#:/ my default is to assume that nobody wants me there and i can rarely gather the strength to be there anyway

[immortalsins]

self-isolation during times of stress is pretty bad actually shame it took me 2 years of uni to realise this

[hungryflowers]

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them. 

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.  

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.  

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t  deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness. 

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while. 

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment. 

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead. 

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light. 

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it. 

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place. 

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking. 

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his. 

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away. 

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed. 

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him. 

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight. 

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.  

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again. 

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively. 

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

 The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings. 

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan. 

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated. 

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up. 

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely. 

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get. 

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat. 

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded. 

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

                           ______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows. 

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

 Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils. 

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr. 

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings. 

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties. 

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for. 

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste. 

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down. 

 They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy. 

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold.  He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue. 

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets. 

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity. 

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis. 

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm. 

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again. 

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face. 

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard. 

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case. 

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low. 

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all. 

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused. 

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming. 

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.” 

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion. 

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now. 

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise. 

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss. 

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock. 

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough. 

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms. 

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers. 

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.  

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth. 

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen. 

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed. 

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue. 

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face. 

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry. 

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside. 

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything. 

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance. 

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much. 

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did. 

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation. 

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap. 

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists. 

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more. 

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery. 

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy. 

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him. 

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind. 

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily. 

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts. 

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot. 

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous. 

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them. 

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before. 

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead. 

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain. 

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati. 

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.  

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to. 

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him. 

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often. 

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see. 

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love  Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest. 

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax. 

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage. 

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl. 

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms. 

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations. 

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times. 

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters. 

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately. 

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish. 

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts. 

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable. 

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the  pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax. 

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream. 

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm. 

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets. 

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely. 

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved. 

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose. 

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love. 

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

[thatguyequity]

« WARNING WARNING WARNING » The security of this file has been compromised. Information contained below may not be accurate.

Due to a pending investigation by the Foundation Information Security Division, this file has been [LOCKED]. All attempts to access this file will be monitored, and attempting to edit this file is strictly prohibited. ————————————– For more information, see Special Addendum 2996.A below. ___________________________________ Item #: SCP-2996

Object Class: Euclid Safe Neutralized

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2996 is to be contained within a standard Incorporeal Entity Vacuum Chamber at Site 81. This chamber is to be fitted with 4 Non-Physical Displacement Neutralizers (nPDN). SCP-2996 may be allowed to request certain items for entertainment.

Once weekly, SCP-2996 must undergo a routine psychological evaluation with an on-site psychologist in order to properly evaluate SCP-2996’s mental state. Due to current concerns about the state of SCP-2996’s mental health, the appropriate use of Class-H Electrostatic Amnestic Treatment has been approved, if necessary.

Updated Containment Procedures: Due to the effective use of the nPDNs, it is possible to now perform physical examinations of SCP-2996. These exams must be performed once weekly as part of an ongoing effort to collect information regarding the physical nature of incorporeal entities.

Updated Containment Procedures: As of 08/19/2012, SCP-2996 has been declared neutralized. All aforementioned containment procedures are no longer required.

Description: SCP-2996 is a Class II Incorporeal Humanoid Entity, initially discovered in an abandoned home in Nashville, Indiana. SCP-2996 appears to be a young human female of European descent with black hair and blue eyes, and a number of visible wounds across the entire body, including a major gunshot wound to the right eye. Although SCP-2996 is by default an incorporeal entity, the use of nPDN devices has allowed Foundation personnel to “anchor” SCP-2996 into a physical state during examinations. It is currently hypothesized that the use of these devices, along with other aspects of containment, is the source of SCP-2996’s deteriorating mental/emotional state.

SCP-2996 claims to be eight year old Emily Nash, the subject of a murder in Nashville, Indiana, in 1929. Data recovered from various sources have supported the claim that an Emily Nash was found dead in her home, however, the listed cause of death was suicide. During interviews, SCP-2996 has rejected any evidence that supports suicide, and has vehemently remarked on several occasions that its killer was a close friend and neighbor, one thirteen year old James Franklin. The existence of this individual in Nashville in 1929 has not been verified, however, efforts to collect additional information are ongoing.

Psychiatric Evaluation Results: There is concern, to me, about the state of SCP-2996’s emotional health. The object clearly is at odds with evidence presented to it, as well as its current state of containment. Throughout interviews, it has become clear that SCP-2996 believed that it lingers in this world in order to enact revenge upon its killer, and that it was a powerful, unbound spirit. This, of course, is in direct conflict with both information that we have provided to SCP-2996 in regards to its death, as well as its containment within Site 81. SCP-2996, then, is no longer certain about a number of things, which has led to increased anxiety in the subject, as well as depression and suicidal thoughts. Given the nature of its being, the latter is of utmost concern.

-Dr. David Rudolph

Addendum 2996.1: Initial Psychiatric Evaluation Interview 06/05/2012

+ Show Interview

Date: June 5th, 2012 Interviewer: Dr. David Rudolph Interviewee: SCP-2996

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Rudolph: Good afternoon, SCP-2996, and welcome to S-

Dr. Rudolph is abruptly cut off by the sound of SCP-2996 thrashing against its containment cell.

Dr. Rudolph: I see. Well, my name is Dr. Rudolph, and I’m going to be handling your entry evaluat-

SCP-2996: …you are the slime of this wretched earth just like him and just like him I will find your heart through your throat and pull the life out of you…

Dr. Rudolph: (Motions to mute speakers) Right, SCP-2996, this will be much easier for both of us if you’re willing to comply with these examinations. Unfortunately, I’m not sure how much we’re going to be able to accomplish today, so let’s just postpone this until you’re feeling a little better.

[END LOG]

Addendum 2996.2: Psychiatric Evaluation Interview 07/01/2012

+ Show Interview

Date: July 1st, 2012 Interviewer: Dr. David Rudolph Interviewee: SCP-2996

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Rudolph: Good morning, SCP-2996. Are you feeling up to talking today?

SCP-2996: (SCP-2996 is huddled in the corner of its containment cell) You speak with vermin tongues that lick your vermin lips and you think I would want to speak to you? (SCP-2996 spits towards the observation deck)

Dr. Rudolph: I understand your frustration, SCP-2996, but you really must learn to cooperate with us here. Nobody wants to harm you, we just want to talk.

SCP-2996: (Laughs) I am an unbound spirit of torment, you mortal wraith. I will not have words with you. I will not stop until I can squeeze the life out of his writhing throat.

Dr. Rudolph: SCP-2996, we’ve been over this before. The evidence we’ve gathered makes it clear that-

SCP-2996: He murdered me in cold blood! He swore on my damnation! Do not speak to me of your foul eviden- (SCP-2996 lunges towards the observation deck, colliding with the glass. SCP-2996 appears shaken.)

Dr. Rudolph: SCP-2996, I am willing to turn off our Neutralizers and allow you to return to your incorporeal form, but only if you will calm yourself and speak to me.

SCP-2996 becomes violent, thrashing throughout its containment cell and beating the walls with various parts of its body. Security personnel enter the cell and sedate SCP-2996. Dr. Rudolph calls an end to the interview.

[END LOG]

Site Assistant Director’s Note: Pending approval, Dr. Rudolph has been transferred to Site 18. Dr. Angela Kidwell will assume acting lead on all of Dr. Rudolph’s active Site 81 projects.

Addendum 2996.3: Psychiatric Evaluation Interview 07/28/2012

+ Show Interview

Date: July 28th, 2012 Interviewer: Dr. Angela Kidwell Interviewee: SCP-2996

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Kidwell: Good afternoon, SCP-2996. You wanted to speak to me?

SCP-2996 walks slowly around its containment cell.

SCP-2996: I do not understand. How am I kept here?

Dr. Kidwell: Well, we’re currently utilizing a couple of different devices, prima-

SCP-2996: I am an unbound spirit! I do not understand, I am a being of revenge, and… (SCP-2996 trails off)

Dr. Kidwell: Yes, well… we have machines that can hold entities like yourself in containment. We want to learn more about you, where you came from, how you function.

SCP-2996: But… I am a spirit of hate, and-

Dr. Kidwell: …and we contained you, SCP-2996. I am willing to make some allowances for you, but I really do need your help first.

SCP-2996 is silent and no longer responds to questioning. Dr. Kidwell ends interview.

[END LOG]

Psychiatrist’s Note: I really do believe we’re making progress with SCP-2996. The subject no longer tends towards violence in its interactions, and might be willing to further communicate during additional interviews. I suggest we try to not stress the issue, but rather allow it to happen naturally.

Addendum 2996.4: Psychiatric Evaluation Interview 08/04/2012

+ Show Interview

Date: August 4th, 2012 Interviewer: Dr. Angela Kidwell Interviewee: SCP-2996

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Kidwell: When we talked last, SCP-2996, you were telling me how you felt about your containment, yes?

SCP-2996: I just… I feel like I got so much hate in me. I got a thing inside that wants me to squeeze the life out of Jimmy, but… I seen the evidence, doc. I read the reports you gave me.

Dr. Kidwell: I understand how difficult this might be for you, SCP-2996. That’s the purpose of our research, though. So we can try to offer you, and other entities like you, some sense of normalcy.

SCP-2996: (SCP-2996 is silent for a moment) Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was just so angry and so confused, dying didn’t settle anything. Maybe I did this, all of this, to myself.

Dr. Kidwell: I know this is hard for you. But this is a big step, and it’s one I think you need to take. You’ve been given a rare opportunity, to see past the anger and to start over.

SCP-2996: Do… do you think that’s true?

Dr. Kidwell: I do.

SCP-2996: (Smiles) Ok. I believe you.

[END LOG]

Addendum 2996.5: Final Notes 08/28/2012

+ Show Notes

After a number of therapy sessions with Dr. Kidwell and additional counselors on the Site-81 staff, SCP-2996 became significantly less prone to violent outbursts. Through her treatment she was able to come to terms with the events surrounding and resulting in her death, and was able to move past them.

On August 15th, 2012, SCP-2996 was given a final physiological examination, where it was determined that her anomalous qualities no longer existed. SCP-2996 was, by all accounts, a normal human girl.

As a result of this, on August 18th, 2012, SCP-2996 was determined to be “neutralized”. A final round of amnestic treatment was prepared while Site-81 staff sent a request to Overwatch Command that the child, previously SCP-2996, be released to a family desiring to adopt a child. The request was written by Dr. Kidwell, notarized by Dr. Bishop (Site-81 Head of Research), and signed by Director Aktus.

On August 28th, 2012, the request was approved. The child, renamed Samantha Pendleton, was released to a Foundation front adoption agency after a round of amnestic treatment.

SPECIAL ADDENDUM 2996.A: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION / LEVEL 4 EYES ONLY

+ Enter Level 4 Credentials

. . .

Access Granted

AUTOMATED MESSAGEFROM: SITE-81 ADMINISTRATIVE STAFF via SITE-19 ADMINISTRATIVE STAFFTO: LEVEL 4 PERSONNEL

On 01/19/2016, automated Foundation systems reported several errors originating within a Site-17 data sector containing this file. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that certain parts of this file have been lost, changed, or outright fabricated. The source of the edit is unknown, as information pertaining to the change has been corrupted or otherwise lost.

Notable discrepancies include:

The existence of SCP-2996 at Site-81 (though Site-19 records conflict with this),Dr. Kidwell’s assignment to any projects at Site-81,Director Aktus’ knowledge of any such entity existing within Site-81,The existence of a “Samantha Pendleton”.

Other discrepancies may exist, but are impossible to ascertain due to the significance of the breach in security that has occurred. It is currently believed that individuals involved may have also been amnesticized, as personnel memory has conflicted with recovered data.

Information recovery teams are attempting to access earlier versions of this file in an attempt to gather more accurate information pertaining to SCP-2996. Video observation logs and audio files have been removed from primary Foundation data archives and are considered lost.

Personnel are to report any information pertaining to this file or the security breach to Site-81 administrative staff.

THIS IS AN AUTOMATED MESSAGE FROM FOUNDATION SITE-81 via SITE-19. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHANGE THE CONTENTS OF THIS MESSAGE.

[aspire-to-the-light]

Two kinds of morality

It seems like, leaving aside the high-level discoursey academic things like utilitarianism vs Kant vs virtue ethics, there's two kinds of morality which are different in an important-in-the-real-world way.

I instinctively want to call one collectivist/social/universalist and the other individualist, but those have so much baggage, and every time I talk about this people get confused and make weird comparisons to socialism vs capitalism. So I’m going to call them collaborativist and soloist, though equally good names might be obligatorist and supererogatorist. (And I welcome suggestions for better names because apparently “collaborativism” is already a confusing thing in social epistemology.)

The collaborativist view:

It’s selfish and bad to refuse to help others when they need it.

Everyone is worth the same, and everyone’s happiness is equally important. The goodness of actions should be evaluated based on whether they were the best for everyone, or whether they helped as much as possible.

Everyone has needs for social things like friendship and community, so everyone should help everyone else.

Everyone has different skills, so by default, people should work together and combine their best skills. Obviously there will be times when someone’s alone and can’t contact their allies, so they have to be self-reliant, but that’s a rare and unfortunate situation.

If someone is bad at a skill and someone else is good at it, the person who is good at it should help the person who is bad at it.

Resources should go to whoever needs them most.

If I have a resource and someone else needs it more, I should give it to them. (It’s OK for them to demand it from me, and call me selfish if I don’t give it to them, provided they genuinely need it more than I do.)

It’s immoral for people to have a whole bunch of resources, and spend them on private jets rather than on helping others.

If there’s an optimal way to handle things that keeps everyone as happy as we can handle with our limited resources, we should do things the optimal way. Eg. if there’s a disagreement in our house on who gets to use the bathroom first in the morning, priority should go to people with jobs that are more demanding about getting in on time in the morning, and/or people who take the longest should go last.

If someone figures out a plan for making everybody better off, then everyone is obliged to work together on that plan, even the people who wouldn’t be as well-off under the plan.

The soloist view:

It’s selfish and bad to be a burden on others. It’s rude to ask for help unless you really need it.

It doesn’t matter if an action wasn’t the best action for everyone, or wasn’t maximally helpful; you can’t actually condemn someone for it unless they broke a law or social rule. You can’t oblige anyone to sacrifice themselves to help others.

Everyone knows best what they personally want, so everyone should look after themselves.

Everyone is responsible for themselves, so by default, everyone should solve their own problems on their own. Obviously there will be times that someone really can’t do something and has to ask for help, but that’s a rare and unfortunate situation.

If someone is good at a skill, that’s their own skill. If anyone else wants their help, they should have to offer them something they want in return.

If a resource is someone’s private property, then it’s rude to tell the owner what they can or can’t do with it. It’s theirs; if they want to burn it, they can do that, and nobody else gets a say in it.

It doesn’t matter what’s moral or immoral according to some busybody; if I don’t want to help others then I shouldn’t have to.

What matters is me and what I want. Everyone else is instrumentally valuable. People I care about are more valuable than people I don’t, and I choose who I care about based on who’s close to me.

Everyone should handle their own things, however they see fit. It doesn’t matter what’s “optimal”, it just matters who has the rights to do what. Eg. if you own a house, and the people who live with you start talking about how it’d be better for everyone if you used the bathroom last because you work from home and you’re really slow, you’re fully entitled to just ignore them. It’s your house, and if you want to hog the bathroom until noon every day, you can.

If someone figures out a plan for making everyone better off, then it might be good and nice to participate, but you don’t have to. Anyone who tries to force you is an asshole.

Clarifications

Again, please don’t get confused and try to relate this to socialism/authoritarianism vs capitalism/libertarianism. It’s perfectly possible to be a collaborativist who supports market libertarianism because they think it’s the best way to gather price information and ensure a prosperous society that can feed everyone, or to be a soloist who wants an authoritarian central government to better enforce everyone’s rights and ensure the ‘worthy’ are rewarded. You can be a collaborativist but think that trying to force people to do things usually backfires, or a soloist who thinks that in practice it’s good to comply with people’s requests because then you’ll build up social capital to get more of what you want from them later. And, of course, people are complicated; plenty of people are soloist in The Online Discourse but collaborativist about chores in their household, or loudly signal collaborativism but fiercely resist if you ask them for help with anything.

It might actually be more complicated than I’m modelling it; I’m thinking of “people should work together and help each other” as inherently connected to “people are obliged to be moral”, and of “people should look out for themselves” as inherently connected to “people can do whatever the hell they want”, but it might be worth separating into two separate distinctions of obligatorist/supererogatorist and collaborativist/soloist, depending on whether any obligatorist-soloists or supererogatorist-collaborativists exist.

I’m extremely collaborativist, so if there’s merit to the soloist view, I’m probably not doing it justice or treating it charitably. If you’re a soloist, feel free to reblog with any pro-soloism additions; I’m curious what people would say, because I’ve never heard a solid defence of soloism, only libertarian arguments that might transfer well to soloism.

It’s a spectrum; some people are on the fence, some people lean mildly one way or the other, some people are very strongly soloist or very strongly collaborativist. If you lean mildly one way or the other, you probably never notice the distinction or find it important. However, strong collaborativists clash really badly with strong soloists, and can tend to be incompatible in a seriously bad way.

There’s a whole variety of ways they can clash:

Different ideas of what’s rude

Collaborativist asks a soloist for help with something, because they feel like that’s just the natural thing to do; they’d be happy for others to ask them for help if the situations were reversed. The soloist becomes annoyed, thinking the collaborativist is being selfish and demanding and imposing a burden on them.

Soloists use resources in ways that make collaborativists really angry. Soloists buy private jets, collaborativists look at this and think it’s incredibly selfish and wasteful and immoral. Soloists think it’s rude to shout at people for buying private jets with their own money. (Soloists might also think it’s wasteful, but wouldn’t condemn other soloists for it. Collaborativists think these people ought to be punished, or at least ostracized.)

Collaborativists request what they feel are reasonable adjustments that would make something better for them. Soloists think that the collaborativists are being rude by making demands about a thing/space/project/agreement that isn’t even theirs, while collaborativists think the soloists are being rude by refusing to make reasonable adjustments.

Unequal relationships

Relationships between collaborativists and soloists can end up very unequal, because the collaborativist thinks that they’re morally obliged to help their friend/partner as much as they reasonably can, and the soloist doesn’t think they’re obliged to help at all unless they want to. Sometimes there’s an element of typical mind; the collaborativist helps and assumes they’ll be helped in return, whereas the soloist just assumes their collaborativist friend is unusually altruistic and has lots of time on their hands. (The people in the relationship don’t always feel like it’s unequal - a collaborativist might think they’re morally obliged to help others even if the others won’t pay it back - but it’s unequal from the outside view.)

On the other hand, sometimes typical mind can make relationships unequal the other way around - the collaborativist feels comfortable asking for help often, whereas the soloist doesn’t ask for help unless it’s an emergency. Both of them typical-mind and assume the other person thinks like them, so the collaborativist thinks that their soloist partner is just super competent and doesn’t want help very often, while the soloist assumes their collaborativist partner must just have lots of serious emergencies for some reason. So the soloist provides their collaborativist partner with support, then gets angry when they realise the collaborativist’s requests for support were unjustified (to them) by the non-seriousness of the situation.

(This isn’t to say collaborativists can’t have unequal relationships with other collaborativists, or soloists can’t have unequal relationships with other soloists.)

Fear

Collaborativists are sometimes scared of soloists. They’re scared that they’ll need something, and the soloist will respond, “Well, you can’t have it, fuck you, it’s mine.” Or they’re afraid that a soloist will harm them and be the only person able to undo the harm, and will shrug and say “you aren’t my responsibility”. (Serious soloists don’t understand this fear; if someone doesn’t want to give you something, they’re not obliged to!)

Soloists are sometimes scared of collaborativists. They’re scared that collaborativists will try to pressure them to do things they don’t want to do, or that collaborativists will try and make them conform to a group and not let them have their own idiosyncratic ideas about morality. (Serious collaborativists don’t understand this fear; if you’re tempted to do bad selfish things, then someone should pressure you to avoid giving in to that temptation!)

Neither of the fears are unjustified.

Soloists, at their worst, think they’re justified in doing anything they like. Good soloists may not believe in positive rights (obligations to help others), but they very much do believe in negative rights (obligations to avoid hurting others, imposing on others, or trespassing on others’ property). Soloists who excuse themselves from respecting negative rights - “if they didn’t want to be hurt they should have taken preventative measures” or “well, I didn’t agree to that law” or “morality is relative, and I think killing people is fine” - are terrifying. So are soloists who think the rules don’t apply to you - the classic is a parent who thinks everyone has the right to do as they wish with their own property, who thinks their children are their property. Most soloists aren’t like that, but it’s understandable for collaborativists to be afraid of that when they notice someone’s a soloist.

Collaborativists, at their worst, can be people who simply Decide What’s Best For Everyone and attack anyone who won’t comply. Good collaborativists believe in working together to figure out what’s best for everyone, but shitty ones sometimes dismiss people’s genuine reasons for why a policy badly hurts them or why they can’t do something as “just that person being selfish”. Good collaborativists also impose the same standards on themselves as everyone else - others might be obligated to help them when they’re in trouble, but they’re equally obligated to help others as much as they can. Collaborativists who think everyone else is obliged to help them, but for whatever reason have stopped believing that they should help others, are the shitty burdens on everyone around them that soloists fear. Most collaborativists aren’t like that, but it’s understandable for soloists to be afraid of that when they notice someone’s a collaborativist.

Arguing

Collaborativists and soloists don’t live together very well. Collaborativists say “Look, it’s just optimal for everyone if we all pitch in to this renovation project!” and the soloists are all, “fuck you, no, I choose what I do with my time and money!” and the collaborativists think the soloists are freeloads and there is fighting.

Collaborativists and soloists spend ages arguing past each other. The collaborativists argue “this change would make everyone better off”, and the soloists don’t think that matters. The soloists argue “this is mine” and the collaborativists are deeply confused as to why that’s a valid reason to be immoral. The collaborativists keep presenting arguments as to why the change would be good, and the soloist keeps presenting evidence that the thing is their property / under their control / within their rights, and neither side is ever going to persuade the other this way.

Collaborativist says “we should do X with resource Y because that meets everyone’s needs best”. When someone responds “nah, resource Y’s mine and I don’t feel like it”, collaborativists go “??? does not parse ??? what does this word ‘mine’ mean???? where is it written in the utility function??????”

Meanwhile, the soloist feels like “why are you attempting to apply morality-arguments to my decisions?? who gave you the right??? what are you trying to offer me???”

Different expectations about sharing spaces and resources

Collaborativists don’t mind if someone else steals some of their milk or borrows their torch without asking, provided that person doesn’t kick up a fuss when they do the same thing back. Soloists often do mind very much if someone steals some of their milk. Due to different preferences, different assumptions are made about which resources are communal and which aren’t - the collaborativist assumes you wouldn’t have left it out in the common space if you weren’t OK with others helping themselves, the soloist assumes that helping yourself to other people’s things is okay only with explicit permission.

For a collaborativist, crashing on someone’s couch is just the done thing, provided you’re not in their way and not causing any trouble. They’re grateful to the person who let them crash, but they don’t think it’s a big deal; friends help each other out, that’s what friends do. For a soloist, offering someone your couch is a big deal. Collaborativists crashing on soloists’ couches can overstay their welcome without realising it.

Collaborativists invest time and energy into a project, assuming it’s a collective thing and that the final product will be used to benefit everyone as much as possible. They feel betrayed when the soloists reveal that actually they’re just planning to use this project for their own benefit.

Why it matters

I am very collaborativist. I am collaborativist from my scalp to my toes. I am collaborativist in a passionate fierce evangelical kind of way. I instinctively treat everyone else like they’re a collaborativist, and try to help other people whenever I can on the assumption that they’d do the same for me. I believe in a social contract.

(The entire concept of “supererogatory” just baffles me. I fundamentally don’t get it, and have to remind myself to Breathe Calmly when people act as though it’s a thing. Of course people are obligated to be as moral as possible! If you could morally justify doing something other than the most moral thing, it wouldn’t be the most moral thing!)

Having this model has helped me humanise soloists a lot. It’s not that the soloists are inherently evil selfish people who want to take from the group but never give anything back, they just want to neither take nor give because they don’t believe in the social contract. It just looks to me like they take and don’t give, because from their POV they’re being given no-strings-attached gifts, whereas from mine they’re being included in The Group.

To be clear, I am not trying to start Discourse. I do not think it is in the slightest worthwhile for soloists and collaborativists to have a fight over whose moral system is better. I suspect the axioms that make you collaborativist or soloist are baked into your brain at a sufficiently low level that we aren’t going to change them.

I have found it really useful to be consciously aware both that I’m a collaborativist, and that not everyone else is. I can’t assume that everyone else agrees that “x is morally the best course of action” means “we are all obliged to do x”. I can also be more careful about watching out for soloists; it would be a bad idea for me to start a group house with a bunch of soloists. I’m also more conscious of telling soloists that I want them to do x for me before I do y for them - ie making it a deal, which is something that works within a soloist framework - rather than just doing y for them because that’s what Decent People Do, and then getting annoyed because they haven’t done x for me despite that being what Decent People Do.

[9thbutterfly]

butterfly thoughts: Christmas and useless fucking crap

Can I just rant for a moment about how fucking much I hate compulsory Christmas presents? Both having to give and receiving them.

Because, look, I don’t need more stuff. I already have too much stuff, and I never use most of it.

And I can’t throw out or give away most of it, not just because I don’t want to hurt the people who gave it to me, on the off chance that they ask about me, but also because it all means something, because it was given to me by people who are important to me, for occasions that were important – so how do you just throw that away? But in the meantime, it’s all taking up space, and gathering dust, and I hate how much time I have to spend organising stuff and keeping it clean.

And even things that I can theoretically use up, like soaps and candles and shampoo and tea– do you know how many soaps I already have? And how rarely I light candles? I’m drowning in them. And I would really rather buy my own shampoo and tea, because I know best what I like. And seriously, fuck off with the chocolate, I don’t like chocolate.

And having to give people things is so stressful! I don’t mind expensive, I can afford it, but I know everyone else already has all the stuff they need, why should I add more useless crap to their household too? And more than that – it’s so fucking hard to buy presents for someone you don’t actually know that well. I mean, I like my youngest brother, but I don’t spend a lot of time with him/talk to him a lot, so I don’t know what he’s interested in other than that one football team, and I’m going to assume that if he wants any of their merch, he just buys it for himself, it’s not like he doesn’t have enough money.

And that’s without getting into my boyfriend’s family. They decided last year that they’d do secret santa, to cut down on the amount of presents everyone had to buy, but that doesn’t make it that much less stressful for me, because I don’t really know any of these people, so I can only buy them useless crap instead of something they could really use, and they can only buy me useless crap.

And don’t even get me started on the drawing of the names. Because we need to be all together, so we can draw again if someone draws their own name, or that of their partner, which is not allowed, because it would be way too simple, and we might not give them useless crap. (No, I know, I know, it is because the assumption is that you would give your partner a present anyway, secret santa or not.) And getting everything in the same place at the same time happens pretty rarely. So we finally ended up doing it over skype, and I swear, next year I’m either finding a secret santa generator that allows you to specify “person x is not allowed to draw person y” (haven’t found one of those yet, but then I also haven’t spent a lot of time looking), or having my boyfriend program one. (He needs the practise anyway, for the class he will start taking soon.)

And the other thing I will demand next year is a wishlist from everyone, because enough with the useless crap, seriously.

I prefer my family’s method so much. Some years ago, my mother, my youngest brother and I decided that, since we all have everything we need, our default will be “no presents”. If you run across something that you think would be absolutely perfect for someone, you can still buy it, but nobody feels hurt if they don’t get a present. (Our other brother, who is disabled, still gets presents, because he would not understand our reasoning – for him Christmas equals presents, and he gets really excited about that. But you can literally give him a packet of printer paper or some clothes, and he will be excited about that, too, so it’s not as difficult.)

The funny thing was that last year, between my boyfriend and my grandmother being there for the first time, and everyone apparently having a lot of ideas for presents, we still had quite a lot of presents – which led to my youngest brother looking at the pile and saying, “Wow. When we still gave each other presents, we did not have this many presents.”

And now I should go through my “shopping list” tag to see if I have any books I want, since my boyfriend absolutely wants to get me something. (I already had an idea for something I can make – or hope I can make. And I only got that idea after we had talked about the possibility of not giving each other anything and so I stopped stressing about it.)