#ESPECIALLY especially when i have been told. as a lesbian. that i should find that fictional man hot now-

[sgt-tombstone]

y’all don’t mind if I ramble about a fic idea that’s been knocking around in my head for a while but will never get written, do you?

cool

it’s a grumpy-and-sunshine-professor AU where Simon is a history professor studying the history of death and Johnny is a professor of chemistry studying pyrotechnics. They both have fierce reputations within their departments; Johnny for being a lenient grader and an excellent teacher, and Simon for being a complete hardass

They’re secretly married to each other, but no one ever takes classes with both of them, so there hasn’t ever been a student that has found out. Johnny talks about his husband constantly, never by name, but his computer background is a picture of two unmistakably masculine hands with matching rings, obviously a wedding photo, and he usually starts class with a little story about something funny that his husband did the day/night before. It’s well-known that his husband is blond, massive, and an utter sweetheart. They obviously adore each other, if the weekend date stories that he tells are any indication (always innocent, of course)

Simon, on the other hand, never talks about his personal life at all. He starts class on the dot, getting straight to the point without any fanfare or chitchat. He’s a man of few words, and he uses them well and efficiently. He wears a ring on a necklace, and it sometimes slips out of his shirt during lecture, but no one dares ask (stories are told of the one student who did, and got a glare so acidic that he had dropped the class on the spot)

Then along comes (insert OC’s name here), who is a biology student focusing on infectious diseases. Johnny is her advisor and she adores him (not in that way, she’s a lesbian and he’s obviously besotted with his husband). She had him for her introductory chemistry classes and he was the only reason she passed; she’s trusted his judgment and advice implicitly ever since. So when she asks what class she should take for her required history elective, he recommends a class called The History and Impacts of the Black Death, and it sounds right up her alley but the professor listed gives her pause. She’s heard of Dr. Riley, of course; nearly everyone on campus has heard the stories of traumatized history majors avoiding Dr. Riley’s classes (ironically) like the plague. But she trusts Dr. MacTavish, so she registers anyway.

The class is tough. In her opinion, it’s way too difficult for an elective class, especially on top of her other upper level science classes, but she hasn’t gotten this far without knowing how to step up to a challenge, and Dr. Riley’s scathing feedback on her first assignment has her digging her heels in instead of throwing in the towel. The topic is interesting; she’d never really looked into the history of infectious diseases, and the Black Death is morbidly fascinating. She struggles a bit with the historical aspects of the class at first, especially when Dr. Riley expects his students to already have a firm grasp on Medieval history and she very much does not, but she’ll never pass up an opportunity to do some external research to catch up to where the rest of the class—populated mostly by history majors—is in their studies.

Towards the end of the semester, close to the end of November, the student’s mother finds out about her girlfriend and kicks her out late at night. With nowhere else to go, she remembers that Dr. MacTavish is both openly gay and has invited groups of students to his house for club meetings and field trips. It’s a little awkward, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so she walks to his house in the rain. When she knocks on the door, Dr. MacTavish answers with clear concern, and he waves her inside quickly. She explains her situation, panicking about the entire thing because she’s standing in her advisor’s house at 10pm, her parents have just cut her off, and she’s scared and wet. Dr. MacTavish calls into the other room, presumably to his husband, asking for a towel.

The last person she expects to round the corner is Dr. Riley, holding a fluffy towel and an expression equally as concerned as Dr. MacTavish’s. His husband.

She has to sit down.

They sit and talk as she dries off and warms up. Johnny makes her a cup of hot chocolate while Dr. Riley—Simon—builds a fire in the fireplace. She huddles close to it as they talk, and she eventually ekes the story out of them; how they met, how they hated each other at first, how they fell in love. Simon is talkative and animated, drawing energy from the man sitting beside him, and the student finds herself enchanted by the two of them, the side of her professors that she never gets to see. It should feel like a breach of privacy, a line crossed, but it feels like staying up late with her uncles. They make up the guest bedroom for her and all go to bed, reminded that they all have class tomorrow.

The student ends up staying with some friends, couch-surfing in their apartment until she can get her feet back under her, but she spends several nights a week at the Riley-MacTavish household, delving into the intricacies of infectious diseases and their connection to society with Simon. She enjoys the friendly arguments the two professors get into and often chooses sides arbitrarily to keep them on their toes. She switches her advisor from Johnny to Simon (Johnny pretends to be upset, but he’s secretly overjoyed that Simon is connecting so well with a student), and ends up writing a thesis paper under his tutelage.

Idk how it’s gonna end yet, maybe with a far future scene where she sees the two of them at a conference and throws herself at them, wrapping them both in massive hugs. It earns her several very odd stares, especially from those who know Dr. Riley’s reputation, but she doesn’t care. They were there for her in the darkest night of her life, and she’ll always have a soft spot for both of them

[mothbeasts]

actually I will say something. tired of being in fandom spaces and seeing the women get demonized while the men with the same/similar character traits either get sanded down and excused OR get called "babygirl" and such.

[genderqueerdykes]

now more than ever it's blatantly obvious that people go out of their way to erase trans men from communities and queer history. it's always been happening, but it's way easier to watch it in real time now thanks to the internet and social media. we are watching people basically gloating that they misgender trans men and don't see them as men. we are now watching people kick trans men out of queer spaces because they are often "femme and them" or "nonbinary and woman" support groups, conflating nonbinary identities with womanhood, and denying trans men or transmasc nonbinary people places to go. many of them get told that their presence would "scare" the lesbians, women and enbies because they have trauma.

where do the trans men with trauma go, though? we can't go anywhere. when i was struggling with domestic violence that ended up destroying my right leg, i was denied shelter in queer spaces and even women's spaces even though i have F on license. domestic violence shelters especially will turn trans men away if we pass. even if we partially identify as women, we can't go in because 'our voices are deep and scary and we're loud and aggressive and threatening and might prey on the defenseless scared women'

finding transmasc support groups is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. i've seen numerous organizations across the US have transfemme support groups, nonbinary/genderqueer support groups, and then nothing for transmascs. where the hell do we go when they won't let us go anywhere?

we try to exist online and they try to erase us from here, too. bickering and arguing about how we're not real men, sending trans men death and sexual assault threats, acting like they're saviors for kicking out the "dangerous ugly men" from the queer community, as if we don't belong to it at all.

i refuse to be erased. i refuse to sit in silence while people tell me my problems don't matter because now i "have male privilege". I don't. once people find out what my legal name is they view me as a woman. strangers however view me as a cis man and will deny me help, either through programs, or because i'm a "strong young man, i should be able to pick myself up by my boot straps." i'm not white. i'm not abled.

i'm proud to be a trans man and i will be here to fight for other trans men's rights to have a platform to speak, and spaces to occupy. i will not rest until trans men & mascs have safe places to be and meet other trans men.

trans men are queer. we belong here. we are taking up the space we rightfully deserve and we are not leaving.

[unclewaynemunson]

“I need to tell you something.”

Shitfuckno. Eddie doesn't even know why he's still surprised. This is how it always goes, after all. He should probably just give up and stop dating altogether – again.

Steve looks at him exactly as ominously as the words I need to tell you something require. Perfect Steve. Funny Steve. Sweet Steve. Sexy Steve. Steve, who Eddie had genuinely believed to be different.

Eddie sighs, barely suppressing a dark chuckle while he turns away from that perfect face. He doesn't want to look at Steve when he'll tell him the undoubtedly messed-up shit he's about to spill.

“Lemme guess, you're married?” That was what the last guy he dated told him, seven months after they got to know each other. It can't be much worse than that, can it?

Steve grabs Eddie's hand, causing him to involuntarily jerk up his head and meet his eyes.

“How did you know?”

Jesus H. Christ. Not again.

Eddie roughly pulls his hand out of Steve's grip and laughs a joyless laugh.

“Apparently I'm a good guesser.”

He stands up from the park bench the two of them had been sharing. “Well, Steve, this has been a blast. You should go back to your wife, or husband – don't tell me, I don't even wanna know – and I should um, get going. Maybe tell the next person right away what they'll be getting themselves into. Would save them a lot of wasted time, just in case cheating and going around other people's backs isn't really their thing, y'know.”

“Eddie, wait, let me explain!”

Eddie picks up his pace, but Steve, stubborn as he is, easily keeps up with him.

“I'm really not interested, man.”

“It's not – I'm not cheating on her!”

“Okay, so you have an open marriage, good for you. Still the kind of information you could've shared with me, say, three months ago, don't you think?”

“She's a lesbian.”

And that makes Eddie freeze on the spot. It takes Steve two steps before he realizes Eddie has stopped moving; he walks backwards until he's standing right in front of Eddie.

“She's my best friend,” he says, immediately using Eddie's stunned silence to his advantage. “Robin, my roommate – I told you all about her. We wanted to buy a house together and that turned out to be very complicated when you're not... Well, when you're not romantically involved. So we got married. For the, um, practical reasons. We never – we're like siblings. I love her like a sister. But she's also my wife. Platonically.”

It takes a few seconds until Steve's words sink in. Then, Eddie leaps forward and basically collapses into Steve's arms, needing to hold onto him to prevent himself from crashing to the ground.

Steve's arms are warm, strong, and as safe as ever.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Steve asks softly. His lips brush against Eddie's ear while he speaks, and worry colors his voice.

Perfect Steve. Too-good-to-be-true Steve.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” is the only thing Eddie manages to say.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Steve says. “It's just – I've gotten some, um... Less than ideal reactions, in the past, whenever I told this when I was seeing someone. So I thought it'd be better to wait until things were getting serious.” He sighs, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair. “I didn't wanna scare you off. Are we – are you okay?”

Eddie nods. He lifts his head from where it's resting against Steve's shoulder and raises his hands to squeeze them around Steve's face.

“We're okay,” he says. “And I'm sorry I didn't want to listen to you. I–” He stops; he can't find the words right away. It's still difficult to talk about those things; to let himself be vulnerable. But Steve has been honest with him, so it's only fair to return the favor.

“I've been hurt, Steve,” he confesses. “More than once. I've had some really shitty experiences with dudes not being honest with me. I thought that that was what was happening again, and I couldn't – I couldn't go through that again. Especially not with you.”

“Jesus, Eddie, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Eddie rushes to say, pulling Steve even closer towards him. “I trust you.” And as soon as these words leave his mouth, he knows it's the truth.

“I do want to be absolutely clear about one thing, though,” Steve says.

Eddie leans back in Steve's arms to give him an expectant look.

“Robin is my wife. I'm not planning on that to change anytime soon. We've been through a lot together. She's been the most important person in my life for years. We own a house and a dog together, and I love her more than anything. I like you a lot, and I promise you I'm all-in with you, but... Robin is still my number one. And that's not gonna change overnight. I need you to be okay with that.”

Eddie swallows. He looks into Steve's eyes. All he sees is a man who is honest, who loves his friends deeply, and who refuses to make any compromises when it comes to love – whether it be the platonic or the romantic kind.

It doesn't scare Eddie off; it only makes him fonder of Steve.

He smiles, glances around to check if they're alone, and presses a quick kiss against Steve's lips.

“I think I can live with that,” he says. “As long as I'm the only one who gets to do this.” He closes his eyes and lets his lips meet Steve's again.

The sigh that Steve breathes into their tentative kiss is one filled with relief.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[lis-likes-fics]

Matters of Propriety

Pairings: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Laenor Velaryon (Platonic) Word Count: 6.4k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, constant use of metaphors, reference to homosexuality as an illness, fingering, oral (f!receiving), soft dom!Rhaenyra, consensual adultery, useless lesbians, kinktober... A/N: I love Rhaenyra. She's so scrumptious and I enjoyed writing this. I wish I could have done more bc I don't feel like I did her dominance justice, but, given the circumstance, it's actually not an issue. Anyway, enjoy and Happy Halloween!

Rhaenyra brings a hand to her tired eyes, working away at the warmth in her temple as she looks upon her husband. “Do you toil in anything but sea and sex, husband?”

Laenor is especially restless today, just in a more excited way. He's practically beaming from ear and ear as he shares the gossip he's learned with his wife. Although it's a pleasant thing to see him so full of life, Rhaenyra would humbly ask for some rest if she were not so busy today.

Laenor rolls his eyes more pleasantly than she. He turns his back to tidy the scrolls piled on a table. “This isn't sea or sex. It's gossip.” He glances over his shoulder mischievously. “And, yes, I do.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “What are the matters of a servant girl’s likes of sex to me?” Her brows furrow, a light sheen of humor in her voice as she tilts her head. “What are they to you? Might I remind you, Laenor, you prefer snake to oyster.”

Laenor laughs. “And even if she's meant to prefer the same, just as you do, she does not.” He lets out another giddy laugh, like he's thought of some witty banter to add on. “Anyone who feasts upon the wrong meal is my friend.” He turns and leans against the table, looking at her with a quirked brow. “She's your friend, too, Rhaenyra.”

The way he says it makes her squint. “And what is that meant to mean?”

He smirks. “She's one of your servants.”

“Who?”

“Your favorite.”

Now her interest is piqued. She tilts her toward him, almost scoffing as she considers this. “Truly?”

He comes over, leaning over a chair and shrugging. “What reason have I to lie?”

“Entertainment.”

He scoffs, plopping down in the seat opposite her. “I find entertainment in this without need for deceit.” He watches her, watches the way her face shifts as she thinks about what he's just told her. It's surely just rumor. But a rumor like this could be deadly—of course, he knows better than to spread something so dangerous. “Admit it. You're interested.”

She takes in a deep breath, standing to act like she's got better things to do. And she should…but at the moment, she's got nothing to occupy herself until the small council meeting.

“I have no need to be interested.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes in amusement. “You prefer snake.”

“I do.” She turns away. “Besides, what is there to like without the usefulness of an extra appendage?”

His smirk is diabolical. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

She tilts her chin up, humoring him for the sake of humoring him. “Perhaps I will.”

It's a wonder his smile grows. It had already been split so far that she wondered if someone had taken a knife to it.

“Excellent!”

~

Rhaenyra is settled in one of the rare moments where she has time to herself. Laenor is on one of his many ventures, she has no appointments, and no one has come to bother her yet. She's been busying herself with needlework (though she knows she has a terrible hand in it, it gives her something to do).

When someone knocks on the door, she glances up and mutters a distant, “Come.”

The door opens. “Princess.” She glances up at the voice, one she recognizes well. You bow gently, offering a smile as you hold out your tray. “I brought your tea, if it please you.”

Rhaenyra smiles, nodding and allowing you farther inside. “Thank you.”

You come and sit the tray down on the table, pouring her cup and adding her sugar. “Would you like me to bring anything, my princess?”

She shakes her head. “That won't be necessary. Thank you,” she says again.

You hum. Once her tea is prepared, you move to tidy her room. There's no real mess, but the longer you spend in here, the less time you have to spend doing other tedious and mind-numbing work. Besides, the princess has expressed to you how she doesn't mind your presence. You prefer to be here.

You start gathering empty cups and any forgotten dishes, wiping as you go. “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, how fares your day?” You know she doesn’t mind, but you’ll never be able to shake your impulsion toward over-politeness. “It’s been quite lovely out.”

“That it has,” she says. Rhaenyra sets down her canvas, reaching for her cup to take a sip of the tea you’d so graciously brought her. “Meanwhile, I have been confined to the castle doing court duties and pretending the men are actually listening to me.”

A stray chuckle seeps from your nose. “One day, you shall be queen, my princess, and then they will have to listen to you.”

Rhaenyra’s chuckle is more rueful, but just as stray as yours. “That day can’t come soon enough, it seems.”

She likes the way you address her. Most of the people here call her princess with such emphasis, as if they were reminding her of her place as though it were eternal. She is the heir to the throne, yet they call her princess almost like they were saying “peasant”. When you say it, “my princess”, she almost thinks for a moment that she is already Queen.

Rhaenyra hums, glancing at you as you feather thin dust from shelves. Laenor’s words echo in her mind. She had almost forgotten the rumor she’d heard, almost let it slip her mind in the time between seeing the two of you. As she watches you, it’s glued in her mind, stuck like honey in her head.

She imagines it now. Your lips against a woman’s—a woman’s whose lips are suspiciously pale and whose nose is suspiciously distinct.

“Some gossip has come about me from my husband today,” she says without much thought. It slips out more than she means to say it. Even her tone has become shifty in the last moment. “It seems he’s as bored as to listen to the rumors of the servants in the Keep.”

You hum without turning, still stalling to avoid going back to work. “Is that so, Princess? What rumors, if I may ask?”

She chooses her words carefully, slowly. “Rumors of a servant girl with…queer customs.”

Your hesitance was almost indistinguishable. You could have gotten away with it, but she’s watching too closely. You continue almost without a hitch. “What sort of queer customs?”

Rhaenyra licks her bottom lip. “Ones that make her adverse to the taste of sailors…or sea-men, in other words.” She almost couldn’t believe herself. She’s turned to her husband’s humor.

There’s a long pause where you consider her words, wondering if they’re funny or thoroughly ridiculous. You suppose they’re both. “I do not know many who prefer the taste of…sea-men, as you say.” You don’t look at her. You keep your gaze solely on task. “Though a different story can be told of sailors.”

Rhaenyra shifts her whole body toward you, tilting her head and smirking lightly in a less-than-subtle investigation. “Do you like it?”

You purse your lips, considering your options.Your belly churns. “Would it be rude not to answer, my princess?”

She hums. “Well, it is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.” She doesn’t want to pressure you, but she’s far too intrigued now to let it go. She doesn’t quite know why.

You sigh gently, thinking for a moment. She’s right. You try to find solace in the fact that you don’t think she’s the type to look down upon you and order your execution because of your…your perversions.

You’d hoped to keep it secret forever. You’ve even tried to fix yourself of your sickness, but you’ve found that it is something that cannot be done.

“Truthfully…” you mutter, your heart aching in a sad way, “No, Your Highness, I do not like…” you’re getting a bit exhausted of the metaphor but you would rather not change to practical terms when talking to the princess, “...sea-men.”

She looks away from you, and you’re grateful for it because you can pretend to busy yourself again. “I suppose that’s understandable enough. They can be quite salty in nature.”

Gods be good.

“Yes. Quite,” you mumble dismissively. You know you shouldn’t ask, but it’s eating away at you. You could be in danger… “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, where did Ser Laenor hear such a rumor?”

She tries not to make a joke about his tastes. “Who knows where he finds his gossip?” You hum in agreement to dismiss it.

Rhaenyra’s curiosity is probably what got the better of her. She didn't fully intend to ask, but Laenor's words from below are stuck in her head. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

“I wonder what fun it could truly be.” She waves a hand, taking a sip from her near forgotten tea. “Seeing as it could only be used for fun in this instance; there's no duty without the injection.”

You swallow thickly. “I wouldn't say simply fun.” You shouldn't say anything at all. “Though it does remove transaction from the activity.” You sigh, faltering to keep up the ruse with your unnecessary feathering of clean shelves. You turn toward her, running your fingers through the slightly dusty feathers. “With something like this, there must be trust.”

Rhaenyra watches you closely, the way you speak of it. It's more blatant than you should be in this circumstance, but she's not really focused on that when she's too busy studying the crease between your brows or the softness of your lips.

“Without trust, there is no fun or intimacy in it. Without fun or intimacy, there is no pleasure. You must be willing to give up a part of yourself and accept a part of someone else.”

There's a silence where you watch each other. You're quick to realize your mistake as you physically take a step back, looking down at your feet and hiding your embarrassment. She doesn't say anything, she just watches you with this look you can't decipher.

“Forgive me, Princess.” You bow your head and drop your hands by your side. You turn quickly, unsure what else to do. “In truth, I simply worry for the girl. She could be in quite a lot of danger if she were to be exposed. I shall pray to the Mother for her safety.”

You should leave. You've likely overstayed your welcome.

Rhaenyra breaks away from her thoughts, trying to organize them as she sits a little straighter. She sets her cup down on the table before her. She hums, trying to be light-hearted again but failing with the way her head is so full of your words. “‘Tis a shame, really,” she clears her throat, “that such a thing is of such offense.” She takes a breath and stands, just to give her something to do as she circles the sofa and leans against it.

“Pleasure is pleasure. Who should care where a man chooses to stick it? Or, perhaps, where a woman…” she falters. “Well, we don't have anything to stick, do we?” She should forget about it. “I simply wonder how…the deed is done without the…tool.” She decides she just likes to hear you speak.

“Well…” you still don't watch her, though you hesitate in the middle of your task, “I would not believe it to be as difficult as it would seem.” You take up a light blanket to fold.

She raises a brow. “Is that so?” She strokes the back of the couch with a ring-clad hand. “Tell me, how do you suppose it's done?”

“Princess?”

She shrugs in faux innocence. “I'm simply curious. Of course, if you have other duties to tend to.”

What she's proposing has no shortage of lack of propriety. It would be even worse if you responded. But…

Your gaze drifts down to her hand, a stray thought in your mind imagining the fabric was your flesh. When she squeezes lightly, you hate that you imagine her hands wrapping around your thigh…just to feel.

It is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.

You swallow a lump in your throat, that you assume is nerves over want. It cannot be want.

“Well…if I had to guess, I would assume she could use,” you hesitate, “her hands.”

Rhaenyra doesn't have the thought to raise a curious brow. Her face doesn't change much as she stares at you, strangely hooded as you pass it on for confusion instead of what you recognize it to be.

“Just the same as a man could…” your words become a little quieter, “...or rather, as a man chooses not to, in my experience.”

Rhaenyra inches closer. It doesn't register. “How would she use them?” How could her voice be so smooth? It's like a layer of velvet on your skin, and you don't know how to manage that.

“Any way she saw fit.” You hadn't expected your voice to dip as it had, a richer tone influenced by the way she watches you. You hadn't realized the way your finger dipped between the fold of the blanket you've been holding for the last couple minutes. “You could just feel, massage, you could.. You could use them in place of a man's tool. Of course, they would not eject.”

Her chuckle is so shallow, with no real intent to emphasize humor. Her thoughts are confusing.

“No, I suppose not,” she mutters. She steps even closer, tilting her head. “Would her hands be all she would use?”

It's a strange thing, knowing more than the princess—informing the princess on what you know. She listens with such curiosity, such interest. You have to stifle the pull in your chest. It isn't proper. You shouldn't be telling her about any of this—it isn't proper.

But you carry on because you can't help it. Not when she looks at you like that.

You lick your bottom lip absently. “Well, if they were, my princess, what would be the point of the taste for sailors? Rather than simply the touch of them? Women often prefer a sailor’s salty taste. Some men have an indulgence for, not just the bee, but the honey, too.”

You hadn't realized you'd both gotten so close. She's only a few feet from you now, staring at you with eyes that should not be regarding you in such a way. “And if you had a taste for honey? How would you indulge?”

“Frequently.” Rhaenyra had not meant to gasp the way she did. It's soft and barely audible, but you catch it. It's hard to miss anything when she's so close, staring you in the eyes, running her fingers together with gentle brushes of skin.

You break the heavy eye contact with a glance down. “But I assume that would pose a challenge, as not many bees prefer their honey to be tasted by other bees, especially if not by a man.” You shake your head, looking back at her with a new kind of certainty. “No, many bees prefer the sailor and their sea.”

You hate the gods for making you as they did, but sometimes you hate them for making everyone else as they are instead. If you had to come out so wrong, why could no one else join you?

Rhaenyra can see this in your eyes. It's just a little glint, but she recognizes the same look in her husband from time to time. The difference is that he's allowed his indulgences in secret. You must have more trouble. Women always have more trouble…

Her breath is light when she breathes. “And what if one was willing to try?”

You look at her quickly, eyes wide and a little skeptical. “To try, Princess?”

“The indulging.” The step she takes is long. She stands right before you now, hardly a foot away. “Or even allowing one a taste of it? Say this…servant girl, perhaps?”

You squeeze your thighs together, though you don't mean to. She's a very intimidating person, and it makes you falter in your reasoning for why all of this is a terrible idea.

“I'd say…maybe she'd agree.” She's so close. If you took a step, leaned in just a bit…

“But there are many things to consider.” You step around her, ridding yourself of the closeness to put space between you. This is dangerous, she is dangerous. The way she looks at you, the way she makes you feel. It's not fair, and it's not right.

She spins around, dizzy from the sudden break in tension. “What sort of things?”

You drop the blanket on a chair and run your hands down your apron, an attempt to center yourself. “Things like…like whether or not this woman, potentially even a princess so interested in tasting, has a husband? A royal one, at that?” You shake your head. “This servant could be killed.”

Rhaenyra sighs, waving a hand as she looks upon your back. “If a person was killed every time they tried other indulgences, we would have very few people left in the world.”

You turn toward her, but make no move to come closer. “Even still.”

“What if this princess,” she closes the distance again, this time scooping your hands into her own. Her hands are very warm, much warmer than your own. They are only contrasted by the chill of golden rings. It's inviting as you try not to lean into her touch. You can't look at her. You're already breaking so many rules by letting her touch you. You're breaking rules by talking of such things with her.

“What if she were to tell the servant that her royal husband has his own tastes to favor? Not in bees, but in sailors?”

Royal husbands are a much different standard than lowly servants. But the only thing in your mind with such a proposal is, “And what if the princess dislikes the servant's work?”

You shudder when her warm palm envelopes your cheek. Your eyes flutter, and you look into her eyes. What a temptress she is, to look at you like that. To look so deeply into your eyes that you falter every time you come from a blink.

This is one of the only times when you're grateful for your sickness. If you had not been the way you were, her beauty would be so ordinary to you. She is anything but.

“Then she shall decide for herself.”

Your voice is so soft now, afraid to rupture this feeling between you. You feel manipulated, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If your roles had been reversed, you'd likely do the same.

“What if something happens?” You raise a hand to cover the back of hers. “If someone sees? There are many things to be considered.”

Her hand slips down from your cheek to grasp your chin between her forefinger and thumb. “If you wish not to continue, then you may yo. But it's as you said…” she's so close, you can feel her shallow breath on your lips, “this requires trust.”

Your eyes dart between her own, taking in every feature of her face. Gods, how beautiful is she?

She leans in, tilting her head in such a way that you become dizzy. “Will you put your trust in your princess?”

How could you refuse?

“Yes.”

“Then who's to say it's wrong?”

Your breaths mingle. She leans in quickly, and your breath hitches in anticipation of the kiss. Just as they barely brush, she pulls back again. It becomes this dance, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. You know she's playing with you, and you invite her in full compliance. You would be her court jester if only she asked.

When she kisses you, it's maddening. Your thoughts are blurred in a swirling motion in your head. Your ears become fuzzy, your lungs already ache. You breathe her essence in through your nose and out through your mouth as she pulls you in by the back of your neck. She tastes of sweet wine, of grapes and blueberries.

Your hands grasp at her sides, pulling at the fabric wrapped securely around her body. “Princess,” you gasp against her lips.

You feel her lips curl against your own, her smirk fueling a fire between the both of you. “Shh,” she says between kisses. Her palms cup your face, her lidded eyes taking in the sight of you so close. “Just show me how you do it.”

You lean in to gather her lips again, your breaths heavy between you. You walk her back, pushing her up against the wall as your hands explore the length of her body. Your lips trail over her own, kissing the corner of her mouth and slipping down to her neck. Your teeth nip at her skin, your tongue laps, your lips suck. Her eyes flutter closed as she leans into it. Her hands grip your arms and beg you not to go.

You pull away from her then, your bodies still flush against one another as you take in the sight of her. Her eyes are of lavender, her skin is of ivory, her hair is of silkweed. She’s dripped in maroon and pearls. As you brush your knuckles down her cheek, smiling as you move to kiss her again.

There’s a soft smack of your lips as you pull away. Pinching her chin between your fingers as she had done yours, you whisper so closely to her lips that they brush with each word. “You are so beautiful, my princess.”

She stares at you. She had been called beautiful before. She has known intimacy and she has known passion, but there is something in the way that you speak to her that has her chest aching. A heavy breath puffs shallowly from her mouth.

Before she says anything, you kiss her again as your hand reaches down to collect fistfulls of fabric. You press a kiss to her collarbone, nipping lightly as her breath hitches. You slip to your knees, dipping your hands beneath her dress and pressing your hands to the thinly veiled skin of her legs. Her stockings stop just above her knee, tied neatly that morning while she was readying herself for the day.

She watches you, her eyes dark but so intently focused on you. You look up at her as you ride her dress, layer upon layer, up the length of her body. She reaches down and captures it, holding it in her hands and relieving you of the duty.

You’re holding your breath when you lean in to press a chaste kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin is so warm. If she had not been so soft, too, you would have wondered if she’d really been a dragon all along. You cup the back of her thigh in your hand, stroking up and down and enjoying the feeling of such smooth flesh.

You shift her leg over your shoulder, turning your head to kiss her thigh again. Her breath, although thick and shallow, is such a gentle thing. She never tears her gaze away. Her hips jerk lightly when your excitement manifests in little nips into her skin. There’s a pleasant feeling that stems from it.

“Must you tease?” Rhaenyra huffs, though not of any real offense. Her chest rises and falls like she’s ready to burst. A swell of pride blooms in your chest at the knowledge that she could be so aching for your touch.

“Apologies, Princess,” you smile, raising a tentative hand farther up the side of her thigh to bring her closer. You move so slowly as you inch toward her, this aching need which you have yet to see but can smell so dearly. “May I?” you whisper, so softly that you are almost unheard.

Her leg shifts to push her heel into your shoulder blade, not roughly but in a way to induce haste. She brings you just a bit closer, dipping her head. “You may.”

Just as soon as the permission leaves her throat, you attach yourself to her. You dip your tongue between her folds. You lick and suckle around her pearl. Arousal has already seeped from her need and is painting your tongue.

Rhaenyra’s hips cant forward, and there's a slight shudder. As one of her hands desperately grasps at her dress, the other reaches down to card through your hair.

You flick your tongue along the seam of her cunt. You really had chosen the right word—honey. She tastes sweet, a filling nectar you would die to feast upon.Rhaenyra is eager to feel it all, amazed by how wonderful you are at this, better than even Ser Criston Cole—who had always been very eager to taste her in her youth.

She supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising. You both have the same parts, it would only make sense that you knew how to use them. Your dull nails dig into her ass, bringing her forward as you both rock against one another. Her moan catches in her throat, and her hand reaches forcefully out to take hold of the table at her side. She grips it tight in order to keep herself up, looking down at you as her chest struggles to keep up with her lust.

“You are very eager to please,” her voice shakes.

You stroke your tongue along the length of her cunt, pressing a messy kiss into her pearl as you pull back just enough to speak. “That is not a difficult feat when you taste as good as you do.” A rough kind of whine slips when you suck around her pearl. “I was right about the honey.”

She smiles in the middle of the rock of her hips. “I might have to taste a sample myself. Just to check. Ah–!” Her hand flies out to take hold of your hair again, just to ground herself when you lap your tongue inside of her. “Right there,” she groans, her voice lower now with the coming of her relief. “Oh, gods, don’t stop.”

You focus on her pearl now, lapping and laving at it with all the strength you have left in your tongue. It’s a bit tired from the work, but it’s a good kind of feeling when you’re being rewarded so generously. The fat of her thigh is a welcomed weight on your shoulder, an even better weight in your hand as you stroke your hand up and down the length of it. You squeeze it in fervent desire.

You can feel her clenching against your tongue, her hips become more jerky with their movement. You hum into her, anticipating her release as much as she does. Her breath stalls in her chest as it builds and builds.

Right as she's at the cusp, you murmur against her pearl. “Breathe, Princess.”

Just as she takes a breath, a crashing wave rolls over her. She trembles against you, gasping as her head whirls with the weight of her release. You hold her steady, lapping up the precious taste of her cunt with a desperate need. She jerks forward when you suckle gently on her sensitive pearl.

When the rush dies down to something a little easier, her breaths become deeper as a drunken smile finds her lips. “I could certainly make this a habit.”

You press your mouth into her thigh, laying a sweet kiss upon her skin. “Tis likely to be a bad one.”

She shakes her head, moving her leg off your shoulder and lifting you to stand with a curled finger under your chin. “Nothing bad about it.” She leans in, her lips hovering.

You pull away by the slightest inch, watching her gentle eyes. “Did I do well, my princess?” You lift your hand to cautiously rest at her back, your fingers curling through silver locks. “Have I pleased you?”

There's something about you that makes her head spin. “Yes, darling,” she rasps. “You are magnificent.”

You smile like she's given you an incredible gift, accepting her kiss with a similar enthusiasm than you'd accepted the honey between her plush thighs. You're needy in gluing your lips to hers, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her against you by the small of her back.

She eases your mouth from hers, her breath short from the greatness of your desire. “You can call me Rhaenyra. I feel we've reached the point where such formalities are no longer necessary.”

You chuckle breathily. “Of course, Princess.”

She pinches your chin. “Go sit.” She lets go of you.

Just for the humor, you dip into a curtsy, looking up through your lashes as you do. “Yes, my princess.”

You turn and walk toward the sofa, sitting with your legs pressed together and your hands upon your lap. She watches you for a moment, doing nothing but watching. Your humor is dissipating as you look away, unable to take the heat of her gaze.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare, sweetling?” she asks gently.

You nod. “A bit, yes.”

She takes a step closer. “Do not be nervous. I won't hurt you.”

“I know.”

She moves toward you, and you peek up at her with eyes wide in anticipation. She comes to stand in front of you, standing tall in all her glory and regality. She's ethereal, especially with the way the golden light of the evening is peering in through the windows.

She bends down, her hands on either side of your head as she boxes you in. You lose your breath. You don't think you'll ever be able to stand her being this close to you.

She kisses you. “Spread your legs for me.” You're shy, but you do as she asks. Your thighs inch farther apart as you indulge in the taste of her lips. Her hand cups your throat. Your breath stalls, and then starts again to inhale more of her.

You feel her palm trail down the column of your neck, her fingers tickling your throat. She moves down your front before she's riding the skirt of your dress and apron up your legs. When her hand touches your bare thigh, your hips jerk slightly. She shushes against your lips, moving closer and closer until her hand is cupping the wet of your cunt.

“Gods, you're dripping.” You want to say something, but you can't. Her middle finger sinks between your lips, parting them to make way for her intrusion. You clamp down on her finger, your hips rolling against her hand already.

She strokes inside of you, curling her finger and coaxing you closer. When she adds the second, a slight hum slips from her throat. You reach out, grabbing a hold of her arm.

“A little deeper,” you guide gently, tilting your hips up. When she adjusts, your head spins. “Fuck, Princess, right there.”

She focuses there, hovering over you as she presses her lips to your forehead, to lips, the tip of your nose. “Do you like that?” she huffs.

You nod, holding her arm tighter. “Yes. Yes, my princess.”

She dips her head down to your neck, and you whimper when she nips at your flesh. “You'll have to guide me,” she whispers into your ear.

You're a bit confused as she removes her fingers from you. You stifle your whine, watching with bated breath as this princess, the heir to the Targaryen throne, kneels before you. Her handmaiden. A lowly servant who was meant to stay beneath her.

She eases your leg over your shoulder just as you had done before. She presses her mouth against your thigh, kissing it and licking her lips. She looks you in the eyes, smirking as she brings her fingers to her mouth. She dips them between her lips, and the sigh that parts your lips leaves you breathless. She hums deeply. “I can see why you called it honey.”

You chuckle lightly. When Rhaenyra’s lips wrap around your cunt, you whimper. You're careful in setting your hand at the side of her head, carding your fingers through her hair. You don't grasp her, you don't guide her. You just hold her as you watch her with hooded eyes and parted lips.

She sucks on your folds, flicking her hot tongue along the seam of your cunt and slipping it inside clumsily. Either way, it's nice. It's not often you get attention like this, and from a princess?

“Up a little more, princess.” Your voice is light and high with pleasure. When she does as you say, your sigh is tinted with a whine. “Good. Right there.”

She suckles lightly at your pearl, licking and tasting with a curious intent. Her fingers prod at your pussy again, and you arch your back when she presses two inside.

Rhaenyra is a quick learner. Her pace is steady as she curls her fingers, coaxing them in and out of you with an eagerness that you had displayed before. Her lips and tongue work at your pearl, licking and sucking and making you feel like you'll burst any second.

“Please, don't stop,” you gasp. “You're amazing.”

There's a certain power in having someone desire you, blubbering with pleasure and begging for more. It goes straight to her head. She thrusts her fingers into you as though she wielded her own cock, she laps at your slick like she's been deprived of water for far too long. She huffs and groans, drunk on the taste of you, on the pleasure.

You've never met a woman so eager to please another. When they're not shy about indulging in something so forbidden, they're too used to professionalism to initiate intimacy. Having this kind of desire is hard and it's depriving. If Rhaenyra keeps this up, you'll make the mistake of falling utterly in love with her.

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet to keep from alerting the knight at the door. The walls are thick, no one should hear you.

“I'm so close,” you whisper, rolling your hips in your haste to come. “Please, my princess, don't stop.”

When she hums, it comes with a desperate sort of sound. Your thighs tremble around her head, trying not to close her in. You become dizzy, your head spins with the weight of her pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut and–

“Princess,” you bring a hand to your mouth, breathing heavily into your palm. Your hips roll and your mind whirls with the sensations of her lips sucking on your pulsing pearl, spurring you on and on. Her finger curls against a deep spot within you that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. “Fuck, Rhaenyra,” you curse, whimpering under your breath and losing composure.

Her hand slips out of you just to grasp your backside, pulling you in and devouring you as you continue to become slick with arousal. Her nose presses into your pearl when her tongue is too busy at your folds. Her warm breath fans over your skin in such a delicious way.

When your trembling has subsided, she eases away from you with a huff. She's got a drunken smile on her lips, her pupils blown wide and your eyes dark with pleasure. “I see why you enjoy that so much.”

You smile, catching your breath as she breaks away from you to crowd your space once more. Your tongue is heavy, and your words are sticky. You look at her like you'll be shattered if you don't hear what you want to hear. “Did I do well, my princess?”

She smiles, raising a hand to stroke your cheek with gentle knuckles. “You are perfect.” The look on your face is devastating. There's a bursting joy in your eyes, a kind of joy that only comes when it's been met with a considerable amount of sorrow.

She tilts your chin up, embracing you in a different kind of kiss. This one is all for you. She kisses you like she wants you to know something that she doesn't know how to say aloud, like she's telling you a secret that only you could ever understand.

She pulls away, still cupping your cheek. You swallow thickly, watching her and taking in every little feature of her face before you're forced to keep your head down once more.

“Will you regret it?” Your voice is so small that she almost misses it. If her nose had not still been brushing yours, she would have. “When I leave, and you've had the night to contemplate… will you regret letting me touch you? Will you regret…touching me?”

She wonders briefly who hurt you. You are such a good woman. You are loyal and eager to please. Not to mention, you are utterly beautiful.

She doesn't know quite how to navigate this. So instead, she sighs as she looks upon your face. Worry and doubt creases every little feature that lies there. She presses a kiss to your forehead, over the crease between your brows.

“No, sweet girl.”

You blink, taking her answer for what it is as you smile. “Okay,” you whisper.

She leans in to kiss you. There's a knock on the door.

Rhaenyra sighs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and straightening her back. “A moment.” She holds a hand for you, and you take it as she brings you to stand.

“Finish your work…” She pauses. “Will I see you again soon?”

You smile, nodding gently. “If my princess commands it.”

Her smirk soon follows. “She does.” She knows she's taking too long. “Goodbye, my darling.”

You nod. “Goodbye, my princess.”

You linger too long. You are wasting time. You break away from her, grabbing your tray of dishes, stacking her cold tea on top. When she's sure you're both decent, she sighs.

“Come.”

As the door opens, you give a curtsy. “Princess.”

She nods, but it's such a small movement that you'd question if she'd already forgotten you if you knew she wasn't doing it for appearances.

As you walk down the hall, you glance up when you see Ser Laenor walking toward you. You look up at him, pausing to curtsy.

He looks at you, giving you a smile that makes you nervous as he fully stops. You think you hear him sniff, and then his smile grows into something more mischievous. With a quiet chuckle, he wags his finger at you before turning on his heel to continue to—you assume to be—Rhaenyra’s chambers.

You continue walking, slowly this time as you try to figure out why he would react in such a way. You guide your nose toward your shoulder and almost freeze in place.

Gods be good… You smell like her.

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[certifiedsexed]

Hi! So, I'm asexual. I know I'm asexual. Like, I didn't realize sex was something people my age were engaging in until I was in like grade 11 because I felt such a disconnect and assumed media just blew everything about sex way out of proportion. I'm also somewhere between sex repulsed and sex neutral. The thought of having sex either seems like and absolute chore (on good days) or is something that makes me feel- no joke- pure , visceral revulsion at the mere thought (on bad ones.) However, I WANT to want sex more than anything. I think on SOME days I'd be ok with being the recieving partner, but I'd never want to reciprocate (ESPECIALLY when it comes to oral sex, thats is something I have always had a really strong negative reaction to thinking about) but being willing to take it and not reciprocate out seems unfair to whoever I'd be with (i've been told it's selfish or rude when i've expressed this to friends), even if me engaging in any sort of sexual activity in the first place would be for their sake (relationships are about compromise and thats a compromise I'd be okay with). That said, I'm not sure a partner out there like that exists and I'm tired of the well meaning bullshit I get from friends being like 'you'll find someone who's gonna love you for you' because no, I haven't and chances are I won't. I'm biromantic, but I experience more attraction to women but still wouldn't really want to have sex with any of them, and considering theres a lot of buzz about how 'lesbian sex is the best sex' because both partners typically consistently and frequently get off, it seems like a bit of a reach to think I could find a girl willing to date me who doesn't want sex. Yes, other asexual folks exist, but considering i don't tend to advertize the fact I'm ace and because I don't dress in a way that could get me clocked as queer, I don't tend to meet a lot (read, any) ace people in my daily life. ANYWAY this is kind of a really in depth plea of me basically asking if there is any resource or literature that can teach me or make me not necessarily DESIRE sex (because I know that can't happen) but mentally become okay with engaging in sex. Like could I, a generally sex repulsed asexual, somehow become a sex favourable asexual through some sort of therapy or other means?

Hi!

Here's the thing, Anon. It's not unfair, selfish or rude to prefer not to reciprocate and/or "take it" during sex. That's just a preference. In fact, in the lesbian community, that's often called being a "stone bottom".

Your friends are in fact incorrect and you should know that having sexual preferences like that are never unfair or rude: you just have to communicate with your partner(s). It's literally fine.

But also, you're talking about being sex repulsed. Sex feels like a chore to you. It's not a good idea to look at sex as a chore you're willing to do for your partner. Especially when sex does make you feel ill often enough it's worth noting.

I'm not saying you can't do it but I am saying if you don't pay attention to your own boundaries, you might just wind up resenting your partner and not being able to tell where your "Hard No's" [As in boundaries that are non-negotiable and that you are not compromising on!!!] are.

It's okay if sex is a Hard No for you, even if it doesn't always make you feel ill. That's your right.

And yes, there is a lot of buzz about lesbian sex being the best. (Which partially has a lot to do with lesbophobia and the cisheteronormative views on lesbian sex "not even being sex".) But that does not mean it's a reach that another girl would want to date you without sex.

It doesn't have to be a girl who doesn't want sex, Anon; there are so many different ways to have sex and ways people enjoy it. For example, there are people who only enjoy masturbation or simply don't mind not having sex with others, especially if it means they can date someone they like.

I genuinely can't help you on finding something that will make you "okay" with engaging in sex and I'm really sorry, Anon.

You could try a sex therapist (they're supposed to be equipped for all manners of issues related to sex) but I don't feel comfortable pointing to any specific therapy methods when a lot of them are based in the idea people are "wrong" in some way for being sex repulsed and they're often hurtful and unhealthy.

But I can say that I'd really recommend joining some online ace communities, specifically with other lesbians/sapphics and talk to some other ace people there. This isn't a you issue, Anon, these are all very common worries that ace people, specifically alloace people have and it might help to talk to other people with similar experiences.

I wish I could help more. Let me know if you have any other questions, Anon. <3

[hawkinshorror94]

Headcannons for a Tav who exhausted after a day of staying home with the kids

(If you guys like these I'd like to make a second one with Wyll, Karlach, Zevlor, and Rolan.)

AN- Happy Birthday to me! I am highly intoxicated while posting this so sorry if it sucks ASS.

Minthara

-”My dear, why are our children making so much noise? I cannot hear myself think.”

-Finds you in absolute shambles over two unruly toddlers, one is crying because you gave her what he asked for and the other is practically hanging from the curtains.

-”In Menzoberranzan, a mother kills children who are bad, but I have grown quite fond of them and would hate for our children to meet an untimely demise at the end of a silver sword.” 

-Though you want to chide Minthara for threatening to kill the kids as a punishment it works, but you’ll definitely have to talk about it with her later

Gale

-“Why are you crying, are you alright, is she alright?” *Gale panic*

-Finds you in bed crying because of some awful postpartum.

-”My mother has been wanting to see her, I’ll bring her over there for a bit. You rest, you bathe, I’ll bring home food. I’ve got her. I’ve got you.”

-Gale bundles her up and makes sure you have everything that you need before he goes. When he comes back, he brings too many gifts from his mother and food for you. And of course, your favorite sweet treat.

Astarion

-“Are there gremishkas loose in our home?”

-Astarion wakes from trance around sundown to find you crying over a fussy teething dhampir and an equally whiny toddler who didn’t have a nap. 

-”Do you think we should go to the night market, little one? And I think your baby brother would also appreciate the night air as well” *Astarion with a baby bundled to his chest (with a sling) so he can always have a free hand in my guilty pleasure*

-When he comes back with both kids settled, he puts you to bed to rub your feet and tell you how much he appreciates you creating two miracles after he’s had such a miserable life.

Shadowheart

-”Come on boys, you can help mummy on the farm this afternoon.”

-Shadowheart wasn’t blind to your snippy tone with her and she also wasn’t blind to the problem either. 2 over ecstatic boys who were just over the moon that school was out for the summer. 

-”Tomorrow you all can help me tend to the plants and animals all day. Does that sound fun?” 

-Shadowheart will smother you in kisses that night after you’re finally a little less overstimulated, if you ask maybe she’ll do some of those Sharran torture tactics on you after the boys are tucked in of course.

Halsin

-”They are children, my heart. They are untamed beasts.”

-Halsin will laugh and kiss your forehead as if you’re the silliest of geese, but he’ll still take out all of the adopted children, just to give you a much needed break.

-The kids come back with every rock, flower, and stick that made them think of you. Each one of them telling you of the adventures daddy Halsin had taken them on that day.

-”It is my job as your husband to care for the children as well, my heart. Just tell me if you need a break.” 

Lae’zel

-“Xan, your mother is the liberator of our people and you’re treating her like any common istik.”

- Lae’zel takes the overzealous boy out to run him through some drills. When he comes back inside he’s tired and remembers why you’re his favorite parent. 

-”I told him we don’t make women cry. Especially our mothers and then I made him do twenty sword swings.”

-Xan doesn’t like swords so he will definitely not be acting a fool like that again. 

-*I wasn’t really sure what to do with Lae’zel because I didn’t raise the egg with her. We did hot lesbian gith and bard stuff And by stuff, I mean fighting Vlaakith’s warriors. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my partner to tell his family we're dating?

I've (23nb) been dating my partner (22m) for some three years now. Initially, he didn't tell his family we were dating when I'd visit bcs that would force him to come out as trans to refute them believing him to be lesbian. All his family is trans supportive

He came out last summer, but I realised last time I saw him in February that we're still pretending to be just friends as one of his aunts was talking about how she thought we were dating before he came out. It hasn't set well with me, especially as I'm also dead named by his family bcs he hasn't told them that either, and I asked him about it.

He first explained it as "my family are weird about how they view me" but I didn't really find this as an answer and asked again yesterday. He eventually explained about how he's "not strong enough or willing to put myself in a position where I will be ridiculed and bullied by my own family". He's never told his family about any of the other people he's dated in his teen years so I guess it fits, but this is a serious relationship where marriage is on the table

I feel bad about digging into it but I really hate having to act like we're just friends whenever I visit as it feels like I can't be myself, especially as by late summer I'm meant to be moving in with him and being around his family much more. We're long distance so whenever I visit it doesn't as good as it should

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[prince-liest]

Don't mind me getting on my soapbox for a moment... a lot of this musing is admittedly for the sake of my own processing of this topic, re: aroaceness. Read at your own peril! <3

I'm generally a very "ship and let ship" kind of person, but I think I would definitely append a little caveat of, like, "As long as you're not being actively invalidating and detrimental to others" to that. Which is a delightfully vague statement that can be interpreted practically any way, I know, hahaha.

In the case of this particular post I've just been thinking about how, like... seeing an aroace character like Alastor get written into dozens upon dozens of PWPs (including ones that don't even touch on the subject of his aceness at all) is really not something that I personally find to be hurtful or offensive. It's just smut for the sake of smut, of a character people want to see awful, sexy things done to (or doing). Valid! I vibe with you! More people should just write the PWPs they want to see in the world!

But on the other hand, I've several times seen this very particular type of art (usually it's a comic, but admittedly I haven't been reading very many Hazbin Hotel fics so maybe it's there, too) where Alastor is slotted into the "methinks the lady doth protest too much" trope. As in, he's expressing strong feelings about a character (usually Vox or Lucifer, sometimes Angel Dust) to someone, probably Rosie, and the person he's confiding to is some variant of, "Oh, silly Alastor, you're obviously in love!" And then he denies it, says that the very idea disgusts him, and the character titters to themselves about how he's so naive in the matters of romance or whatever.

And it's, like.

The "strong feelings" in question are almost always frustration/annoyance/disgust, and him being like, "Nnnno, I just hate his person" is treated like a silly and naive misunderstanding of his own feelings because obviously he's in love. Please imagine that Alastor was a female character who was established to be a lesbian. Now examine how that suddenly makes this scene feel.

(Also, Rosie being the go-to for this is a little frustrating when she's the one who, in canon, explicitly says that she wouldn't make that assumption of him.)

There's such a chasm of difference between how I see people wanting to ship Alastor for reasons of "I just want to!" vs folks who engage with him being aroace in ways that are infantilizing and invalidating. There are so many people out there - not just aro/ace people, but anyone who's not exclusively into the standard type of person they should be into at the time society deems they should be into them, which is most queer people and even many cishet folks - that have been told that exact kind of thing in real life. It reads like something out of a compulsory heterosexuality guidebook, and it actively makes it harder to leave the closet or even realize that you're in one at all.

So I guess it just feels frustrating to see it get made into a punchline, especially by folks who are shipping queer ships. I genuinely can't wait until fandom society advances to the point of consistently treating aro/acespec folks as queer instead of Queer Lite (TM), because let me tell you, ime the comphet experience and the amato/allonormativity experience are in fact nigh-identical except for how they're treated within online communities. There's a reason the pan -> gay -> ace pipeline is a thing.

But, hey! We're already doing way better than we were in 2012!

[polyamzeal]

I wonder if you’re willing and able to give me a little advice. When I’ve been in poly relationships, working on jealousy over metamours has been an ongoing task. This is pretty normal, I understand, but I noticed the feelings were much stronger and more difficult to handle well when the metamour in question was a man. I’m a lesbian, and while there are several very wonderful men friends in my life who I love very much, I find it difficult to trust and respect men who I haven’t gotten to know (and all too often, even when I have gotten to know them).

I guess what I’m asking for is advice on how to cultivate compersion when your metamour is someone you don’t especially like or respect. And I suppose I should add that I’m not currently in a poly relationship, I have been before and I’d like to again, and I’d like to do a better job this time.

The key is usually to focus on trusting your partner. There may be a lot of very legitimate reasons to not trust or respect a metamour. But at the end of the day, you aren't the one dating them. The important thing is if they make your partner and are good for them. You can let them know your opinion of said metamour if you are worried about your partner but you need to respect your partner's autonomy in making their own choice.

I think what makes this is even harder is that is subjective to your partner's opinion rather your subjective take or even objectively. Said partner may very well in-fact just be factually bad and unhealthy for your partner. But if your partner is wants to choose them then it is best to support them to a point. You may need to accept that one day that metamour will hurt your partner and brake their heart but until that happens your partner just might not be ready to brake up yet so you just need to let them go through the journey themselves and then be there for them without telling them how you told them so.

Course all of the above is dealing with moderation. Obviously if you think your metamour is a legitimate murderer or something then that is a different story.

Finally I won't sugarcoat it. Sometimes all that is too much to take. It isn't unheard of that somebody breaks up with their partner because their metamour is too much to handle and you can't put up with the tug of war. I think most of the time that is avoidable and things can be worked. But it is important to acknowledge that could possibly happen and just be prepared for it.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

The fifth part of Ride the Cyclone AU.

The next contestant takes there place; Dolores, again, attempts to have another shot. Not as angst-heavy as the others.

The previous part if you need a recap.

Comments are always appreciated.

Warning, sensitive topics ahead, especially character death.

Space Age Bachelor Man

Nobody said anything as Isabela clambered down. Isabela herself was oddly quiet and tried to avoid eye contact with the others in the room, she was starting to regret having done that and wanted anything to take the moment back. She had no idea what made her do that. She should have just sang the stupid song about—

Camilo cleared his throat, making everyone look at him. “That was… awesome!” He gripped Isabela’s arms, shaking her. “You should have joined me in Tío Bruno’s theatre group!”

“What the hell? I didn’t know you could do that!” Luisa piped up as well. She swatted Isabela’s shoulder playfully.

The comments brought the spark back in Isabela, who was smiling in relief with how well her performance had been taken. She was throwing a lot of the more secret parts of herself open, for everyone to see and judge. Just having fun with it. Having fun with life or afterlife or whatever exactly this was.

“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know, sis.” Isabela teased.

Camilo gasped, “You must be where my drama skills come from! I knew you were my favourite cousin for a reason!”

“Also, thanks for telling us. About you being a lesbian,” Luisa added, on a less silly note. “I know it’s not easy, but… we would have accepted you when we were alive and we’re still going to now. It’s a shame, we could have had a lot of fun fighting over girls.”

“What a missed opportunity for me to beat you into the ground.” Isabela sighed dramatically.

As the three of them laughed joyously and continued chatting, Dolores stepped over. Her accordion dumped by the stool, she placed a hand on Isabela’s shoulder. Isabela glared at her cousin, but didn’t say anything.

“I champion Isabela’s journey of sexual discovery,” Dolores said. Isabela softened her glare and Camilo looked hopeful. Luisa muttered something under her breath, just as Dolores peered round them to find the mysterious man. The other three rolled their eyes, catching the familiar squeak Dolores gave before or after she was snitching on someone. “But she dropped the F bomb in the actual chorus!”

A light fell behind them and their attention was on Desconocida, still dressed as an abbess, singing hauntingly behind them: “Fornication Under Consent of the King—”

Camilo immediately marched over and abruptly pulled the curtains shut in front of her face.

“Nope.” He stated firmly. Without missing, he turned back around and joined the group. “Now, we can go back to celebrating Bela!”

“Celebrating?” Dolores questioned. “What exactly did she do that was so celebratory? She didn’t even do as she was told! How is this suppose to convince us to vote for her?”

“At least I didn’t turn all the judges against me,” Isabela replied. She shared a high-five with Luisa before wandering off to change.

Dolores was about to burst, but by some power, she managed to keep herself from saying something that would only further damage her case.

“So,” she asked. “Is everyone’s song going to have profanity in the chorus?”

“Mine will only have profanity in the chorus.”

Camilo slapped a hand against his mouth to muffle his laughter at Luisa’s snappy comeback. Dolores glared daggers between her cousin and brother, clearly unamused with the pair. Desconocida, dressed normally, returned quietly and glanced between the other contestants in confusion.

“Why don’t you go lift something heavy?” She snapped at Luisa.

“Keep testing me and I’ll drop the cart on you, asshole.” Luisa grumbled.

That struck a chord in Dolores. She froze for a moment, looking hurt and maybe even a little fearful at the prospect of being close with that death ride again, but just as soon recollected herself.

She pushed Luisa aside, fired up to start preaching again. “Isabela’s song wasn’t even about anything real! It was just a song about her wanting to be a sex worker fifty years ago!” She paused. “What is the moral of her story anyways? What does it teach you? What’s the lesson!?”

“Not every story has a lesson, Dolores,” the suited man said.

She blinked. Stuttering, forcing a laugh, “N-no. Every story has a lesson,” she insisted. A paino accompaniment began playing. Camilo and Luisa shot each other an eye roll; another song by Dolores. “Every story— every story’s got a lesson, a simple moral to be told! Although a tale may twist and turn, there’s always something you can learn. A nugget of wisdom, solid gold!”

The song came to an end, just in time for Isabela to return to the group. Once again, being the one to put an end to Dolores’ song.

“Enough!” Isabela complained. “We don’t wanna hear it.”

“Oh, that is rich, coming from the woman who just sang about fantasy smut!” Dolores countered. “Didn’t you consider that maybe we don’t want to hear about that? There is no need to remind us all of the fact that we all died in our youth.” She broke off, letting out a slight sob. “As virgins. None of us even having our first kiss.”

There was a click. “Luisa,” the strange man said.

Luisa, who had been taking off some props, froze in place. She looked around at the others, bewildered, chuckling. “What?” She asked.

He shrugged, “Just thought this seemed like a perfect segue.”

Crickets.

“For what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Luisa muttered.

“Not ready to divulge that information just yet?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I, um!” She dropped the props she was carrying. As they clattered to the floor, she stumbled a bit, eyes settling on Dolores. “Hey, uh, prima! You were making a really good point there to Isabela, why don’t you finish what you were saying?”

Dolores hummed. A little confused but smiled, “It was a good point, actually.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Isabela spat. She shot a look of betrayal at her sister, disbelieving that she would suddenly be taking Dolores’ side in this.

Their cousin was already on the move, reclaiming her spot in the centre of the room. “You know, I have a saying: ‘I’m just a small town girl with a spring in her step and a song in her heart’ and that song is a medley!”

Everything froze. The suited man sighed to himself slightly, not that the others could hear him. “And while she talks and talks, the clock ticks and tocks. Let’s speed her up.”

With a snap of his fingers, everything unfroze. But rather than at a normal, understandable pace, everything went at the speed of light - again, unnoticeable to the five. Dolores rambled on, unperturbed; Luisa, Isabela and Camilo became progressively more annoyed with her, all in various stages of tearing their hair out; Desconocida barely seem phased by anything, just listening with a curious head tilt.

Finally, he clicked again. Everything returning to normal.

“—And that is why not everyone should be allowed to sing in church!” Dolores proclaimed, wildly. She paused, taking a breath, smiling serenely. “And you should vote for me.”

Isabela scoffed, “The only thing I know for certain at this point, I would never vote for you.”

“Why?” Dolores demanded.

“Uh, you have no redeemable qualities. Even your own brother completely hates you.” She pointed to Camilo.

The boy in question just gestured lamely with his hand, “Eh, not completely.”

“I will vote for Bela,” Luisa piped up suddenly. “The world needs more menaces to society.”

“Aww! And I’ll vote for you.” Isabela replied.

It was almost a sweet moment. The sisters steeping closer together, just about to hug, until Dolores burst between them, completely outraged.

“And this is whY YOU BOTH SUCKED AT MATH!” She shrieked. “WHAT PART OF ‘UNANIMOUS VOTE’ IS ELUDING YOU TWO GENIUSES TO VOTE FOR EACH OTHER? If you vote for each other— IF YOU VOTE FOR EACH OTHER…” She ran her hands through her hair, high with emotion and tearing her turban loose, tossing it to the floor in front of the suited man’s feet. “Okay! No one else is going until I find out how everyone is voting!”

A sad bassoon played depressing notes, the lights briefly flashing red overhead.

“Minus ten points Dolores Madrigal.” The suited man announced.

“Points?” Dolores squawked. “When did points come into this? How did I lose ten fricking points!?”

“For being a spielverderber.” He answered.

She sounded unsure, “What the hell is that?”

“Spielverderber is a German word meaning ‘party spoiler’. On the other hand, given the context of German history, being a ‘party-spoiler’ might actually be a good thing.” A happier note played on the bassoon, the lights sparkled green. “Plus ten points Dolores Madrigal!”

Her eye-twitched momentarily. She turned back to the others, shaking more of her coils loose. “You see, he’s just messing with me now! You don’t think I get what’s going on here? Fine! We are all star farts! Everything is random! We’re all just accidents!”

“Speak for yourself, I’m no accident.” Camilo disagreed.

Adding insult to injury, Isabela also spoke up. “That’s true, Tía Pepa and Tío Félix really wanted a second child. And, I mean, if you do the math, counting back from the due date, Dolores was possibly the result of the wedding night.”

Dolores didn’t know what to say to that. “Well… your little sister was the accident of your parents’ ten year anniversary.”

Luisa growled, “Don’t you dare bring Mirabel in to this!”

When a fist was raised to her, Dolores did take a step back and let the argument go, though clearly still fuming about the thing.

“Here, Camilo, why don’t you go next?” Isabela suggested, changing the subject. She offered him the microphone. “You can sing about being a thousand other people or something.”

“…Or I could sing about being myself for a change and getting married to a prince?”

“So is nobody doing as we were told anymore?” Dolores challenged, crossing her arms, hoping for some kind of support from anyone. She was ignored though.

Luisa nodded excitedly, “Definitely the second one.”

The others were already starting to leave before Camilo had even reached the door. Watching as the images and engraving appeared, he couldn’t help but thinking he had missed that mischievous face.

“Camilo Pedro Valentino Estrada Madrigal,” the suited man introduced. “Born 28th December, Capricorn: the ambitious nature. Favourite ride: the gravitron. He was—”

“A babysitter, local entertainer and comedian, one of the best actors in town, a boy who wanted to be cool kid in class but was just weird, blah, blah, blah, blah. We know all that already. Can’t I just get into performing?” Camilo interrupted. He flashed his best and most hopeful puppy dog eyes that had always worked so well on his mother and Abuela when he was alive.

The suited man looked a little thrown by the comment, but he smiled, patting Camilo on the shoulder, “Break a leg, kid.”

He eagerly took the centre stage, reclaiming the microphone from Isabela. The others had regathered on stage, half-confused as to why the introduction had been cut short and why they still had control over their own bodies currently.

“Wait, why does he get to skip over his and I had to listen to all that bullshit?” Isabela whispered to her sister, who just shrugged.

Dolores crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Because this entire thing is clearly just a sham! I said the truth, we all know it - I have only been saying what everyone else is thinking since we got here. The only one here who should go back is me.”

“I have to go back.” Camilo cut in. Not to simply argue, but actually having a more important reason. Or, at least, that is how it sounded.

His sister looked incredulously at him, “…For what reason?”

“For the only reason anyone here should care about: to save the planet from certain destruction.”

~~~~~

14th September 1951, nine hours before the accident

“And you’ll remember to bring me back a balloon animal?”

Camilo bent down to his younger brother, who was still snuggling in the doorway. He pulled him into a reassuring hug.

The family were seeing them off for the day at the fair. His mother and Tía Julieta had pulled Bruno aside and were giving him a long list of instructions to keep the children (or everyone besides Dolores) in line. The rest of the adults were also trying to make sure Isabela and Dolores took good care of the younger two and Bruno, when he inevitably gave up managing them. Luisa was showering Mirabel in a similar fashion to how Camilo was saying goodbye to Antonio, though Mirabel didn’t seem to be too affected - given that staying behind was her own choice, unlike Antonio.

“I definitely will, Toñito. I’ll bring back the best balloon animal they have.” He promised. “And a ton of sweets and all the prizes I’ll win at the mini-games.”

Isabela scoffed, “As if you’ll win anything, Milo. We all know that I’ll probably get the most prizes.”

“Only because you’ll cheat!” Luisa snapped, looking over Mirabel’s shoulder angrily.

“Eh. You gotta do whatever it takes to win, sis!”

“That is a horrible philosophy to live by, Isa.” Mirabel complained.

“I agree.” Dolores offered, raising her hand.

She threw an arm around Dolores, pulling her close and bending to teasingly whisper in her ear, “Well, prima, that’s why I have the winning streak at family game night and you don’t. Because you’re too chicken.”

Camilo chuckled to himself watching his older cousins as they continued their banter with his sister. It only made Antonio more upset as he realised he was going to be ignored and forgotten all day. Camilo shook himself, returning back to what he was meant to be doing. He has always been easily distracted, he knows it is something he needs to work on.

“It’s okay, Toñito.” He insisted, confidently. “It’ll only be a couple of hours. It’ll fly by! You have all your animals here to play with! And Mirabel—”

The boy pouted, “No, I won’t! Mama says she’s going out. I’ll have nobody to play with.”

“You still have your animals and Casita and the rest of the grown-ups.”

“Indeed. We will all be more than happy to play with you today, Antonio.” Their grandmother offered. She had suddenly appeared behind them, opening her arms out gently. Antonio pulled away from Camilo and ran into her grasp. “You lot had better start heading off,” she prompted, “If you want to make the most of the day.”

Camilo gave a final wave to his brother and his parents before slowly making his way out the door. Isabela and Luisa were already miles ahead, apparently having decided to race each other there - Bruno was trying his best to sprint after them but the likelihood of him actually catching up to them was slim. Camilo himself considered running after them but contended himself to just walk alongside his sister. He wasn’t quite in his usual chaotic mood just now anyways.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” He asked.

Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Who? Tío Bruno?” She squinted her eyes to the green figure in the distance. “I mean, he’ll probably feel strained in the morning if he continues chasing after the Isas all day, but it’s nothing Tía won’t be able to fix.”

“No, not him. I meant Antonio!”

His sister shot him another confused look. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and kicking a stone along the path.

“He’ll be fine, hermano. Someone will distract him, like always when we do something without him, and he won’t even care about the fair in five minutes.” Dolores said.

“I know, it’s just… he seemed so sad.” He grumbled. “I remember being his age and not being able to do all the things you, Bela and Luisa were doing. It sucked! Yeah, I had Mirabel, but she didn’t really care. Antonio doesn’t even have anyone his age. And now I just can’t stop thinking about how sad he was! How am I suppose to enjoy the rides and shit like this!?”

The older hummed a little, smirking. She elbowed him in the side playfully, “It is nice to see that you do have a more responsible side that cares. I was starting to believe you had been born without one.”

“Hey! I take care of kids all the time! I’m totally responsible!”

“And yet, you are still the first one I hear to be doing something insanely chaotic.”

They both laughed a little, thinking back to how recently Dolores had caught him and his friends in the middle of a prank. Which, of course, ended with her tattling on them and Camilo being grounded for a week. For a prank he didn’t even get to do, which is extremely unfair if you ask him. The rest of his friends weren’t even punished that badly. But what else did he expect when Dolores said she was going to tell their father first? She’s lowkey his favourite.

“Though, you do seem to be getting in trouble less these days. The Osma boy seems to be having an effect on you, in more ways than one.”

He jumped out of his skin at the mention of Marco, tripping to the ground. He spat up dirt, staring at his older sister in horror. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY!?”

Dolores didn’t stop walking but she slowed her pace, Camilo could just no her hear her giggling to herself.

“DOLORES! HEY! HEY! WHERE’D YOU HEAR THAT!?” He yelled after her. He struggled to get back onto his feet, shocked and maybe a little scared. If Dolores knew that, what else did she know?

“It’s just nice to hear that you have a crush on a more responsible kid, as oppose to the usual bad boys. That’s all I’m saying.” Dolores went on, sounding as innocent as possible. Though her eyes were gleaming with mischievousness (that was rare for her) and her tone was anything but innocent.

She was teasing him! About a crush! Like she wasn’t any worse than he was, back when she was only admiring Mariano from afar while he was with Isabela! Like she was so much better than him! And she was clearly enjoying every second of it. He really hated when she had any kind of dirt or blackmail over him, it meant he was probably going to be kept on a tighter line than usual. Curse this cruel fate and their gifts! Why couldn’t his sister have been given something that didn’t make her so all-knowing? Why couldn’t he be more powerful!?

“HEY! WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT MY CRUSH!? WAIT UP! HAVE YOU TOLD ANYONE ELSE!? DO YOU KNOW IF HE LIKES ME BACK!? WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS!? WHY ARE YOU KILLING ME LIKE THIS!?”

[antifranchaela]

I feel super thrilled and eager for the Franchael genderswap & I think it's great how some of the people in this fandom try to battle homophobia and misogynoir in the fandom and point out how Franchaela have had literally 1 minute of screentime together before people can jump to conclusions about their storyline.

So, basically, for those that haven't read the books, let me give you a short summary : Francesca and John are very, very happily married. John is (more or less) the love of Fran's life (or at least that's what she thinks), meanwhile Michael, John's cousin, has been in love with Francesca from the first moment he saw her (not that he ever told her or made a move, the minute he found out Fran was his cousin's girl, Michael backed off & basically all but shipped himself out of the country - he's in the army - to run & avoid Fran and John), Fran finds Michael attractive, but she's not interested in him (but this is questionable and he himself kinda calls her out on this later). She loves John. Now, eventually John dies. Fran is devastated, especially when she finds out she's pregnant & has a miscarriage after John dies. Michael, similarly devastated over the loss of John. inherits John's title & is now more aware than ever that he should marry, but he's still into Francesca. Both get into a sorta "will they/won't they", where they're clearly into each other, but struggling because they feel like they'd betray John. (Michael because he's always been into/after Fran & Fran because she doesn't feel like she can move on from the love of her life and love somebody else.) But eventually Francesca decides that she does want to remarry because ultimately, she still desires to have a family and a baby of her own & they overcome their feelings of betraying John & end up together. (That’s a very loose summary.)

So there's 3 arguably 4 core elements to Francesca's story

Her love for John & the betrayal of John, she feels at the idea of moving on

Her desire for a baby which devastates her & also makes her move on eventually (& as we later find out a difficulty having a baby)

Her non-interest in Michael (again this is up for debate) & Michael's love at first sight with her

Michael's love for John & the feeling of betraying John by loving Francesca

& As of Season 3 we know

Francesca's feelings for John are complex. She obviously fought to marry him over hesitations from her mother and she (the literal shy and quiet Bridgerton) even stood up for their engagement AGAINST THE QUEEN. It's not completely clear yet if she is (using modern terms) bisexual or a lesbian. Either way, her love for John is different, which aligns with the book where she herself recognizes that what she had with John was very different from what she has with Michael

She hasn't given an opinion on wanting a family yet other than not wanting 8 kids lmfao

She experienced potentially her first moment of sexual attraction (some may say "dropped pussy") upon meeting Michaela... in front of John. Whom she'd only married DAYS before... and she has no idea what she's feeling because she literally has never felt this and also doesn't know that lesbianism is even a thing

There is a theory that Michaela still fell for Francesca first. The theory goes that Michaela assumed Eloise was John's wife, hence why she nodded at Eloise but didn't ask for her name, she only asked for Fran's name because she assumed that was a single Bridgerton sister or a friend of John's new wife that she could get away with flirting with a bit. the second she found out Fran was John's wife her face drops

A lot of this works with the original storyline, some of it doesn't and that is literally how the entire Bridgerton adaptation has gone so far... Because that's how adaptation works especially when the original books are composed of boring ass white hetero couples where the man is often an abuser/rapist/immature man child/all of the above. Some of y'all are racist and homophobic if you can't just re-read your goddamn book that you love so much and leave the Michaela enjoyers alone

2 pussies rubbing against each other ain't gonna make a baby - BUT WE WILL CERTAINLY KEEP TRYING

Sperm donors & IVF aren't a regency thing, so the baby storyline isn't gonna stay the same. Period. And this is a really interesting take on both infertility and queerness where Fran may have to choose between marrying some random man she doesn't love just to have a kid, or being with the woman she actually loves even if it means having no bio kids. Which is extremely powerful take on infertility that we haven't seen much of, especially set in regency era

The showrunner has confirmed that Fran does love John, the aspect of that love is unclear because we haven't seen more than 1 minute of their married life together. See the most likely millions of lesbians who ended up married to men throughout history who nonetheless loved them. Period. But she will still feel a lot of shame and despair over his death regardless. In fact, being unable to love him romantically and/or sexually would WORSEN her shame because she would feel she lied to him and never told him the truth. OF COURSE SHE WOULD CARE ONCE HE'S DEAD because Francesca cares deeply for him.

So basically from Fran's perspective, there could be love between her and John (platonic or romantic or sexual), potentially desire for a baby which could absolutely still work with the lesbian plot, cause it's an actually interesting moral dilemma for her to choose someone she can't have a baby with because of LOVE AND ROMANCE (WHICH BRIDGERTON IS ABOUT BTW)

ABSOLUTELY feeling of betrayal or conflicted thoughts about John.

So what's left? Michaela? WE CARE A LOT. we'll see if theories are true that she may have fallen for Fran at first sight too

So what's left of the original relationship?

A lot of what I just said + Michaela inheriting John's title, which is apparently the least important part of the story even though many were jumping down my throat saying "Michaela can't inherit so she can't feel guilt for stealing John's life like Michael does..." MANY SUCH CONFLICTING MESSAGES

This is just riveting & anyone who doesn't get that is stupid. Sorry.

Of course it works for the "Mi-mi-mi LGBT GenZ crowd" (aka the based part of the community) and anyone with a brain who's actually read the story understands how cool and promising this genderswap is. This even includes the lady who wrote the goddamn thing!

They CAN go with Francesca's fertility plot. Which was written years after the original book because the lady who wrote the thing literally forgot about Fran and Michael ever having a kid because IT DIDN'T MATTER TO THE ACTUAL STORYLINE unlike what some people are claiming

They can go with the "Falling in love again" plot now too

Because the show hasn't revealed her type of love for John. And even if she's 100% lesbian she can still love him platonically and be absolutely wrecked by his death and hesitant to move on

And last I checked, 2 cunts - pussies, vaginas, fannies, minges, vajayjays, cookies, punanis, tacos - (EDIT HERE TO CLARIFY THE i'm assuming originally homophobic??? WORDING: "rubbing against each other"), can't procreate. but Fran and Michaela will keep trying because they love to do it and i hope they do it over a bunch of copies of "When He Was Wicked" (non-woke version)

Y'all are amazing for your defense of a queer couple over a bunch of homophobes and stupid people who can't just re-read the book and stop giving a fuck about the show already if they're that mad about it, brilliant for your approval (EDIT to remove some presumably homophobic language: "of adding representation to a very fringe struggle of queer women dealing with infertility in regency England") & ANGELIC for being so excited to see your own bedroom (and kitchen, and bathroom, and living room, and pool...) activities on TV so desperately, you haven't caused another form of representation to be erased because THE BOOK IS ACTUALLY RIGHT THERE

& A lot of people who STILL GIVE THIS MUCH OF A FUCK about any of this out are indeed racist AND/OR homophobic. I stand by all of this. Out of a shittily written season this was actually titillating. we hate to see a "self-hating" gay person 🤣

Y'all are just pathetic & can't handle being confronted by facts. Seek help!

[our-aroace-experience]

Recently ive been coming to understand myself as aromantic, which is so interesting because I’ve thought of myself as a lesbian for so long. I think i feel some sort of alterous/sensual/other attraction to women that im still figuring out, but now that i see myself as aromantic i dont feel the need for labels as much as i used to. Its both funny and sad that I didn’t know this word for my feelings for so long, it really would have kept me front going through a lot of grief if I had an explanation, and I’m sure the same can be said for a number of people.

Some things I remembered recently that should have really tipped me off to being aromantic when I first discovered the term years ago:

- hearing a rumor that my middle school bf might want to kiss me, causing me to run screaming and start crying in the bathroom. all the girls in my class followed me to the bathroom to make sure i was okay and my teacher freaked lol

- I almost never have nightmares, and when I do I’m never spooked by them. But I’ve had several where someone confessed their feelings for me and I begrudgingly accepted their advances because I felt bad for them and didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Everytime I woke up from these dreams I felt really anxious and nervous and would avoid the person I dreamt about until I felt better.

- actually started considering I was aro years ago! But then my (very misguided) friend told me that wasn’t possible and that I liked [name of ex gf]. I took them at their word bc im a fool lol and we dated for 10 months !

- getting frustrated when my friends had dating drama with each other, especially when it was unrequited. I can recall saying often that they should just be happy to have the other person in their life at all.

- hating most romance in movies/tv. That could be because it is often poorly written or is could be me being romance repulsed who knows lol

- the first thing that really tipped me off to being aro was that I really don’t see the hype about Zendaya and literally everyone does 💀 except me apparently

i’m glad you’ve figured it out, even if it took a lot of signs lol. i wish you luck in finding a label for your other attraction if you decide you’d like to!

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

Before I go, here's the last few pieces that I need to settle.

Whether you consider me an internet friend or that user that deserves all the hate in the world, I'm still going to say my peace.

I'm not sharing the user's username in this. They have exposed me publically, but I won't be doing the same. People still deserve privacy and dignity, no matter how much they try to hurt others.

First off, the haters-

I'm assuming you were sent here by [READACTED], or, you felt the need to 'teach me a lesson' yourself. Either way, welcome to this (now) dead blog.

I never really got the chance to share my side of the story about what happened. I shared what an anon told me more about something Plane said since [REDACTED]'s post that I reblogged had misinformation. This person answered my ask by bringing this to the public, and saying that I was a fangirl that blindly supports a misogynist. (Note- I've never interacted with this person before, and neither of us follows each other.)

I then brought this to private messages, as I felt like it should have been handled since the beginning. I attempted to explain to [REDACTED] that I was upset that they took my ask and used it to air out their grievances. I explained that I respect their opinion, but I felt like they had cherry-picked the information by taking the joke out of the context of the source.

They kept bringing up how this conversation was about my blind loyalty to Plane, and did not acknowledge what I had to say at all. I eventually left the conversation, telling them that I was not taking anything of value from it.

I left with a sarcastic comment, before blocking and moving on.

But I did look later on my alt account, out of curiosity. Here's some highlights of what they said about me:

-I am an insufferable pick-me

-I am a victim/martyr

-I am a fangirl of Plane and I want her to notice me/fuck me (Note: I found this particularly offputting to say, especially since I am an out lesbian)

Later, I received an anon that called me a raging misogynist for Plane being my fave. (Note, again: Plane isn't my fave, I just said I am a fan)

I decided to move to a private account and transfer my fics to a separate account. I wanted a fresh start after all this.

And now, moving on to friends/supportive readers/just those that are curious-

Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks to those that check in on me when I say I'm taking a break, or just want to chat. I cherished our chats about ships we like or brainstorming a fic idea.

I love my supportive anons. I smile to myself whenever I see someone who responded to an ask game or asked for my headcannon of something. I really appreciate coming in to say hi, whether its a good or bad day.

I told a few of my mutuals my new account, and some have already followed me there. I'm happy to continue seeing you on my dash.

I'm keeping this account up, but I won't be using it. I have a lot of fics on here that I would hate to see deleted. Maybe someone reads one for a source of comfort, or discovering a new pairing. Or maybe a queen will find a fic of mine and share it to their socials

Unless it wasn't obvious, the last part was a joke.

Goodbye to eyeslikewatercoolers, nobody will ever take this bomb-ass username.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for being here <3

-Erin

[compassionatereminders]

I'm sorry I just wanted to vent...

A close friend of mine (19F), revealed to my mom that I’m a lesbian. I had two relationships with girls—one from ages 15 to 17 and another when I was 18, but that one only lasted a few months because she kept pressuring me for sex just a month and a half into our relationship and I just wasn't ready since I didn't know her for very long.

I’ve known this girl friend since I was 11, but she only found out about my sexuality six months ago (after I ended things with my last girlfriend.)

Throughout our friendship, she never showed any animosity towards lesbians or gay individuals. I live with my mom, and we often clash, which has left me feeling quite down. I decided to confide in her about my struggles with my mom, who has been calling me worthless, and the hurtful comments from my ex-girlfriend. I just needed someone to listen.

Life was pretty normal until a few days ago when my mom confronted me on Wednesday regarding my being a lesbian. I think she stopped by and told her everything. I’ve recently started hanging out with a new girl, and we went out on a date on Wednesday, so she probably came over because she didn’t have my mom’s contact info and she’s not on any social media platforms.

What really stings is that my friend knew I was on a date and still decided to tell my mom I’m a lesbian on that very day. My mom's reaction was severe; she almost hit me. My friend is fully aware of my mom's homophobic views, and I had made it clear that I didn’t want to come out to her—at least not while living under her roof. Yet, she went ahead and did it anyway. I later discovered from another friend that this same person had been expressing how disgusting she finds lesbians, even though she’s fine with gay men. She had been saying these things for months, but the other friend didn’t want to tell me, fearing it would hurt me to know my friend was spreading my secret.

Right now, I find it hard to trust any of my friends. They were aware that I was a lesbian months ago & they chose to gossip with that so-called good friend of mine. It feels like they only revealed this information because they knew exactly what she did to me.

I can't live with my dad, but I'm about to turn 19. For the past year, I've been working part-time because I've always wanted to save up to move out as soon as possible. My only choice now is to find a roommate. My mom recently broke the laptop she got me when I was 16, thinking I'm meeting girls online. She didn’t take my phone since I bought it myself, but she told me I can't eat any food she bought. I can only come home and stay in my room, and everything that belongs to her is off-limits. I can't even cook (if I buy myself food) because she owns all the pans & the stove. And if I don’t like it, I should just move out.

I asked my friend why she acted the way she did, and she replied that she was only trying to help, especially since my mom is homophobic. But that doesn't quite add up, as she has openly said that being a lesbian is gross. To her other friends she said she never expressed such opinions before because she didn't know any lesbians so it did not bother her, but now that she does, she is disgusted.

One of the girls I know got in touch to ask if I needed help, but it feels hypocritical because she’s been gossiping about me too.

Thank you for being here to listen. I feel quite alone in this, and honestly, I can’t bring myself to talk to the girl I went out with about this. It just seems overwhelming, and I don’t want to feel like I’m imposing on her.

Outing you like that against your wishes is completely unacceptable, evil and dangerous behavior and I'm so fucking sorry that she forced you into this situation! There is truly no excuses for doing what she did.