i must not stir the pot. stirring the pot is the notifications-killer. participation in the discourse is the little-death that brings total activity obliteration. i will face the bad opinions on the internet. i will permit them to pass over me and through me. and when they have gone past, i will turn the block button onto their source. where the discourse has come from there will be nothing. only i will remain.
Astarion likes missionary sex. Likes being able to see his love’s face and the way their body reacts to his.
He loves being able to lace his fingers with theirs, and press their hands to the mattress. It grounds him just as much as the steady eye contact does. Doesn’t matter if he has to coax them into it, murmuring “eyes on me, darling” as he rolls his hips into theirs.
He loves the way he can hold them close to his chest as he comes with their thighs wrapped around him, completely engulfed in one another.