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tchallasbabymama · 4 years ago

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Hey y’all, here’s chapter 3 of my “Playlist” series (formerly untitled T’Challa fic). Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything! Make sure you read chapter two HERE first and check out my Masterlist. Word Count: 5916

CW: smut

“Let's go somewhere I don't have to work so hard to keep us from drowning, eh?”

“Where do you have in mind?” Ashanti asked him while peppering his jawline with kisses.

Ashanti’s mouth hung open as the lights came on around her. She couldn’t believe she was actually standing in the King of Wakanda’s royal quarters, and on their first date at that. His hands grabbed her waist and brought her from her stupor. He pulled her back into him and nuzzled into the crook of her neck before lightly kissing up to her ear.

“T’Challa, stop, it tickles,” she barely got out between giggles. His hands snaked around and gripped her fleshy stomach, tickling her more. “You put too much wine in me to be tickling me like this.”

T’Challa chuckled and let her out his grasp before pointing to a door on the far wall.

“Bathroom’s through there,” he kissed her cheek, then shook his head as he watched her ass shake while she walked away.

“Damn.”

Ashanti knew he was watching and sneakily smiled to herself before her expression dropped at the sight before her. She thought the king’s bedroom was nice, but it was nothing compared to the dream jungle spa bathroom she walked into. Tropical plants were scattered around the floor-to-ceiling bamboo room, all under a pyramid glass ceiling. The sunken jacuzzi in the middle of the room was obviously the main attraction, but her eyes were drawn to the rain shower and she forgot why she was even there.

She caught sight of a vanity and went over to set her purse down, checking out her reflection in the mirror.

“Thank Bast I kept the makeup simple.”

Meanwhile, T’Challa poured himself a drink to calm his nerves. He was fine until she went to the bathroom, but her absence smacked him back to his senses. He brought this woman he barely knows into the palace. Into his quarters. It wasn't an issue of security, he had already thoroughly vetted her, but his willingness to have her in his space shocked him. He never brought women back to the palace, not since Ramonda caught him sneaking two very tired-looking young ladies out one morning when he was home from college. Normally he would go to their place instead, enjoying the freedom to cut their time together short and leave whenever he wanted. But no, this time he brought his date home, and it baffled him.

The alcohol was doing absolutely nothing for him so he decided to roll up instead. He broke down the Snow Goddess OG and filled up his hemp wraps before licking it and rolling it tight. Right as he lit it, his ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, which he could barely hear over the music he had started up.

Don't talk

Just listen

First of all

I have to be honest with you baby

I lied

When I told you I never wanted to see you again

Can you please stay

Just for tonight

And maybe we can do something

Like make love

Watch the sunrise

Or listen to jojo, k-ci, sing us a verse

Slide closer baby

Ha, that devante baby

Oh you feel so sexy, so good

“Come join me on the patio” he shouted to her from outside.

When Ashanti stepped out the patio doors she was shocked once more.

“This view is...,” she gasped, trying but failing to find the words. She could see all of Birnin Zana and even some of the Mining and River provinces, and of course the Jabari mountains in the distance. A tear came to her eye as she looked out over her beautiful home. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention and she felt T’Challa come up behind her. He leaned on the railing next to her, holding his expertly-rolled blunt.

“You should see it at sunrise and sunset, the most beautiful view in the world.”

“Is that an invitation, your highness?”

He playfully rolled his eyes at her platitude and lifted the blunt, offering it to her. She placed it between her lips and he lit the tip for her. She took a couple hits before passing it back to him.

“So you’re a chef and a stoner. What else don’t I know about you?”

T’Challa laughed and gave it some thought.

“Lets see...I’m an excellent dancer, my love language is touch, I strongly dislike musicals, I’m sure you can guess my favorite color-”

“It's yellow, right?” She said sarcastically, making him laugh more and cough a little from the smoke.

“You are so observant. You know, I like that about you.”

The two fell out laughing, and Ashanti was the first to regain composure.

“Wait what do you mean you hate musicals?”

��Just the serious ones. Drama and random singing don’t go together well in my book.”

He passed the blunt back to her and she took a long drag before letting the smoke migrate up to her nose. When she exhaled the smoke she caught him staring at her, and averted her eyes.

“There’s no reason to be shy, I only bite when you want me to.”

She felt a throbbing in her panties again, just like earlier at the lake. She knew why she came here, but now that she was in his room at the palace it seemed all that confidence from earlier at the lake had left her.

“Lets just enjoy each other’s company, no pressure. Would you like something to drink?”

“What do you have?”

“...everything.”

“Oh right, it’s the palace, duh,” she chuckled nervously. “Mango juice?”

“Coming right up. Care to join me? I can give you a quick tour.” T’Challa said before he could catch himself.

“What the fuck am I doing?”, he thought to himself. Here he was, inviting this woman into his inner sanctum after one date and offering her a grand tour of the palace. The logical side of him knew it was too soon, but the emotional side of him couldn’t care less. He wanted this woman in his life. He wasn’t the only one surprised by his willingness to let her into his world.

“Do you do this for all your suitors?” she asked playfully as he opened the door for her and led her down the hallway to the same elevator bank they arrived in.

“No, actually. I do not,” T’Challa responded, prompting Ashanti to blush at his words and change the subject.

“So you have the whole floor?” They stepped in the elevator and went down several stories. “What about everyone else?”

“They have their own floors as well,” he leaned into her ear. “Mine’s just on top.”

They exited the elevator and once again Ashanti was floored by the sight in front of her. Not of the kitchen, but of the rest of the royal family in the living area.

T’Challa hadn’t expected anybody to be awake at this hour or he wouldn’t have suggested she come with him. Three sets of eyes turned and stared at the two of them, jaws dropped.

“Oooh someone’s in trouble,” Shuri said as N’Jadaka snickered.

“H-hello usapho,” T’Challa stuttered, making his sister and cousin laugh even more before Ramonda shot them a look to shut them up.

“T’Challa, your friend looks to be on the verge of a heart attack. Are you alright dear?” Ramonda asked.

“Y-yes Queen m-mother, your highness, um- ma’am” Ashanti quickly corrected her mistake and saluted the royals.

“There is no need for that. Come join us, we just started an American drama N’Jadaka suggested called- oh what is it again Daka?”

“Love Jones, auntie,” he said with the frustration of someone who had clearly answered the question more than once.

“Yes, that is it. There is space for you both over on the couch. Shuri, come join me over he-” she motioned for Ashanti to come join her on the couch and as she took a step forward, a strong arm lightly tugged her back.

“Mama, that is not necessary, we just came down to grab something to drink.”

“And you can still do that,” the Queen Mother snapped at her son. “Young lady what is your name?”

“Ashanti Mostafa, ma’am.”

“The jewelry artist?!” Ramonda said excitedly while Shuri tore her eyes away from the screen.

“I must say, your work is beautiful, dear. That necklace is one of my favorite gifts unyana wam ever gave me, your talent is astounding.” Ramonda showered Ashanti with praise and she almost couldn’t take it.

“I wore it yesterday and had several people asked about it, so you might be getting a few more customers soon!” Shuri chimed in.

“Wow, I-...thank you so much.” Ashanti wandered over to the couch and sat down, much to T’Challa’s dismay. He joined her, sliding his arm around the back of the couch.

“So, how was the date?” N’Jadaka pushed.

“Can you mind your business, please?” T’Challa said and shot him a glare, while Ashanti chuckled.

“Must have been good since you brought her back here,” Shuri whispered, leading Ramonda to pinch her arm.

“So what is the movie about?” Ashanti asked the prince, trying to change the subject. He caught on to her game, but let her off the hook for now.

“Love Jones, it’s a Black American classic. A romantic drama,” N’Jadaka wiggled his eyebrows at his cousin and winked at his date. Ashanti blushed and looked back to T’Challa who was leering at the cheeky prince. She placed her hand on his thigh and he looked at her, removing the scowl from his face. They shared a smile as the other royals tried not to notice the cute moment.

Ashanti and the royals watched the movie in relative silence with T’Challa’s arm steadily sinking lower and lower until it finally rested around her shoulders. Ashanti leaned into his side, and his free hand found hers and intertwined their fingers. Halfway through the movie, Ashanti was lightly snoring on the king’s shoulder, and Shuri and N’Jadaka were out, too.

“I like her,” Ramonda whispered across the room to her son, half sleep herself.

“I do too,” he whispered back before kissing her forehead.

“I can see that. Well I don't want to fall asleep out here like you young folks, so I will see you all in the morning.”

“Good night umama.”

“Good night, son. You be good to that one,” she lightly scolded her son as she woke up her daughter and nephew to usher them out the room.

“Yes ma’am.”

T’Challa spent the rest of the movie panicking about what to do next. Should he stay still and let her sleep uncomfortably on the couch, should he wake her up to go home, or should he carry her up to his bed like he had wanted to do all night and let her sleep there? He didn’t want to seem too forward and he wasn’t sure about how she would feel waking up in his bed, but he knew waking her from her sleep wasn’t an option. Just as the credits finished rolling and he had decided to stay in that position for as long as she did, Ashanti started to stir.

“What’d I miss?”

He loved how her voice sounded after just waking up, the raspiness tickling his ears. She untangled herself from him and stretched her arms wide.

“The rest of the movie,” T’Challa gestured to the screen and smirked at her.

“That was so rude of me in front of your family, I am so sor-”

“Ashanti, it's no big deal. Umama and I were the only ones who didn't pass out and she went to bed halfway through.”

Ashanti nodded and let out a yawn. Thankful for her lack of morning breath, she leaned in to lightly kiss his lips.

“Mm, what was that for?”

“For being so comfortable to sleep on. I mean, damn.”

The two started laughing before the king looked the artist right in the eyes and pulled her in for a deep, slow kiss. Ashanti’s hand trailed up from around his abdomen to cup his cheek and his hand came up to grip her thigh while his other arm pulled her into him. She was wrapping her leg around him when a cough interrupted them. T’Challa pulled away from the kiss, turning instead to glare at the third person in the room. Ashanti hid in the crook of his neck, embarrassed to be caught by whoever.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“I came for my shoes. Auntie got us out of here so fast earlier I forgot to grab em.”

N’Jadaka quickly walked around the couch, found his shoes, and dipped. When he left, Ashanti lifted her head then her whole body from his lap. He looked like a sad puppy when she left his embrace, missing her warmth immediately.

“It’s late, I should g-”

“Stay, please. It is late and I have a whole ‘king size’ bed you can have to yourself.” T’Challa almost begged her. She pulled him up and off the couch, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his jaw. She could hear the song they were listening to before they left his quarters playing in her head.

Sorry I left you

Left you cryin

But since you've been gone

I've been all alone

'Cause all of my tears

You know they left me drownin

Please baby I'm beggin

For you to stay at home

Tonight

Let's start our love again

Tonight

We can be more than just friends

Don't you know

The sun

Is going down

So baby won't you just stay

Baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

“You don't have to give up your bed, that I’m sure is the most comfortable thing in all of Wakanda. ‘I only bite when you want me to’,” Ashanti teased, throwing his own words back at him.

“So you’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay. I’m too tired to go anywhere anyways, I can barely- T’Challa!” she squealed as he picked her up bridal style. She clung to his neck and laid her head on his chest, too tired to fight him on it. She nuzzled into his neck as they rode the elevator back up to the top floor.

She was so tired she almost fell asleep again on the ride up, but the automated voice letting them know they had arrived woke her from her half-slumber.

“This man is just too damn comfortable,” she thought to herself. “He smells good, he’s warm...”

Just as she was sinking back into her relaxed state he placed her down at the foot of the bed.

“All I have for you to sleep in are my clothes, if that’s alright with you.”

“It is.” she smiled wide then started to take off her jewelry.

The king watched her from above in his standing position and stopped her from reaching for her shoe buckle.

“Here, let me,” he said softly before sinking down to one knee and pulling her foot into his lap. He unbuckled her sandal and pulled it off before kissing her ankle, and he did the same on the other side. Her eyes hung low with lust and fatigue, but she was laser-focused on him, trying to figure out how he knew that was her spot.

“Um, T’Ch-Challa?”

“Hm?”

“We should, um-”

“Yes, I’ll be back,” he cleared his throat and stood before turning and disappearing into what Ashanti assumed was his closet when he emerged with an Oxford t-shirt. “I already had the staff bring you a toothbrush and toothpaste, a silk scarf, black soap, and shea butter for your beauty and hygeine needs. They’re, uh, on the sink in the bathroom there.”

“Thank you, T’Challa,” she said with a soft voice.

“Don’t say my name like that if you want to sleep tonight. You’ve been warned.”

She jumped up from the bed and scurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth and shower. After she came out, he went in, taking a much quicker shower and emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel while Ashanti slid on her nightgown for the night. She didn't notice him at first, but he noticed her thick brown legs peeking out from his old college t-shirt and his towel jumped. By the time Ashanti realized he was even in the room, he had turned to go to his closet to pick out something to wear to bed. The king usually slept naked, but he had a couple of sleepwear options just in case. He slid on a pair of black silk pajama pants and padded back out to the bedroom.

Ashanti was climbing under the covers on his side of the bed, so he scooped her up and placed her gently on the left. He pulled back the covers for her and she slid under, then he climbed in bed on top of her and kissed her forehead before rolling off her to the other side of the bed. She couldn't help but giggle at his antics.

“Goodnight Ashanti.”

“Goodnight T’Challa,” she lightly pecked his lips then snuggled down into the covers. She was right about it being the most comfortable bed in the world, and she fell asleep almost instantly. T’Challa stayed up a short while watching her sleep before exhaustion overtook him as well.

Throughout the night Ashanti kept moving closer and closer to T’Challa until she ended up wrapped around him. Her leg was thrown over his side and his arm had come down to hold it in place while his other arm tucked around her midsection. When she eventually tried to roll away, his arms wouldn’t let go, but instead he rolled with her, spooning her from behind.

They spent the rest of the night connected, both physically and mentally, each dreaming of the other.

When morning came, T’Challa was the first to arise, in more ways than one. His dream had been salacious and his morning wood was something fierce. He tried his best to move his pelvis away from Ashanti, but she would move with him searching for his warmth. He eventually gave up and tried to focus on anything other than his erection, landing on her braids that were tied back yet still somehow sprawled out everywhere.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” he mumbled, the rumble in his chest waking her from her resting state. Her hand came up and caressed the arm that held her tight around her midsection, intertwining their fingers and turning around to face him, placing his arm back around her.

“Good morning beautiful,” he said grinning from ear to ear. Ashanti nearly melted at his husky morning voice. She wanted to hear it more often.

“Good morning your highness,” she giggled as he growled and tickled her sides.

“What did I tell you about that?”

“N-nothing, my warning was about your name!” she got out between laughs. In all her struggling to get out of his grasp she somehow wiggle her way back on her other side to escape the bed, only to be pulled back into the grasp of the Black Panther. When he pulled her into him he had forgotten about his situation, but she quickly became aware of his hard dick.

“I am sorry-”

“Don’t be,” she said as she grinded her hips into his, his dick resting comfortably between her cheeks.

“Mmm, Ashanti you’re playing with fire.”

She turned back to look at him as her hips moved round and round.

“Burn me, then.” She reached out to pull his face into hers but he resisted.

“Do you have to work today?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then not today. I want to take my time with you, plus you’ll need more than a couple hours to walk again.”

His threat did nothing but rev her up more.

“It is good to know you like morning sex, though. I’ll keep that in mind,” he teased.

Ashanti rolled towards the edge of the bed and threw her legs over the side. He looked at her with concern, but when she looked back all he saw was lust.

“I can’t lay next to you then, it’s too tempting.”

“‘It’ as in…?” T’Challa pointed down his body.

“Yes! I saw that monster at the lake, keep it away from me unless you plan on doing something with it.”

T’Challa chuckled.

“I can respect that,” he got up from the bed and held his hand out to her. She took it, tentatively, and followed him out to the patio. He pointed to her left at the rising sun and her mouth fell open when she turned around and took in the sight before her. The sunrise over Wakanda was even more beautiful from this height. She leaned into his shoulder and he kissed her forehead. The two of them stood like that for at least 15 minutes, just enjoying each other’s company.

_________________

Ashanti knew her roommates would give her shit for coming home at this hour wearing the same clothes she left in, but what she didn't expect was a damn welcome party.

“Oh my Bast, there she is. Tell us everything!” Binta screamed as Kwame rounded the table to attack her with a hug. He pulled back and took in her appearance.

“Why do you look so well-rested? You're supposed to be crawling right now,” he said, checking for bags under her eyes. “You're too put together. Spill!”

“Ok ok, damn. Can I get comfortable first before I tell you the story? Can I do that?”

“She’s too feisty, she didn't get any,” Binta whispered to her twin brother.

Ashanti shot them both a deadly glare on her way up the stairs to go change.

She made it to her room and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. That comfortable bed and that comfortable man really had her looking more rested than she had in months. She quickly changed into sweats and a tank top before heading back downstairs to face her roommates.

She jogged down the steps, remembering she missed her morning run, and found them still in the kitchen digging into breakfast. She watched as they piled their plates high, and sat down while they enjoyed their breakfast.

“Ok girl, so tell us about the date and why you didn't come home until 8am.”

“So…,” she started as the twins leaned in. “The date was a picnic at some private lake. It was beautiful, and he cooked u-”

“The king can cook?!” Binta gasped.

“That's what I said! But yeah girl, he cooked us a whole caribbean meal because he knows how much I love the Lost Tribe and their cultures- by the way, have you heard of Jodeci? Anyways, we can come back to that. So we’re talking and flirting and we combined our favorite songs into one playlist, and vibed out talking about the music...then we went for a swim-”

“A swim? You got naked in front of the king?” Kwame asked, staring at her with accusatory eyes.

“More importantly, did he get naked? Tell me about the strength of the Black Panther, honey.”

“Chiiiiiiile, that man was carved by Bast, straight out of Mount Bashenga itself.”

Kwame and Binta swooned, he was the first to get it together and get back to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, so what happened next? You fuck by the lake?”

“No we made out in the lake...then went back to the palace-”

“The palace?!”

“The palace?!” the twins said in total shock from the new bit of information.

“The palace, friends...and I ended up meeting the royal family on accident,” Ashanti watched her roommates’ eyes widen with every word, worried they’d pop out of their heads in a minute. “The Queen Mother and Princess Shuri complimented my designs, and we all fell asleep in the living room watching a Black American romance movie called ‘Love Jones’. Then when I woke up he asked me to stay…”

“Ok and you obviously did, so how many times did you get that back blown out?”

Ashanti chuckled at their impending let-down.

“Zero.”

“You expect us to believe- so you just slept there?”

“Mhm, in his bed...with him...all cuddled up. Then this morning we watched the sunrise over Wakanda and he made me breakfast. Woo, I almost fainted watching that man in the kitchen.”

They could catch flies, their mouths were open so wide.

“So let me get this straight...you had a romantic date with the king, made out naked in a private lake, he took you back to the palace to meet his fami-” Binta began.

“No, that was an accident. Carry on.”

“Ok whatever, so you run into his family, hang out with them, and then stay the night, had a romantic morning after, and at no time did you two get it in?! I don’t have your self control because, baby, I would’ve fucked that man in that lake.”

“I almost did, but my nerves kept getting in the way…”

“Oh honey, that’s ok. When’s the next date?” Kwame asked her.

A slow smile crept up Ashanti’s face and her eyes glazed over thinking about seeing T’Challa again.

“He has to go out of the country for the next week or so, but whenever he gets back I invited him over for me to return the favor and cook for him. You two need to make yourself scarce though.”

“That’s fine with me, I started seeing this hot mining tribe guy. Girl, he’s so strong from all that hard labor...woo,” Kwame fanned himself.

“And I have an open invitation to stay with Kiki, so I’ll go catch up with her while you catch that Black Panther dick.”

“Thanks,” Ashanti giggled out. Her friends were always so supportive of her, especially when dick was involved. They had been trying to get her back in the dating world for the last two years, but she had been so wrapped up in work that she barely had time for anything or anyone else. Her last relationship was short-lived and ended because her shop always came first. He was a good guy, but the sex was just alright. Before him was a manipulative piece of shit she stayed with for 3 years because she thought it was love, who cared more about his release than hers. Every man she’s ever dated left her either heartbroken or orgasm-less, and for years she wanted nothing more than to feel what she’s feeling for the king. Her friends knew she hadn't really had a proper dick-down and had made it their personal missions to get the cobwebs knocked off her pussy. The Black Panther seemed like the perfect candidate.

“So, wow...the king?” Binta was still processing the information.

“You had to kiss a lot of frogs, but look at you now!” Kwame chimed in.

__________

When Ashanti got to her shop, she was met with the sight of an enormous bouquet on her stoop. She immediately knew who it was from, and one look across the street at her parents outside their restaurant told her that they knew too.

“It was dropped off about an hour ago.” Chidi said loudly as he crossed the street towards his daughter to get a look at the flowers. It was a large bouquet of violets, her favorite.

“They’re beautiful,” Ashanti said with a goofy smile on her face. “Help me move this inside before they draw any more attention?” She and her dad brought the violets in and set them on her counter by the register. She stood back to admire them once more.

“So I take it the date went well?” Bisa asked her daughter, causing Chidi to roll his eyes and exit the shop while blowing his daughter a kiss.

“Mama, it was amazing! We already planned a second date for when he gets back in town.” Ashanti was giddy like a schoolgirl having her first crush as she told her mother the PG version of her date.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, baby!” Bisa pulled her in fora hug and kissed her forehead. “He sounds like a good man.”

“That he is.”

The two spoke for a little while longer before saying a quick goodbye and parting to tend to their respective businesses. When Ashanti was alone she let out a loud sigh, staring at the beautiful flowers from her suitor. She picked up the card and read his note.

Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.

See you soon,

She held the note close to her chest and rocked on her heels, letting the feeling of a crush overcome her. She reached down and tweaked her beads, causing their playlist to pull up and shuffle. Of course this was one of those times when the shuffle feature seemed to read her mind, and what she referred to as ‘their song’ from here on out began to play. She swayed along, remembering the feel of his hands on her body. His warm, large, strong hands...

So here we are

Just me and you

We're thinkin of the things

That we used to do babe

Tonight is yours, lady

Yours and mine

Let's try again to put our trust on the line, yeah

Tonight

Let's start our love again

Tonight

We can more than just friends

Don't you know

The sun

Is going down

So baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

Throughout the day her mind flashed back to the night before, missing the feel of his lips, the smell of his skin, and those deep dark eyes that became black holes when he was all worked up.

It was a busy day at the shop. A group of kids had come in for a pottery class in the back, and her jewelry was flying off the shelves. The art supply customers weren’t in short supply either, and she thought about finally hiring some help. Just as she finished dealing with a rush of customers and closed up the shop for her lunch break, her kimoyo beads dinged. She took a look and smiled at the name.

T: I miss you already.

She couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

A: I miss you too. How are the Avengers?

T: A pain, as usual. All they do is argue with each other, I could get most of this done by myself. How was the shop today?

A: The busiest I think it’s ever been! I’m pretty sure I have your sister to thank for that. I’ll have to hire employees if it continues on like this.

T: I can’t believe you’ve been doing all of that by yourself. Oh by the way did you get my gift?

She looked over at the violets on the counter and bit her lip.

A: I did! How did you know violets were my favorite?

T: I just took a wild guess.

A: Good guess…

T: I feel like I know you so well already after just the one date, tell me something I don't know about you.

A: I’ve never broken a bone before.

T: Really? I’ve broken bones more times than I can count. Thankfully with the heart shaped herb in my system, I can recover fairly quickly.

A: What was your most embarrassing moment?

The bubbles disappeared for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was thinking on it or if he had to go, but then they reappeared.

T: My sophomore year of college, I was home for winter break and my umama caught me sneaking two ladies out of the palace. She looked so disappointed in all three of us, and I felt like an antelope in headlights. Until last night that was the last time I brought anyone home, by the way.

A: Two, huh?

T: That’s what you got out of the story?

A: uh, yeah, duh.

The two went back and forth for the rest of the day before choosing to video chat that night. They laid up all night talking about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other’s company. There were long stretches of silence when one or the other focused on another task, but neither could bring themself to end the call. It wasn’t until Ashanti fell asleep that he even thought about hanging up, but he let the chat continue for a few more minutes while he watched her sleep peacefully.

Two weeks passed by with the king and the artist regularly texting and video chatting from across the world. They were both anxious to be back in the other’s arms, and couldn't wait for his mission with the Avengers to come to a close. It finally did, over a week past it’s supposed end date. When T’Challa broke the news to Ashanti, her face lit up like a fire. He was set to come back Tuesday night, so they planned their date for Wednesday over yet another kimoyo chat.

“So what are you making me?” T’Challa asked her in jest.

In all honesty, she hadn’t thought very much about the menu.

“It’s a surprise, mister.”

“Mister? There are so many better names you could call me-”

Sir? Daddy? Kumkani? Her mind raced through the possibilities, enjoying each one. In their kimoyo dates they both had a habit of getting frisky. Sometimes one or both of them would be naked or in some state of undress, and sometimes things escalated from simply hot to downright pornographic. Ashanti learned that the king was a dominant man with a filthy mouth who loves to watch her put on a show, with him as director of course. By day three he had Ashanti topless, sucking on her own nipples, and today she had her fingers deep in her pussy all up in the camera for him to see every drop. She wasn’t the only one on display, he had his vibranium-hard dick out in his hand, stroking from his balls to the tip of his dick, pulling back his foreskin on the way back down. When he came, she stared at the milky substance dripping over his fist and stuck out her tongue, wishing she could taste him,

“You know, if you were here I’d expect you to clean this mess up. Right, kitten?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uh-uh, not sir. You know who I am, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes Kumkani.”

A wicked smile crossed his face and he chuckled lowly.

“Good girl. Are you tired already?”

“Baby I just drained myself on camera, be happy I can talk.”

“Mm, I like ‘baby’ too.”

Ashanti giggled at his one track mind, “Challa, let me get some sleep.”

“Alright, sithandwa. Sweet dreams,” he sighed then blew her a kiss. She blew one right back before cutting off the feed and laying her head down to rest, their song playing in her head.

Forget about yesterday

'Cause I want you so bad

Make love to me like you never had

My love

Is coming down

So baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Baby won't you just stay

For a little while

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #t'challa x oc #t'challa #black!oc

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zrtranscripts · 3 years ago

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Home Front, Mission 15: Phil & Zoe’s Cinderella Story

Once Upon a Workout

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, ci-ti-zens, and welcome back to Radio Lock-In. I know last time it was Radio Phil, but since Zoe’s contributing via ROFFLEnet from the kennel where she's riding out the zombie horde, this felt a bit more apt. Also less likely to end in my having to fend off an attack by a pack of trained murder cats. Not that that's something I worry about late at night or anything. [laughs]

Anyway, it's time to start your warm-ups. Running on the spot, bit of stretching, whatever floats your boat. Oh, um, and uh, grab a yoga mat or um, large towel. You're going to be needing them. Because today, Radio Lock-In has a special treat: your very own Phil and Zoe-style fairy tale, with music breaks, ministry workouts, and a few minor updates to one of Ye Olde classic tales.

Uh, why fairy tales, you may ask? Well, obviously Zoe's a fan, what with all the talking cartoon animals in the Disney versions. But um, I just find them comforting. Have done since I was a kid. They're simple. Good wins, evil is vanquished, love is eternal, and magic is real. Well, I don't know about you, but all that sounds really good right now.

So without further ado, drum roll please! [taps hands rapidly on knees and makes a cymbal crash sound with his mouth] Cinderella! Or as Zoe calls it, the one with the posh outfits and the horse mice and in need of a rewrite from someone who has a better sense of women's shoe sizes.

But before we get to that, we'll start our story the way Cinderella starts hers: cleaning while wishing she was at a ball. Grab the nearest household item you can find and dance away while I play an appropriately jaunty tune. Ready? Dance!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wonderful! Now to catch you up, as our tale opens, everyone's looking forward to a lavish royal ball in the kingdom of... whatever it's called. But Cinderella can't go. Instead of dancing, her stepmother forces her to constantly tidy up.

I'll be honest, this sounds a lot like what I did as an excuse to get out of school discos. Well, at least until I learned a few slick dance moves from Daniel “Snake Leg” Simons. And uh, no, Zoe, I will not be showing you the patented Simons kick and slither. Luckily, Cinderella has her own snake legs: a fairy godmother who will whisk her away to the ball with some special fairy dust magic.

We'll be helping the fairy godmother out by distributing magic dust of our own with a few uppercuts! Get into a magic stance. Boxing stance, really, but we're in a story here. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, your knees slightly bent, fists up as if you're holding tight to a handful of fairy dust. Now you're ready for your magic uppercut. Rotate your body towards the arm in front and punch upwards with your back fist. Magic! Now rotate back to your starting position and you're ready for your next uppercut of magic.

I'd say it'll take about one minute to get Cinderella ready for the ball, so get to uppercutting. Start now. 15 seconds in. The dirty rags have transformed into a dress. Halfway there. The old pumpkin has become a magic carriage. Switch legs so that your other one is in front and keep the magic coming. Only 15 seconds left to go. The mice are horses now! All she needs are magic shoes! Let's turn those everyday shoes into glass slippers.

All done! Time to admire your handiwork. Feel free to keep doing magic uppercuts during this song or just twirl around as you do your own imaginary transformation.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Now fully transformed, Cinderella heads to the ball, which I'd call a glamorous spectacle of light and gold and at least four different types of hors-doeuvres, but Zoe considers to be probably pretty boring, what with all the ball gowns and lack of a proper DJ.

Yeah, I'm fairly sure our Zoe always spent a lot of her youth in roller discos and is probably holding our imaginary ball to unreasonably high standards. But in honor of her anti-ball sentiments, we'll do some wall sits, just like the bored ball-goers.

For this, you'll need a wall that you can stand in front of. Stand with your back to the wall and lean back until your back is pressed against it, but you're still standing upright. Adjust your feet so that they’re shoulder-width apart and about a step in front of the wall, then slide your back down the wall until your thighs and calves make 90 degree angles with your back, head, and backside still against the wall.

We're gonna stay like that for 60 seconds, if we can, starting now. 15 seconds in. Why Zolinda, so lovely to see you here this evening. Halfway done. I know, such a boring ball. I'm too tired to even eat these delicious cheese canapes. Just 15 seconds to go. At least the prince is looking well. Maybe he'll meet his bride tonight, who decides to turn to a parliamentary system of rule! And done.

Stand back up and shake out those legs. A mysterious stranger has just entered the ballroom. Spoiler, it's Cinderella. All right, Cinderellas, I'll play an entrance song and you can do your best glass slippered red carpet walk, or another round of wall sits if you'd like. I'm gonna have some of those imaginary canapes. They imaginary sound imaginary delicious.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And we're back. Just in time. Cinderella is now in the middle of an exciting tango with the prince, who wants to know more about her. Uh, naturally, per Zoe, they take the opportunity to have an in-depth conversation about ruling a kingdom in a way that allows for the voice of the people to be heard, gender equality, and whether avocado is a fruit, all while dipping and sashaying.

But uh, just as Cinderella is coming up with the excellent idea to test avocados’ fruitiness by putting it on toast, the clock begins to strike midnight. [a bell chimes twice] Once it hits 12 AM, all of that fairy magic will disappear, so Cinderella has to make a run for it.

That means it's time for high knees. Run in place, bringing your knees up with each step as if you're running back to your carriage before the clock strikes midnight. Let's go, starting now. 15 seconds in. You've made it out the front door of the palace, expertly dodging the guards. Halfway there. Uh, you're at the top of the longest flight of stairs ever. Head to the bottom. Only 15 seconds left to go. You've made it down the stairs, leaving a glass slipper behind in the process. That's okay, your carriage is just ahead. Made it! Now it's time to head home and pretend you've been cleaning all night. Practice looking casual yet hard-working during this next song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We're almost to the end of our tale. It's the next day and no one suspects that Cinderella was the previous evening's it girl, the talk of the town, the belle of the, well, ball. The prince, who Zoe notes foolishly left his glasses off while dancing and therefore couldn't see the face of the woman he fell for, is searching for her by trying to fit the glass slipper on everyone he sees. Uh, according to Zoe, that is only the fifth worst way to pick a potential mate, but she says she will not reveal one through four except to say that one of them involves lime jelly and exactly 16 eels.

And with that somewhat discomforting thought, let's help our prince out with some knee folds. They're just like lifting your foot for a shoe fitting. More or less, anyway. Start by lying down on your back. Grab your yoga mat or towel to put underneath you so you've got something comfortable to lie on. Now bring your knees up so that they’re bent and the soles of your feet are flat on the floor and your toes are pointing straight forward. Your arms should be by your sides, your shoulders relaxed and chest open. [sighs] Relaxing right?

Now as you inhale, use your abdominal muscles to lift your right leg off the floor while keeping your hips against the ground. Keep your knees bent and lift your leg until your thigh is at a 90 degrees angle from your body and your lower leg is parallel with the floor. They call this table position because, well, it looks like your lower legs are the top of a table. Now exhale as you lower your leg back down to the floor. Now do the same with your left leg, and continue alternating for the next minute.

Go! These aren't meant to be fast kicks. Keep the movement slow and controlled. Imagine someone trying endless shoes on your feet. 15 seconds in, but all the feet that the glass slipper has been tried on are too wide! Keep going. Halfway through, and now the feet are too narrow! 15 seconds of feet left to try. You're almost there. Done. That's it, that's the one. You've found Cinderella! And now you deserve a break. Shoe fitting and storytelling are both hard work. I'll put on a nice cooldown song so you can stretch out your muscles from all that fairy taling.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And that's the story of a very active Cinderella. Fun! I almost forgot we were exercising. And Zoe says it went off more or less without a hitch, even if I did leave off a detailed epilogue about Cinderella teaming up with the fairy godmother to create a magical haute couture fashion line. Uh, she says half the fun of fairy tales is that they're so simple that you get to add your own spin to it, make the story your own. Works for me, as long as we still get to throw in a happily ever after. I miss those.

Anyway, let us know on ROFFLEnet if you like fairy tales as much as we do and we'll put our heads together to come up with another. Maybe... Rapunzel. [laughs] I definitely feel like I can relate to someone who spends half her life trapped in a tower and is rapidly growing a very distressing amount of hair. Whatever we do pick and however we remix it, I have to say, there's still something comforting about retelling a classic. These stories have lasted hundreds of years, through war and disease and love and zombies, and if they can keep going, so can we.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 15 #phil and zoe's cinderella story #zr transcript

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dilutesworry · 4 years ago

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❛ 𝒉𝒆 takes no time to shake his wings dry again , but for us – a few drops of love are intense pain . wine rouses the heart , wine makes all men lovers – wine , undiluted , dilutes worry .

* omg hello , i’m so excited to be here i love mythology in all forms & i simply , am a s-word for it always . i’m cc , cst tz w / feminine pronouns & this is bacchus , who i’ve never written before but am excited to try my hand at ! in a nutshell , he can be described as scarily calm angry guy who’s wine drunk & has a flair for the dramatics . lots more under the cut , but i’m so excited for this so pls ! hit the stupid lil heart to plot or hmu for my discord ! general tw for alcohol .

❛ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 & 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 › 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐔�� .

( YOON JEONGHAN, CIS MAN, HE / HIM ╱ well, if it isn’t BACCHUS, who has decided to grace us with HIS presence. I heard the GOD OF WINE & MADNESS has been living amongst the humans for 417 YEARS, and hasn’t aged a day, funny right ? they can be EQUABLE & WILY, you should watch out because they are also known to be INTEMPERATE & AUDACIOUS. HE harnesses the power of MADNESS INDUCTION, and have chosen the path of being AGAINST the humans. ╱ CC, 20, CST )

❛ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 & 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 › 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

he sits by the sea , swallowed in sand with an empty chalice in his hands . his eyes are tired , an irrationally calm ire that rests on impenetrable skin while he watches the sun rise . will he ever tire of the simple things ? there was once beauty in humanity – he’s spent centuries dancing naked in the woods , flowers adorned in his hair sending messages in the breeze ; life hasn’t been the same since last he blinked . oh , he tires , he longs to sink in the sand unforgotten , but accursed with the weight of mankind , he tires – of them .

❛ 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 › 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 .

✧ * CORE

↠ full name . bacchus / alias baek suhwan ↠ nickname(s) / alias(es) / title(s) . roman god of wine & madness , baek suhwan – in the modern age to mortals ↠ age / dob . immortal / appears twenty - eight ↠ hometown . rome ( if u saw me put greece here first no u didn’t ) ↠ current location . new york city . ↠ stance . against mankind . ↠ abilities . madness induction . ↠ gender . cis gendered man . ↠ pronouns . he / him . ↠ orientation . bisexual , grayromantic . ↠ occupation . ???? billionaire playboy ???? ↠ face claim . yoon jeonghan .

✧ * COUNTENANCE

↠ height . six feet , one inch / 187 cm ↠ build . broad shoulders , though he’s got thinner limbs than the more athletic of his kind . best described as lean , but well toned . ↠ tattoos . a couple hand tattoos , XII on the back of his neck . ↠ piercings . ears . ↠ scars . none . ↠ hair . these days he’s sporting jet black , messy curls that usually fall into his eyes . he’s been known to try different hair colors , but hasn’t been blonde or otherwise in the last century . ↠ eyes . dark , and always seeming to swirl with a mix of emotions – it teems on raw anger and sheer entertainment , but his eyes tend to always just be watching and observing , easily putting most mortals at unease if he wants to . ↠ clothing style . whatever’s on trend – but just , slightly off . in his youth on earth , used to sport bright colors and flashy clothing but in the most recent years ( decades , even , not centuries ) he’s toned it way down to neutrals and dark toned clothing . it’s jarring , since he’s mostly outwardly still the same , he just looks like he’s matured a lot more . ↠ usual expression . just slightly entertained , half a smirk written on his lips while a golden chalice is tipped toward them . always like he’s in on a secret that he’s not supposed to know about , like he’s just on the verge of ruining your life if you choose to approach him in the darkness of the party – he screams danger , but he’s tempting . ↠ speech . slightly off putting , as if when listening you’re unable to discern where he’s really from – because his words sound a little , ancient , a little too powerful . he speaks like he’s the most important person , and like attention and glory are owed to him . awfully crude , but he’s charming enough to get away with his egotistical tendencies and how harshly his words leave his lips . ↠ distinguishing features . an aura that demands attention – whether he’s earned it or not , worn fingertips that are always rough against others’ skin , tilted lips that always spread in a trouble - making grin , clever eyes that don’t seem to match the rest of his demeanor .

✧ * RUMINATIONS

↠ ( + ) positive . equable , wily ↠ ( - ) negative . intemperate , audacious ↠ moral alignment . chaotic evil ↠ likes . wine ( though , won’t complain about other types of alcohol either ) , long parties that last days – even if it’s not as common these days , the silent roar of the sea , the feel of an evenly balanced blade in hand , naked company resting between silk sheets , cliff diving ( won’t explain ) , being awake in a city that never sleeps – roams free barefoot in the streets from time to time , never ending adventures with heroes ; hasn’t found a hero worth following , though . ↠ dislikes . most mankind – they’ve lost his respect far too long ago , death ( of a party , of a favored mortal , of joy ) , disrespect toward him – everyone else is fair game , apparently , most demigods – they’re just annoying , being uncomfortable – therefore often indulges in the finest things in life , most modern music ( old man vibes ) . ↠ quirks . will pull out various , priceless chalices and goblets seemingly out of nowhere – usually accompanied by a rare , expensive bottle of wine ( won’t offer to anyone else , it’s just for him ) , raises his right eyebrow whenever he finds something interesting , carries around an authentic aureus coin at all times and is often seen flipping and weaving it between his fingers . ↠ hobbies . disappearing for multiple years at a time only to reappear as some new version of asshole , letting himself get into fights ( and willingly losing ) just to Feel Something , lounging in a silk robe in his penthouse and complaining to his household staff ( aka lamenting like an old poet ) , creating multiple social media personalities just to see how far he can get away with things if he pretends to be famous for a century or two .

❛ 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 › 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄 .

trigger warnings : death , war – mentions of blood .

✧ * ASCENSION

* bacchus , roman god of wine & madness . he is not far from his greek counterpart , dionysus , & often has the same stories as him .

he’s born from the thigh of his father – birthed as a demigod while being raised by nymphs in order to be hidden from the wrath of an immortal queen . the first to cultivate grapes & turn them into wine , his first instance with mankind is spent in asia – teaching the mortals their the secrets of wine making . he is the last to ascend to mount olympus , the twelfth to take his seat among them & is inherently , the baby ( which , he lives up to ) .

✧ * 500 YEARS AGO

* the 1500s , bacchus arrives on earth – naked & drunk , awaiting his newest adventure . he loves mankind , despite the atrocities they perform upon each other . a traveling storyteller , he finds his place on a caravan of freaks while roaming in europe . rome isn’t what it used to be , now taken over by men from the north who are just learning about the earth being round – churches & monarchy are rampant , bacchus becomes a bard briefly . he has his way with the men & women of the court , charming them into sin , whispering forbidden stories of godhood into their ears as he brings in a generation of forgotten demigods that won’t amount to much . he falls in love with a mortal prince , watches him die in a baseless fight against the churches & the people . he disappears for a few decades before resurfacing in asia , finding an easy life with the sprawling dynasties . as always , adopts a life as a storyteller – a rambunctious drunk that has a way with words ( & royalty ) , earning him a comfortable life . he ends the era with still much love in his heart for mankind – they’ve been nothing but kind to him , they’ve loved him & cherished him , his anger is nonexistent .

✧ * 400 YEARS AGO

* the 1600s , italy calls him home , bacchus arrives at the same time of the greatest minds mankind has to offer . but as galileo & isaac newton are quick to make discoveries ( that are quite , common knowledge in his opinion ) , he’s the kind instead to be distracted by the pleasures in life . bacchus is the same bacchus as the child who took his first steps just a century earlier . he indulges in the finest wines & women , a sprawling palace built in his name as he lounges about being fed grapes . it’s here he has his first taste in adventure , after boredom settles into his bones . bacchus assimilates into mankind even more than he had previously – he’s quick to fall in love again , but not necessarily with someone – just , even more with mankind . he watches from afar as they grow & form ideas , becoming brighter & stronger than they were ever intended to . bacchus gifts more to mankind than ever , there are records of him all over europe – & to the east , a mysterious benefactor in the ottoman empire that matches his description . he most often brings up stories from this era ( & the 18th century , but , not there yet ) .

✧ * 300 YEARS AGO

* the 1700s , bacchus becomes more warlike than ever . he shows his godhood in both the american & french revolution , bares his teeth in every single major war that starts on earth . bloody & powerful , his stories during this century are a lot more somber . he witnesses horrors & pain that he didn’t know were necessary ( aren’t those usually things reserved for the gods ? he hasn’t experienced life on earth on the bad side , perhaps he would’ve seen more if he had – understood that mankind isn’t too far away from the gods themselves . the titanomachy tends to repeat , after all ) , he gains his first taste of disdain for mankind . even when he’s settled between wars with a crown on his head & a golden spear in hand , he’s starting to see humans forget him . they’ve shifted focus , weapons in hand with blood on their teeth , left his altars empty & forgotten . of course , if he just shifted his own focus back onto the courts ( & the rich ) he’d be better off . but , he spends this century as a disciple of war , for the first time on earth showing the strength of the roman empire .

✧ * 200 YEARS AGO

* the 1800s , bacchus falls back into old patterns – indulges more & more in his domain than ever . this is his worst century on earth – every god ever is aware of bacchus , who’s fallen very deeply into a spiral that’s difficult to get out of . when asked , it takes more than a thousand drinks before they understand what he went through . dozens of favored humans dead in wars , hundreds of children lost in one fell swoop – while the world just moves on , he’s stuck running around the world spreading his gifts & powers . chosen alcohol no matter where he goes , a never ending party left his wake , newborn maenads in his name , bacchus is an eternal mess . he spends very little actual time with sober humans , keeping other gods in his company instead . he almost misses home , almost chooses to return home , but is too stuck in his haze to really remember the way back . is it possible for gods to be drunk ? is it possible for them to absolutely forget their godhood ? well , it is for him .

✧ * 100 YEARS AGO

* the 1900s , his anger is at an all time high , bacchus is all but forgotten . his greek counterpart is far more remembered , he is left behind in the dirt ( though , who’s fault is it really ? over a hundred years as a drunkard , spilling old stories & fading from the forefront of man’s mind , he’s got nobody else but himself to blame ) . for the century , he’s a particularly cruel god – very sly , very cunning , very not great for mankind . a deal broker , he’s quick to help out humans , but always for a price & always an entirely too high one . it doesn’t make much sense , since there’s not much he can grant except momentary invincibility , a quick escape if needed , a personal maenad . he sets a quick record for inducing madness , more than ever in his entire four hundred years on earth – more people go insane than ever under his fingertips & he finds it absolutely entertaining . only toward the end of the cold war does he find it in himself to ... Relax , a little .

✧ * NOW

* nowadays , a new visage on hand , he returns to his roots from his favorite place earth has to offer . the first few years of the new century are spent around eastern asia , traveling about once again & teaching mankind new ways to succeed in the wine business . after he’s swindled enough mortals out of their money , he turns to the west & settles in manhattan , new york . a penthouse is purchased underneath the alias “baek suhwan” & he is content to live his days out , lounging about with the people that disgust him the most . he is calm now , though is anger is not forgotten . it’s turned almost – apathetic , a dangerous type of ire to hold , but he’s numbed out to it . most of what he does nowadays is insult everyone around him ( for entertainment ) or be the most dramatic person in the room ( for entertainment ) or cause a ruckus amongst the gods ( for entertainment ) . as for mankind , they’ve really done nothing in the recent centuries to win back his favor , & though he now more leans toward indifferent , he’d still choose to fight against them rather than ever fighting for them .

❛ 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 › 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

so like , in theory : everything .

but in specifics i’ll just list some scenarios instead haha cause that’s how i do things cause smol brain .

001 : we always run into each other & i know exactly how to push your buttons so i always do & maybe you like it , or maybe you hate it – i’m still going to be as annoying as possible because technically , i can .

002 : for the greek gods – we’re technically related ( but i’m not greek & i never will be , ew , god ) & i’m technically still a baby god compared to you but i am annoying & i will annoy you but you can’t do anything about it because i’m the baby ):

003 : same as above except you DO do something about it because again : i’m not greek so yeah you beat my ass

004 : one time we accidentally started a small war between mortals & that was kind of messy but now we’re friends , except mankind insists that we’re enemies & we think it’s kind of funny .

005 : oh , yeah , i’m a “mortal” but i’m really not good at hiding it cause i kinda do whatever i want & i get away with it all the time but yeah , dude , i’m “human” – what do you mean why did i put it in quotation marks i’m not a god , dude – no i didn’t wink at you haha

006 : i did you a favor once & now you think you’ve gotta repay me back but like , i’m good – please don’t talk to me ever again , i don’t like you please stop bothering me & being nice to me please stop .

007 : oh , we don’t like each other & we both know it , so yeah we just don’t get along & i will fight you in public except the last time we started a battle it wasn’t cool & we got reprimanded for like 9 decades so let’s Not Do That but yeah , hate u , xx .

#ungodly:intro #alcohol tw #death tw #war tw #blood tw #THIS IS REALLY LONG AND I'M REALLY SORRY AAAAAAA

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aroworlds · 5 years ago

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Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part One

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

Length: 4, 914 words (part one of two).

Note: You'll need to have read The Vampire Conundrum for many references to make sense.

Rowan should be assumed an Australian character in an Australian city. Our Christmas, therefore, involves hot weather, short sleeves, barbecues and confusion at certain holiday traditions common in the Northern Hemisphere.

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible?

“It’s Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange!” Damien emerges from the meeting room, shaking a paper-scrap-filled jar with the gleeful attitude of a toddler attacking a pile of presents. In order to give the occasion suitable gravitas, he draped a rope of red tinsel over his shoulders, the fronds glittering in the flicker-prone lighting. “Come gather!”

Rowan looks up from his computer, biting back a groan. This isn’t a surprise, given that Shelby answered his interview questions about “workplace culture” with descriptions of their celebrating capitalist-infused Christian holidays, and the office more than lives up to that promise. A tree sits on the front counter, its branches crammed with baubles. Tinsel hangs on everything from which tinsel can be hung and rests in snake-like coils over the computer towers, screens, desk partitions and the large corkboard. Ribbon-wrapped pencils topped with felt trees, stars and stockings flowered, overnight, from everyone’s pen mugs; Melanie gave Rowan three of them for his frayro mug. Every desk features a red bowl of tree-shaped marshmallows, candy canes or that weird Christmas lolly mix common in dollar shops.

Only the lack of music renders bearable this explosion of festivity. Damien said he drew that line last year after Melanie and Shelby alternated between Michael Bublé and Josh Groban’s Christmas CDs.

Rowan doesn’t want to think about that sublime horror.

Christmas to him means slipping a few TSO tracks into his melodic metal playlists and gritting his teeth until the new year.

“O come all ye faithful,” Melanie sings, spinning her chair around. Every day this week she’s donned a different Christmas-themed T-shirt; today’s features a screen-printed Rudolph head with an apple-sized nose made from red minky fleece. Rowan doesn’t understand the American “ugly Christmas jumper” thing—why?—but Melanie appears to be replicating the trend via short sleeves and jersey knits.

Damien jerks his elbow at the largest whiteboard, half filled with the Banned Holiday Decorations List—items including “music, carols, hymns and singing”, “all types of fake snow” and “Cadbury Crème Eggs”. “Didn’t we talk about carols?”

Rowan doesn’t want to be accused of being a dreadful, fun-loathing millennial about which too many articles have been written on dislike of office gift exchanges … but he doesn’t know how not to be one, either. Why do people like this? Buying presents for people who aren’t strangers but aren’t friends, hoping that his attempt isn’t too generic only to open something tailored to feminine cliché ... followed by the apologetic explanation or justification that Rowan isn’t easy to shop for.

Can’t he save himself fifteen bucks and skip the disaster?

He’s never understood how he presents a difficulty that isn’t cissexism and a lack of imagination: buy him good thread, expensive coffee, dress socks, a nice mug, food storage containers or fancy kitchenware. He’ll even take a cheap box of chocolates, since his housemates will eat anything should they believe it food. Just get him something that isn’t a floral-patterned bath set followed by the hand-wringing apology that the giver just doesn’t know what to get someone as confusing as Rowan!

Why don’t they ask him what he wants?

He’s over spending money and time on gift exchanges only to receive cissexism, dysphoria or stereotype wrapped in paper and tied with a bow.

Rowan draws a breath and slips his fingers under his thighs. He should have sent Damien an email when Melanie started decorating, but Rowan was thinking about pushing their print date back two weeks and not thinking about Mum’s out-of-nowhere request that Rowan attend the family Christmas. “Uh … Damien? Can I … quick word?”

Why did he get himself a new psychologist? One who says terrible words like assertiveness?

“Give us a minute.” Tinsel rustling, Damien crouches beside Rowan’s chair. “Will here do?”

If everyone overhears, Rowan can pretend he’s talking to one person while knowing they all benefit from his explanation. Besides, going into the meeting room makes this a thing. “Yeah. Um. I … I don’t usually get the right presents from people in gift exchanges. By which I mean ... presents that aren’t a reminder that they think me female, and if they give me enough nail polish and heart-shaped jewellery and glittery handbags, I’ll admit it. I don’t want that? Really don’t want that?”

Why do his parents want to play at being a happy family? Does Mum want to show off to Uncle Keith and his new wife? Have they forgotten how badly last Christmas went? Or is this just more cissexist assumption that Rowan will discard his masculinity when needed? If they behave as though Rowan should fit their expectations, will he—eventually—surrender to them?

I’m not being difficult because I want my masculinity and transness respected. I’m not...

Melanie leans over to poke Shelby’s shoulder, her bright red lips forming a ring.

Damien blinks, hesitating as if he doesn’t know how best to respond. “That ... sounds like my niece’s favourite birthday. Although she took the bag, put one of my sister’s dumbbells inside and swung it at the boy over the road who wouldn't stop calling her pretty. And then made an army of neighbourhood girls wielding heavy unicorn bags.” He shakes his head. “I mean that … you obviously aren’t a certain kind of eight-year-old or into glitter, so...”

If only Rowan had the nerve to do that to Aunt Laura! “I bet he never did that again.”

“No. I’ll make sure … that the person who has you gets you something appropriate.”

Inappropriately-feminine gifts aren’t his only difficulty. Rowan doesn’t how to voice something so complex (to cis, gender-conforming people) about gender and gift-giving without sounding like he’s complaining for the sake of complaining—the demanding, difficult trans man of his parents’ accusations. Most often he endures a cis female celebrity’s latest perfume, but well-intended “accepting” people give him an Old Spice gift set—acknowledging his masculinity at the cost of his personality. How do cis people not chafe at gift-giving traditions that assume people can be reduced down to one of two categories with narrow behaviours and interests ascribed to each?

It’s easier to draw the line at gifts that only avoid being the embodiment of the giver’s cissexism and donate everything else, as much as Rowan yearns for one year with a good present he doesn’t buy himself.

Will cis people ever understand that being trans means holding back on responding to cis nonsense?

“Thanks. Yeah, thanks.”

“Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange rules!” Damien straightens, shaking the jar; paper rattles against glass. “Twenty-dollar limit, keep it fun, don’t give anything inappropriate for a professional environment. I want to be eating mince pies, not taking people into the meeting room for discussions on adulthood. We exchange on the last day, December 20.” He reaches into the jar, the neck a tight fit for his hands, and tweezers out a folded piece of paper before handing it to Rowan.

Damien shakes the jar again before offering another slip to Melanie and then Shelby.

Don’t people draw names themselves from the bowl or jar? Nobody else seems concerned by this lapse—Melanie starts laughing when she sees her name—so Rowan shrugs and opens his, deciding it must be normal enough.

The Aro Gods must be inclined to a little seasonal kindness, for he sees “Melanie” written in Damien’s handwriting.

No need to struggle through generic alternatives like food or wine; pride pins will make her happy enough. A pen? A mini aro flag? Choosing may be Rowan’s worst problem, but he can get her a few things and give her whatever’s over the limit after the exchange.

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible?

“Rowan!” Melanie bustles over; he quickly slides his paper up his sleeve. She makes metallic jangling noises—words like “ringing” or “pealing” don’t apply—as she moves, thanks to a gold chain bracelet decorated with small bells at each link. Matching earrings dangle from her ears, clinking out of tune with the ones at her wrist. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, hoping she’ll let pass unremarked his description of holiday cissexism.

“Where did you buy your flag patches? I want one. Well, maybe more than one, because there’s the aro flag, and the ace flag, and maybe one of the aro-ace flags, but I haven’t decided which one I like best since there’s several that are nice, and...”

Once-in-a-lifetime inspiration hits Rowan with finger-twitching force. “I don’t know,” he lies once Melanie runs out of steam. “Uh … a friend gave them to me and ... I don’t know where they bought them. Online, probably?” He swallows and tries for distraction, gambling his poor ability for falsehood against Melanie’s likely ignorance. “Maybe look on Etsy? I’d look on Etsy.”

“Etsy? What’s that?”

“Handcraft eBay,” he says in relief, thinking through his thread stash. “Where people sell handmade things. I don’t know when I’m seeing my friend next, but I can ask...?”

He’ll need purples, greens, greys, black, white—oh, and blues! A little orange, a little yellow. Has he enough fabric? What about time? Should he do the main ones first and then others as he can squeeze them in?

On the way home tonight, he’ll start by stopping at his local sewing store.

***

Rowan hits “send” on an email to Damien, ignoring Mum’s latest text, as Shelby bounds up to his desk. Like Melanie, she’s added Christmas T-shirts to her daily ensemble; unlike Melanie, Shelby’s T-shirts appear to come from a department store’s children’s section. Today’s shirt shows a cute-but-scientifically-inaccurate dinosaur in a Santa hat holding a red box. Also unlike Melanie, Shelby hasn’t added earrings, pins, necklaces, bangles or socks in honour of the season. “Yeah?”

Damien added “battery and USB-powered light-up objects” to the List after an office vote provoked by a flashing necklace that resembled miniature string lights.

Shelby whispers, meaning that she speaks in a raspier tone with volume enough that her standing on the other side of a crowded football oval needn’t impede one’s hearing. In fairness, Rowan has heard her speak over a hundred gossiping Year 7 students until they surrendered to the stubbornness of an older woman who doesn’t go to bed caring what they think of her. “Can you go through all the … the identities? Can you show them to me and tell me what colours go with them? Do they all have their own colours?”

Rowan can only sit and gape.

“Please? I need someone to go through them all.”

He lunges for his half-filled mug, hoping his perpetual need for coffee conceals his surprise. “You mean pride flags? Queer pride flags?”

“Please.” Shelby nods, grips his arm and gives a meant-as-comforting nutcracker-like squeeze before lowering her hand to fidget with her phone—a device likely dug up with the fossils from the dinosaur on her shirt. It doesn’t have a cover; he guesses she covered the back with multiple layers of washi tape coated in (yellowing) clear nail polish. He doesn’t ask why. “Maybe you can start with the ones you use, and that one Melanie has, and then tell me the other ones? There aren’t that many, are there?”

Rowan, lukewarm coffee in his mouth and heading down his gullet, chokes.

Several moments of spluttering and coughing, aided by Shelby’s enthusiastic back-pounding, pass before he can answer. “Uh … there’s lots, actually. Lots.” He considers explaining about Tumblr before deciding on the appropriate answer: a thousand kinds of nope. “Do you want gender ones, or sexuality ones, or aromantic ones, or...?”

Shelby’s blank, brow-creased expression shows that, if she read Rowan’s leaflet, his emails and the hand-outs provided by Damien’s trainers, the knowledge hasn’t stuck with her.

(They weren’t better than Rowan’s own and only mentioned aromanticism as a way of being asexual.)

“The ones you and Melanie use...?” She lowers her voice to a point where someone may, in theory, be unable to hear her from the other side of the room. “I want to get Melanie a little extra … something, this year. With a flag, maybe?” She jerks her elbow in the direction of Melanie’s mug, currently filled with something smelling of camomile and dish-water. “But I should know more about the other ones, too. Like yours. Can you show them all to me?”

There’s no way in this tinselled hell that Melanie can’t hear Shelby, yet Melanie appears engrossed in deleting emails.

Last week, Rowan said “aromantic” once to their newest volunteer in a conversation about the pride flags on their website. Seconds later, Melanie materialised from the hallway, passed over one of Rowan’s leaflets and introduced herself as aro-ace before giving a five-point rundown on ways to avoid casual amatonormativity—not that she’s yet comfortable saying the word—in the workplace. There’s no way she’s contemplating the mysteries of her trash folder while Rowan talks to Shelby about aromantic pride flags! Breathing “aro” aloud is now akin to summoning a demon—one revelling in the discovery of the identity that makes belated sense of her life.

“You want me to show you aromantic flags?” Rowan asks to clarify, baffled.

Shelby beams at him. “Yes, please.”

Melanie, frowning, deletes an email.

Did Damien have a word with her? Did the volunteer complain?

Rowan can’t say that he wants to play tour guide through the world of queer vexillology, but Shelby has gone five weeks without saying the phrase “you trans people” and two months without reassuring Rowan on the subject of pronoun-correction. He also knows Melanie and Shelby are friends outside of work, bonding over stage shows and music. If Shelby wants to support Melanie in her aromanticism, how can Rowan refuse?

While Rowan sat there planning the politest way to navigate the glaring error in the trainers’ leaflets, Melanie stood up, exclaimed that aromanticism isn’t the same thing as asexuality and demanded that they do some reading before engaging in “obvious aro denial”. He owes her. She scares him a little, but he owes her.

(Should Rowan master the ability to handle conversations and presentations, he may consider becoming a sensitivity trainer. That two-day workshop, while decent enough on gender and sexuality, left him again concluding that most queer alloros have no idea how to reference and include aromanticism in their conversations about queerness.)

Another Mum-authored text flashes up on his phone, displaying the words “Christmas”, “clothing” and “appropriately”.

No, no and hell no.

“Yeah, okay.” He bends down to grab his satchel, tucked against the left-hand side of his desk. A decent collection of patches and badges now covers the front flap, including his cursed-but-memorable “aro” patch. “That’s the trans pride flag, with the blue, pink and white, and beside it is the bisexual flag. The flag with the greens and black is the aromantic flag, and the allo-aro flag has the greens and gold. It’s pretty much the same as the aro flag, except with yellow and gold instead of grey and black.” He points at each patch as he moves through his explanation. “Allo—allosexual—aromantics are aros who experience sexual attraction.”

He’ll stick to simple definitions with Shelby, even if they lack ideal expansiveness.

Shelby nods, smiling.

“For me, it means I’m aromantic and bisexual. Aro-aces, like Melanie, are aromantic and asexual, meaning she doesn’t experience sexual attraction.” He almost asks her if she remembers what “aromanticism” means before realising that he’ll sound like a condescending primary-school teacher. “This flag with the blues, white and grey is the frayromantic flag, which designates the specific way I’m aro. The flag on Melanie’s mug—”

Shelby leans against his desk, her grey braid trailing over one arm. “So you have an aromantic flag and an allosexual aromantic flag? A special aromantic flag?”

Are they heading towards the sort of conversation that involves anger over “making up” identities outside the speaker’s reckoning of acceptable? Or does she mean “distinct”? “Ah … kind of? The green and black flag represents all aros—Melanie and me. The green and gold one’s just for me, and I don’t use her blue and orange one.”

For the first time in living memory, Melanie pays Rowan and Shelby no attention.

“I see! You want to reflect different types of aro.” Shelby almost says the word without unusual stress; Rowan considers applauding her but decides he won’t risk undermining his point on avoiding excessive overreaction to queer terminology. “Do you ever put the flags together? Like if you want to be both things at once?”

When isn’t he the state of multiple identities at once? Rowan decides she means “represent” instead of “be” and nods. “Yeah? Some people put a heart with the stripes of the aro flag in the middle of the trans or bi flags, but I don’t like that because using a heart to represent us all is a bit … eh. You know, heart, love, love hearts? Lots of people don’t care, though. I’ve also seen folks split them in an image, or have the stripes fade into each other. Like trans stripes fading into aro stripes.”

“And you like that better?” Shelby blinks, her blunt nails tracing the edge of the case. “Would Melanie like that? The aromantic flag fading into another one?”

There’s no way Melanie didn’t hear that—and no reason for her to say silent! Last month she told Rowan and Shelby to get mint chocolate cake for her birthday after walking in on them debating sponge versus cheesecake in the meeting room!

(Sponge, in Rowan’s opinion, is the classic cake format.)

“Yeah. It shows my identities together without using symbolism I find awkward.” Rowan lowers his voice, leaning closer to Shelby. “Melanie will probably go for the aromantic flag fading into or combined with the asexual flag, if you’re doing something with two flags. I don’t think she’d be into hearts, but a split image or fading? That’d work.”

Shelby straightens, beaming, and gives Rowan another firm arm-squeeze. “That’s great! Thank you so much for helping, Rowan!”

“Don’t you want to know more about aro-ace flags...?”

“No, that’s great!” Shelby, heading towards her own desk, no longer attempts to speak at anything not normal volume. “Aromantic into asexual! I’ll remember that!”

As Shelby turns, he catches a glimpse of the cracked screen on her phone—or, more specifically, the movement of her hand as she presses stop on her recording app.

Is that legal? It surely isn’t normal? Or is she an auditory learner, meaning she’ll learn best by playing the recording over … but in that case, why not say so? He could have directed her to YouTube videos and podcasts! Perhaps, though, she only shows her ignorance in digital etiquette, in the same way Rowan took Melanie aside to explain that the use of caps lock for the body of a promotional email violates good manners as much as—more than!—she thinks signing a form in red ballpoint? Should he complain about something suggestive of her willingness to understand him?

Rowan stares, shrugs and shakes his head as a third text pops up.

Sometimes it’s easier to just not ask.

Too bad that can’t apply as easily to family.

***

Rowan stands, yawns and stretches. His lunch half-hour beckons: sunshine spent with food, cross-stitch and a flock of pigeons tame enough to perch on the far end of his bench. Since today involved apologetic emails followed by a contrite phone call to his goddess amongst printers, time free of people feels like looming perfection. Just him, the pigeons, a sewing needle and the homemade pasty he hid from Matt inside a bag of frozen peas.

Any day in which he gets to enjoy his own cooking can’t be too terrible.

Perhaps he should do as his psychologist says: put a chest freezer in his bedroom and a lock on his door.

“Rowan!” Damien, his hair tousled enough to make Rowan think of a woolly mammoth in a sharp suit, carries a plate of something smelling like honey and chicken into the office. “While Melanie’s out, can you show me your mug shop? You said there’s a lot of aro-ace flags, right? Or would she want one like yours, the green one? I don’t get her something like your blue and green shield one, though?” He shrugs and sets the plate down on Rowan’s desk. “My wife’s friends with her sister and we got invited out, but there’s another swap. I don’t want to get her the wrong thing. Do you mind?”

At least Damien does the sensible thing of asking while Melanie’s out on lunch. Maybe this won’t take too long: Damien’s a terrible photographer with unreasonable expectations of Photoshop, but he does know how to buy things online.

“Yeah. Hold on.” Rowan opens up his browser just as his phone beeps. Nope, ignoring that. “I’ll show you what mugs I think she’d want.”

He hadn’t realised how many people here are friends with Melanie outside of work. It must be nice to have a regular social life that isn’t “being at work” and “sighing at housemates”, but there’s advantages in possessing the short holiday shopping list of family, a work gift exchange and a couple of friends. Besides, does anyone want one’s co-workers to know what happens at an outside party?

“Don’t ignore your phone because of me.”

“It’s Dad.” Since Rowan can’t find a pithy or amusing way to explain that Dad’s text message will be a guilt-trip ordering Rowan to come to Christmas for the sake of the family’s happiness followed by a second guilt-trip explaining how much his refusal to confirm has upset Mum, he just shakes his head.

You talked about this with the psychologist. Guilt. Trip.

He made an appointment for the second week of January; he should have made one in December as well.

“That bad?”

He can’t remember the specifics of his rant that day atop the desk, but he must have suggested at an interesting relationship with his parents. “Yeah.”

Did they forget telling Rowan that if he doesn’t like how they treat him, he can leave? They told Rowan that he isn’t welcome while he remains intolerant of them—while I expect them to treat me as I deserve. He left. Now they want him back to smile for the family photos?

What’s worse? Enduring a day of misgendering, deadnaming and cissexism, which shouldn’t result in unknown voyages of horror if he bites his tongue? Or avoiding short-term discomfort while gaining the long-term torment of the family’s schooling Rowan in appropriate Ross respect for blood and holidays? What chance is there of avoiding harassment if he doesn’t go?

Maybe he can leave off shaving for a week before Christmas and turn up with his new, albeit patchy, facial hair while wearing an op-shop debutante gown, so he “dresses appropriately” and “doesn’t confuse the relatives” as requested.

How many truckloads of Valium will he need for that?

“Rowan? Are you okay?” Damien, now sitting on an office chair, peers at him as though waiting for Rowan to do anything more than stare at the computer screen.

“Ugh. Sorry. Just thinking.” Rowan sighs and types in the shop’s name, bringing up their website, and then opens a second tab to another archiving different pride flags.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damien asks in that gruffly-gentle voice, one that makes Rowan want to smash his fist through a window.

“Yeah, no.” Rowan draws a breath and points at the screen with a hand a too trembly for his liking. “So you’re going to want to know what flags represent what, because there’s a drop-down menu where you can choose from different flags...”

It’s easier to talk, easier to run through all the different flags in a depth of explanation Damien doesn’t request, easier to think about something that isn’t family—a subject with complexity enough to distract but without provocation enough to distress.

He doesn’t know if Damien asks questions from curiosity or kindness, but Rowan’s pasty becomes pastry crumbs scattered over his desk and keyboard; Damien’s chicken, half-eaten, sits cooling on its plate.

“So cupioromantic is the one where you want the relationship but you don’t feel romance?” Damien frowns and runs both oversized hands through his hair, now resembling a befuddled bear emerging after a long hibernation. “Why have a word for that? I mean, everyone feels like it isn’t one of those movies and dates anyway, so why specify that?”

“Where you don’t feel romantic attraction but desire a romantic relationship,” Rowan says, telling himself that Damien unknowingly regurgitates the tired “demiromanticism is normal” argument. Isn’t this better than looking at the fifth text message? “Some people need it to be a word. Movies aren’t that divorced from reality. They’re … too easy, too glossy, too perfect, too unrealistic, but...”

He sighs. Not dating brings many benefits, but Rowan has to admit that he misses the fun of falling in love, even if trouble always follows. Misses the fun of dreaming, hoping and fantasising; misses the bright, happy glow of being caught up in someone else. At risk of being considered a bad aro, he likes that glorious limerence pushing him to navigate people despite his gibbering anxiety! In some ways, knowing he’s capable of falling in love over and over feels heady and powerful; amatonormativity more than the nature of Rowan’s frayromanticism bestows difficulty on its aftermath.

I want to fall in love with you ... and after getting to know you, do it again with someone else, all the best bits of romance’s beginning on eternal repeat.

Instead, he avoids dating and the inevitable development of his partner’s hurt, surrendering to a world where his shape of attraction isn’t acceptable or reasonable. Albeit with a trace of bitterness that frayromanticism will be easier to navigate should Rowan not be an anxiety-plagued, bisexual trans man!

Of course, discarding romance makes pursuing his shape of sexual attraction unacceptable and unreasonable...

“How are they real? Nobody just sees someone and falls in love like that—”

“Dude, dude, I’ve fallen in love like that.” Rowan shakes his head and launches into the speech that’s the spiritual duty of any card-carrying aromantic: “Do you fall in love after you get to know someone? After they love you back? Do you know what ‘fall in love’ means to you? Because it’s easy to name all sorts of feelings ‘love’ and think they’re romantic when the world says you have to be alloromantic. It’s even easier to not be romantically attracted and not know! Have you thought about it?”

Damien, his eyes so wide that he reminds Rowan of a zebrafish with a brown wig, shakes his head.

“I swear, alloros like romance movies because while they’re a … a simplified, idealistic version of romance, they’re close enough to what people feel—or think they’re supposed to feel—that they … ring, resonate. They wouldn’t do that if it were complete invention. Just like science fiction isn’t real but talks enough about human experiences to have meaning to human audiences. Unreal, in so many ways, but just real enough. So—”

Damien holds up both hands, palms facing Rowan. “Stop. Stop.”

Now the anxious part of Rowan’s brain realises he’s lecturing at his supervisor in a way no need to avoid thinking of his family justifies; he gulps, fingers trembling. While the office code of conduct doesn’t specify things like unwanted speeches questioning another person’s belief in their romantic attraction, he doubts this acceptable behaviour. “I … shit. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I just...”

Will he ever stop causing a mess at work?

“You’re talking so fast,” Damien says, slow and careful in the way of a man talking to a panicked horse, “that I can’t keep up.” He sighs and runs one hand through his hair. “This isn’t something I thought we’d be talking about! I just wanted to check that everything was right...” He shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound annoyed or outraged. Just bewildered. “Okay. Right. What about all those sorts of things that we think are love? What do you mean by that?”

At some point during the resulting afternoon, Rowan sends an email thanking his printer for her willingness to amend the job queue, ignores his brother’s entry in the competition to provoke the most seasonally-appropriate guilt, and scribbles a note to ask the higher-ups if they’ll spring for a basket of expensive coffee and chocolates sent to said printer.

Damien nods several times, takes dot points on a flyer print-out and the back of the report draft for last week’s holiday event, asks more questions and promises that he’ll remind the higher-ups of their involvement in submitting January’s flyers two weeks late. After eating the rest of his re-heated honey chicken at Rowan’s desk and narrating the story of how his future wife followed him from pub to pub during a crawl for his brother’s buck’s night, Damien concludes that he only experiences attraction for someone after they express attraction for him.

Melanie, having rested her arms on the back of Damien’s chair to overhear the last half of the conversation, gives him a smothering hug and welcomes him to “the quiver” before cackling at Damien’s blank look.

Find a recipro mug, Rowan later scribbles on the bottom of his to-do-list.

At least that job doesn’t involve relatives.

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cleoofthedead · 5 years ago

Text

tw: near death mention

[ laura harrier. cis female. she/her ] [ cleo haughton ] is a [ twenty-nine ] year old [ cook ] at camp reviere. [ she ] makes me think of [ eating your heart out, rock and roll music, and a kiss to kill for]. their favorite horror movie is [ prom night ] and they remind me of [ queen akasha ]

queen shit

cleo has always been a fighter right from the womb. her mother almost died giving birth to her since she had broken a rib too many when it came to delivery and it was the start of an odd bond between them. little had cleo ever known but her mother hated men and never wanted to be pregnant in the first place. it was just to secure her wealth and power once she married into a richer family and cleo was surely put to the test the moment she could walk. her mother whispered of her hatred and how she wanted cleo to know that men who always end up letting her down in the end. cleo is sure that if she hadn’t been a fighter since day once that her mother wouldn’t want to keep her close.

cleo brushed it off when she didn’t understand the extent to that, but then their father was caught having an affair with a women ten years younger than her mom. then her and her mom became hush money, a secret that was getting a steady flow of income as long as they weren’t vocal of the scandal her father created. he promised to be a part of cleos life despite a split but once the money started coming in he stopped visiting. it was cleo’s first big heartbreak and her last.

ever since cleo has been stone cold. to her friends she just came off as a bitch, to her peers she was scary and intimidating, and to the men that came and went she was a treat, something to be desired, but never to be consumed. cleo never let anyone get close to her. the people in LA were fake, greedy, and lustful; something that she was exposed to far too young by her mother taking in secret lovers herself and throwing them out the next day. she molded herself after her mother, who she considered the strongest woman she knew. she took no shit and left a trail of broken hearts behind her.

her most nefarious heartbreaks came from camp reverie. ever since she was a camper there herself she was known to flirt, tease, maybe hook up or get caught kissing a boy in the woods before ripping their hearts out and leaving them to suffer. it was her favorite time of the year and the memories she made with the people she allowed in her circle were genuine and good. which explains why she clung to the camp for so long. going as far to work there when she was much older.

her cooking is with love. she loves to cook and she loves watching people react to her cooking. she knows her food can be on the hearty side sometimes but that’s only because she knows people do better when they are packed with protein. in fact she is a private chef outside of her job at camp, which makes her well-liked amongst the kids.

she found out recently that she is unable to have children. that makes her desire to work at the camp stronger since she always had a thing for wanting to be near what she could never really have.

her hobbies include rock ‘n roll music and dating rockstars. she has always had such a soft spot for anyone who could play a good guitar riff and isn’t ashamed to call herself a groupie when it comes to certain artists. she had tried the lifestyle at one point herself but grew bored with it.

she knows how hypnotic her voice is and uses that against others. she never comes off as mean because her voice always sounds so sugary sweet, but at the same time she has no patience for bullshit and will shut someone down if she finds them unworthy of her time.

she really likes the gory horror movies. blood doesn’t phase her, violence doesn’t phase her; she sort of thinks something is wrong with her but at the same time she is okay with being hard to shake.

she’ll give anyone a little extra snack for a good scary story. one that gives her actual goosebumps.

wanted connections

for the older babes! this connection is a past friend or hookup for cleo. they can either be on good terms or awful terms since cleo tends to just go with whichever side is loudest. they could still want more from her or nothing at all, im really adaptable.

cleo has a tendency to flirt with everyone so if anyone wants to have a crush on her that will probably never be returned due to age or lack of interest on cleo’s end here it is! a harmless crush her way just eggs her on.

this connection is a favorite staff member. can either work with her or anywhere on camp, it doesn’t matter. she just needs someone she can be a little less cold towards!

any of the broken hearts cleo has left behind.

her rock n roll god. her lestat. someone who makes her weak in the knees just from the sound of his voice.

that’s all i got bc i suck dfkgdfhfdnk

#1984intro #{hc}

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liquormixintellect-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Dusk til Dawn

Pairing: Harry x Reader

FRAT! HARRY HERE TO GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU EVER NEEDED AND MORE. I’ve been really excited about starting this and I’m going to try to have chapter 2 up by Sunday if this is well received!!! Also I added a teensy weensy bit of smut! Enjooooy <3 I would love feedback

Chapter 1

You knew you were that bitch. There wasn’t a more simple way to put it. You were confident in your inner as well as physical beauty, and you knew that’s what people found most intriguing about you. The way you could command attention whenever you pleased but you managed to obtain humility in the process. There was a lot of guys and girls willing to challenge that.

As your junior year of college was in full swing, parties became a daily occurrence. With the fraternities and sororities at the forefront of those events.

So when you walked into your 9am that morning, you weren’t surprised to hear that’s what the entire class was discussing. You tiptoed through the crowded rows of seats, normally you would arrive a tad bit early to avoid maneuvering through people but that extra ten minutes of sleep did something to amazing to your soul. Your best friend was gnawing on the base of her mechanical pencil the moment you sat down. You weren’t the type to necessarily have a friend that was closer to you than every one else but Denver was different. She was really easy to speak to and always always had your best interest. You two had been put in the same dorm freshman year and when you found out she had the exact same major as you, it only further sealed the deal.

“So, are you going to the party tonight?” Denver wasn’t making eye contact. Instead she was facing straight forward as if she was listening to the instructor to avoid being called out for talking. You took the moment to actually evaluate your best friend.

Denver was adopted. For a long time she struggled with her physical self due to attempting to conform to european beauty standards, but you took pride in helping her truly love herself and her culture. How could she hate something so unique and original?

She had extremely thick and long black hair that she kept tied into a high ponytail. Only a few stray pieces were kept out to adorn her face. Her skin reminded you of cocoa with just a few tablespoons of milk mixed in to create a dewy brown. She was beautiful. And you may or may not have had a intimate experience sophomore year when a thunderstorm cut off all of electricity on campus, but that was a different story for a different day.

“I don’t think so D! I feel like I’ve grown out of them. Aren’t they all the same at this point?” You were speaking while simultaneously jotting down notes. Unbeknownst to you, a certain curly haired frat boy was behind you eaves dropping.

“Oh no lovie. This one is going to be different.” You and Denver turn around to meet a pair of emerald eyes under arched brows.

“Lovie? Harry you’ve been throwing the same lame ass parties year after year.” Denver muffles her chuckle at your comeback.

“Then why do you make an appearance year after year?” You rolled your eyes and adjusted yourself to where you were facing forward again.

He was right. You did make an appearance frequently but what else were you supposed to do when everyone who was worth spending time with was at these said events? And where else would you find people to hook up with? And what if you were looking for a certain somebody to hook up with?

The rest of the class period was spent in silence, and you were kind of grateful for it. You actually enjoyed your major and everything about it only further intrigued her.

“All right. We’ve got an exam coming up at the end of next week so please stay on top of your notes and online assignments. You all are dismissed.” It didn’t even take a second for the sound of backpacks zipping to overwhelm the room.

Denver is right behind you as you make a beeline for the door.

“Ms. Y/L/N? May I speak to you for a moment?” Your professor hasn’t looked up from his desk as he speaks to you. Denver gives you a sympathetic look.

“I’ll wait for you in the hallway girl.” You nod.

Harry brushes past you intentionally nudging your shoulder.

“Oooh! Someone’s in trouble!” He throws his head back to laugh.

You didn’t know if you wanted to suck his dick or kick his ass in that moment.

Your standing in front of your professor awaiting his response.

“I’m so pleased with your work this semester young lady! You’re on track to make the highest overall grade I’ve ever given. If you’re able to keep that up, I’d love to get you into a summer internship program that could possibly guarantee you a job after graduation. How does that sound?”

You can feel each beat your heart makes.

thump thump. thump thump.

Fuck! Was this actually happening? Was all of your hard work paying off?

“Oh my god! YES! You have no idea how much this means to me professor peterson.” You’re so eager to relay the news to Denver that you take off before saying goodbye, only to make a quick ball change and jog back in to bid farewell.

As you catch back up to Denver, your brain is moving far quicker and your mouth can’t quite keep up.

“ohmygoddenverhesaidimbasicallyageniusandhesgonnagetmeajobandohmygoodnessthisiseverythingiveeverwantedandmore!” Your chest is rising and falling at a quick pace. Denver is uncontrollably giggling.

“That’s great babe! I’m so excited for you.” She pulls you into a tight hug. Denver then wraps her left arm around your shoulder while utilizing her right hand to create a nonexistent rainbow.

“Everything is up from here Y/N. I feel it in my hooha.”

You both break out in an uncontrollable laughter and you take her arm in yours hooking at the elbow.

“How I’d love to see the two of you like that. With no clothes. In my room.”

The speed at which the both of your heads whip around must’ve surpassed a world record.

Your met with harry and his best friend Benji.

“Ew. Did your cis gendered ass just sexualize a relationship that, by the way, is completely platonic between two women to fit whatever sick fucking fantasy is in your head!?” Denver growls in disgust.

Freshman year of college introduced you and Denver to a new way of woman’s empowerment and you haven’t been the same since.

“Don’t mind Benji, he thinks with his dick too much. Will we be seeing you two tonight?” You both exchange looks before simultaneously giving a stern no.

You both whip back around and continue walking.

Harry puts on a quick jog to catch up.

“Seriously!? I would love to see you both there, we all know you’re the life of the party.” Harry’s grin makes a slight curve revealing both of his dimples along with his adorable bunny teeth. His eyes are gleaming today and his eyelashes delicately flutter everytime he blinks.

Oh god. Were you daydreaming about Harry?

“Okay fine, we’ll go.” You huff a bit before shifting your attention to Denver who looks nothing short of annoyed.

“Great! I’ll see you both there, and cheer up Denver. You never know what can happen on a night of fun!” He gives you both a quick wink before he confidently strolls away.

“Y/N! Did you seriously just fall victim to the patriarchy? We’re better than this. Did you see the way Benji undressed us with his eyes?” Denver’s shaking her head.

“It’ll be fun girl. We can get dressed really sexy and do eachother’s makeup!”

Well. Denver would be doing majority of the work, you weren’t particularly skilled in the beauty department besides a basic everyday look.

*****

“Quit blinking Y/N!” Denver’s got her hands wrapped around your head at this point.

“You want me to stop blinking yet you’re about to poke my eye out?” Denver finished applying a touch of white eyeliner to your bottom lash line to give you a more awake and vibrant look. Your anxiety is causing your knees to bounce up and down. Were you really this nervous for a guy?

“Girl what are you so jittery for?” Denver cackles. You hadn’t been completely honest with your best friend but how could you be when you weren’t completely honest to yourself? Maybe. Just maybe you were excited to see harry tonight.

“Oh, nothing. It’s a habit. Should we get dressed now?” Your weak attempt at changing the subject doesn’t go unnoticed to Denver.

You quickly shoot up from her vanity and head to her closet. You two always shared clothes especially when it was time to make an appearance. Denver was usually the type to spend the extra dime on her apparel as well so you knew she was stocked with goodies. You settle on a navy and floral slip dress that leaves little to the imagination.

Accentuating your chest with a single pearl pendant.

You decide to dress it down with a pair of white trainers.

Your gazing at yourself in the floor length mirror before shifting your attention Denver. Who decided to take a different route with a utility style skirt that just brushed past her bum as well as a sheer white button up blouse with a bralette peaking through.

You did say you knew you were that bitch, it’s only right your best friend is as well.

Fluffing your hair one last time until it settles in it’s natural state, you grab your wristlet and head out with Denver.

****

The bass of the music is vibrating the floors, so much that you almost mistook it for an earthquake. There’s so many things happening at once that you’re not quite sure where to focus your energy.

A group of guys on one half of the large frat house are playing a serious game of beer pong with profanities strung left and right. A group of what you presume are freshman girls are huddled watching those same boys secretly hoping to be chosen.

You take a mental sigh. Your thoughts are interrupted by Denver rapidly back handing your upper arm.

You look at her face and follow her eyesight. Your eyes meet Harry who’s sat next to a gentleman you’ve never seen before. His hair is perfect styled with one single strand dropped to dangle just in front of his eye.

“Y/N, who the fuck is that!” Your giggling at Denver’s forwardness. Before you know it, she’s grabbed your arm and drags you over to Harry and his new friend.

“Hey Harry. Who’s your friend?” She was straight the point, wasn’t she?

“I admire your confidence.”

Okay. So new guy was a bit more confident than we anticipated.

“I have a few other things you could admire.” She takes a slow wet lick across her bottom lip before tucking her it into her mouth.

“Okaaay.. Let’s not do this right here.” You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

New guy stands up before properly adjusting his clothing. He extends his hand towards Denver.

“Zayn.”

“Denver.”

Denver was bold.

They’re staring intently.

“Did you want to grab a drink?” Zayn then tops Denver’s boldness by tucking a loose strand behind her ear to get a better view of her beauty.

“I’d like that.” You just know she’s losing her shit inside.

Denver gives you a wink which makes Zayn take a breathy laugh before escorting her to the kitchen.

You shift your weight to the opposite leg and adjusts your posture.

“I knew she’d like him.” Harry takes a sip out of his red solo cup.

“So you planned this?” Your left eyebrow is raised, slightly amused by his effort.

“How else was I going to get you alone tonight?” He takes a step closer to you, his cologne of choice invades your senses. Making you feel a million things at once.

“Harry....” before you can continue, the entire house erupts in cheers. Harry puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the ruckus.

“Harry, mate! You’ve gotta join us.” Benji takes Harry into a headlock and guides him further in leaving you to stand amongst the crowd. You cross your arms across your chest, annoyed that your private moment was interrupted.

“Give me a second lovie.” There goes that stupid pet name, the pet name that makes your heart skip a beat every single time he calls you it.

The beer pong game that you once observed beforehand had escalated. With everyone in the house focusing their attention on the table. Benji and Harry were on one side with another two of their frat brothers on the other.

“You can’t randomly add Harry in! That’s cheating!” The two boys are making a fuss.

“I almost single handedly kicked both of your asses. I do what I please!” Benji counters.

There’s one last cup on the opposite side of the table, Harry must come in clutch during situations like these.

He raises his wrist and adjusts it just right with one eye closed to evenly line himself up. With one slight flick of the wrist, a small drop is heard signaling his success. The crowd erupts into an even louder cheer causing Harry to smile as wide as possible. He was in his element.

“I never knew you had so much finesse.” You say as Harry sways towards you.

Your both settled into the corner you initially started in, with a round of shots accompanying you.

You throw one back and make a face of sheer disgust. Harry can’t help but lose himself over your reaction.

“Not funny. That was disgusting!”

“Well lovie, we’ve got a couple more to go so you betta get used to it.”

He splits the shots between you two equally and you decide the best decision would be to quickly throw yours back and get it over with. Or so you thought.

“So how do you know Zayn?” You break the silence between you two and you’re pretty sure you can feel your shots catching up to you.

“We were best mates before college, but we drifted a bit after attending separate institutions. I found out he was transferring and I was excited as hell. We could start hanging out again like we used to. It was just hunch that told me Denver would go crazy over him.” He’s sipping his wine cooler while laughing and shaking his head at his own success.

You knew what he was saying but you weren’t exactly processing it. You’re lost in his emerald irises. The tequila was getting the absolute best of you that not even Harry was expecting what you were planning to do next.

He looks at you awaiting some sort of rebuttal.

You take both of your hands and cup his cheeks pulling him in for a sweet yet tender kiss.

Harry doesn’t budge, instead he begins to work his lips against yours giving your ass a gentle squeeze.

You pull back and take a deep breath.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

Harry takes his lips between his fingers as if he was savoring the moment. He takes your hand in his and guides you up the long staircase into an even longer hallway with multiple bedrooms. The first one on the left is his.

He pulls you in and shuts the door with your body against it. His lips are moving at a different pace, almost like a sense of urgency. Like he’s been dying for this moment to come. He hikes your dress up and wraps one of your legs around his waist.

Somewhere in the timeline of you knowing him, he must’ve picked up that you were on the aggressive side in bed, enjoying every dominant move he made.

“Fuuck Y/N.” His voice is hoarse as he works his way from your lobe down to your collarbone with sloppy and wet kisses. His member is growing rapidly.

His actions are only leaving you craving more. Harry moves your panties to the side to garner access. He pulls down his jeans and boxers. He then uses his tip to tease at your entrance. A hiss leaving his lips.

“H-Harry.. I want you.”

That was all he needed.

He slips into you with ease, picking a pace that’s quick and has your back slamming against the door. All you can do is scream at the pure euphoria not caring who in this house heard you.

“HARRY!” You’re screaming his name repeatedly, he adjusts his hips to hit your sweet spot. He grabs your face and forces you to look into his eyes. His brows furrowed, beads of sweat dripping down his temple. A side of him you’ve never seen, but a side that you want more of.

It doesn’t take much for you to both reach your highs, riding them out simultaneously.

He properly sets you down adjusting your dress for you.

“Please don’t tell Denver.” That’s all Harry hears from you before you scurry out of the door.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #one direction imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles preferences #harry styles writing #zayn #zayn malik #zayn malik imagine #zayn malik fan fic #zayn malik fluff #zayn malik angst

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whichcouldmeanothing · 6 years ago

Text

don’t be shy // craquaria

title: don’t be shy

pairing: miz cracker x aquaria

words: 7 096

tags: Youtuber AU, cis women au, Miz Cracker's name is Brianna, Brianna is 29, Aquaria is 24, Smut, brianna tops aquaria bottoms, brianna keeps her nails nice and short

ao3

Aquaria is shy. Brianna is apologetic.

"You should do a collab with AgeOfAquaria," Brianna Ackerman read, looking at the camera. The video cut to her laughing, and then to her saying, "What the fuck would I do with Aquaria?"

"Hello everybody! It's Brianna Cracker and it's time for this week's Revieeew with a Jew! Reviewing everything from film to foundation. As you know I never stop talking about the importance of mental health, so today I'm going to be reviewing a new musical on Broadway, Dear Evan Hansen!" She was over halfway through shooting episode #33 of Review with a Jew when the call came in.

"And that brings us to a very important factor in Evan's problems: Heidi. Heidi Hansen is a great mom. You can't deny that. But some of the things that make her great seem to make Evan's problems worse. Or at least, that's what Evan—"

Bzzzz! Bzzzz!

Leaving the camera rolling, Brianna looked down at her phone where it lay on the bookshelf behind her. She was surprised when she read the name on the caller ID. Trixie Mattel was the most popular YouTuber that Brianna had ever met, and the surprise she had felt when Trixie had asked for her phone number returned now, as Trixie actually contacted her for the first time.

Most of Brianna Cracker's YouTube channel happened because she had an idea and thought, "My fans would love this." So Brianna made a face and lifted her phone up in front of the camera.

"This is the life, girl," She said, making sure the camera had focused on the tiny screen before answering it. "Hello?"

"Hey girl, how are you doing? " Trixie said over the phone.

Brianna couldn't help but a laugh a little as she replied, "Oh my goodness, I'm doing good. How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you ," She said, graciously, with the sounds of the streets of New York City playing in the background. She was visiting from L.A., and apparently was having no trouble navigating the streets in her white patent leather pumps. "I just wanted to check in about the party tonight. I invited a few more people. "

When she paused, Brianna said, "Okay," unsure if she was looking for her approval. It was Trixie's party, basically, having started as a dumb idea she'd mentioned to Bob only a couple days ago. Until now, the guest list had been their small clique of New York Youtubers, and Trixie.

"New York people, you know ," Trixie went on to explain, "Sasha, Pearl, Aquaria. Anyways, I have a food emergency, and Monet say you were the girl to call. TIME FOR DINNERRRR! " Trixie yelled, making Brianna's heart seize for a moment as Trixie's shout dissolved into intense laughter.

Brianna heard herself laugh along, way too starstruck at this point—with Trixie Mattel quoting her jokes candidly—to really process what was happening.

"So, are there any good vegan grocery stores near Bedford and Avenue? "

Throwing a tense look at the camera, Brianna said, "Um, can I call you back in just a little bit? Because I am smack-dab in the middle of shooting Review with a Jew."

"Oh! " Trixie said, and laughed again. "Totally, girl. Hey, you should review those awful jelly shoes Katya loves. "

"Oh my god, I should," Brianna said automatically, idly wondering if Katya had been added to the guest list at this point, or if Trixie was just missing her best friend while she took some time off from YouTube.

"Okay. Call me back. See you ."

"Bye."

Brianna just looked at the camera as the line went dead, eventually tossing her phone back on the shelf. She gave a big sigh, knowing there was a million things to think about there, but unable to pull her mind away from finishing the video. "Heidi!" She announced. "Some of the things that make Heidi great seem to make Evan's problems worse."

Brianna Ackerman knew parties at Bob's apartment. She knew the front door opened to a huge open concept room, with 30th floor floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around two sides of the kitchen-living-dining room. She knew the vegan food from a bakery Brianna had texted to Trixie would be spread haphazardly over the 10-person glass dining table, and a cheap bartender would be leaning over the breakfast bar, convincing everyone they wanted vodka-crans because he didn't want to go back into the fridge. Bob's four bedrooms would be securely locked, so as to protect the thousands of dollars of wigs, clothes, and camera equipment that had financed her success.

She knew what the elevator would sound like when she arrived at the right floor, though she didn't listen to it. Her thoughts were caught up in all the reasons why Bob and Brianna's clique of New York Youtubers didn't normally hang out with the likes of Sasha, Pearl, and Aquaria—people who’s content focused more on aesthetics than authenticity.

She did not know, however, just what tonight's party had in store for her.

Pushing into the apartment, the music was twice as loud as it normally was, and the dance floor—the entire room—was twice as full. People were screaming and jumping up and down. Bob was next to the mountain of food that was the dining table, halfway through chugging a bottle of clear liquid. When she saw Brianna come in, she didn't stop drinking, but her eyebrows shot up and she danced around a little to show her approval. Brianna made a beeline for her friend.

"That bad, huh?" Brianna said lowly, as Bob finished off the bottle and let out a loud ahhhh .

"I fucking hate all this, fucking, vegan food," She complained, picking up boxes and tossing them around the table. Then, Bob looked out into the crowd and screamed, "FUCK YOU TRIXIE MATTEL!"

When Brianna looked, she realized Bob had been talking directly to Trixie. Trixie didn't seem to care; when she locked eyes with Brianna she smiled brightly and started pushing through the crowd.

"I'm gonna draw stuff on Shae's face," Bob announced, shaking Brianna's shoulder. Brianna didn't know who Shea was. Bob just flipped Trixie off as she approached and disappeared into the fray.

"Cracker!" Trixie shrieked, pulling her into a hug.

"Hey!" Brianna returned, accepting the fruity, pink embrace of the most famous person she knew. When they broke apart Bri gushed, "Great party!"

Trixie tutted. "I didn't lift a finger.”

"You lifted your heels, though, and that's ten times harder," Brianna said, feigning pity.

Trixie threw her head back and scream-laughed.

Brianna chuckled along, feeling good. Maybe she could stand the beauty vloggers for a little while longer if Trixie kept laughing at her jokes.

Once Trixie fell out of her laugh she gasped, and reached ten long nails into Brianna's hair. "Oh my god, loooove," She said.

It was the same style she'd been wearing when she'd met Trixie, but that was months ago now and Brianna was sure Trixie was quite drunk. Straight, her golden blonde hair hung halfway down her back, but in the huge wavy curls Brianna could tease into it, the tips didn't reach the top of her tiny breasts. Trixie traced the big curl crowning Brianna's forehead, and she laughed.

Trixie had way less hair than Brianna, and today it was only in soft waves, with a flower crown circling her brow. "You have to come to L.A. soon so we can talk hair," She pleaded, but her attention was momentarily pulled away as someone called for her. "And bring some of those vegan donuts!"

And Trixie was gone.

Not sure how serious she was, Brianna tried not to dwell on the request too much and looked for Monet. She found Monet, Honey, and LeeLee in a quiet corner. They drank together, complained, and caught up. Lee Lee had just hit 1 million subs.

Eventually Brianna got bored of trying to ignore the crowd of beautiful people in shiny clothes dancing. She wanted a cigarette. She headed for the balcony.

Pearl was out there smoking a joint, and someone else was there too, but Brianna couldn't tell who. She stuck her head out into the cool night. "How long are you going to be?"

Pearl just flicked the joint onto the ground, putting it out with a heel. She stood, the long skirt of her dress swishing around her. Her eyes drooped, but Brianna thought she saw Pearl smirk a little as she pushed back inside. Brianna stepped out and pulled the balcony door shut behind her. The other person looked over.

Shit .

It was Aquaria. AgeOfAquaria Aquaria Needles. More subscribers than Miz Cracker Aquaria.

Brianna was frozen, but Aquaria's red lips turned into a small smile. "Hi," She said, waving as well.

I can't go back. And I have to get out of this weed smell , Brianna decided and took a couple tentative steps towards where Aquaria was leaning against the railing.

"I'm Aquaria. You read me in your video last week," She said.

Can't go back now , Brianna thought, not stopping until she was at Aquaria's side. She hadn't even known if Aquaria had seen Brianna publicly denouncing a collaboration between them, though after hundreds of angry comments on the video and a half-hearted tweet on Brianna's half, she guessed the drama had gotten back to the girl she may have been trying to insult just a little.

Aquaria just looked out at the city, black ponytail swishing around behind her. "Or tried to, at least."

Okay, rude . "I'm really sorry," Brianna said, jumping right in, "I just meant, like, our channels are so different, you know?"

"If you're implying that I wouldn't paint myself pink if my fans wanted me to...you're right," She admitted.

Brianna could tell it was still supposed to be a dig at her, but Aquaria was smiling so she did too. Aquaria raised her drink. Brianna fished a pack of cigarettes out of her clutch and offered one, but Aquaria refused. "Why are you out here anyways?" Brianna asked, as she lit a cigarette for herself. "Trixie Mattel is in there."

Aquaria just shook her head and said, "Parties..."

Brianna had no idea what she meant. But she nodded anyways, breathing smoke off to one side. Behind them, the music was leaking out the windows, and the sound of people laughing roared for a moment. Aquaria and Brianna ignored it expertly, drinking and smoking and listening to the streets below them. Brianna's feet were already starting to ache in her tiny pink pumps, but she didn't regret wearing them since they went so well with the silver elastic tube she was passing off as a dress. She couldn't help but check to see Aquaria wearing flat black platforms. Her short black dress went high up to her neck and flared at the waist in severe pleats, with silver rings drawing lines down her front and around her thighs. Brianna had hardly watched any of Aquaria's content, but she could tell Aquaria had made the dress.

"So, are you from New York?" Brianna asked, figuring she would be civil if they were going to be civil.

"No, I moved here for school," Aquaria said, readjusting her lean on the railing and turning slightly towards Brianna so she could see the makeup to go with the outfit. Red lips, black everything else. Then, she said, "Fashion school," as if Brianna could forget it.

But Aquaria was being cool. She wasn't mad about the Brianna Cracker video. She came to a party at Bob's house and was now willingly conversing with Brianna, who had been expecting a lot less. So Bri just nodded along. "You finished, right?"

Aquaria gave her a weird look. "I'm 24," She clarified, and Brianna guessed that meant she was too old for school.

"Sorry," Brianna said, "Yeah." She kept smoking, sort of wondering if she was standing too close to Aquaria but not really caring. Another chorus of laughs sounded behind them, and Brianna wondered if she should be inside networking. Then, she wondered why Aquaria wasn't saying anything and started to panic. "So, what's next for you?"

It was a question Brianna used to hate, and it looked like Aquaria was in the same boat. She sighed, saying, "I don't know," And took a big sip of her drink. "I'm not going to be a YouTuber forever," She promised Brianna, leaning over and getting as close as she had yet.

Brianna nodded along, finding herself wishing that Aquaria would lean just a little closer so her hair would fall over over Brianna's shoulder, for some reason. "Who are you going to be?"

Aquaria leaned away and stood up tall. The silver on her dress glinted with yellow lights. "I want to be a designer with my own label,” She explained in a clear voice, her determination and pride showing through. But when Aquaria looked down into her drink and grumbled, “Obviously."

Brianna didn't think, just pulled off her cigarette and echoed, "Obviously."

She instantly regretted it. Here she was, almost 30 with two dead end jobs, making fun of a 24-year-old for having a dream.

But Aquaria didn't get mad. She looked over, scandalized but almost laughing and spat, "Shut up!" She pushed Brianna's shoulder, but Brianna didn't go far.

Aquaria gave up after that, slumping back over the railing and looking down at the streets, sipping red liquid.

Brianna looked out as well. She tried to enjoy the sight, find places she knew, relish in the cool but not cold air. But all she could feel was some little happy satisfaction. She smoked and didn't listen or look to a single thing, just felt. Brianna thought about this person she was standing next to, who had dreams and lots of money and didn't mind hanging out with someone like Brianna, apparently.

The music bleeding through behind them changed, and Brianna's head snapped around automatically. As she said, "I love this song!" Brianna saw Aquaria also wore an excited face, and heard her express a similar sentiment.

Along with the happy in her head, Brianna felt a warmth stir in her belly that she ignored in favor of stomping out her cigarette as fast as she could. But once Brianna started back towards the balcony door, she heard Aquaria speak again.

"Brianna?" She said. It was the first time she had said that word. Her eyebrows had fallen to the waysides and she had one arm half stretched out, as if she had reached for Brianna's arm. "Will you dance with me?"

Brianna felt her stomach swoop as she pranced two steps back towards Aquaria to grab her hand. "Of course! Come on!"

It was clear as they re-entered the party that not everyone was as partial to Masseduction by St. Vincent as they were. But they didn't care, as Aquaria freely took Brianna's other hand as well and started dancing. Aquaria swung her ponytail and her hips, twisting around, and Brianna bounced her head and jumped in time. Aquaria wore a relatively serious face as they danced, singing along to the choice words she remembered. But Brianna knew from years of feedback that she was her best self when she was stupid, so stupid she was. She pulled faces and wiggled for Aquaria, eventually making her laugh.

At some point, Monet locked eyes with Brianna and gave her the most judge-y look Monet had ever managed, but Brianna just shrugged and turned back to Aquaria. They knew the words to the bridge. "Oh, what a bore, to be so adored ," Brianna, Aquaria, and anyone else dancing crooned. Aquaria's eyes were closed as she sang and she her now-free hands were drawing random shapes above her head. Brianna felt her mouth form the second line of the same words, but had given up entirely on focusing on dancing, as the tickles in her stomach and sneaking suspicion in her head finally confirmed that, Oh no. I like her.

But the night wasn't over yet.

They finished the song innocently enough, and then three more songs, before Aquaria finally excused herself to get another drink. Brianna took the cue and went to bother Monet.

"Bitch," Her loving New York sister greeted, "I know you're always networking, but that was 15 minutes of eye contact."

LeeLee piped up. "When you fuck her, actually look at her tits because I want to know whose are smaller."

Brianna just shook her head, taking someone's drink. "I was being nice! I said something..…unprofessional in a video," She covered, definitely not thinking about seeing Aquaria's tits.

"So when you hate-fuck her," LeeLee amended, to which Brianna flipped her off and left.

For the rest of the party, Brianna wandered aimlessly, not really feeling like dancing even when Honey and Bob got into it. She smoked, tried to talk to Trixie, tried to compliment the beauty vloggers, and drank.

Around 1:30, people started to filter out in favour of better things, and when Brianna saw Aquaria slip inside from the balcony and head for the door, she made quick goodbyes. She moved as fast as she could in her little shoes and made it out the door behind a long, black ponytail.

Aquaria realized she was there and gave a polite smile as she pressed the elevator button. In a 47-storey building, it was going to take a while for it to arrive. Brianna tried to hold out for a minute but she couldn't just stand there in silence. "So, did you have fun?"

"Yeah," Aquaria said, and then in a quieter voice, "It was nice to see everyone."

The elevator beeped as it arrived. They got on. Brianna waited to see if Aquaria would say anything. She didn't, just leaned against one wall and watched the numbers tick down, fiddling with a ring on her dress. "Hey," Brianna started as she stood against the opposite wall, and Aquaria looked up. "I'm hoping there's no more bad blood between us, going forward. It was really nice to meet you."

This time, Brianna swore she saw Aquaria blush as she looked down for a second and then promised, "Yeah, totally."

Brianna nodded. Aquaria sort of shifted, and crossed her legs. Bri went on, "'Cause we don't have to make a video, but we could still hang out, if you wanted to."

She watched the excitement build in Aquaria's face even though she was really good at hiding it. "Sure, can I have your number?" She asked nonchalantly, already clicking around on her giant iPhone.

Brianna shuffled across the elevator until she was well into Aquaria's personal space. The phone was barely balanced between three fingers, but Brianna still managed to tickle Aquaria's hand as she took it. She typed her name as, 'Bri [cheese emoji] [heart eyes emoji]", and texted herself "Hey it's Aquarius Noodles."

Aquaria smiled, almost laughed, when she took it back and saw what Brianna had done. Brianna didn't move to back away, but Aquaria put a hand on her arm to keep her in place anyways. "I did have fun tonight, thanks to you," Aquaria admitted or lied, probably a mix of both. "And this dress is incredible."

"You like it?" Brianna asked, unable to hide her smile and she glanced down at herself. Not everyone liked it when girls with big hips wore tight clothes, so Brianna was glad that Aquaria could deal with Brianna's ass.

Aquaria nodded and rubbed a thumb over the thin straps.

"Well you look amazing, as always," Brianna said, eyes flickering between Aquaria's eyes and lips, as if they were her only achievements that night.

There. Brianna definitely saw Aquaria blush beneath all the foundation and highlight. Between that and the way Aquaria's nails had settled to press semi-circles into Brianna's shoulder, Brianna felt her stomach warming significantly.

The air was still. The elevator beeped as they descended.

Brianna quelled whatever was rising in her chest to ask, "Can I kiss you?"

Aquaria said, "Okay," and Brianna let it flow up and spill over as she leaned up and pressed her lips against Aquaria's.

She was soft. She was warm. Brianna poured all the emotions that had been building inside of her all night into this kiss, breathing and telling Aquaria she was soft and warm and beautiful. Brianna was frozen in the moment, feeling the way their mouths fit together—and then Aquaria started to really kiss her.

Leaning down and tilting her head, Aquaria only got a second to try and intensify things before Brianna pulled away smiling. Aquaria breathed, and when she realized Brianna seemed happy she smiled a little too.

Ding!

Brianna breathed and stepped back as the elevator doors slid open. “Um,” She said as she skipped into the lobby, feeling Aquaria follow close behind. Brianna spun around, catching Aquaria by the arms. “Can I walk you home?”

Aquaria’s Brooklyn apartment was actually pretty close to Bob’s, especially compared to Brianna’s haunt in Manhattan, but the short trip was still agonizing with the way Aquaria would shoot half-lidded looks back over her shoulder, or brush up behind Brianna and ghost her hand along Brianna’s back. The wind had picked up in the warm September night, so they huddled close in their sleeveless cocktail dresses. Eventually they came to a posh building where Aquaria waved her keys and the door opened, a security guard exchanging nods with her as they passed.

Aquaria pushed the button for the 21st floor and Brianna pushed Aquaria against the mirrored wall. She could tell Aquaria liked it, by the way she sighed in her throat and accepted Brianna’s kiss when it came. Brianna’s fingers pushed against the tough fabric of her dress as her lips wrapped around Aquaria’s mouth. Aquaria got to work with her tongue, her nails finding Brianna’s scalp.

When Brianna slid one hand around to press over Aquaria’s ass, she heard another small sound come from her mouth, but then almost a gasp, like she was trying to silence it. Brianna broke the kiss and looked up under Aquaria’s false lashes. “Don’t be shy,” Brianna mumbled. She reached down even further to grab Aquaria’s ass properly as her lips attached to Aquaria’s neck.

She moaned .

Brianna swore inside her head. They both felt the elevator slow, and Bri reluctantly peeled herself off.

Aquaria happily led them down plush hallway after plush hallway, before waving into a door with its own security camera. It opened to an amazing apartment that Brianna could barely process with four drinks in her. All she saw was the pile of junk that had started as a couch where Aquaria threw their shoes, and then a dim hallway that led to—oh my god—a gigantic bedroom.

“This is as big as my whole apartment,” Brianna lied, mentally measuring the bed as Aquaria crawled onto it. Bri followed quickly. She re-attached her lips to Aquaria’s neck and went for the side zipper.

But before she even found her purchase, Aquaria reached up to stop her. They looked at each other, and Aquaria looked a little nervous.

“Sorry,” Bri said, taking her hand off the handmade dress and giving the other girl space. “I don’t want to break it.”

“No, I,” Aquaria said, looking away as she unzipped the dress a couple inches. She looked at the opening so Brianna did too, finding black lace underneath.

Brianna only had to realize it’s lingerie to guess what Aquaria was thinking. “Oh, um, do you want to…strip for me?” She asked, and the other girl’s nerves turned to embarassment—a good embarassment, judging by the light that twinkled in Aquaria’s eyes. “Just, oh my god, do it,” Brianna said, sounding not at all sexy but Aquaria scampered back off the bed anyways. Bri followed quickly, kneeling with her thighs apart so her dress rode up. She breathed, not sure what was about to happen but knowing she wanted it to.

Aquaria looked down over one shoulder and unzipped the rest of her dress—shirt, Brianna now realized, as the bodice fell open and the skirt remained intact. Aquaria turned and leaned down, closer and closer, until her lips almost brushed against Brianna’s. She grabbed Bri’s hand that had subconsciously navigated to her thigh. Aquaria brought the hand up inside her shirt, and as Brianna’s fingertips connected with the rough lace of her bralette, she pressed their lips together.

Brianna could feel everything. The saliva on Aquaria’s mouth, her soft breast beneath her hand, the heat pooling between their bodies. Bri was already started to have trouble breathing. She squeezed, and Aquaria backed up, licking her lips as Brianna leaned after her.

Aquaria stared Bri down as she pulled the shirt off. Fuck , Brianna thought, at the sight of the simple bra made of thick, black lace, and Aquaria’s dark nipples straining beneath it. Aquaria propped one foot on the bed and pulled the elastic out of her ponytail. She shook her hair, then started to draw it back up into a bun as she looked down.

Brianna was suffering. Aquaria was so close, so ready, but still so far and ignoring Brianna .

Once her hair was up, she turned to the side so Brianna was looking at the fateful second zipper keeping the black pleats securely around Aquaria’s waist. She unzipped it all the way down but held it in place. Aquaria spun the long way around to face the girl on the bed while keeping the skirt in front of everything Brianna wanted to see, before pausing and dropping it.

Brianna’s breath caught in her throat. The same severe lace drew a triangle pointing down from Aquaria’s hips, sitting low and hugging her tightly. She couldn’t help it, and Aquaria didn’t stop her: Brianna reached out and wrapped her hands around Aquaria’s ass, feeling the rough lace and imagining Aquaria squirming in it all night as she pulled her closer by it. Aquaria came and perched on her knees in front of Brianna.

Aquaria kissed her, and Brianna’s hands squeezed. Aquaria left no room for romance as she licked into and kissed Brianna. Pushing, breathing, sucking.

Then Aquaria’s nails reached Brianna’s thighs and started to push her dress up even farther. Soft tips ghosting under the fabric and then back along her skin, Brianna was so turned on it was starting to hurt. She kissed back hard, pressing her lips into Aquaria over and over, hungry for more.

But Aquaria didn’t give it to her. She gave Brianna a half-mischevious, half-unsure look before ducking to make-out with Brianna’s neck. Her hand slipped under the silver skirt again to play with the band of Brianna’s underwear.

“Mmm,” Brianna said, “Should I take them off?”

To which Aquaria responded. “Yes. I, yeah.”

Aquaria stood up while Brianna sat to wriggle her underwear off. Now she felt exposed, and a little wet, so Brianna kneeled again with her knees pressed tightly together as she waited for Aquaria to kiss her again. She reached out, but Aquaria just caught her hands in her own, throwing glances at Brianna’s stomach and keeping their lips a few solid feet apart.

“Oh. Do you, want to eat me out?” Brianna asked, voice even, body already reacting to the thought of it.

Aquaria’s eyes were darker even more than usual as she looked at Brianna. “I, um, want. Yes,” She managed, and touched Brianna’s knees so she would open them.

As Brianna adjusted to sit with her calves hanging off, Aquaria kneeled in front of the bed, pulling Bri closer to the edge. Brianna tried to breathe. Aquaria’s nails dug into her thighs, and then her mouth connected with the outside of Brianna’s lips. Bri grabbed at the sheets and felt herself throbbing. Keep it together .

Aquaria kissed, lower, all around the soft, slightly hairy skin between Brianna’s legs. Brianna focused on bringing air into and out of her lungs until Aquaria’s tongue dragged lightly up her clitoris, and she had to breathe out a whine. Aquaria attached her whole mouth around Brianna’s clit as she drew her tongue up and down, saliva going everywhere.

“Oh my god,” Bri said quietly, trying not to rock her hips. Her feet didn’t reach the ground sitting like this so she dug her heels into the bedframe.

Aquaria just moved slower, sucking and pressing her lips, moving them in circles on her clit. She kissed around, chastely, and then licked at Brianna’s sensitive spot again until she twitched. Aquaria took her mouth off for half a second. Brianna longed for it. Her fingers were already aching from clenching the sheets so tightly, and she tried to readjust only to grab right back on when Aquaria drew the flat of her tongue right over Brianna’s opening. Haze and pleasure filled Brianna’s brain. Knowing Aquaria was tasting her and all the stimulation from between her legs made Bri’s stomach tingle more and more.

Then Aquaria moved back to her clit, drawing her tongue in lines and circles around it, until every breath Brianna took was shallow and loud. One of Aquaria’s hands dug into Bri’s thigh while the other reached for Brianna’s hand. Aquaria guided it between her legs and to the opening of her vagina. Bri was quick to slide a finger in, pushing in softly as Aquaria drooled and pressed on her clitoris.

Soon enough, Brianna was uttering ‘oh’ every other press. Then Aquaria’s name. And then her face and neck and brain were full of incredible tingling, which built and built as Aquaria licked all around until it was physically impossible for Brianna to feel anymore pleasure than she was experiencing.

She drew her hand to Aquaria’s face, guiding her up to see Brianna half-lidded and biting at her bottom lip. Aquaria kissed her, leaned over her, and listened to Bri’s soft hums of content. Brianna accepted it and let Aquaria’s mouth push her to lean further and further backwards, until her mouth disappeared and Brianna actually had to look to see what was going on.

Aquaria just hovered an inch away and said, “You, um. Was it good?”

“Fuck, so good,” Brianna admitted, throwing an arm around Aquaria’s neck to kiss her and lay back on the bed. Aquaria was awkwardly hanging half off the bed but she held on for dear life as their mouths slotted together and moved like stillness would kill them.

When Aquaria pushed herself up on her forearms, Brianna wiggled backwards. It broke their kiss but they both moved up the bed until Brianna’s head was on the pillow and Aquaria was bearing down on top of her again. Licking over Bri’s teeth viciously, she pulled Brianna’s dress up and up until they separated again to pull it over her head. Before Aquaria could kiss her again, Brianna pushed at the bralette. Aquaria let her pull it off, and it temporarily snagged on her bun, but that just made Aquaria giggle as they pushed their lips back together.

Brianna was still coming down from her orgasm, but she could tell Aquaria was super turned-on by how she shuddered when Brianna ran her fingers down her bare sides. Brianna relaxed, let her muscles turn to jelly in the soft sheets, let Aquaria kiss her energetically. She felt where the lace panties were soaked through. She pushed them off and down to Aquaria’s knees. The only thing that slowed Aquaria’s lips was when Brianna let one finger tickle where Aquaria’s tailbone gave way to her ass. As she pushed her fingertip slowly between her cheeks, Aquaria froze, breathing hot air over Brianna’s smirk, eyes pressed shut.

Brianna took the opportunity to shimmy down an inch and take Aquaria’s nipple between her lips. She drew her finger up and down shallowly as she ran her tongue over the tough tip of her breast. Aquaria’s thighs were flexing. She pulled Brianna’s other hand off her back and threaded their fingers together. Brianna ran her fingers lightly over Aquaria’s ass and then squeezed, and Aquaria only pushed back into her hand. Brianna teased and licked until Aquaria’s breath was strained in her ear.

Brianna easily rolled them over, Aquaria landing surprised-looking on her back in the dark bedroom. Until Brianna kissed that look away. She put her tongue in Aquaria’s mouth and two fingers over her opening. She spread the wetness around and started working her clit, feeling Aquaria’s hands fist in Brianna’s hair. Brianna just focused on Aquaria, on how her legs slid around and her tongue responded emphatically to everything Brianna was doing. The panties—still around her knees—were getting in the way of her jerks and twitches so Brianna pushed them all the way off. She focused on moving her fingertips in the precise pattern that had little whines coming from Aquaria’s throat. When one hand suddenly yanked softly on Brianna’s hand, Bri broke their kiss and muttered, “You like that?” Immediately repeating what she had just done.

Aquaria’s face was flush with pleasure as she sounded, “Mmm hmm.”

Brianna smiled down at her. “Don’t be shy. Tell me,” She asked, pressing her fingers slowly down Aquaria’s vulva.

Aquaria shut her eyes and let out a quiet, ohhhhhh .

Brianna said, “Yeah,” in a really small voice to encourage her, and moved her fingers back up to Aquaria’s clit. Brianna moved them furiously, trying to get more sounds out of her. Everything between Aquaria’s legs was slippery at this point.

As the pleasure built, Aquaria gave a louder whine and a strangled, “Brianna.”

Lips pressing to her ear, Brianna asked, “Can I finger you?”

“Yes. Yes,” Aquaria repeated.

Brianna laid herself half on top of Aquaria with one leg draped over her thigh, so she didn’t have to concentrate on not falling down. One of Aquaria’s hands fell away to fist in the sheets. “Okay, relax,” Brianna advised, and breathed a soft sigh.

Aquaria copied the breath, and Brianna felt her muscles go lax beneath her. Brianna quickly rubbed her middle finger in the wetness between Aquaria’s legs, and then slipped the finger inside her.

Aquaria gave a nice, full moan.

Brianna wanted the sound on repeat. She moved the finger slowly, out, and then back in, feeling Aquaria’s walls and where they naturally stopped. Brianna gave a couple quicker thrusts before pushing a second finger inside.

“Ohhhh. Fuck,” Aquaria said, back arching against the bed. They were in it now, so Brianna wasted no time pushing in and out of Aquaria, getting faster and faster.

Brianna pressed kisses to her cheek, neck, and chest. She let Aquaria pull her hair and watched her head turn back and forth. The warm feelings had returned in her stomach, and with everything Aquaria did, they spiked and spread.

Aquaria started to whine more and more. “Oh. Ohhh, fuck. Brianna,” She crooned.

She felt Aquaria’s hips still a little as she settled into the motion, so Brianna adjusted the angle and thrusted, even and powerful and finally hitting that spot.

“Yes, fuck,” Aquaria said, holding onto Brianna’s hair for dear life. She didn’t have to say it; Brianna knew Aquaria was almost about to orgasm. Walls swelling around her fingers, Brianna pushed and pushed, feeling and hearing Aquaria’s every reaction.

Then Aquaria’s breath caught. She was clenching, and was Brianna fucking her through it. Up and over the edge. Brianna started to throb watching Aquaria’s face as she processed all the pleasure.

And then Aquaria was breathing, gasping. Relaxing into Brianna. Her heart beat loud over the relative silence as she stroked Bri’s hair softly. She was unable to keep the smudged-lipstick smile off her face, and she was absolutely beautiful to Brianna in that moment.

Brianna took her fingers out and hoped Aquaria wouldn’t mind as she wiped them randomly on the other side of the bed. They lay there like that for a moment, breathing and sprawled out, both staring up at the ceiling. Nice , Brianna thought.

She hiked her leg up a little more and moved to throw her arm over Aquaria’s stomach, but Aquaria caught her arm and rolled them over. It was Brianna’s turn to be surprised as she took in the excited look on Aquaria’s face, like her brain hadn’t just been flooded with oxytocin.

“I, can we, um,” Aquaria said, stuttering through the words before shutting her eyes and stopping in frustration.

Brianna could see it, so she reached one finger up to boop Aquaria’s nose and said, “Hey, what’s up?”

Aquaria breathed as she looked down and said, “One more time?” Plain and simple.

“Yeah, what do you—” Brianna started, but stopped when Aquaria sat up and put a finger between Brianna’s legs. She drew it out and then placed the whole thing in her mouth. She put on a show. She closed her eyes and slowly slid it out, grinding on Brianna’s stomach, and pulling the finger out with a pop . Brianna’s heart skipped a beat as she teased, “You’re a whore.”

But Aquaria just leaned close to Brianna’s ear and whispered: “Can we scissor?”

One orgasm was doing wonders for this girl’s confidence.

Brianna muttered, “Yes, please,” and Aquaria was moving. She kissed Brianna fully as she ran a hand down one leg, tickling and then raising the knee. Her other hand quickly found its place threaded with Brianna’s fingers. Aquaria sat up, sliding her own knee underneath, bracing herself against the headboard, and then throwing her other leg over Brianna’s other hip.

She grinded down in a circle, rubbing their clits together. It was hot and wet and amazing .

Brianna muttered a low, “Yeah,” to encourage her to keep going, and she did. The sensation built slowly, and Brianna was silently begging her to go faster. But Aquaria didn’t. Not, at least, until she grabbed Bri’s other hand and started sucking on two of her fingers.

Brianna shook her head in disbelief for a couple seconds as Aquaria started grinding faster and faster, and suddenly pleasure started possesing Brianna’s body. It came hot and quick, radiating out from where their bodies were pressed together. Little ‘ahh’s escaped Brianna over and over as it built and built inside her. “Fuck, Aquaria,” Brianna muttered, knowing she wouldn’t last long. Her whole body was on fire. Heat was curling up her neck and making her feet spasm. Aquaria just kept thrusting, slick but hard.

And then Brianna was orgasming, with a pained, “ Ohhh .” Aquaria’s hand was white where Brianna was squeezing it. She was frozen under Aquaria’s rocking hips, as pleasure filled her every nerve.

Brianna started to fall out of it, breathing deep and relaxing, but Aquaria kept going. Bri let her grind against her a few more times before stopping her. She fought through the haze that was settling over her brain to push Aquaria over. Brianna rubbed her clit with the flat of three fingers until the other girl came, moaning and shaking beneath her.

Brianna reveled in every second of it. All the wet spots they had left on the bed, every change in Aquaria’s breathing, every red semi-circle in Brianna’s skin.

But then the aches were settling into her muscle. The fatigue was overtaking her brain. She had one word in her head, and it was ‘home’.

She started to force herself to get up, but Aquaria’s hands were grabbing and pulling. Before Brianna knew it, she was wrapped in a duvet burrito with AgeOfAquaria Aquaria Needles, listening to soft, content breaths as they both fell asleep.

+ A few days later

Aquaria’s Q&A was read quickly off her phone. “Please collab with Brianna Cracker.” Her face lit up as she looked at the camera. “I think that would be awesome! I hope we can soon.”

+ The next week

“Thank you so much for watching,” Aquaria gushed quickly as she filmed the end of her third date makeup tutorial. “Like and subscribe down below. Remember, you don’t define beauty, beauty is defined by you!”

She started posing for the last few second of the video, but suddenly her ringtone sounded from where her phone was tossed on a pile of papers. She stood up and grabbed it, answering it as quick as she could, saying, “Hey hon.”

Sasha looked up from where she was lounging behind the camera. She had offered to help Aquaria edit a better outro and was hanging around while she filmed it.

“Hey sweetie ,” Brianna crooned through the phone. Aquaria was already blushing as she paced between her desk and her ring light. “ I watched your Q&A video .”

“Uhhh, did you like it?” Aquaria asked, voice light and teasing. Sasha was waving around and pretending to scream at her, but Aquaria ignored it expertly.

“It was very cute, darling ,” Brianna said, and then paused. Sasha was furiously typing and Aquaria just knew the groupchat would be blowing up on this call ended. Finally, Brianna spoke again: “Do you actually want to do a video? ” She asked.

Aquaria breathed. “I don’t think our channels are that different, not really.”

“Really? ”

Aquaria tried to walk as far from Sasha as she could when she muttered, “Why don’t you come over tonight and we can, um, talk about it.”

The line was quiet for a second. Aquaria turned around, and Sasha’s grin was shit-eating. Then, “Okay. Yes .”

“Yay!” Aquaria exclaimed, unable to stop herself from bouncing around and pumping a fist in the air. “I’ll see you at 8.”

“Okay. Bye baby. ”

“Bye cutie,” Aquaria signed off, and hit the red button as her face turned the same colour. She ditched the phone in her recording chair and ignored it as the buzzing began.

Sasha’s face was in her hands, perched on the arm of the couch. She looked up at Aquaria through thick, natural lashes and thick, black glasses. “‘Cutie’?” Sasha asked.

Aquaria just joined her on the couch and pulled the laptop onto her legs. “Alright,” She said, opening up her video editing software, silently hoping the lifeless light of her screen would balance out the heat in her cheeks. She looked at Sasha. “What do I do?”

Sasha just shook her head for a second, two, three. Eventually she shook herself out of the stupour and said, “Uh, this is gonna take a while, so you should go wash your face.”

“No,” Aquaria sing-songed, dragging the footage she had just filmed into the program, “I have a third date tonight. This is my third date look.”

Sasha just smiled and tilted her head. Aquaria stared back. Sasha announced, ��You’re so gone, bitch.”

#craquaria #craquaria fic #craquaria fanfiction #rpdr fic #aquaria #*bo burnham voice* pandering #im totally joking this is SO self-indulgent #i explain it on ao3 but i consumed a shit-ton of drag race content in a very small amount of time so this is all my feelings all at once #my fics #also the formatting didn't work on this so yall can suffer

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starship-imzadi · 4 years ago

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S3 E19 Captain's Holiday

The introduction of Risa

Aww! Look at Troi and Riker taking care of Picard.

Now it sounds like Gates has a cold.

It's funny that Riker gets on the turbo lift and doesn't turn around. Every other time he immediately turns to face the door, so it's obvious from the start that he has a different mission in mind i.e. talking to Picard. And he looks so happy and mischievous doing it. I know everyone talks about Riker and his love of sexual pleasure but I'm convinced he likes talking about Risa half the time just because it makes Picard uncomfortable. Picard is so emotionally reserved it's an easy target for teasing.

Sybaritic comes from Sybaris, an ancient Greek city in southern Italy known for its luxury and opulence.

It's fun to see Troi and Riker tag team this effort: Riker tries to lure Picard to vacation, Troi tries to scare him into it.

"I believe there are two ensigns stationed on deck 39 who know nothing about it." Cheeky Riker

Aww, poor Troi. Seems like Riker over did it a little. Riker and Troi's relationship is a bit tricky to get a grasp on. They care deeply about each other, still enjoy each other's company, remain a part of each other's lives, want each other to happy even if they are not the cause of that happiness, but they are not a couple. And, it would be totally understandable that Riker getting too excited about his sex life, which Troi is not a part of, would be a difficult topic to be reminded of too frequently. And Riker's reaction would suggest he's sensitive to her discomfort (which is sweet).

I've never noticed this before but when Riker asks Picard to get a Horga'hn he's smiling but Troi smiles back at him and shakes her head. She totally knows what he's doing!

Oh boy. Don't you just love star trek costumes? (Actually the design aspect I find really fun to analyze but the end product are....often odd)

As much as it could be fun to joke about Riker trying to get Picard laid (not my cup of tea to be honest) there's another practical aspect I think it's worth considering. For better or worse the two commanding officers and lead characters of this show are white Caucasian, (canonically) heterosexual, cis males. Within that the writers have a task of developing them as distinctly different characters (representation is a huge topic I'm not going to go into but would be a great tangent here.) Riker is developed in many ways as a foil to Picard. Some of Patrick and Jonathan's different tastes are built into this (Jonathan's love of Jazz music, Patrick's background in Shakespeare). Even the way the characters sit, as I've pointed out before, creates a slightly difference for contrast between their characters. Picard has romantic relationships in this series but he's so much more conservative emotionally than Riker is, that this contrast between them (and Riker's prank on Picard) seems less about Picard specifically having sex and more about Riker knowing they have different comfort zones and trying to push Picard out of his. Something Picard wouldn't do in return.

"the Horga'hn is for a friend"

"I see. Someone close to you."

"that's right."

"Someone you love."

"I wouldn't go that far"

Nice book slam! Pissed off Picard is so enjoyable to watch.

"it's just that I prefer to be aquatinted with the women that I kiss."

It's kind of stupid that with access to the Galaxy, gold is still valuable enough to be used as currency.

I'm not sure in the world of 24th century star trek how quickly the viability of time travel should be accepted. Is Picard's immediate acceptance of the time traveling fish people reasonable?

"Transporter code 14?"

"you heard me number one"

"yes sir"

When Riker says "yes sir" he sounds slightly subdued and noticable deferential in his obedience. He moves emotionally from playful as he teases Picard about interrupting, to confused about the transporter code, to professional and reserved. I like the humility he shows in always respecting both Picard as a person and his rank.

"I knew he'd have a great time."

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transpocadvice · 8 years ago

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on anything of my past even up to today. coming out as a “lesbian” wasn’t too difficult for me because I came out by changing the way I dressed from 10 or 11 years old I’ve been wearing male clothing. and then uploading pictures of me and my first girlfriend at 15 years old and each one after. of course many people thought it was a phase (because I was somewhat feminine) but now going on 24 years old I have news for my family and friends that I’m not sure they are ready for.

transitioning for me have always been on the far side of the side of my brain that isn’t often used. but one day recently I woke up w it heavy in my thoughts, day in and day out. I’ve been researching my ass off and watching ftm videos literally all day everyday. the more I watch these videos, and research and find more FTMs on social media, the more I become sure that this is something I want to do. I need to do.

lately I have been extremely depressed w what I see when I look in the mirror. I have tried to explain this to my girlfriend and friends but I’m not sure that they truly understand that it’s not about whether your body looks nice or not. it’s about what you see when you picture yourself. and for people like me, the mirror is all wrong. the body is nice, yes. but it isn’t mine. it isn’t how I feel inside.

it’ll be hard enough to tell them that I want to transition. but I don’t know how to explain how I fall under the non-binary umbrella. in the physical sense I am transmasculin. which is obvious because of how I’ve dressed all of this time and the “role” i play in relationships. it’s in my likes and dislikes. I’ve never played w female toys as a kid, I’ve hated wearing feminine clothing, never had any interest in makeup or anything cis women speak about w other ciswomen.

I love to get my hands dirty, I fix things, I love sports, I played w my brothers toys as a kid, I kill the bugs for my girlfriend, I give daps/hand shakes, not hugs, I cut off all of my hair, wtf is a panty or thong, boxer briefs over here, the list goes on.

but I may be feminine because of how I talk w my hands, how emotional I can be, the sound of my voice is super high pitched I hate it! it’s the #1 reason of why I’ve been antisocial all of my life and only spoke to people threw social media in writing because I hate hearing such a pitch coming from my man body. I may tear up at the end of very sad movies, I may sometimes stand w my hand on my hip, my friend base is 95% cis women, dancing to single ladies is my shit!, I love musicals (is this a feminine/masculine thing), I have such a gentle heart, I’m not a fighter, I don’t get into arguments, I just feel like I’m complicated.

maybe I’m just over thinking (which is something I do A LOT). anxiety. idk how to get them to understand. I wish there was a documentary that explains all of this in detail for me. I doubt any of them would take the time out to research this themselves to even try to understand me and be in tuned w what I want to do. but the first step is coming out to yourself, and now I am trying to come out socially. Thank you for listening 😊

-Respect man!! If you need any advice imma be here

#tmoc #twoc #tpoc #trans person of color #trans men of color #he/him #submission

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enbyflock2 · 8 years ago

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“The Music of Maslanka: Dissociation to Re-Association”

CW: body and social dysphoria, struggles with body image, disordered eating

My development as a musician was seriously being affected by not realizing I had dysphoria. I did not care about the audience, experimenting with reeds, playing it like a love song, or resonance. I felt the concept of “playing like myself” was just a socially constructed idea in itself. I was led to question if there was really such thing as authentic performance, and whether or not performance was all just something contrived.

If I were to make a generalization on what my two biggest weaknesses were in playing, it was that my long tones (i.e. values such as half notes and whole notes) were lacking in resonance, and that in fast technical passages, I had a tendency to tense up my fingers and embouchure, playing with poor tone quality and with phrases lacking in direction.

I decided to compete in Concerto and Aria. I was looking through pieces with my saxophone teacher Fred Winkler, and we settled on the first and fourth movements of the Maslanka Concerto. I took a look at movement one, and, of course, it was exclusively composed of long tones and fast technical passages!

I can attest that this Concerto by Maslanka changed my life, in that it helped me discover my trans identity. It helped me realize the power and paradox behind taking dissociative approaches, behaviors, and feelings towards my practicing and lessons to create more authentic associations, pure aesthetics, and emotions within the final product in performance. Emerging myself in dissociative approaches like this organically led me to expressing my gender differently, and then led to huge realizations about my gender identity.

The dissociative approaches method to playing an instrument and performing is found in every facet of this three-dimensional model of “external-internalized-internal” i.e. “environmental-behavioral-aesthetic.” Examples of dissociative practices for external and environmental factors even include something that should seem basic like purchasing reeds or mouthpieces. Although there are typically brands of reeds that are most commonly used for each instrument, you do have to try out a bunch of different reeds within a single box and subjectively analyze which one sounds best for your set-up. It does take a long time to be able to differentiate for yourself what subjectively sounds good to your ears, because you have to keep dissociating yourself with the qualities you didn’t like in your previous setup before, and be able to hear the associations you are aiming to get.

The internalized and behavioral factors are all shifted through how you practice your instrument. The surest way to develop your internalized and behavioral factors in playing music proficiently is all through dissociative means. You have a fast passage that is hard for you? Take one difficult line from the passage. Play it twice as slow. Play it as perfect and ideally as possible at the slow tempo, three times. Speed it up very gradually. Repeat. Once you get to the tempo, awesome. Now take it 10-20 beats above the tempo, so that in performance you will not feel uncomfortable at the original tempo. Now repeat this same process for the other difficult lines. Then piece it all together: slowly at first, then gradually speed it up.

I was left with a huge factor to deal with in working on the Concerto: internal and aesthetic. Fred was really shaking me up inside with the several ideas and associations he was gradually giving me. All the ideas he gave me led me to conclude that I had to play it like a “classical Bach soft rock Whitney Houston vocal style pop song opera aria.” How was I to do this? It’s the same answer for the other two factors: dissociation, then re-association.

What may seem to others as a mere practice room space, I see as a place that is simultaneously reflective and refractive of the social world around me. Thus, when I really focus in on changing my musicality through shifting any of these three dimensions through this meditative practice of “dissociation, re-association, re-evaluation,” I am shifting the dimensions in my everyday social settings by the same means. This shifting, as well as this pushing and pulling tension between the practicing space and the outside world, is what has created and stabilized my character, identity, and sense of self.

The dissociations I started doing for this piece became radical, both inside and outside of the practice room. I eventually realized I’ve been having dysphoria all my life. So I threw on a dress, and the journey of endless questioning and realizations began. As I continued to grow with the piece, I started to realize exactly what my problem was. Since I had left my dysphoria unchecked for so many years, I had been associating the long, expressive, vibrato tones with playing like a woman and the fast, flashy, virtuosic passages as playing like a man. Why was this problematic? It was mostly because I would focus so strongly on the expressions of images of one or a few women in long tone passages and one or a few men in virtuosic passages, instead of focusing on pure identities. Thus, I would think of stereotypical expressions of women in my long tone passages, and would think passive, frail, unsupported, and flighty, inconsistent feelings. This created weak breath support and poor tone quality. I would think of stereotypical expressions of men in my virtuosic passages, and would think tight, strong, competitive, and brash. This created tension in my hands and a poor embouchure. This was also problematic because these expressions are not what define being a man and a woman, and the views were plain sexist.

It was also a problem in that long, expressive, vibrato tones doesn’t mean playing in the identities of women, and fast, flashy, virtuosic passages doesn’t mean playing in the identities of men. These were ideas I had to completely dissociate myself from, and beginning to switch up my fashion presentation helped me to do this. Of course, I way overdid it with buying women’s clothes and trying new make-up, and I was basically doing the same thing as anyone approaching playing music for the first time: trying to understand my identity from first dissociating myself from typical expressions, then taking subjective critical analysis from that point forward to have my identity guide my expressions. In the case of someone approaching music for the first time, the dissociation is simply moving from not playing music to trying to play music. In my gender exploration, the dissociation is dressing like a man to dressing like a woman.

I am lucky to be able to have another outlet to be performative in, and because of this outlet I felt so much subjective critical analysis going on in such little time over my gender identity and life experience, with so many memories, realization, and re-associations coming in a whirlwind.

Sometimes, it was frightening and horrifying to look at. The memories of fear using the bathroom at school, and how it caused painful digestive problems. The obscure diagnosis of a learning disorder based in cognitive dissonance, and the test for autism that came up negative. Being overweight because I was depressed, anxious, and trying to eat like a man. Under eating because of jealousy towards thin women’s bodies in media and trying to alleviate digestive problems. Masturbation rooted in dysphoria and paranoia, and seldom ever out pleasure. Mostly out of fear of the homophobic, transphobic environment of my hometown, and excusing myself every time for watching pornography because “Christian sex education” said men are naturally more sex-driven than women. The feelings that keeping testosterone off of me would make me more functional in that environment. The many moments it was of comfort for me to tuck, and the moments of make belief in a woman’s body that seemed comforting.

Sometimes, it was matter-of-fact and disciplinary. Learning how to find more order to my eating patterns, because I needed to work out of those toxic behaviors. Finding how to enjoy my queer sensuality and sexuality. Finding no emotional attachment to the clothes I’m wearing, and letting that guide me towards being assured I can wear any fabric I want.

Then, sometimes it was stunningly beautiful to look at. Music pointing me in the direction to love my body and weight, because I knew physical health was important for playing a wind instrument. Music allowing me to be perceived as any, all, or no genders. The many activities I was pushed around in as a kid, but sticking with music partially because it was the only activity I could pass in as a man. Though I’m not a man, I’m always touched by the utter sensitivity and flexibility of gender perception with the cis men I work with in music. I never felt that different from those men because we are channeling all those many influences in our performances. I just have different ways to dissociate and re-associate within my everyday life that the cis men do. I just have a different story: I am non-binary transgender, I experience dysphoria, and music is the space in which I have reclaimed my relationship towards my body.

As these moments washed over me, I finally felt the magic happening in my playing. I started letting the identities, stories, pure images, and pure sounds of influences inform my more advanced and nuanced expressions of sound in the music.

When I performed in the Concerto and Aria competition and became one of the winners, I felt something beautiful in that performance: just me, and a saxophone, comfortable in my own body, clothes, make-up, pronouns, and identity, seeing just a self-image of myself in my head, with a pure “auditory image” to go along with it. And it’s a stable self-image and voice I’m finally feeling arising in many other situations outside of the world of music. When I performed the Maslanka Concerto with the Wind Ensemble in February, I reached a level of connection with people that I’ve been dreaming of my entire life.

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