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star-trek-fandom-confessions · 1 month

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Regarding #465: No, there shouldn’t be more fat people shown in star trek/starfleet. Showing fat ppl in the future isn’t body positivity. Currently, the food industry is screwing us and we are fat due to that mainly. Fat ppl exist only in rich capitalist countries with the social fabric in tatters. We are massively struggling with anxiety and stress and using screen n food addiction as a coping mechanism, making us more fat. In the future, we would have overcome all these problems. Truly nutritious food isn’t addictive and it’s impossible to grow fat on it. Ppl would be healthy, happy and have a ‘range’ of body types sure, but fatness is not a body type.

I am so upset about this that I ended up blocking yesterday's queue cold-turkey.

People should have a range of body types just as long as it's not fat? This is not future body positivity, this is plain and simple fatphobia and I don't need any of your transparent disgust of fat people in my blog, implying that all fat people are, either or in combination, poor, miserable, mentally struggling, etc.

It's also rather telling that you couldn't conceive that some people love being fat, and don't want to lose weight even if they could.

If in the future we will have good food and no capitalism and good enough medicine to eradicate obesity-related issues like bad cholesterol and such (crew forgive my ignorance on the matter), fat people would prosper because doctors and fatphobes would lose the ace card you played here that they love so much: that fatness is in itself a threatening medical condition and, depending on which is more convenient, the root cause or the consequence of countless medical problems that at long turn out to be not really related to body weight at all.

Also, who the fuck cares what really happens in the 23rd century? We won't be here to see what the ideal body type will be by that point. We are speaking representation in the now, not what if scenarios. Fat people don't owe people like you anything because they never let us have anything. They certainly don't owe you the comfort of living in your eugenic-flavored fantasy where nobody has a body shape that upsets you. There are more overweight, fat, and downright obese people than there are thin in this world, and the film industry should fucking grow a spine for once and actually reflect that. Yes, we shouldn't encourage bad eating habits, but that's not what the original confession was talking about. It was about how it's great to see a beautiful, healthy woman whose body weight doesn't take anything from that beauty and that healthiness, and that it would be even greater to see more of those type of characters. You having an issue with that speaks a lot about yourself, and the absolutely disgusting levels of fatphobia in the world.

Fat people deserve and belong in the camera, and in the future. Accept us or turn your screen off.

Footnote that the absolute clown levels it take to say that healthy food cannot make you fat, newsflash asshole, the healthiest, most organic food you can think of will make you fat if you eat it too much too often.

#sigh sorry about this crew #hope i didn't make a fool out of myself #tw fatphobia #trigger warnings #response to confession #confession 465 #i went through all 5 expressions in the gif

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undead-moth · 1 year

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I have just discovered the existence of Jamie Lopez, a body-positive activist, because at the age of 37 she has died of heart complications.

Here are some of the results you’ll find if you Google her death:

Unsurprisingly, fatphobes are taking the tragic death of a young woman as an opportunity to shame fat people and spread hate. They lack both empathy and compassion for her. They find her death vindicating, and even comedic. She is not even a human being to them.

But most importantly, they are using it as an opportunity to insist, as many fatphobes do, that this is the inevitable future all fat people face. They are once again arguing that all fat people are unhealthy and all fat people will die young because of this. In doing so, they are also accusing the fat acceptance movement of claiming that all fat people are healthy and all fat people will live long lives.

This completely ignores a few things:

1) If Jamie Lopez had been thin and died of the same health complications at the same age - which is the case for some thin people (remember, there is not a single health condition that exclusively fat people get or die of) - this would not therefore be indicative that their weight caused their death. Everyone would agree that it was the heart complications, not the weight that killed that person. Heart complications have been “linked” to fatness but never indisputably proven to be caused by it, and so it does not make sense to say that her weight, rather than heart complications killed her. And if someone wants to argue that it’s still her weight that killed her, because her weight put her at risk for heart problems, remember that being tall, being old, and/or being a man are risk factors for heart complications yet when a tall person, old person, or a man dies from heart complications we don’t insist they actually died of being tall or being old or being a man.

2) Had Jamie Lopez lived to be 100 this would have never proven to fatphobes that you can be fat and healthy. This is evident when other fat people live long healthy lives, even really fat people who live really long lives, and no one ever holds them up as “proof” that it’s possible to be fat and healthy. Even if millions of fat people, even very fat people, live to be very old - which millions do - it means nothing to these people. Statistically, “morbidly obese” people and underweight thin people have the same mortality rates, and people in the overweight and obese categories actually live the longest, longer even than their “healthy weight” counterparts. This has never changed the minds of fatphobes. But one single fat person dying young confirms their preconceived bias that all fat people are unhealthy and die young.

3) Neither the fat acceptance movement nor HAES advocates claim that all fat people are healthy. In fact, HAES advocates only argue that it’s possible to be healthy or unhealthy at any size, meaning that it’s possible to be fat and healthy, just as it’s possible to be thin and unhealthy, or vice versa. They are not insisting on a black-and-white dichotomy that puts one group in Always Unhealthy or Always Healthy. That’s what fatphobes are doing. They’re the ones making blanket statements about the combined health of entire communities, placing one in “Always unhealthy” (fat people) and one in “Always healthy” (thin people).

And the fat acceptance movement is not even about health. Fat acceptance advocates for the acceptance of fat people REGARDLESS OF health, meaning that fat people have the right to baseline human respect even if every single one of them is horribly unhealthy. Yet Fatphobes continue to debate fat acceptance activists by attempting to prove that all fat people are unhealthy. This is because they think that this gives them the right to hate and ridicule fat people. That is why it is so important that fat people be unhealthy to them, and why they never acknowledge that fat acceptance isn’t about health anyway. They need their excuse.

But it isn’t an excuse. It doesn’t matter if every single fat person is fat because they eat too much and exercise too little. It doesn’t matter if every single one of them could lose weight and maintain that weight loss if they simply worked hard enough. And it doesn’t matter if every single fat person is unhealthy and going to die at the age of 37 of a heart attack.

Fat people are people and people deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. That is what fat acceptance is about.

Jamie Lopez died young which is already unfortunate. And now she will be mocked for who knows how long by people who despise her for, essentially, being imperfect in a way they personally don’t like. Whether it be because she was fat, or because she was unhealthy, that’s the reason people will use to justify the inhumane ridicule of a human being who never harmed them, never wronged them, never even spoke to them - and now, isn’t even alive to defend herself against them.

I can’t describe the grief I feel for this person who, until a couple of hours ago, I didn’t even know existed, who was dead before I’d ever even heard her name.

I hope she rests in peace while the people who shame her rot in hell.

#fatphobia #body positivity #fat acceptance #Jamie Lopez

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hyperlexichypatia · 4 months

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I read this extremely disturbing article about weight loss “treatment” (drugs and even surgeries) for children. I do not recommend reading it if you struggle at all with internalized sizeism or body image unhappiness. It is extremely upsetting. Really, don’t read it.

The focus of the article is a teenage girl called Maggie who has been pathologized for her weight her entire life, literally since infancy, and then, as a 13 year old, was given weight loss drugs and bariatric surgery. The writer of the article, Lisa Miller, is clearly framing child weight loss as a reasonable medical practice and “radical fat-acceptance advocates” as somehow going too far. Miller is also clearly framing child weight loss interventions as necessary for “health” reasons.

My partner alerted me to a journalistic trend we started noticing around 2015 – when a writer is trying to express that the people they’re writing about have one motivation, but all the actual quotes from the subject express a different motivation. This often happens when a writer is trying to argue that support for a racist/sexist/bigoted policy position or politician isn’t motivated by racism/sexism/bigotry; it’s motivated by Some Other Thing – and then every actual quote from a supporter is some strain of racist/sexist/bigoted (see: almost every mainstream article from the mid-2010s about the alt-right, men’s rights, gamergate, or the Trump movement).

In “Ozempic Era,” Miller is trying to convey that child weight loss interventions are necessary “treatments” for “medical problems,” not the result of forced aesthetic conformity due to systemic sizeism – but the actual parents and kids she quotes all cite aesthetic and social reasons for wanting their children or themselves to lose weight. They talk about fitting in. Fitting clothes. Being accepted. Gaining confidence. Wanting to look like thin, popular kids. One of the parents explicitly rebutted the fat-acceptance movement by saying “The world is not built for overweight people” as though acknowledging and changing that fact isn’t the entire point of the movement.

But really, fat acceptance barely got acknowledged at all. The bulk of the contrast, as usual, was between the “judgmental” view that “blames” fat people for being fat, and the supposedly more progressive medical view that blames genetics, environment, and other factors outside an individual’s control for fat people being fat. It’s so much easier to start the conversation at “Whose fault is it that fat people are fat?” and “What’s the best way to make fat people stop being fat?” than to step back and question “Why is being fat a bad thing?”

I don’t even think the parents being interviewed are being disingenuous, necessarily. So often in discussions of fat liberation, disability liberation, mad liberation, neurodivergent liberation, whatever, people clinging to the medical model will insist, as though they’re the first ones to think of it, “What about the problems with being (fat/disabled/etc) that aren’t caused by social factors? What about the suffering intrinsic to the condition itself? Social change wouldn’t fix that!” and then, when asked for examples, will immediately cite examples of problems caused by social factors and systems. Clothes not fitting is a social problem (clothing is made by humans!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. Bullying is a social problem (humans are the bullies!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. Fat children lacking self-confidence is a social problem (self-confidence largely comes from relationships!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. People are really out there trying to come up with non-socially-caused problems intrinsic to fatness and citing “airplane seats” as though airplanes are naturally occurring.

A perfect example of this in Miller’s article is that now that Maggie has lost weight, she can be a cheerleader – she’s still not small enough to be at the top of the pyramid, but she’s strong enough to be at the bottom of the pyramid!

How, exactly, is weight loss necessary for that? There’s no size limit to the bottom of the pyramid! That’s where your heavy people are supposed to go! There are, at least, actual physics-based reasons why a heavy person might not be suited for the top of the pyramid. If the claim were “Before she lost weight, she was on the bottom of the pyramid, but afterward, she’s small enough to be on the top,” that would at least be a change directly connected to her physical weight. But for any physical activity that doesn’t directly involve being lifted, weight should have very little connection to ability. Fat people can and do run, lift, swim, and do every physical activity that thin people do. Of course, various medical conditions and disabilities can affect those abilities (in fat people, thin people, medium-sized people, and everyone else), and not everyone is particularly interested in athleticism, but it’s just dishonest to pretend or imply that thinness is a prerequisite for any kind of athletic activity.

“But, Hypatia,” you, the straw reader who lives in my head, might be saying, “You’re always talking about youth rights and autonomy! If the 13 year old consented to have her body surgically and chemically altered, shouldn’t we respect her choice?”

Great question, straw reader who lives in my head. Consent has to be informed. And uncoerced. I do not believe that a 13 year old who has been pathologized for her weight since she was an infant, who has been told by her parents and doctors and every authority figure in her life that her body is a problem, who has been relentlessly bullied and ostracized for her weight, is making an uncoerced choice. Nor, if she has never been exposed to the fat acceptance/liberation or health at every size models, is she making an informed one. There is no indication that accepting her naturally fat body was ever an option for her.

Regardless, my point isn’t even “13 year olds shouldn’t be prescribed bariatric surgery or weight-loss drugs” (although I absolutely think they shouldn’t, and I wonder where the people who [falsely] think gender-affirming care is “permanent surgery on children” are on this). It’s “We should abolish the pervasive, unquestioned, widespread systemic sizeism that leads people to think fatness is a bad thing.”

#ableism #sizeism #fatphobia #fat acceptance #liberation #youth rights #body posititivity #body image

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alihightowers · 1 year

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While it's technically still mother's day, here's the first rough cut of the beginning of my little alicent/aegon fic I'm currently (slowly) working on. For context if you care, my concept is to begin with his birth -which is what I'm posting- and focus on the atrophy of their relationship from there until his death. I really don't even know what I'm doing, but they just make me insane.

Anyways, happy mother's day alicent hightower, I know you tried your best 🥺

The line between love and hate can become dangerous when it begins to bleed like water over ink.

Alicent was too naïve at the time, too young to understand the way trauma tends to breed like a virus, infecting the same tainted, familial blood.

Cutting her palms on the jagged pieces of their broken lives, and mad with the intent of finding the source of where it all went wrong, it isn’t until the end that she accepts what has always been.

He was condemned from the moment he left her body, they all were, because she is where it begins and where it ends.

She is their mother.

‘When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.’

There would be no other condition as sacred as that.

***

Aegon came quickly, and without fuss.

A summer storm is just beginning when Alicent finally gives birth during the thirteenth hour of her labors.

Strange shades of yellow and orange paint the sky, muted like smoke-clouded fire. Though the rain has yet to fall, the scent permeates the thick, humid air. Gusts of wind curl through the open windows, and as the curtains part under their graceful influence, a bolt of lightning greets the earth with silent ferocity. A helpless cry rips from Alicent’s throat when a brutal lash of pain mimics the strike. She shudders bodily and clenches her jaw as it slices down her spine, winding through coiled muscle to eventually stretch outwards from her tailbone.

Restless, Alicent writhes from her position on the bed, back arching in a desperate attempt to assuage the unbearable agony, to escape and crawl out from inside her own skin. Her thick auburn curls are an agitation against her flushed skin, dampened and matted with sweat where they stick like plaster to her neck. And her cheeks, still round with the last traces of baby fat, burn beneath the temporary relief of a cloth dipped in cool water.

Blinded by her tears, her dry throat won’t allow her to swallow.

Prisoner to her own body, she can hardly catch her breath.

Inconsolable and terrified, the only thing she can do is struggle.

When a particularly strong contraction catches her off guard, she sobs and leans into it as much as her slight frame will allow. It’s then, in the middle of the chaos, that the Grand Maester’s harsh voice carries over her own, “Your Grace, you must stop at once.”

The lilt of worry in his voice floods her veins with ice-cold terror, but Alicent can’t help bearing down again on instinct, disobeying the voices around her telling her to stop pushing.

“I can’t-” she chokes out, voice feeble and raw with exhaustion, “I just- please, I just want my-”

There is nothing to name, no one to call for to make her feel safe; the depths of her isolation render her defenseless.

“The umbilical cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck.” he continues with urgency, cutting her off. " You must keep her still.”

He addresses everyone but her, and as she looks around at grave expressions with panic in her eyes, she watches two midwives take hold of her knees, their grip tense while they press down. Alicent pales, curling one hand around the bed sheet as another wave contractions threaten to break her open, fingernails piercing her palm through the fabric twisted in her vice-like grip.

Her septa, the only familiar face in the room, clasps her other hand, becoming an anchor to keep her steady. The woman whispers soothing prayers in her ear, but for once it provides little comfort. Instead, bile rises to the back of her throat, and she falls deaf to everything except the quickening of her pulse in her ears. Like the edge of a dull knife, a sharp pain prods incessantly across the spans of her abdomen.

Alicent’s vision swims when her body begins warring with itself one drawn out heartbeat later.

Her legs fight against the stronghold of her midwives, frantic to close together and keep the child inside of her where it will remain safe and protected. In the same breath, her womb violently constricts to force it out, as if to strangle it with its own life support before first breaths can be drawn, before the world gets the chance to sink its teeth in.

Alicent prays to The Mother,

Help me.

She pleads for her mother,

I need you.

And she begs both,

Please, let it end.

A gentle wind kisses her fevered cheek; Alicent takes that as her answer.

For a bated breath, there is nothing but silence.

And then, all at once, it happens.

The storm reaches its crescendo and it feels almost prophetic. As if the gods, themselves, have split the heavens apart at the seams to bestow life upon her firstborn son.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name and rightful heir to the Iron Throne, placed into the arms of his mother from those of The Mother, loud and screaming.

With healthy lungs, he fills the room with impatient shrieks and demanding kitten cries as the air touches his pink, sensitive skin for the first time. Alicent vaguely listens to the commotion while she turns her attention out the window, trembling and empty.

A songbird flies by, light as a feather in the open air, and she envies its freedom, imagines what it is to be that free. Her wrist flicks. She resists the urge to cover her ears.

She thought she would feel lighter, relieved to be separated from him.

She never expected to be consumed with an indiscernible fear.

Aegon screams again, closer this time, and Alicent tenses; her chest lurches in response.

Even though he arrived two weeks later than expected, they tell her he’s quite small, but he still manages to take up most of her torso when he’s given to her. Fresh tears track down her cheeks, and she squeezes her eyes shut, allowing herself one final moment to cling to the naive dream of innocent fantasies and girlhood wishes before the permanence of her new reality sets in.

Skin to skin with her son, Alicent startles and forgets to exhale. In more ways than one, he’s too heavy.

She doesn’t want to look at him.

“Your Grace,” one of the midwives coaxes gently, as if trying not to frighten a wounded animal.

She’s afraid to look at him.

What if she doesn’t love him?

Alicent’s gaze sweeps towards the ceiling, her breath coming unevenly. Aegon stirs then, reminding her of his presence and she instinctively cradles him closer.

“He’s beautiful.” the girl urges again with soft encouragement and a careful touch to her elbow.

What if she can’t love him?

Despite the protesting shake of her head, Alicent finds herself finally looking down to take in her son.

While he grew, she likened him to a parasite, a being whose sole purpose was to leech life from her insides, to feed and take and leave her hollow. He was faceless, something foreign.

The newborn in her arms is anything but, and when her attention becomes his, Aegon stops fussing immediately.

She takes her time simply staring at him before she reaches with slight hesitation to trace the delicate shell of his ear with her finger. While she studies the details of his face, Alicent brushes over the downy hair atop his head, so silver it’s almost translucent. A strong trait of the Targaryen bloodline, it’s the only difference she finds between them.

They share the same nose, the same bowed mouth. He even has a dimple dotted on his left cheek that mirrors her own. She marvels over his every movement, listens intently to his every sound.

In that moment, something unfamiliar settles into her veins.

Love.

It overwhelms her as it splinters deep within her heart, aching between each beat.

“You’ll need me, won’t you?”

Alicent murmurs, just quiet enough for only him to hear, and leans forward to touch her lips to his forehead. As if sensing her closeness, Aegon turns in to seek her warmth, catching her pinky finger in the process. He curls his tiny hand around it, and she just knows.

The first link in her invisible chains, they are bound. By blood and flesh and bone, he is hers as she is his.

“You shall always have me.”

#sometimes I write things #also calling bullshit on her passing off aegon's birth as quick and easy...she was a child and it was her first birth bffr #but that's just my opinion lol #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #alicent x aegon

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localplaguenurse · 1 year

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Pantalone Health Headcanons

This is a smorgasbord of headcanons about how fucked up pants' health would be. Most of them are inspired by @madamemachiko's pants fics/headcanons and the fic Alien Blues on ao3. Those two are my favourite flavours of Pantalone and they have permanently become part of my mental image for him.

I did my best research wise but I'm not an expert so I'm open to corrections/insight, and also wanna hear your thoughts!

ANYWAYS discussions of starvation and health complications

Starvation and diet

As a child on the streets he would either have no access to food or only access to scraps

He would go through long periods without sufficient nutrition and as such developed starvation ketoacidosis, which burned through all his body fat and ate away at his muscle mass as well.

He’s also almost died of refeeding syndrome once or twice, which is when you overload your body with too many calories/nutrients after a period of starvation.

To this day his body still cannot properly metabolize. He puts on weight very easily and it is difficult to gain muscle mass.

I wouldn’t say he’s fat or pudgy, no no, but because his body naturally clings onto all the fat it can get, he doesn’t exactly have a sculpted, defined body, and is kinda soft as a result. The only “definition” he has is his bonier features and whatever muscle he has managed to develop.

This, combined with a sensitive stomach from years of eating… dubious meals, means he is very particular with portion control and dietary restrictions. Some meals he has developed an intolerance/inability to digest, and others he simply can’t stomach as they remind him of worse times.

It has gotten better as he can a) afford food, and b) afford medical treatment, but by this point he’s accepted that this is just how his body is going to be for the rest of his life.

He takes supplements, vitamins, and medicine to cover anything he’s missing as a result of his restrictions.

Bonus: I headcanon Pantalone doesn’t actually care much for bougie dishes. His favourite foods are actually the really, really, really cheap meals he could barely afford when he was younger. They would have been the only hot fresh meals he could get his hands on aside, and they provide a sense of security and warmth. He would never admit he likes commoner meals, though, so whenever he’s asked what he likes, he defaults to whatever fancy dish he can think of off the top of his head.

Stress and illness

Pantalone doesn’t have a canon age, I personally hc him as like 27 at the youngest, but regardless of how old you think he is, he has spent his entire life Stressed and there’s no way he isn’t suffering from it

Maybe the white is his hair is from his age, depending on your headcanon age for him, but a lot of it is from the stress of constantly working himself to the limit

He would never admit this, but he actually has a significant amount of white hair, he just dyes it black to hide it. He keeps the one streak because it makes him look sexy- I mean, it looks charming.

He also constantly suffers from migraines, especially when he’s trying to meet a deadline. He takes medication to counter it, but it can only do so much.

They can get so bad that his eyes start to hurt, his vision blurs and he starts getting dizzy

He’s susceptible to respiratory infections, namely he is asthmatic and at risk of catching pneumonia. He’s had too many close calls as a child.

His heart is also at risk due to the aforementioned stress and disease that has plagued him since his youth.

Similar to his diet, he is able to manage all of his conditions now that he can afford top of the line medical care, but he’ll never be 100% and he knows he has to work around that.

The cold weather of Snezhnaya is not good for him, if he’s outside for too long he starts to get short of breath because of the asthma.

He will also neglect sleep and hunger if he gets too absorbed in his work, he would actually work himself to death if you let him.

In spite of this, he carries on like nothing is wrong. He’s smiling, going about his day, attending meetings with his fellow harbingers and filling out paperwork for the Northland Bank like it’s nothing. He refuses to let the mask slip, no matter how bad his health issues can get.

It helps that he also has a pretty good self care routine to maintain his porcelain complexion and silky hair. Helps with the illusion that Everything Is Fine.

#pantalone genshin #pantalone #genshin impact #pantalone headcanons #regrator #genshin headcanons

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subliminalbo · 6 months

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Hypnovember Day 7: Lacey's Dream

This is a companion to Lacey's Story: Part Three

A slave rests her knees at the feet of her Master. Her face at cock-level. The slave looks up into her Master’s gray eyes. Everything about him is gray, from his untrimmed beard to the fuzz on his fat knuckles. His fingers twist through her hair as he pushes her face into his ancient cock. Even naked she can still feel the intense signals that radiate through her lingerie, no longer articles of clothing but more like a new part of her body that continues to reward her even after it’s been removed. She’s been conditioned. Her body produces the same stimuli even without the technology. The signals bounce from her breasts and her pussy up into her brain, rewriting her chemistry until she’s nothing but a tool to be used for her Master’s pleasure.

Willfully the slave opens her mouth and takes his cock inside. A part of her mind somehow left intact despite the mental assault of Obedience’s phantom signals questions: has he earned this?

In a different state of mind she recoiled from the taste of this man’s filthy cock. Now she loves it. Worships it, even, in this depraved privacy. But there’s something different about its taste tonight. It’s sterile, like it’s recently been washed for her consideration. A level of thoughtfulness that the slave didn’t expect from the Master she knows. She looks up again into an unfamiliar pair of light brown eyes.

No, not unfamiliar. Just forgotten. Brown eyes that once brought her so much comfort.

Years before her present condition, the slave is named Lacey and she is kissing her Master for the first time. His name is Brad. They press their lips together like kids do the first time they kiss, and Brad feels a flutter in his stomach as the kiss lingers, saying more to her in this action than he ever could with words. He doesn’t know the future. They’re just kids at that moment, and leaning away from the kiss, Brad sees Lacey as a kid for the last time. In a couple of months, summer will be over and they’ll show up to high school magically transformed into awkward, angry, terrified teenagers. And even though Brad has lived next door to Lacey his entire life, the change will take him by surprise. She’ll start reading banned books, he’ll grow six more inches and get really good at knocking kids over on the basketball court. In tenth grade, they make a pact that if neither of them lose their virginities by the end of high school they’ll do it together. On the last Saturday night of senior year, they make good on that pact.

Brad loves Lacey so much that he can’t stop telling her. Lacey loves Brad so much that she can’t tell him at all. Not just for lack of ambition, though direction certainly is a concern for him, Brad follows Lacey to the same college. Carpenter State University looms in the distance like a black cloud, blanketing their future. They enter the storm together.

Lacey’s future has been mapped out since she was fourteen years old. She plans to do it all. Campus leader, prestigious internship with the statehouse, graduate with honors, put in her time as a government grunt, join a non-profit, run for office, back to the statehouse, the presidency. She breezes through her freshman year but meets her match in one tyrannical professor. Brad warns her against overreaching, but she covets Professor Lange’s class on her transcript. She will not lose. She has a plan.

Professor Lange is receptive to her advances, but he refuses to let her go when the semester is over. Lacey accepts a pair of lingerie as a parting gift. When she slips it on she feels its power wash over her. She loses herself. She loses her future.

Lacey is just the slave, but Dr. Lange is gone. Brad is the Master now. His cock slides out of her mouth and she admires it like a work of art. It’s bigger Dr. Lange’s, certainly stronger too. It isn’t the first time she’s tasted it, but the first time from this perspective. The first time the slave held this cock in her hands, it’s a curiosity. Now it’s an instrument of worship, deliverer of pleasure. She regrets underestimating its value. She sees now that it’s the most important object in the world. It’s the center of her universe.

The slave looks up again into her Master’s light brown eyes and she thinks about the way he held her on the floor of his game room while they fell asleep to the light of the television because he knew that she can’t sleep in the dark. She thinks about the day when she tells her Master about the professor, and the day he doesn’t text back. It isn’t gradual in the way old friendships fade. It’s sudden, like all of human history evaporating into nothing.

She thinks of all these things in the space of one second before her mind clears and her programming takes over. Her Master’s hands are resting on her head, his fingers weaving through her hair, but the slave doesn’t need him to pull her in. She obeys without hesitation, rolling her tongue over the head of his cock, reacting to him. She takes it into her hands, pauses for effect, then plunges the whole thing down her fucking throat.

She feels the signals move through her body again, creating more pleasure from obedience than the sex itself. She smiles, knowing that she’ll never be free again. She’s found her Master and she’s never letting him go.

There is no question. The Master has earned this.

Lacey awoke to late night infomercials, the sound turned down low so that the words on the TV were soft, nearly inaudible. She was alone in the living room and she could feel the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her chest.

She didn't remember falling asleep. Just Brad saying goodnight and leaving with the light on. At some point he must have remembered that she liked the TV on and come back in. He was already such a good Master to her.

Fuck, she felt so naked without her Obedience by Fleur. That's what she needed first. Lacey knew that she could convince Brad to take her, it could be just like her dream. But she needed Obedience to do it. She would let the slave work out the details.

Brad was back asleep when she crept into his room. First she dropped his Space Jam shirt to the floor, feeling the open air on tits for what she hoped would be the last time for a while, then she dug through his drawer to retrieve her underwear.

Lacey paused when she held the bra in her hand, turning it over, admiring how the fine latticework that made up the circuitry on the inside reflected the moonlight. It occurred to her for a moment that Brad was right about everything. She wasn't acting of her own free will, she'd been manipulated and brainwashed by an evil man until there was nothing left of her but an empty slave. This was her chance to break free, to take back her life.

And then Lacey remembered that not acting of her own free will was the point. She quickly sunk back under the power of Obedience by Fleur, letting the pleasure move through her body, consuming her.

Soon she would begin plotting her next move to make Brad her Master, but first she had to cum.

#hypnokink #mind control #brainwashed #hypnotized #hypnovember #oc: lacey stafford #series: lacey's story

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hucowffa · 1 year

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Is it weird that I fantasize about you transforming me from a chubby masculine man to a soft, obedient, ssbbw?

Like I imagine us meeting and everything seems normal at first, maybe I'm even a tad cocky and have better fitness than you, but you psychologically condition me and slowly dominate more and more until I'm totally submissive to you.

Once you have me under your control, you start secretly giving me estrogen and all the fattening foods I have a weakness for. You make sure I get used to having my food cravings satisfied so that I can never go back to resisting them. You get me addicted to eating and enable my laziness.

Months to years go by and I've lost all my muscle mass, I'm fatter than you and have a noticeably feminine shape for a man, I've developed breast tissue and large nipples, and I'm terribly weak and out of shape.

Realizing you have me where you want me, you casually challenge me to an arm wrestle. I accept, thinking it will be easy as I'm a man, but when we start I can't even move your arm.

you're so much stronger than me...

I try so hard but you just laugh, look me in the eyes and say

"pathetic"

You smile in an almost playful, self satisfied way and then you slam my hand on the table.

Then we go to the bedroom and you get up real close to me as we stand by the bed.

We both feel the heat from our heavy breathing filling the small gap between us, both out of breath from the small bit of exercise that consisted of our arm wrestle, getting up and then walking into the room.

But I'm especially out of breath because I'm not in as good shape as you are.

You put your hands on me and say "you're a girl from now on", and then push me onto the bed.

You undress me, revealing the soft nub peaking from the fat where my penis used to be. It's only half hard because that's all I can muster these days so it looks like a clit.

We make love like lesbians, you topping me, and I instinctually moan in pleasure like a girl, even though I never had before, as if your display of power over me finally eroded the last of my manhood.

I don't know why I sent this here instead of DMing it to you but I hope you enjoy.

Isn’t it only natural? I think you’re just wanting an excuse to be the fat girl you know you are.

You want the softness, the femininity. You want someone to smother that brattiness and fighting back part out of you. And what better way than by weighing you down so much with all that fat you gained trying to keep up with me?

You probably don’t even know just how big you’re gonna blow up to be baby girl. You don’t know how badly you’re gonna let yourself go. Any bit of fitness you had going for you will soon be like it never existed.

Give up, baby. Be my good girl. Let me show you what being a pretty ssbbw is like. I know I can barely reach my clit, but I know you’ll outgain me plenty. You won’t even be able to touch your own clit buried under your fupa. You’ll have to rely on me using your vibrator on you to get touched. I could do it while I’m stretching you out on my strap if you beg for it.

I think I might—if you begged like a girl that really needed it. A pretty, high pitched whine for me and then I may touch your clit with your wand.

It’s only natural to want that, right?

#asks #i like fat ppl #anon

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baited-beth · 10 months

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So I’m watching The Power. And it is good. It actually is. But biology and sex based differences are absolutely INTEGRAL to the plot and yet they keep trying to add in gender ideology.

They have an entire scene where a male doctor is astounded that anyone would think it’s moral to use hormone blockers, which he refers to as chemical castration, on girls to stop them from going through puberty and so developing their electrical powers. And the women pressuring him to do it then lists all of the reasons why a girl/woman might want the organ that causes it removed, and those reasons sound EXACTLY like the reasons girls begin identifying as trans during puberty. And then she offhandedly mentions that he could make a shed load of money off the patent by preying on the insecurities she’s just mentioned.

That scene is really pertinent and they seem to have had an actual doctor involved in the scripting. It’s elsewhere that they fail.

First, there’s a nunnery where traumatised girls escape to. Apparently the nuns are rebellious because they supported gay rights back in the day. This is revealed to us by a particular nun who is pretty tall, broad and fat, and speaks with a falsetto … and found acceptance with the nuns who accepted him as a woman, unlike his family. The nuns are perfectly comfortable having him around traumatised teenage girls. And the girls are comfortable being around him, even when they’re detailing their traumas.

And then there’s a boy, who is very obviously male, who says ‘I’m intersex. I was born with both, but I had surgery as a baby and I identify as a guy’. And he also has the electrical ability as a result of his condition. This isn’t how DSDs work!? You aren’t ‘born with both’ and you are still either male or female!? And someone with such a condition is unlikely to be so ignorant about it - especially if it was significant enough to require surgery as a baby. They obviously didn’t speak to any DSD groups when writing his character.

#also there’s a woman who has escaped sex slavery and is now running a paramilitary group who has perfectly plucked eyebrows #yes I’m off work sick and have too much time to watch TV and analyse it #I’m just really annoyed because it’s genuinely a good show otherwise

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keyki421 · 2 years

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The internet is saying Kevin Samuels died of a heart attack. Now isn’t that fucking ironic. He constantly came at fat black women and told us how unhealthy we are and how we need to do this and do that. Yet he obviously wasn’t doing those things himself.

Society is willing to accept it when a man is fat, but let it be a woman and all of sudden ya’ll care about her health. The same people constantly attacking Lizzo, don’t have that same energy for men like Rick Ross or DJ Khalid. Both of these men constantly have their shirts off and I don’t see posts about how classless they are.

Also, I can guarantee that Kevin was never doing all of the health checks that someone is supposed to do, after they pass 40. The media, society and even sometimes doctors have conditioned people to believe that if they are thin and go to the gym, that equals healthy. So these people don’t get their yearly checks like they’re supposed to. I have literally heard a woman say that she won’t get breast cancer (even though it runs in her family) because she does yoga and is vegan.

All I know is that if Kevin Samuels really did die of a Heart Attack, God was watching and waiting. God was gonna make him pay for his words.

#kevin samuels #black women #the evil is defeated

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tetsunabouquet · 1 year

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(I’m already half-way through writing Basic Instict chapter 8, with a bit of luck I’ll post it tonight but I just want to get this off of my chest)

I kind of want to post a rant. Like, ever read an article that seriously pisses you off? I read this one from the New York Post about how a lot of young women are turning their backs against birth control, and it really left a sour taste in my mouth.

It’s one thing to talk about the negative side effects, but its another thing to ignore the positive effects when talking about it. Birth control does so much more then protection and helping against acne, it can also be used to help women who’s menstrual symptoms are re-occuringly worse then average. Like women who are intensly sick during their periods, or become emotionally unstable.

In my family, emotional unstability is a common issue amongst the women. I nearly committed suicide after Bambi’s mom got shot one time, and that is why I have been described birth control years ago. I am not the first in my family to have been described some form of hormone treatment. My grandma suffered from extreme emotional insability during her meno pauze and even attempted murder once because of it. Yet, the critical crowd isn’t actually acknowledging that ‘natural’ hormones, aren’t always the right thing for women either and this is very important because negative bias exists. If people frame it like the effects of birth control are, other then acne, bad for women, then less and less people are inclined to take it. Other then the fact this is influencing young girls their personal choice, chances are, the more birth control becomes exclusive hormone treatment for the women who need it, the likelier the pharmaceutical industry will demand a higher price for these pills. People like to complain about the government, but the pharmaceutical industry is genuinely just as shady. If Covid didn’t taught the healthy crowd anything, I’d advice you to look into the stories of people with rare conditions who pay thousands for their medication. Not because it’s so god damn expensive to produce, but because the pharmaceutical industry knows these people are desperate, especially if its in the case of parents taking care of their extremely ill kid who’ll die without it. That’s normal bussiness in the pharmaceutical industry, and I genuinely wished that people started talking about improving side effects of medication and negatives about the pharmaceutical industry itself. THAT is helpful to anyone.

Because right now, articles like these only play into one specific trend I’ve noticed over and over again: Science denialism. The doctor they talked with in that article has written a book about the negative effects of birth control and they advertised it in the article too. Obviously, she wants to sell her book and won’t talk about the negative effects of ‘natural’ hormones because it doesn’t fits her agenda. She’s far from the only one. You can spot proffesionals wanting to sell a book or program, everywhere in places where science denialism is running rampant. For example, the body positivity community on TikTok. The number of studies saying obesity is unhealthy still outnumber all the ones about things like the obesity paradox, and people who’ve investigated studies linked by fat acceptance activists have actually revealed they often twist the few positive studies to begin with. Like one they used, did track if people lost weight over the course of years but the study wasn’t about intentional weight loss and none of the people in the group were actually mentioned to have tried to lose weight. A lot of these are still their early thirties or younger, and don’t have any health issues YET. This fits the pattern of the girls questioned in this article, but also the conspiracy theories about Covid: Most of these science critical people are below the age of 50 and don’t suffer from long-term health issues so far, with social media giving them an easy time to spread their ideas and criticism.

It’s worrying to me, because other then a chunk of these people could endanger their health or worse, die from their science denialism, it makes the future seem scary. The more science denialism takes over, the more diseases and health issues will rise on top of the rise of babies when our planet is already overcrowded. That one woman in the article stating she is now tracking her cycle instead made me cringe so hard. Did no one at school tell her that such a method doesn’t work? Just how poor is the sex education in the US, considering a lot of these people also still believe in abstinence. How many of you are actually aware science has predicted pandemics are going to be likelier then ever because of how overcrowded the planet is becoming as there are still so many diseases we can catch from the animal kingdom and living closer and closer to wild animals due to the little space on our planet means the chances of contracting one gets higher. Aids, ebola, Covid, its all just the start, and having more babies because of science denialism is only going to make this likelihood worse then it currently is. I don’t want to die in the next pandemic because some random girls were too worried about the decrease in their sexual desire. Fuck that shit.

#science denialism #birth control #dangers for the future #tetsutalk #we should all just go after the pharmaceutical industry y'all

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i-want-to-get-better-i-promise · 8 months

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This is pretty scary to post. This is my body. I don’t like the extra fat I carry on my hips and thighs, or the way my love handles stick out. I wish my belly didn’t poke out. It takes a reality check to look at my body like this and realise that my body isn’t the problem. The problem is the way I see myself. I don’t need to lose weight, I know this, but the restrictive eating is so hard to break. I’m scared to eat foods that I think will make me fat or that are ‘unhealthy’. I hesitated before eating less than a quarter of a cinnamon scroll today and only ate it because my parents were there, waiting for me to. I have to remind myself - I am just not ‘my type’. But I am someone else’s. There are other people who love my body just the way it is.

I want to focus on building strength and eating well. I am getting stronger every week.

Your body will also change if your hormones change. Going on testosterone, my appetite has increased and so has my waistline. We have been conditioned into thinking that this is a bad thing, rather than a milestone to be celebrated.

I promise you there is nothing wrong with your body as it is now. And believing there is can lead to disordered eating habits and food anxiety, which I have unfortunately developed over the past few months.

Loving yourself is hard, so start by accepting yourself. I know that’s hard too, but it’s a little easier.

I believe in you!

#FTM #trans #trans is beautiful #transgender #weight loss #health #healthy #fitness #healthy eating #diet #body image #body dysmorphia #body positivity

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colorisbyshe · 1 year

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Random spicy question: is there a privilege wildly accepted on social media as a thing, but that you don't think actually exists? Personally, I'm not convinced "pretty privilege" exists. What even are the parameters here? A good bone structure? bc I keep seeing ppl with "pretty privilege" that always say "oh well I'm at my house so of course I'm busted" and like, all privilege is conditional, but if this privilege needs them to wear make-up, have a skin care routine, or plastic surgery then idk.

Hmm, can’t really think of any.

Pretty privilege is very clearly a sort of misuse of the word privilege and fits more of the casual usage of the word as opposed to referring to a real axis of oppressor/oppressed but does also tap into a real intersection of a lot of forms of exactly that—misogyny, racism, ableism, classism, and fatphobia.

How we perceive appearance and what we value in appearance is obviously quite informed by our systems of oppression and someone’s ability to achieve those norms is obviously a privilege.

The fact that it’s a higher bar to clear just furthers that—like beyond those who are “naturally pretty,” being able to afford procedures and cosmetics and clothing is obviously tied into classism. Having “good genes” cannot be divorced form things like fatphobia and ableism.

And tbh privilege being a somewhat high maintenance thing is kinda… always how oppression/privilege works. Like, people have to lobby for laws and forms of governance to maintain things like white privilege. There are people who dedicate their entire lives to ~the grind~ so they may lord their wealth over other people (obviously not all people working hard for money are doing that but some are).

So, like, would I say “attractiveness” is an axis of oppression, no, but only because that it is really an expression of multiple axes of oppression and is extremely time sensitive because of bodies and features are now trends—which is sort of the point. Only the wealthy have the sort of transformative power to stay on trend.

It’s kinda like fashion. Obviously there isn’t “well dressed privilege” as an axis but it’s pretty easy to understand that “well dressed” people are often treated better and that what is considered fashionable is often disctated by racism, classism, and misogyny (and tied into the gendered policing of fashion is homophobia and transphobia). And that lots of fashion isn’t made accessibly to fat people or disabled people or is considered to no longer be flattering on fat or disabled people.

Conversations about pretty privilege tend to skirt this a lot but like… that’s because most people online don’t know what they’re talking about or jsut want to use the conversation to either self victimize or self flagellate OR boast or do a combo of all three.

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kitausuret · 1 year

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2022 Year in Review

Tagged by the delightful @seek--rest .

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 19 new pieces, and 3 chapters updated on Dust to Dust.

2. Word count this year: 63,201 (wow!), with 17,337 of those words having been added to Dust to Dust.

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Venom (comics), Marvel 616, MC2 (Marvel), Spider-Man (comicsverse), Fantastic Four (comicsverse), Carnage (comics), Scarlet Witch (comic), Venom (movies)

4. Pairings: - Eddie Brock/Flash Thompson/Venom Symbiote - Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson - Flash Thompson/Venom Symbiote - Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote - Dan Lewis/Anne Weying/Venom Symbiote/Eddie Brock ...and then a bunch of platonic pairings as well! But we would be here all day for that.

5. Stories with the most... (note: I am excluding DTD since that has been a multi-year project) Kudos: Don't Misread the Signs (D.A.V.E.) - 85 Bookmarks: Don't Misread the Signs (D.A.V.E.) - 21 Comment Threads: Complicate Me, Elevate Me (Symbiot3) - 8 Word Count: Finding the Light Again (Symbrock, VenomFlash, Symbiot3) - 5,206

6. Work I'm most proud of... Honestly? Dust to Dust is the obvious answer, because any progress I make on it, I consider an accomplishment... but I'm really, stupidly happy with how "Anywhere but Here" (Eddie Brock | Venom & Mary Jane Watson, set during Maximum Carnage) turned out. MJ is such a complicated character with such a long, long, long history behind her and I'd wanted to address the friction between her and Venom for an awfully long time. As you can see by the bottom (being shameless here) I was happy enough with it that I wanted some art, and @maydayparkers was kind enough to indulge me.

7. Work I'm least proud of: Kind of an odd question? I'm proud of everything I wrote this year, haha, but hmmm I wish I'd done more research on the Fantastic Four comics of the era before writing "A Day at the Park". I felt pretty unsure going into writing it, because I really wanted to write the time that the Venom Symbiote was in the custody of the F4 but I didn't want to read the Byrne F4 run... still, it's not like me to write something in an era where I'm largely winging it. I'm glad the fic was well-received regardless, I loved writing ReedSue (and Franklin!).

8. A favorite review I received: Let me tell you something: I got not one but two really heartfelt comments on "The Look of You" (symbiot3, a focus on Eddie), which is a fic I was a little nervous about posting but I'm so glad I did. I also got some beautiful art done by my friend Nex (my commission is the second picture in the link), which you can see also at the bottom of the fic.

@guessimabasicnerdgirlnow also left me these really sweet words:

Aww, this is beautiful. We don’t see fictional men with body image issues often, but this fits Eddie very well, he’s very proud of those muscles so it’s easy to imagine that the idea of getting fat would bother him. Good thing he has two loving partners that are there for him to help him accept this new shape and understand that it is healthy. (And who also helped him reach this healthy state in first place). Ah, and isn’t this setting a fan��s perfect fantasy: them all happy and living in decent conditions, getting healthier, loving and supporting one another? 🥺

I also had a close friend reach out to me after reading the fic to tell me how much it meant to her, and that she really enjoyed seeing a story where weight gain and body shape change were portrayed as a positive thing. In fact I'm getting a little choked up and teary just thinking about what she said because it really, really touched me.

Like... a lot of what I write is just kind of silly, self-indulgent stuff. Or fluff. Or smut. But this is one that was really important to me.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: Uuuuhhh gosh. I burned myself out pretty hard after Symbruary, but I managed to get "Complicate Me, Elevate Me" out as my 100th fic after a DTD update. It's probably my favorite Symbiot3 smutfic that I've written so far. Porn with feelings! It took me forEVER to finish, though, especially given that I'd started it back in February.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: When I was trying to come up with ideas for Comics Scarlet Witch Week, which eventually led to "What Binds Us Together", I was stunned to discover that Victoria and Wanda had canon interactions together. I guess I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed writing them together, to the point where I'm excited to write them in a much larger piece for this year. I love... women.... 💋

I also created an attorney OC for Dust to Dust Chs. 12-13 that I got really weirdly attached to LOL. Jason Tolliver, you deserve better than what I put you through.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: From "Stranger in a Strange Land" (Andi Benton | Mania & April Parker), which I wrote for Symbruary Day 1:

Her expression wavered. For a second, it looked like April was going to break down, but all at once, her whole face set. She ground her teeth and shoved past Andi. “You’re wrong. I’m not like any scenario you’ve ever known.” She watched April keep going. And then- “Mania was made in a lab.” April stopped. “My… my symbiote. It - she was made in a lab. Just a piece of the Venom symbiote. A copy.” Andi stepped closer, uncertain at first, but her voice growing clearer as she went on. “For the longest time, she didn’t know who she was, or how to feel, or where she belonged - even getting attached to me, it was a mistake. She was alone, and scared, and all she’d ever known her whole life was anger and hatred.”

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: I expanded into quite a few more pairings! I wrote my first Parksborn fic, I wrote a fic focused just on Tarna and her partner from Venom: Space Knight, my first proper PeterMJ fic, and my first fic with Jubulile as Toxin's host. I also wrote my first fic with Wanda that I've truly felt proud of (sorry, Wavelengths) with "What Binds Us Together".

13. How do you hope to grow next year: Honestly, I want to continue expanding the characters and pairings I write about. I want to explore a wider variety of characters - like honestly. I want to write more women. That might sound silly but it's true! I just need to get some of my ideas actually into Fic Form instead of just rolling them around in my head.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year: Oh gosh oh gosh. There are so many people I could tag here. @amaronith, always, for never letting DTD die and for always supporting my symbiot3 works. @softgrungeprophet for the HOURS of conversation about PeterFlash and HarryFlash and Flash Generally Speaking. @theopolis for accidentally giving DTD a B plot by getting me into Harry (like, REALLY getting me into Harry). @seek--rest for her insight on fic stuff and encouraging me to go outside my comfort zone. The 3 artists I commissioned for works based on my fics. @decaffeinatedparadisemaker for just being an absolutely delightful person to get to know and I love talking to him about fic stuff. @oliveroctavius for also giving me Harry brain worms but in a different way. Possibly a worse way. I have a WIP inspired by one of his pieces, it's.. it's definitely something lol.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: There's a character in one of my fics named after one of my co-workers. That's all I'm gonna say!

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Don't read comics or you will get way more ideas than you will know what to do with. Also don't read comics intending to learn more about one ship because you'll just end up completely fixated on a different ship and before you know it you've got a high school au with a meetcute between a football player and a marching band pit member and also it's based on the Gwen Stacy mini.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: OBVIOUSLY I'm looking forward to getting back to Dust to Dust. Hopefully this weekend I'll finish the New Year's Eve Coffee Bean Gang fic I meant to finish.. uh.. last weekend. But otherwise, there are a tooooon of WIPs in the most recent entries of the asked and answered tag. Have fun!

Here's a little snip from the NYE fic though:

“Well, I hope that Petey-o gets here before the ball drops,” Mary Jane said. She did a little spin, sending her sequined skater skirt twirling around her hips before she stopped and draped her arms over Gwen’s shoulders. She leaned in with a wide grin. “Or else I’m going to get the first kiss of the new year from Miss Gwendolyn.” Gwen flushed bright pink and turned to dislodge her friend’s arms. “Now that’s ridiculous. Can you imagine all those people down in Times Square, just… just kissing strangers? All because of, what, the time of the year? Getting twenty dollar hats and stupid novelty sunglasses you can only wear for one day, tourist madness, all night cleanup for—”

Me: it's a PeterFlash fic Also Me: it's an Everyone fic

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read: Not sure who hasn't done this, but if you'd like to, you definitely should go for it! Or even just answer the questions you want, I'm not your boss.

#asked and answered #kinda?? i was tagged #tag game #kita talks writing #i am absolutely not normal about The Look of You though I'm seriously so like... i love that one so much #it's my new comfort fic #that and CMEM hehehe #it was a great year for writing actually

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midnightprelude · 1 year

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Major Arcana: Lovers, Reversed

Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children; sexual dysfunction

It was, Rilienus could admit, a relief. He knew they’d barely scratched the surface of the spell. He knew that. And yet, he could sit in the courtyard in the sunshine and listen to Dorian’s voice, watch him play with the twins, see the trio of smiles that made his heart thunder with pride and adoration. Home. His.

Well. Not his. Not theirs. But they couldn’t return to their townhome in Minrathous. Not yet. It was warded, yes, but his parents manor was protected - not just the walls but the grounds, the trees, the lake… The land was Maecilia and any encroachment was more than trespassing. It was war.

Halward Pavus, Rilienus thought grimly, might not give a damn about Dorian, or their family, or their lives, but he’d damn well not risk acknowledging what he’d done in a public forum.

So. His parents’ home. Safety was what they needed right now. Isolation.

He squinted as Plini’s panpipes drifted in and out of actual melody, but the boy was having fun. There was plenty of time for him to learn the skill, if he wanted it. Rilienus flexed his jaw as the notes soared sharp again and considered whether he could just… mute the noise for a little while. No, he reminded himself. He was conserving his mana. He leaned back on the chaise, resting his book on his knee, and accepted that it was just going to sound awful for a little while. Sharp notes and big smiles and Dorian swinging Isobel in a circle so her toes brushed through the water spilling from the fountain.

Their life.

Their life that the monster had stolen from them.

The thought made him burn.

The audacity of it. The cruelty. And that was before the cost. The cost to Dorian. The cost, in blood, that Rilienus knew had been spent to accomplish the grisly deed.

He didn’t find blood magic nearly as offensive as Dorian did. As many mages, at least, purported to. It had its values, when used sparingly and with purpose. He used it himself each time he sank into Dorian’s dreams through the sieve. But that was his own blood. And what it took to weave a Rishiri…

He could only be grateful that Dorian hadn’t yet asked about that. Wondered. Dug. It would break his beautiful heart.

Dorian, who was laughing as he set their daughter lightly on her feet and the two of them wobbled, dizzy, to join Rilienus on the outstretched picnic blanket. He lay on his side, next to Rilienus, pulling the basket of freshly picked cherries closer to him.

“I think you were on that chapter the last time I checked in,” Dorian chuckled, nudging him with his foot.

Rilienus set the book aside, rolling to face him, and brushed the sweet curve of Dorian’s bang back from his brow. “You’re much more interesting than Nevarran shroud weaving techniques.” Plini was trying to climb up the cherry tree after his sister. “Tired yet?”

“Not just yet,” Dorian hummed, nibbling on a cherry, spitting out the pit. Before it landed on the earth, wings sprouted and a fat honeybee flew off towards the manor. “Though, I’d give them about half an hour before they crash. Maybe less.”

“They missed you.” Rilienus leaned closer to breathe the scent of Dorian’s sweat from his jaw, touching the arch of his clavicle peeking from beneath the crisp linen tunic. “You smell good.”

“Yes?” Dorian smiled up at him, warm and easy. “You’re sure it isn’t the cherries?”

“Should I check?” Rilienus nuzzled his cheek, enjoying the soft beard that had grown in while it lasted. Trimmed and conditioned, smelling of spices and sweet oil. He followed the curve of Dorian’s cheek to his lips, sighing. Cherries on his breath. Mint and tart from the lemonade. “It’s you,” he murmured, smoothing his palm up Dorian’s chest. “Definitely you.”

Dorian laced their fingers together, leaning closer. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Rilienus cupped the back of his neck, nibbling at his lower lip, an ache rising in him. “I can be very kind, to you,” he sighed, squeezing Dorian’s hand as he slipped his foot past the man’s sun-warmed ankle. “Very kind indeed.”

Dorian hissed, eyes tightly shut as he pulled away. He exhaled sharply, his skin suddenly pale. “Kaffas, I’m-“ Dorian winced, hands clenching in the blanket. “It’s the spell again, I think.”

“What-“ Rilienus touched his shoulder, glancing towards the children in the tree. “Dorian-“

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

Rilienus yanked back, holding his hands up and quickly looked around. Nothing Dorian could use for a weapon anywhere nearby, thank the gods, but there was still his prodigious talent to manage. He could still remember the smell of flesh when Herminius had lay crumpled in front of the library. “Calm. Be calm. Dorian. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you,” he said slowly and quietly.

Dorian’s breathing slowed, his fingers unclenching from their fists. His face was still pained when he finally opened his eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”

Rilienus shook his head. “I’m going to send the twins back to the house. Okay?”

“I-“ Dorian nodded, looking dejected. “Take them. I’ll be here.”

“It isn’t you. I’m just taking precautions. Do you understand?” he asked, even as he climbed to his feet. “Please- Please stay here. No one’s angry. Plin! Bella! Avia wanted you to join her for tea in the butterfly garden. Come along!” He caught Isobel around the waist when she ran towards Dorian. “Come on. There might not be any biscuits left if you tarry. Pater’s taking a rest for a moment.”

He carried her, taking Plini’s hand, and brought them back to the safety of the house and the cradle of his mother’s arms before he returned to the orchard. The blanket was rolled up. The grass flattened where they’d lain. “Dorian?”

Dorian stepped out from behind a nearby cherry tree, the kohl that lined his eyes hopelessly smudged. “I can’t be with you the way you want me to be. I can’t be trusted around my own children. Am I a monster?”

“No.” Rilienus shook his head roughly, taking a step towards him and then stopping, holding his palms out to his sides. “No. You’re not a monster. A monster did this to you and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He shifted helplessly from one foot to another. “I trust you with them. I do. It’s only that the last time you- I didn’t want them to see, if-“

“I wouldn’t want them to see me hurt anyone, either. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting them.” Dorian dipped his chin. “Perhaps I should stay away from them until this mess is- Though, what if I’m always like this?”

“You shouldn’t stay away from them.” Rilienus wrapped his arms around himself, hating how lost and sad Dorian looked when he’d been laughing so recently. “Just me. You should stay away from me. It’s my fault.”

“How in the world is it your fault?”

“I knew you didn’t- I knew you weren’t ready. I forgot.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I was caught up in the moment. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You shouldn’t have to think.” Dorian stepped closer to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “This- This is okay, I think. I don’t- It’s hard to tell what is going to cause… a reaction.”

Rilienus shuddered, fighting a sob. There wasn’t room for the both of them to need support. Dorian was ensorcelled. He needed to be helped and warmed and given affection and love until he was whole again. Whole. Dorian would be whole again. He would be, no matter what. Rilienus swallowed carefully. “I hate this,” he breathed. “I hate what he did to you. I hate it, Dorian.”

“What-“ Dorian sighed, holding him closer. “Your father wouldn’t tell me who you thought cast the spell.”

“The spell.” Rilienus exhaled shakily, resting his forehead to Dorian’s shoulder. ‘Spell’ seemed like such a small word for the orchestra of pain surrounding them. “No. He shouldn’t.”

“But you’re confident.” Dorian rubbed slow circles against his spine.

“If I am wrong…” Rilienus shook his head. “I do not believe that I am.”

“We should tell my family.” Dorian cupped his cheek, glancing between his eyes. “If our enemies are moving against us, my father could be in danger.”

He was tired. He was so fucking tired. Even after days of rest, Rilienus could have easily fallen back into bed and slept for another week. At least. He studied the lines of the branches past Dorian’s head, thinking carefully about the leaves and how they attached to the wood, where they clustered and why, the name of each shade of green and red and brown. “Alright,” he agreed quietly, having no intention at all of following through. “When you can remember, we will let them know.”

“I thought you were almost certain.” Dorian lifted his brows.

“It doesn’t matter what I know. It matters what you know.” Rilienus schooled his features, drawing himself back to soft silver beneath drawn brows. “Because you do know. The memory is there.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to dig again,” Dorian said softly, pressing their foreheads together. “Soon. Not yet.”

He couldn’t very well blame him. Rilienus had been pushing him, nudging him, taking him around and around through his own memories on a loop for weeks. Just to get to here. “…did you… did you want to hurt me again this time?”

“No.” Dorian grimaced. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It hurts. I was surprised. Scared. But I know who I am; I didn’t lose that.”

Rilienus nodded slowly. “…what does it feel like? Where?”

“A sharp pain behind my eyes. Nausea. Everything cramps. Is that common with Rishiri?”

Rilienus bit the back of his tongue, hard. “Some variants.” Variants someone very intent on their goal would have used, knowing that Carastes’ favored pupil and the Consiliare’s researcher would be dead set on reversing that goal. “Is it… better now?”

“Only an afterthought, now. It abated as soon as you moved away.” Dorian exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “Is there a way to make me whole again?”

“Every tapestry can be reduced to its original parts. It’s only a matter of time, energy, and determination.” Rilienus hesitated, then touched Dorian’s cheek. “I’m going to get you back. Do you believe me?”

“You showed me that spatial correspondence is not only possible, but energy efficient.” Dorian smiled wearily. “If you say it can be done, it can.”

“You showed me that figural transformation doesn’t require runes and wards and careful preparation,” Rilienus told him, twining their fingers together. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

“Another week. Maybe two.” Dorian kissed his forehead gently. “Then we’ll try again, hm?”

“We will.” Rilienus stayed where he was, lingering with the sensation of Dorian’s lips for as long as he could. So long as he was here, home, and stayed.

#dorian pavus #rilienus maecilia #dorian x rilienus #dragon age fanfiction #30daysofdorian #midnight writes #oftachancer writes #major arcana fic

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