#( so if anyone has got the time i appreciate it a lot! )

[pearlzier]

now playing . . . cowboy by tyler the creator 𓈒⠀ ✧

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀warnings / smut, cheating, random ass boyfriend called josh, reader is wearing a skirt, oral (m!receiving), p in v, public kinda (they're outside in the garden), unprotected sex (idk no mattlings running around yetzies)

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀word count / lots of words like over 2k probably ??

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀author's note / i got so carried away this was supposed 2 be a drabble LMFAOOO have fun w this :3

"THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND. YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, ALRIGHT?" is what he was told, the moment he met you.

and he listened. he really tried to. until he couldn't anymore. until he had you pinned against the wall of his friend's house, creaming on his dick. it sounds insane, it probably was, but matt was a man pushed to his last straw with a very pretty girl at the end of it. you can't blame him for that, even if it does sound cruel. to be honest, his initial resilience and resistance of temptation should've been a dead giveaway to the way he would fall into the claws of desire so hard.

matt didn't think much when he heard that josh had gotten a girlfriend. he was happy for his friend, glad that he'd found someone. he didn't expect you to be drop dead fucking gorgeous. to be so pretty. he had to do a double take when he first saw you, absolutely stunned. josh wasn't that bad looking, no, but.. to pull a girl like you was a massive feat for anyone. you're like, so fitting for josh. but at the same time, that makes you fitting for matt. of course you are.

he's fully aware of how he stared at you the first time he saw you, which caused josh to say—"that's my girlfriend. you stay the fuck away from her, alright?"—bringing him out from the daze of lewd thoughts and inappropriate positions his brain had already put you in. was he a shit friend? probably.

this resulted in matt having a bit of a staring problem as you'd called it. it wasn't creepy or anything, it was actually appreciated and polite. albeit very much loaded. it was like you knew he was head over heels for you and decided to dangle your affection infront of him in some form of torture. it was not fair how he had to hide his boner around you. absolutely torture.

he couldn't hang out with josh like he used to simply because of your presence. and you fucking knew it too, you tease. it was your favourite thing to wear the tiniest clothes around him or simply bat your lashes and giggle in the most adorable way. matt was pretty sure you wanted him dead, just from how amazing you were. once again, at a party held at josh's place, he's day dreaming a little taking you in. his blue eyes flicker over you, he swallows thickly, glancing down at the soda he had in his hands. he'd barely drank any of it, if any. too distracted by your presence.

trying to focus his attention on something else, he glances away from you, focusing his attention on some other girls dancing together. they want his attention, you just.. capture his attention without even trying. until you actually did try to get his attention, flashing him that soft little smile when your eyes met his. he has to practically force his jaw shut after it drops at the sight of you. he's so whipped for his friend's girlfriend.

matt curses himself for the way he glances away like a little kid when you meet his gaze, and he knows you most definitely saw it. he swallows hard, trying to focus on somerhing but you once more. it becomes impossible when he feels a presence which he knows is most definitely you beside him. his mouth goes dry.

"hi, matt," you say, all coy, like you don't know the exact effect you have on him. matt glances up at you, trying not to seem as awkward as he feels. his lashes flutter as he tries ro come up with a response that feels chill, not.. insane. "hey," he settles on—it's simple, casual. doesn't betray the thoughts in his head.

the smile on your glossy lips only grows at that. it's like you can see directly through him into his soul. your eyes rake over him for a moment, as you consider what to say, "you havin' fun?" you watch him, waiting for a response even if you know exactly how he's feeling. matt goes quiet, brain whirling once more in an attempt to seem normal. "sure," he starts, "just.. y'know.." great job, matt. he seems so normal, right? great.

the laugh you let out at his response has his gut tightening along with his jeans, and he swears he can feel his heart in his throat for a moment. matt runs his fingers through his hair, playing with his rings in a nervous movement. "y'know?" your words are soft, curious, as if coaxing him to continue. he really doesn't want to, but he does, anyway.

"uh," matt scratches the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle slipping past his lips. you don't think its awkward at all, no, you think it's adorable. endearing. he's adorable. "a little bored, i guess, but.. never really been much of a party guy," his blue eyes meet yours again and the intensity, the tension, makes him glance away once more. you laugh again, making his cheeks flush.

"bored? here? m'surprised, everyone's like.. having the time of their lives," you're not wrong—everyone is having the time of their lives.

"i could think of plenty of other things that would constitute as the time of my life, this isn't one of 'em," matt snarks playfully, finding himself comfortable with you almost instantly. you have this vibe, this comfortable aura that makes people relax and chill out. trustworthy, in a way. "i get it, don't worry. besides the dancing and people and.. things, it's not that entertaining." he can agree with that, and he nods, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he leans back against the wall.

this allows him a moment to take you in. he shouldn't have done that. that once over only made his thoughts about you worse. horrifically worse, oh god. matt glanced at the ceiling as if the faint stain on it was interesting. it wasn't. he'd much rather leave stains with you on some sheets. even he cringed at his own thoughts. "come outside with me," you offer after a moment. everything about you oozes innocent but matt can't help but think you're anything but. he thinks about josh and swallows, mumbling, "i don't think josh would like that very much."

"he's not here right now, is he?" you remember very vividly josh had gone out to grab some drinks for the party with another friend of his, having headed to the convenience store near his house. which left you with free reign of the party, and the chance to do whatever you fucking pleased. and you wanted to do matt. the obvious answer.

matt's a tiny bit stunned by your words and he blinks slowly, processing for a minute before his brain catches up and he nods quickly, pushing off of the wall with an eagerness he's embarassed at. "you're right," he starts, "yeah, okay," he nods towards the door leading outside to the back garden with the hot tub and such. he's a tiny bit nervous you're playing with him, to go back and tell josh what he's doing, however you seem just as into this as he is, and he nods once more.

he takes the lead, glancing back frequently to check you're still there. you are, thankfully, and he gains a tiny bit more confidence. "you look nice," he murmurs, quiet, so if you didn't hear him he wouldn't have to repeat himself. you did hear him, however, and you feel flush at that. that soft smile only grows more, "thank you. can say the same," matt laughs softly, glancing away bashfully. he holds the door for you, delighting in the way your soft body brushes against his. he wants to feel more. wants to feel you under him, above him, around him.

it's cool outside, an easy breeze that contrasts to the warm heat of bodies within the house. you visibly relax which makes him relax too. he's quiet, you're quiet, the two of you making your way to a quiet part of the garden. it's sort of an alley, the bit between the back gate and the house itself. he likes how private it is. "so," matt starts, "so," you respond in return. it's not an awkward silence, but gentle. he laughs softly, he doesn't even know why. you're just so pretty it makes him giddy. and he says it. "you look so pretty."

"you think i look pretty?" you know you look pretty. when don't you?

"uh-huh," he nods, gently. "real pretty," he swallows hard. you overwhelm him. "sometimes i think—" he shouldn't go down that rabbit hole, especially not infront of you.

but he'd already gone too far, you'd heard him. "you think what?" you're always so attentive and inquisitive, he hates it. not really, he adores it, but sometimes he wishes you'd let things slide more often. matt curses under his breath, blue eyes soft.

"sometimes i think about if you were mine," matt's voice is quiet, almost scared as to how you'll react. he thinks you'll flip out at him, slap him, call him insane. but you don't, a soft looking appearing in your eyes. you look at matt with this gentle curiosity that coaxes him into saying more; "because you're.. you're just so gorgeous, and sweet, and funny, and you smile at me when i'm having the shittest days ever and i just fucking wish you weren't with josh because god, i'd make you feel so good, baby," he doesn't think twice about calling you baby and you don't think twice about how good you feel when he says that.

"now you're just begging me to kiss you," your tone is playfully soft, and matt looks a tiny bit weary, like he's scared you're joking. his plush lips are parted, soft puffs of air slipping past, "kiss me?" he asks gently, blue eyes innocent in how surprised he is. you want to kiss him?

you decide to answer without words, gently grasping at his hoodie and drawing him in for a gentle kiss. your lips meet, a soft groan slipping past matt's lips almost instantly. his hands hover around your waist, as he's scared to touch you, like he doesn't deserve to, so you gently mumble against him, "you can touch me," just to make it crystal clear you're okay with this. his lips are soft, gentle, his mouth tasting faintly like the soda he'd been drinking and a faint vanilla lip balm that made his lips so plush. your lips are equally soft, the glitter of your lip-gloss transferring to his lips and leaving a glittery sheen on them.

matt lets out a soft whine when your lips have to come off eachother, to simply get air. fuck air, he thinks to himself, but he doesn't say it outloud. "josh," he says gently, his brain immediately thinking to the worst scenario. you, however, don't look fussed. "what about him?" your relaxed demeanour and absolutely no worry in your gait makes his cheeks flush more, but also a confidence grow within him. he quickly grasps at your hips and brings you into him, thumbs stroking over the fabric of your skirt.

"nothing," he says quietly, practically breathing you in. the smell of your perfume made him dizzy. he wanted to suffocate in it. god, if you heard his thoughts.. "no—nothing about him," he slides his hands over your sides, and he's trying to resist the urge to grope at your body. "nothing, ma," he wants to kiss you again. "can i kiss you again?"

"mhm," you hum gently, preening into his touch with your eyes lifting up to his. your smile only grows, a giggle slipping past your lips once more. "i suppose so." matt eagerly slips his hand down to your ass, grasping gently to tug you impossibly closer before he presses his lips to yours again. his tongue brushes yours, and you eagerly reciprocate it again. as he grasps at your ass, your hands slide to his arms and hold yourself against him.

"god, you're so pretty," he murmurs against your lips, whimpering the words out gently. you slide your hands up and down his arms, making a shiver flutter down his spine a little. "s'not fair, how come he gets you?" his voice is whiny, like he really can't believe that you're his, even if he wants you so bad.

you raise your brows, "you're getting me right now." your words are a soft reminder, that he shouldn't think about his bestfriend, your boyfriend at this very moment. matt practically melts the moment you drop to your knees infront of him. he glances around frantically for a second as if josh is gonna pop out of a bush or something. this feels like a dream, like it's not real, but your fingers tugging on the zip of his jeans was very much real.

"are you not uncomfortable?" of course that's what he's worried about. your comfort. it's adorable how his blue eyes search yours to find any hesitation. he doesn't find any.

"m'fine, don't worry yourself 'bout it, matt," he's dreamed of this before. woken up with his boxers sticky at the thought of you on your knees for him. he swallows thickly, "okay," he breathes out, sounding a little on edge.

matt whines under his breath when you tug at the zip, his chest rising and falling in gentle breaths whilst he watched you. the cold air hits his thighs when you manage to tug down the denim previously covering him, and he lets out a nervous little laugh. "oh my god," he mumbles, he'd never thought he'd have you like this. your fingers brush his legs, making him practically buckle at the knees. "you don't have to, i mean—" he'd fully planned on being the one to make you feel good, but from how eagerly you're tugging at his boxers, he's pretty sure he'll get to wait.

"i want to, though," there's such certainty in your voice. it's attractive.

he swallows thickly when he feels you tug down his boxers, a quiet yelp slips past his lips. his tip leaks precum, clearly having been doing so for a while now considering the stain on the front of his boxers. matt would feel embarassed if it wasn't for how badly he wants to fuck your throat till you cry, pretty tears on your cheeks. he's so hard, it almost hurts. "you look so good," he mumbles quietly, "oh, god."

your eyes flutter over him, taking in the sight of his cock appraisingly. "says you," matt blushes instantly at your words, "me? pretty? that's just because my dick's out, isn't it?"

"that too," you shrug, running your fingers up over his thigh. the touch is light, and you realise you like touching him a lot. the faint shiver in his leg, the way he watches you so attentively at every tiny movement—you feel wanted. so, so wanted. more than josh ever made you feel. he instinctively pumps his hand on his cock, a pitiful whine slipping past him as his head tilts back a little. he hasn't even been touched yet, and he's yours. he thumbs his slit for a moment, coaxing more precum to drip. smearing it over the swollen head, he gently guides it to your mouth, watching as the tip pushed against your plush lips. "is this okay? do you—is this.." matt doesn't know why he's so nervous. he'd been with plenty of girls before so this isn't anything different, but it is. you're amazing.

"you're worried," you start, "but i wanna make you feel good," words mumbled against his tip, you leave little kisses as you speak—"let me," you say softly, watching as he strokes his cock once more. matt's hesitant for another moment, scared of making you uncomfortable, before he decides to let go of those fears and just go for it. his hand slides to the back of your head, cradling as he tugs your mouth onto him, watching your plush lips stretch to accommodate his girth. the sight is gorgeous, a gasp escaping him as he watches you.

"holy shit," he's gentle with you, wanting to worship the land you walk on in this very moment. your pretty eyes on his as you gag around him a little, grasping at his thighs to steady yourself. your lips leave a little gloss imprint on him, a quiet giggle coming from him at that. but he's also giddy about how warm your mouth feels around him, and the urge to just start thrusting his hips is palpable. "you feel so.." his hips move in gentle, shallow thrusts, trying not to go too far. you moan around him, a pretty sound which makes him whimper again.

your lashes fluttering as you swirl your tongue around the tip, making a mess of him as your drool runs in globs down the sides of his cock. he likes the way you struggle a little, but his head's fuzzy at how good you make him feel. "so, so good, ah, ah—" matt makes the prettiest noises, eyes squeezing shut the moment he starts rutting his hips against you, bullying his dick further down your throat. "fuck, fuck, shit.. like that.." he mumbles under his breath, hands drawing you closer by the back of your head.

it doesn't help the way you start to bob your head, his thighs tensing beneath your touch as he whines, "so.. fuck.. makin' me feel so good, baby, uh-huh," you have to breathe through your nose to take him as deep as you want, which is deeper than matt had anticipated. not that he was complaining. you felt so good, your mouth so warm and wet around him. more precum leaks from his tip at your motions, and you swallow for a moment slowly, the salty taste making you moan around him.

that makes his thighs tense once more, a quiet whimper bubbling from his throat before it drops into a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he grunted out, "gonna cum, shit.. mmh, gonna—gonna cum," thick, white ropes of cum spurt as he lets go, warming your throat and painting its surface. he holds you close still, even as you swallow down his load, his chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

he looks so pretty like this—all blissed out and weightless from how good you'd just made him feel. his lashes flutter, blue eyes now on yours as his eyes open, and he stammers out quickly, "i'm so sorry, i didn't ask, i just assumed that.. that—"

"it's okay, hey," you liked everything he was doing. it felt good. you enjoyed swallowing whatever he gave you, it wasn't like you weren't enjoying yourself. the awkward way in which he handled his feelings towards you made your heart warm, a soft, nervous smile playing on his plush, pink lips now. "yeah?" he asks gently, swallowing hard. he's got an idea, brewing in his head. "okay. uhm, here, uh.."

he glances down at himself, embarassed at how hard he still is despite the fact he'd just came down your throat. but he's got a plan to fix that, as his hands slip down to help you back up. "here.." he mumbles, a little clumsy in how he handles you but it's still way more.. comfortable than it is with josh. even when you're outside against a brick wall. "is this okay?" he asks, running a ring-clad hand over the curve of your thigh for a moment before he presses you against the wall, letting your back come against it.

"this is okay," even a simple, is this okay, has you soaked. he's so considerate.

"it is?" he asks, gently, fingers brushing the hem of your underwear, tugging slowly with a curl of his index and middle.

"you're worrying," you murmur, expression soft.

"just wanna treat you right," matt says gently, tugging down your underwear finally. you flinch a little at the cold air hitting your wet cunt, his blue eyes following the string of your arousal clinging to your panties from your hole. he swallows thickly at the sight, sliding your underwear into his pocket for safe keeping. it'd be a miracle if you got those back after. "make you feel as good as you made me, baby," he shifts you against the wall.

you're pretty sure you're dripping down your thighs, and matt can't help a bashful smile at the sight. "up," he says gently, and you oblige, lifting your legs to hook around his waist so he holds you up with his body. it's an interesting position, but this is an interesting predicament, you suppose. "thank you," he says gently, unable to stop himself. he feels.. just.. amazing.

"what are you thankin' me for?" you giggle, head tilting. you're trying not to focus on how good you feel as the head of his cock glides over your folds, parting them gently enough to rub against your clit. he hasn't even been inside you yet and you're pretty sure you could make a mess right there and then.

"lettin' me have you," matt says it like it's obvious, scoffing a little at the way you look at him so curiously. his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping and tugging you closer to hold you up and give himself leverage to slide into you. he pumps his hand over himself once or twice, smacking the head against your cunt before he slowly starts pushing into your tight hole. a whine escapes both of you when he does so, the tight stretch making both you and matt shiver. "oh god, oh.."

if he could stay buried in you forever, he would. if you could have him in you forever, you would. he stretches you so good, a little muffled whimper coming from you as you'd nuzzled into his shoulder to keep yourself steady. "matt," you whine, "so good," he revels in your praise, a fluttery feeling in his stomach at how you seem to adore him. matt's careful, easing himself into you till he bottoms out, fitting snug within your sensitive pussy.

his head tilts back with a groan, content to just stay there like that, but he can feel you grow a tad bit impatient with a little rock of your hips. "i got you," he says with a little nod, slowly easing back before he rocks his hips forward again. he does this a couple more times till he finds an easy rhythm, the slickness of your pussy allowing him to just slip in and out. "is this o—"

"matt, it's fucking okay," he can't help but laugh at the way you snap st him, your words shaky as you watch the way his cock disappears into your tight hole, the wet sounds making your stomach feel all fluttery just like his. the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin makes you feel all the more connected to matt, your eyes searching his. "it's okay, more than—shit, mmh.." you just make the perfect sounds as he gradually finds himself pounding into you, hands holding you up against him.

his movements are a little sloppy and clumsy, a testament to how badly he wants you, wants you to feel good, wants to feel the way you clench around him when you cream on him. "like that, like that, shit, fuck me like that," your whimpers only make him thrust harder, his eyes locked on the bounce of your tits with everytime his hips meet yours. every inch of you is intoxicating for him.

"you feel like heaven, baby, god," he grunts out, feeling the way your tight walls squeeze him, practically trapping him there. he keeps it up, free hand lifting to palm at your chest, gently squeezing. he can't help himself, and you can't help but cry out louder. the music of the party is loud enough to mask your sounds anyway, you're sure of it. "this pussy, mmh, could die right here, poundin' your tight cunt, baby."

"uh-huh? yeah?" you coax, feeling your head spin as he hits every spot. his tip hammers into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you cry out with every hard thrust of his hips, and he groans under his breath as you start to clench around him again. "shit, matt, m'gonna cum, i can't, gonna—"

"yeah? yeah? me too, me too, baby, c'mon," he squeezes at your chest once more before his hand slides back down to your thighs, his thrusts only becoming more forceful, making your legs tighten around his waist and inner walls squeeze him even more. "me too, cum for me, cum with me, i got you, that's it, that's my girl," his hips stutter once more, especially when you cream on his cock like that, his blue eye falling instantly to the way your release oozes down him. it soon mixes with his own, a lewd, wet sound squelching out as he pulls out from you a moment after.

his chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, as does yours, recovering from how intense your orgasms were. even then, he feels like he could go again. a million times. maybe after a second, you'd definitely go again too. he's about to go to speak when he hears a call pull up outside, most definitely josh, and your eyes widen, "matt—"

"my place," he tells you, no negotiation in his tone. he wasn't done with you. he doesn't think he'll ever be done with you.

๋࣭ ⭑ taglist / @mattslolita , @st7rnioioss , @flairdean , @mattsluv , @bepositiveforachange , @poetatorturadaa , @onlynextdoor , @sturncakez , @luverboychris , @sirenedeslily , @evrithingbagel , @sl4ttformattsturniolo , @mattsturnihoe , @aphroditepjo , @mazzystar111 , @flouvela , @stonermattsgf , @str4wberryk1ss3s

[punkitt-is-here]

I went back, read the FAQ, figured out I was working with bad information, and would like to present an actually polite version of the previous ask.

The other women you were having the "AFAB trans woman" debate with haven't been able to let go of it,

because anons have been accusing them of gatekeeping and TERF politics for providing anecdotes of, basically, AFAB people identifying as trans women to mock or overthrow their social groups. Citations below:

https://strawberry-crocodile.tumblr.com/post/742523159739334656/aita-for-warning-new-transfem-friends-that-someone

https://necronatural.tumblr.com/post/754196456131428352/sorry-but-if-youre-afab-you-do-not-get-to-call

I understand that the brazen, all-caps-bold-text mockery of any ask on this topic is great for driving off hateful anons pointed at you,

but if you could lend some credit to @patricia-taxxon 's responses, for example, it'd help take some hate off her back and really hep build my respect for you as an artist.

This will be likely my last proper response on any of this so be chill about it

I really, genuinely do not care that much about this subject much at all. It is a passing thought to me. I made the original post, responded once or twice, and made a quesadilla. it was fucking delicious. I do not appreciate the way you have talked to me. If you're going to treat yourself like someone I have to earn the respect back of instead of a random stranger on the internet who was very brazen to me in a one-off inbox message, I am not going to care.

With that out of the way: I have read the citations you have listed. I do not care. I have read them, thoroughly considered their points, and I still do not give a shit. What you are pointing at here in the first one is an individual perpetrating shitty behavior. I am not saying that this is the case, but if there was an assigned-male-at-birth woman perpetrating the same information, it would become very apparent very quickly how obvious it is that the issue is not with their gender identity, it is with the information they are spreading. Anyone is capable of misinformation, and I am not going to shit on and belittle a completely niche gender identity because one woman on the internet fucked up one time. If I did that, I'd be a hypocrite and would not be practicing any sort of good faith towards people with gender identities I do not fully understand. This is a core tenant of how I approach queerness. I do not need to understand someone to respect them. I do not need to worry about how conservatives will see us. I do not need to worry about the larger queer community when one person is being off-putting. I am not a fucking square. I achieve a lot of inner peace by simply practicing what you have named "tits-and-beer gender liberalism".

The second post you have linked is also something that I have read. I have considered the points in said post. My stance has still not changed. I do not think ID'ing as a transfeminine person when you were assigned female at birth is an inherently transphobic concept. Plenty of people in my notes have described experiences that very clearly and understandably outline why they do or why others might identify with the concept. I fundamentally disagree with the response because I do not believe that it is a transphobic idea. I am a transgender woman and have been for about half a decade now. My relationship with femininity is complex, and I am a binary transgender woman. I think in the grand scheme of gender identities, switching from one binary to the other has been pretty easy for me mentally. I am not intersex, I have never detransitioned in any way, and my family has been incredibly supportive. I transitioned specifically for the euphoria I got from identifying as a woman. I still have a complicated relationship with womanhood. Someone who has gone through many more hardships than I have is probably going to have an even more complicated relationship with femininity, and that is why I have no trouble imagining why something like an AFAB trans woman would exist. Perhaps someone has a complicated relationship with gender in relation to their intersex status and feels that the journey that transgender women take more closely aligns with their own rather than cisgender womanhood. Perhaps they are non-binary and have still transitioned to a more feminine-leaning identity. Perhaps they have de-transitioned, but now they are irreversibly changed by that experience and they are, in a way of thinking, "trans-feminine" because they are transitioning back to femininity. It is not hard for me to think of reasons. It is not saying that trans women are not real women. I think it is very clear to me that "transfem" can easily describe an experience with femininity that differs from the cisgender experience. It is no less valid, it is simply different, as with all things.

"Transfem" can mean "a man transitioning into a woman", but it can also describe a complex approach towards self-identification. We can argue semantics all we want, but I do not care personally. I do not think transfem means transitioning from man to woman exclusively. I am a binary transgender woman, and I do not agree that that is all it is. My journey as a transgender individual has been very uncomplicated compared to others, but it is still an ocean deep. I do not want to reduce that journey and identification down to a simple "man become woman" because that betrays the inherent complexity of transitioning and figuring out yourself.

Ultimately, to me, it comes down to not giving a shit. I am rarely, if ever, going to meet an AFAB transfem person. You are rarely, if ever, going to meet an AFAB transfem person. It is an incredibly niche gender identity with a lot of baggage, as we have seen. It is never going to matter in the broad scheme of things that they exist because 99% of people are not going to bring them up in the wider conversation about transfemininity. I know that finding your identity can be a rough, arduous process. I am not going to deprive someone of the joy of self-discovery, even if it is a complex or contradictory idea. I do not fully understand neopronouns. I do not fully understand things like polyamory or he/him lesbians or AFAB transfems. I do not need to. In real life, you hang out with people and share food and good times together. None of this shit matters. If I am ever so lucky to meet someone with a contradictory or confusing identity, I am happy that my words may provide them comfort and that they won't live to hide themselves around me. Making someone feel like they have to hide parts of their self is the last thing I would ever want anyone to experience.

I have no beef with Patricia. I quite like her work. When I saw her response, I disagreed. I still do. I am not going to start agreeing with an idea I am expressly opposed to because someone asked. But it is not the end of the world. I would appreciate, if my followers are sending her harassment, that they fucking stop, because it's not that big a deal. If anyone from my post is sending anyone hate because of a public disagreement on that post, I ask you kindly to stop and go outside. I do not condone the behavior. It is not that big a deal.

I am going to go make myself a ham and egg sandwich and practice tits and beer gender liberalism now. I hope this satisfies your request in some way.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Hello! I just finished reading all your writing.. i feel like your characterisation of coop is just so good!

Lately i’ve been fixated on how Cooper would feel about a plus sized partner.. (definitely not just because I’m plus sized myself)

Part of me feels his postwar ghoul self would be feral (pardon the pun) for a woman with a soft squishy body, especially a soft tummy and ass he can sink his fingers into, because someone like that would be so rare in the wastelands, and because it would be so different to his own physique

(Anon, I have a secret to share with you before we even get into headcanon territory; I'm a size 14-16ish, myself, so I definitely relate. I try to keep my reader-insert characters as nondescript as is reasonable in order to keep them accessible, but honestly? Every single character I've ever written is fat, or at least midsized. I feel like my use of words like "soft" and "plush" to describe them, plus references to tummies and bellies, might expose me a bit on that front. Thanks for reading and thanks for the ask!)

Prewar!Cooper Howard just loves women in general, all shapes and sizes. Big fan. He appreciates the female form in every one of its many variations. Back home, he knew plenty of bigger girls, curvier girls, and dated several before he met and fell head over heels for Barb. Once the two of them move to California, there's a noticeable decline in the variation of body types around him, and while he finds the women around him beautiful as well, he also finds himself sort of missing the higher concentration of softer ladies.

After she gives birth to Janey, Barb is pretty self-conscious about her body, but Cooper is quick to reassure her that she is just as beautiful as she was before (even moreso to him since she's grown softer in such nice places, frankly, but he doesn't think that's a proper thing to say out loud). She experiences a lot of pressure to be conventionally thin in her role as an executive, and while he supports her ambitions and what she wants to do with herself, it makes him feel terrible to see her so down on her body sometimes when he loves her (and it) so much.

Post-divorce, I think that a bigger partner, especially someone comfortable in their looks, their personal style, would be a welcome change to him. Like I said in my response to the question about him with a partner with body hair, I think he'd enjoy being with someone who wasn't so "L.A. perfect"; more authentic, at least to him.

He really loves a soft belly on a woman, and it's a treat that's been denied to him for so long. Of course, his favorite place to cum is inside you in whatever form he can get it, but he also likes to spurt all over your breasts and tummy, the sight of the mess cooling on your skin enough to get him going again more often than not. It drives him doubly crazy if you play in it a bit.

Also likes a good tit fuck. Likes it even more if you've got big enough breasts to do it while you sit on the floor in front of him. Getting to smoke a cigarette and sit back and watch you jerk him off with your tits is high up on his list of favorite ways to relax after a stressful day, especially if you tease the head of his cock with your lips and tongue.

Finds big nipples/big areolas very sexy; if you've got either (and definitely if you've got both), you might end up having to fend him off of your chest every once in a while with as often as he'll like to suck and lick and nip the poor things until they're all puffy and sore.

Enjoys using his ability to still pick you up and toss you around as a way to show off to you. It makes him feel virile and strong, so I hope you don't mind a little manhandling from time to time...

The Ghoul is always very pleasantly surprised to see anyone with some substance to them, physically; it's not necessarily that fat or midsize people don't exist, but the incidence of folks who are malnourished, stunted, and emaciated has certainly increased as the centuries have crept by.

He has always been a fairly lean and wiry guy, and life has given him more and more hard edges, so he adores a plush partner; round face, full lips, soft overall features. Big, soft hair, even. It's such a fascinating contrast to himself, to everything around him. The Wasteland is so harsh and strips every last bit of life it can out of every last thing that inhabits it, so to see someone so vivacious and supple...you are spellbinding to him before he even gets to touch you, to say the least.

When he does get to touch you, he wants to be respectful, trying his hardest to control his urge to rip your clothes away and grip your supple skin in his bare hands. He's trying so hard to reconnect with the more tender, gentlemanly part of himself, if it even still exists. But you seemingly have no idea how wild you drive him, how badly he wants to pin you down and feel your warm, pliable form beneath his, kind and sweetly flirty as ever despite how thin his self control is wearing. It's not long before the feeling he's trying to ignore consumes you both and he becomes intimately familiar with just how soft your body really is.

The man already had a breeding kink long ago, but it comes back with a vengeance if he meets the right person. He already finds himself drawn to your wide hips and thick thighs, but once he's fallen for you, once he's decided that you're his and he wants you to be his forever, they take on a whole new light. All he can think about his how good those wide hips would feel in his hands as he pumps you full, how beautiful your little tummy would look adorned with a baby bump.

Big fan of thigh-fucking, especially if you're not particularly rad-resistant; its a nice way for him to put you on your back, your legs on his shoulders the way he likes, pumping away at you in a way that feels natural without having to worry about making you incredibly sick or hurting you if he can't pull out in time. Or if he produces a lot of precum, which he is prone to. You both love and hate it, the head of him bumping and teasing against your clit depending on the angle, but never stimulating you enough to make you cum yourself. Fortunately, he's quite faithful about planting his head between your thighs and finishing you off once he's done.

If you are rad resistant, he still loves it; in fact, he loves it even more because he can fuck your thighs until he's about to finish, and instead of coating your stomach and mound, he can shove his weeping cock inside you at the last second and breed you, the sudden, wet heat around him making him cum even harder. Best of both worlds.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

I've mentioned this in passing in this post, but this is hands down my favourite line in The Fellowship of the Ring. The line speaks volumes about Glorfindel, and yet the details are easily missed by a first-time reader travelling along with Frodo and friends, and that's because not once does Glorfindel explain how significant his words and actions were. Yet there is so much to unpack! It is only left to us to appreciate them after learning more about this world.

“There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine…”

Again, Glorfindel only mentioned this in passing and did not explain, but the reason for this is because the only ones Rivendell would send to ride openly against the Nazgûl were special members of the Eldar: the Calaquendi, old Elves from Valinor and who have seen the light of the Two Trees. Gandalf later explains that these Elves “live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and Unseen they have great power”. The Nazgûl, as we learn, were wraiths that reside only in the Unseen world, and so to anyone else, they were invisible.

We know there were very few Calaquendi remaining in Middle-earth by the Third Age, and most of them reside in Rivendell. But even among them, likely only the warriors could be sent to go after the Nagzûl, chief of Sauron's servants. This early, we get a clue that Frodo and company have met someone extraordinary.

“It was my lot to take the Road…”

By “Road”, Glorfindel meant The Great East-West Road, an ancient road that cuts across Eriador from the Grey Havens to Rivendell and the Misty Mountains. This would have been the most perilous of the roads because it would have been the most obvious path passing through the Shire. Later, during the Council of Elrond, it would be mentioned that Sauron would be expecting the Ring to go from the Shire either to the Grey Havens or to Rivendell, both routes reached primarily via the Road.

It was to be expected therefore that this is the one path most guarded by the Enemy. Again, Glorfindel only mentions his task securing the Road in passing, but the fact that he got the most obvious and thus most perilous path speaks volumes of his ability and position in Rivendell. Only a few deemed able to ride openly against the Nine were sent out, and out of them, Glorfindel was the one sent to secure the most dangerous route. Let's sit with that thought for a moment.

"I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago."

The Bridge of Mitheitel, or The Last Bridge, is the only way to cross the great River Hoarwell (Mitheitel) from Weathertop to Rivendell. Aragorn, as much as he could, avoided the Road, himself knowing the dangers possibly waiting for them there. Later though he tells the Hobbits, "I am afraid we must go back to the Road here for a while, [for we] have now come to the River Hoarwell... There is no way over it below its sources in the Ettenmoors, except by the Last Bridge on which the Road crosses."

Aragorn and the Hobbits therefore went to the Bridge dreading to encounter the Nazgûl, only to find it safe. Instead, Aragorn finds an elf-stone in the middle of the bridge, which gives him hope. We now learn that it was Glorfindel who left it there, for he has secured the Bridge, likely knowing how important it was to do so because unlike all other paths, this was the one path that Frodo and company would inevitably need to take. If the Enemy wanted to lay an ambush, they would have done so at the Bridge; strategically Glorfindel understood this, and coming after them at the Bridge was exactly what the company needed from him for them to stay safe.

“Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward.”

Here once again is Glorfindel describing something incredible in the simplest of ways: the Nazgûl actually flee from him! Thus far in the book, the Nazgûl were the first source of terror for Frodo's company as well as for us, the readers, yet here Glorfindel was riding about with bells on his horse, not even trying to hide at all. He is the one hunting the Nazgûl and not the other way around, this was made very clear.

Glorfindel has been my favourite character from the start. He got me from their first meeting because he gave the Hobbits a sense of safety, even though they and we perhaps do not yet fully appreciate who he was and what he was capable of. As we read through the rest of the books, and even beyond through The Silmarillion, The Fall of Gondolin, The Peoples of Middle-earth and all these other books that share his history, I only learned to love him all the more. Years later, having read all these other books, I still sometimes just sit in awe thinking back on this first encounter in this first book, in the Fellowship of the Ring, about how Frodo and his friends met this seemingly humble Elf, who in actuality was literally an Elf of legend. Yet apparently one would not think it, encountering Glorfindel on the road.

[flippinpancakes64]

Hi! Hope your doing well

Can I get the cullens with reader who is sick and wants nothing but cuddles?

The Cullens with a sick reader

Hello! I am doing well thank you!

I went for just a general sickness not really like a specific one so imagine whatever you want.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's really concerned

The most concerned of all of them, actually

His mother died from the flu and he was going to as well

So any illness reminds him that you're human and that what happened to his mom could happen to you too

He insists on Carlisle staying home to look after you

He is pacing, he is breathing heavy, he looks like he's on the verge of death

It's only when Carlisle manages to get through to him that you'll be fine does he finally calm down

Then he notices that your skin is really clammy and you're really hot

What better way to cool down than a literal block of ice?

He will lay there with you as long as you need

It doesn't matter if he's hungry and needs to hunt

If you're still sick he is not leaving the house

Much less leaving your side

Alice:

She saw this coming

Maybe you did something stupid and like stood in the rain with a t shirt and shorts on

Or maybe you just accidentally crossed paths with a kid who was sick at your school

Either way she saw you being sick a couple of days in advance

It gave her enough time to prepare everything that you would need

She was also able to see that you ended up being fine, so she doesn't worry too much

You don't even need to ask for cuddles though

She is already there

The good part about being prepared ahead of time is that she has everything she needs

She doesn't need to leave the room to go get you anything

She doesn't need to go hunt

She is just there at your service, ready to comfort

Jasper:

He could tell you weren't feeling good when you walked in the room and your upset mood made its way to his senses

He's a little lost on how to help

In his time, when people got sick you threw them out of the wagon so they didn't infect others

Or, alternatively, you just set them up in a nice, comfy place to die <3

So yeah he's a little helpless

If you're lucid enough to tell him what you need he'll do it

Other than that he gets Carlisle's help

The moment you open your arms and ask him to hold you, he is there

Like immediately

If he can't help any other way on your road to recovery, this is the least he can do

Like the others, he would hate to leave you

But he's a lot less used to the vegetarian diet

And being so close to you doesn't help

So if this falls at a bad time where he needs to go hunt, he's gonna have to leave

He would hate to do it

But it's for your safety

Rosalie:

Basically built for this

I mean, she wants to be a mom really bad

Those little shits get sick every 2 business days

I feel like she's read enough parenting books to be able to know how to help you

She doesn't let anyone near you

Not even Carlisle

She insists she has it under control

And to her credit, she does

However she gets a bit lost in the technicalities of it

Like checking your temperature every ten minutes, making sure the food she gets you has the right amount of nutrients, keeping the room at a solid temperature

You're gonna have to be the one to stop her

Just tell her that while you appreciate everything she's done for you, all you really want is to be held

She takes a moment to process it before she gets in the bed immediately

Does not leave

Even if she's starving

Emmett:

When he was still alive, he had a younger sister

So I feel like he wouldn't be too inexperienced when it comes to taking care of someone when they're sick

However I feel like he has a very antiquated sense of medicine

He'd go out and buy like cocaine-infused adderall or smthn and say that this is what he used to take when he felt sick

Don't take anything he gives you

It's for your safety

Just tell him the best medicine he could give you is some cuddles

And he'll drop whatever else he was planning to try to give you

If you can stand, it would be in your best interest to ask Carlisle to help you instead

He has the spirit though

And I feel like cuddling with him would be the best

Esme:

Another one with a bit of trauma surrounding illnesses

Her baby died due to an illness and now she's scared

She doesn't want to lose you too

Even though she knows the likelihood of you dying is small, she still can't help it

Another one who's asking Carlisle for help

Sorry Carlisle

Anyway she is at your beck and call

Soup? Done. And it's homemade

Water? Done. Fresh from Fiji

You want the room to be colder? Yeah just hold on a sec while she goes and harvests a piece from an iceberg

In the middle of all of her running around you're gonna have to stop her and just tell her that all you want is cuddles

Instantly she is setting up some candles, putting on a movie, and holding you in bed

Is not convinced that you are all better even after you've completely recovered

For at least another week she is still hoverinfg

Carlisle:

The man of the hour

When you told him you were sick it was like saying you're thirsty as you're standing in front of a stream of fresh, clean water

No need to worry you're in good hands

Instantly gets to work

He finds out what you're sick with, how long you'll have it, what your symptoms will be, and the best treatment options in the blink of an eye

Gets everything set up at lightning speed

But after he's got everything set out for you and he knows you don't need anything else, he takes a step back and sees that you are still missing something

When you ask if he can cuddle, he wastes no time

He calls into the clinic and tells them that he can't make it today or tomorrow

Unfortunately, though, he will leave at some point

He takes his job very seriously

Hence why he's still working even though he has enough money to buy all of Europe twice over

So he will leave to go back to work

But he won't work extra long shifts

Or stay up late doing paperwork

You are the priority

Vampire! Bella:

She's a little helpless

Charlie wasn't the most ideal parent to be sick around

He believed that everything fixes itself

And though Renee was a lot better at that, a little of Charlie still rubbed off on her

But of course, she does remember the agony of being sick

It's not that she's not sympathetic, it's just that she doesn't know what to do

So again she leaves that up to Carlisle if it's really bad

She was already curled up with you before you even got the chance to ask

She figured that since there was nothing else she could do she might as well just comfort you

Will leave a couple of times though

She'll go hunt or go pick up a new book if she finishes her old one

So I'd say she's there like 98% of the time

[thatweirdfandom]

my fix it one piece headcannons

(besides hot gay sex, proper skin tones ((this is also in the fix it)))

-sanji gets trapped on a rock for his timeskip- this is how he learns to skywalk and ends up on kambaka

just imagine one of the main horrible things that has ever happened to him and he’s back. how long is he going to have to wait? he’s stuck for how long? no. not this time. he spends almost a month there until he sky walks to the island

he doesn’t even have time to complain or whine about the people and the front he would put on. he’s safe and that’s what matters. they take care of him and he comes to have a depose understanding and appreciation for them

he wears the clothes because he doesn’t have anything else- but he learns how to sew and makes the best dresses and outfits later on

- ussop is actually the most comfortable out of everyone with his sexuality. he has THE RIZZ he picks up anyone and everyone just being his cute flirty self

- post skip (and i’ve mentioned this before) sanji, chopped and ussop all working together one meals, and medicine!

ussop island and knowledge of plants- he brings back and is able to grow medicinal herbs, cooking herbs ect ect

sanji has left over parts to his food that can’t be cooked so he learns how to turn them into herbs, soaps, practical things

- franky only upgraded his body again because it was failing him post skip. he got by in his city after the accident- but continuing in his form with all the battles, the straw hats get into only weared down what he had for a body

- robin and sanji would absolutely have met at some point during the timeskip. iva being a top leader in the revolutionary army? hell yeah.

i imagine that robin is also the first one to know about germa and sanjis connection he would have told her. they confide in each other about how they have a similar upbringing

- i also imagine germa being on the revolutionary army’s radar for their experiments, and how this could tie into ceaser earlier that the kid experiment was actually another way for judge to test things out

it just would have made more sense to bring it up earlier/ that doffy had a connection to judge too being a ex world noble teaming up with a next higher power that has a lot of pull and rank and aligns with his ideals

- look i have a lot of beef w sanji because he’s my blorbo but i would have loved if they actually included some lead up more to his tragic backstory pt2

LIKE THE EYEBROW SWIRL only the vinsmokes have this!! how tf didnt law notice this being a goddamn fanboy

- chopper shedding- he grows fur like a sheep and you gotta shave him

i just was ussop to make beds and coats from the fur

- sanji making special meals that have stat boosts like how chopper does a rumble ball they could work on something similar esp since luffy dries up like a raisin

pt 1/?

[kellysue]

On Interviews and Getting All Up In My Head

If you haven’t yet listened to Sam Fragoso’s interview with Annie Baker, please do. Baker is startlingly honest, and I mean that literally. I was folding clothes, hadn't even chosen the episode—it was just the next thing in my queue after whatever grisly murder podcast I had purposely selected. I was startled enough to stop folding, rewind, and listen again. I don’t want to say too much about it for fear of spoiling the experience for you, but there’s an authenticity there that’s rare. If anyone within the reach of this email knows Fragoso or Baker, please pass along my compliments. It was a hell of a thing.

Interviews are on my mind as I gear up to do press for the new comic. I’m not a shy person, not an introvert in the least (as anyone who’s met me will attest) but I do get up in my head about this stuff. It’s a part of the job that elicits a stew of feelings. The sort of vulnerability required to write, to create anything really, is different from the vulnerability required to talk about the work, about the process, or about yourself in that mix. (My heart is beating a little bit faster all of a sudden—my body reacting to even the thought of it. No kidding: I just got a notification from the Apple Health app.) There’s a certain defensiveness in the experience, no matter how friendly the interlocutor, one I suspect is fueled by the spirit of this internet age. As a part of your brain is searching for an honest answer, another is running through all the ways your response could be deliberately misconstrued, and a third is asking, ‘Will this really help the sales of the book/film/show/etc.?’ Is this worth it?

Baker lays all that bare; she risks being considered “difficult” or annoying Fragoso. (To his great credit, he doesn’t just allow for it; he answers her vulnerability with his own.) She appreciates the thoroughness of his preparation but at the same time wonders aloud at the peculiarity of having something she once said parroted back to her as Truth. She doesn’t deny having said it, and likely it was true once, but memory and identity are fickle things, and the perspective of age alters how the light hits both. Of course, for the purpose of an interview, for the purpose of any conversation, there have to be some things we take as given, but her willingness to highlight the absurdity of the exercise, to own her discomfort, and then to light up when Fragoso is willing to ride along is refreshing, a buoy to me just now.

I love her willingness to push back, too. If you know me, you know I can be a lot, and I don’t exactly have a reputation for conflict-avoidance, but there have been moments/remarks in interviews past that I let slide unchallenged and they gnaw at me still. My hesitancy to hit the press circuit probably has something to do with that as well. Fear of signing up to either answer the well-meaning stranger back or grit my teeth and learn to live with another Lego in my shoe. And for what? In comics, anyway, no one seems to know what press, if any, will move the needle.

Oh goodness. Reading back, I’ve descended into something that looks rather unflatteringly like privileged moping. I am fortunate to make my living in the arts, I know. My challenges are hardly those of a coal miner or a policy-maker, I know, but here we are. Bucking up now, I promise.

I’ll say in closing this bit out, though, that I probably ought to own that my efforts to find new ways to market FML (starting with the acrostic in the last email) are not entirely about the current media landscape. They’re at least in part a reaction to the current me landscape. And I think it’s probably okay to acknowledge the absurdity of being so tired you can’t bring yourself to do things the usual way and then making up new approaches that require three times the work. Nothing if not on brand.

xo

Kelly Sue

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Six

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- After their last encounter, Fenrys and Y/n find it difficult to pretend like everything is normal. It’s even harder with certain royals sniffing out their business.

Warnings- This is a long one, Angsty, and I mean it this time

Series Masterlist

Part Six

Fenrys counted his dwindling luck for dinner being a somewhat private affair, he didn’t think he’d survive Hasar sniffing about the fractured relationship between him and Y/n.

Instead of the large dining hall where most in the palace would be eating, Sartaq had invited them into the couple’s private dining room, a vast meal prepared for them.

Fenrys assumed the servants attending them where under Sartaq’s thumb, but he wouldn’t be surprised if his siblings had at least one or two hiding amongst them. Ready to report back to their respective prince or princess about Fenrys and Y/n, taking in every word, every movement.

No doubt his friends noticed for themselves the way Y/n avoided his eyes like the plague, noticed the way he sat rigid in his seat beside her, they at least had the decency to keep their observations to themselves.

They made easy conversation with Fenrys mostly, letting Y/n casually observe, keep to herself like she usually did. It was well into the meal before anyone spoke to her directly.

“How did Fenrys here rope you into his little adventure?” Sartaq asked, his brows raised curiously at Y/n.

Y/n casually sipped from her wine glass, her expression carefully guarded, “We happen to be looking for the same person.”

“Vaughan?” Nesryn looked to Fenrys for confirmation.

“Her brother,” Fenrys supplied, turning back to his third glass, “Apparently I’m not the only one he’s running from.”

He felt more than saw Y/n go still, he hadn’t spoken to her since their moment in the hall, since she’d hissed her warning at him, do not touch me. The words had felt like the final swing of an executioner’s axe.

“Funny,” Nesryn hummed, “How the strings of fate pull people together like that.”

“She surely has a strange sense of humor,” Y/n says quietly.

Sartaq was carefully glancing between them and Fenrys was tempted to tell him to mind his own damn business. He apparently collected busybody friends though, as the prince gave him a knowing look, one that said, we will be speaking of this later. Fenrys only narrowed his eyes at him, warning the prince to leave well enough alone.

“Fenrys mentioned he’d gotten a tip that your brother had stowed away on a ship meant for my father,” Sartaq said, “I assume the tip came from you?”

Y/n nods, “I believe he’s here, hopefully still in Antica, he would’ve only been a few days ahead of us.”

“I’ve got eyes and ears throughout the city, if he is, surely someone will spot him,” Sartaq says, “You will find him.”

“Thank you,” Y/n says softly, the smallest crack in the mask of indifference, bowing her head to the prince.

“Of course,” Sartaq smiles, “Anything for a friend.”

Fenrys couldn’t read her reaction to that, she closed him out to well. He knew there was something about this place, about his friends, that had unnerved her, what it was, he didn’t know. Gods knew she wouldn’t tell him now.

“So, Y/n,” Nesryn spoke after a moment of silence, “Have you ever been to Antica before?”

“No, I haven’t,” Y/n said simply.

Fenrys rolled his eyes at the short answer, stabbing his fork into a poor unsuspecting piece of fruit. He caught her eyes shift to him, to his hand curled tightly around his silverware.

“It is a beautiful city,” Nesryn ignored the slight disrespect, “If you cared for a tour, I’d be happy to give you one.”

“This one acts like she’s melting the second she walks out the door,” Fenrys scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m sure she’d rather hide away inside.”

Y/n glared at him, turning back to Nesryn, “I’d appreciate that a lot actually.”

Nesryn smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, “We’ll go first thing in the morning before it gets to warm.”

“Perfect.”

The city truly was beautiful, the Gods City, Nesryn had told her as they walked. The crowds were thick as they strolled through the streets, full of hawking vendors and haggling shoppers, children ran through them, laughing without a care in the world.

“You can find a shop for nearly anything you can dream of,” Nesryn says, smiling at a group of starry eyed kids, “Wares from all over the world.”

She could see that, there were clothes she recognized from back home, and things she’d never seen before. Jewels, cloth, foods, spices, so much of the world she hadn’t seen, all in one place.

“It’s amazing,” Y/n said, “If it wasn’t so miserably hot I’d consider living here.”

Even this early in the morning, the sun barely peaking over the horizon, it was hot, and growing warmer by the second. Y/n was grateful she’d brought her little wooden fan with her.

Nesryn laughed, “Fenrys wasn’t joking, was he?”

“Where I grew up, the snow barely melted for a few months before it started again,” Y/n says, gently fanning herself, “I’m not built for the heat.”

“No it would seem not,” Nesryn chuckled, “You’d do well with the Rukhin in the Tavan mountains.”

“My brother told me stories of the aerial legions when I was growing up,” Y/n laughed, “I think he was jealous of the Ruks themselves. As large as his osprey is, he’s nowhere near their size.”

“Perhaps he may make his way there,” Nesryn ponders, “See for himself just how magnificent they are. I’ll send word to Borte to keep an eye out for a suspicious bird flying around.”

She could imagine it, from what she knew, the Tavan mountains where much like home, though taller and perhaps even colder. Maybe her brother would go there, find somewhere that reminded him of the place he thought he no longer belonged.

Y/n still remembers that last night vividly, even this many years later. It was stupid, so stupid how it began, how it ended. She’d been so afraid, so upset, and as she always did, she lashed out in anger, like a cornered feral animal.

If you leave now, never, ever come back.

I’m sorry, Y/n, truly. The image of her brother walking away flashed in her mind, walking into the snow covered forest beyond their home. For a moment, his dark form turned golden, and when he glanced behind him, onyx eyes met her own.

“If we go this way.” Nesryn turned a corner, her words breaking Y/n out of her mind, “We could stop by the Torre and-“

“No,” Y/n interrupts, her eyes instantly finding the magnificent white stone tower, “No, thank you, I’ve seen it plenty from the streets.”

If Nesryn found her reluctance odd, she didn’t mention it, only smiled and turned down another path. Y/n nearly sighed in relief, turning her back on that looming structure.

They walked through the city, slowly moving through the markets and towards that glorious palace. Y/n found her self caught between relief and dread, relief from the overwhelming sun, and dread of the golden male she’d been able to avoid this morning.

Either he’d let her slip out her door and past his own, just as eager to avoid her as she did him, or he’d still been asleep with a surely awful hangover from his night spent with his friends. It was well past midnight when she’d heard him stumble down the hall and into his room.

There had been a moment where he’d paused, perhaps staring at her door, wondering if she was awake, if he should knock, he didn’t. She’d sighed in relief, but there was the briefest feeling of disappointment.

Nesryn kept her face forward, but Y/n felt the weight of her eyes anyways, “If you don’t mind me prying, there seemed to be some, tension, at dinner last night.”

Y/n was surprised the woman had lasted this long before mentioning it, something told her Nesryn’s eyes did not miss much. From the stories Fenrys told of her, she didn’t miss anything, her mind as sharp as her arrows.

“There was,” Y/n nods, “Nothing to be concerned about.”

The woman simply hummed, “Fenrys said the same thing to Sartaq after you left for bed.”

She’d left as soon as she could, being that close to Fenrys for so long had made her anxious, like he’d reach over and touch her again, and she’d ignite, burning everything, everyone in her path, worst of all, she’d burn him.

“In the time I’ve known him,” Nesryn says when Y/n doesn’t respond, “Which, granted, hasn’t been much more than a year now, Fenrys has been struggling. He doesn’t like to show it, but we knew, we all went through hell during the war, we all fought like hell to drag ourselves back to the light. I don’t believe he has gotten there yet, I don’t know if he ever will.”

Y/n remembers his dream, the one that had shaken him so badly that he could hardly speak to her. He’d lost his brother, the other half of his soul, watched his friend, his queen, tortured, had nearly died himself. Those days still haunted him, no matter how much he pretended they didn’t.

“When you two arrived yesterday,” Nesryn continued, “It was the closest I’d seen him to that light.”

Fenrys felt like he was being interrogated, only he wasn’t tied to a rickety chair, no tools of torture laid out, only a plush sofa and a glass of the strongest liquor the palace had to offer in his hand.

“How old is she?” Hasar was perched on the edge of the loveseat across from him, sweet Renia smiling at him over the rim of her own glass, “Is she-“

“My gods,” Fenrys groaned, “I’m sure they will be back soon, you can grill her yourself then.”

The woman’s eyes were lit with their usual fire, if only she’d been fae, she may have had fire to rival Aelin’s. She���d been at it since the moment Fenrys had finally emerged from his room, one of her own servants waiting to drag him to the very seat he sat in now.

“It’s not every day someone surprises me with a guest I know nothing about,” Hasar snarked, “Not to mention a fae, does she have any powers we should be concerned about.”

Fenrys groaned again, “She shifts into a damned cat, unless you worry about hair on your clothes, I think you should be fine.”

“Oh? Is that where all this brooding comes from?” She smirks, “Did she get hair all over your favorite cloak?”

Fenrys only glared at the woman instead of answering. That seemed to be a mistake, he could practically see the wheels turning in her mind, the dots connecting. Renia beside her only smiled at her wife, throwing Fenrys a sympathetic glance, it would seem he had no allies here.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hasar cooed, “Awe, did the kitty reject you pup?”

He held back his snarling and snapping, it would only prove her right. Instead, Fenrys took a long drink from his glass, finishing off the burning liquid.

“At least tell me how you found the girl,” Hasar continued.

“More like I found him.”

His heart lept in his chest, from the wide eyes of the princess and her wife across from him, he was sure theirs had as well.

Y/n had snuck up on them all, silent as ever, Nesryn nowhere to be found. One would think that someone would have seen her in the vast open room, but the female seemed to have a way of moving through the world unseen.

Maybe she had magic similar to his own, jumping through the world in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t seen any powers from her, only her other form, maybe her ability was in the way she moved, that feline grace.

“You must be Y/n,” Hasar said, her razor sharp focus finally leaving Fenrys to lock on to the famale, “Please sit.”

Y/n held the princess’s gaze, her own stare piercing, like the keen eyes of the cat that had stalked him for days in that little Wendlyn village. She circled the small couch, sitting directly next to him, close enough for him to feel the heat of the day still lingering on her.

“You must be Hasar,” Y/n said, voice flat and even, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, princess.”

Nesryn must have done the female a kindness and prepared her for the onslaught of the royal family. Y/n didn’t balk from Hasar’s intense gaze, she met it head on, and she even smiled sweetly at the princess’s wife.

“And you must be Renia,” Y/n nods her head to the woman.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Renia says, placing a hand on her wife’s knee, “Fenrys here was just telling us about where you grew up.”

He hadn’t been, she may be sweet compared to her wife, but Renia was just as cunning.

“Oh?”

Y/n looked at him then, the first time she’d truly met his gaze since the moment in the hall.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

He didn’t see any of that rage, didn’t see much of anything really, she was carefully blank, hiding beneath a mask.

“He was telling us about your mother,” Hasar continued.

If he hadn’t been looking so closely he might have missed the flicker of emotion, pain he realized quickly, something he recognized all to well.

“Was he now,” Y/n said softly, “I hadn’t realized I’d told him anything about her.”

She really hadn’t told him much of her home, much of anything about her, he realized.

“Stories from Vaughan, I’m sure,” Hasar responded easily, a skilled liar.

Y/n hums, “Strange, he hasn’t spoken much of her since she died.”

A silence fell over them all.

Fenrys definitely hadn’t known that, the few things she’d told him was about her brother, gods knew Vaughan never talked about his family.

He’d known her father had been a sore spot for her, she’d shut down any mention of the male the first night they’d spent together, he hadn’t pushed the subject after that.

“I’m sorry,” Renia said at last, apologizing for the loss and for the prying.

Y/n waved it off, “No need, I was a little girl when it happened, I barely even remember it.”

A lie, he could hear it clear as day, he wondered if it was so obvious to the women across from them. Perhaps not, as they swiftly moved on, asking Y/n all the questions they’d been pestering Fenrys for.

How old was she? Only a few years younger than Fenrys. What was her home like? Cold and boring. How’d she find Fenrys? Tracked him down in her cat form.

“Why do you shift into a cat?” Hasar asked, her brow raised, “I hear Vaughan is an osprey.”

Fenrys was ready for the cool dismissal he’d received when he’d asked.

“My father was a writer from Terrasen,” Y/n said simply, “A small, insignificant family from the Oakwald that had only a few shifters among them, they took the forms of the wild forrest cats that hunted through the woods.”

Fenrys turned to her, his brows raised in shock. She was already looking at him, her expression seemingly relaxed, unbothered by the admission, but Fenrys saw through it. The crack in her mask, pain, self doubt, fear.

“Did your tour with Nesryn give you any ideas about where your brother slipped off to?”

Fenrys asked the first question that came to his mind, anything to change the subject, something he’d already been wondering since she’d snuck out of her rooms early that morning.

Her eyes flashed with gratitude, “Maybe, I know my eye was caught by the multitudes of markets, I’m sure his was as well.”

“Does he care for shopping?” Hasar asked over the rim of her glass, her eyes narrowed.

The princess knew he’d changed the subject, now she’d be relentless in figuring out why.

“Gods no,” Y/n scoffed, “Quite the opposite really, he’s not very fond of crowds.”

She had a lot in common with her brother it seemed. The few times they’d been in crowded places, Fenrys always caught her scanning the streets, he’d assumed she was just observing, perhaps she’d simply been uncomfortable.

“There are very few places in Antica that aren’t crowded,” Fenrys said.

“Maybe that’s where you’ll find him,” Renia chimes in.

Fenrys saw the hope fill her eyes as she echoed the word, “Maybe.”

Someone was knocking on his door.

The light tapping was barely enough to pull Fenrys from sleep, almost completely drowned out by the trickling water of a fountain somewhere beyond his open window.

Based on the moonlight shining through the room, it was still early in the night, dawn far off.

The knocking was a quick, soft pattern, stopping for a moment before hesitantly trying again. He was surprised it even woke him, he’d passed out as soon as he’d fallen into bed, so exhausted from his lone search through the city earlier that evening, Vaughan still nowhere to be found.

Fenrys threw off the light sheets, searching the floor for his discarded clothes to at least slip on his pants.

By the time he reached the door, the taps had stopped completely, maybe the person had given up, assumed he was fast asleep. He still reached for the handle, still gently pulled the door open.

Her fist was raised as if she was about to try a knock one last time, frozen, staring at him with wide eyes like Y/n hadn’t expected him to be there at all. Those eyes fell, for only a moment, enough to tell him she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only clothed by the pants he’d been wearing at dinner.

His own eyes dipped involuntarily, and he cursed the faceless servant who had, no doubt laid out the gown for her. The pale blue silk and lace looked nearly silver in the moonlight, cascading down her body, stopping high on her thighs.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she whispered, eyes shining with self doubt.

“Are you okay?” He kept his voice low, kept his eyes on her own.

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, “Can I come in?”

Fenrys stepped back, opening the door wider for her. She walked in, passing close enough to him that he scented the lavender oil on her skin.

He took a deep breath as he closed the door, turning to find her standing in the center of his room, arms still wrapped tightly around herself as she looked around the room. Her eyes locking on his rumpled bed sheets, his clothes littering the floor.

“Y/n,” he kept his voice soft, stepping closer to her, “Kitten, are you alright?”

She whirled to him, as if remembering he was still there, “I had- I’m sorry, you were sleeping, I- I’ll go.”

She tried to slip past him, but Fenrys caught her, his hand gently wrapped around her arm.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

The words echoed in his mind but he held on, tethered her to him. She was completely frozen, staring at that hand on her bicep like it was the strangest thing she’d ever seen.

“Talk to me,” Fenrys pleads, “What’s going on.”

Her gaze found his, wide and terrified. Fenrys felt his heart shatter, felt the tears that welled up in her eyes like a knife to his gut, felt her trembling beneath his palm. He couldn’t help himself, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly to his chest, despite those four words screaming through his head.

She didn’t sob, but he could feel her violently shaking, like she was desperately holding the tears back. She clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh, it hurt but Fenrys didn’t care, he just held her tighter.

It took several long minutes for her to calm down, to stop shaking, to relax her grip. Fenrys found himself reluctant to let her pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, staring down at the floor between them.

He couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out, his fingers catching beneath her chin to gently tilt her face towards his. Her eyes were red and tired, full of whatever anguish had drug her from sleep and into his arms.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his hand moving to her cheek, his thumb brushing away stray tears.

Her eyes shuttered, he wasn’t sure if it was from his words, or his touch.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispers after a moment, “I- I didn’t mean to come here, I-“

Her voice cracked and she paused to take a deep, steadying breath. She didnt pull away, and neither did he.

“I’m sorry I- just didn’t want to be alone,” she continues, “I don’t want to be alone, anymore.”

“Okay,” Fenrys says, still caressing the side of her face, “You’re okay. I’ve got you, kitten, you’re not alone.”

Like the words finally unlocked something in her, unlocked the chained up gates of the walls around her mind, Fenrys saw it all wash over her. The anguish, the fear, the gratitude, all on display like she was a book ready to be read by him.

“Do you remember that first night one the boat?” Her words we’re hesitant, like she was fighting to get them out.

“Yes,” Fenrys said gently, “You couldn’t sleep.”

He’d teased her for it, assuming the rocking of the ship was to blame, he’d seen the strongest warriors crumble to seasickness.

“The water brought back memories,” she says, her eyes gaining this far off look, “I knew they would bring the dreams with them.”

Not just dreams, Fenrys knew, nightmares, like the one she’d had tonight. The one that had her racing into his arms despite how much she loathed him.

Fenrys felt the moment she started shaking again, her mind already deep into the past and the pain. His hand dropped from her cheek, catching her hand by her side to gently guide her to the sitting room. She numbly let him, sitting down on the golden fainting couch.

Fenrys sat down beside her, a healthy distance between them, “You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here to listen if you do.”

She’d done as much for him, silently supporting him while he struggled through the words.

She was silent for a moment, still staring off into the past. Fenrys was almost sure she wouldn’t speak at all, until she did.

“Vaughan’s father was is Maeve’s army,” she said, catching Fenrys off guard, “When Vaughan was old enough, he was forced to join, forced to leave our mother alone in that tiny, frozen village, with only his letters to keep her company.”

“For three hundred years, they left her, alone.” Her voice cracked on the word, like it was choking her, “Until he showed up, a traveler from Terrasen, a writer, collecting stories from every corner of the world to bring home to the libraries of Orynth, to become a scholar.”

Fenrys knew where this was going, this was her story, the very beginning.

“My mother fell for him, enough to finally give up the dream of seeing her husband and son again, and he fell for her, enough to stay.” Her eyes shone with fresh tears, “I was born not even a year later, the spitting image of my father.”

Those tears fell and Fenrys desperately wanted to reach for them, wipe them away. He didn’t want to overstep, he’d already done more than he should have.

“I was five when it happened,” she whispered the words, “We had a small lake behind our cabin, it was frozen over for a majority of the year, I spent nearly every day on that ice, my father teaching me to skate, my mother teaching me to dance. I was there when I saw a male, larger than any I’d ever seen, coming from my home.”

“I didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t know who he was, why he was marching towards me, what the dripping red object was in his hand.” Her voice shook, and Fenrys felt dread rise up in his chest, “I didn’t know that I should have ran, should’ve shifted and left as quickly as I could, he was already before me when I figured out the red object was an axe, and it smelled like my parents.”

His heart shattered in his chest.

“He grabbed me before I could run,” the fear was thick in her voice, “Threw me across the lake, till I was at the thin center of it. The ice cracked beneath him as he followed, it shattered beneath his bloody axe as he opened a wide hole, it cut me as he shoved my body into the freezing water.”

Gods, holy fucking gods.

“He held me below the surface, I remember the feeling of his hand on the back of my head, I remember clawing at him, I remember darkness, I remember the ice in my lungs.” Her tears flowed fast, “And then there was light, air, someone hauling me out of the water. I’d never met him but my mother had told me many stories of my brother, I knew who he was instantly, he held me as he brought us back to shore, told me it was going to be alright, told me it was over, told me his father would never hurt me again. Over his shoulder I saw the male laying on the ice, a sword through his gut.”

Vaughan had killed him, he’d killed his own father after the male had killed his mother and nearly drowned the sister he hadn’t known he’d had.

She’d nearly drowned, had nearly been murdered by a male simply for existing. A child, gods she was only a child, and he’d tried to kill her.

Fenrys saw red for the male who’d long since fallen, for the male who haunted her dreams so many years later. His hands clenched in his lap, torn between swinging at the ghost of the male, and reaching out to hold her, to comfort her.

She looks exhausted, leaning heavily on the back of the couch. Her eyes swollen from the tears and the lack of sleep. Fenrys didn’t even try to stop himself, his arms moving forward to scoop her up, cradling her to his chest.

Y/n didn’t fight him as he walked her to his bed, as he laid her down atop it. Her eyes fought to stay open, to look at him as he pulled the sheets over her, her mouth open like she’d finally protest.

“Hush,” he says, “It’s alright, you’re alright, just get some sleep.”

Fenrys steps back, he’d sleep on the couch, it was big enough for him, even if it wasn’t, he’d slept in much worse conditions.

“Fenrys,” she says softly, he turns back to look at her, “I don’t- I don’t want to be alone.”

He looked at the large bed, the spot beside her. Do. Not. Touch. Me. The words were at odds with what she asked for now, completely, utterly confusing, but he could not deny her, not now, possibly not ever.

“You’re not alone, kitten,” he promised, reaching out to trail his fingers across her cheek, “Never again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep.

Fenrys stayed there for a long time, watching over her, looking for any sign of another nightmare. He only allowed himself to rest when he was sure she was alright.

Tag List

@emma-andrea1 , @mgchaser , @anxious-study , @lees-chaotic-brain , @girl-math-aint-mathing , @mali22 , @nikt-wazny-y , @theworthlessqueen , @cynthiesjmxazrielslover , @lethargicluv

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Zhongli with a Touchy/Cuddly s/o

Finally. I woke up for like 15-30 minutes yesterday and this was the first thing I thought of. And my brain is finally really ready to rock. It took nearly 9 hours to get it even half behaving. grrrr But here it is. I’m starting to think I base a lot of these on my own personality and mindset. Oops. lol. Well it’s not like anyone requested these, so who cares. Honestly, Zhongli is the hardest to do romantic head canons for because he’s got so many odd quirks.

I don't stand by any of that, tbh. He's not actually that hard and he's probably a romantic at heart

GN reader

Essentially it pretty much depends on where you are

Zhongli is a very traditional person and PDA is not something he's usually very comfortable with

At least, excessive PDA. I can't see him telling you you can't hold hands or anything like that

But in public, for the most part, the PDA stops at holding hands or the small touches he loves to indulge in

Of course, there are exceptions

There have been times when he’ll be picking you up from work so that you can enjoy a late afternoon/early evening walk or go to dinner and you’ll need the comfort only he can provide and he’s perfectly happy to give it to you.  it feels a little odd for him, but he feels some amount of satisfaction that you are so willing to go to him when you’re upset

Honestly, before long he can tell whether you’ll need a hug or not mere moments after seeing you. After so long watching humans, reading them has become second nature and reading you even more so

So when you come up and rest your forehead against him, or wrap you’re arms around him, he immediately gives you a hug

He appreciates your willingness to respect his boundaries in public,but at home, he's happy to indulge you

He actually likes it that you're so touchy at home. it's very domestic and comforting and you can expect him to tell you as much

You can also expect him to come up behind you when you're cooking and wrap his arms around you. Whether he's giving cooking tips or complimenting your cooking kinda depends

He also loves rainy days with you tucked under his arm or in his lap while you pester him for stories

[hailsatanacab]

A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."

[hella1975]

all hate to tiktok for taking 'having a space to more openly and actively talk about different cultures' to mean 'cultures are NOT to be shared and we must be vigilantly defensive of our cultures for fear of appropriation, a word that can be applied to any multicultural interaction'. like of course cultural appropriation is a very real problem but ive seen with the access to global multicultural conversation that tiktok provides it's made people TERRIFIED to even interact with cultures other than their own for fear of 'doing it wrong'. like at some point you have to acknowledge that in the real world of the great outdoors, the majority of people are eager to SHARE their cultures. yes there are ignorant questions and biases but also... how do you think those things get unlearnt? i dont understand how deciding that multiculturalism is an elephant in the room instead of a normal thing that should just be talked about and lived with is supposed to benefit anyone? and kids on tiktok are CONVINCED that it's a time bomb of a conversation to have and therefore must be avoided at all costs but like. people generally LOVE their home and their culture and are PROUD of it and want to share it. how have we made it so that showing genuine interest and a desire to understand something so integral to a person's identity is now feared and borderline demonised?

[perilegs]

i’m making huge generalizations here but idk i feel so much more comfortable just existing around trans (and some gnc) people than i do with people who are cis (and gender conforming) bc of the way we view our - and other peoples bodies. i hear trans people talk about bodies with so much love and adoration. like sure hating your body is a big thing for most trans people but most of us also learn to accept what we look like. and the acceptance often turns to genuinely liking yourself. especially if you make changes you want to to your body. it’s just. idk i feel like only a trans person could see my body for what it is

[godblooded]

a good girl! and now we’re on our way to run errands.

[surreal-duck]

absolutely love reading tags on my art and i adore each and every single nice thing anyone has ever left on them whether its an “aww nice” a keysmash or an analysis that spans three or more tags but this takes the cake for one of my all time favorites

[todayisafridaynight]

@ father time can we run it back to june so i can make a joke really quick