, every time you’d goaded him in meetings and hallways and when you’d lie awake— or not so awake—and think about how much you maybe, probably, almost certainly didn't hate him. Not that you hadn’t known, that he could hear you. Not that you hadn’t suspected that it had always been him, not some imaginary replication. That was very clear, but now. Now you had the truth. Now you knew for certain.

Kylo Ren had always been more than just a dream.

For so long he had watched you crumbling from afar and said nothing.

And who knew how long he intended to keep you in the dark.

If there wasn’t a target on your back right now, would you have ever found out?

Kylo, you gasped the words in your head as his thumb sped up in its rhythm on your clit and his fingers stroked your walls, what is this?

You needed to know. You deserved to know.

And you could feel the words. They were there, right on the tip of his lovely pink tongue, about to find their way past the crooked edges of his teeth, lips loose in the pleasure of you. But the burst of white that clouded your vision and finally made your knees buckle drowned out any truth he may have spared you. Your combined releases flowed thick like heavy metal through your veins as you felt the pulse of him slowly fading from your mind, slipping from your grasp.

Your hand shot out to grab the table edge, holding yourself upright as everything in your mind went blessedly, horribly quiet and the room grew much louder. Time was unclear to you. The projections showed you’d managed to get through over half of your presentation, but you called none of it.

Lem was standing up now, walking briskly over to you with a hand on your back and another under your elbow. The fingers in your cunt had disappeared, leaving you feeling empty and cold as your slick stuck to the inside of your thighs.

“Ah, I believe our financing presentation is up next,” Lem called out, motioning quickly for the team to take over and leading you back to your seat.

When you were safely sat back in the chair, you felt his stiffly gelled hair brush your cheek. It smelled overpoweringly of apricots and vanilla. Too sweet.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

The concern in his voice was evident, but you were lost in the past few minutes and too frustrated by the silence in your head to appreciate it.

“Fine,” you mumbled back and turned your head back to the blank table.

You didn’t look at him as he rushed back to his place by Gahl, who’s gaze never shifted your way. Unlike his advisor. Even now the slip of a man in his dark suit and red tie stared at you down his nose like it was the barrel of his blaster.

Like he was taking aim.

You swallowed and tried to go back to that space where time did not exist and your head was not so empty, but it didn’t not come.

Instead, you sat and listened and hoped you wouldn’t leave a damp spot on the cushions when you left.

***

There were a lot of rules in negotiations.

The First Order made sure its best and brightest had them all carved onto the backs of their hands before they ever set foot in the situation room. When you closed your eyes, you could see the words flashing in your mind. You knew them better than you knew yourself. But maybe that wasn’t really saying much. You’d been discovering quite a lot of personal details recently you weren’t previously aware of.

Though, that was besides the point now.

Now all you could think of was that the number one rule to a successful negotiation, was to always know more than your opponent.

Knowledge was your strength, knowledge was your red crackling lightsaber, knowledge was your fist closed, throat crushing Force.

That was how you came out on top, by constantly keeping the upper hand—by always having an ace in your metaphorical back pocket.

But right now, you were losing.

And the frustration of it was going to consume you.

Because you didn't know what or how or why Kylo Ren was in your head. In fact, you weren’t even sure if it was your head he was in. It felt much deeper than that now. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep him out. Whatever you’d done, whatever you’d let in that night on the sand with the sea standing witness, you would never be able to take it back.

Kylo Ren was a liar. That you knew, because you were a liar too.

Knowledge was your power, but lies were your currency. They were what you traded at the table, they were what slipped the easiest from your tongue and made sure you walked away from a deal with more than you’d come in with.

And Kylo Ren was not in the business of negotiations, so there was nothing you could ever offer that would pry his jaw open and spill all his secrets. Nothing that could persuade him to tell you what exactly had taken root in your chest when you’d accepted him, took him inside and wanted to keep him there.

But you needed to know.

The desire to understand consumed you and every thought in your head. The same head that found itself clunking against a new desk in a new office with the same unending dissatisfaction.

Lem had left you a few hours ago, setting you up in his workspace with a glass of water and a concerned smile. You knew you were being unnecessarily rude to him, and had you been less shaken, you might have felt some guilt over it.

Now you were staring up at your datapad, document resolutely blank, and unable to think of anything other than the way Kylo’s skin reflected the light off the ocean or how his hair curled into little ringlets when it was soaked through and dripping onto your face and—

You groaned, knocking your forehead into the desktop and squeezing your eyes shut against the barrage of images and the strange, uncomfortable ache they incited. You rested your head on your arms and tried to block out the light of the office, let yourself drift and tried to recall...well what you weren’t sure.

The Force always seemed so far away, so fantastical that you weren’t ever truly convinced it was real. Not until you’d seen it first hand, watched the bodies of countless ‘troopers dragged from the hallways with not a mark on them. It simply wasn’t something anyone talked about, not at the Academy, and certainly not when you started working under Hux.

It was...energy, you knew that much. And it was in everything, everyone you supposed, though stronger some than others. You knew it could be used for more than just making objects float around, although for what other purposes you weren’t entirely certain. It certainly wasn’t something you’d ever been able to use.

But you thought it must have a hand in this, whatever it was that let you see, hear, taste, feel the Commander even when he was so far from you. Somewhere deep in the dusty corners of your mind, you knew that this would always be the case from now on. That even with light years in between, he’d only ever be a hair's breadth away—a whisper of his name or a beat of your heart.

It was hard to swallow that notion. Hard to comprehend that you would never be alone in your skin. Never would you feel so lacking. What a cruelty, you thought, that it had taken so long. That you had been born into this world incomplete. Your Commander would call that a weakness, but really wasn’t he just as unfinished as you. There was still some gap in him waiting to be filled.

So, then, why couldn’t you find him like he could find you?

You didn’t have the gifts he did, you couldn’t make doors fly from their hinges or break bone with just a twitch of your fingers. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it always would be.

Voices from the hall broke you from your stupor. Two of them, the first old and grating, the second slick like oil that left a bad taste in your mouth—the representative and his advisor. You’d recognize them anywhere now.

“...well I’d say that a drink is in order,” Gahl was saying, trailing off as they walked further from Lem’s office.

“Sir, we shouldn’t be leaving—”

Atreus spoke that time, the sound of it trickling like cold water down your spine. Thankfully, the representative spoke over him.

“Lem is here, he’ll take care of things.”

A hand slapped the closed door currently keeping you hidden as they passed. You stayed still at the desk until the footsteps had completely petered out, listening to the expensive click of their hard soles die away into silence. Until now it had not occurred to you how close they were. How close the blade was to striking. You let out a breath and looked around. Everything seemed a bit more foggy than usual. Then, from across the room, you heard it—a soft creaking. And when you looked up, the door to Lem’s office was slowly falling open on its hinges.

Like it was pulled by some invisible hand.

And you felt the same tugging, the same formless compulsion, the same ghosting over your flesh.

Across the hall, another door was drifting open by degrees, revealing a meticulously kept office with a shiny gold name plate:

Atreus.

Slowly, you let yourself be pulled—a puppet on strings—walking noiselessly across the corridor. In the doorway you paused, staring at the intricate black lettering. You wanted answers, and something told you this is where you’d find them.

Into the belly of the beast.

You took a careful step over the threshold, the air honey-thick and clinging to your skin. The office was spotless, not a paper out of place as you circled around the massive desk and ran your hands up the array of drawers. Each one was furnished with an ornate golden handle that glimmered in light from the hall.

To your right, a drawer slid open just an inch or two. You watched, eyes wide, as it shuttered of its own accord out of place. And your hand similarly seemed to have a mind of its own, reaching out to grasp the handle and reveal it’s contents.

Inside, nestled atop of a stack of folders was a small, black notebook. At first glance, it seemed innocuous. Not many people used pen and paper these days. But then the space around it started to shimmer, locking your gaze until the world outside it turned hazy. Shaking, your hand reached out fingertips brushing the leather bound cover. You bit your lip, teeth worrying the flesh as you sat on the floor and pulled the book into your lap. The ragged edges of each page caught on your nails when you flipped them open.

Written in small, messy scrawl, was page upon page of notes. Words ran off the lines, and continued through the margins, most too minuscule or smudged to be legible. Multiple times, the Commander’s name was scratched in between sentences, angry obsessive markings that made your eyes sting. But you kept skimming, letting your hand be guided along.

Until suddenly the pages stopped turning.

And you stared down in horror.

In the awful, disgusting script, was your name circled, underlined and bolded at the top of the paper. Thin, curving, inked arrows drew lines across the other mismatched text and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the grating, garbled sound that threatened to escape your chest.

There, the words stood out clear as day among the mess of lines.

Bond.

Your brain hadn’t even begun to register the implications of this, but you knew.

This was the answer you’d been searching for.

And you had no time to process it, because footsteps from the hall were approaching, quick and hard soled. Your eyes went wide and you scrambled to close the drawer and shove the book into your jacket pocket. Knees tearing on the carpet, you tucked yourself into the space under the desk and held your breath.

Silence rang out in the tiny room.

From outside, you heard the footsteps grow louder, closer, and finally come to a halt right in the doorway.

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