#(gender has nothing to do with it but women get caught up in it sometimes yknow)

[rainyjackalope]

happy womens day

[cy-lindric]

I wanted to vent, but also ask an honest question. Since I was a teenager, I always wanted to work on character design. And one thing that always caught my attention was how I always preferred male character designs over female ones. My first thought was that I was always more into androgynous fashion and more masculine styles. But time passed and I came to the conclusion that it wasn't just that, and it seems that male characters can always be different things: fat, thin, handsome, ugly, short, tall, young, old, etc. and female characters, for the most part, fall into two categories: cute or sexy. I wanted some tips on how I can make female characters with more interesting designs, without having to fall into those two categories. I love your work and you managed to make someone else like the three musketeers <3<3

Hello ! That's definitely a good question and something I think about a lot. The bias towards beauty is very strong in character design and it takes a conscious effort to diversify output in that regard.

That sort of advice might be a bit obvious, but one habit I picked up from the director on my first feature film gig was to actually "cast" characters. Without reference, we tend to go for the kind of symmetrical face and "average" features mostly out of stylistic habit. I like to look at character actors with distinct faces (I like this pinterest page that has a lot of faces in one place) but also just acquaintances or pictures of random crowds.

When designing a character, at first I'm always building a big reference board trying to decide what Type of Guy (gender neutral) I'm going for, trying use photos rather than other people's art, because I want to rely on automatics and graphic symbols as little as possible. Whether I'm designing a man or a woman or other, I use references of fashion styles and people across the board in terms of gender so I keep the scope open. Sometimes a character ref board for me will be a picture of one of my aunts next to a bunch of screenshots of Columbo. In my experience, a lot of the times, it's mostly about going with styles and archetypes the same way you would for a male character, and switching it up somewhere along the way by looking at real women in your life and beyond as a grounding mechanism. Sometimes that will mean changing almost nothing, because the borders between genders and how you characterize them is blurry and fluid, and sometimes it will mean using features that are uniquely tied to some sort of female experience.

I enjoy realism and I think getting more proficient at it did help me diversify my designs (I find that more difficult to do with more minimalistic styles). Still, I am mostly a fantasy artist and in my case that comes with some amount of stylization and idealization of shapes and looks. I'm far from perfect in my biases and I'm not going out of my way to draw "ugly" characters because that doesn't mean much to me ; I try to draw inspiration from the faces of every day people and I associate it with my love for fashion. It's also worth noting the work I post here for fun is a lot more hash tag aesthetic than the stuff I do professionally where diversity is much more important.

I don't know if any of that is relevant but that's definitely an interesting topic ! I'd love to know others' perspective and tips on the matter.

[lefarte]

Mayhaps some spicy Olivia headcanons? 🤭💜

🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡 WOMAN LOVERS RISE UP

WARNING NSFW under the readmore, gender neutral anyone can read it 😗 as always I have more detailed tags under the cut

Detailed tags: nothing crazy in here just some good old butt stuff and a bit of exhibitionism

It takes Olivia some time to open up to a person enough to do it. She’s always thinking about it. She has a high libido, it’s something she can’t help. Being raised in a strict fundamentalist family, she would often get chewed out for…. Pleasuring herself, which led to some shame…

When she went off to university, with her own money and far away from her family, she immediately dived headfirst into the world of sex. She wanted to lose her virginity at any cost. She ended up being disappointed that it wasn’t very… romantic. Sometimes she wished she had saved her first time for her partner.

A solid 40% of her income goes towards purchasing sex toys. She has a little bit of an addiction. It started by purchasing a small vibrator for herself, she was blushing so hard at the register! (She would totally buy the rose toy because it’s shaped like a rose 😭) Which then descended into buying dildos, and then into buying more kinky things like plugs, leather restraints and even whips…. Not that she really had anyone to use them on but herself.

She would call herself a switch, but really, she leans more dominant. She’s sick of being looked at like a three legged puppy. What she really wants is to be looked at like a woman. She wants her partner to be falling over themselves for her. She wants to be desired, more than anything, so that her partner can’t look at anyone else but her…

Olivia is bisexual canonically and likes men and women equally, but because of her upbringing she’s a little bit ashamed of her attraction to women. Her most common fantasies usually revolve around using her collection of toys on (or in) other women.

She’s a squirter.

If she has a partner she will want to have sex outside. A little bit for the voyeuristic aspect, but mostly she enjoys how… primal, and intimate it feels. She’s gone streaking alone in the woods many times and she masturbates in the woods just as much as she does in bed. She’s never been caught, she knows the flora like the back of her hand - but she’d be lying if she said the anticipation wasn’t half of the thrill.

She likes butt stuff. She has a fascination towards butts. I believe wholeheartedly that she’s an ass girl. Regardless of your gender, you will be getting playfully spanked whenever you’re bending over. She likes the idea of having her handprints on her partner’s ass…. She’s a pervy girl

I think she likes receiving oral more than she likes giving it. That’s not to say she doesn’t like giving it, on the contrary, but the visual of her partner between her legs is incredible. She really likes it.

She has a chronic teasing addiction, I’m sorry to say. She gets a kick from it. She really likes to play with her partner, idly rubbing their crotch while reading a book, or purposefully having ‘“wardrobe malfunctions’”. She likes her partner to be needy!

[radiocreature]

📻 The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want (Radiorose Week Day 6) 🌹

Word count: 7,738

Summary: Alastor has been in hell for eight years. His friendship with Rosie developed quickly, the two bonding much faster than they could have anticipated, and they're riding high together. After a perfect night of dancing, Alastor asks Rosie out again twice in quick succession, but something about him seems less comfortable, and Rosie is determined to figure out why.

Warnings: cannibalism, unbeta'd, this will be getting a massive edit/rewrite on AO3 after I've had some time to SLEEP.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56617597

@radioroseweek

The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want

Nothing happens in Cannibal Town without Rosie knowing. Sometimes she knows what people plan on doing before they know themselves. The honest ones will seek her out first. The less honest ones will get a visit from her if their plans may harm others. One of her most reliable sources of information arrives to her fresh on a silver platter from her favorite clients: good, old-fashioned gossip. And right now, something has the young cannibal beaus and belles all atwitter.

It starts with an influx of singles’ advice. How to tell if they like you back, how to make the first move, what does this or that very-specific behavior mean? Then, three young men in relationships with women book her on the same day to ask what to do if his partner looks at other men, how to tell if she wants to break up, the signs of cheating, all of which leaves Rosie concerned after they leave. Her nicest, most expensive dresses and suits fly off the racks with urgent requests of custom tailoring. By the time her head and hands stop spinning, the entire town feels alight in a way it hasn’t in decades.

At first, her pointed questions get her nowhere. “Oh, it’s probably nothing.” “Oh, it’s just wishful thinking.” “Oh, it’s no one in particular.” “Oh, it’s a shot in the dark.” Then, “it” gets a gender. “He’s just so handsome.” “He caught my eye so long ago.” “Everyone wants him.” She drives herself to the edge of madness trying to find answers and solutions to a problem that might not even be a problem.

And then Susan, of all people, comes in clutch. Sometimes blunt has its uses. “It’s that fellow with the stupid voice and puny antlers, they all think he’s fixing to court someone. All the ladies want it to be them, for some reason, and all their men are rolling over. If that prude could handle seeing another person naked, he wouldn’t be goin’ for no dames, I can tell ya that.”

And sometimes blunt people have no more of a clue than anyone else. If Alastor wanted a relationship, Rosie would know years before he figured it out himself. She saw him two months ago, not long before this hullabaloo started, and he made no mention of it. Alastor claims very few friends, but she knows without a doubt he considers himself closest to her. The idea of him seeking out a relationship without consulting her not only sounds out of character, but also strikes a nerve somewhere near her heart.

Whatever inspired this, the cannibettes have it all wrong. Though she must admit, imagining the look on Alastor’s face when she tells him what’s had the town all out of sorts gives her a good laugh.

With perfect timing, he calls on her soon after for a night of “sorely-needed” music and dancing. “I’m feeling rather boisterous, and it’s been a while since we upstaged an entire room of people, don’t you think? Wear something extravagant, my dear, and let me know the color so I can match you.” He never fails to charm her into saying yes, not that she ever has any objections to his plans. Their tastes align to an uncanny degree.

As a challenge, she tells him red and white: a dress he’s never seen, that she’s sat on for years, waiting for the right extravagant occasion. A multilayered and tiered evening dress with an uneven hem falling to her ankles in the back and rising to midway up her shins in the front. She dyed the fabric herself to get the perfect fade, from pure white at the neck down to a bold crimson when it reaches the skirts. It gains more jewels and beads every year in her failure to leave it alone. She twirls in the mirror a few times to watch it move, fantasizing of how it will catch the light when Alastor tosses or spins her. She chooses shorter, chunkier heels to stick the landings, a pair of black pumps with a web-like design pattern over the foot that ties at the front with a bow. Ornate, but not too distracting.

He arrives in a striking white pinstriped suit, with a red waistcoat over a white undershirt, red-tipped white shoes, a red bowtie and pocket square, and a wide-brimmed white hat with a single black stripe, his antlers acting like hat pins to keep it secured to his fluffy head. She stands in stunned silence for a moment before squealing with delight and spinning him around.

“Oh my stars, don’t you look gorgeous!” She says.

“I believe I’m meant to say that to you, my dear,” he laughs, petting her back with his free hand hand. The other digs his microphone cane into the ground to prevent them toppling over, as can happen when Rosie forgets her strength.

“You can say that about me every day. I have to wait for you to clean yourself up, first, and don’t you just clean up so nicely!” She smooths out his coat when she finishes smothering him.

He bows for her to hide the anxiety in his amused chuckle. “And you, darling, just when I think you can’t possibly be any more beautiful. I can hear the hearts breaking already.” With his microphone tucked behind his back, he offers her his arm. “May I have the honor?”

She giggles, slipping her arm through his. “I suppose you’ll do.”

As a general rule, she avoids leaving Cannibal Town for prolonged periods. The peace her people enjoy relies on her as a permanent fixture. She can leave for a few hours to attend meetings or make social calls without worrying, but will return at the first drip of uncertainty. And, not for nothing, she spent a long time carving her own niche into this corner of hell. She promised the cannibals protection, and in exchange, they dedicated themselves to her vision. While not a utopia, the residents of Cannibal Town avoid the stress and suffering of other sinners by crafting their own reality.

Alastor spent an entire year as a fixed resident, but his ambitions and wanderlust coaxed him back out into the greater city, even as the shifting culture started to displease him. Cannibal Town’s singular place in time will turn into a safe haven for him, but for now, Pentagram City still has the best jazz clubs.

Some new developments leave him feeling sour, but he took to the evolution of jazz and swing into the 40s very well. They’ll jump, jimmy, jive, shake, shimmy, and swing until their feet fall off, or until they collapse, though she can’t see him ever tiring from dancing. Given the tension in his body for the entire walk to his favorite club, he needs the release. Slaying Overlords won’t fix everything—much to his chagrin, she imagines.

The arrival of the infamous Radio Demon brings the dancers to a halt, or tripping over one another, but the band plays on. Alastor tips his hat to the bartender, who waves a hand before grabbing a bottle off the top shelf. She allows herself a smug grin, something she may allow herself many times tonight. The last (and first) time she visited this club, when he found it several years ago, they treated him like anyone else. Now, with the identity of the Radio Demon known, he gets treated different everywhere, but the composure of the barkeep and the band suggest they see him as a VIP rather than a threat. The VIP treatment suits her well, too.

They start with drinks to assess the crowd, the bar patrons putting space between them. It thinned down a little when they entered. The standees all watch them, and the dancers keep eyes on them when facing in their direction. She wants to think it’s because they out-dressed everyone here—no one else even tried—but she can’t ignore the Overlord effect. Especially when Alastor’s antlers grow more points.

They finish their drinks after sizing up the place. Dismissing his microphone staff, Alastor bends at the waist and holds out his hand in invitation. She takes it, and lets him lead the way to the dance floor. The other dancers give them a wide berth. The band changes songs on a dime, starting them off with a classic Charleston number. With matching smiles they face each other and kick into the rhythm.

Weight falls off her with every movement. She watches Alastor shake weeks of tension out of his limbs. They never had the pleasure of knowing each other in life, but she gets a glimpse of his vitality when they dance. Bold movements of simultaneous control and abandon, colorful and vivacious and bursting at the seams with spirit. Dancing makes it easy to forget her ill fate, the pain and the sweltering heat and the personal torments and the insatiable, ravenous hunger that curses all of cannibal kind. Dancing with Alastor, though, makes her feel alive again.

For the first few songs they stick to fancy footwork and simple hops or skips. Exhausting themselves in the first thirty minutes of the night won’t do. They pace themselves as the band takes them through different styles of jazz and swing, challenging them to get creative. Building towards more demanding moves.

Years ago, the first time he tossed her, she went over his head and lost her grip on him. She expected to fall on him, or get dropped, but he caught her with ease and corrected her position to land her on her feet. After that, she trusted him with anything. She loves rolling over his back, or flipping upside down to kick her leg behind his neck. He often uses that momentum to flip her around his head instead of working against it, then spins back to his full height.

As if reading Alastor’s mind, the band transitions into a fast-paced jive with snappy drums and the type of taunting, choppy brass that precedes a wild tune. Rosie beams when she catches his pupils dilate in the dim light. They wink at each other and take their starting pose. Over years of improv, trial, and error, they perfected their own Lindy Hop routines. The slight points to his pupils tell her everything she needs to know about how he plans to lead, and her veins thrum with anticipation. He wants them to wipe the floor with everyone here. When the brass kicks to life, so do they. Pulling, pushing, circling, and twisting light on their feet with snaps of their arms and hands for balance and flair. The wind from her dress flowing with her movements sneaks a squeak of excitement past her lips before she can stop it. Their controlled chaos never threatens to bump into any of the other dancers, but the crowd clears the floor and forms a circle to watch with slacked jaws.

Alastor signals her for a lift. Well-past the point of warmups, she aligns their bodies and lets him flip her up and over his shoulder in a somersault. The crowd whoops and cheers, stress and tension giving way to fun at last. They join hands again to keep circling one another. Once they have momentum again, she signals him with a request to go low. She bends her knees and he whips her with one arm, her lead leg and free arm extending out to graze the crowd. Some scoot back to give her room, others reach out their fingers to meet hers. He leaps over her when she reaches him, spins into the movement, and scoops her back onto her feet.

They separate for a segment standing side-by-side to dance in synch. A chance to soak in the joy and wonder from the crowd cools the ache in their lungs. Rosie adds a few extra wrist movements to wave to those waiving at her. They transition to facing each other, mirroring one another’s kicks and flairs.

It takes Alastor hours to break a sweat sometimes, the fit bastard. Some strands of his hair cling to his forehead now—hers adhered to her skin after three songs. They breathe as one, steady and deep to fuel their frantic moves, their grins stretching to their maximum points. She keeps her eyes locked with his as long as she can. She loves him like this: the most candid of his smiles, the red of his irises consumed by blissed-out pupils, The Radio Demon left at the door. His right hand takes her left, his left hand pulls her in by her shoulder blade, and for a moment it looks like he means to kiss her. She hops and skips into the next steps, letting him push and pull her with the momentum from his larger frame. Their tempo increases in unison with the band, the frills of her dress almost invisible from the extra speed. The song ends soon, and she dares Alastor with her eyes for a big finish.

Delighted, he spins her by her arm above her head, and spins her, and spins her, stopping her by her hips with her back to his front. She bounces on her toes, then leaps as he lifts, kicking her legs out to clear his head when he tosses her up and over. His hands await her when she lands. One bunny hop to keep the rhythm, then she launches herself as high as she can, his arms twisting to help pull her into a somersault. When her hips meet his shoulders, he pushes out, allowing her to straighten her legs and flip straight up and down back over his head. For a few airborne seconds, their joined hands are their only point of contact.

Though she sees it upside down, the heartwarming smile he flashes vaporizes the last of her bodyweight. High on his smile, his scent, his energy, his unwavering, grounding grip on her hand that promises never to drop her, she relaxes into the motion and lets him guide her back to the floor.

She bends her knees to absorb the shock, rolls backward into his parting legs, and releases her hold on him. As he bends down, she continues rolling back, parting her legs and letting him guide them around his torso. With his arms hooked around her legs, she lifts from her core when he straightens his back, resulting in him swinging her straight out from his middle. They both release her legs so the lift lands her back on her feet, their hands joining in the air again.

She sinks to her knees again, pulling his arms with her. He goes over her shoulders this time, springing from the balls of his feet up and over. He rises to his feet out of the somersault in one fluid motion, hoisting her into his arms. She strikes a pose midair on the last beat of the song.

The crowd loses their fucking minds.

They bask in the glow of the whoops, cheers, whistles, and claps for a few seconds before looking at each other. Chests heaving, muscles aching, grins from ear to ear. Alastor’s hair got tousled during their big finale and his pupils still swallow up most of his irises. The static and crackles emanating from him get a little louder when their gazes lock. Heat rises to her cheeks.

She throws her arms around him and hugs him as tight as she can from her horizontal position. Laughing, he spins her around one more time to put her back on her feet. They join hands for a bow and curtsy, her free arm lifting her skirts while his tucks behind his back.

They head straight to the bar. Emboldened audience members follow to strike up a conversation. Someone offers to buy their first round so they can ask for pointers, questions about how much to prepare versus improvise, and improving their dancing in general. Someone else buys them a second round to keep the conversation going. It feels so good, so good, to have a normal conversation again outside of Cannibal Town. They both love the cannibals, and the Overlord treatment has its up sides, but others evading them when they go out to socialize gets frustrating.

Hours of dancing mix with top shelf booze, warming her from head to toe and liquifying her muscles on the way. Lightheaded, she leans against Alastor for support. His arm slips around her waist and pulls her closer, letting her head rest against the side of his. Her heart lurches, heat rushing to her face. From the booze. Definitely.

After a third round, Alastor and his unparalleled stamina look ready to keep dancing. He can drink himself senseless and still dance like he’s sober. With the way alcohol sloshes around in her stomach and her tendons wilt like noodles, she has to decline. Summoning his microphone, he offers her his arm, and they bid the club farewell.

With no sun down in hell, it doesn’t appear much different at night. The Pride Ring’s crimson red sky darkens some in the night hours, but the city’s bright lights keep it looking like daytime. Still, the crowd thins out at night, giving their walk a quiet start. She stays close to him to keep from swaying too much.

They walk past the movie house right as an audience leaves. Half of them light up smokes, puffing out clouds of putrid gas in their path. Alastor’s gums show through the disgusted curl in his lips. Rosie tries to make out the posters next to the ticket booth.

“Have you ever seen that Fleming fellow’s pictures?” Rosie asks.

“I haven’t,” Alastor says. “I never cared for them. I prefer the pictures in my head painted by the radio plays. If Orson Welles ends up down here Hell might finally get some culture.”

“I’m torn on whether to build a picture house in Cannibal Town. I know there’s interest, and you know I’d do anything for my clients, but where to put it, how to make it match,” she waves her hand in an et cetera gesture, “what to play. The worst of them get down here before the directors are even dead, like that Fleming fellow, and some of them are just garbage. Don’t watch Birth of A Nation.”

“Duly noted.”

“I think I saw a flyer for that one,” she nods towards the last poster on the end. “It looks like a romance. I don’t think I’ve seen a romance before, no one’s making those once they get down here. Wonder what he did.” The possibilities bring a smile to her face.

“Directed a romance?” Alastor says, earning a laugh from Rosie.

They walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way back to Cannibal Town. A low, dark saxophone tune reaches their ears when they round a corner, dancing around their heads as they approach. Alastor tosses a coin in the busker’s open case. They hold on a note to tip their hat, and the pair give courteous nods.

Rosie pulls Alastor into a tight embrace when they reach her front steps. “This was fun. I didn’t know how much I needed a night of dancing until we got there.”

His whole body turns rigid. Static and radio feedback try parting the alcohol fog in her brain. She knows Alastor’s dissonant relationship with touch, and her sober self usually waits for him to initiate or gives some indication first so as not to alarm him like he is right now, and she should let go, but his friendship makes her so goddamn happy—

—His hands rest on her shoulder blades, careful not to dig sharpening claws into her dress. Static dulls to a hum as the tension leaves his thin frame.

“It was a wonderful night, thank you for joining me,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for a better dance partner.” His hands slide down to the small of her back, then rest on her hips.

He snaps out of the embrace, tension back in full force. She blinks. With a bashful cough, he folds his hands behind his back and flashes his default charming smile.

“Have a good night, sweetheart,” he gives a slight bow before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Her mind struggles with what just happened. She regrets that last round as she heads inside to bathe, change, and try to commit the evening to memory so the alcoholic fog doesn’t make her lose anything. They must have made quite the pair on that dance floor with their coordinated colors and flawless routines. She removes her dress with care and hangs it back up in her closet after her bath.

A memory jumps to the front of her mind, of a split second where it felt like him pulling her in for a kiss. A delayed reaction to this hits her now. If he had meant to kiss her, she would have let him.

She climbs in to bed with a tipsy sort of befuddlement. He held a genuine smile the entire night and never once felt uncomfortable, until their hug goodbye, when he tore himself away from her and slipped a mask on. When his hands cupped the swell of her hips.

“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh,” she slurs, and giggles to herself. Whether he intended to touch her there or not, either way, he spooked himself. A few more giggles bubble out from her.

“Dammit! I forgot to tell him about the cannibettes!” And then she passes out.

She rides the high of a perfect evening for several days. The next week, another young bachelorette books a session with her to ask for relationship advice. The new dating trend of seeing more than one person at once confuses and frustrates her. She wants to know how to tell the difference between someone looking for friendship and looking for a romantic partner.

“They do look similar nowadays, don’t they?” Rosie empathizes. “It comes down to intent. If you’re not interested in dating someone, but you think maybe they are, or vice versa, ask them for clarity. It might feel awkward, but it’s the easiest and most surefire way to set expectations.”

The rest of the day she spends working the floor of the Emporium. Assisting with garment fittings, helping people pick out the right snacks or raw ingredients, upselling her recipe book, and anything else her customers need. She has help on the weekends, but during the week she prefers running the store on her own to prevent downtime. Locking the door behind the last guest at the end of a long day on her feet brings immense satisfaction.

Not long after she secures the deadbolt, a swirl of black smoke slips under the door. Alastor materializes in a spiffy red and black suit. A solid burgundy coat and trousers over a black collared shirt, with a red bowtie and red-tipped black shoes. A visible sliver of the waistcoat suggests a more crimson red, with light red or pink stripes.

“Shop’s closed,” she teases, still counting the till.

“Pity,” he says, admiring his nails, “I had such grand dinner plans.”

“Should have planned better.”

He laughs, approaching the counter. “Well, since a nice home-cooked meal is out, how about this instead?” He holds out two tickets to the theater downtown, the same one they passed on their way to the jazz club last week.

She takes one of them. “You bought us tickets to the movie house?” She looks at him quizzically. “You bought us tickets to the movie house?”

“You pointed that one out on our way home last week, and tonight’s its last night. I thought you might like to go.”

“I do,” she says, “but do you? It’s a romance, dear. Your eyes twitch when you see couples holding hands near you.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “My mother listened to her romance stories on the radio all day, every day, my whole life. I’ll survive one more. They told me it’s based on a play, which gives me hope for the writing, at least.”

She beams. “You’re a peach, Alastor.”

His nose crinkles. “On second thought—”

“NOPE!” She grabs his collar so he can’t escape while she rounds the counter. “Too late! You’re coming inside for a snack while I get changed and then we’re going!” She chuckles as he stumbles along in her grip, knowing full well he could turn to smoke if he wanted out.

She fixes something quick for him to eat in the kitchen while she gets changed. She has a burgundy gown that deserves to go out for a spin. Pink chiffon on the neck and chest with black trim separating the neck piece from the body of the gown. A simple black tie at the waist adorned with a small skull accentuates her curves, matching the black stripes at the end of the skirt. The puffy red sleeves tighten into pink chiffon cuffs midway down the forearm. She pairs it with an umbrella and her favorite hat.

Alastor lifts onto the balls of his feet when she emerges from her room. “You look wonderful, dear,” he says with a soft smile, “I fear no one will be watching the picture but us.” He offers his arm.

“Always such a charmer,” she says, slipping her arm through his.

“Keep it up and I may have to marry you.”

“Oh, I’d never restrict like that. A woman of your integrity should never be chained down by a man.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she teases, “you’re just afraid of ending up like my first husband.”

“Your first three husbands, if I recall.”

They poke fun at one another and gossip their way down to the theater. They arrive early enough to wait in line for concessions, ordering a popcorn to share, two beverages, and some candy for Rosie. He lets Rosie choose their seats. When the lights dim and the opening title card announces Sol Lesser Presents: Our Town, he nudges her with his elbow. He reaches into his jacket to reveal a bag of fried fingers he snuck out of her kitchen to bring with them. He winks and takes one to nibble on. Giggling, she takes a few and snaps them into thirds to mix in with the popcorn.

She sneaks glances at him throughout the runtime. He puts on a good front, but his discomfort shows through at the most amorous scenes. The story takes its time setting up the romance of the main couple, from courtship to marriage. They both snack throughout, with him losing his appetite during the more amorous and poetic moments. His eye twitches at the first kiss. And every subsequent kiss.

The film lasts for an hour and a half. She enjoys staying for the trailers, but the fuzzy radio crackling emanating to her left encourages her to leave without them. Wrapping her arm around his confirms the tension in his body. His arm stays rigid at his side while they make their way to the front of the building.

Outside, he takes a deep breath, and exhales. He looks down at their arms. “Oh, pardon,” he says, relaxing his arm to free her from its death grip. They carry on walking with an appropriate hold. “I hope you enjoyed it, dear.”

“It was cute,” Rosie says. “Thank you for taking me, and for putting up with it. Even when I hear about things I rarely think to actually go out and see them. Maybe I should be getting out of Cannibal Town more frequently.”

“Not at all,” he says. “It’s where you’re comfortable and where you’re needed, no one will fault you for that. Live theater performances will always be superior to these picture shows, and Cannibal Town has some of the best theater in Hell.”

“All our props are real,” she laughs. “The film seemed harmless, though, and I overheard someone say the director’s not dead yet. I wonder what he’s doing up there that let us get it this early.”

“There’s a war on, from what I’ve gathered,” Alastor says. “I’ve acquired some fresh souls recently with the same type of shell shock I saw after the Great War.” He smirks. “Promise them never to have to fight in another war and they’ll shake your hand without even asking for a contract. It almost feels like exploitation.”

“Almost, eh?” She shoves him with her body. He shoves back.

Back at her home, she gives him a hug on the stoop again, with proper warning this time. He hugs back, still a little hesitant.

“Where are you staying right now, honey?” She asks as she pulls away, fishing out her keys to unlock the front door. “I know you move around a lot. You know if you ever need somewhere—”

“I’m set up at the radio station right now,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, “I converted part of the second floor into a living area. Since they won’t be needing so many broadcasters anymore. But I appreciate your generosity, as always.” He takes her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I can’t say I enjoyed the film as much as you did, but your company is all I ever need. Have a good night, dear Rosie.”

“Goodnight,” she says, clear and calm despite the odd emotion caught in her throat.

He dissipates into a cloud of smoke, his shadow lingering behind to wave at her before catching back up with its master.

“Huh,” she breathes. That has so many wonderful implications, and she can’t wait to analyze all of them instead of sleeping tonight. He never fails to give her much to think about.

Dearest Rosie, I hope you’ve been well. As you may have heard from my broadcasts, I’ve been quite busy. Please allow me to treat you to lunch next Saturday afternoon. I know a good spot in Pride Rock Park where we shouldn’t get disturbed by any dissenters with no taste. I know you’ll insist on making something, but don’t strain yourself, it’s my treat to you. Yours truly, Alastor

Another Overlord falls victim to Alastor’s broadcast a few days after their outing. In all honesty, she expected this one to end up as one of his special guests a lot sooner. He treats each Overlord like an episode of an anthology series, spinning a tale for them that they will help perform by way of their screams and pleading for mercy. Some stories conclude in one broadcast, others take several days to conclude. This one, he savors. He switches between the little sketch he prepared and airing out the true reasons why this one ended up on his broadcast. All the distasteful transgressions that built up over years, most of which harmed others, not Alastor himself. How this one Overlord embodied so many things he cannot stand, and will not tolerate anymore. This one’s story took over the airwaves for nine days before reaching its conclusion.

Eight years in Hell, and Alastor has rewritten so much of it. Entire power structures, dominant for centuries, gone overnight in comparison to how long they endured. Every year his power grows, and each new voice on his broadcast demonstrates it. Though they’ll never admit it out loud—to each other or themselves—the other Overlords started fearing him long ago. He took nine days to declare even the oldest and most powerful among them shouldn’t get comfortable.

Rosie uses it as background noise to make her signature “strawberry” “lemonade” and brew sweet tea (unsweetened, though it always tempts her to sweeten it and watch Alastor’s face pucker).

His letter inviting her to lunch in the park told her not to go overboard, since he intends to treat her, but she knows he’ll forget refreshments. She also wants to try out a new recipe on him, so she makes enough for two. Extra plates, napkins, and silverware sit on the counter as a reminder. The last time he treated her to a picnic, he forgot to pack the utensils.

She rushes to the door the moment she hears the knock. “Come in, come in!” She exclaims, pulling him inside by the arm holding the picnic basket. She registers another new outfit on him, a red-on-red-on-black three piece that she will pick apart later. Peaking inside shows he remembered everything this time. “Oh good, we’ll actually be able to eat.”

“It was one time, and we still ate,” he says.

“After having to run down the street and buy new utensils.”

“Which I needed anyway.”

She makes room in the basket for the beverages. “Which you wouldn’t have still needed if you lived somewhere.”

“I do live somewhere,” he goads.

She waves kitchen knife at him before dropping it in the basket. “You’re lucky you’re cute, mister.”

“Why are you bringing that.”

“I’m not,” she suppresses the urge to laugh as she takes it back out and replaces it in the knife block, “that’s just how crazy you make me.”

He balances his microphone staff with the same arm that holds the basket so he can offer her the other. “Well, crazy loves company.”

“That is not how that expression goes,” the joy with which she takes his arm contrasts with her grumpy tone.

According to the plaque, Pride Rock Park takes its name from one of the stones cast at Lilith by Adam when she left him for Lucifer, which heaven threw at them again when they banished the couple to Hell. Casting stones became a common practice for punishment against sin. The rock in the park could crush an entire house, so either humans in the Garden of Eden started life as giants, or the rock here is symbolic.

They set up their blanket under a tree. Despite the heat in Hell not coming from a sun, settling under trees in parks remains a habit for a lot of sinners. The breeze off the toxic saline lake deters others from picnicking near it, but having both grown up by the ocean, they both find the scent pleasant.

Alastor throws down the blanket, using his microphone to hold down the side against the breeze. Rosie spreads out their meal. Her mouth waters at the sight of all the treats Alastor made. Cannibals all throughout hell know Rosie’s famous cooking, and will travel from halfway around the ring to get a taste. The fact that Alastor is a better cook than her—something she has said aloud to him with no shame—stays their secret. She takes great pleasure in knowing sides to him no one else will.

They start the meal in silence, savoring every bite and enjoying one another’s company without need of conversation. She tells at least one cannibal a month that sitting in silence with another person reveals a lot about your true comfort levels. She and Alastor can sit in silence together for hours: reading together, listening to the radio, or enjoying a picnic.

And yet, he seems… off. Stiffer than last time, unsure how to position himself, and unsure what to do with his hands when not holding a fork or plate. Each time he adjusts his position, he inches closer to her, but it also adds to his tension. She relaxes her posture, opening her body language more, and leans back. Mirroring her appears to take some of the tension out, but his gaze never quite reaches her eyes.

After finishing most of their meal, they sit back and enjoy the post-feast sluggishness. Some light helpings remain that they’ll pick away at before returning home. Both of them planned their day around this, intending to spend all of it here with each other.

“I’ve never actually seen a boat at that dock before,” he says, nodding towards the lake.

“Maybe someone drowned,” she says, amused by the thought.

Alastor stands and offers his hand. She looks up at him with suspicion. “Seriously?”

“It’s been an age since I was last on the water,” he shrugs, “care to join me?”

Her eyes stay narrowed, but she smiles, and takes his hand. She takes her parasol, and he conjures his microphone back into his hand, but otherwise, they bring nothing else with them. Lifting her skirts, she steps into the boat, keeping a hold on one of his hands until she sits. Once inside, he pushes them off the dock with one leg, and rows them out towards the center. The lake stretches long enough for them to lose sight of their belongings, but anyone stupid enough to steal from a cannibal cookout deserves what it gets them.

“The cannibettes have been all atwitter the past couple months,” she says as he rows them further and further, “took me days to figure out what had them all acting up.” She considers her words. “They got it in their minds that you were looking to court someone, so they all started asking for relationship advice and buying up my best clothes. I had no idea where they got that from, until I saw you with three new suits in a row and you took me to see a movie.” Rosie puts her head in her hand and smirks. “A talkie, no less, and a romance. You barely tolerate silent films, I know that was torturous for you.”

“Silent films at least have a dream-like quality to them,” Alastor lambasts, “you don’t get distracted by whatever drivel the characters say at each other. Why are we listening to something we’re meant to watch.”

She giggles. “I’m not saying I haven’t enjoyed all of this, because I have, very much. We became friends very quickly because we have a lot in common, and we trust each other, which isn’t something I take or do lightly. I think it’s safe to say we’re close to each other.” Her smile falls a bit. “I know you well enough to know you were uncomfortable that whole day, and again today. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

His eyes pinch as he tries to maintain a charming countenance. He pulls the oars in so he can let them go, then takes a moment to crack his back and stretch out his legs. One hand wipes down his face, shifting his expression to something conflicted. A smile that doesn’t understand the effort it takes to maintain. His hands dangle off his lap.

“‘There’s someone out there for everyone,’” he breathes down at his shoes, as if quoting or reciting a rule. “My mother always told me that everyone has someone. Another person they’re meant to fall in love with and marry. Despite raising me alone and never remarrying after my father abandoned her.” Those last few words come out in a slight snarl, his lip quivering to reveal some of his upper gums. “I had several acquaintances whose parents permitted me to call on them, or others who wanted to introduce me to their daughters, or so on. I tried a few times, but I didn’t really care to get to know any of them better, and mother always said I’d know when it was the right person.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, scratching at the bases of his antlers; a stress response, not one she sees often. He keeps his gaze pointed down. “Down here there’s a higher concentration of degenerates, but it’s much the same as up there, couples courting, marrying, having sexual relations, all of that.”

“And mariticide,” Rosie says.

That gets an amused huff from him. “That one I understand. My mother wanted me to be happy, and she was certain meeting ‘the right person’ was the key to my staying happy after she was gone. She died before she got the chance to see me marry, or have the grandchildren she always wanted. And I died young.” His fingers clench and relax as he talks, trying to grasp something that keeps slipping through the cracks. “Besides my mother, you’re the first person I’ve been this close with, in life or after. It didn’t require any thinking, so it took me some time to realize how much we’ve….bonded. How I enjoy your company.”

At long last, he looks at her. “How I trust you. I thought that was the ‘knowing’ she spoke of. And she had me read all the etiquette guides when I was a boy, so I’d know what to do for what came next. How to court a lady properly and be a gentleman so we might both marry for love, not solely as an obligation.”

“It doesn’t sound like you find any of it appealing,” Rosie says, keeping her tone soft.

“I find you appealing.”

“Oh, well thank you, darling!” She teases. “Don’t you just know how to butter a woman up. Learn that in one of your etiquette guides, did you?” He stares at her while she has a laugh at his expense. She chooses her next words with care, keeping her tone fond and earnest. “Alastor, sweetie, listen to me. You’re dead. None of those silly rules matter anymore. There’s no books to follow, no laws or societal expectations or cultural norms to force you into a position you don’t want to be in. Not for you or for me. As weird as it is to say, down here, we’re free of all that.”

She meets his eyes and holds them. “So, what do you want? Right now. For yourself, or for our relationship.”

He stays silent while he thinks, his hands still trying to close around something out of reach. “I think… I like us how we are. Is that… is that alright with you?” The worry in his eyes makes her want to fling herself across the boat to hug him, but she knows touch would overwhelm him right now. “I don’t… want any of this to have impacted our friendship, or to hurt you if you were hoping for more with me.”

“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself.” Oh, how she wishes she had her Rolleiflex to capture his bewildered, affronted expression. “I’m just kidding. No, I’m not upset at all. I like us how we are, too.” She smirks. “Why mess with perfection?”

Palpable relief washes over him. He sits up straight, smooths his hair out, and takes up the oars again. “My thoughts exactly. What do you say we get off this lake? I’m curious if anyone tried stealing our stuff and, frankly, I hate boats.”

“Why the blazes did you bring us out on a boat, then?”

“Saw it in a picture, once. My old boss at the radio station used to call them the devil’s handiwork, I’m starting to believe him.” He joins her in laughing, this time.

Back at the dock, he hops out of the boat with a fresh spring in his step, and offers his hand to help her step out. They return to their blanket to find nothing stolen, which almost disappoints them. A hunt would have made for a fine afternoon.

She sits against the tree, and he sits next to her, all tension dissipated. The difference in his demeanor feels light night and day. They watch the other sinners enjoy the park, commentating while munching on their remaining snacks and giggling like school children. He summons some books from his library for them to read. And when the food coma hits him the way she expected, he starts to slump into her. Putting her book aside, she pulls his head down into her lap, scratching his scalp with her free hand while the other brings her book back into view. He tries to continue reading but dozes off in less than a minute.

The large park sits far enough away from the city that, when night begins to fall, the park will darken some. When the incandescent street lights flicker to life, she wakes him. They pack all of the containers and plates up, fold the blanket, and lock arms for the walk back to Rosie’s. The loud, bright, bustling avenues of Pentagram City give way to the quieter, oil-lit streets of Cannibal Town not a moment too soon.

She expects him to resist coming inside with her, but he follows without complaint. In the kitchen, after he helps wash and put away her beverage containers, he pulls her into a hug. It stuns her, but only for a moment, before she hugs him back twice as tight.

“Thank you, Rosie,” he whispers.

She rubs his back. “Thank you, Al, for being the best friend a girl could ask for.”

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” he mocks distaste, wrinkling his nose and standing up straight, “I don’t think I like this friends business, either.”

“Oh shut up,” she swats him with a dish towel, then flicks it at the picnic basket, “and hand me all that. You’re staying here tonight.”

“Rosie—”

“Nope. I’m not done with you. I don’t care if you’re staying at the studio, you fell asleep at the park, so you haven’t been sleeping at the studio. You sleep when you stay here, so you’re staying here tonight. Not up for debate.”

His shoulders sag in defeat, the fight leaving his body. He dries dishes while she washes, placing all of his belongings back in the basket when dry. The night clothes she keeps for him stay in the dresser in the guest room. When they retire for the night, he gives her a kiss on the cheek. His shadow stays behind to wave at her before joining him in the guest room.

“Huh,” she says again. More shadow behavior to ponder.

She takes her time with her night routine, starting with drawing a bath. As she removes her clothes and folds them on the counter, she hears the water turn on in the guest room. Smiling to herself, she slips in and soaks the day away, knowing her companion does the same.

Alastor shows little interest in connecting with the other Overlords, or many other sinners in general, but they gravitated towards each other early on, and haven’t left each other’s orbit since. Whatever the future holds for them, however their relationship develops from here, she has no expectations, but she knows one thing for sure: they’re going to have a bloody good time together.

[seinahirai]

Hi darling,

I first want to wish you a wonderful day, don’t forget to rest and eat enough okay?

I wanted to pitch you an idea for a dreamcatcher jiu fluff x reader story.

I was thinking the reader starts going to a martial arts class and one of the trainer is jiu. Lots of mischief and fluff as reader is paired with jiu. Any domestical fluff imagine would also work if that inspires you more, reader going to dc’ dorm after a long/bad day for comfort perhaps.

Take care🫶

summary: after being robbed one day, you sign up for a martial arts class where you meet your trainer and future girlfriend, jiu

word count: 2.9k

contents: martial arts trainer!jiu, student!reader, gender neutral reader, fluff, there’s some build up, i got carried away, protective!jiu, sorta domestic (small glimpse into readers life with jiu ft. the girls), mentions of a non-fatal attack on reader, jiu is referred to by her birth name “minji”

authors note: sooo sorry to this sweet and lovely anon and everyone else who sent in requests, it’s been a month since you sent this in. a lot has happened but the school year is almost over and i’m getting my shit together. i will try to write more often but no promises, i’m still getting back on my feet

After you were robbed while walking home one night, you realized how bad you are at defending yourself.

It wasn’t a fatal attack, the criminal just took some of your belongings and left. Nonetheless, the incident left you quite paranoid, keeping cautious of every persons movements and every sound around you.

You even stopped listening to music in public so you could hear anyone who could be attempting to attack you.

After a few weeks of living in fear and anxiety, you decided you weren’t going to let it take over you. Living day to day being so overly cautious about everything was overwhelming and exhausting, you felt drained 24/7.

You decided you would learn to defend yourself, so if it ever did happen again, you would know exactly what to do.

You signed up for a nearby martial arts program recommended by your friend, who had went there for a few years.

Before officially joining, you were given a tour of the company to get a sense of the environment and what you’d be learning.

Your tour guide was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever met, so beautiful that you caught yourself paying more attention to her face than her words.

She was also very sweet, having introduced herself in a very elegant and soft way, quite a contrast to the intense vibe of the rest of the building and members.

“I’m Minji, I’m your tour guide. If you do decide to join, I’ll be one of your trainers.” She had said, a big smile on her face that reminded you a lot of a rabbit.

When she was done showing you around, she brought you to the main room where all the members of the program are taught.

You got to see what the students were learning, how they were doing, and how the trainers teach. It all seemed intense, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You wanted to finally feel safe again, after all.

But when Minji personally showed you some martial arts skills, you were floored.

You watched i’m amazement as she did incredible moves you didn’t even know the name of. That cute bunny look of hers quickly turned into something darker, more serious.

“Woah,” you mutter stupidity, awkwardly standing there as she shows you her skills.

When she was finished, her face returned to its usual smiley and bright smile.

Safe to say, you were gonna attend this program.

Your first day was very nerve wracking, everyone around you seemed so much more experienced.

However, everyone there was very kind to you, the trainers were very understanding with you and guided you thoroughly without taking too much pity on you.

Kinji specifically was very patient with you, being very sweet but firm as she taught you, sometimes coming close to you to adjust your form and movements.

It made your heart race every time.

You could get used to this, you decided.

The students were very nice too, you had specifically made friends with one of the students named Gahyeon who was around your age.

As kept coming in every week, you and Gahyeon began to talk even more, and soon enough, you became good friends with her.

And with each passing week, you grew closer with Minji as well, but not in the way you did with Gahyeon.

With Minji, you felt like you were falling for her more and more each time you saw her.

At some point, your motive changed from “learn how to protect yourself” to “get the stances correct to earn praise from Minji”.

Of course you were still learning so you could defend yourself if needed, but you also loved being around your trainer, and you couldn’t help but yearn for something more.

You end up confessing this to Gahyeon one night over drinks at your place.

To your surprise, Gahyeon is not phased when you rant on about how much of a crush you have on Minji.

“It was like, incredibly obvious. You look at her like a lost puppy.” She said, chuckling at how head over heels you are.

“Was it really that obvious?” You ask, your cheeks flushing slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder if Minji could tell.

“Painfully so,” Gahyeon says, taking another sip of wine.

“But,” She says, putting her glass down on the table and looking at you with a grin on her face.

“lucky for you, I happen to be good friends with both of her roommates, which makes me good friends with her, which means I could totally set you two up.”

Your eyes light up at that, a hopeful look on your face as you smile at Gahyeon. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course! I’m only doing this because I do think she likes you as well. I’ve never seen her teach students the way she teaches you.” Gahyeon says, and it makes your heart race to think that Minji could feel the same way you feel.

“So, how would you set us up?” You ask, already seeming to overthink everything.

“Minji unnie loves to visit the cafe near the building after classes, she says it’s a nice place to unwind after teaching. I could tell her somebody is interested in her and wants to meet her there.”

Gahyeon must’ve noticed the unsure look on your face, because she raises an eyebrow asks you what’s wrong.

“It’s just, isn’t that a bit cheesy? Are you sure she’d like that?” You ask, your nerves getting to your head.

“Nah, she loves cheesy love tropes. I think she’d be more happy to see that it’s you.” Gahyeon says, reaching her hand over the table to pat your shoulder reassuringly.

“Plus, almost every person in the 90s used to meet the love of their lives through set-ups. This could be your soulmate.” She says in a sing-song voice, trying to convince you to take the opportunity.

After a few moments of thinking, you nod softly, which causes Gahyeon to cheer and have her own mini celebration.

“I’m gonna be so happy for you two if this does work out and you start dating.” She says, smiling at you.

“Thank you, Gahyeon. I’m glad I have you as a friend.” You say, feeling your nerves calm for a moment as you return the smile.

“It’s nothing, really. I just love seeing my friends happy.” She says, reaching down to grab her whine glass and raising it in front of the both of you.

“To a happy future relationship with Minji unnie!”

You chuckle and raise your glass as well, happy to see how excited your best friend is about this whole thing.

“Cheers,” you say, clinking your glasses together.

The following weekend, Gahyeon is on the phone helping you get ready to meet Minji at her favorite cafe.

You’re currently freaking out about which outfit goes better with the spring-themed gift basket you prepared.

“This outfit matches the aesthetic of the basket, while this one matches the aesthetic of her.“ You say, your phone pushed up against your ear and your shoulder as you look between the two outfits you picked out prior to today.

“Because y’know, this one matches the spring colors but this one looks more like something she’d enjoy, plus the small rabbits on it since she kind of looks like a rabbit herself,” You ramble your eyes darting between the two outfits.

“You don’t think you should’ve figured this out beforehand?” Gahyeon asks, slight amusement in her tone as she listens to you panic.

“I didn’t think it would’ve been this difficult.” You say, groaning in frustration.

“I think you should go with the second outfit. If it fits her vibe more, she’ll like it.” Gahyeon says, attempting to pull you out of your crisis.

You look over the second outfit once more, nodding at Gahyeon’s words even though she can’t see you.

“…Alright, I’ll go with this one,” You say, bringing the outfit into the bathroom with you as you get ready to change.

After a few minutes of getting dressed and triple checking your appearance, you leave the house, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you.

When you arrive at the cafe, you sit in your car for a few seconds to reassure yourself. You look over into the cafe’s windows, seeing Minji sitting down at one of the tables for two, looking as beautiful as ever.

You take a deep breath, grabbing the gift basket and flowers you picked up for her before you exit your car, closing the door behind you as you walk into the cafe.

Minji’s head raises to look at you as you walk in and make your way to the table she’s at.

Minji looks pleasantly surprised to see you, and she can’t help but notice how nice you look. She’s never seen you outside of martial arts, so this was a nice side of you to see.

“Hi,” She says, her signature bunny smile lighting up her face.

“You’re the person Gahyeon wanted me to meet?” She asks, slightly pushing the menu towards you as you sit down across from her.

“Yes,” You say, clearing your throat in attempt to calm yourself down. You hadn’t met up with anyone in a while, let alone someone you really liked.

“Well, you could’ve asked me yourself, silly. I would’ve said yes.” She giggles, finding you very cute when you’re flustered.

Before you can say anything else, her eyes brighten as she notices the gifts you brought for her.

“Are these for me?” She asks, and you nod as you hand her the flowers and the gift basket.

She brings the flowers near her nose, taking in the fresh smell. “Lilies,”

She looks back up at you, her face now showing a more soft and loving expression. “My favorite. How did you know?”

“Well, I remember you told me your English name is Lily. I figured you must like lilies.” You say, shyly looking down at the menu. The look on her face was enough to melt your heart.

“You pay attention to the small details,” Minji says, chuckling softly as she brings the flowers to her nose once more. “I like that.”

You smile. This is going great so far.

“Is this a gift basket?” She asks, setting down the flowers next to her and grabbing the small basket.

You nod, watching as she looks through the gift. “I made it myself.”

Minji pauses as she notices something in particular.

She reaches further into the basket, pulling out a small rabbit plush. She coos, looking up at you.

“This is so cute! It looks like the design on your outfit!”

She noticed, You thought.

“Thank you,” She says, hugging the plush close to her chest.

“Of course, you deserve it.” You say, and you can’t help but notice how beautiful she is.

“I feel a bit bad now, I didn’t bring anything for you.” She says, pouting softly.

“It’s alright, you didn’t know. I just wanted to make it clear how much you mean to me, past the training.”

Minji smiles at that, bringing her hand down to tap the menu in front of you.

“The least I can do is pay for your order.”

The meet up with your trainer went way better than you thought it would.

You and Minji seemed to have grown even closer since that day, having gone on a few more dates since then.

On one particular night, when you two were cuddled up together watching a movie, Minji suddenly paused the movie and looked deep into your eyes.

You’re about to ask her what’s wrong when you notice her looking into your eyes as if they held the entire solar system within them.

“Minji—”

“I wanna be your girlfriend.”

Your mouth shuts. Your eyes widen as you stare at each other.

“Minji, I…”

“I don’t know why I feel it so strongly in this moment, but I really wanna be your girlfriend.”

You smile softly, cupping her cheeks gently.

“Why so suddenly?” You ask, to which she shrugs, returning the soft smile.

“It just suddenly came to me as we were laying here together, in each other’s arms.” She said, leaning into your touch.

“I realized, I want to do this forever. The way I feel right now…I want to feel it forever.”

You’re left speechless as Minji confesses her love to you. No one’s ever said anything like that to you before. It made you feel so loved, so special.

You also wanted to feel that way forever.

“So…?” Minji says, slightly nervous at your silence.

You realize you’ve been quiet this whole time.

“Yes,” you say, nodding softly as you smile at her. “I feel the same way, Minji.”

Her eyes light up as she grins widely, pulling you in for a gentle, passionate kiss in which you happily return.

Now, you and Minji have been dating for almost a year.

Gahyeon was ecstatic when you told her, going on about how she’s basically cupid, and that you and Minji are basically her adoptive parents now.

You’d roll your eyes at her playful happiness, but hug her tightly nonetheless, thanking her for everything she’s done for you.

Dating Minji is nothing short of a dream. She’s the most caring, kind and beautiful person you’ve ever met.

Many people in the past have told you that the fuzzy feeling you get in a new relationship never lasts long. That you’d get sick of her sometimes just like you would with anyone else.

That was never true with you and Minji.

Eleven months into your relationship, and you still crush on her like the first day you met. That fuzzy feeling never went away, in fact it only got stronger.

When things would get rough, she would cook your favorite meals, get your favorite snacks, and cuddle you under the blankets while she puts on your favorite shows. She’d even sing to you sometimes.

Today was a particularly difficult day. Work had been stressful, you were very exhausted, and all you wanted was to hold your girlfriend and make it all go away.

As you walked into Minji’s apartment, you’re greeted by her two roommates, Siyeon and Bora on the couch, to which you greet them back.

As you walk further into the living room, you see Minji’s other friends, Dong, Yoohyeon, Yubin, and of course, Gahyeon, who greets you by jumping up and pulling you into a tight hug.

You admit that the sight of the lively home full of people you two are close with had helped a bit with your exhaustion, but you have yet to see the one person you’ve missed the most.

You walk into the kitchen, spotting Minji making dinner.

Your feet move before your brain does, and within a few seconds, you find yourself wrapping your arms around Minji from behind, burying your face into her neck.

Minji pauses, a small smile forming on her face as she realizes you’re home.

“Hi, baby,” She says sweetly, halting her task of making dinner as she places her hands on yours where they rest on her waist. “Rough day?”

You nod, taking in her sweet vanilla scent.

“Missed you so much.” You mumble, nuzzling closer to her.

Minji turns around in your hold, now facing you as she cups your cheeks and brings you into a sweet kiss, pulling away after a few seconds.

“Go ahead and shower, baby. I’ll bring dinner to you in bed when it’s ready, then we can cuddle, okay?” She says, her gentle hold on your cheeks never faltering.

You nod, wanting nothing more than to be held by her in bed.

She presses one last kiss to your forehead before you pull away.

A little while later, you’re in Minji’s bed, holding her pillow in your arms as it was the closest thing to her actual body.

Minji knocks on the door, announcing her presence before opening the door and shutting it behind her, holding a tray with a plate of food in her hands.

“Hey, baby,” She sets the tray down on the dresser next to her bed, climbing in next to you as you immediately wrap your arms around her and nuzzling close to her.

She smiles, holding you tightly as she runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, your dinner.”

“I’ll eat later. Just wanna hold you,” You say, your voice slightly muffled.

Minji chuckles softly, nodding as she rubs your back. “Okay, baby.”

You two stay like that for a while, until you eventually find the energy to eat your dinner. Now, you and Minji are watching a movie together when you hear a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Minji calls out.

The door opens to reveal Yoohyeon, smiling as she sees you two cuddled up.

“We’re about to play Uno. You guys wanna join?”

Minji looks down at you, silently asking if you were ready for any outside interaction.

You nod softly, and you two get out of bed.

“Let’s see if I can get you to draw twenty again,” You tease as you follow Yoohyeon down the halls into the living room.

“I swear that was cheating!” Yoohyeon pouts.

“This better not turn into a screaming match again.” Minji says, playfully rolling her eyes as you three enter the living room.

[bumblesimagines]



i didnt ask you to care about me

what's the use there's no point

what is it about me that has you so worked up

- Javier Peña

i didnt ask you to care about me

what's the use there's no point

what is it about me that has you so worked up

pronouns: gender neutral, they/them

It was annoying. He was annoying. It was like everywhere you turned, there he was. Anyone else might've found it exciting to have the Javier Peña so interested in them with his pretty dark eyes and stupidly tight jeans. Who could blame them? Javier had natural charm and a smooth way with words. The women always flocked to his side, batting their eyelashes and believing everything that came out of his mouth. The men either loathed or respected him, sometimes both.

Not you though. You found it incredibly annoying how he always seemed to appear out of thin air, prodding you with questions ranging from how your day had been to when you'd last seen some of the members of the Cali Cartel. Javier had always been bold since the day you met him back when he'd been a brief ally of the Cali Cartel in an attempt to bring down Escobar. After the death of the infamous man, Javier turned his attention to Cali and you figured out his aim pretty quickly. He wanted an informant, a rat who'd keep his bed warm and his ears filled with details. Tough shit. You'd choose your life over a pretty face any day.

But it was incredibly hard when that pretty face popped up just about daily.

You didn't need to look to know he was watching from the safety of his car as you left the club and headed down the sidewalk. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears, but the persistent detective had nothing to do with it directly. His interest had been noticed and Pacho had given you what he called a warning although it had sounded more like a threat. Your eyes stung with unshed tears and you quietly cursed your brother's stupidity for involving himself in a cartel.

"Need a ride?" The car drove slowly down the street beside you, his familiar voice calling out to you. You couldn't help but wonder if he'd been doing it on purpose. If he'd been putting you in danger just so you'd be forced to take his offers of protection. Javier had always played dirty with his enemies, no matter who they were.

"Fuck off, Peña." You muttered and rubbed your eyes, forcing the tears away. You nearly groaned when the car stopped and its engine shut off, the sound of a door opening and closing echoing down the street.

"I only want to help you, (Y/N)," He said and you scoffed, shrugging off the hand he placed on your arm. Javier clicked his tongue and grabbed your arm again, forcing you to turn around to face him. His features softened at the sight of your face. "I'm worried about you, alright?"

"I didn't ask you to care about me! Stop trying to be a fucking hero. I'm not handing over my brother or anyone from that cartel. They... They help us. They protect us. We don't need you or anyone from that goddamn embassy." You tried shoving his arms away but his hand caught your wrist and he held it up to his face. Even in the dimly lit street, you could see the bruises forming. Javier's face hardened.

"They protect you, huh?" He cocked a brow and you ripped your wrist from his unusually gentle hold. The anger swirling around in your chest evaporated with the exhaustion of the night's events settling in. He watched you carefully, seemingly committing every inch of your face to memory. Pacho's words rang in your ears again and you turned your head away from the detective.

"What's the use there's no point in trying to help me, Javier. We're in too deep already but we're not useful enough to keep alive if they tire of us. All you can do is offer some bullshit visa to get to the states, and even then it might not be enough to escape them." You murmured quietly and raised a hand to your shoulder, rubbing the tense muscle and sighing softly. Pursing your lips, you looked back at him.

"What is it about me that has you so worked up? There's plenty of hookers who've been around the cartel... why not ask one of them? They'll be happy to tell you what they know for the right price." His eyes never left yours as you spoke. Javier's hand found your wrist again, thumb running over the bruises.

"You remind me of someone I knew. Someone who was willing to do anything for her family and was a good person." Javier revealed quietly. "The cartels nearly killed her. I can't watch it happen to you too."

"I'm not a good person, Javier."

"I don't believe that."

[celestoria]

Love Is Where The Wind Blows

Summary: He always assumed he’ll live a life without romance…until you came

Characters: Venti, Scaramouche (separate)

Tags: no gender specified pronouns, minor angst for Scaramouche

A/n: I was inspired by The Wind Rises, hence the characters. The movie is so cute and sweet arghhhhhh. It would have killed me with cuteness aggression if it wasn’t for the ending.

Venti

Venti lived for many years and had different identities, yet hasn’t fallen in love even once.

He knows what love is of course. To be a well-renowned bard, you have to be one with your emotions so your audience will be moved by your performance.

It’s just that he never related to his songs.

All his ballads were about other people. He’d observe people from afar how women lean on their lover’s shoulder as they sit around while enjoying each other's company and men holding their beloved close because they want nothing but her safety. Once those scenes spark his imagination, he’ll write a song about them to perform to the people.

But ever since you, something stirred in him.

At first, all he wanted was your friendship, something the ever-enthusiastic bard was fond of. He always spent time with him whether it be sleeping under the green leaves of Windrise, or crowded festivals where everyone had bright smiles plastered on their faces.

As time passed, found himself yearning for your presence when he’s in his favorite places in Mondstadt and he’ll find himself thinking about you when he mindlessly blows dandelion fluff.

“Is this what love feels like,” he thought.

————

That evening, another sleepless night cursed him. He found himself restless with the thought of you racing in his mind and if he did fall asleep, he knows you’ll be there to follow him.

With the bed feeling a little bit more uncomfortable by the second, Venti stood up and turned on a small lamp. The drawer slid open and he reached out for a blank piece of paper and a pen.

They say if an artist falls in love, they will immortalize their lover in their work. That way you can never die.

He was just about to do that.

How lucky both of you are. You caught the pure heart of a bard and he fell in love with a person you’d only meet once in a lifetime.

The next morning, Venti woke up with a complete tune and a rush of excitement for you to hear it.

Scaramouche

A heart.

It’s something Scaramouche yearned for since the beginning. He knew that if he had one to call his own, he knew what it would mean to be human.

He wanted to feel joy, excitement, and love. But what did life give to him instead? Pain, agony, and bitterness. Sometimes when tears fall down his porcelain-like skin, it’s as if he’s not worthy to feel such emotions.

After all, he’s just a puppet.

That’s why he thinks it’s bold of you to come into his life. Will you betray him the same way his friends and mother did? Will you be another addition to his tragedies?

The fear growing within him always told the puppet that those were bound to happen to him yet, whatever charm you placed on him, Scaramouche can’t seem to get rid of you. Under his snarky demeanor, he was scared of what the future would bring him but at the same time, he can’t wait to see every single moment that had you in it.

Scaramouche would find himself daydreaming about little strolls with you in the city streets, and how your warmth would feel when he has to share his hat with you in the pouring rain. He wanted to know what it would feel like for you to hold him in his arms after nights of spending them all alone. Moreover, he finds it delightful when he pushes your buttons so he can get that adorable little reaction of yours to surface.

Since you came into his life, it’s as if his dark, roaring thunderstorms turned into windy summer days. The same emotions still lurked in him but in a different light.

It was a pain that he fell in love with you, but he’ll never regret one bit of it. It was agonizing whenever you’d leave, however, he knew you’d always come back. Most importantly, it was bitter that you weren’t with him because he wanted you all for himself.

He accepted long ago his chest will never be a place for a beating heart to be in. However, he knew his heart will always be with you ever since the day you two met.

[makriiii]

A kinship, of sorts. (Frank Heck × freader)

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: As a member of the O’Driscoll's, the handy work for Colm led you places far and wide, which thereby led to meeting folks on a spectrum far and wide. As it was now, you found yourself having to choose between the life you wanted with the man you desired or escaping the life that chose you.

Authors note: This was initially a oneshot idea, which spiraled :') it's also so hard to find pictures of this man

Warnings: 18+, cursing, guns, nothing too bad yet..

Tags: Slight slow burn, found family, eventual smutt.

♡

(You can skip this if you'd like.)

This is something I've been thinking about writing for a while after I saw an old painting that gave me the idea.

I also decided I'd incorporate that plot into this Frank Heck fanfic I wanted to write, since I've never seen anyone write a fanfic about him (cries)

For those who don't know, he's a deleted character, but you'll see him on the collectable gunslinger cards in game. I think he's sexy hot and cool so therefore I will write down my fantasies about him🤑

Anywho, because he is a deleted character, and 1911 Jack only gives a short story about him, I believe he is open for a lot of interpretation.

So, I wanted to base heavily him off of Doc Holliday, of whom I also believe to be a certified sexy master, plus he respects women so I'm like aguhhh 😫 however Doc Holliday has an intellect and wit on a level I could only hope to match, but I will do my best :)

This is also something you could take to be part of y/n's backstory in caught. If you'd like it to be cannon or not cannon to the caught story, that's up to you since I didn't write anything about it in caught. I like to keep y/n's character open as much as possible, so you guys never feel alienated from any backstory elements of my own choosing.

But enough from me, read my story 😈

♡

"For the last time," grunted your fellow O'Driscoll, his tone serious compared to the two that chuckled lightly beside him as you rode up. "Get out of here kid, we got no business with you."

You raised a brow as you got off your horse to see what the commotion was about with your gang members and this... random kid.

He nearly buckled at the knees, his hands together in prayer. "But why can't I?" He begs, hoping his words would strike a chord. "I know how to shoot and steal! I can help you guys."

The boy, average in height and a bit unkempt, looked to be about fourteen or fifteen as he pleaded at the feet of Cormac. A gruff and often stern Irish man, not the one you'd go asking for things of this nature.

"You want to join us?" You question with a disbelieiving smirk. "What on God's green earth for?"

"Finally!" His sputtering siezed as he whipped around to meet your face, the one who let him speak his mind. Though you could tell he instantly questioned you due to your gender. "You ride with them?"

If the iron at your sides didn't make it obvious, you weren't sure what else would. "Sometimes I wish I didn't." You tried making it sound displeasurable, as he seemed to be one of the young men who liked the ideal of being an outlaw.

"Oh, please miss!" Now his badgering was directed solely towards you, but not before Cormac ruffled his hair harshly and pushed him aside.

He and your other two buddies scoffed in disbelief at the kids incessant pleading and started heading off, ushering you with them. "Colm wants this done today, don't waste your time on him."

You nodded, giving the kid one last glance before following them off the veranda.

Before you knew it, you felt your shirt being tugged at from behind, a desperate attempt and a ballsy show of determination.

You were quick to turn around and glare at the boys unduly behavior. "Now is that the best way to ask something of someone?" You question harshly, fixing your shirt.

Your buddies hadn't noticed your absence behind them, as they kept on in their direction, leaving you and this boy to conversate without interruption.

"You're the only one who seems to listen, so please hear me out, would ya?" His gaze turned soft and mushy, like you had just stolen and sucked down his candy. Tears were in the forecast if you weren't mistaken and here you were, feeling somewhat bad for him.

Glancing back once more, you finally engaged him fully. "Whats your name, boy?"

"Nathaniel. Nathaniel Clarke, ma'am." His voice shaky but hopeful.

"And where are your parents, Nathaniel?" That question seemed to shake him up more, though he didn't let it show for long. You could tell he wanted to be tough.

"Dead, Miss." His hazel eyes fixed on the ground as he dug his heel into the warped wood below him. "Doctor said he couldn't do nothin' for 'em."

"And this is the life you think they would've wanted you to turn to?"

Once again, no eye contact as he hesitated.

"I reckon not."

You huffed out a great deal of your guilt that was slowly building with each question. "Then take my advice and find yourself honest work. This ain't some rough and tumble fun, it's your life. Go find some cattle ranching work, somethin' or rather."

Breaking his eye contact with the ground, he finally met your eye. Searching for any semblance that you might change your mind. But now it seemed you'd finally broken and tamed the boy.

"I-" he mutters, perhaps now rethinking his decision. You gave him a bit of patience before checking behind you again, the rest of the boys nearly out of sight behind a building.

"Listen, kid, you wait here and think about it. If you're here when I get back, I'll consider it." You caved. Unwillingly, but you caved nonetheless. You saw in him yourself, and that did you in.

He shot up like a rocket and nodded, more than elated with that prospect.

"Okay!" He pumps his fist with victory and immediately situates himself on a bench no more than a few feet away. "I promise I'll be here when you're done."

The fire in his eyes and the excitement nearly made you smile, it was contagious, yet you knew what taking a path like yours would entail.

You turned and picked up your pace to catch up with the rest of the men, the walk giving you time to reflect.

As happy as he was, you could not share the sentiment for long. You debated wether you should come back at all. You didn't want this for a boy like him, his whole life still open as a plain. Not narrowed or dimmed to a single path of stone.

All you could do was hope he would find himself something better to do. Yet, the thought remained, if he didn't - would he find a different, possibly worse person to beg, one that would accept?

You felt responsible for a kid you had just now met, worried for his well being.

---

The town lay quiet and dim, only noises from the saloon sounded throughout the place. Fog had picked up and it was no doubt late.

You, Cormac, Conor and Willis were all far from home - or atleast the area that you were better familiar with. You were in Blackwater, the up and coming city where leads were plentiful.

"Whats the time, Cormac?" You asked, fighting off a yawn as you trudged through the slightly damp dirt below.

"Quarter to one." He responds, his voice heavy with exhaustion. The lot of you had just gotten done with an array of things. Gambling, negotiating and sorting some... 'pal's' of yours out. "We oughta get back soon to Valentine."

"Lest we want Colm to have our balls for it." Willis starts giggling while gesturing to his lower parts, which riles up Conor.

You couldn't believe the four of you were the ones Colm entrusted his most important work to. Perhaps Cormac and you, but Conor and Willis were just the two you babysat together.

Both of them had their humor, some of which you found funny, but not on this particular night. Cormac neither, though a bit harsh, he was calmer like yourself, leading to a better partnership between the two of you.

"No one unpaid would willingly take a look at those, but perhaps you'd both quiet down without them." You chime mockingly, rubbing your tired eyes. Not often did you stay up so late due to the trade off of getting up early.

Cormac stayed quiet, but you could tell he enjoyed your retort.

"We'd pay you to nab our balls! Itd be much more enjoyable than Colm doing it." Blurts Conor, getting quite the rise out of Willis. Their accents making them sound ever so silly.

Your horse was further away from where they had tied theirs, thankfully, leaving you guys to split not long after Conor and Willis's joking.

Cormac shoved Conor and Willis away toward their horses for you and nodded your way as you separated.

"I won't be coming back tonight to camp, I have business elsewhere, Cormac."

"That's fine. But Colm'll want you back in Valentine in due time." He replies, arranging himself to get up on his horse. "I'll tell him."

"Aw, don't tell us you're leaving again, y/n!" Willis pouts, whether he was serious or not you'd never tell. "She's goin' off to cheat on us again."

"With that Mr. High and Mighty?" Conor fires, annoyed in your choice of men.

"Who else you think? Dunderhead."

Conor slaps his friends shoulder, glaring. "Colm's gonna get fed up with your eloping soon, y/n."

"What can't two fine lads such as ourselves offer that he can?"

"Precisely. " Conor agrees, "two for one deal."

You sighed, they were cleaning your ears right off with all their badgering. "You both have a face only a mother could love."

"Ahh," Conor hissed out, "let me show you what a real man can do."

"Yeah and what about you taking a look at our-" Slapped upside the head by Cormac, he finally relented, a muffled snicker coming from him and Willis.

"Good riddans, you bothersome bastards." You couldn't help but laugh after all their talk, only to get shut down by Cormac.

You thanked him and made your way back to your horse. As you put away your earnings, aloof and in a rather good mood despite the fatigue, you heard soft snores.

You listened for a second, confused on whether you were hearing things or if someone was laid out sleeping close by. A drunkard probably.

When you peeked around your horse through the dark, on the bench, the realization slapped you in the face.

There was that Clarke boy. Asleep but stationed right where he promised he'd be.

Observing him for a short while, you thought on it again. The option of just leaving still available.

He slept peacefully. His hat over his face and his pistol hidden by his grasp on it.

It crushed you - the decision that was to be made. He had waited all day for you to come back. His determination from earlier evident, no lack of it at all.

Hesitating, you finally walked back up the steps and sat beside him.

It was quiet out, peaceful, despite the ambiance of the saloon.

You thought of what to say, of what his life would be like with the gang, with the O’Driscolls. You may ride with them but you didn't think them good. But that's why you rode with them, you weren't neither.

With a light shake on his shoulder, he jolted up, which took you by slight surprise as well.

He fixed his hat quickly and shakes himself out of his drowsy state. "You see? I waited!"

"So is evident." You couldn't help but smile at his excitement, but still the guilt ate at you. "I'll let you ride with me for a bit, but then, we are finding you a proper place of employment."

"You mean it, really?" He questions, his face serious but excited.

"I do." You got up, returning to your horse, the Clarke boy scrambling up behind you. "But only for a bit, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!" He stands to a salute instantly, demonstrating his understanding.

You unraveled your horses reins, rubbing her face lovingly before she kindly snorted all over you. Thanking her sarcastically, you looked over to the boy who still stood with proper posture.

Giving him a look, he questioned you back, unsure of what you were getting at.

"Your horse, boy, where's that at?"

He considered you for a moment, standing perfectly still before looking beside you and pointing at one of the critters tied up by the saloon.

Now you both stood there staring at eachother. Him, an innocent, mindless stare, and you, one that saw right passed it.

"So, you don't have one yet."

"Is there really any harm in taking from the bastards here?" He reasons, taking a stroll over there to examine his choices. "I'll take one who's ill-taken care of. It'll be like a good deed, no?"

"I aint got much of a problem with it, I suppose. Just don't get caught."

After you mounted, he had chosen his steed. A deep bay, not much bigger than your average quarter horse. A stallion, as it looked to be, was ribby and a bit weak looking. Under fed at best.

"You sure?" You affirmed, examining the horse and the Clarke boy.

"I'm sure. I like this one." He jumps on quickly, scanning behind him making sure the owner wasn't happening out of the bar.

"Right." You nod, kicking your horse into action, following the road out of Blackwater. "We got a long way to go."

You had heard rumors of another gang around these parts as of recent. Van Der Linde's gang. You knew of them, but hadn't run into them as of yet, and planned on keeping it that way. Especially now that you had this boy to keep alive.

Colm had always wanted you off anything that could potentially involve them. You were valuable with what you could perform and Colm wanted you to have no dealings with them.

"Where you takin' us?" The Clarke boy questions, no undertone of worry in his voice at the fact that he was leaving with a stranger. An outlaw at that.

"South." You relay after checking your small, brass compass. "Seein' a buddy of mine."

His new horse seemed to be having a bit of fit, perhaps due to the fact it was unsure of who was now on his back. The young boy seemingly more than capable to handle the tantrum.

His hands remained loose on the reins, patting the stallions neck, soothing him best he could.

Atleast the he had a handle on horses, you weren't sure about what else he had for skills, but you were sure to find out in time.

"Who's the buddy?" He questions, he wasn't afriad of asking too many questions.

You gave him a thoughtful look before deciding wether to tell him or not, though seeing as he would be meeting him soon enough, you let it be known. "Frank Heck."

"Frank Heck!" He repeats in a loud burst, completely focused in on you now. "You know the Frank Heck? The gunslinger?"

It was this particular reaction that had you afore contemplating. "I suppose so."

"How'd- how? You actually know him? The gunslinger Frank Heck!"

You sighed out deeply, leaving your reins loose to run your hands through your hair. You definitely were to have a case of hat head, bad at that.

"I mean!" He's positively gobsmacked. "I read stories about him, he's famous!"

"Why, yes he is. He's somethin'."

"I get to meet him? Really?"

"You do. Don't worry." You were tired, and unable to understand how he had so much energy at such a late time in the night.

You just needed to find a place that was safe enough for the both of you till morning.

-----

It didn't take long for you to realize that, your drowsy state from last night had your judgment lacking. Heavily.

You didn't have nearly enough supplies to get you to New Austin with the Clarke boy in tow.

It was enough to get you by - barely, but you'd both be sun baked human jerkies before getting all the way to Armadillo.

The sun just barely greeted the land around as you sat with the company of the crackling fire you had just revived.

Your horses snorted every so often, grazing on what little half dead grass there was around the edges of the plains. Your horse and Clarke's new ride got along well, which made things a bit better.

That boy was still sleeping soundly, on what looks to be rather uncomfortable. A saddle and dirt, but he made do. His mouth wide open, drooling on his saddle.

So far, you didn't mind the company, albeit the company did have quite a lot to say.

Mousing away from Colm and the rest of your gang was something you liked to indulge in as often as possible. Colm didn't like it so much at first, but eventually came to allow it once you did for him decent work.

Now on your mind was Frank. What has he been up to during the time you'd been away from eachother?

When you'd met him, you saw him as nothing more than the typical law hating gunslinger who dressed well enough to be gawked over. One who gambled with more than just money.

And now he offered you a way to spend your time that wasn't either traversing alone or traversing with O'Driscoll's.

While some of the men, like Cormac, were decent enough company, you didn't actively prefer their company.

Frank interested you and you, him.

When you had left, you mentioned you had business to attend to in Armadillo. He found himself relating, mentioning that he'd wait for you there.

You weren't entirely sure what would compell him to stay in a town like that, with the lives there being amongst the lowest you could come across.

Criminals of all kinds crawled about the place like fire ants to a hive, their presence easily detected by the pandemonium they caused. The Del Lobos also made their appearance quite often, the stars of the show. The scarlet fever outbreak helped none either.

"Aghh." Groaned the sleepy Clarke boy from behind you, effectively spooking you out of your thoughts.

He started coughing and spitting quite suddenly, for whatever reason for, was beyond you.

"Damn bug in my mouth!" Wiping his tongue off throughly.

"Put that in there for breakfast" You teased, pushing yourself up from the ground. "Figured you were hungry by the way your mouth was hangin' open."

"Did you really?" He gasps, staring down at the grasshopper who'd trespassed, crippled on the ground, twitching.

"I told you. Gang life isn't what you expected."

"You feed eachother grasshoppers whilst asleep?"

Teasing the boy was certainly something fun to do.

"It's how we care for eachother when food is sparse."

He watched you closely, trying to glean any deception on your face. "You're fibbin', I aint never read that in any of my books."

"Well, your first mistake is trusting those silly books. You usher him up with a gesture, to which he promptly obeys. "Your second is trusting a stranger."

"So you were fibbin'!"

"I might actually next time."

"I needn't that, Miss, dont worry." He was quick to relieve you of any such duties. "Hey, wait.."

You gave him a glance of acknowledgement, then continued packing your horse.

"What is your name anyway? You never did tell me." His curious nature reminded both yourself and him, that you'd never given him your name.

"Y/n L/n. You ain't oughta keep callin' me Miss, though." You answered, mounting your horse, now just waiting for Clarke.

"Payin' respect where respects due, Miss y/n." Nathaniel explained, "you were kind to me and took me in."

He watched the floor as he spoke, a long on him you couldn't quite place.

"Get on your horse, Clarke. I'm gonna tell you a story."

His was quick for his horse once you told him that. By the recollection of his books, stories were something that interested him.

"I'm all ears!" He chirps, his stallion quick to be by your horses side.

You click your horse forward to resume the direction you'd been traveling the night previous. "When I was younger, I wasn't so dissimilar to you. A bit older perhaps when I met someone who took me in."

He listened in intently, almost leaning out of his saddle for the rest that was to come.

"He was kind, at times, he gave me what I needed, clothed me, fed me... I'm here now because of it. But as it were, the man he seemed to be, was only ever temporary." Your speech drawed out at times as you recounted the earlier days of being with Colm O'Driscoll.

"I can't say he changed - that's who he always was. When I realized, I had already done myself in." You left the details bleak, the story flesh gapped, you didn't find yourself enjoying the retelling. "He did various things to me I wasn't fond of, but I did whats needed, and now I get off lightly at times. Like now."

"You can't just leave?" Nathaniel whispers, his voice at a lowest record volume.

"I try. Only ever temporary." You did your utmost to drive the point home that gang life was truly not something to be actively searching out for. "I do what I do for that gang, I have no choice, and I ain't want you nailed to the same chain."

He seemed to have a bit more understanding now, fiddling with his stallions hair as he pondered the words of warning.

You gave him his time to contemplate, shaking off the rest of the memories and regret that left your conscience heavy.

"Then what else is there for me to do? To live for?"

It hit you like a stream train. You quite honestly had nothing to say for a minute.

"My ma was a waitress, my pa, a retired Sheriff. They did their best with what we had but.." he hesitates, peering off into the cactus covered horizon. "It didn't last. So I had to figure something else out. Just, I don't know what now."

"You think bein' an outlaw is the only way?" You were light with any judgement.

"I think it'd give me something to do. I can get money, go west. That's where everyone keeps talkin' bout anyway."

The west. The golden west. That was the land of opportunity. A better path for the boy, no doubt, but the way he desired to aquire it, wasn't right.

"Keep yourself straight, kid. It wouldn't give you anything worth while to do."

---

Nathaniel was perfectly described as near ghastly, the time under the sun certainly showing it's toll on him now.

Just in the distance was the dim lights of Armadillo. It was comforting, in the sense that there was to be some sort of food and water. But the company on the other hand...

His eyes were shut, leaning back in his saddle, blind trust in both you and your horse. You gave him a pat on the shoulder, alerting him to the sight ahead.

"We're 'bout near our destination. You are aware of Armadillos reputation, right?"

"I read about it in the newspapers. It sounds exciting." Nathaniel announced proudly, as if this place was a party.

"Exciting?" You fret, unsure of just what exactly these books he'd been reading had been telling him. "Just stay close to me, and don't speak to anyone. I mean it."

"Whatever you say, Miss y/n. I swear to you."

Upon your arrival in town, the place wasn't nearly as quiet as Blackwater. Some occasional yelling, people of many various bearings spread about the desolate town.

You eyed Nathaniel, making sure he stayed close. Constantly scanning for anything that'd bring either of you harm, but also for a Frank.

"I'm so hungry.." He grumbles, rubbing his stomach as you dismounted and tied your horses.

"Me too, my boy, me too." You agree, your spurs jingling as you stepped up the stairs. "This place has food, but dont get too roused."

"You'll get me something?" He swiftly stomped up the stairs behind you and into the saloon to keep close.

"Well, seeing as you didn't like breakfast."

He snorts out a little snicker, taking a seat at the bar next to you. You could tell he was uncomfortable, his initial impression of the place hadn't come 'round like he wished.

The people of Armadillo gave you lot stares. The two of you sticking out particularly sorely.

You let him pick out what he wanted from the very sparse choices the bartender offered, ordering after him yourself a drink.

"Whats that stuff taste like anyway?" Nathaniel wondered aloud, his face getting much too close to your glass than it should be.

You flicked his hat up, having him scramble to keep it from flying off. "Like something you shouldn't be drinking-"

Two men interrupted your banter, Nathaniel's staunch attention now directed towards them.

"Hey, little lady." The man, rugged as a bear, leaning against the counter, stared a burning hole through you.

"She got a little boy here." Scoffs evily his partner, sure to add the observation.

"You aint from here, are you, amiga?" His voice heavy with a Spanish accent. You knew exactly what occupation he held by the gun belts adorning his chest.

You stayed quiet, observing him intently. You didn't want any trouble, especially not with Nathaniel in tow. He was thankfully keeping your rule in mind.

Their chuckles were sinister and breathy as they surveyed you and Nathaniel. They weren't out to make friends, hopefully not to kill either, but to intimidate.

The first Del Lobo raised his hand to touch your green scarf. Rubbing it between his fingers as he inspected it.

You'd forgotten to take the damn thing off, preoccupied with watching over Nathaniel.

His eyes met with yours as he stood over you menacingly, raising your chin up with his dirt smudged finger.

"Hey!" Nathaniel barks out his opposition, coming to a stand, his hand now resting on his revolver. "Don't you be touchin' her."

You sat him right back down, the two men reveling with the reaction they could get out of him.

"Keep your boy in check, eh? 'Fore he gets himself hurt." Hummed the first man, a sickly satisfied look in his dark eye. "You're an O’Driscoll, we dealt with ya before."

"Sure you understand we aint like visitors." Crowed the next, shorter and skinnier, yet just about as threatening.

"Why, surely that's not who I believe it to be." Came yet another voice, one soothing, a familiar silvery voice.

His hands laid themselves on your shoulders, a scent you could pick out anywhere quickly filling your nose. "My darlin', y/n!"

There was Frank. A sweet talker at times.

Nathaniel's eyes lit up as he saw the, well, in book terms, a legendary gunslinger, acting particularly comfy with you and nonetheless aloof as described in the texts. His whole body siezed with the whole situation, overwhelmed and not sure what he was to do with himself.

"Hello Frank," you greeted warmly, side eyeing the two men who seemed slighted by the abrupt arrival of this man. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you." You turn to embrace the man you thought of ever so fondly since you'd met him.

"Oh, I'd never mean to keep you waiting." he promptly apologized, "Now, what is it we arrange for you mannerly individuals?"

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Ask me Anything -- Tal Smithson

Have you heard of the magical girl genre?

Fuck yes, have you read Sailor Nothing? World-changing. Preneek. Literature. I mean we only have two thirds of it but they were a great two thirds.

If you had awoken in Captain Aspen’s situation, would you have waited as long to wake others up?

I wouldn’t have woken anyone up. I don’t think it would even have occurred to me.

Do you feel more lucky or guilty that you’re the only one to survive your Ring’s ejection? Sorry if this one is too personal.

Why would I feel guilty? I was asleep.

If this is not too rude to ask, could you tell me a little about the Brennan gender identity, and grammar around pronouns?

I don’t know what you’re asking. It’s just a gender. Some people are men and some people are women and some people are brennan. And some people are something else I guess, like Aspen or the Friend.

Did you have any pets, or tend to animals growing up?

I had a pet monitor lizard named Cthulhu.

Have you done any work salvaging preneek data?

Yeah I used to be involved in tracking down and scraping old hard drives and servers for any possible recoverable data. Fillmore! Episode 5, Red Robins Don’t Fly? That was me. I found AND recovered that. You’re welcome.

Would you download a car?

I did once but the machine shop wouldn’t build me anything from unverified files. Also I don’t drive, obviously. Also I have nowhere to put a car.

What is Neocambrian meme culture like?

What’s meme culture?

Do you think the developments with Amy are as wild as I do?

Amy makes no fucking sense, my entire life since waking up on this ship has been a fever dream. In fact I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t a fever dream. Possibly I went to sleep and the neurostimulator started making me dream to preserve my brain on the trip and that’s what’s still happening right now. We’ll all wake up at Hylara super disoriented and filled with years’ worth of false memories.

What do you think should be done with the colonists that are too affected by Amy when the ship reaches Hylara?

It’s hardly up to me, is it? They’re going to die. I’m not a necromancer.

Do you ever worry you are in some sort of preneek science fiction novel, or movie?

What kind of weirdo would write something like this?

You are good at being a cybercriminal, how did you get caught?

The police, as it turns out, are also good at catching a cybercriminal.

If you could bring sometimes from earth with you, what would you pick?

Reget Bryce. Fucking arsehole. I hate that guy. He should have to be on this ship.

Do you want to give some of your dreams to Amy?

No, I’m very glad to have woken up before that could happen. Although maybe if she had a brain that knew literally anything about computers she wouldn’t be such a fucking mess in there.

What you hate the most?

People who think Star Trek and Star Wars were alternate names for the same franchise and totally fuck up our databases through unnecessary combinations. No Spock wasn’t a Force user. That took so many months to fix.

Are you scared of being made into a slave when you land?

I honestly don’t see how things are going to be significantly different to our current situation, except that we will be on the ground and presumably have less gaming time.

Kill someone innocent or be killed? Choose one.

We’ve got like four thousand spare innocent lives on hand, it’s not like it’s a limited resource. I probably will end up fucking up and killing at least one of them anyway. Just based on probability and this fucking nightmare of an AI.

Have you even be out of Texas?

Yeah I went on this submarine trip once to follow an old internet cable we discovered in the hopes that it would lead to some interesting server with some interesting information. It didn’t. It just lead to a small bunker from the time of the collapse, a seal had been breached and the entire thing was flooded. Nothing electronic was recoverable. There were some cool skeletons in there though.

[rdngl]

boyfriend asmr ft. zhongli short hcs

i know what might some of you think- no, this is strictly sfw ^^ live laugh love zhongli <3 based on this brainrot of mine <333

+ enjoy reading everyone! i love youu

warnings : idk swearing, talking about nsfw content but dw this post is strictly sfw

i present to you, rex asmr or zhongli asmr? idk he might add a "va" on it but for now, he prefers asmr because it sounds good.

mainly posts his videos or should i say, "audios" on youtube but since youtubes hates him, he has free audios on patreon because some of them has chuu chuu mwa mwa sounds ;) iykyk

his fans tries to gatekeep him but fails 100% this man's voice is too hot to get gatekeeped.

he also accepts commisions and sometimes does the scripts that his fans sent to him!!! he loves them so much and always thanks them for their support!

now let's talk about his audios (ong fr fr my time to shine)

he mostly does sleep aid audios. the listener (haha get it) has no implied gender there, just some snores, heartbeat, sometimes rain sound effects and some very cute and hot "i love you, darling." and "you're so warm..." in some random parts of the audio in which the fans eat up like it's their last meal (trust me scroll down the comment section and then you'll find a whole ass timestamps).

next on the list, we have period pains/comfort for our women!!! he's so sweet like "no no darling it's fine, you're not bothering me i can fetch you some pads." NAHH ZHONGLI NOT TODAY IM GONNA CRY FR FR HE'S SO SWEET AND LOVING AND FOR WHAT OMG (AAAA I REMEMBER THT ONE AUDIO OF BEFORE KNIGHTFALLS IM GOING CRAZY)

and then we have, yandere audios!!! one time, he did an audio where he did a yandere script his fan sent him and it's a yandere dragon roleplay and which many people loved so when he has times, he'll do yandere audios and wow it makes me feral oml like im down bad bark bark chain me up mister dragon (NAH CUZ HE KIND OF REMINDS ME OF REDACTED OMG IM FAINTING CHECK HIS YT OUT RN)

and for our dessert, we have patreon previews!!! (he uploads half the audio on yt then uploads the whole audio in patreon for free because he just doesnt want yt to caught him making chuu chuu-ing noises) his patreon has nothing that nsfw-ish btw it's just that some audios has some like making out sounds stuff so uhh yea :D his youtube is full on sfw because he's not ready for nsfw content yet.

taglist and requests are open! send it in!

[fish-want-women-me-fear-me]

I’ve been working through gender and I had a short interaction recently that has been fascinating me. I was talking to a transmasc coworker about gender and the main question I asked was “what is it like to be a man on purpose?” I always grew up being whoever people told me I was and I was raised pretty heteronormatively, so I feel I grew into a man largely through inaction. For a long time I felt nothing at all about being a man and I’ve become increasingly conscious of a sense of hollowness in the aspects of my sense of self that have extended from that, which fed into some depressive tendencies that only started to abate when I began to take small steps away from masculinity. These steps have been thought about, doubted, pondered over, and required a large amount of going out of my way for, mentally and practically.

Going back to the question, the guy I was talking to said he wasn’t a man on purpose. He just was that way the whole time. He showed me a picture of himself when he was 7 and he was just about as masc as today. He talked about how some of the stuff I said bothered me about masculinity bothered him too, but masculinity was just a fact to him.

What really fascinated me about this is that, on an elemental level, he described exactly what I described: growing into a man largely through inaction. What for me elicits a sense of emptiness, he’s just fine with. I have an instinct to find this challenging. I often feel much more like I want to be a woman than that I already am one, so finding that his gender as a trans man was just about as easy to slip into as my current gender presentation as a cis man didn’t feel like great news.

I’m trying to fold this into a practical understanding of gender. On one level, we’re different individuals. He probably didn’t internalize messages given to him about who he was supposed to be as much as I did growing up, and that probably put him on a very different road of self-perception. I don’t know the guy that well, so I can only guess.

I’ve come to think it’s a difference pulled from the shape masculinity and femininity take in general. I don’t know a lot of cis guys who feel like they have to try to be men. This definitely is not true in all times and places and ways; masculinity has a lot of pressure attached to it and that pressure is exerted differently in different settings, but we do live in a society with a masculine default. I think a consequence of that is that it’s easier to get to masculinity without really trying, whereas femininity is tied very strongly to a set of beauty standards that don’t just grow onto your face. My girlfriend works hard as shit every day to uphold the practice of her femininity and to be able to feel beautiful and that is closely connected to gender. The cis male people I know in my life do their hair (optional). Being a fashionable man is a character trait, but for women it’s an expectation.

I have no idea how common that guys experience of being transmasc is and I have no idea how common my own experience of gender is, so I’m not confident my descriptions of these experiences have wider implications.

My takeaway is that the difference between me and that guy is not that I feel a need to work for my gender and he doesn’t, but that we both experience the masculine default and he’s fine with it and I’m not. Because he’s fine with masculinity and I’m not.

I find this affirming the same way I’ve found feelings of dysphoria affirming in the past. I’m not one of those known-since-childhood trans women who got caught with their moms dresses. I’m also not bad at being masculine. I’m pretty good at it, generally speaking. I have chronic fatigue, but if I was strong and could fix things I’d basically have all the boxes checked. This feeds into a lot of doubt and scrutiny and ruminating and questioning any feelings about not being cis, so sometimes being in a scenario where I’m violently uncomfortable about being perceived as a man can help cut through it all in a way that’s not necessarily pleasant but is kind of refreshing. Seeing that I do have a commonality of experience with a trans man and that he finds something I find depressing to be totally fine is affirming in a very similar way.

I mentioned that I feel more often that I want to be a woman than that I am one. I think I don’t feel like a woman primarily because I haven’t had the chance. If I want the chance, I’m going to have to do a lot of stuff on purpose. And that’s just fine, I think.

[crimsonmonsoon]

Heres some character info-sheets for my mlb rewrite. The main five obv, but I'll get to other characters maybe later if and when I feel like it... also this was an excuse to draw them n o t dying or something so uh- yar.

Some additional info about each:

Marinette- Marinette's mom tried to teach Marinette chinese but started out a little too late in Mari's child-language development and never really succeeded. At most, Marinette can introduce herself. She does not yet have any crushes in my fic at the moment, but the first one (sorta already is) will be Luka for a while once he gets more "screen time". She's less "UwU quirky i'm so clumsy" like she is in the show. In fact, she doesn't go and do stupid things without repercussions at all. She is less focused on boys and more on her superhero life, but it starts getting overwhelming. She feels like if she tried to focus on herself for a change, something bad would happen as a result, and it doesn't help that Tikki is so strict on her about it.

Adrien- Adrien is pomosexual which basically means he doesn't know what the heck he is or what to label his feelings with so he went with that. He knows he is attracted to femininity, but is also ok with more masculine or "tom-boyish" attributes in anyone of any gender. This does lead into his crush on Kagami later on since they are nonbinary and not exactly "the most feminine" person you could meet, yet also not entirely masculine in their personality and presentation. Basically, he doesn't know what the heck his sexuality is. He knows chinese and english because of how strict his homeschooling is, and has a natural talent for picking up new languages. He doesn't really understand himself and often feels like he's broken, or a robot. Perhaps some senti-monster behavior...??????!!!!! (I'm deciding on that now shut up)

Nino- Nino is a glorious bilingual child whose parents are unknown. They probably left the face of the planet. No one has ever seen them... at least in the show... so I didn't bother giving him a family. But he's bilingual somehow!! But wait... I did give him parents?! That's right, I invented Mara Lahiffe for no reason, and we're gonna say his dad is no longer in the picture. He's very protective of his friends and would never abandon them, hence why he became so fitting for the turtle miraculous. He has a secret crush on Rena Rouge but sadly, not Alya. He likes his mysterious women I guess.

Alya- Alya is creole which is a race of people from America that spawned from the mixing of native american, Spaniard, black, and europeans. It's a lot... I know... they're best known for existing in Louisiana, and does she have family there? No! She has relatives from Cuba which is why she can speak spanish. Alya has a big family with three other sisters, and she's caught being the middle child. This has given her a lot of insecurities due to her older sister being a literal muscle boxing beast and her two little twin sister getting all the attention from the family.

Chloe- I think it's really funny that I didn't give Marinette, the main character, family trauma, but the other four.... Chloe's parents are divorced and her mother has a very judgmental attitude over Chloe. Chloe wants nothing more than to please and impress her mother who sometimes doesn't even remember her daughters name. Chloe feels like she's battling her half sister, Zoe, for their mothers attention, which is made extra hard for her by the fact that her sister and mother live all the way in New York. Chloe was as straight as a pencil, she swears. but then... she started developing feelings for a girl and everything became a mess. She's kinda in the same boat as Adrien right now, except she's more comfortable calling herself bicurious. She developed anorexia after Gabriel Agreste's company refused to accept her as a model, denying her the chance to work with Adrien and pursue her dream career.

[topazadine]

Large and controversial opinion post

And a last thing, I am so fucking sick of the microlabel boutique label shit, which has been driving me slowly insane for years at this point.

I don't attach my entire personality and identity to my current sexual label, because sexuality is fluid and my feelings may change. I am a human being, and I experience growth, and I realize new things about myself all the time.

I used to identify as bisexual before realizing that I liked men in the abstract but every single relationship I had been in with a man felt performative and wrong, while every relationship with a woman felt soul-nourishing, life affirming. I now identify as a lesbian, and while I am sure this is my Final Boss of identity (I am in my thirties now, I'm pretty set in my ways), maybe it's not! And that's okay. It's okay to grow and change.

I worried a bit about what other people may think when I started identifying as a lesbian, but then I realized that their opinions don't fucking matter. Me realizing my own experience does not mean that bisexuality is not valid, because it definitely is. Me going on hormones for a while and then stopping when I realized that I'm an androgynous woman and not nonbinary doesn't mean that everyone else who uses gender affirming care is lying or will regret it.

(For the record, I don't regret going on hormones at all. It was a part of my journey and that's great. Shout out to Howard Brown Health Center in Chicago for being so rad!)

If you get so caught up in your personality being whatever you identify as at a time, you panic and get into an existential tailspin when you realize your feelings no longer match whatever that is. The smaller and smaller of a box you make for yourself, the more precise your definitions, the harder it is to get out of that corner.

Then you start to thrash around in cognitive dissonance, claiming that your label encompasses things it really doesn't, to the point where such a label becomes useless in the first place because everyone is defining it completely differently.

Labels are a quick shorthand for what you generally like. They are meant to easily communicate to other people who you might bring to Thanksgiving dinner (or who you won't). They are not meant to cram your entire expression and understanding of your sexuality or gender into one single word. Everyone experiences their sexuality a little differently, but we are all united by a general label that allows us to point out the highlights of our commonalities and leave the rest for closer exploration with those we care about.

My sapphic experience is different than other peoples'. I'm not a gold star lesbian, obviously, and while I knew I liked girls from a young age, I didn't realize how exclusive that attraction was. I couldn't separate platonic attraction for men (men can be rad! I like to hang out with them!) from my romantic attraction to women (woman are wonderful! I want to find myself a beautiful wife!). This is pretty common in our heterosexist society and it's nothing to be ashamed of (and it doesn't invalidate anyone else's experiences, these are my feelings).

And I take a long time to warm up to someone. I'm not banging on the first date, or even the fourth. I need to know you for a long time until I feel comfortable enough to get physical. Sometimes, I find that my feelings start to get too much for me when I really like someone, and I may pull away a bit. I don't have as high of sex drive as other people and it takes me a lot to get over myself and do it.

These are normal variations in sexuality. Many people are like this. And no one needs to know these things about me unless we are going to get down to business. I don't need to announce these things to anyone when I'm introducing myself to them because no one else cares unless they want to fuck me. Telling my deep and complex feelings about sex and love to strangers the instant they meet me through a label is fucking weird and TMI. All they need to know is "I like women."

It is okay to have mystery, incompleteness, and nuance in your sexuality. It is okay not to have words for things you experience. You are a vast and confusing individual who cannot be distilled down to a few words.

You will grow and change over your life, but you can't do so if you attach yourself to increasingly arcane labels that become a load-bearing component of your existence and are difficult to extricate yourself from. Please don't stuff yourself into a tiny box that might not fit you like some bonsai cat. You're doing a disservice to yourself and all your complexities.

[jiabeewrites]

Avengers Gender & Sexuality Headcanons, but cleaned up a bit

hello hello! I revisited my old post, and it was messy af and I don't really headcanon a lot of these anymore. SO I PRESENT TO YOU:

The Avengers Being Gay As Fuck

STEEB ROGER ROGER || CAPTAIN AMERICA - ohhhhh boy... - bro is kinda not up to speed with how ✨🏳‍🌈 the gays 🏳‍🌈✨ are treated nowadays - so peter decides to teach him - and at first, he's kinda confused, esp about trans people - because hello, he was born in the fourties - it's kinda non-realistic to expect him to snap to reality just like that - anyhoo, peter ain't having the "how tf do trans people work" bullshit - he, like any good gen z kid would do, creates a shitty powerpoint presentation - after two full fucking hours of explanation, steve starts to get it - he still slips up sometimes... - but he tries his fucking best and honestly that's all we can ask of him - i don't really see steve labeling himself, but if you asked, he'd probably just steer the conversation away from that topic - would still use he/him - fuck that was long

TONY STARK || TIN CAN IRON MAN - bro has fucked and been fucked, taken and given head - by both men and women - cmon. there's no way that this billionaire playboy isn't fruity - pansexual, doesn't care about the gender of the person he loves - he's either in a poly relationship with pepper and rhodey or enemies-to-lovers with a certain stephen strange - he/him - funds the annual manhattan pride - qpr with rhodey

BRUCE BANNER || JOLLY GREEN GIANT - oh poor child - i feel like he is not one for sex - like bro practically radiates aroace energy - doesn't really feel the need for gender conformity. gender is an unknown subject and he doesn't like to meddle with it. end of story - pretty sure he's agender - i feel like he wouldn't care what pronouns are used, but if asked, i think he would answer he/they - bro is a triple a battery fr - prefers to be adressed as dr. banner or just banner

NATASHA ROMANOFF || SCARY ASSASSIN LADY - she/her. nuff said. - asexual. i will die on this hill - the red room taught her to use her body to get what she wants - but she never really wanted that - coughseggscough - i wanna say she's demiromantic & bi - clint is her biggest supporter - started the ace avengers club 🍇🐘👻🐈‍⬛

CLINT BARTON || LEGOLAS - i really can't see a queer clint. i can't - i also don't really see him being that one overinvested ally - he/him, straight, cishetallo - sorry :(

THOR ODINSON || THAT ONE THUNDER DUDE - he comes from asgard, where nobody really sees being queer as different - so when he comes to earth........just imagine his surprise when he finds out about homophobia - he found out when some dudebro was yelling at a girl who seemed like she wanted nothing to do with him - another girl was with them, and she looked like she wanted to kill the guy - thor was confusion - he asked what was going on, and the dudebro said that he caught his sister on a date with another girl - yknow, expecting thor to lash out at the girl - but thor was the exact opposite - he grinned, and congratulated the two on their relationship - WLW FOR THE WIN!! - dudebro started going off on a homophobic rampage - one glare from thor and he nearly shit his pants - and THAT is where thor got his title as protector of lesbians - he/him - tried using thunder based pronouns once but decided it wasn't for him - unlabeled. he thinks human labels are weird

JAMES RHODEY RHODES || WAR MACHINE - is he/him - gay as fucking hell oh my god - literally so gay - GAY MAN OVER HERE - k im done - i'm nearly 100% sure he's graysexual. doesn't really care for sex but if his partner(s) really want it...well, he loves them - probably has to steer tony away from fans all the time at pride - i'm also 100% sure he's down for polyamory. there's too much love for just one person in his heart - qpr with tony

PETER PARKER || SPOODERMAN - TRANS PETER TRANS PETER TRANS PETER!!!!!! - 🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧🏳‍⚧ - i know it's a really common tumblr headcanon but i FIRMLY support it! FTM - 60% sure that flash bullies peter because he's trans - i mean like it's more believeable than peter being a nerd - prob uses he/him - comes out to tony first, tony buys peter his first binder - may finds out next and she's just so happy. peter asks for name suggestions and she nearly cries - that's how he got his name :) - this kid forgets to take off his binder so often omg - like ned and mj and may MUST REMIND HIM or he'll forget - i feel like he'd be asexual but sex-neutral - doesn't care for it - bi. bi peter parker.

MICHELLE JONES || EMJAY - is enby 💛🤍💜🖤 - ain't no way she's a girl. like ain't no way - uses she/they if asked, but doesn't really give a fuck about pronouns - bisexual with a pref for gals. callin it now

NED LEEDS || NEDANIEL - pretty sure he uses he/they because he like the pronouns - thought that they/them was cool and just decided to use it :D - sweet boi, supports mj and peter sm - buys them pride flags ✨🏳‍🌈✨ - ned literally radiates aroallo energy like cmon - CMON - aroallos are so cool and sexy actually

LOKI LAUFEYSON || LOW KEY LMAO IM SO FUNNY - is genderfluid 💖🤍💜🖤💙 - like this isn't even headcanon fuck off - will use any and all pronouns, at any given time - idk...maybe it's just me but i'm getting MASSIVE asexual vibes - probably sex positive ace - like slay queen - panromantic. like do i even need to explain this

BUCKY BARNES || BUCKET - i will die on they/them bucky hill - and you will see my corpse there - and you will know i was right - unlabeled. doesn't fully understand themself rn, labels will probably make it worse - sam is a huge part of bucky's queer journey - probably uses peter as a queer encyclopedia

SAM WILSON || CHICKEN MAN - gay as freaking hell omfg - that is HOMOSEXUAL MAN RIGHT THERE - he/him - takes bucky to their first pride parade - queer legend - ✨🏳‍🌈✨

VISION || ROBOT MAN - is undecided on gender for now - decides to just use he/him while he figures everything out - i think he figures out that he's asexual real fast. like sex-repulsed - why humans would ever want to have intercourse is beyond him - same, girl, same - but he's definitely omniromantic. he does experience love, albeit a little differently than the rest of society - don't we all...

WANDA MAXIMOFF || WITCHY BITCHY - found out she was a lesbian after a failed date with vision - neither of them felt the attraction that they had before - so yes. gay. sapphic. wlw. - i hate the term but i feel like she would be a lipstick lesbian until she falls for a butch - she/her - has girl nights with her twin - hmm gay - ❤️🧡🤍💖💜

PIETRO MAXIMOFF || SPEEDY BITCHY - they/he/she - genderfluid, is particular about pronouns - like ik people don't really headcanon it but... - cmon. pietro is LIQUID GENDER. - (this also probably stems from my belief that every single fucking speedster is genderfluid no matter what fandom) - sees a pretty dress? will buy two. one for them and one for wanda - he really does slay stilettos tho - i think she's probably gay (mlm) - stfu pietro can be a gay man if they want to - fuck you

T'CHALLA || CATMAN - gay. GAY - he/they icon - wakanda is a safe place for EVERYONE - besides, all the dora milaje are wlw - probably homosexual, like what else would he be - nakia? 99% sure nakia is trans and they're in a qpr - AROACE NAKIA AROACE NAKIA - *aroaces every single character* - fuck yeah gay t'challa

SHURI || GENIUS GIRL - she/xe - sapphic asexual - shuri x riri is the hill i will die on - leaning towards women and fem aligned genders - started first wakandan pride parade - i'm 99% sure she officiated ayo & aneka's wedding - change my mind

STEPHEN STRANGE || DR WIZARD - agender, doesn't see the point in gender most of the time, so they/them/he/him - believes there are three sexes but an infinite amount of genders - demiromantic, demisexual - fight me - is most likely gay 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 - had a qpr with christine before the incident

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

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HAPPY LESBIAN VISIBILITY WEEK!

[qweerhet]

what do you think of the argument that being TMA isn't just about what individual randos think of you, but rather about the societal perception of transfems as a whole? so a non-binary person who was AFAB, but has an androgynous appearance and is clocked as transfem will definitely have a shit experience, but they're not raised in a society that explicitly says they're a gross predator who should die (intersecting oppressions notwithstanding), so they're not TMA, even if they get caught in the crossfire sometimes. kind of like sikh get attacked by Islamophobes, but only Muslims are treated as inherently violent and backwards by society at large. I hope I'm conveying it correctly, I'm ambivalent about the whole thing so I'm rephrasing someone else's argument.

eh, i mean, i'm incredibly dubious of the idea that how "individual randos" treat you is meaningfully distinct from how "society as a whole" treats you.

like, you don't really need to be "clocked as transfem" in order to experience transmisogyny, in my experience? it isn't really about people thinking you're a trans woman specifically, inasmuch as it's about the ways that systems are set up to treat people with certain lived experiences.

i.e. if you are a person with tits and a dick and facial hair who identifies as a woman and uses she/her, different parts of society will treat you a certain way regardless of if you were afab, amab, or neither. you're automatically included in any and all "the existence of a penis as violence against women" rhetoric and ideology, for example, and any material fallout of that rhetoric will apply to you as much as it does anyone else with a penis. your assigned gender at birth or identity status as "transfem" or "transmasc" or "intersex" or whatever identity label you choose doesn't really factor into that material experience. you're still a victim of transmisogynistic rhetoric that societally portrays penises as incompatible with womanhood and a threat to other women.

like... yeah, i think transmisogyny is systemic and embedded in how systems treat trans people, i just don't think that an identity label can negate someone being individually affected by those systemic factors. my sister is a transmasculine person who was amab and has been on estrogen + blockers for many many years; when she decided to start identifying as transmasculine, it didn't magically negate all of the systemic transmisogyny she is affected by. (simultaneously, the transmisogyny she faces also doesn't negate the transmisandry she's been dealing with for the past few years, either, but that's a derailment.)

in your example, maybe that nonbinary person is tma? there's a ton of other factors that go into someone's relationship to transmisogyny other than just "has an androgynous appearance," and honestly that's part of why i'm frustrated with trying to boil it down to being about agab or identity labels.

like, is that person gatekept from women's spaces because of their appearance/sex markers? are they portrayed as a sexual predator? do people sexualize even their mundane actions and associate them with sex work, even if they have nothing to do with that line of work? have they been arrested for carrying a condom? do they face extreme bad faith criticism of all their actions, particularly in comparison to the cis women around them? are they treated as disposable within the queer community in a transmisogynistic way? do people perceive their attempts at feminine styles of dress/makeup as failing to be a real woman? are they told that they're too angry, violent, loud, etc, and that these things are because of their "male socialization?" are they experiencing medical transmisogyny? all of these are things that people who were afab can experience, along with people who were amab and people who were neither.

[faithfromanewperspective]

a letter to my (new) boss (i'll never send)

it's important for me to process this here so. i know i've got that work 24/7 in my veins and i know i've got that need in me to change this city and to change the world. make this city nurturing, and feed the whole world and i can't help but constantly feel i'm getting distracted from it and traumatised from that distraction, being forced to do stuff that felt off course. what is on course? do i still remember it? what is the dream? why do i keep feeling caught up in other people's dreams, and dare i say, their idols? a vision of myself i cannot be?

i keep thinking it's like gender dysphoria and but actually. actually it is it's like. i'm sick of my whole life being told to climb up these ladders yknow? this whole structure that was constructed by the patriachy and isn't my gender at all. empowerment of women or whatever shouldn't mean we have to be that. should mean we get to be valued for who we are, whatever that is, instead of being forced into this box that some people won't even acknowledge the existence of (and that is the invalidating, repeatedly traumatising thing).

and that's why i love working in this field that facilitates the change of the industry. but to be bridging this gap requires sacrificing who i really am and the true iteration of the vision i have and i'm stretching myself, pretending what's hurtful isn't hurtful but still trying to steer the whole world away from what's normalised and in there, i feel so lost. I fought to do this project because it felt like finding myself. and it has been, to some extent. but what it has done is opened up floodgates. made me have to face things that are easier left unsaid. it's led me to face the dysphoria that has stayed under the surface for so long.

and i've realised who i am, and also realised, i don't think anyone realises and in some ways it's for the best because i can almost guarantee that in a lot of ways people are not going to like it. the right people will. in fact, i can think of a few who will. i'm almost feeling like i can bring it to the table. almost. but my art is always going to be a reflection of who i am. yes, even linkedin articles. even this bougie course. it's all kind of terrifying, really, because i belong precisely because i don't belong. it's that disparity that's keeping me employed and the way i call everyone else into line because the perspective i bring is outside of the boxes we can see when the boxes are moving too far out of what might be broadly acceptable, encroaching on and stepping on the feet of the invisible and vulnerable, or worse. i speak for the trees. i speak for the punks and the addicts and those who are oblivious to the whole grind. how i sometimes wish i could be.

but i once watercolour painted a wall hanging for an old friend and creative muse that said 'learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist' and that's kind of how i've lived my entire life.

i find it ironic, sometimes, when people look at the have-nots of various backgrounds with different stories who often seem not to be trying under capitalism and think they feel entitled to things without working for them. i know people who think that to various degrees with various caveats and i don't even fight them anymore. no, i intend to do something so much greater. because i've figured it out

i've figured out that I'm the imaginary picture they have of these people they know nothing about, but the other way around. i have this core, and i mean CORE belief that's as fundemental to me as gender (and i get emotional thinking about it, like i don't think it's going to change, self destructive as it is, it's baked into me like DNA and at almost 23 my brain is nearly finished developing. it's stuck) that I'm put here on earth to work hard and provide for everyone else. i've memeposted about it but it's true. i've tortured myself over the lack of success I've had here and come back a million times to the fact that i don't have to, i'm held safe by supernatural hands from that one time a god put on DNA and became a meat suit and made some enemies who then killed it and called it a victory.

i know i don't need to for me and i know i don't need to prove anything and i know i know i know but the strongest sense of gender euphoria i've ever felt is when i fully surrender to both that and this feeling i have that iwanttoiwanttoiwantto. i feel like it's my role in the diversity and it's the big dream i've had since i was an age i could count on my fingers and toes without thumbs. social role or gender, right? this is incorporating some of the themes of womanhood and going global with them, provisioning and nurturing, and i don't care about logistics or what is fair i won't let anyone take this away from me, even though i see in their eyes they often want to try.

it's not even necessarily feminine. it could be masculine if you like. the opposite of toxic masculinity i guess? i know i get gender envy from some who embody this idea. but it's me and i know that and it might be a belief, a dumb one i will admit it, in that i need freedom to live it out. but it goes deeper than that.

and i have to say i've approached this with an attitude of utmost surrender. i have no way of guaranteeing this is going to work but i know i feel good when i'm following the same intuition that lit this passion in me and i know things go wrong when i try to suppress it. i know in order to be my best me i have to be fully me.

and i feel like i need to get comfortable and confident in these shoes before i expose myself too much to things that freeze the flow state of my brain and have power over me that they try to use to mold me into someone i'm not. someone who makes better financial decisions or hangs out with better people or has a more reliable sleep schedule or whose concept of equity isn't so complicated or who can enjoy hedonist things a little.

but don't you get it? it's when i get this out of my system at the same rate it goes in that i'm happiest. least self-destructive. i can celebrate with whatever joys i please within a liberated liberator's moral code and i can actually be present in the moment instead of trying to stem a tide that might give me that fulfilment i've been chasing for my whole life. i'm hesitant to say it's God talking to me except for the fact that i should relax. i don't know for sure, no one does, but what if it is? what if sometimes the counterintuitive best thing to do is just let me be deranged? because when i'm liberated this is as deranged as i get. just trust me, please.

and when you trust me i'll show up to those corporate events in a classy dress and block heels and i'll charm those investors or whatever they are (i won't let them know that i've forgotten their role as soon as they said it) and I'll have them seeing just a seed of my perspective, the one i've collected from thousands of stories i've sought out and will continue to until i represent millions. billions. i'll negotiate and cut to the heart of it in meetings, just let me grow and i can learn to do that. i know my skillset. i'll do admin organisational stuff and make a system for it. i'll finish my drinks and complete your jokes, don't you see who i could be? don't you see who i am? i'm the same me when i work in impact investing as when i work in special education and when i work in conservation and when i work in consulting and i work in urban design and i work in manufacturing and i work in hairdressing and when i'm a mother. i'll defeat your systems and i'll climb ladders horizontally like the monkey bars i slayed on as a child and i'll do it classily. i promise. i'll spend my whole life giving and i'll have fun doing it.

that's the dream isn't it?