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who and how will they remember you?
d20exchange pinch hit for @apple-scrumper
recent yeen stuff, there was a particular vibe at the time
THIS!!! THIS IS WHAT I CAME FOR!!!!
A fair argument, a good supporting evidence, and a perspective I had not thought of prior!
And also sorry I can't spell!!!! Like at all!! Sorry
This is to go with my other post where I gave my shpeal on why Morty works so much better as a woman.
I didn't wanna add this to it/reblog it with this because that post was too long already, and the other post was more about how there should be more primarch moms.(adopted mothers of the scattered primarchs)
And this one is:
Which Primarchs work better as women/femme:
Putrabo
Konrad Curze
Mortarion
Jagathai Khan
Magnus
Leman Russ
Okay, now explanations (warning this is gonna be looonggg)
Also, this is just my opinion. Please feel free to change and argue why!!! I love in-depth literary analysis and debate!
So, fist off after that, yes, I feel a majority of the traitors would make more sense as women, specifically their storylines, seem to work well with women leads. And would offer a more nuanced reading. (Also, this would totally piss off those fucking anti-woke chuds)
- Perturabo(Petra)- I could have also made dorn fem but I like the extra dichotomy their relationship is given as a brother sister dynamic. Both are different sides of the same coin. Even more so.
She would also be underestimated and compared to her shining golden brother. Her hate is that of women just as qualified for a job getting skipped over for an equally qualified man. (Yes, I know Putrabo's made to know how to tear things down where Dorn is made to fortify. But again, it's allegorical, that extra layer)
-Konrad (Kassandra)- she'd be such a Bipolar queen. Okay, done... nah, I got a little more.
So I feel not much is different until u reach that adult phase, more so than the others. Her madness and lunacy are painted much worse, but she's still on business. She despises her father(Emps) but does as she says. She's the freaky screwed up daughter (very Jinx-like) where Sanguinia is the perfect daddy's girl, and it makes Kass sick.
Mortarion(Morticia)- please see previous post
Jagathai Kahn(Khutulun) - okay, little out of left field, and truthfully, I don't know enough about the cannon warhawk to justify saying that a fem Warhawk is "better" but I wanted at least one othe loyalist fem primarch. Also, this lets me keep the yuricest between her and Magnolia (Magnus)
Magnus (Magnolia)- speaking of the red cyclops, I think having the biggest primarch be fem is just phenomenal, also it adds a woman confidently attempting to uptain more understanding of the universe as a whole, being very scientific in her approach only to be called sorceress/witch in the persuit of knowledge. And in the end, only to be driven mad trying to get even the smallest bit of control.
(Also, as mentioned above, a huge bonus of it keeps my Khan x Magnus ship gay and better, yuri)
-Leman Russ(Freya) OK, so I feel Feya works better than her male counterpart only because it would be almost poetic. Having her raised by a mother wolf and so she takes that role over for her sons(legion).
Again, these are just my opinions, so if u disagree, that's totally fine! 😊 I love sparking discussions and seeing where other people's heads are at.
And sorry if this isn't really coherent. I'm kinda writing this sleep deprived and starving. 😅
Imma make ramen now 😆 🤣
Clearly had my priorities straight on Valentine’s Day lmao
That charity stream added 10 years to my life, watered my plants, fed my dogs, paid off my car, cooked my dinner, finished my essays, wrote a whole 276 page novel, & gave me a dopamine rush the likes of which I doubt I will ever feel again.
i enjoy rewatching kristen’s scene with buddy because like. imagine your locker just got tagged and ur trying to be diplomatic about it because you’re in a public hallway so you try to keep appearances right? you’re running for president! but the sticker was of ur rival’s party and not even for her campaign. anyway you ignore that because this pasty rotten proselytizer has just mentioned to you apparently absolving himself of whatever horror his spells have wrought in assigning agency to..god? by the raising of his hand in a twisted form of praise? and your brain is going a mile a minute trying to connect the hazy frayed edges of thought he’s leaking out (grades are of the material world)(i pray before during after football games we win)(helio doesn’t make mistakes, kristen)(helio’s holding onto us tight)(they’re all gonna go straight to hell) and you are looking into a mirror of your past and seeing the zeal simmering underneath his gall now. how dare he? really? (every cleric has to have some kinda deity, right?)(i don’t feel any control over life) and in your head you see yolanda, who severed ties to her divinity to teach with compassion and a fairness that must’ve been in itself holy, dead. (i don’t hold tight, ‘cause i’m in someone’s hand.) and you worry about bucky, about what he could become without you holding him tight (i’m happy to look after him.) and your muscles tense up as you smile politely, a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes stony, impassive, like the wall you’re building to keep this serpent from striking at those you love. (careful.) and you, ready to defend, say, i’ll fucking show you.
I still have tons to say about the Garashir Goes Canon™ moment in Lower Decks so here is my big meta post about it! Below the cut is a meta discussion about the penultimate Lower Decks episode, contextualizing what it means for something to become canon.
To be clear, this is a mostly positive post with analysis included. You’ll see lots of love for Garashir and Lower Decks and also oodles of fandom meta below the cut, since we have a complicated relationship with Paramount. My analysis and graphic is based on a recent lecture about Star Trek canon I gave at KiScon!
First, I have to say that both Unification and this Lower Decks episode following mere weeks after of my lecture panel at KiScon titled Fuck Paramount, about what Star Trek canon really is and what its place is in relation to us as slash fans, is absolutely mind-blowing timing. I wish everyone in both the K/S and Garashir fandoms had been able to attend it because it was absolutely designed to serve as a framework for both of these major fandom moments. And also it was just funny as hell. But most importantly, it was relevant, and existed to give us a sense of understanding when navigating Paramount hell, particularly when they play Gay Chicken (will they, won’t they — most of the time, they won’t).
Since not every single Star Trek fan on this website was at KiScon last month, I want to expand on that a little more here, this time in Garashir context, since last time it was centered on K/S, though Garashir came up several times! When I was giving my lecture, I asked the audience what it would look like if K/S were made canon tomorrow. Everyone had different ideas—but the most common theme that came up was sheer distrust of Paramount doing it justice.
For those of you that are reading this, the thesis of Fuck Paramount was that you as a fan and a viewer have more control over what is and isn’t canon than you think, and that our role as fans is to take ownership of our stories back from corporate interests. I also developed a four-sided framework to describe how we interact with canon to take power back and make sense of canon. Both Unification and the very, very fresh Lower Decks episode have already been controversial for a number of reasons, the primary one they share being: “Wait… does this make this canon?”
So far it looks like the main reactions for this Lower Decks episode (especially considering how sudden and late in its run it is) are mostly “HOLY SHIT THEY REALLY DID IT” and “I AM DISAPPOINTED BY THE MERE SCRAPS.”
And my position on it is that both of them are completely reasonable reactions that don’t contradict one another! I’m going to make the case for both sides as I try to explore the implications of this episode with respect to the episode’s subtext, corporate storytelling, and so forth. I’m not going to go too much into the academic aspects, but I am happy to make the original slides available for anyone who is curious about my canon analysis framework.
Why It’s Enough
On one hand, this episode is done well. Undeniably. It’s a lot of fun. I have also said many times before that the only way I’d want K/S or G/B to become canon is if they suddenly randomly drop the info that they were married and don’t bring it up again, because otherwise they might do more harm than good! This was an example of it done incredibly well, in my opinion.
This episode serves as all the confirmation you could possibly really need of Garashir. Yes, there are quite a few gimmicks involved—it’s all AU, all the way. Garak is now a surgeon from another dimension, and Bashir is from an entirely different dimension, and also not really himself, but a hologram. Here’s how they’re introduced:
WILLIAM BOIMLER: “Elim Garak, a brilliant Cardassian Surgeon—and his husband, an emergency medical hologram based on Dr. Julian Bashir.”
What I really love about this moment is that it actually does more than it looks like it does, at face value. For most of us, our first instinct is to go, whatever, he’s based on Bashir, he’s not even the real one! But what they did here was brilliant—it serves as implicit confirmation that our man Bashir is also bisexual, and loves Garak. He is indeed not a corporeal human being, but as the DS9 episode where the LMH is designed based on Bashir tells us, the hologram is designed and based on who he is. It has his personality traits. Interviews are conducted to make sure that the hologram is as authentic and true to the real thing as possible:
O'BRIEN: “You mean this programme is going to have all of his personal likes and dislikes?” ZIMMERMAN: “That is why we bother to choose a human template in the first place.”
William Boimler, from the prime Star Trek universe, doesn’t say the EMH is based on some Bashir, he says this one is based on Dr. Julian Bashir. Again, this serves as clear confirmation that he is modeled on recognizably the same character from DS9. They’re not that different in essence from their prime universe counterparts, or it wouldn’t be fun for the writers or the audience. We learn that Garak is still former Obsidian Order. They are still the same people, in essence. They may be AU characters but the point is for them to be similar to the originals, or they may as well just have been some guys!
The important thing, for me, is that it’s a clear, unambiguous acknowledgement. It’s played straight. Well, not straight—but not as some elaborate joke or filled with contempt. It doesn’t tease and doesn’t dance around the issue and wink and nudge, begging the viewer to question whether or not they’re together. That much is made immediately very clear. In the episode, AU Garak and AU EMH Bashir are a married couple, and they kiss. Every moment of their relationship is sincere, the comedic moments being not about the fact that their relationship exists, but about the dynamics it brings to the story. It also tells us very clearly that they’re not even from the same universe, and that their compatibility remains nonetheless:
HARRY KIM: “Are they from the same reality?” CURZON: “No, but they love to brag about how statistically unlikely their marriage is.”
Again, I tend to see this as a positive nod to the compatibility of these characters rather than a brush-off that says the prime universe Garashir couldn’t be together. And then Garak tells us his universe’s Bashir is like the original: still a racquetball player and competes with Chief O’Brien—again, revealing quite a bit.
And the B-plot is about them squabbling, acknowledging very clearly to us that Cardassians really do just love flirting via argument, which serves as a brilliant nod to everyone who complained for three decades that the DS9 writers never really admitted that Bashir and Garak were just flirting. Finally! The writers seem to understand quite well what’s important to us, even if this isn’t the ‘Real Garashir.’
What satisfies me ultimately is that this doesn’t in any way look like a rejection of the possibility of Garashir in the prime universe. It looks to me like it supports the text, not a mean-spirited denial that it could only happen under bizarre AU circumstances. To sum it up with another Boimler quote:
BOIMLER: “The multiverse is just a rehash of stuff I already know.”
Hm… :)
And as I pointed out in a prior post, the whole point of the episode is to show that even in different circumstances and worlds, the love characters have for one another remains a constant and is utterly transcendent. The episode straight up tells us that some relationships are so powerful that they span dimensions and realities, and then Garak and Bashir say they would follow one another to any reality!
In my panel-lecture, I said, “[Paramount’s control over the text] suggests that certain readings require their endorsement or confirmation to be true.” But this doesn’t feel like that to me, and so I accept this. It leaves room for possibilities of all kinds, and opens more doors rather than closing them. I can appreciate that.
I also spoke about how canon isn’t one thing—not a binary yes or a no, and that there is no singular meaning. I call this multiplicity:
“Multiplicity is about the continuous proliferation of ideas and the rejection of the text as having a single meaning. It rejects mere viewing or the consumption of media in favor of dialogue and participation rather than a one-way communication.”
This episode served to defy singular interpretations of the text. It tells us that there are infinite possibilities and it took a route that challenges the single-story interpretation of Garashir = Not Canon. It made room for new perspectives and affirmed what “the stuff we already know.”
Why It’s Not Enough
Now for the other side of the coin: why it’s not enough. As exciting as it is to have this kind of confirmation from the current writers for Star Trek in a frankly increasingly conservative storytelling environment, it’s still disappointing for many people that even in the most progressive Star Trek that exists, they cannot or will not openly state that the prime universe Garashir got the ending and acknowledgment they deserved.
It feels like begging Paramount as a corporation for scraps and thanking them for what really doesn’t feel like enough—it stops short of full, sincere, complete validation of Garashir’s queerness. As I said in my panel, it’s normal for us to want confirmation from the writers and creators that what we’re seeing is real and not just imagined, even when the role of fanfiction is for us to transform canon and reject it ourselves.
It’s absolutely exhausting for us to say we see something that is continuously denied by those who ‘own’ the story in favor of mass appeal, and to me, that is a legitimate perspective that can coexist with the idea that fandom is designed reshape the canon to fits its own needs, and that we don’t need confirmation from the creators for something to be true. Fandom exists to defy corporate ownership of stories, but to have to fight for mere moments where marginalized perspectives are foregrounded causes anger for good reason. We may not need confirmation from them, but saying that we should never expect anything from Paramount releases the corporation of accountability and obligation to respect the audience and their own characters. We should be able to expect and trust that these characters and their relationships can be done justice by those who have the privilege of steering that ship.
It’s one thing for me to say that this episode affirms the reality of Garashir, but it’s also true that prime Garashir probably could not be given complete canonization because this is the best way they knew how to ‘get away with it’ all while maintaining its mainstream and popular appeal with heteronormative audiences that would have a problem or reject it if it happened to ‘real Garashir.’
Slash fans, for decades, have existed in the lane of compromise—firmly between having our truth validated and entirely rejected in favor of a Star Trek that is designed to be sold as a product to as many people as possible. Rarely do we receive more than a bone tossed to us by the powers that be, and when we do receive it, it’s on their incomplete terms, often with massive concessions made to make it happen. For Garashir to receive their blessing, they had to twist it into an AU. The reason they could do this episode is because it gave them the neat plausible deniability to also say this has nothing at all to do with prime Garashir, so that it didn’t entirely alienate audiences who wouldn’t support a queer narrative.
This is their way of having their cake and eating it too. In some ways, it looks like they’re just trying to make everyone happy, but the story shouldn’t have to make everyone happy, and a compromise can really just feel like everyone loses, or like prioritizing the status quo again. For decades, the status quo has always left those with marginalized readings of the text unhappy, sidelined by a narrative that is supposed to be progressive and supposed to look to a future where queerness is natural and not taboo. And if this is the best they can do, it’s only reasonable that it should still sadden us, disappoint us, anger us. It’s hard not to resent that reality.
What Now?
I urge folks to continue negotiating the text, as I did above in the first section. I made sense of it in a way that fits my understanding of Garashir! You do not have to assume that there’s no more to it than that because it was all that was said on screen. We don’t have to look at canonization as the final say on the text. My perspective is that we should take it as a wonderful and deserved affirmation, and continue to transform the canon as we see fit. This is your time to decide what it means for these characters. Personally, I see it as a massively positive step forward. Just remember that where canon is concerned, you are in control of what it means.
Canon is still transformable, multiplicative, negotiated, and timely. Holders of the ‘IP’ are only one piece of the puzzle where the truth of a story is concerned. So take this as a beginning to more, not an end! As I like to say, “canon is a means to an end, not the end itself.”
Also, please don’t hesitate to add your thoughts, questions, comments, or anything else. I hope you enjoyed this meta post, if you read this far.
the elusive samurai has no right to be as absurdist and funny as it is. Truly a story about a bunch of adults trying to find a kid they don’t know the appearance of and having said kid play tricks on them under the guise of childhood games to level up video game style.
A guy who may be god and is aware of PC culture gatekeeps, gaslights and girlbosses said kid along with a bunch of other children he collected and sets them loose on unsuspecting adults to murder them with the final destination being that somehow they’re gonna overthrown Japan.
i think this does get critiqued sometimes like I think we're supposed to see naruto's enduring loyalty to Sasuke as overall a noble/good thing but in the case of the uchiha massacre the uchiha's disloyalty to the village is used to justify their deaths and Itachi putting the village first is seen as a good thing i.e. loyalty to comrades is only good when they are loyal to the state which is deeply disturbing
I think it’s interesting how Shikamaru is basically saying that Sasuke is worth risking their lives for because he is a shinobi from the hidden leaf and therefore a comrade, instead of it being because he’s a kid who’s essentially being abducted by an incredibly dangerous enemy. He’s not a comrade in the sense of being someone he knows in a dangerous situation, but in the sense of being loyal to the hidden leaf, implying that once he fully cuts those ties to the village he will no longer be worthy of help/protection, which is exactly how he gets treated by Shikamaru and most of the Konoha 11 when he becomes a rogue ninja. Even the core ideas of loyalty and protecting one another are wrapped up in the nationalism of the show.
been thinking about my baby bro
Amanda just wanted to know if he's excited to see the guys
we as a collective need to appreciate yelena's eyeliner and her choice to wear that specific one more because homegirl was getting her ass beat, having a mental breakdown on the street and running from evil government people AND fighting a dude that is literally bulletproof. that thing didn't smudge once, it remained on point and flawless throughout even when she cried
Folks, you wouldn't believe it, but January is OVEERR. I have lived 10 different lives since New Year's. SO as a happy gift please accept part 13 of f1 textposts <33
jesus fucking christ
𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑
5k words pwsp, fingering, thigh humping, semi public (fitting room), he’s obsessed, down bad/subby kaiser, yandereish?? idk
finally, after months of kaiser's relentless simping, buying you gifts you never asked for, sending your mother expensive skin care and wine with charming little notes ('from your future son in law' he'd write with a kissy face), you eventually cave.
you don't even know why you said yes. maybe it was the way he begged with no shame, maybe it was the way his text messages were a bizarre mix of both god complex and pure desperation, or maybe you were just curious what it would feel like to walk beside someone who treats you like the sun rises and sets in your eyes.
so here he is.
in japan for one week, and he's finally, finally, got you standing next to him, beautiful, aloof, casually chewing gum like you didn't just crack his entire psyche with a single text.
tokyo's luxury district glitters like it was built for him. massive glass storefronts, golden lighting, marble floors that reflect your legs like you're walking on a runway. he strolls beside you like he's king of the world, and in his eyes, he is. because you're here.
kaiser's dressed like a headline. sleek black pants, a white designer shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, expensive silver chain resting against his collarbone, rings glinting as he offers you his card with zero hesitation.
"anything you want," he murmurs, watching your reflection in the dior mirror while you eye a leather bag your mom would most certainly like. "or everything. whatever makes you smile, mein engel."
to his own surprise, he offers to carry your bags himself. you try to take one and he just narrows his eyes and kisses your hand instead. "don't ruin the fantasy." he whispers, smirking.
people stare, paparazzi even try to sneak photos, and he loves it. absolutely thrives in it, flaunts you like you're his prize. his property. if he doesn't see conspiracy's of '[name] and kaiser dating??!' on headlines tomorrow, he's going to flip.
but behind the ego is a quiet sort of awe. every time your eyes gleam when you see something you like, he freezes a little, like he can't believe it, like his body is trying to memorize it for when he's back in germany, alone in his stupid big penthouse bed, wishing he was in yours.
and when you walk out of another store, bags hanging from his arms like he's your glorified butler, you turn to him and murmur a small "you sure you can afford me?"
he gives you a lazy smirk and cocks his head to the side, "schatz, i'd sell my entire soul if it meant five more minutes with you."
he trails behind you like a guard draped in luxury. bags hanging off both arms, sunglasses pushed up into his perfectly styled hair, lips curled in that smug, dreamy little grin he wears when he knows he's won.
you drag him into every store that catches your eye. a store filled with all types of footwear? he's already kneeling down and pulling off your shoes. a high end tech shop? he's tossing his card onto the counter before the cashier can even finish scanning, and you don't even need to ask.
so you test him.
you grab random things just to see if he'll react, a life sized ditto plushie, perfume that costs more than your mothers coffee machine, a stack of limited edition manga volumes. he doesn't flinch even once.
but it's when you toss a ¥100,000 gaming console into the shopping basket without saying a word that he finally speaks.
not to complain, not to whine, but to lean in, eyes gleaming like a starved animal, and whispers, "let me sign it."
you blink up at him. "...huh?"
"the console, just let me sign it." he laughs softly, but there's something low and rough under his voice, something almost unhinged. "i want you to look at it every time you play and remember who bought it for you."
he watches your face like a hawk, waiting for a reaction, waiting to be entertained.
you just tilt your head and hum a little, eyes already searching for the next item to try and dent his bank account with. "maybe."
and god, he lights up.
you shake him off and continue wandering through stores and laughing under your breath as he lugs more and more of your ridiculous haul without a single complaint. knowing strangers look at him like he's crazy, like they can't believe the king of bastard münchen is out here being a personal pack mule, but kaiser doesn't care.
you let him walk a little closer after that, let him brush his hand against yours, let him lean in when he talks with the faint scent of mint on his breath fanning your cheek.
and when you stop for a moment to sip boba on a bench, he crouches in front of you, hands resting on your knees like you're the royalty and he's the servant. "i could do this forever," he murmurs. "follow you around, spoil you, just... be near you."
you sip your drink, looking down at him lazily. "that so?"
his grin softens, lips barely parted. "ja, and i haven't even started yet."
you raise an eyebrow, sensing some ulterior motive.
and you find it the moment you step into the last store, a sleek, high end boutique with soft lighting and velvet lined walls, kaiser's already two steps ahead. without missing a blink, he dumps all his purchases into the arms of an underpaid shop employee who looks like they're just counting down the minutes until their shift is over, and orders them to hold everything until he's finished.
his gaze sweeps the room, scanning the space like he owns it, like he's picturing you draped in every piece of clothing in sight.
you pull a few things off the rack, almost tiredly, your mind not fully on the clothes and already on all the packs you'll open once home. you're here to browse, to kill time until he eventually gets bored and lets you leave.
but kaiser? he's already planning. he's visualizing the way you'd look in silk, in fire red, in backless dresses, skin tight, the kind of pieces that only he should see, that only he should touch.
your eyes eventually land on a mannequin draped in something silk, slinky, barely there and going on borderline scandalous for a piece with its own place in the stores display window.
"try it on." he whispers from behind you, his voice a soft command, not even phrased as a question at this point.
you raise an eyebrow, glancing at the dress which happens to conveniently be in your size. "this one?"
"that one," he confirms, his tone low, eyes dark with a hunger that goes beyond just simple desire. "...come on, for me?"
you nod just a little, anything to get him off your dick, and step behind the fitting room curtain with the dress in your hands, still somehow feeling the weight of his gaze lingering even after you're out of his sight.
you shimmy out of your clothing, those too big for you sweatpants are tossed carelessly onto the floor.
and you're halfway into the dress, fingers fumbling awkwardly for the zipper on your back when the curtain suddenly shifts behind you.
you turn just slightly, hands stilling and already knowing who it is. his scent hits you first, that rich, clean and spiced fragrance mixed with something distinctly masculine. and then comes the sound of his slow exhale as he steps in behind you. then the look he gives you, those light blue eyes of his not even trying to be subtle as they run up and down your figure.
"kaiser—"
"michael." he corrects you breathlessly, his voice a low command as his hands instantly reach for you from behind. there's no need for many words as his fingers slide up the zipper agonisingly slowly, like he's savoring every inch. the cold metal drags along your spine as the dress closes, and you feel his knuckles brush your skin, all on purpose.
he sighs, shakier this time.
"you look..." he whispers, his voice low and filled with quiet awe. "fuck— absolutely perfect... absolutely mine..."
his hands settle on your waist after that, firmly and possessively, but not too tight. he just rests them there as if they belong.
he leans in, his mouth pressing gently against the exposed part of your shoulder, lips softly gliding up your flesh and pressing ghostly kisses to whatever skin he has access to. he's not in a hurry, he's not giving you those sharp quips. he's real, he raw. he's giving you all of himself.
his eyes flicker up, staring at your reflection in the mirror, staring at his long fingers sprawled across your waist, at his knee subtly sneaking in between your thighs.
you, radiant in deep blue like the inked rose on his neck, with the fabric hugging your form just perfectly. and him, close behind, still dressed in his aristocratic fashion, the loose designer shirt open just enough to reveal a slither of his tattoo.
his hands slide a little higher, thumbs pressing gently into the flesh below your belly button. not enough to bruise, but just enough to make sure you feel him there.
"we look perfect together, don't we?" he whispers against your ear, his voice not cocky, not teasing. just honest.
you meet his gaze in the mirror. his eyes are wild with something deep and obsessive, but his touch is still gentle, still somewhat patient, like he's holding himself back.
"...that depends... what does perfect look like to you?" you murmur, lips quipping faintly as you feel him shift against your back. he exhales slowly, like you've said something funny and devastating all at once.
"...i'll looking at it," his grip tightens just a little, and his gaze drags down your body, down the way the dress hugs your waist, your hips, your legs, like it was made just for you. "and she's in my hands..."
his voice dips lower, rough and quiet.
"but i've seen enough, now take it off."
your eyebrows raise, and a small breath escapes you, barely audible but he's able to catch it. he sees it, the way your eyelashes flutter in the mirror, how your hands clench at your sides.
he leans in close again, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"i'm not going to ask again," he adds, voice a quiet purr. "i've seen it, you've seen it. now take it off for me."
he kisses the side of your neck softly, then steps back just enough to give you space to move, yet not enough to leave if you were planning to escape. he's still behind you, he's still watching.
"go on, liebling," he says after your silence stretches on, eyes burning you through the mirror. "just for me, or i'll rip it off you."
"...rip it?" you murmur, eyes tracing the smooth, silky fabric as it clings to you, almost as if it doesn't want to part. "thought you liked it."
kaiser smirks at your reflection, his eyes glinting wickedly. "i do," he murmurs, fingers curling possessively into your waist. "which is exactly why i want to see it on the fucking floor."
his gaze drags down your body, taking in every curve that the dress clings to. "besides, i have far better plans for what i'm going to do to you." his voice is a low rumble, dripping with unspoken desire.
he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear, lips brushing your skin. "...unless you want me to make a scene and prove just how badly I want to take you?" it's not a question, it sounds more like a threat.
one hand slides up your side, fingers grazing the side of your breast through the thin fabric. "don't think for a second that i wont enjoy every second of tearing this dress off you, sweetheart." his thumb grazes your clothed breast, just faintly feeling the bud of your nipple stiffening beneath your outer layer.
his eyes meet yours in the mirror. "so what's it going to be? a slow strip tease, or do you want to test my restraint and let me lose control."
his grip on your hip tightens, pulling your back flush against his chest. "choose quickly now, before I decide for you..." kaiser's tone is low and dangerous, a sultry whisper that goosebumps sprawling over your arms. he's giving you the illusion of control, the chance to play along with his twisted game.
but he knows that, in the end, you'll give in, and that's exactly what he's counting on
you swallow, eyes darting to your reflection, his hands on you, slow and hungry, thumbs circling over the soft curve of your breast like he's memorizing the shape. you can feel the heat of it, the ache building under the press of his touch.
your fingers drift down, curling around the hem of the dress, giving it a gentle tug. but the fabric doesn't budge, tight across your thighs, clinging like it doesn't want to leave either.
you hum softly, a hint of mockery in your voice.
"mm... guess it's stuck. must be a sign."
kaisers eyes flicker, and he chuckles darkly at your attempt to delay the inevitable, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. "stuck, mm?" he coos, fingers hurriedly finding the zipper at the back of the dress. "don't worry, i'll help with that."
with a wicked grin, he slowly begins to tug the zipper back down, his knuckles grazing your spine with each inch of exposed skin he reveals. "such a naughty girl, trying to tease me," he purrs, voice low and rough with desire. "i don't play fair, baby... you should know that by now."
as the zipper reaches the bottom, kaiser hooks his fingers under the fabric at your waist and starts to tug, slowly peeling the dress down your hips. the silk material slides over your thighs, down your calves, until it pools around your ankles with your other discarded clothes.
he takes a step back, eyes roving hungrily over your now exposed body, taking in every inch of your skin that's now on display. "fuck, schatz... you're... you're beautiful," he huffs quietly, drinking in the sight of you bare for him. "you're a masterpiece, a fucking piece of art..."
leaning in, he gives you no warning as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, one hand curling the back of your neck as the other grips your hip. he kisses you with desperate hunger, pouring all of his want and desire into your mouth, the same want you've been trying to run away from.
when he finally pulls back, with a string of saliva keeping you connected, his eyes wild and dark, a dirty smirk pulling at his lips. "mine," he rasps, voice heavy with satisfaction and something darker. "say it, liebling. please, just say you're mine."
you shift slightly, the cool air brushing over your skin, and suddenly the protection of your undergarments doesn't feel like enough, like his gaze strips more than the dress ever could.
"...am i?" you murmur, voice quiet, almost unsure, as your arms wrap around yourself, a weak attempt at shielding what he's already seen, what he already owns with his eyes alone.
kaiser's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in their icy blue depths as they watch you try to cover yourself. "yes," he says firmly, voice low and commanding. "yes, you are."
he reaches out, gripping your wrists and pulling your arms away from your body. "stop hiding from me," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument. "stop running away."
his hands slide up your bare arms, leaving small prickles on your skin, before cupping your face. he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense gaze in the mirror. "you're not just yours anymore, liebling. you're mine... why do you keep denying it?"
his thumbs brush over your cheekbones, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the dark look in his eyes. "i claimed you the moment i saw you. i'm the man you need... the man you'll have," his voice drops to a low, possessive murmur. "everyone knows that your talent, your skill... your body... it all belongs to me."
kaiser leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. "so stop pretending you don't know it too. stop pretending you don't feel it." his grip on your face tightens fractionally. "stop pretending you're not mine."
his eyes meet yours in the mirror, blazing with a fire that threatens to consume not only him, but you as well. "stop fucking running from me, liebling," he rasps, pure desperation leaking into his voice as he quickly spins you around to face him. "stop denying me, stop denying us." he pauses, breathing heavily. "stop pretending you don't want this, stop pretending you don't need me as much as i need you."
you swallow, lashes dipping low as you glance away, but his eyes... his eyes feel heavier than ever. like they're pressing into you, pulling something out of you. maybe he's always looked at you like that... or maybe this is the first time you've let yourself see it.
"...you said stop a lot..." you mumble, the words barely above a whisper, quieter than usual.
kaiser's eyes flicker, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest as he hears your murmur. he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you're right, i did," he replies softly, voice a low mumble. "guess that means i need to put my money where my mouth is, hm?"
his hand slides down from your face, trailing over your collarbone, your breast, your stomach, before he reaches low enough to grip your hip, pulling you flush against his chest so he can grind his hips against your crotch.
"you feel that, liebling?" kaiser growls, voice rough and heavy with desire. "feel how hard i am for you? how much i want you?" he rocks into you again, letting you feel every thick inch of his cock straining against the confines of his pants.
his other hand slowly slides up your thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hitches your leg around his hip. he takes advantage of this new position to grind harder against you, the clothed head of his cock catching on your clothed um, coochie, with every rut of his hips.
"you can't hide from this," he pants, nipping at your ear. "you can't hide from what you do to me, what you make me feel." his fingers find the hem of your underwear, slipping in before you can stop him, and desperately exploring the folds of your pussy, feeling the wetness already gathering between your thighs. "fuck, baby... you're dripping... even your body knows who it belongs to... you just don't want to admit it."
he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying pressure to the sensitive nub as he grinds against you, dry humping you with his clothed cock. he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark that you'd most likely complain about, but he doesn't care right now. not when he finally has you.
"say it, liebling," he growls against your skin. "please, just say you're mine. give in to it, give in to me." his fingers plunge into your cunt without warning, pumping in and out of your tight heat. "stop fighting it, baby. stop fighting me. just.. fuck... just be mine."
his voice is ragged, desperate, his breathing harsh and labored against your neck. he's losing control. maybe he's already lost it, hell, maybe he never had any to begin with. but one thing he does know, is that you're the only one who can bring him back. he's put his heart in your palm and is waiting for your answer, waiting for you to admit the truth that you both know.
you're his, and there's no escaping it.
"god—" you grunt, hands flying up to grip onto his shoulders to stabilise. your eyes fight against you, threatening to close over the feeling of his fingers invading your aching heat.
you tell yourself you don't want this, not... really, not as your leg hooks tighter around his hip, not as your fingers sink into the solid muscles of his shoulders. you're only trying to push him away, to get him off.
but then he lets out a low, breathless groan into your ear, something helpless, something needy, like he needs this to live, like he needs you to breathe, and suddenly, you're not so sure you're just trying to push him off anymore.
kaiser's eyes darken with lust as he feels your walls clench around his invading fingers, your body betraying your true desires. "y-yeah, that's it, schatz," he mewls approvingly, fingers pumping faster, palm cupping your clit. "let me hear you... don't hold back."
he captures your lips in another desperate kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers as he grinds his clothed erection against your his hand with increasing urgency. the rough fabric of his boxers creates a throbbing friction against your sensitive flesh, fanning the flames of the fire which burn low in your stomach.
he breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, your neck, biting and sucking at the tender skin. he's marking you, claiming you, making sure that everyone who sees you will know that you belong to him.
"tell me how much you want it, liebling," he demands. "tell me how badly you need me inside you." his fingers curl, rubbing against that special spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch towards him.
"you're so fucking tight... so perfect and tight and mine," he groans, hips rolling in a filthy grind against yours. "i can feel you squeezing my fingers, begging for more, begging for me to take what's mine... what's always been mine."
he tugs your underwear down further, exposing your dripping cunt completely to his eyes. "mm... look at you, so wet and ready for me.." he growls, eyes glinting with possessive hunger.
he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "stop fighting it, schatz. stop denying us both what we want, what we need." his breath is hot against your skin, his words a sinful promise. "just... be a good girl and say it. say you're mine, and i'll give you everything you've ever wanted. i'll fucking ruin you for anyone else."
his fingers never stop their relentless assault on your pussy, plunging in and out, curling and twisting, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. kaiser is determined to make you scream, to make you admit the truth. that you are his, now and forever.
you squeeze your eyes shut, head tipping back until it meets the cool glass of the mirror. your teeth press into the inside of your cheek, holding back any sound that might betray you. you refuse to give him the satisfaction, to let him see just how good this feels. not when you know it'll only make that smug look on his face even worse.
he takes your silence as an invitation, and before you can actually try to get a word out, his fingers are pulled from your folds with a wet sheet of slick coating his knuckles and gliding down his wrist.
his other hand tightens around your shoulder as he turns you with surprising gentleness, guiding you to face the mirror. your front meets the cold glass with a small breath, your body pressed between its chill and the heat of him behind you. the cool surface flattens your chest, sending a twitch up your spine.
when you glance back over your shoulder, his head is bowed slightly, strands of hair falling over his eyes, shadowing whatever's behind them. you let out a quiet, questionable hum, but he doesn't answer, not with words, at least. just gives you a low, breathy chuckle in response.
then, you hear it, sharp and unmistakable, is the slow sound of a zipper being undone.
he doesn't look at you, his attention is on trying to tug his pants down while still being pressed against you. he wordlessly drops his forehead gently onto your shoulder, his arms sneaking around your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest, nestling onto your backside.
his slacks and underwear fall in a quiet heap around his ankles, the clatter of his belt hitting the boutique's pristine floor tiles causes a small flinch to rack through your body.
you feel it. something wet and cold sliding in between the tiny gap between your thighs.
then you see it. in the mirror when your eyes flicker down, is the very needy, very pink tip of his cock head, poking out between the fat of your thighs and rubbing against your folds as if it belonged there.
"...you'll let me have you... won't you?" he rasps, his palm firm against your abdomen, urging your body to arch for him, just how he wants you. "you can't deny me anymore... please... i don't think i can handle it."
his voice is a low, desperate plea against your ear, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps as he grinds the thick head of his cock against your slick folds. "please, liebling," he begs, hips rocking in a filthy tempo. "please, just... fuck, just let me have you... i'm not asking for much here."
"not much...?" you echo in a breathless scoff, pressing your forehead to the mirror, hands flat against the glass. oh sure, he's not asking for much. just your entire existence and anything else he can get his filthy hands on. yeah fucking right.
"not much at all..." he whines, voice barely above a whisper, almost breaking with the weight of it. he turns his head slowly, burying his face against the curve of your neck, his nose brushing along the nape like he's trying to memorize the shape of you. the warmth of his breath fans across your skin, and you feel him tremble, not from cold, but from something far more desperate.
"just you," he breathes it like it's simple. "promise. i swear... just you. that's all i want, all i've ever wanted."
his arms wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you back into him like he's terrified you might disappear. "you don't have to run anymore... i'll be good. i'll be so good for you, just don't—" his voice cracks a little, breath catching. "don't try and leave.. i'm all you need. i'll give you anything."
it's soft, it's pleading, and it's dangerous. because he means every word.
you let out a small, bitter laugh, your head still pressed against the cold glass of the mirror. the heat of his body behind you is overwhelming, and you hate how much you feel his sincerity seep into you, no matter how hard you try to push it away.
"oh, really?" you murmur, voice dripping with sarcasm. you turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eye in the reflection. "you want me, huh? just me?"
he nods, his breath shaky against your skin. his hands tighten around your waist like he's afraid you'll slip away, his chin resting in the dip between your shoulder blade and neck. "yeah, just you. that's all."
you shake your head, lips curling in a twisted grin, not quite amused. "and what if I don't want you back? what if I think you're just some guy who can't take no for an answer?"
his grip falters, just for a moment, and you can feel his tension shift, but then it's back again, stronger than before. "...but you do want me. i know you do. i can feel it."
you close your eyes, ignoring the way your body betrays you, the way it reacts to his touch, his words. "maybe," you whisper. "but that doesn't mean I'll give in so easily."
there's a long pause, the only sound in the room is the raggedness of his breathing as he presses his body closer to yours, if possible. then he speaks again, quieter, almost a plea.
"you don't have to fight it, schatz," he murmurs. "you don't have to push me away anymore. just let me have you."
"have me...?" you ask, your voice dripping with weak mockery. "and how do you want me?"
he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his usually confident expression replaced with something raw and vulnerable. he's not the towering, cocky figure he usually is, right now, he looks almost... desperate.
"i just want you," he says, his voice small, needy in a way you've never heard from him before. "please... i don't care how. i just need you. i need you so fucking much." he adds, the words slipping out like a confession.
his hands grip your waist tighter, like he's holding on for dear life, his thumbs brushing along the curves of your body. there's a tremble in his voice, a crack of vulnerability that doesn't match the way he normally carries himself.
your silence is deafening. you don't move, you don't speak, and that's what unravels him. his fingers twitch against your waist, desperate to pull you closer, desperate to feel anything that tells him you haven't slipped entirely through his fingers, but you stay still, and it's unbearable.
"do... do you want me to beg?" he chokes out, the words cracking, breaking apart in his throat. "i'm losing myself as it is..."
his voice rises, cracking under the weight of whatever's been building in him for months. his forehead presses to your shoulder again, and he exhales like it hurts, like your silence is a wound he can't stop reopening.
"what more do you want from me?" he whispers, like he's trying not to cry. "you want me on my knees? you want me to tear myself open? i will. i fucking will."
he laughs, but there's no humor in it. just fear, panic? maybe heartbreak.
"just say something," he begs. "please. i can't take it when you look at me like that and say nothing."
"...where's your condom, michael...?" you whisper after a few seconds of silence, jaw clenching at how pathetic you sound.
he groans at your words, hips jerking with an audible thump as his pelvis thrusts against your ass. "fuck, baby... no condom."
he breathes, his voice shaking as if he's holding onto the last thread of control. "my girl is so naive... she's trying to kill me." his voice dips lower, words tumbling out in a language that feels even heavier with his built up emotions.
"dummes mädchen ... kein kondom könnte dich vor dem retten, was ich gleich tun werde."
