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himboarcher · 4 years

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reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

#negativity cw #i guess #anyway this is not meant to say that you cannot enjoy grad.#but i'm tired of folks on this website acting like there aren't genuine problems with it #and saying that people just dislike it bc they hate travis etc etc #taz graduation #i genuinely don't expect anyone to read this bc it's so long #but here ya go.#long post

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harryandmolly · 5 years

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Complicit // 6

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (distinctly BDSM behaviors) (there are toys, do not panic), some forward movement

WC: 8.1k

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Shawn sits back in the armchair, watching his thumbnail pick at the seam of the expensive leather like he does when he’s antsy and can’t keep his hands to himself. He pulls his hand away and smoothes his sweaty palms down the thighs of his jeans.

He hasn’t really been listening to Andrew exchanging business-like pleasantries with his publicist Emily and Bex’s manager Chris. He’s anxious to hear about the next part of the call, the call they scheduled months ago as an official check in regarding the results from the PR strategy.

That’s what everyone keeps calling it. “The project” or “the strategy.” It’s a little maddening to Shawn still, who wakes up every day with the entire world thinking (and suddenly, it seems, caring) that he’s fucking Bex.

Not just fucking her. Loving her. Holding her hand. Kissing her neck in book shops while she browses even though her perfume is so strong he can barely stand to be within three feet of her. Bringing her home to meet his damn family.

They understood. Or they pretended to. His mum held his hand and listened while he spilled his guts about the whole thing -- the plan, the motivation behind it. The lie. If she judged him for it, she didn’t show it.

God, he hopes she doesn’t hate him for doing this. He tries not to think about how much she’d hate him if she knew what else he was up to.

The truth is, with Penny around, he’s gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing. Bex’s time is Bex’s time and Penny’s time is his time. Penny never asks about Bex, probably sensing he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Bex obviously has no idea about Penny. So it's become like a weird reward system -- he does what he needs to do to fulfill his contractual obligations. He makes it look good, brushing his fingers against the bare skin at the small of Bex’s back when he sees cameras, either professional lenses or when he feels the familiar heat of iPhones pointed in his direction. Then, when no one is watching him -- no one, not Andrew, not Bex, definitely not his mom -- he lets himself fall into her, into Penny.

He tunes back in once Emily starts talking, giving them reports on the status of the relationship stunt in the media. She starts spilling out data -- hashtag mentions, traditional media headline numbers, Twitter posts, all of which sound impressive to Shawn. He’s nodding, watching Andrew’s assistant frantically taking down all the info.

He looks to Andrew, who scrubs a hand down his face, dislodging his glasses slightly. Shawn frowns. He knows that face. He doesn’t like that face.

“Well that’s not where we need to be,” Chris pipes up. Andrew nods. Shawn blanches.

“We had really hoped Bex’s EP sales would be… well, significantly higher.” Chris runs through some numbers to demonstrate. Those Shawn understands better, having been through a few album release cycles himself. He chews on the inside of his lip and lets his knee start to bounce.

Andrew looks over. Shawn’s knee slows.

“There’s definitely more we can do,” Emily chirps, sounding undeterred, “We can certainly get them together more often, make sure he’s coming back to LA more between festivals, getting out and getting seen. We can step up the PDA, too.”

Shawn blinks. He’ll never get used to hearing them talk like this, it seems. Andrew nods and glances at Shawn again.

Shawn runs his tongue along his lower lip. His knee bounces faster. He closes his eyes. He thinks about his album. It’s his heart in song. It’s so deeply personal that when he thinks about its contents he goes pink all over. It’s his baby. It deserves this. It deserves whatever he can do to get it seen and heard and looked at not as the latest release from a YouTube-originated teen pop star but as legitimate art.

Shawn’s knee stops. He sits up and leans in, Andrew’s eyes trailing him.

“Yeah. Whatever we need,” he rasps.

Gus opens the door for her as Penny presses her red lacquered lips together. They’re wet and glossy and she’s in the kind of mood that makes her want to see it all over Shawn. In a similarly fiery red dress, she steps through the door to find him staring out the window. Or, she thinks he is until she catches his eyes in the reflection of the dark Hollywood night. Gus closes the door behind her.

Penny takes her time walking up behind him. His shoulders are so tense they practically skim his earlobes. She can feel the tension radiating from him. She sighs, settling her hands on his waist as she kisses the back of his ear.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.

He’s a little startled. She doesn’t usually ask. He must look wrecked. He shakes his head.

He made it through the meeting ok. He’s good under pressure in that sense. He can compartmentalize enough to get out of the room and somewhere private before things eat at him. But usually the longer he waits, the more intense it gets.

The worst part is knowing he agreed to all of this. He wasn’t coerced or forced or strategically nudged. He readily, knowingly said yes to kissing a girl he really barely knows in public just to get people to listen to his album.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He tries so hard not to let himself think about it like that most of the time. He knows there’s more complexity to it than that. But… is there really?

Penny watches him closely, trying to gauge what kind of mood he’s really in, how best she can release him from the cage of anxiety he’s trapped himself in. She turns him to face her and notes the tired circles under his eyes.

Truth be told, Penny was anxious about tonight before she saw him. The last night they were together after the Vertigo Magazine party, she found herself a little… unhinged.

She decides the necklace has too much power, like a dangerous talisman. After it was assessed by her insurance agent, she boxed it up and locked it in the safe in her storage room. It smarted a little -- actually, physically made her ache to put something so beautiful back into a box to keep it from the light of day. But it’s practical. She can’t wear an $80,000 necklace everyday any more than she can leave it on her necklace tree beside the cheap costume jewelry she inherited from her Aunt Letitia.

And after it was out of sight, it was soon out of mind. She and Shawn had a forced break when he went to Atlanta for his next festival. She relaxed. She did some yoga. She went out to dinner with Silver. She saw Julia at the Beverly Wilshire and got eaten so good it felt like waking up from a 12 hour night’s sleep. Her balance was back.

And then he texted to arrange a date the night after he got back. The balance was off again.

She’s aware as she looks up at him that the reality the necklace created is not gone just because the necklace is locked away. She still has to find a way to tackle the feeling she gets when he stares down at her with those big chestnut eyes and she wonders how much he can really see.

Shawn shifts like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. Penny swallows. The last few times he’s seen her, he’s mellowed out as soon as she walks into the room. He needs more from her tonight, she knows. She just doesn’t know what yet.

Slowly, like he’s giving her the chance to stop him if she wants to, he tucks himself around her, draping his arms around her waist, leaning some of his weight against her. She holds it capably and inhales, enjoying the lingering but not-too-strong scent of his Gucci Made to Measure. He’s quiet for a minute. She tries not to be unnerved.

“Can I… ask for something?” he sighs suddenly, sounding resigned somehow. She nods and pulls back a little to look at him.

Shawn wets his chapped lips. The muscle in his jaw flexes and relaxes. She hums encouragingly, teasing her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt to brush her nails against his obliques. He shivers and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I know I’m your good boy,” he blurts, going pink from the chest, letting it rise, “But I want to try something different tonight.”

Penny’s veins are seized by adrenaline. Her pupils dilate, her fingers tighten automatically against his sides, making him jump a little.

His eyes open, soft and hooded. He looks exhausted and a little desperate. Her heart is in her throat.

“I want… to be bad. Need you to punish me.”

Penny swallows a moan. He said the magic words.

This she can handle. This, the art of punishment, taking the long way, breaking him down piece by piece until he can barely recognize himself, then putting him back together just the way she wants, this is exactly what Penny needs. She can see all over him that he needs it, too. It’s mutually beneficial. None of the frantic, heated, need-you-so-bad-I-can’t-even-wait-to-get-naked nonsense that happened with him last time. This is simple. This is easy. This is perfect.

Penny pulls him in by the hips. He jerks up against her with a little gasp.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?”

Her voice is smooth and dark like the first night they met. Shawn’s eyes start to drift shut like it’s his trance trigger. She slides a hand into the back of his hair and pulls at it to focus him.

He whimpers, nods. “I… I know. I want it. Please, baby. Want anything you’ll give me. Whatever you want. Whatever you think I deserve.”

Penny’s lips purse and her mind races back to last week at the party, to his eyes all over her, to the way he’d smirk when he’d catch her looking, to the way they both snapped and dry humped like teenagers on the bed until they came. To how… out of control she felt.

Her fingers flex against his skin. She feels like she can hear his pulse in her ears. Maybe it’s hers.

She’s in control again.

“You could’ve been such a good boy at the party, Shawn,” she begins, peeling his arms from her warm, lithe body, dropping them by his sides.

He nods and angles his eyes down.

She clicks her tongue. “Look at me.”

His head lifts. He grunts gently and presses his palms into the sides of his thighs. “Sorry.”

Penny’s head cocks. He feels a full body shiver race up from his toes.

“You’re not. But you will be.”

He has to fight his jaw from dropping open. If he were a hair more unstable than he already is, he’d be crying with relief. This is exactly what he needs. He nods, trying not to look too eager. It is a punishment, after all.

“Shawn, do you remember your safe word?”

Her voice is startling as his addled mind preoccupies itself with what could be coming. He has to blink a few times before he can answer her.

“Ireland,” he stammers.

He almost rolls his eyes at himself. He has an odd relationship with that word now. He thinks if he heard someone casually talking about Niall’s home country he’d have some kind of bizarre Pavlovian reaction.

Penny nods her approval. She looks at him, then at the bed. He hesitates, then sits on the end, descending slowly, uncertainly. He looks at the suitcase beside the bed, then back at her. By the time he looks back, she’s smirking. There’s something so hot and dark in her eyes that his own widen in response.

“You could’ve been such a good boy,” she continues, voice like glass about to shatter, “You could’ve left me alone. Kept your hungry eyes to yourself. You could’ve stared at the body of any other beautiful woman in the room and left me alone to work. But you didn’t.”

Penny descends into the armchair across from the bed, settling back into it, folding her obscene legs slowly, pressing her fingers into the arms of the chair. Shawn’s own fingers grip his thighs, his body a tightly coiled spring.

“I couldn’t,” he chokes, “You… Jesus, Penny, you know what you do to me. You know you do. And…”

He stops short and goes so red he’s almost violet. He can’t bring up the necklace without unearthing the seething rage he felt watching her wear it on another man’s date. He turns his eyes down.

It’s silent for a moment before the rustle of fabric indicates she’s standing. The click-clack of her stilettos is slow and deafening to Shawn. She’s in no hurry to get to him.

Her shoes are red, too.

She places a finger beneath his chin. He lifts his head to stare at her. Her plush lips are pursed like she’s holding back an amused grin.

“Jealous boy.”

She purrs the words in a way that makes Shawn groan from the back of his throat. He wets his lips to buy time before he has to answer her.

“... yes.”

“Do you know what the problem is?” she muses, saying it in a way that sounds like he should know exactly what the problem is. She doesn’t wait for an answer, though.

“You’ve never had to learn any self control. You’re so fucking pretty, Shawn.” She growls at him and every hair on Shawn’s body spikes on end because he can feel the way she says the words like she can’t help it. He fights his instinct to preen under her praise.

“You get whatever you want from any girl that comes near you. You’ve never had to work for it a day in your life. But,” she sighs, “It’s time you do.”

Penny hitches her dress up her thighs so she can place one beside his. He keeps his hands off her. She tugs at the neck of his t-shirt, indicating he should pull it off. He does, slowly, wanting to give her a little bit of a show like he knows she likes. He tosses it away. She admires a bit with her fingertips, figuring she shouldn’t deprive herself just because she’s punishing him. He’s pliant and sweet as ever, tilting his head to give her access to whatever she wants as she grazes him. She looks down to see his fingers twitching against the mattress. She half-smiles.

Penny eases off his lap and props herself against the armchair casually. All she has to do is glance down at the bulge in his pants and back up to indicate she wants the rest of his clothes off. He obliges, again slowly, blinking when he feels his cock slap up against his belly, twitching needily, giving him away as he tries to keep a cool facade.

Penny sighs like he’s a hopeless case. “So fucking… pretty.”

Shawn pinks up and tries not to smile. He goes to lie down until he hears a distinct tsk from the back of her throat. He looks up.

“Not that way.”

Shawn’s face is blank. He needs more direction.

Penny twirls a manicured finger to indicate he should flip over. His stomach lurches and every nerve ending in his body goes hot and spastic. It’s a second or two before he can obey. He lies on his belly, propping his chin up on his hands, trying to steady his heavy breathing that he knows she can hear.

He jumps at her touch, a gentle caress of her fingers against his lower back, trailing down over the left cheek of his ass. He clenches automatically and snaps his eyes shut. She giggles and his body reacts viscerally to the sweet, innately feminine sound -- he rocks his hips hard into the bed and moans, feeling himself fall into this with her.

She pinches him.

Not hard, exactly, but enough for him to feel it -- she catches a patch of never-seen-the-sun white skin and squeezes it. He inhales sharply. His forehead crinkles and he rubs his nose against the back of his hand, trying to focus the yoga breathing Cez taught him on his erection squished against the mattress.

Again, her voice has him blinking, disoriented.

“Get on your knees. I want your greedy ass in the air for me.”

His body isn’t tired, but his arms shake as he lifts himself, fighting not to glance back at her. He just hears the click-clacking of her Manolos as she moves behind him like she’s studying him from different angles. He shivers again.

“What do good boys get, Shawn?”

Shawn swallows. “Good boys get your pussy.” His voice doesn’t even sound like his.

“What do bad boys get?”

Shawn bites his lip. His toes curl. “I-- I don’t--”

“Bad boys get spanked.”

She waits a long moment, long enough for him to stop her if he needs to. The first smack comes down hard on his right cheek to make a point. He hisses, back arching, eyes pinching shut hard. Otherwise, he doesn’t move.

Shawn’s never been spanked once in his life. Not by anyone. If you had asked him before La Splendeur, he wouldn’t have guessed he’d like it -- the vulnerability, the implied shame.

He doesn’t like it. He loves it. He breathes into the sting, humming from deep in his chest, mashing his lips together to keep from begging for more so soon.

She seems to know to give him a few seconds to recover, to wrap his head around it before she gives him another. The second is just as hard on the same cheek. He grunts in response, squirms a little on his knees. In between smacks, her fingers dance along his lower back or thighs, watching him lean into her touch or shiver. Penny hums from the back of her throat.

“How many do you think you deserve, baby?”

Shawn is nearly beyond the ability to speak. He makes an impatient noise and tilts his hips back like he’s trying to find her hand again. Penny shivers and lifts her hand. He gets another hard smack, left cheek this time, in return.

“I don’t know either,” she coos, “I just know I won’t stop until your cute little ass is purple.”

Shawn chokes on a moan. She spanks him again, harder than before. The moan comes out as a strangled cry. He can hear himself, hear the desperation he doesn’t recognize in the sounds he makes. He’s never needed anything like this, but now that he does, now that he’s getting it, he has to curl his fingers into the sheets just to hold it together. He rocks his hips, his leaking cock slipping against his lower abdomen. She’s stopped pacing around behind him. She has her plan now. And he’s got to just take it.

She alternates the strength of the strikes to keep him guessing. She loves watching his back muscles flex. Every couple of minutes, she takes a break to mouth at the handprints she’s leaving, the welts in her wake. That’s when he gets to look back at her, eyes glassy, mewling at the touch of her lips and tongue on his inflamed skin.

He’s been holding back tears. Not because he’s in too much pain -- she’s well practiced, very careful to keep her slaps light enough to still be enjoyable pleasure-pain rather than real hits. No, he’s just… overwhelmed.

With each slap, he thinks about her -- about that night, about the necklace, about their first night together when he was so anxious he could hardly look her in the eye. He thinks about all she’s done for him. She’s the domme, but he feels freer with her in control than anywhere else in his life right now.

And he trusts her. Irrevocably. He looks back at her, elbows on the mattress now as she soothes him, each touch delicate and controlled, even brushing her nose against the soft hairs on his lower back, blowing on them to make him smile. In these quieter moments, she praises him on soft breath, reminding him how good he really is, how well he’s taking her punishment.

Shawn swallows. He reaches back with one hand, hoping to hold hers, just for a moment. She looks down at it, considering. Then she takes it and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Penny closes her eyes. She curses herself for having forgotten the most important thing about punishment -- you don’t punish someone if you don’t care.

She came in craving some distance from him, from the necklace, from all the things she thought the necklace was telling her. Listening to his sweet wails as she spanked his firm round ass was her idea of perfect separation. But she forgot just how… intimate it can be.

Penny ducks her head and slips her hand away, standing behind the bed. Shawn tenses, ready for more. His shoulders hunch. Sweat drips backwards up his back. She admires the vibrant flush of his abused skin and the way he coos for her like he can’t hear himself. He’s still greedy. He still wants more.

“Turn over,” Penny breathes, hot from head to toe now that her inner animal is all warmed up.

Shawn looks over his shoulder, wrinkles his brow like he’s disappointed. Her eyes flash. With impeccable balance, Penny lifts a leg and presses the sole of her stiletto into his left cheek.

“Turn. Over.”

Shawn whines loud and slowly rolls, wincing at the light pressure of the mattress on his ass after the sting of the stiletto. He looks up at her, eyes wide and blinky, waiting for whatever little treat he’s getting next.

Penny steps out of her shoes. Shawn perks up, coming up on his elbows to watch her, sliding his foot up the mattress to stabilize himself.

Penny opens the suitcase. Shawn presses his lips together and tries not to look too eager, but again his throbbing cock twitches. He looks down like he’s only just now realizing how ridiculously hard he is. He looks back up at her.

Penny smiles fondly and picks up a familiar toy, wiggling it between her fingers at him. His body stiffens in reaction but his face splits into the most beautiful grin.

“Remember the friend we made in Malibu?” she purrs, looking down at it like it holds her most cherished memories.

Shawn’s breath comes out in an eager huff. “Yeah.”

“I want to introduce you to another friend.”

Shawn’s fingers grip the duvet, then slacken as he wills himself not to get so worked up that he comes when she looks at him next.

Penny slips the toy into her hand and behind her back. She surveys him, feeling her panties dampen as she does. He’s the picture of content submission, has possibly never looked more comfortable around her. He’s wearing a lazy smile despite all the blood in his cock. His skin is glowing pink, his arms shake a little holding himself up. His eyes are on hers, not on her tits or her legs or trying to look at what’s behind her back.

Slowly, Penny reveals the gold cock ring, wearing it around two of her fingers with the sexiest, most devious grin Shawn’s ever seen. With a flick of her thumb against the little remote in her other hand, it starts vibrating loudly.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Penny strolls toward the bed, again in no rush. She eyes the toy, playing with different vibration settings, relishing the heat in Shawn’s gaze as it spreads over her. She stops beside the bed, passing it back and forth in her warm, soft hands. Shawn pants like a dog.

“Have you ever tried one before?”

He shakes his head. She nods, unsurprised but undeterred. The gentle whirring of the toy stops when she turns it off and places it beside him. His eyes follow it curiously.

She cups a hand under his chin, drawing his gaze back up. He wets his lips and smiles at the sight of her. Penny swallows and turns, lifting her hair over her shoulder. The shoulder blades he lusts over are proudly on display.

Penny glances at him. “Help me with my zipper, baby.”

He tamps down a smile at the name and at the familiarity and comfort buried in the request. He sits forward, ignoring the throb of his eager cock, and stares at the warm skin of her back as he drags the zipper of the dress down over the swell of her ass. He pauses, holding the zipper between his fingers. Before he can think to stop himself, he leans in, lips parted, eyes closed.

He gets as far as a brush of his nose against the unblemished skin before she turns.

Shawn’s eyes are down like a scolded puppy. It gives her a little thrill that he knows her rules so well. Even when he tries to break them.

“Ok,” she breathes, lowering onto her knees in front of him, pressing her hands into the duvet on either side of his legs. He watches her like a hawk as she descends.

“You took your spankings so well for me. So I’ll make you a deal. You get one kiss. It has to last you a while, so you better make it count.”

Shawn hesitates at the end of the bed. He looks between Penny’s deeply brown eyes and her still perfect glossy red lips. He lunges at them like a kid at a cookie jar.

The kiss is fierce, teeth clanging, tongues slipping, noises of shock and interest from them both as he takes what he needs. She gives it willingly, pushing back against him with her hands in his hair, breath hitching at the way his fingertips slide from the nape of her neck down between her shoulder blades.

Penny needs a final three second count before she can pull away, their lips separating with a sucking wet sound that makes her thighs press together under her dress. When she looks up at him, she growls so loud she can feel it in her whole body.

The lower half of his face is covered in red gloss. His hair is sticking up all over. His cock continues twitching against his stomach. His eyes are glazed over.

“Jesus,” she breathes, “What are you doing to me, Shawn?”

Shawn licks his lips in a way that Penny can tell is instinctive, absent-minded, like he just wants to keep tasting her mouth. She eases back, content and a little smug as she shimmies out of her dress down to a strapless black lace bra and matching thong. Those follow the dress into a forgotten heap.

“Can you behave yourself now that you’ve had a taste?”

Shawn’s smile is small and a little bashful. He nods and eases back on his elbows, watching as she stands and reaches for the toy.

She looks down at it fondly, then up at him through her lashes. “Bought this just for you, you know.”

His eyebrows lift. He giggles, embarrassed and delighted. “R-really? Just… wow.”

Her sweet smile holds something behind it that makes Shawn’s stomach swoop. She licks her swollen lips, her lipstick smeared and blotchy but Shawn swears he likes it better that way.

“I bought it because you’re my good boy.”

She tilts her head. He flushes.

“But you’ve still been bad. So what do I do about that?” she muses. Shawn stays quiet, but clears his throat softly, like he can’t stand to leave her question unanswered.

She smirks. “Guess we’ll find out.”

With a hand firm against his chest, she pushes him backwards to lie down. He settles, his hands resting on his stomach, inches away from where he aches for her. He presses his cheek into the pillow, nuzzling it for comfort. Penny loves watching clients when they’ve totally let go like this -- unabashed, unself-conscious, seeking comfort wherever they can. That’s what they came for, after all.

She bites her tongue, fingers running along the edge of the ring as she talks herself out of crawling up to sit on his face. As satisfying as it would be for her, she knows how bad he wants it, can tell by the way he keeps wetting his lips and gazing down at her, trying to hide his hunger. She wants to let him starve a little longer.

She straddles his legs and presses the ring down over the head of his cock, adjusting as she goes. They’re not usually designed to be put on when the dick is already hard, but the one she got for Shawn is top of the line and adjustable. He sighs, relieved at her touch, fingers trembling against his abdomen.

“Uhm,” His voice sounds swollen and raspy, “What’s… it supposed to do?”

Penny squeezes her fingers around the gold-plated ring until it’s snug, watching his throat bob as she does. She lifts the corner of her mouth.

“Magic,” she sighs, pressing the remote so the ring starts to pulse, gentle and steady around Shawn’s cock.

His mouth falls open and releases a low whine. His ass clenches against the mattress and his head falls back, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden sensation. Fueled by his reaction, Penny lowers herself, sprawled out over his legs on the lower half of the bed. She traces one perfect fingertip up the shaft of his cock to tease the head, wanting to hear that pretty noise again. Like he knows what she wants, he makes it even louder, but it’s so heady and sweet she knows it’s not intentional.

“I love that noise,” she purrs, closing her eyes and letting her lips trail over the same path her finger took. Shawn’s legs twitch hard beneath her. She glances down at his thick, tensed thighs, how pale they look against the navy duvet and her own deeply tanned skin.

When she looks back up, he’s staring at her like a drunken sailor at a mermaid. She smiles and cups a hand around his vibrating cock, pressing little kisses around the head.

“How does it feel, baby?”

Shawn died. He died and went to heaven. It’s the only explanation for this otherworldly feeling of pleasure. He’s never been so high off a feeling like this without too quickly tripping into an orgasm. He’s afraid to move, afraid to speak in case it triggers a climax that they’re not ready for. He takes a deep, steadying breath and moans his response.

“Fuckkkk.”

Before his wrecked voice can trail off, Penny slips him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she slowly sucks him down until her smeared lips meet the vibrator. Shawn gasps so loud and so suddenly he chokes on it, swearing under his breath.

He looks down at her. He can feel everything from the way her silky hair tumbles against his stomach and thighs to the way her wet mouth complements the pulsing from the cock ring. She goes slow, drenching him, lowering her head to take him all the way back in her throat before lifting again and repeating until his flushed cock is soaked.

“Penny, oh my god,” he sobs, shaking his head, stomach quivering as she starts to move faster, sucking when she lifts up to focus on his sensitive head.

She graces him with a dark-eyed look that warns him without words not to come until she gives him permission. He’s not at all sure of how long he can control himself, even for her.

But he needs this. Giving into her is the only thing that drives out everything else -- the stress, the distraction, the lies. The only thing that works is focusing on pleasing her. So if she wants to keep him from coming, he’ll fucking curl his toes and hold on.

His eyes scrunch when she tongues at his slit, making a little moaning sound of her own like she’s enjoying sucking him like this, like she’s been waiting for it. He turns his head and croaks a pathetic sound that makes her look up and press a button on the remote.

The pulsing ceases. Shawn blinks, the fog in his head lifting a bit as he watches her shift against his thighs, tonguing at his head some more. He sniffles gently, his breathing thick and heavy like it’s hard to exhale. He focuses on watching her wet little tongue on his skin.

“My good boy,” she praises softly, closing her eyes as she trails off to his hipbone to give him a break. He closes his eyes, reveling in her words. As she leaves a reddening oval on his hip, he watches, coming back to himself.

“Doesn’t it feel good, Shawn? Letting me have you like this?”

God, she has no fucking idea. How can he even begin to express it? He shakes his head weakly. He knows even the outrageous sums of money he’s paid her over the past few weeks isn’t enough gratitude. Timidly, he lifts his hand and tucks some hair behind her ear, the smallest gesture of care he can think to offer in return. The look of wide-eyed reluctance and surprise, and something he can’t quite place, is as honest as he’s ever seen her.

“Thank you.”

His voice is hoarse. Her cheeks go warm. She turns her face back down to the hickey on his hip. She kisses it with her swollen mouth.

She gets him to the edge three more times before she whispers over the louder thrumming of the vibrating toy to come in her mouth. He sobs her name over and over, convulsing against the bed, his cheeks and chest as inflamed as the head of his cock as he spills down her willing throat while her hips snap hard against the mattress.

He keeps thanking her over and over while she cleans him up, with mumbled words, with warm looks, with little kisses on whatever skin he can reach until she lies beside him, lets him rest his head on her chest as he strokes her side.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice is even and a little worn, but not thready and vibrating, ready to snap like she heard it earlier. She closes her eyes and nods.

“How… do you have anything left? You… I mean, this must take so much out of you. How do you have anything left for you?”

Her eyes flutter open. She looks down at his curls that smell like hotel shampoo. Thank god those perfect brown eyes aren’t staring up at her while he asks something like this, something she’s not sure she’s ever been asked by a client.

She focuses on petting his hair like a cat and staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s not draining for me,” she responds, feeling her honest words click into place inside her head like a satisfying puzzle, “I get as much out of this as you do, believe it or not. That’s how a good D/s relationship works. It’s completely mutually beneficial, the give and take of it is two-sided. Always.”

“Like yin and yang,” Shawn yawns. She smiles.

“Yeah. Without me, you’d crave it -- the feeling you get when you know you can drop everything in my arms and let me care for you. And without you…”

She stops, watches Shawn shift so he can look up at her face while she speaks. His eyes sparkle like he’s brand fucking new again.

“Without you everything would feel so out of control.” Her voice breaks.

Shawn blinks. It was more honesty than he was bargaining for. His head swims in it.

She needs him. She… needs him.

Not for the first time in her arms between orgasms like this, he finds himself fighting to remember that she’s paid to be here, just like she’s paid to hold all her other clients after they’ve come hard for her.

He’s not her only good boy.

They stay up talking for a while. Shawn asks about Pammy like he always does, now convinced she’s real (otherwise Penny is the most talented liar ever). He opens up, just a crack, about the meeting this afternoon, the plan to step up the visits and the PDA. He doesn’t shrink away from her when he says it, like he does when he explains it to his parents or his friends. He already knows there’s no hiding from her. He doesn’t want to, anyway.

He falls asleep, she follows. She wakes up two hours later to him nuzzling against her chest like a needy puppy, pressing wet kisses to her full, sunkissed breasts. He lifts his eyes to hers when he hears her breathing change cadence. He watches her stretch beneath him, drowsy and warm to the touch. He moves his kisses to her nipples, suckling at them, humming at the noises his mouth makes against her skin.

Penny bites her lip and sifts her fingers through his hair, pleased to find him needy before he even has her awake again.

“Hi,” she breathes.

Shawn reluctantly releases her swelling nipple and nudges it with his nose, “Hi. Can I please make you come now?”

Penny squirms beneath him in that deliciously vulnerable, just-woke-up kind of way. She tugs at his hair to watch his eyes flutter.

“What do you have in mind, baby?”

Before he can stop himself, Shawn’s eyes fall to her case. Penny’s brows lift in response.

“Go ahead. You can look. I get veto power, though.”

Shawn snorts a chuckle and practically springs off the bed, stark naked. Penny’s head lolls in his direction, admiring the angry red marks on his ass from his earlier punishment. She reaches out with her fingertips to smooth over them, mewling.

“Good boy,” she says sleepily.

Shawn smiles at her, soft and close-lipped over his shoulder. He turns his attention back to the suitcase full of colorful toys and shifts them around curiously.

“I don’t even know what half this stuff is,” he admits, poking at a set of what he guesses are kegel beads but he can’t be sure.

“Maybe you’ll find out,” Penny answers, sounding a little more awake. Shawn chews on his lip and reaches for a small baby pink silicone bullet vibe. He tests the vibration settings in the palm of his hand and finds himself impressed, but not surprised. Of course Penny would only have the best of the best.

“Are any of these just yours?” he wonders, glancing back at her again. She’s sitting up and stretching, her arms over her head, pulling her shapely breasts high and taut.

She shrugs, dropping her arms. “I have my favorites. My personal stash is at home, though.”

He blinks quickly and focuses on the toy in his hands to keep from imagining what might be in that stash of hers.

He turns, holding the little pink bullet. She smiles and nods.

He perches beside her on the bed, looking her over as she lies back down, her hair spreading behind her in chocolatey tendrils.

“What am I allowed to touch?” he nearly croaks.

Penny shifts against the sheets and he knows it’s intentional. It’s a graceful writhe, like she’s showing herself off to him. Not that he needs her to at this point.

“Whatever you want.”

Shawn’s cheeks burn. He doesn’t hide his look of surprise. She doesn’t usually give him free reign. His brain trips him up without guidance. He’s so used to taking instruction from her that he has to remind himself to follow his instincts. It’s not unwelcome.

Shawn lowers himself beside her long, soft body, focusing like he did before on her chest. He woke up pressed against her pretty tits and has felt drawn to them since. He closes his eyes, lets his free hand wander her every edge and curve while his palm sweats around the vibrator. After a few long minutes, when he feels her breathing shorten and can see her thighs pressing together beneath him, he turns it on in his hand.

Penny spreads her legs automatically in response to the sound. The wet noise of her pussy lips separating has his mouth watering, but he has another idea.

He slides up her body, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. In the flat of his hand, he cups the bullet against her right breast, massaging her gently.

At her little mewling noise, Shawn looks up. Her soft, shimmery eyelids have fallen shut and her lips are parted. He’s doing something right. He adds a bit more pressure, gripping her breast harder, shifting the vibe so it skims the outer edge of her areola.

“Mmmm,” Penny encourages, nodding weakly, now writhing a little beneath him in a totally reflexive way. She’s not showing off anything now.

Shawn sucks at her collarbone, careful to keep his pressure light enough and moving around so as not to leave a mark without permission. One of her arms is limp beside her halo of curls, the other hand is buried in his hair, fingertips curling slightly against his scalp as he experiments.

“Feel good?” he breathes, craving her praise.

“So good,” she confirms, giving it back willingly, “So… good to me.”

Egged on, Shawn continues, working the vibe around in his palm to circle around her flushed, puckered nipple without letting up to give her too much relief, especially once he notices her grinding her perfect ass into the bed. He hums into her throat, drowning himself in the scent of her citrusy, beachy perfume and something warm, like fresh laundry.

Shawn lifts his head and looks down at her. He wants to watch her face when he presses the tip of the vibe to her nipple. Her mouth drops open, her back arches slightly and she releases the prettiest noise he’s ever heard, a breathless whimper so soft and so genuine. He grunts in response and feels himself harden further against his thigh. He can feel that his body wants a piece of this action but he rejects the idea outright. He can’t focus on her that way. He wants this just for her.

He pulls the vibe away. A wrinkle shows up between her eyebrows and she looks like she’s about to protest, but he drops his head to wet her nipple with his tongue and blow, watching the already hard bud twitch as gooseflesh forms around it.

“Shawn,” Penny whines sweetly. She wants more. She needs more. He’ll give her more.

He wets her skin again and presses the short shaft of the vibe against her nipple, rolling it back and forth. Penny hisses a swear, her legs spreading, her hips rocking.

He glances down, unsure if he should move on, but like she can read his big dumb mind, she shakes her head fervently.

“Don’t stop.”

The command is weak and soft, like a plea. Shawn’s cheeks go pinker. He nods and switches breasts, repeating the same motions, throwing in some extra squeezes and teases to keep her guessing.

Penny pants, dazed, sure she’s dripping all over the duvet. Part of her wants to drag him, position him so his thigh is between her legs for some friction, but she’s enjoying this singular pleasure too much. And even more, the curious way he keeps looking up at her as he experiments, so eager to please.

“Oh!” she squeaks suddenly when he’s got the tip of the vibe pressed tight to one nipple, pulsing frantically, and his teeth around the other, and oh shit--

“I’m… oh my god, I’m gonna come!”

Shawn’s eyes lift but he knows better than to move his mouth if what he’s doing is working. He presses a little firmer with the vibe, swirling it between his fingers desperately to add to the sensation, and bites a little harder.

Penny’s eyes snap shut. She gasps, clapping her legs together, squeezing her thighs around nothing as she gushes from between them. Shawn laps at her breasts, holds her chest down as she thrashes. This orgasm is shorter and not as intense as some others he’s provided, but he’s so amazed that it’s happening at all without touching her pussy that he just holds on until she’s finished.

Her eyes drift open. She looks more dazed than in her usual afterglow.

“Have you…” he pants, shaking his head in wonder, “Has that--”

“Nope,” she chokes, laughing a little, “That’s… new.”

He can’t help himself. His hips snap against the mattress for some relief, overwhelmingly aroused by the idea that he just gave her something no one ever has before, and she’s... been around.

He must look smug as hell because she giggles and shakes her head. “Would you like a trophy?”

Shawn smacks loud, wet kisses up her chest until he reaches her cheek, which he pecks over and over through a grin until she’s laughing hard in the way he’s only heard after they’ve been in bed together a while. The sound starts a fire in his belly.

“No, but I’ll take a kiss.”

Penny’s eyes go narrow and squinty as she grins. She nods and pecks his lips a few times, leaning into the last kiss to make it count, cupping her hand beneath his chin.

She pulls away. He licks his lips. Her eyes wander over him for a few moments. She looks back at the case.

“If you bring me that black pouch, I’ll show you what else you can take.”

Shawn’s jaw drops.

Penny sits back in the overstuffed dining chair, pleasantly hazy with wine and filled by a meal so expensive even Silver, who’s picking up the tab, rolled her eyes at the bill when she scrawled her spiky “S” signature under her overgenerous tip.

Silver is gazing out at what she can see of Rodeo Drive from the hidden restaurant, fiddling with the pendant against her chest. Dinner at one of LA’s finest dining establishments is a nightly affair for Silver, who hasn’t cooked since last Thanksgiving, and that was only because Penny wrangled her into making yams for their friends dinner. Penny is certainly not unused to the star treatment like she gets whenever she goes anywhere with Silver, but she rather likes to cook, so going out is more of a special treat than a routine.

Penny nudges her Miu Miu platform against Silver’s leg under the table.

“What are you thinking about, lady?”

Silver smiles in that way that makes Penny want to swaddle her and shut out the world for a while. She looks her actual age when she smiles like that. She looks tired.

“Just… thinking.”

Penny long ago accepted Silver is not the kind of best friend that tells you every concern on her mind or every trouble on her plate. It doesn’t mean she loves Penny any less, or doesn’t trust her. Penny jokes that Silver is a stubborn oyster working on a perfect pearl. But the truth is, Penny’s ok if Silver never opens up enough for Penny to get to see it.

Penny nods warmly and shifts in her seat. She clears her throat delicately, enough for Silver to turn her gaze and smile, giving her her attention.

“I’ve been thinking, too,” Penny begins. Silver notes the hesitancy in her voice and, somehow, the certainty that lies beneath it. She nods for Penny to continue.

Penny wets her mauve matte lips. “I’ve been considering ways to convert some of my earnings to legitimate interests. I feel safer that way. It’s not just me, you know? It’s for Peter, too. I have to be smart for him.”

Silver nods, stoic.

Penny swallows and sits up. “So I’ve been working in my free time, putting together a proposal for you. I think La Splendeur could stand to give back a little. We employ courtesans, women somewhat arbitrarily considered the “cream of the crop.” There are so many other women, as I know you know, that walk down Hollywood Boulevard doing what is essentially the same work we do, that are not so highly sought after. They are disenfranchised, often controlled by men who abuse their power in some way or another, and still so heavily stigmatized. I think we can afford to offer them resources. I’m proposing that we start a non-profit venture to support our sisters that need us the most.”

Silver remains completely straight faced. She tips back the last sip of her glass of port and places it aside, her fat emerald ring glinting in the candlelight as a server scurries up to clear it. Penny holds her gaze.

Silver smiles. She looks less stretched and overdrawn.

“I look forward to your proposal.”

Penny nods. They both turn in sync, gazing back out the window.

-----------

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ficcrimes · 5 years

Text

washed up

Fandom: Moomins Characters: Snufkin, Joxter A/N: written in my A Goofy AU AU and to go along with @mogadeer‘s art of this scene. i’d say nobody asked for this, but i’d be lying. Summary: Making up for lost time isn’t quite as easy as Joxter had thought it would be.

This was the Fillyjonk’s fault, and no one could or would convince Snufkin otherwise.

You see, no one had really expected Joxter to come back a second time, much less without Hodgkins coercing him along. He’d come back to visit with Moominpappa again, eager to catch up without the fuss and muss of such a large gathering buzzing around him. This time, it was only to be himself and the troll.

Except, that wasn’t quite how things panned out. Moominhouse was a lot busier than expected, even without all the commotion that had come with Hodgkins, the Muddler, the Fuzzy, the Mymble and her thirty-some-odd children. Moomintroll was pleasant enough, but Joxter could have done without his many, many questions. Little My, on the other hand, did nothing to hide her distrust and dislike of the Mumrik.

“What kind of father just up and leaves his kid?” she had asked without shame or hesitance. Joxter hadn’t really had an answer for that, much to his own surprise. However, before he could think of something to say one way or another, Moomin was already grabbing Little My up and taking her away.

“Little My, you can’t just go asking things like that!” Joxter could hear the young moomin scolding her.

Moominpappa had apologized on her behalf, but Joxter hadn’t really expected anything less. Most Mymbles seemed to be lacking filters, in one way or another.

And then the Fillyjonk had come by. The initial visit had no malicious intent, as she had only wanted to visit with the family. However, upon being introduced to Joxter, her mood had taken a sharp turn, and for the worst at that. She hadn’t been around the last time Joxter had come to visit, and there were no holds barred when it came to what she had to say.

“Perhaps if poor Snufkin had his father around, he wouldn’t have grown into such a worrisome little vagabond,” she said, nose in the air, paws fussing with the handle of her umbrella. “Pulling up signs, stealing fruit, getting into with law enforcement!”

Joxter had been mildly proud to hear of his son’s accomplishments, despite the fact that these were things he should not have been proud of. However, Fillyjonk’s umbrella had come up and then down so quickly, he hadn’t had the time to brace himself. The cushioned rod bumped against the top of his head, nearly knocking his hat off in the process.

“Wipe that grin from your face, Mr. Joxter! Such disgraceful behavior is nothing to be proud of! It would probably do you both well to turn yourselves around.” Her nose was in the air again before she trotted off.

Moominpappa, again, tried his best to apologize for someone else’s behavior.

And that was ultimately how found Joxter standing outside of Snufkin’s tent. Not particularly because the Fillyjonk was right, but because it was brought to his attention - however indirectly - that he really didn’t know much about his son.

Though it had taken some time and, perhaps, a little more effort than Joxter would have liked, he did manage to convince Snufkin to at least go fishing with him.

That had all transpired a few days ago, and now the two of them were floating rather inconveniently down a river on a capsized boat. He would have liked to blame Joxter for the all of it, as that would have made things so much easier. But even through his anger, Snufkin could recognize that Mrs. Fillyjonk and her unsolicited opinions were the ones to blame. Had she left well enough alone, Joxter would have spent his time with Moominpappa and been on his way again without giving him so much as a wayward second glance. And perhaps that was wrong, but it wouldn’t have bothered him. He’d gone his whole life without knowing his father, one more moment without him wouldn’t have mattered.

But Joxter had looked sincere when he asked if they could travel a little ways together and go fishing. He had sounded earnest when he said that he wanted to make some sort of an effort to get to know his son. Snufkin hadn’t been able to think of any reason to deny the request, and so he had accepted. At the very least, fishing and a bit of travel sounded good.

Except travelling with Joxter was nothing like what he had expected. Joxter was unkempt and disorganized, and would sooner sleep in or under a tree than in a tent. Not that that was a particularly bad thing, Snufkin realized soon enough. While it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, the older mumrik had a very strong and distinguished smell to him. It was a very wild and sharp scent, overwhelming in its own way.

It was Joxter’s recklessness that found them in the river. When they had come to a fork in the river, Snufkin had tried to tell Joxter they should have gone down the other way, but Joxter had insisted he knew what he was doing.

It didn’t take long after that for the rapids to come into view. From there, there had been no time for them to navigate around them or through them properly. Before they knew it, the boat had tipped, and most of their gear and supplies has been lost to the river. It was all Snufkin could do to somehow hold onto his hat.

Joxter gave a sputtering, inward laugh, using one hand to hold onto the boat while the other wiped water from his face.

“What’s so funny?” Snufkin demanded, his brow knitted tightly together.

“I just wanted to go fishing with my boy, and now look at this - ” He used one hand to gesture to their current situation. The only saving grace in the moment was that the rapids seemed to be dying down.

“If you had just listened to me - ” Snufkin started, and shook his head. He gritted his teeth together, knowing there would be no point in arguing this with Joxter again. They were both ridiculously stubborn, and even if they didn’t know each other very well, Snufkin knew there’d have been no changing Joxter’s mind. Instead, he decided to focus his frustration and anger on another part of what Joxter had said.

“And I’m not your boy!” he snapped, and the words came out much harsher than he had intended. But he didn’t regret them. “I’ve grown up! I have my own life now!”

“I know that!” Joxter snapped back, and it was possibly the loudest Snufkin had ever heard his voice reach. though it only lasted for a moment. He looked at Snufkin, took in the anger on his face, and found he had to look away - to the boat, to the river, to his own hands. Anything was better than looking directly at his son at the moment.

“I just… Wanted to be a part of it,” he admitted quietly, so quiet the dull roar of the rapids nearly drowned him out.

Snufkin’s expression slowly softened, and he found he also couldn’t look at Joxter for the time being. His father had looked so disheartened and unsure, and Snufkin realized that his own anger had been misplaced. He never should have expected travelling and fishing with Joxter to be anything like he was used to. Why would it have been? Some small part of him was speaking up, telling him he should have enjoyed the experience for what it was worth. Worse things had happened, and would happen, than this.

With the water calmer below and around them, Snufkin was able to pull himself up onto the boat finally. Joxter followed suit, and sat with his back mostly facing Snufkin while he worked to wring out his hat. Snufkin watched him for a few seconds, and then turned his back to his father, too, sighing. They stayed this way for a few long minutes, only the rush of water breaking the silence between them.

“You know,” Snufkin finally spoke up, though neither turned to face the other just yet. A quiet ‘hmm’ from Joxter at least assured Snufkin that the other was listening. “We should probably get the boat ashore and set up camp.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Joxter said quietly.

“And then we can try all of this again tomorrow,” Snufkin continued, and his back was still facing Joxter when the other finally did turn to look at him. A small smile found his lips, but he found it in himself not to say anything just yet. He had expected Snufkin to want to leave without him once they reached shore, and he quickly recognized this as an opportunity he shouldn’t squander.

They would try this again tomorrow, in better spirits and with a better understanding of one another.

#moomin #moomins #joxter #the joxter #snufkin #fanfic #a goofy au

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richmeganews · 6 years

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Why I Decided to Start Kink Shaming Myself

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

I have been a masochist for as long as I can remember. As young as six years old, watching a CBBC drama with a fey, bookish protagonist being tormented by older boys, I would feel an excitement I can only explain as the beginning of desire. More of a Walter the Softie myself, I was nonetheless drawn to the chaotic, masculine energy of Dennis the Menace.

Later, my sexual awakening occurred at the precise moment I began to be bullied for being gay. I was bullied, like most people, by the popular boys—the most handsome and arrogant and swaggering. The first people I desired were the same ones who treated me with contempt or violence: It doesn’t seem too much of a reach to suggest that violence and desire became conflated. I have been a masochist my whole life—but now, for the first time, I no longer want to be.

Last year, I was seeing a man called Thomas. Almost immediately, he fell into the habit of giving instructions and I fell into the habit of obeying them—apologizing and asking his permission. It was all very ribald and light-hearted, until one night I finished work late and he invited me over to his apartment. When I arrived, he made a Greek salad and I hugged him from behind, kissing his neck as he chopped up the cucumbers. Afterward, he sat down on the sofa, while I lay with my head in his lap, looking up at him, and told him how much I had enjoyed everything he’d done to me the last time we met. He looked down on me with a smirk and, without saying anything, slapped me hard on the ear. It hurt, badly, and my ear began to ring, but to tell him off felt like a breach of contract—so I said nothing. After all, I’d previously told him that he could do anything. Moments later, he hit me again in the same place and my ear rang even louder. Against waves of pain, I tried to smile as he ran his hands through my hair and tugged on a patch of gray.

“You have so much gray hair,” he said. “You’re old.” Still frozen in a smile, at that moment I began to feel humiliated in a way that wasn’t enjoyable. I was furious. I wanted to show him that my submission had always been conditional and could be snatched away at any moment. Who the fuck did he think he was talking to? I stood up, shoved my feet into my shoes without bothering to slide them in properly, and hobbled toward the door.

When I reached it, he said “wait…” and when I turned around he was holding out my bag. He looked confused, maybe even slightly hurt. I snatched it from him.

“Where are you going?”

I said, “I’m not into this,” slammed the door and left.

Sally Rooney’s novel Normal People features a similar scene: Marianne, one of the main characters, is tied up in the apartment of a man with whom she’s involved in a sadomasochistic relationship. When she experiences a sudden wave of disgust, both for the situation and for him, she demands he untie her and storms out of his apartment. As she leaves, she wonders, “Is the world such an evil place, that love should be indistinguishable from the basest and most abusive forms of violence?” I had read the novel only two weeks earlier and find it hard to believe I wasn’t, in a sense, ripping it off. The scene marks a turning point in Marianne’s character arc, signaling a rejection of self-abasement. That night, listening to Cardi B on the bus ride home, I thought I’d made an equally powerful act of renunciation, that I would never see Thomas or allow myself to be treated that way again. This proved short-lived: The next day, I texted him to apologize for my behavior and asked if he wanted to go to the movies.

Thomas remembers the incident differently and insists that I asked him to hit me. It’s not my recollection, but I’m not ruling it out: I was drunk, he was sober, and it would hardly be out of character. I’m not sure it matters either way because my intention isn’t to depict him as an abuser. Whether or not I asked him to, he hit me because I’d told him it was the kind of thing I liked. The last time we met I’d consented to it explicitly, so how was he to judge when that consent expired? It must be disconcerting when someone tells you “you can do anything to me” and then storms out your door the minute you exercise the power they’ve given you.

I know a number of gay men and women who sleep with men who have had similar experiences. In order to consider how the dynamics of rough sex might differ in a heterosexual setting, along with the commonalities, I spoke with Sarah, a feminist academic based in Glasgow who has been vocally critical of the normalization of violent sex.

I suggest to Sarah that, by engaging in rough sex, gay men and straight women might be fetishizing their own oppression, be that homophobia or misogyny. “I would agree,” she says. “I think the key factor is the fetishizing of male domination. But with heterosexual rough sex [where men are dom tops], that’s not at all subversive. By degrading women, men are just playing a hyper-realized version of the position they actually occupy.”

I ask Sarah what she makes of the fact that so many people actively consent to and enjoy violent sex. “It’s hard to make sweeping judgments on this, and I don’t want to shame anyone for internalizing an oppression. We need to be wary of moralistic sex negativity—the issue is not that it’s bad because it’s distasteful, but that it’s bad because it’s harmful. There can be tons of factors that influence why people consent. It’s not always an autonomous decision. You can be coerced at a societal level.” I think this is true. Understandably, most of the discourse around harm in relation to sex centers around consent. This is necessary but insufficient: After all, it’s possible to enthusiastically consent to something that harms you.

What is the nature of the harm violent sex might pose? “It can perpetuate cycles of abuse and warp your perspective about what’s acceptable from a partner,” Sarah says. “It can lead you to think, If I let them do this to me in bed, it’s hypocritical of me to be pissed off at them if they do it elsewhere. If sex only existed in a vacuum in some utopian world, this would be fine, but it doesn’t and never will. The minute you sexually degrade or objectify a woman, that memory is always there.”

Although I’m a man and the power relations are different, this chimes with my own experiences. When you create a dynamic of violence and subjugation, it’s hard to seal that off in the bedroom. Eventually, it seeps out. Someone ordering you to suck them off might be fun. What’s less fun is them telling you to go to the store to buy cigarettes because it’s raining and they can’t be bothered to going outside.

When Thomas entered into a relationship with someone else, we made the terrible, inexplicable decision to continue seeing each other as friends. One night in the pub, he claimed the private school he’d attended had “an anti-conservative ethos,” and I started ranting about how stupid that was, talking loudly enough for the people around us to hear. The whole time, as I waved my arms and shouted about inherited privilege, feeling myself to be on blistering form, there was the sense that I was only doing this to get a reaction. I was goading him and he understood this. I wanted him to grab me by the throat and tell me to shut the fuck up. Had he done this, I would have gone quiet. I would have said sorry. I would have conceded that, yes, his private school did actually sound pretty radical. At one point, he asked me to change the subject and I said, ‘What are you gonna do?” He raised his hand then dropped it and said “nothing.” There’s an old joke that goes: “Hit me,” said the masochist, “No,” said the sadist.

Eventually, he delivered the definitive rejection I thought I’d wanted and I found myself drinking alone, wondering what was wrong with me. Did I make myself impossible to respect by being too submissive? Did he think I was damaged? It occurred to me that slapping and insulting someone from the first time you sleep together might make it hard to develop feelings of affection. I felt like he wanted to dominate me but disdained me for allowing him to do so: Maybe because I enjoyed it too much?

Throughout the months following, sexual masochism bled into the emotional kind. I was drawn to coldness; men who left me on read for days at a time, men who made me apologize for myself. There was the guy who, when I gently made fun of him, told me he “didn’t like to be intellectually challenged.” There was the man who told me he’d probably given me gonorrhoea, then ignored me for a week before getting back in touch with an enthusiastic message about the new man he’d met and an invitation to join his book club (I declined). I wasn’t attracted to these men despite the awful way they treated me, but because of their aloofness, rather than being a flaw, was central to their appeal. Kindness or enthusiasm, on the other hand, I considered to be “begging it”—nothing was less erotic than being treated with basic human courtesy.

I had been in an abusive relationship before, prior to this period, and it goes without saying that it wasn’t sexy or fun. For all the drama, for all the violence and threats, it was tedious. The last thing I wanted was to replicate that experience, but still I found myself romanticizing unhealthy power dynamics, usually while listening to Lana del Rey. Red flags were my biggest fetish. Given my history, this was insane. I would have run head-first into an abusive relationship with any of the men I dated last year—the only thing that saved me was the fact that none of them wanted to.

As well as feeling that rough sex was harming me, I worried that I was causing harm. The direction of power in sex is rarely linear. You can be submissive and still be bossy: sentences beginning “make me…” are still instructions. In Normal People, Marianne says, “You’re hardly a submissive if you only submit to things you want to do.” By this metric, I’m hardly a submissive. The sex I enjoy often amounts to: “Force me to do the things I already find most gratifying.” There’s nothing wrong with this, but it’s important to recognize that submissives can be, in their own way, just as domineering. Leopold Sacher-Masoch (the author of Venus in Furs, from whom masochism derives its name) would pressure his wife into sleeping with other men so he could experience the pleasurable humiliation of being cuckolded. Who’s really being degraded there?

In the case of two gay men, if the sexual dynamic is based around “I am weak and you are strong,” often expressed as “I am feminine and you are masculine,” then both partners are playing to the same insecurities—they’re just coming at it from different angles. I worried that, by validating the masculinity of someone dominating me, I was stoking their internalized homophobia. It seems plausible to suggest that making someone feel, temporarily, like a “real man” might perpetuate the anxiety that they’re not.

For all these reasons, I have made the decision to stop having this kind of sex, even if only for a while. It was damaging my relationships, making me feel worse about myself, and, perhaps, in the end, harming other people too. I want to transcend the idea that sexual compatibility is the most important thing. One friend assures me that “desire is surprisingly malleable” and, if I was skeptical at first, I’m beginning to understand how this could be true. I’ve dated a couple of men since who weren’t at all domineering or violent. It’s been a pleasant surprise to discover that sex can still be exciting without being degrading, although at times it’s taken effort not to find it boring.

At the end of Normal People, rather than rejecting her instincts toward masochism, Marianne finds a healthier context in which to express them. Her boyfriend dominates her lovingly and with respect, understanding “it wasn’t necessary to hurt her: he could let her submit willingly, without violence.” Maybe such an accommodation is the best I can hope for.

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d-and-s-are-bord-blog · 5 years

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Why I Decided to Start Kink Shaming Myself

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

When I reached it, he said “wait…” and when I turned around he was holding out my bag. He looked confused, maybe even slightly hurt. I snatched it from him.

“Where are you going?”

I said, “I’m not into this,” slammed the door and left.

Follow James Greig on Twitter.

The post Why I Decided to Start Kink Shaming Myself appeared first on .

Posted by richmeganews on 2019-03-22 20:16:26

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