#I know some of these personalities are for a different gender but I don’t really care….

[seagull-scribbles]

An enchanting neighbourhood

[dadexpertheart]

Okay, let’s talk about daddy kinks because I know the name alone can make people cringe a little. But here’s the thing—it’s not always about being into older guys with salt-and-pepper hair. Although, let’s be real, George Clooney could make anyone rethink that. It’s really about the dynamic between two people.

One person takes on a dominant, protective role—usually called “Daddy”—and the other leans into a more submissive, sometimes younger-feeling vibe. It’s about trust, power, and a little playful role-play. And just so we’re clear, this isn’t some “girl thing.” People of all genders and orientations can enjoy it. It’s kind of like pineapple on pizza—some people love it, and others don’t get the appeal.

I know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not always about your Dad. This is about a role in a relationship, not biology or family ties.

Think of “Daddy” like calling someone “baby” or “honey.” You don’t actually think they’re a child or a jar of honey—it’s just a name that fits the vibe.

So, if someone mentions their daddy kink, don’t let your mind go to awkward family dinners or childhood memories. It’s just one of many ways people connect in their relationships, and at the end of the day, everyone likes different things. No judgment!

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about Gelboys EP1 : The excitement of teen love, nail art and queer identity.

I made the decision to watch this series because it was centered around the turmoil of teen romance with nail art as the basis for the story. If you ask me nowadays if I have any interest for nail art, I would answer with a firm “no”. I have no interest with nail art anymore, but there was a time when I was younger and it was really important to me. I had several nail polishes of so many different colors and I used to change them a lot. I tried to make few designs, but turns out it's far more complicated to draw on your own nails than it is on someone's else nails. I forgot how I liked it back then when I was a teen. This long introduction that has nothing to do with the series, is to show you that I believe the creator of this series made a conscious choice when he decided to put nail art as the basis for the story and that's what I want to talk about in this “random thoughts” about the first episode.

I will make a quick summary of first episode, but you have to know there isn't much happening. This is mostly an introduction of the series' “world” and characters. We get to meet Fou4Mod aka Sakolphat Phlaphithak, a teenager boy who, in the first minutes of the series, discovers that the person he thinks he is dating, is actually seeing someone else too and he ends up blocking them from all his social media and crying from the heartbreak. Then, you'll watch him being a normal teenager: being embarrassed by his mom(‘s old taste in music) as many teens are, going to school, taking the public transport, spending time with friends, being bored in class and socializing. The first day he takes the BTS, he meets Chian and he noticed him because he was wearing nail art. From this point, he became really interested in him and it steers him to try nail art too. Unfortunately, this attraction may cause him some pain too as Chian is described as a “player” by his own friend “Bua”, another character who is a “friend” of Chian and certainly the future “love rival” of Fou4Mod. There is also another important character Baabin Saebal, Fou4Mod's friend.

So as you can see, nail art has its importance in the series. There has always been a social relevance of nail art in our society from a very long time. Unfortunately, I'm not an expert in this, so take everything I say with a grain of salt as my passion from nail art died with me discovering I had allergy to most nail polishes and I stopped caring for this when I entered university. Despite this everyone can agree that nail art is a form of creative expression. It is a way of creating its own identity through fashion because nail art can be seen as just another accessory. The color choices, the length and the shape communicate something about what you like and who you are. It's an easy way to show your individuality, and even if you're not making them yourself, it also shows your taste in art and creativity as you still get to be the one who chooses the design. In the series, the characters' nail art is made with what seems to be gel nail polish technique (I don’t know yet if it’s going to be relevant).

Nail art can be an allegory of queer identity. The fact that you can use different colors and shape to suit your taste, can be seen as letting go of your past self; the one where you couldn't be who you wanted or you had to be the way your parents/caregivers choose for you to be. In choosing some specific design for your nails, you're creating your new self, something that could be more aligned with who you want to be. It's a form of protest too, where you can reject the gender norms. If nail art can be tied to the idea of “femininity” it doesn't mean that it's only meant for this “purpose” (I'm sorry I don't a better word here). In the story of Gelboys, Fou4Mod starts doing nail art because he has developed an instant crush on Chian who was wearing it. It's probably a way of feeling connected to him that steers Fou4Mod to do it. In a way, he is self-expressing by doing nail art that he wants to become closer to Chian. I wonder if in the upcoming episodes, the choice he is going to make in his nail art will be showing the turmoil of his love life. I also want to know if there is going to be a larger discussion of his queer identity. I'm not saying it has to be shown, but I admit I would really like to see it. I feel there is a common pattern with LoveSick 2024 where I felt like young queer love can be mixed with the identity development associated with the transitional stage that is adolescence. Here in Gelboys the identity development could be seen through nail art.

Anyway, I’m pleasantly surprised by this first episode. You can see how I liked the introduction of nail art as I believe it can be queer performativity.

[marwyn]

Something I find very interesting how the people who understand f&b is painting several female characters in a bad light because they didn't conform to societal expectations for women in Westeros or simply wanted power and then in the same breath talk about how Maegor is a blood magic baby and Visenya was a evil sorceress. Let's use our brains now.

I do like Visenya and Maegor’s Morgause and Mordred slay but agree that things are probably not as simplistic as they seem. I’m always caught on the tension between

Even those who loved her best found Visenya stern, serious, unforgiving;

and

When the regent of the Vale rushed out to confront her, with a dozen guards at her back, she found Visenya with Ronnel Arryn seated on her knee, staring at the dragon, wonder-struck. ‘Mother, can I go flying with the lady?’ the boy king asked. No threats were spoken, no angry words exchanged. The two queens smiled at one another and exchanged courtesies instead.

You could easily interpret the latter as a veiled threat and/or good politicking, but it’s interesting that “stern, serious” Visenya was able and willing to smile and at least convincingly pretend to be personable—can you imagine Stannis doing that? Perhaps the difference is a gendered one, but Visenya did have more leeway than the average Westerosi noblewoman given that she rode a dragon, was able to train with a sword alongside her brother, and later sat the Iron Throne during his absences from King’s Landing:

Save perhaps for Good Queen Alysanne, the wife of King Jaehaerys I, no other queen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms ever exercised as much influence over policy as the Dragon’s sisters. It was the king’s custom to bring one of his queens with him wherever he traveled, whilst the other remained at Dragonstone or King’s Landing, oft as not seated on the Iron Throne, ruling on whatever matters came before her.

As with several other historical characters who have strong parallels to ones in the present, I find it interesting to see what light the latter might potentially shed on the former. Rhaegar obviously expected his third child to be a Visenya figure, and despite one key difference Jon does fulfill the role really well. I think his personality helps to explain some of the contradictions present in the descriptions of Visenya’s in that he’s somewhat chameleonic and reveals a lot of kindness and levity in his interactions with characters like Arya but appears completely different to those whom he doesn’t like and/or don’t know him well, see Theon and young Alys Karstark:

The bastard was a sullen boy, quick to sense a slight, jealous of Theon’s high birth and Robb’s regard for him.

Additionally, the batch of descriptions GRRM gave to an artist in the early 2000s which includes the one of Rhaenyra people use to “prove” she’s not feminine enough in the show also includes this:

Rhaenys is the flirt, Visenya the seductress. Although they share their brother Aegon between them, they compete for him too, each in her own way....

While neither description has made it into any published books, I bet the same people who use the Rhaenyra one to complain about HOTD will claim the show about the Conquest is OOC if it includes any hint of rivalry between the two women. Not that I necessarily want the show to do this as it could easily skew kind of cliché, but regardless this rivalry between siblings does evoke Robb and Jon, particularly in that Aegon is not just a love interest for the sisters but a proxy to power.

Anyway, on Maegor’s conception—it’s true that accusations of evil sorcery can be misogynistic calumnies, see Rohanne Webber, but magic is real and it was probably much more powerful in Visenya’s time when the dragons were alive than it was during the Dunk & Egg era when Bloodraven likely managed to convincingly glamor himself as a hedge knight, and certain biographical details of Maegor’s do seem a bit suspect so I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if those who “said that [Visenya] played with poisons and dabbled in dark sorceries” are at least somewhat correct and Visenya did…blood magic IVF or something, and/or she and Tyanna raised Maegor from the dead after his fight with the Faith Militant. I really do wonder how the former is supposed to have worked, though—is the consensus that Visenya sacrificed someone in order to conceive a son à la “only death can pay for life” or is there an ethical way to do magic IVF? Lmao

[bisexualseraphim]

Alright fine I’m gonna speak my mind.

My cis followers, listen up:

Being attracted to trans people is not inherently a fetish. The way you speak about trans people CAN be fetishistic, but 99% of the time when I see cis people calling out trans fetishism it’s literally just. Someone being really horny for a trans person. That’s not inherently fetishistic.

Sorry but it actually hurts me a little when I see cis people claim that a content creator is being fetishistic for drawing a trans guy with tits and a pussy, or for writing smut where a trans guy really enjoys using his pussy for sex, or God forbid said trans guy is fem. Trans people like that exist, you know. I myself have a pussy and fuck yes do I want people I’m in a relationship with to be attracted to it. And the same goes for many transfemmes who keep their natal parts, especially butch transfemmes.

Trans people are not a monolith. We don’t all hate our bodies or experience dysphoria or express our genders the same way. I swear to God cis people are all “allies” until a trans man is fem or a trans woman is butch or an enby isn’t androgynous or we actually enjoy our bodies or we have a kink or sexual fetish you don’t like.

Cis people: I know your hearts are in the right place and I appreciate that, but spouting “oh this content is fetishistic and Bad because trans men NEVER like their vaginas and are NEVER feminine” (or something equal to other trans people) is seriously not the allyship you think it is.

There is absolutely a conversation to be had about fetishising trans people — chasers in particular — but it’s quite a bit less black and white than hating certain FICTIONAL portrayals of trans people because these types of trans people exist in real life and we can see what you say about us.

I love my dick and my pussy (because I have both — are you aware we can have both?) but I saw a post today by someone I really like that actually made me feel kind of shit about myself because it was a cis person essentially saying that smut that describes my genitals in any particularly horny light is fetishistic and that really kind of hurt me. It made me feel like people think I’m undesirable due to my body only it was said in some backwards attempt to be an ally which is almost worse than deliberate transphobia lol.

I guess my point is: not all trans people’s feelings and experiences are universal. Call out obvious transphobia when you see it, yes, but please stop speaking for us about complex situations you just can’t fully understand unless you’re trans. Trans identities and experiences can be so much more complicated than what mainstream celebrities and articles will tell you and I just really need cis people to stop behaving as though the issues we face are a quick and easy fix. It never is. Sometimes the best allyship is to listen to how WE feel and take it into consideration instead of saying whatever you think we want you to say — because a lot of the time, we don’t.

[asclexeposting]

sometimes i feel jealous of cisgender people but then. i dont it’s whatever man. no wait i am. i am very jealous of cisgender people in a fucked up way. what

[natugood]

Do you ever have a memory which sticks with you, and the longer it sits there the worse you feel about it? Yeah. I have one of those that’s been bugging me more and more recently, and I want it to stop souring. I just have no idea how to go about it.

[drill-teeth-art]

Wow! Here’s something incredibly personal.

This is Good Bi Gender. A comic I made to express some feelings I have about my gender. I don’t really have that much else to say about it. Here it is.

[Image Description: A digital comic made with sharp, angular abstract lines and only the colors white, blue, pink, and black. The featured character is all white, except for facial features and hair colors, which changes from panel to panel. The comic reads: Cover Panel: The text "Good Bi Gender", the words colored with the trans flag. It shows a glitchy person's face, half pink and half blue. Panel 1: White text reads: "Hello. My name is apparently irrelevant. And my pronouns are he/him and she/her. But you can't call me she/her. And here's why." Someone with a half-pink and half-blue shirt looks to the side. One eye is covered with hair, and the other eye is pink while the iris is blue.

Panel 2: The character sits happily, imagining facial hair and a masculine voice. "I don't want top surgery. I love my chest. And I dream about being on testosterone someday soon." The character looks at a phone, frowning. The phone shows the male symbol with an "X" through it. Text next to it reads: “People don't seem to think that the features I dream of are very pretty though... Or they think even worse of them than that…”

Panel 3: The character’s features are all pink, and sits in a blank frame. The character reaches over to a blue frame, frowning. “I don't like the animosity. I really despise it.” A photo of the character shows an all-blue frame and blue hair, with pink outlines and facial features. “To be a boy... I aspire to be one. I aspire to be masculine in all its handsomeness. All its prettiness.” Panel 4: The character sits in an all blue panel, but reaches back out to the pink panel. “And I'm still a girl too. I was so excited to have both. To love both. To have handsome femininity. Beautiful masculinity.” The frames break and connect, and pink and blue swirl together. The character smiles in between the frames, with one pink eye and one blue eye. “So excited. And yet I get asked…”

Panel 5: Two hands hold out two different pills to the character, one blue and one pink. They ask “Male? or Female?” using the male and female symbols.The character, facial features an array of pink and blue, looks between the two hands, distressed. “It's both! I'm both! They're not opposites. Not narrow boxes. I say I'm both despite the insistence that I can't be. And I know what I look like. I know I look like a girl to most. I know that if I say people can call me she, that's all I will get from most. Because it's "easier". It "makes more sense". To have my masculinity, I am often forced to be unflinching in it and it alone. To never use she. Because if I don't, I will never get to have he.” [The words "she" and "he" are italicized.] Panel 6: Text reads: “I'm still very happy to be so comfortable in my identity. To know, despite all that, that I am indeed a boy and a girl and both. But you know. Telling people to only use he/him for me. Guarding my masculinity all just to have it. All at the expense of the part of me who is happily and unashamedly a girl.” The character cries from one pink eye, the other hidden. The character holds a pink girl in a sea of blue, the girl crying out. In the midst of the blue, text reads: “Well, it fucking breaks her heart.” End ID]

Edit: @starberry-skies wrote an ID for the comic, so I added it to the og post with its permission!

[genderkoolaid]

In Los Angeles, one of the queerest cities in the United States, there are surprisingly few spaces where trans masculine individuals can find solidarity and community. For some, trying to fit into queer spaces after transitioning can be an isolating experience once they start to pass as men. “In general, people can’t necessarily look at me and know that I’m trans,” says Devyn Payne, jumping rope outside to warm up ahead of his match. It’s now different for him to enter LGBTQ+ rooms where lesbians might read him as a straight man or gay men might not recognize him as trans. “Passing as a Black man, my experience has been different in sapphic spaces ... I don’t necessarily feel welcomed [anymore].” The 27-year-old used to wrestle competitively in high school, but three years after coming out as trans he is now rediscovering his joy in the sport and reconnecting with the queer community in a different way — tonight by wrestling another trans man in a neon green jock strap under the alter ego “T-Payne.”

“Before I went to my first Trans Dudes of LA event, I had no trans men friends,” Payne says. “I can’t necessarily relate to [cisgender men]. So it’s great to have people who I can talk about the changes of being on testosterone.” [...] In this room full of transgender people, the weight of a gender binary disappears. Masculinity becomes play material, a performance to bend and break. People dressed for the part exude “Brokeback Mountain” homo-eroticism, another pair act out a construction worker role-play in a BDSM scene in which a plastic hammer is shoved in the mouth. Cal Dobbs, dressed for the part as a judge for the tournament, wears a white wig reminiscent of the founding fathers and a thong under his black robes. (“RBG, classic sex symbol,” Dobbs explained of his costume inspiration from the late Supreme Court Justice.) “Trans men and trans masculine people are redefining masculinity,” says the 27-year-old, who was the first trans person to run across the transcontinental United States. “[Wrestling] is a hyper masculine sport, [but the competitors] bring an element of humor and romance and cuteness to it that makes everyone feel really comfy and safe.” [...] In the weeks leading up to the big performance, Elías Naranjo and Arón Sánchez-Vidal had practiced their wrestling routine weekly for a month, familiarizing themselves with consent and boundaries to make sure they wouldn’t hurt each other. “I was asking them, ‘Is it OK if we kiss? Is it OK if I pick you up and grind on you?’ And he was like, ‘Yeah, I’m open to it,’ ” says Naranjo. But on the spot the two also decided to improvise as Sánchez-Vidal took his testosterone shot on the wrestling mat — a moment met with thunderous applause. The two entered the ring waving Mexican and Peruvian flags dressed as vaqueros. “EL VAQUERO... STR8 4 PAY?” read a sign that Sánchez-Vidal’s girlfriend had made to cheer on her partner. “There’s so much in being brown and trans and queer,” says Naranjo. “We want to show up and take up space ... we’re Peruvian, hot and trans.” The two won best partners, splitting a $150 cash prize at the end of the tournament. Inclusiveness was on the forefront of co-organizers Miller and Bandrowski’s minds as they planned this event. They prepped over 200 hot dogs to feed their hungry fans, a hot and heavy playlist to rally their attendees, and hired ASL interpreters to make the event accessible for deaf members of the queer community. This was their biggest event yet.

[amirasainz]

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

[beazt]

something I don’t really see mentioned or acknowledged at all is that “being in the closet” is a spectrum.

some people are only out to themselves.

some people are only out online.

some people are only out on specific websites or accounts.

some people are only out on a specific space on an account, such as a discord server.

some people are only out irl.

some people are only out when they’re in an area they don’t live in (such as the next city over, or on vacation).

some people are only out to their therapist and/or medical team.

some people are only out at school/uni.

some people are only out at work.

some people are only out to their family.

some people are only out to their friends.

some people are only out to their partner(s).

some people are only out to specific family/friends/partners.

some people express a muted or more “palatable” version of their identity in some or all spaces, not necessarily expressing the fullness of their identity anywhere but to themselves.

some people are partially or fully expressing their gender and/or sexuality, but not expressing other identity signifiers such as new pronouns or name.

or the above but express different versions of these signifiers in different circumstances or spaces.

some people express their identity fully, but don’t correct anyone who is “wrong” or tell anyone the full extent of their identity, with some answering when asked and others not.

some people have come out “fully”, and gone back into the closet “fully.”

some people are stealth, and are very cautious about who they allow (if anyone) to know their full identity.

and most queer people are incredibly complex mixtures of all of the above scenarios, and many more. I can’t possibly list them all.

we cannot meaningfully divide experiences between those who are “in/out of the closet” (full stop) because individual experience is way more nuanced than that. and everyone’s definition of either in/out is going to be different, ranging from “if 1 other person knows, you’re out of the closet” to “unless everybody knows the full extent of your identity, you’re not out of the closet.”

[transmisogyny-explained]

I want to submit a perspective on "afab transfemininity" from. an afab multi gender person. I know my experience isn't representative of everyone who calls themselves this, but I wanted to at least share

I don't call myself a trans woman, I hesitate to call myself transfem. nonetheless, I feel connected to femininity in a distinctly transgender way. when I first came out, I hated being a girl. I was a transmedicalist and validated myself by invalidating others. I had to face a lot of internalized misogyny and transphobia in order to really learn what it meant to be a man. after I started testosterone about 3 yrs ago, I realized I was a lesbian, and started feeling more comfortable being, at least in part, a woman. it was different this time because it was something I liked, something new and my own, not something ascribed to me. it's not cisgender in any way, it is transfemininity

this being said, I know my experience toward transfemininity is extremely different from the norm. I am not what most people are referring to when they refer to transfems, and there are many definitions of transfem that do not include me. despite that, I do have some experiences that overlap, things I can relate to. my femininity is at its core transgender in nature. my gender now is more complex... I feel like both a man and a woman, neither and both. but that doesn't mean my feelings about my gender are predatory or invalid. I don't want to talk over transfems, I am very aware of my place in these conversations. but I still have a place, and it frustrates me to see you share posts that minimize my experience into a stereotype

Why do you view transfemininity as being, at its core, the experience of being “both a man and a woman” lmao

Get back to me when you start viewing trans women as actual women and transfemininity as actual femininity, and not an aesthetic or a vibe or “some other third thing” apart from femininity.

You “feel femininity in a distinctly transgender way?” Congrats! You’re nonbinary! But that is NOT what being a trans woman is — Their womanhood and femininity is not essentially different from cis women’s.

What you are describing is a very generic experience of being a feminine nonbinary person, and I don't say that to insult you; but to compare that experience to those of trans women’s betrays the fact that you don't view them as the same gender as cis women. Which is transmisogyny. It’s textbook third-gendering.

Call yourself a nonbinary woman- Call yourself whatever you want, in fact. But trans women and TMA people are never going to feel safe around you so long as you continue insisting that transfemininity is essentially the same as the nonbinary femininity you experience, and essentially different from “real” cis women’s femininity.

Also, can I just say that it’s a little condescending that you would end your ask by saying “I’m aware of my place in these conversations, but…”

Like, if you were really “aware of your place” and were actually listening to transfems when we talk about transfeminism, you would be able to recognize the enormous amount of transmisogyny baked into your message. On top of the third-gendering, you also managed to:

Imply that TMA people don’t understand the complexities of gender and nonbinarity like you, a TME person, do

Imply that TMA people creating the language and spaces to discuss our experiences in a way that excludes you, a TME person, is invalidating and somehow tantamount to labeling you as “predatory” (what does that even mean?)

Sent an unprompted ask to a transfem’s blog venting your frustrations with the language of transfeminism, despite the fact that I’m not even the one who made those posts?

Showed a pretty absurd amount of entitlement by insinuating that it’s somehow my problem that you feel frustration over misunderstanding the basics of transfeminist theory

Subtly demanded that I do the emotional labor of managing your frustration, which, frankly, is just classic misogyny

Displayed a complete lack of understanding towards what transmisogyny even is, nor why we, as the direct targets of transmisogyny, need the the language and spaces to discuss it

I really don’t care what transfem “experiences” you think you relate to, the fact that you perpetuate and can benefit from transmisogyny will always separate you from us, and if you actually gave a shit about us and our struggles, you would recognize that and try to be a better ally to us rather than co-opting and redefining our language in a shallow attempt to define us out of existence.

As has been said countless times now:

“Transfeminine” does not mean “trans + feminine,” it is a term coined by TMA people to describe our specific experiences with being denied our femininity. That is something which you, as a person for whom (as you said) womanhood/femininity was ascribed by the system of patriarchy, cannot understand in the way we do.

[bingsoo-jung]

I said this in the comments of someone else’s post, but I’m going to say this here. Taash identifying as non-binary is good actually, and in fact better than the dev’s making up some new term for them. Let’s get into it.

So for a bit of background, I’m non-binary and Thai. If you don’t know, Thai has specific terms for different gender-sexual identities, they’re quite old, they date back a few hundred years. However, the thing about culturally specific terms is just that, they’re culturally specific. The reason you use them is because you are tied to the culture in such a way that you gender-sexual identity cannot be disassociated from it. Because, to be clear, these terms are never just about your gender or sexual identity. They encompass a role you play within society itself.

For instance, in Thai culture we have tom/tomboys. These are AFAB folks who occupy a masculine societal role and date women. If you’re AMAB you cannot be tom. If you’re transmasc and feminine? You cannot be tom. If you’re transmasc and not attracted to women? You cannot be tom. If you’re transmasc and mostly date men? You cannot be tom. If you’re transmasc but don’t particularly feel like taking care of the girl you date, taking her out, being the ‘man’ in the relationship? You can’t really be tom.

Because the thing about culturally specific genders is that they come with a lot of rules. Being tom isn’t being non-binary. There are cis women who are tom, and there are non-binary people who are toms. You do not get eschew gender roles in these cases. You are quite literally taking one on. You have a role and place in society that has been made for you, and you are expected to carry it out.

Because of this, none of these terms are a one-to-one for other identities, and nor should they be. Being kathoey or hijra is not the same as being a trans woman or non-binary, and visa versa. You can be kathoey and not be trans. You can be trans and not be kathoey. Being aqun-athlok or any other specific term shouldn’t be either. The idea that it is, is more ahistorical and inaccurate than the word non-binary itself. Giving Taash some new, culturally specific term, would inherently tie them to a culture, and one perhaps that they didn’t feel apart of. Especially since Taash’s entire story is about struggling to figure out where they belong. Arguably the biggest issue with their story is that you have to make them decide, and fundamentally tying them to a term would’ve compounded that problem.

The reason I identify as non-binary and not a tom, is because I am not occupying some specific role in Thai culture. Despite living in LA, I rarely interact with other Thai people who aren’t my family. I do not live in a cultural context that would allow me to identify as a tom.

The thing about terms like non-binary, or trans, or agender, is that they’re meant to be acultural terms encapsulating the concept of truth to oneself and ones identity. Whereas culturally specific terms aren’t, they’re about the role you hold in society and where you fit in. It’s about your identity within a status quo. Taash is a character who is eschewing societal roles, and breaking the status quo, giving them those terms just wouldn’t work.

And finally? Using non-binary itself allows the writers to very specifically say where they stand. There is no space given to transphobes. You either accept that DA is queer-friendly or bust. And that’s a very important stance to make in an era where trans and non-binary folks are being actively targeted. There’s no ‘well Taash isn’t actually trans or non-binary they’re [insert term here]!’ Because people would’ve done that, we know they would’ve. This means people can’t do that. They have to just say that they have an issue with the term, and thus we can call them for what they are. Transphobes. Plain and simple.

So yeah, Taash’s identity does have nuance, it has a lot of it. And to be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if Trick Weekes, a non-binary person whose wife is First Nations and thus from a group with culturally specific gender identities, knows about the difference between something like two-spirit and trans. And to be honest with you, using something like non-binary has nuance I doubt was actually afforded to Krem, considering they cast a cis woman to play Krem.

So yeah.

[starryreading]

So they don’t remember that but at some point my best friend (who is queer themselves) and I were on a walk and they proposed to me the idea that I might be aroace and I literally just brushed it off with “but I like reading romance novels” and then never talked about that or thought about it again for a very long time. I suppose that I didn’t know what the labels meant at that time but now that I actually identify as aroace this is kinda ironic.

[aceday]

Agatha Harkness x Reader

summary: you’re but a humble young librarian super into this milf who just happens to show up at an opportune moment.

warnings: age gap, public sex, oral, fingering

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha

i don’t do this btw

The Librarian

It’s snowing, the third time you meet her. Behind the circulation desk, with your feet kicked up against the long arch of desk that separates you from the rest of the library, paging through somebody’s hold (it’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, perhaps some sort of premonition), you look every bit as bored as you are. When you look up and out the window, it’s the kind of black only 6 o’clock in the middle of January can be. Snow pummels against the window. It’s the kind of weather nobody should be out in, either.

Between you and your two other coworkers — the lifeblood, like Atlas holding up the last two hours of the library before its close — there is really only the odd, uncanny emptiness of one librarian and their empty shelves. Of course you’re surprised when she breezes in, in a long dark trench coat with damp shoulders, opened to reveal a pale turtleneck tucked into pleated trousers, snowflakes still dotting her long, thick tresses of dark hair. The snowflakes dissolve. She is panting, wind-blown, she turns around and you see the stark blue of her eyes set against the soft red burn of her cheeks.

“Hi,” she says, breathy, her chest rising and falling heavily. She flashes you a smile, an intentional, albeit distracted smile, the smile of someone who seems a little caught, a little embarrassed in the way you really only can be around strangers for no apparent reason. She carries a folded, closed umbrella and a black bag on her shoulder.

Her name is Agatha Harkness. You were here when she signed up for a library card, and spent the whole time kicking yourself that you hadn’t beat your coworker to helping her. She’s new in town, she has a son that loves to read, or be read to, and there is no ring on her finger, which, as far as you’re concerned, means you have a chance.

You don’t move from your seat, knowing that if you scrambled to put your feet on the floor and throw the book back on the hold shelf then you’ll really look like you’ve been caught. You set the book down on your lap and cross your arms.

“Hi,” you say, smiling easily.

She looks around the library and takes a few hesitant steps towards the shelves. The New section is the first thing to greet library goers, and she distractedly scans the books. You don’t take your eyes off her. She’s beautiful. And you know a lost face when you see one, so when she absentmindedly taps her umbrella against the floor and turns to you, you’re ready.

“Hi,” Agatha says again, approaching the circulation desk. This time you set your feet down.

You smile softly, “Anything I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. I was looking to get some books for my son. He’s four.”

You point to the corner of the library, where the door frame labeled “Children’s Section” is tucked, leading to an entirely different section of the library. “The Children’s Section is over that way.” You’re a little disappointed to be sending her so far away, but you’re the only person at circulation and if she wants to check out any books she’ll have to find you anyway. But, to your surprise, she doesn’t turn towards Children’s. She taps the desk with a gloved finger, staring down the shelves. You take the opportunity to stand, leaving the book on your chair behind you.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

Agatha inhales slowly, clearly lost in thought. Then, she turns slowly to you. Her eyes are so blue. It’s like being pinned in place, the way her eyes meet yours. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but you’d be lying if you said your breath didn’t flee your lungs.

“Are you busy?” She looks down at the book. Normally, you’d feign a little embarrassment, but you smile and shrug.

“I’m getting slammed right now, actually. But uh, I suppose I could help you out.”

She chuckles, peeling off her black leather gloves and stuffing them in the pockets of her trench coat. “Sure. Any recommendations? What are you reading?”

This time you do flush a little. “It’s, uh, Lady Chatterley’s Lover. It’s someone else’s hold.”

Agatha narrows her eyes a bit, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips. “Is it raunchy?”

“By today's standards, probably not. Is raunchy what you’re looking for?”

She raises her eyebrows. Your blush deepens. Working these lonely evening shifts has you forgetting you’re employed to work, not to flirt with patrons, which you never do anyway, but luckily Agatha laughs after a moment.

“What’s your name?” She squints to read your name tag, and you offer it up lazily. “I’m Agatha,” she says. “Agatha Harkness. Actually, I’m a bit new to town. I just got my card.”

“I know your name,” you say, looking away. Agatha, who, until now, has been a bit fidgety and distracted, suddenly stills. “I was here when you set your card up. You probably don’t remember me.”

“But you remember me.”

She doesn’t say it like it’s a question. A knot forms in your throat. You offer a thin grin. “Of course.” Then you tap your temple, which is stupid and you immediately regret it, but Agatha doesn’t seem to really notice or care. Her smile stretches easily. She levels you with a knowing gaze, though you can’t imagine what it is she knows.

“It’s cozy in here,” Agatha says, beginning to rifle through her bag. Her hair is windswept and wild falling down her back, but you have the impression that this is its natural state, despite the wind. She pulls out her wallet, then her library card. “The roads are getting bad though. Especially now that it’s dark out.”

You nod. “Yeah, this is definitely the place to be. At least it’s supposed to slow down soon. There’s a fireplace back past non-fiction. Do you have any holds to pick up?”

Agatha smiles. You scan her library card. “Just one.” Your stomach drops.

“Ahh,” you pick up Lady Chatterley’s Lover sadly, “right. How about that?”

Agatha looks more than amused as you check the book out to her account, quickly plucking your place marker out from the pages.

“No, no,” Agatha says, “leave the bookmark. We can do a little book club, hmm?”

You’ve officially embarrassed yourself enough for one night. You smile warily. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I was. Drive safe.”

Still smiling, Agatha hums in response and tucks the paperback into her bag. “Did you say this was supposed to let up soon? You know, I could use a few recommendations while I have you here.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve already used up all your charm. It’d be ideal if she left and came back another day, but, the more you think about it, the more you realize that this is one opportunity you just can’t waste. Not a coworker in sight (one in the break room for the next half hour, the other shelf-reading in the basement), your work crush right here, mildly stranded in a snowstorm, willing to converse, nay, to joke with you, and- Jesus do you have a chance?

“Anything,” you say at the realization, a little more breathless than you’d intended but you feel renewed with your usual charm and ready to not let this opportunity pass without a fight.

“I was also looking for maybe a cozy mystery? What with the weather and all.”

Does she know the mystery section is the most isolated back corner of the library? You can definitely work with this.

“Sure. I can show you. Follow me.”

You step out from behind the counter, Agatha lingering on your heels. You haven’t had to think this fast in months. Maybe in years. What to say? What to do? You don’t even read mysteries.

You wind through the shelves, leading Agatha deeper into the more shadowy parts of the library, into the most definitely, undoubtedly empty and out-of-sight parts of the library.

“Here’s mystery. I mean, there’s obviously Agatha Christie, and then Laura Childs is pretty cozy, and-” you stop abruptly. You have no idea why you’re talking about mysteries. You face Agatha, who looks at you with one raised eyebrow. She looks expectant. Perfect.

“You’ve happened to find us in the coziest spot in the library,” you say as nonchalantly as you can, scanning the book spines, “But you won’t find anything raunchy over here.”

The look on Agatha’s face is both curious and knowing. Amused, even. She can read you like a book (hah), and some part of you feels like an animal in a zoo, watched by an audience far hungrier than you.

“I didn’t say I wanted raunchy.”

“Didn’t you?”

Agatha scoffs slightly. Her smile widens. She takes a step closer to you and you don’t move back.

“I have more than a few suggestions if that’s the case,” you say, tilting your head. You’re a good few inches taller than her, and when she looks up at you behind dark eyelashes…

“You’re bold,” says Agatha. The same grin hangs wickedly on her mouth.

“But not too desperate, I hope?”

Agatha laughs without taking her eyes off of you. You don’t think you could move backwards if you tried, you don’t think you could move if you tried, her face sings with an effortless amusement, like she knows every thought in your mind and every desire beneath your tongue. It’s vulnerable. Like you’re naked, or just bared, skin unprotected against a harsh wind or sharp rain.

“I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“I know.”

She hums, her gaze raking you up and down, studying. You’re nothing now but a specimen, an insect, pinned by the legs and wings to a cork board, shivering under a magnifying glass. You swallow, then take a step forward. Her chin raises. It’s cute, defiant in a way that reminds you almost of a petulant child, and this most momentary relief from the scrutinization of her gaze is all you need. You raise one hand and tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Cold out there, hmm?” you ask softly, almost boredly. Her unblinking stare doesn’t move from yours. She nods. “Warm in here though.” Your hands trace the lapels of her trench coat. “Damp.” You push it off her shoulders. It’s heavy, woolen, and water-logged, and crumples to the ground with a thud, taking the purse and umbrella with it. You let your gaze drag lazily, obviously, across her face, her eyes, her neck, her mouth.

You see her swallow, which feels like a victory in and of itself. Consider yourself spurred. “And of course, I’m-”

Whatever clever remark you had readied is cut off before even its effect is conveyed. Agatha closes the space between you two, shoving you against the bookshelf. You knock back against the shelves with an “oomph” and Agatha balls your shirt in her fists. She stares at you for a pulsing, pregnant moment before you crack and push your lips against hers. It’s a vicious kiss that’s barely a kiss and lasts for only half a moment anyway. Agatha pulls back severely and pushes you once more against the shelves. Your breath heaves out of your lungs.

“Something the matter?” you ask, grinning like a snake. Agatha scoffs. Her lips meet yours with a sharp inhale, her eyes closed. The kiss is not tender but not desperate, more inquisitive, curious, until a moan escapes your throat and your hands grab dumbly at Agatha’s waist.

You don’t want to be audacious, but you’re already past that point if you’re being honest with yourself, and you step off the wall. You don’t have that much time. You want. Agatha’s tongue slips between your lips and you feel the pit in your stomach empty out, heat flushing into a tense knot in your abdomen. Not much time.

Gentle — but firm —, you push Agatha back against the wall, and sink to your knees. Surprise flickers across her face, but quickly melts into an impish smile. Mischief looks good on her.

“Can I, Agatha?” you ask, very politely, your fingers working already around her belt.

“Yeah. Yes, sweetheart. That’s good.” The words send a twist between your legs and you tug her belt open and unzip the pants. While you pull them down, her hands shovel through your hair, fingertips digging into your scalp, and the feeling almost gives you vertigo. Her skin is impossibly soft. Her underwear is plain and black. You slide it down the swell of her thighs, swallowing. You can smell her on the air, skimming the top of it, and you fight the urge to lick your lips like some hungry dog.

Your hands feel up the length of her legs, one pushing under her shirt up her stomach, in a manner not short of exalted, and you can feel her shudder under your touch. It’s a power, of sorts, and you breathe into a taut smile.

Your mouth is on her legs, sucking at her thighs, and she hisses at the sting of your teeth on her skin. You don’t need to bruise her, really, but you do, if only to prolong eating her out, to hold what you’ve been waiting for in front of you just moments longer. Her breath hitches, she’s trying to be quiet, and in a moment of uncontrolled excitement you surge forward, your jaw widening, your tongue flat against her and your nose buried in her folds.

Agatha yelps a little louder than she meant to, and one hand leaves your hair to cover her mouth. She groans quietly into her palm as you eat her out, tongue scooping inside of her, the taste electric on your tongue, burning in your nose, your eyes heavy-lidded. Fuck. She’s hot. She’s so hot. One hand grips her thigh steadily, the other slides down beneath your waistband. What can you say? You’re desperate.

You whine into her and Agatha looks down, watching as you fuck yourself with your face buried into her cunt. She curses softly, her hand grabbing onto the ledge of a bookshelf by her head. “That’s great, baby, that’s-” your tongue flicks hard against her clit, interrupting Agatha as she spills into a moan. “That’s good, that’s good, that’s-” your lips suck airily around her clit, your tongue immediately continuing its flat and solid path through her folds. She’s dripping off of your chin by now.

Agatha’s breath stutters and she falls eerily quiet, but you know the signs. Her body tightens and then convulses, a delicate shudder gripped around your tongue, thighs squeezing your face, her manicured fingernails scraping against your scalp. She orgasms moaning your name quietly, in a hushed, devoted sort of way nearing on delirium.

When its intense waves wash away and you stand up you’re wearing a self satisfied smile, but Agatha doesn’t leave you long to bask in your pride. She stumbles forward and shoves you against the bookshelf, her mouth collapsing onto yours. She moans softly at the intense taste of herself on your skin; your mouth, nose, chin, cheeks. It’s overpowering. You can feel pearls of her rolling down your jaw and neck. Agatha bites your bottom lip, hard, and then her mouth finds your throat.

You sigh at the feeling of her above your pulse, the heat of her breath and the delicate trace of her fingertips across your sides.

“That was quite the orgasm.” There’s still a ragged edge to her voice, a lulled huskiness, and she seems to struggle to keep her voice balanced in the median between hush and speaking.”How do you feel touching yourself?”

Now with your back pressed against the bookshelves, you had given up all previous hope of getting yourself close. Not that you had minded, fucking Agatha was like seeing the gates of heaven. After that, who needed some masturbatory purgatory at the helm of your own fingers? You take too long to come up with an answer, lost still in the haze of the bruise you’re sure she’s sucking into your skin. Her fingertips, gripping at your sides, rush suddenly to undo the button of your jeans.

“Good,” you say, your head falling backwards, “not as good as this, I’m sure.” Agatha’s hand sinks into your jeans. You sputter forward and she leans harshly into you, pinning you against the stacks. Her fingers and palm slide down, and, God- she’s cupping you through your underwear, pressing testingly against you. It’s intoxicating. Fuck. Your arms sling around her shoulders and your hips buck into her hand. She smiles, kisses you.

“You want this?” she asks, leaning her mouth into your ear, her breath hot, as if it’s even a question, as if you’re not already dripping, soaked through your underwear, keening into her touch.

“Yeah, Agatha, yeah. C’mon.” At the sound of her name in your mouth, Agatha hums a moan. Her fingers slip under the seam. You pull Agatha into you, your hands tangled in her hair. It’s still damp from the snow.

Her fingertips slide into you. Cold, her fingers are cold, and the sensation of them curling inside of your cunt leaves you halfway to breathless. “Fuck.”

“You’re warm,” Agatha says mildly. She’s pulled back a bit in favor of studying your face, every twitch of your eyebrows and tug of your swollen lips, the blissed out, wired look in your eyes.

“Fuck. You’re- fuck.” She thrusts deeper into you, the tips of her fingers running against your walls, feeling for every jolt of your body. She thumbs your clit, rubbing soft circles into you. She’s good, fuck, every twist of her fingers and push of her thumb sweeps tides of pleasure through your body.

“I’m what?” Agatha teases, thrusting hard, then harder, and fast, and the library is so quiet and you can hear the wet slap of her fucking you.

“God, fuck, fuck,” you groan, your forehead falling against Agatha’s shoulder. She shrugs your head up, her hand smothering your mouth.

“We are in a library, darling,” she whispers, and your being silenced like this makes the slick sound of her fingers in your, against you, seem that much louder. You whine, whimper, keen, your body jolts, her fingertips hit against your g-spot and white pulses behind your eyes as you spill into orgasm.

Your body trembles, tense, your teeth closing around Agatha’s hand, and her fingers slip out of you. She pulls you into a soft hug, holding you up between herself and the bookshelf while you steady your breath.

“Jesus,” you pant, “that was so good, God.”

Agatha pats your hair and you pull back. She pushes a fast kiss against your mouth, and the heat returns, despite your orgasm still buzzing fresh on your skin.

“Thank you and you’re welcome,” Agatha says against your mouth. “Do you have a job to return to?”

“Only if you have a number to give me?”

Agatha smiles. She kisses your cheek and begins fixing her clothes. “I’m still old enough to be your mother.”

“I still know that.”

She eyes you warily, scanning you up and down. “You’ll give me your number, and you’ll wait to hear from me first.”

You sigh in relief and fall back against the bookshelf, running your hand through your hair. “Deal. Welcome to town.”

[vellazx]

Inspired by one of my friends prompts — Law x Reader (gender not specified) — Angst / Fluff

You were a Straw Hat.

The most perfect person in the world for him — on a different crew. You were someone who he couldn’t reach, no matter what he did.

He fell for you. Hard.

You always liked him. He was a pretty boy; perhaps the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. Ever since you laid your eyes on him two years ago in the auction house in Sabaody, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Hells, you didn’t even speak to him.

At first, he just believed you were some diehard simp who wasn’t genuine towards him. So he shrugged you off.

He was always rather insecure, not capable of believing someone actually loved him. Romantically, at least.

You talked (pestered) him the whole time he was on the Sunny due to the newfound alliance he made with your captain. Honestly, you didn’t really do a good job at hiding your feelings.

More like you didn’t even bother to hide them in the first place. You were so direct with him about how you felt.

Still, he wasn’t phased by your endless compliments and attempts at making him open up.

One night, however, he wasn’t in the best mood.

He said you irritated him. Bluntly.

After that, you decided to leave him alone. It felt unusual around the Sunny without your constant rambling. For some reason, his heart ached without your warmth by his side.

He told himself you meant nothing to him; only a temporary ally with good fighting skills he couldn’t risk losing.

However, in Dressrosa, when Doflamingo managed to capture you and him both, you acted strangely.

You saw how distressed he was, being helpless before the Warlord. Behind that tough exterior, there was a little boy, scarred from his past.

And, oh, how absolutely protective you got.

Doflamingo was holding you up by strings, blood spilling from every wound they cut into your skin. But you still retaliated.

Risked getting killed to escape the strings, all because you didn’t want Law to feel helpless. His emotions were through the roof whenever he realized you were trying to meaninglessly fight back. For his sake.

When you got out, you were a bloody mess, barely able to stand with how wobbly your knees were. Some of your bones were even broken.

He asked with wide eyes, “What were you thinking?!”

You simply smiled, and said, “You hate him, don’t you? I didn’t want to sit around and do nothing to help. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He met your gaze with an unfamiliar softness you’d never seen before. His heart skipped a beat.

That’s when he realized.

You fell first, but he fell harder. Way harder.

The whole time you were in Zou and Wano with him, he couldn’t stop staring at you. You shone like an angel in his vision. All your features amplified to make you more ethereal.

His teeth ground against each other whenever you got too close to one of your crew mates. Especially the blond cook. He swooned over you, and you laughed so wholesomely in response.

What he would do to just steal you for himself.

When Kaido and Big Mom were defeated, the whole country celebrating by holding a feast, Law offered to look around at all the games set up throughout the capital.

Happily, you dragged him around, completely forgetting that day when he said you were annoying.

He couldn’t stop admiring you as you indulged in the games.

His heart raced.

Ba-dump!

Ba-dump!

Ba-dump!

Gods, he couldn’t take it anymore.

So, he dragged you away, into a nearby alleyway. You flushed, asking him what was wrong. He was so red in the face that he looked feverish.

He hadn’t even touched you, yet he was drunk off of you. That same warmth he craved and missed.

Before you could question him any further, his lips brushed against yours, his hold on your wrist tightening. You gasped against him, not expecting the intimate contact.

Eagerly, you kissed him back.

He loved you too much for his own good.

“Come with me. Please. Leave this country with me.”

“Tra-.. Law. You know I can’t… I can’t do that.”

Fuck.

When he had to leave you behind, it felt like he was leaving half of his heart behind. With someone else. Under someone else’s supervision.

If anything happened to you, he’d steal you away without even asking for your permission.

But if something happened to him…

He just wanted you to know that he loved you.