#also i wanted to try practicing drawing his masculine features but still making him look cute

[banqanas]

“someone said im cute like a cat tonight. really?”

[punkeropercyjackson]

I want to know everything about Nia!

AND MONTHS LATER,YOU ARE FINALLY GETTING HIM!!!!

Nia The Dragon Nomad,born just Nia,just Nia and is 16 at the start of the series

His version of the franchise is called 'Avatar:The Airbender Legacies' and it's 4 books instead of 3 and the 4th one is 'Book 4:Air'

He's half Air Nomad,half Fire Nation but specifically the black etchnic subgroup in the comics you helped me discover which is what led to his creation!!As pointed out by jewish Atla fans,it would be more realistic for the AN to have a small surviving population that went into hiding after the Air Nomad Genocide and Nia's mom is a descendant of them!His parents names are Yung and Dahla and Nia's mixed heritage is symbolism for the coming era of peace

Nia was born in the Fire Nation as lower class,Dahla a homemaker and Yung a chef at the Fire Nation Palace.Dahla has Air Nomad features but never practiced her culture for safety so nobody could point it out without sounding like a maniac and Yung's job led to Nia meeting Zuko when they were 4 years old and becoming best friends and keeping it a secret since Zuko and Azula weren't allowed to befriend 'peasents'(hence why Ozai encouraged Azula to only interact with Mai and Ty Lee).Nia was unaware of not being fully FN but his dad was one of the first prisoner's of The Boiling Rock for a crime he didn't commit and this led to to his mom using Airbending publicly to try to stop him from being taken away so the next day,their house was burned down with her in it by Fire Nation supremacists and Nia being only 13 at the time had no choice but to run away and become a Nomad,leaving Zuko a tear stainned letter in pink ink explaining what happened and telling him how much he loved him as a person and for being his best friend(Nia wouldn't find out Dahla had been an Air Nomad for a long time,not being present when she bended and Zuko got a lot meaner after he left since he was his only real loved one due to Ursa's dissaperance and desperately looked for clues on him,seeing him everywhere even though he was gone)

Nia learned firebending on his own and made a name for himself on his travels by helping people with kindness and resources and fighting for them,committing various anti-imperialist crimes.During this time,he realized he's trans and is a woman and a man at the same time and his gender presentation is very feminine but he uses only masculine ponouns!!He's also autistic,adhd,mdd and anxious and his hair is 4b textured

Personality wise,Nia is very much an Air Nomad-He's super bubbly,openly kind and gentle,silly,optimistic,unrestrained and open-minded.He follows the no kill rule as a buddhist but also believes in severe brutality and has anger issues,low self-eestem and a snarky sense of humor,is very older sisterly/pseudo-momish as a coping mechanism from having almost no positive adult figures as a kid and being picked on by other kids and even adults all the time and his interests are pink/pastel things,suncakes,art,games,animal life and dancing!!!

He's introduced in 'The Warriors of Kyoshi' as he was on Kyoshi Island due to his travels and joins the Gaang because of his instant platonic connection with Aang.Aang says there's something familiar about Nia he can't quite place and he takes on the mom friend title instead of Katara since he's the eldest now and actually did it to himself instead of parentification like her.The two girls bond over being feminine and him and Sokka bicker all the time due to opposite personalities but they really are friends and Kataang is still a thing here so Nia wingmans them

It takes a hot minute for Zunia to reunite(as in several episodes)but Zuko gets hints to it through reports from his crew and is in denial of it at first only because he dosen't want his hopes to be crushed.We get flashbacks to their childhood days,including Zuko drawing both of them as dragons and Nia making strawberry suncakes for the first time for them to share as foreshadowing and this makes their reunion all the more upsetting because they don't even recognize eachother at first due to Nia's complete style change and Zuko's scar,plus the puberty,on top of his old best friend hunting down his new best friend at the order of his dad who he always made him feel safe from.There's a lot of tears and yelling and Nia has to be comforted by his honorary younger siblings afterwards and Zuko has to pretend nothing happened for the sake of not putting him in danger

Nia's very strong and smart so he's a pretty useful addition to The Gaang and provides comedy/jokes too and Aang tells him about The Air Nomads for funsies which leads to

The 'Dahla was actually an Air Nomad' drops happens in 'The Avatar State' when Aang and Nia are trying to figure out Avatar stuff together and it leds to spiritual magic jizz revealing it through Nia's soul.They're heavily shocked but Aang bursts into happy tears and tackle hugs Nia,rambling about how happy he is that he's not actually The Last Airbender and Nia smiles and agrees,telling him he already thinks of him as his little brother and Aang views him as his older sister so they officially dub eachother 'The Flight Siblings',Sokka telling them it's a stupid name and Katara drops water him for it.In 'The Blue Spirit',Nia had romantic moments with Zuko in his Blue Spirit suit so he gains a dreamy crush on him that's played for irony and second-hand embarrasment humor.Aang becomes Nia's Airbender Master starting in 'Nomads,Leafs and Forevers' and this strengthens their bond big time

Nia rejected Jet's attempted flirtatiouns on first meeting by saying 'I came here to make friends-Only friends so instead of trying something,try covering my back' and they got along well from then on even post 'betrayal',Toph dissed him at first because of how girly Nia but after they actually talked they clicked perfectly,'The Tale of Nia' replaces Iroh's section and it's about him saving a group of kids from Earth Kingdom propaganda by impressing them and being sweet to them and it's implied they grew up to be freedom fighters and 'The Tale of Zuko' is a gag bit where girls keep trying to hit on him but he keeps comparing them to Nia subcounciously so none of them stick,Ty Lee let's out a loud squee when she meets Nia again face to face and squishes him up in a hug as she says she's missed seeing his pretty pink face(platonically)and Mai drawls that he's gotten even weirder and Azula adresses him as 'Nini' when she was younger but also 'The Avatar's babysitter' now and they don't know eachother at all well since Ozai didn't even know about Nia being best friends with his son

Jet survives his attempted assisination by the Dai Li and joins the Gaang as it's 'token bad' teammate(not really,he's just genuinely radical).The shippy undertones between him and Katara are gone as they turn into platonic close friends and he acts as the cool bitchy but reliable older brother.Hama is also never villanized but potrayed as a tragic figure and a badass who gets reperations from the Fire Nation and basically adopts the Gaang as her grandkids,Katara still being scared of Bloodbending and choosing not to kill Yon Rha so Hama does the job for her since Kya was her childhood friend's daughter and she's built for killing fascists already,not being only 14.Yung and Dahla are given big significance on Nia's story as his parents and how they influenced him as a person like Zuko and their own life experiences did and 'The Dragon Nomad' is a title given to him pre-series because of being a traveling firebender but also has a double meaning that wasn't even intentional in-universe and there's quips about it as a running gag

Nia's none too eager to return to The Fire Nation but powers through and teaches his teammates how to blend in and takes them to a clothing store he used to go to as a kid and they have a positive talk with the owner not recognizing them until they all leave and as they exited,they make a comical expression and whisper 'I always knew that kid wasn't dead!I don't think that little airhead can even die!'.As they settle in,Nia can't help but go visit where his old home used to be to see nobody had even bothered picking things up or replacing it with a new building and it makes them tear up and he brakes down on his knees,screaming about how much he hates fire as he breathes pink flames from his mouth and dosen't even notice.He stays that way for a solid onscreen 30 seconds and is found by Zuko who frantically picks him up and hides him in an ally with him before soldiers can find him.He dosen't get to comfort him for long as Nia fully registers the situation and shoots up,curtly saying with a glare 'Thanks for the shoulder to cry on,Zuko'.Hope you're enjoying your new life perfect life without me' and runs off back to the Gaang's temporary residence and Zuko dosen't even bother getting up,struggling to find the words until Nia's too far to hear him,yelling out 'BUT IT'S NOT MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU!YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING I'VE EVER HAD TO PERFECT!'

Nia infilters the Royal Fire Academy For Girls and disrupts everything as he encourages the other female students to fight for their rights and proves to them the anti-Air Nomad things they were taught are lies and burned the academy down using his pink fire and his new friends help out with their own firebending.He cracks a couple eggs on the way too and 'The Beach' confirms Mai as a comphet lesbian,Tyzula as a mutually canon ship even if they don't get together and Nia is on Zuko's mind a lot and the fun summer-y setting he's in dosen't help.Nia's swimsuit is a pastel pink two piece and he has a crown of matching hisbiscus him and Aang made for eachother

Zuko and Nia finally make up in 'The Western Air Temple' as Zuko's decided to give up evil by becoming Aang's Firebending Master.Katara immediately rejects him as per canon,Aang welcomes him with open arms as always and Nia dosen't really know what to do with him.Zuko does his best to reassure him he's truly changed for the better in both words and actions and tries to recreate what they were like as kids until Nia puts his foot down and tells him 'We're not the same as we used to be........And i'm okay with that.I love the Zuko here like i did the old one' and Zuko's entire face goes beet red and Aang connects the dots and grins cheekily as he had a feeling they were a thing from the start.They act as the Team Mom and Team Dad of The Gaang or 'The Dragon Parents/Dadko and Momia' and Katara makes a snide comment on how she'd be expected to be with Zuko over Nia by the public

'The Boiling Rock' has Nia,Zuko and Sokka rescuing Yung and Hakoda and a conversation between Nia and Azula as they fight that's basically just Nia going 'You're not a perfect sexy calculated villaness,you're 14 with an abusive fascist dad and you deserve a therapist and some goddamn friends and fruit pies so you can calm down' and Azula responding 'FUCK YOU MEAN???NUH UH!!!!' and Yung and Nia have a heartwarming reunion and he eventually legally adopts Aang,Jet and Toph since they don't have living/good parents like the Water Tribe Siblings do.Nia's Ember Island Player counterpart is played by a nonblack actor who jokes about having no gender and reminders everyone he's still half Fire Nation not JUST Air Nomad because they're 'both equally important' and Nia'd never cringed harder in his life.Kataang went a bit differently since Aang asked Nia for romance advice since him and Zuko were unspokenly unofficially together so their only season 3 kiss is the finale one and the remaining run time is used on developing the other characters,including The Air Nomads in flashbacks.Nia is given a half dragon soul as a blessing by Avatar Wan to help Aang and it dosen't actually take much adjusment for him to get used to it

Mai and Ty Lee came to Nia on the Day Of Sozin's Comet to help him takedown Fire Nation Soldiers and the three girls fought viciously and had banter and peer support.They're nicknamed 'The Riot Gyals' and Ty Lee still joins the Kyoshi Warriors while Mai takes up a blacksmithing mentorship and Nia grows up to found his own children's education and protection system called 'Nia's Kidbender Program' that was built up by him with big help from Zuko but first,we get to Book 4 aka Book Air,which is something of a playable epilogue in cartoon episodes form of that makes sense and an improved version of the comics where we see The Gaang's lives and their world post-Ozai.This includes Kataang's dating dynamic,finding Ursa again,how they further helped the world with even more activism and direct action,Toph realizing she's a transmasc girl instead of just a tomboy,Nia being the Aang to Azula's Zuko by befriending her and thus her gaining character development that leads to a redemption arc and finally dating Ty Lee and last but not least,Zunia getting together

Like Kataang,it happens in the last episode of the season and the ultimate series finale but in the opening so it's almost entierly about Aang and how far he's come and Zuko and Nia being boygirlfriend and girlboyfriend it's titled 'Air,Fire,Dragon,Love' with the last word being about Zunia,The Flight Siblings and The Peace Brothers since their love for eachother is equally strong and important cosmically.The previous episode was a cliffhanger of Zuko asking Aang for help since he knows Nia as well as he does and them doing a grand romantic display with pink,dragon and summer themes that looked ridicioulous and Nia is pleasently stunned speechless and they think he hated it until he bursts outlaughing and drags Zuko off to start their date as he yells over his shoulder to Aang that he loves him and is proud of him and then calls Zuko 'such an old lord' for the cheesy display and he sputters back that he was trying to treat him like the future Fire Lady.It's Nia's turn to blush,entire face glowing like a pink version of The Avatar State and it's Zuko's rare turn to be the cocky one but as always it dosen't last for him

Their date consists of doing both romantic Fire Nation traditions and romantic Air Nomad traditions,including Zuko gifting Nia Air Nomad earrings he made with Aang's guidance.There's zero restrainment in their pda except not kissing until they get back to the Fire Palace and lean in for their first kiss at the same time which turns into several more chaste kisses and we get a final narration that's done by the entire Gaang in bits,flashing forward to their older years and we see Aang and Katara's wedding amongst many other things and this includes Zuko and Nia having a daughter named Zara

And 'The Airbender Legacies' refers to Aang and Nia for obvious reasons but also Aang choosing to keep their culture alive by not killing Ozai and Zara herself as the first Air Nomad born in a long ass time who'd live without persecution

@nogender-onlystars @moonage-gaydream @refrigeratedboombursts @cam24fan @biandbored @sarasanddollar @insomniac-jay @floof-ghostie @9ragonmew @mayameanderings @fandomunsexyman

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Entry 13B - Reflections - 27 February 2023, 11:36pm

I've been thinking about some things lately. Things that cause me envy.

I keep going back to the thought of how I'd not even recognize myself as a cis male, which was a version of me who was secure in his masculinity.

That's the scary part - I... cannot recognize him.

Just how far have these thoughts of wanting to be a girl, or more feminine, permeated into my life?

If they've gone deep enough to make a cis male me unrecognizable, what else could have been... affected by the strange affliction that has befallen me?

...

There have been things that I've found myself aroused by, like the curves of a feminine body; the way that they don't have that... bulge.

Haha. Kinda reminds me of the time a girl I knew wondered what it was like to have a cock.

But I digress.

I wonder where that desire came from. Was it an inferiority complex?

Or was it from years of me not being allowed to be me?

I don't know. A part of me always found those parts preferable on myself, instead of the plumbing I was born with.

Why, then, do I find it arousing?

Why do I feel so sad after relieving myself?

...

I remember a Saturday afternoon. The Chinese Orchestra I was a part of was practicing. Somehow, word of bullying within the flute section, which I was in, got to the teachers.

They pulled us - a friend of mine, and I - out, and asked us who bullied us. We gave the names of two seniors, one female, and one male.

And while that friend of mine, and I, were both called outside, and while a teacher gave some sort of talk to my seniors, I couldn't help but just keep looking at one of my seniors, while she stood in front of the teacher.

...

I remember other practice sessions, where I'd feel some weird feelings for the girls in the flute section. I don't know for sure what I felt, but it sure wasn't wanting to be one of them.

...

What is my mind trying to tell me?

The waters of my cognition are still too murky. My lenses aren't free of bias.

...

Remember when I said there was a possibility of me not passing well?

It's part of the reason why I'm scared. Yet, I don't know when the envy towards women will end. It might end when I accept that I'm not going to be a girl, or when it's too late to be one. It might never end. It might end when I make peace with myself. It might not.

Either way, envy can turn to jealousy, which can turn to hate.

Hate warps one's worldview. That's only going to complicate the issue. I don't need that.

...

I've been... stuffing (if you get it, you get it). It helps with the dysphoria and envy, but, all it takes it to have a glimpse of the rest of my features to have those thoughts come back.

I won't be a girl; I'm too masculine to be one.

And, at this point, I don't know what to do. The limbo, which uncertainty is, is fraught with many, many spiral whirlpools of doubt.

What if it's a mistake?

<Insert generic doubt here>

<Insert generic doubt #2 here>

I am lost in one now, but, my lifeline is in knowing what I don't want.

I don't want to keep envying women forever.

I want to be comfortable in my own skin (the rare want I'm certain of).

I hope more make themselves clear to me in the future.

...

Whatever happens, I need to be careful.

I need to make sure I'm of sound mind before I make any decisions. Yes, that also includes not making any decisions until any feelings from conscription wear off.

Until then, I'll plan.

Plans don't have feelings; they don't have opinions.

They might be heartless, but they grant the biggest, most needed mercy of all:

They're always ready and waiting for you once you draw them up.

[ghoultramp]

his voice resides [hawks x reader]

▷       bnha

↳ pairing: hawks x f!reader

↳ content: injured/wingless!hawks, depression, (implied) eating disorder, (implied) suicidal ideation, angst, mutual comfort

↳ words: 3.2k

⇢ summary: “it had been three agonizing months of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, you had no one to ask; and if anyone knew anything, they certainly weren’t sharing it openly.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: my mh took a dive so i ended up writing this :’)

It had been three agonizing months of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, you had no one to ask; if anyone knew anything, they certainly weren’t sharing it openly.

You sat hunched over your laptop, squeezing your eyes shut as you rubbed hard against your temples. You weren't sure the headaches had ever gone away, just ebbed and flowed with intensity over time. Unfortunately for you, it didn't seem to be showing any sign of reprieve tonight.

You braced yourself as you admitted defeat, it was no use. You were spent. You heaved a sigh as you closed your laptop and stared at the colorful light on the lid as it entered a sleep state.

Your heart dropped as you picked up your phone, watching the screen light up; even that hadn’t got any easier, still expecting a notification from him. Tonight was testing you and you weren’t appreciative of it as you heaved your fatigued body up from the desk. You shuddered as the metal legs of the chair came in contact with the cheap wood flooring, a high-pitched screech rang a bell in every tooth.

“Oh Christ, please stop,” you whined, sidestepping as not to antagonize the chair again.

You stretched your arms above your head and this time it was a satisfied groan that left your lips as several deep popping sounds came from your spine. While it may have been a temporary release of tension, you were grateful for it all the same as you lumbered your fatigued body toward the bathroom.

Opening the door, you felt around for the light cord that hung from the ceiling. You heard its heavy weighted end knock against the tile wall when your hand brushed against it; another, unnecessarily loud—and quite frankly horrifying—sound. You felt the slight prickle of tears as the pounding inside your head chipped away at you.

You regretted your decision to pull the cord, the harsh white light of the bathroom wasn’t friendly on the best of days. You set your phone down on the wide sink basin and when you looked up at the mirrored cabinet in front of you, you found it hard to identify with the person staring back at you.

Dark half-circles that looked more akin to bruises sat under your eyes, your cheeks looked gaunt, the bright spark in your eyes had left after that day, and your once radiant, bright skin now closely resembled ash. You watched the reflection, prodding at your own cheek, fingers pressing lightly against the hollow where there once had been rosy flesh. 

You were so sure you had cried as much as anyone was humanly possible but didn't bother to fight against your blurring vision, letting the tears flow of their own accord.

Your head hurt, your body hurt, your heart hurt.

Everything hurts.

Bracing your hands on either side of the basin, you exhaled a heavy sigh; you felt your body shrink as you emptied your lungs of air.

The distinct vibration of your phone against ceramic echoed reverberated against the tiled walls; you felt worse when your jaw instinctively clenched tightly against the pain. Glancing briefly at the illumined screen, although your vision might have been blurry, the bold text that read unknown number was unmistakable. No one worth their salt would be bothering you at this time of night, most of all someone whose number you didn’t have logged.

You felt your brittle fingers grip tighter against the basin.

“Shut up,” you snarled under your breath, you liked to think it might make a difference.

When it vibrated again you felt your anger bubbling.

“What?!” you screamed as you picked it up.

You stared blankly for a moment, not entirely sure what you were reading.

╭                                                   ╮

         Meet me at our spot.

╰                                                   ╯

  ╭                                                   ╮  

         Please, trust me.

╰                                                   ╯

  You felt your lips curl in anger as your fingers trembled against the touch-screen, typing out the only reply you could think of.

  ╭                                                   ╮

        Who is this?

╰                                                   ╯

   You waited for a brief moment, you felt winded when the next message appeared in the thread.

  ╭                                                   ╮  

        Please, Songbird.

╰                                                   ╯

    This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

The result of your thoughts racing too fast was the overbearing screech of white noise. You felt the bile in your empty stomach start to burn at your esophagus, you whimpered as you lowered your frail body to the bathroom floor while the edges of your vision began to fade to black.

“Nononono,” you repeated the word in one breath as you steadied yourself on your hands and knees. Your heart felt as though it was twisting in your chest while your lungs collapsed on themselves; you sobbed as you gasped for breath.

Your body shook as you silently sobbed, choking against the rasping at your throat, the air felt thick as you lowered your head. You stopped to rest your forehead against the tile, the cooling relief was only momentary as you felt your temperature rise and your limbs vibrate with adrenaline.

You deliberated with yourself about what you might do. If it was him, maybe things could go back to normal, and if it was some sick joke… 

If this is some sick joke, maybe it’ll…

You breathed hard as you gathered the courage to finally pull yourself back up; you held a death grip around your phone as you made your way toward the front door of your apartment. The matter of turning the light off was inconsequential now.

Unhooking your keys from the hook next to your coat, ignoring it at first. You looked back at your screen and read the last message again; with another sigh, you grabbed it and pulled it around your feeble shoulders.

The heavy wood door that stared back at you suddenly felt foreboding, still unable to decipher any rational thoughts over the loud static that bounced around. And what if—

You yelped at the vibration alert. Another text. Your breath shuddered as you opened it.

   ╭                                                   ╮  

        I can’t wait here long.

        Please, make the right

        decision.

╰                                                   ╯

  It was the push you needed, shoving your phone away in your pocket and reaching out open the door. You may have had your keys but your feet only carried you toward the stairwell.  Not even after the first half-flight did you start to feel the searing heat that tore through your muscles, you cursed at yourself as you pushed against it. As you leveraged yourself against the handrail, you were thankful—for maybe the very first time—that you’d taken a top floor apartment.

You stood in front of the heavy fire escape door, the florescent green-and-white glow of the sign flickered as your hand reached for the bar that opened it. Your heart stopped upon the discovery of a brick that propped the door open; you didn’t truly want to believe someone would play such a cruel trick on you but the evidence was starting to suggest that that might just be the reality.

You were welcomed with a cold slap to the face as you breached the frigid, night air. The silence was eerie as you gently guided the door to rest against the rock, you felt unpleasantly nauseous as you surveyed the rooftop, there were too many shadows that could hide too many things. You decided against taking any steps forward, instead choosing to keep your back to the door with your fingers tightly wrapped around the outside handle.

You wanted to open your mouth, desperate to be able to say his name and for him to answer, but the dread was soul-crushing. There seemed to be nothing in the silence, the only sound you heard was your panicked breathing.

You took a deep breath, your lip trembling as you finally convinced yourself to speak. You just couldn’t bring yourself to say his name, it felt impossible in practice.

“H-hello?” your voice was nothing more than a squeak, fighting against your tight throat.

You scolded yourself for having even just a shred of hope when nothing replied. But maybe, just maybe…

You cleared your throat.

Just one more try. One more try and that’s it.

“Hello?” you called again, a bit louder but still almost as squeaky.

The distinct shuffling of feet could be heard in the shadows to your left, the scared gasp that left your lips was involuntary as your head snapped to find the source.  You gripped the handle tighter when your eyes adjusted to the silhouette of someone who was tall, and the outline of a heavy jacket was deceptive; there were no discernible features you could see.

You strained your ears, attempting to hear what the stranger was saying. You noted that the tone was masculine but the words sounded like croaking. They raised their arm, and you squinted to see them press their hand against their throat.

“Look, if this is some kind of sick--“ you were unable to finish your sentence before the figure emerged from the shadows.

You felt dizzy, sick, relieved, and wholly and completely overwhelmed as you attempted to process the sight in front of you. Your body refused to react, so desperately wanting to run at him, throw your arms around him, and yet… You released your grip on the handle to stand unaided on unsteady legs, willing yourself to take just one step.

He took another step toward you, he seemed just as unsure of himself as you when he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m…. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked with each syllable.

He reached for his throat again, eyebrows drawing to the center as he pressed and strained against the pain that talking seemed to physically cause. You watched, helpless, as his ochre eyes developed a glassy sheen, the first sign of tears.

You took a step, closing the gap to only one short stride. You felt your own tears start to well as you examined him more closely; the majority of his visible skin pocked and tight with an almost glossy quality; the harrowing aftermath of extensive burns.

“I didn’t--” he coughed, wincing.

“No, please…” you interrupted, your hand instinctively reaching out for the arm that hung at his side.

It broke your heart when he flinched away, and as you looked into each other’s eyes, that is when you both shed the first of you shared silent tears. He seemed ashamed to look at you, now casting his gaze to the floor. His sandy unkempt hair fell to frame his face, casting shadows on the hollows of his cheeks; it was longer now, to his shoulders.

He continued to hang his head as he tentatively reached his hand out to yours, gently brushing his fingers against your own. You softly entwined your fingers with his, careful not to hurt him as you felt his damaged skin.

“Keigo,” you finally allowed yourself to say his name, choking back a sob that threatened to blurt out.

“Songbird,” he responded, barely a whisper.

You could have stood there, regardless of the cold, forever; to feel even just this small part of him against you again was enough for you. You weren’t sure how long you stood in a peaceful silence when he cleared his throat, readying himself to speak again.

“They’re gone,” he croaked, you felt his fingers tighten around yours.

“Who’s gone?” you asked, looking up at him confused. He shook his head.

When he finally looked at you, you saw the anguish in his eyes.

“No, my… my wings,” his voice was so quiet, “they’re gone.”

You had been so taken aback at the sight of him that it hadn’t even occurred to you; you felt so horrible, selfish. You watched as his face twisted as the uncontrollable sobs escaped his weak body, you welcomed his grasp as he pulled you tightly against himself.

“Let’s get you inside,” you offered, muffled against his chest.

  --- --- ---

  Keigo gently closed the door behind him while you busied yourself with your coat, carelessly laying it over the back of your small sofa. He turned to see you standing there, heart sinking when his eyes examined you closer; your lanky arms hung lifelessly at your side, your shirt—a few sizes too big—exposed the deep recesses above your clavicles.

His face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to shrug his own coat off, you stopped yourself from helping when, upon shedding his bulky outer layer, you saw just how well it had concealed his own frailty. You brought your hands to your face, stifling a gasp with a firm palm as the tears prickled painfully behind your eyes. He hung his head, holding his coat in front of him with both hands.

You were both such a mess.

Swallowing hard against your tightening throat, you reached for the coat in his hand. Despite still flinching, he allowed you to take it from him to place it next to yours.

“I just…” you shook your head, still unable to find any words.

“It’s okay,” he told you, a gentle, sigh of relief left your lungs as his warm palm cupped your cheek.

You felt his thumb gently brush away the stray tear that fell as you looked up at his soft, sad smile.

“I thought you were—“ you choked back your sobs, desperately trying to spit the words out, “I thought you were dead!”

Your efforts were futile, your knees buckled beneath your weight and your feeble shoulders shook with your overwhelming sobs. Head spinning, Keigo held your upper arms, hoping to keep you steady.

“I know it’s selfish,” you cried, “and I—“

You stumbled forward into his narrow chest, gripping his shirt for dear life as you wailed. The veil of shock had finally cracked.

You keened, thumping the bottom of your balled-up fist against his chest, pulling against his shirt with the other. You felt his hold tighten, he was shaking with his own sobs, quiet and subdued.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked as he brought a hand to rest on the back of your head.  

He gave you little room to hit him in the chest again.

“No!” you bawled, hitting his chest with your forehead instead. “I just want…” you whimpered, breathing sharply against your sobs, “It’s not…”

Keigo felt the tension leave your body as you buried your face into his chest, no longer soft and muscular. It didn’t matter as you breathed in deeply; you smiled ever so delicately, his scent the same as you remembered.

“Can we just lay down?” you asked him meekly.

Keigo tightened his arms around you ever so slightly, resting his chin gently on the top of his head. You felt him nod.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he kept his voice at a whisper, the less agitation on his throat, the less likely it was to send him into a coughing fit.

“It’s fine, I…“ you began to interrupt, but the shake of his chin on your head cut you off.

“I just want to finish by saying this,” he coughed, you felt his body spasm against yours, “I’m just happy to be with you again.”

Keigo felt you gently pull against him and let his hold drop, you looked at him.

“Keigo?” you asked, holding out your hand.

There was no hesitation as he enthusiastically placed his palm in yours. You didn’t say a thing as you turn around, heading toward a door at the far end of your apartment. You felt his hand tighten around yours when you entered.

You released his hand as you made your way across to the bed, all you wanted was warmth and comfort; the streetlights beyond the window cast alternating orange and shadow stripes across the wall and bed through open blinds.

Keigo watched from the door as you moved clambered on top of the bed, curling into a ball. He accepted your invitation when you patted the space next to you. The mattress barely shifted when he sat down on the edge of the bed; he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together.

Feeling him shudder, you tilted your head to look up at him; bolting upright when he began to wince. Instinctively, you put your arm around his shoulder; you yelped and threw yourself back when he howled at your touch. He bought his hands to cover his face, shaking his head, trying to silence himself.

“I’m sorry, I—“ you whimpered, tentatively inching back to his side. “What’s wrong?”

When he eventually turned to face you, bringing his legs up onto the bed, his eyes were red and puffy; much like your own, you supposed. You watched the way the light and shadow settled across his face; orange stripes illuminated his golden eyes and his lips, his nose concealed in shadow. You watched his lips twitch while he searched for his words.

“I can still, um,” he tried to compose himself against his ragged breathing and looming coughing fit, “I can still feel them and, um—”

His mouth drew to a thin line, trying his hardest not to have another outburst. He struggled as his eyebrows pulled to the center of his brow and his lip began to quiver, despite being under so much tension.

You rose up on your knees, shuffling the closing divide between you, and pulled him into your bosom; he clawed at your back gently, desperate for your comfort as he nestled against you. You brought one hand to rest gingerly above his shoulder blades, cautious not to trigger a response, and lay your other hand on his head.

“Hold on,” you told him faintly, slowly releasing your hold; Keigo was reluctant to let go. “This is uncomfortable,” you told him truthfully, shifting your knees; he let go.

He studied you as you lowered yourself down, shuffling back on the bed. His approach was slow and awkward on his weakened limbs, crawling into the space next to you. You interlocked with each other without hesitation, Keigo was quick to pull you close to him.

“I’ve missed this,” you told him, adamant you weren’t going to cry again as you felt another prickle at your nose and eyes, “I’ve missed you.”

Keigo brought a hand under your chin, lifting your head to meet his. His palm was warm as he brought it up to cup your cheek, he smiled softly as he watched close your eyes and nuzzle against his hand; you placed your own hand against his, holding it there.

“Let’s just stay here forever,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your forehead, his thumb rubbed gently against your cheek.

“I’d like that,” you replied with a distracted whisper, enjoying the sensation of his warmth next to you, touching you—at last.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as he planted another gentle kiss against your temple, another high on your cheek.  He leaned his forehead against yours, your noses touching.

“Forever, Songbird,” he promised you before pressing his lips to yours.  

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Cutie Pie | Sweet Pea

Hey Lovelies! Still updating from my Wattpad! Today’s feature: Sweet Pea! On another note; I think I’m going to open my requests for Thanksgiving! What do y’all think? All my love!!

Description: Y/n, Southside sweetheart, thinks Sweet Pea despises her. He really, really, does not.

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Hints at smut but not really

Word count: 3k

Tags: Fluff, angst

Toni groans and throws another top on the growing pile of shirts that she has deemed unwearable. You had seen nothing wrong with it, a flowing pink blouse with cream polka dots. To her, however, it was too girly. You had scoffed at that. There's nothing wrong with femininity, she of all people should understand that. Maybe if she had wanted something that screams masculinity she should have raided Sweet Pea's closet instead of yours.

The Serpents seem to think there is something wrong with being girly though, looking down on anyone who dares wear anything pink or flowery and definitely anyone who wears both at the same time. You roll your eyes at that every time. You, a teenage Serpent yourself, are perhaps the most "girly" person to have ever set foot on Southside grounds. You take pride in that, wearing your Serpent jacket over all the ballerina skirts and pretty pink bralettes that your flowery heart desires. Yes, you get glares all the time but the switchblade in the pocket of your cherry blossom backpack just begs them to start something they can't finish.

"Y/n, baby, I love you but your closet is a nightmare! Do you have nothing remotely black? Or skimpy! C'mon, you want to impress Sweet Pea don't you?" Toni's voice is teasing and your cheeks flame in embarrassment and a tinge of anger.

"I would never dress to impress," you make air quotes with your fingers and pretend to gag, hiding the unavoidable lust in your voice before you say his name, "Sweet Pea! He's a jackass who's high on some masculinity crap! I can't do that."

She smirks at you from the mirror she's applying her bright red lipstick in, "you can very much do that and I know you want to. You're telling me that you don't lay awake at night and imagine his hands, his very large hands, doing unspeakable things to you? You may be the cutest little thing we've got on the Southside but you, baby girl, want him bad. Trust me, I know. I'm your best friend."

"Yeah, well, you're wrong and even if I did want, well, all that," you blush at the thought and swallow hard, pushing down at the buzz in the pit of your stomach, "he hates me so it would never happen. Theoretically, of course!"

"Uh huh, sure," is all your pink haired best friend says before turning back to your baby blue, vintage vanity to curl her pink locks.

You cross your arms over you aqua t-shirt, feigning annoyance, "and just what is that supposed to mean, missy?"

"Just that we both know you're turned on from just hearing Sweets' name. And he doesn't hate you, I roll with the guys remember," she catches your wide, doe eyes in the mirror and shakes her head lightly, laughing softly at your blown pupils, "he wants you. Bad."

You scoff again, leaning down to tie up your white tennis shoes, "he does not. He thinks I'm weak; that I'm going to bring down the pack.”

"He feels like he needs to protect you. There is a difference," Toni stands, twirling in front of your mirror to approve her outfit for tonight.

Some of the Serpent teens are gathering at the quarry, much like they do most weekends, to hang out. Today is special, though, because it's the last weekend before summer ends and you're all forced to go back to an educational prison. You're heart races knowing that Sweet Pea will, in fact, be there tonight. He's a jerk, at least he seems like one. Every time you’ve spoken to him it's been to tell him to let you handle your own problems. Granted most of your problems have involved ghoulies trying to make you their lunch because of your cute aura and quiet voice but he's never given you an opportunity to prove yourself. No one has.

Your voice is soft, like usual, but a tad annoyed, "I don't need protection. Why does everyone assume that I do?"

"Because you're so cute we could just eat you up!" Toni leans over to pinch your cheeks and you try not to giggle because that would only prove her point, "also, that isn't what you're wearing, is it?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" You peek around her and scrutinize your outfit.

An aquamarine t-shirt that stops right before a pair of fashionably baggy, cuffed jean shorts. The same pair of pink pearl earrings that you always wear are in your ears and the white tennis shoes you just laced are on your feet. Your worn Serpent jacket hangs proudly off your shoulders, the bright red patches bold against the black leather. The cherry blossom backpack is settled on your bed, ready to be grabbed and filled with your reusable water bottle, rose perfume, matching cherry blossom wallet, and switchblade, of course. All in all, it’s the perfect outfit.

You glance up to see Toni just smiling lightly at you, "Nothing, you're right. It's perfect."

                                               *     *     *     *     *    

Like usual, you and Toni take her bike to the quarry. You don't have your own bike so you ride behind her, your arms around her waist, her sugary scent blowing at you in full force, and your head thrown back, hollering into the wind. The two of you have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Nobody would have ever seen it coming. You were always playing in princess dresses and she was the pirate storming the tea party in search of cookies that were dubbed gold. You're polar opposites yet she's, perhaps, the only one who really knows how alike you are.

You arrive at the quarry laughing and cheering like maniacs, nothing out of the norm. You swing your legs over the side of her bike, hopping off gracefully and smoothing back your wind blown hair. It's dusk, the sun having just set, and there are mason jar lights sitting on the picnic tables and fairy lights strung through the trees. For such a rowdy gang, there is soft indie music floating through the air; the final touch to, dare you say, a romantic atmosphere. You couldn't be more proud.

A familiar arm is slung over your shoulders, pulling you into a playful side hug.

"Fogarty! I haven't seen you all summer," you swing yourself into a real hug, latching your arms around his neck and squeezing as he pulls you off your toes, "where have you been, Fangsy?"

He chuckles and sets you back on your feet, ruffling your hair and grabbing one of your hands to twirl you around, "hey cupcake, it's good to see you too. I've been here and there, sorry I wasn't around."

You giggle and shake your head, pulling him to sit at the practically full picnic table that Toni claimed. The table cheers when they see you, pulling you in for hugs and playing with your hair. You hear a couple voices tell you that you look cute and others telling you to come sit with them. You slide your backpack off, placing it under the table when you find an empty spot. Before you can take your seat, however, a pair of muscled arms circles your waist, pulling you onto their lap and stealing your seat for themselves.

A leather and pine scent envelopes you as the table breaks out in hooting laughter, "Sweet Pea this is my seat. As in singular. Mine."

All he does is tighten his arms deliciously around your hips, pressing down slightly on your lower stomach and making you very much aware of the intimacy of your position. You look to Toni for help but all she does is wink, turning her head to join one of the many side conversations taking place. You sit in silence for a while, as stiff as a board in Sweet Pea's lap. You aren't uncomfortable so much as nervous. You can't lie, you've been practically in love with Sweets for as long as you can remember but, until now, he has barely shown you any form of affection besides ‘saving’ your sorry butt on numerous occasions.

"Relax, baby," he mumbles into your neck for only you to hear, "it's just me."

You want to yell at him for calling you baby, you really do, but it sounds so perfect coming from his lips and his mouth on your neck is too pleasurable to push away. Instead, going against everything you stand for, you sink into his broad chest, leaning your head under his chin and pulling one of his hands into both of yours.

"Much better," his chest rumbles softly under your back.

"Pea we're supposed to hate each other, remember?" You toy with his fingers, noting their size and remembering your conversation with Toni from earlier today.

She wasn't wrong, thoughts of his hands, among other parts of him, keep you awake at night. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck.

He leans down, skimming his lips over your earlobe while he answers, "Since when? I never got that memo."

His hand moves from your hip to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dipping in and resting on the skin under your naval. You bite back an unexpected moan at his lips and searing fingertips, leaning further into his chest and shifting your hips backward to fully press yourself against him. You let go of his hand in exchange for digging your fingernails into the picnic table. His hands are hidden, given him all the encouragement he needs to slide his now free hand up your bare thigh, drawing circles with his thumb on the inside of it.

"Sweets," your voice is raw, "what are you doing?"

"Showing you just how much I don't hate you."

His lips inconspicuously move to your neck, claiming the skin under your jaw as his own in the darkness. His hand draws further up your thigh, under the denim of your shorts and stopping at the apex of your thigh.

"Let me show you that I very much do not hate you, baby," he murmurs into your ear, the hand in the waistband of your shorts skimming over your skin in mesmerising patterns.

"Not here," you force the words pass you lips, melting into his touch.

"Then let's go," he practically pleads into your ear and it's all you can do not to wrap your legs around him right here and right now, nodding desperately as he scoops you into his arms and stands up.

You giggle loudly and, for the first time tonight, you're able to see his face. He's smiling down at you, a soft look in his molten chocolate eyes. His stare soon turns heated and he licks his lips, drawing your eyes to his mouth. Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling you flush against his chest. You turn to look at the table in time to see Toni nudge Fangs and point to the two of you, smirking at you when she catches your eye.

"Well guys," Sweet Pea addresses the table as he walks stealthily backwards, "it's been fun but we're going to head out now."

Before anyone can protest you lean up and whisper run in his ear. Before you know it he's sprinting to his motorcycle, the table of hollering Serpents shouting words of advice at your back. One that rings louder in the night is your best friend's voice screaming to "use protection". You blush and bury your head into Sweets' shoulder.

He sets you down on his bike when he reaches it, placing his hands on your hips and staring into your eyes through the darkness. The tension between you is tangible. You can hear every inhale he takes, imagining his bare chest moving over your own. In the blink of an eye you reach up and hook your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. Sparks dance up your spine and his hands find your hips. Fire burns everywhere he touches you.

You break the kiss quickly, "crap Pea, my backpack! I left it under the table!"

His eyes are still closed and he finds you lips once more, pressing another kiss to you lips, "okay baby, wait here, I'll go grab it."

"No, it's okay I ca-"

"Baby, just let me go get it," he stares into your eyes, pleading with you to let him go retrieve your backpack.

"Fine."

You watch him run back towards the others. You don't realise how dark it is until your all alone and the woods around the quarry become more prominent. Every noise you hear sets you on edge. You swear you keep hearing twigs snap but it's only your imagination, right? It has to be. That or Sweet Pea is pulling a prank on you. Maybe you should have just gone to get your bag with him.

You hear another twig snap and tense up. You ball your hands into fists, readying for anything. You can fight, that puts you somewhat at ease. Toni is the only one who knows that, spare a few older Serpent women who aren't in Riverdale anymore, because they had been the ones to rough you up during your gauntlet. Yes you, the softest girl on the Southside, refused to do the dance. There were no rules prohibiting you from the gauntlet so you opted for it instead. Needless to say, you can take a hit.

"You little skank!" A voice sounds from behind you, causing you to whirl around.

In front of you stands a tall redhead with hair to her elbows. Her serpent jacket clings to her slim form, accentuating her curves in a way that makes you jealous. She wears a paint of off brand skinny jeans and a black t-shirt that's a little too tight. Her eyes are bright green and furious, glaring bloody murder at you. You have no clue who she is.

"Uhm, excuse me?" You glance behind you just to make sure she isn't talking to some else.

"You heard me, slut. Who the hell do you think you are? Sitting on my man's lap?"

The ‘slut’ thing doesn't bother you and neither does the ‘who the hell’. She doesn't know you so you refuse to take her meaningless words to heart. However, the part where she claims Sweet Pea has you seeing red.

"Amazing. Everything that you've just said is wrong." You smile innocently at her, curling your hands into fists once more behind your back.

"I'm sorry? What did you just say to me?" She takes a step towards you, her chucks cracking another stick.

"Oh, sorry, let me explain. My name is y/n, not slut,” you counter her step with one of your own, “that's who I am. Oh, and he's not your man. If he is than why is he pulling me onto his lap instead of you?” you scrunch your eyebrows and look her up and down, “Oh, wait, who are you again?"

Your sugary sweet smile turns sinister in the blink of an eye; the same amount of time it takes her to charge at you. The words ‘cat fight’ ring in your ears as you dodge a poorly thrown left hook. You use the opportunity to land a blow to her exposed stomach. She coughs quietly and you step back to give her room, trying to be as kind as you can to someone who's wrongly accusing you of being a harlot. You're caught off guard though when she lunges for you, knocking you to the ground and pinning your legs under her.

Rookie mistake number two. She goes to swing again but before she can you grab her shoulders and roll, ending in a straddled position with her arms secured over her head. You smirk triumphantly down at the red head under you.

You plan to keep her there until Sweet Pea gets back but she decides to, rather stupidly, open her mouth, "I bet this is a familiar position for you, huh?"

It's not red that you see this time but blackness. All you remember is calling her a bitch and the next thing you know your hands are bruised and you're being pulled, legs kicking in protest, off the red head who now has a busted eye and a bloody nose. You're screaming at whoever has you in their grasp to let you go another round with the nameless girl. A mass of teen Serpents surrounds you, cheering loudly for you. 

"Baby, as hot as that was, I'm not putting you down," a familiar voice whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You look back at the bloodied girl on the ground. She makes eye contact with you from around Fangs who's trying to help her stand up. You don't know where the reckless idea comes from but, to be fair, you aren't really thinking straight right now. Perhaps that's why you follow through with the plan you have just hastily concocted in your head.

You toss the red head a cute smile and mumble delicately to the tall raven haired boy, "hey, Sweets?"

"Yeah y/n?"

You glance up at him, still in his arms, and pull his lips to yours. You kiss him slowly, drawing it out for as long as you can before you have to breath again. You keep your lips millimetres from his, pressing them against his softly a few more times. When you look back to the ground, the girl is nowhere in sight and the rest of the Serpents have migrated back to the picnic tables. Your cherry blossom back pack is settled at Sweet Pea's feet.

"So," you giggle at his dazed expression, "do you still feel like you need to protect me?"

"Yes," your face falls and you almost push yourself from his arms.

"But, to be fair, I always will. That's just me. You looked amazing fighting though. Absolutely fucking beautiful."

"Okay," you kiss his jaw softly, "I think I can handle that. Now can we please get out of here?"

"Fuck yes!"

[orlissa]

So now we have “BatCatPussyGate” or whatever, and I have some thoughts on it—I mean, it does intersect with my area of research.

In case you missed it: a scene where Batman goes down on Catwoman was not included in the Harley Quinn animated series, because, basically, a Batman who gives oral is bad marketing, and makes merchandise hard to sell (they did use the word “toy” in the statement, but you just know they meant action figures aka collectibles aka whatever older male fans buy). It is not even the first such scandal involving Batman in recent years, but we’ll get to that later.

There is a LOT to unpack here, so let’s get started. I’ll try to make it as coherent as I can, but this post still might be a bit of a mess.

First of all, we have to make one thing clear in which Marvel and DC differ from each other (I think I might have talked about this before, but it bears repeating): it’s what I like to call “hierarchical structure of characters.” Basically, Marvel’s structure is like the nervous system: there are interconnected nodes, but no one, clearly defined center. The Avengers are important, but so are the X-Men, and Spider-Man, and the Fantastic Four… Plus Wolverine has been an X-Man and an Avenger, Spider-Man has his own lore, but he has been a member of the F4… you get the picture. A big pro of this structure is if that one node falls (a series doesn’t sell), it’s no big deal, because the system remains standing, so, basically, you can experiment with stories. If it doesn’t stick, it doesn’t stick, you move on. DC’s structure, on the other hand, is more like a spider web: you have the Holy Trinity—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman—in the middle, and everything else connects through them. And if the center falls… everything falls. Which means that even though the Holy Trinity has HUGE cultural visibility (greater than of any single Marvel character), they are pretty much set in their ways. They cannot change much, because what they are now is what sells, and any significant change in representation might lead to failure, which then in turn would lead to the failure of the whole spider web. (I have a like 40 pages long paper on how, because of this, Wonder Woman needs to continuously appeal to both the male—sexualizing male gaze—and the female—identifying female gaze—gazes, compared to Carol Danvers, who keeps jumping between the two ends throughout her publication history.)

And within this scheme, Batman is the picture of hypermasculinity. He is powerful, intelligent, cannot do wrong, closed off from his emotions, and women fall for him, even if he cannot properly commit to a romantic relationship (this last thing is something that goes back to the Silver Age of comics, because male heroes just cannot have love, because nothing can be more important than their vigilantism, while female superheroes are lesser, because they are ready to hang up their capes for love).

Then what does academia has to say about this? Note: I’m going to be talking a lot about stuff that film criticism came up with, but since both movies and comics are a visual narrative medium, I’ve found that you can pretty much project everything about movies to comics.

So, first of all, one big shortcoming of feminist film criticism is that (not entirely unjustly) it is mostly focused on how women are portrayed in movies—especially how they are oppressed and objectified, while it leaves men/male characters… unstudied. Masculinity studies exists, but it’s pretty new and marginal. The availability of male bodies in film to the female gaze is also mostly unexamined (but I’ve dabbled in it! Talking about sexy male bodies in a detached academic manner is fun!), and it’s somewhat of a problem.

Richard Dyer studied the peculiarities of male pinups, and he came up with three instabilities: 1, it violates the codes of looking (because traditionally it’s the men who look, and women who are being looked at), 2, it rejects passivity (because being looked at is read as being passive, and the male body is supposed to be active, so, usually, male and female pinups are posed in a totally different way), and 3, it breaks the myth of the phallus (male power signified by the penis)—because once we start looking into it, we’ll discover that the phallus just… cannot live up to the hype. Therefore not studying the male body/male presence and focusing on the female body/presence actually serves the patriarchy, because the phallus can only keep its central, dominant position until it remains unexamined. Once we look into it, we discover that it’s not that great, and then we can displace patriarchy.

And then what does it mean in practice? Here comes the other Batman scandal I mentioned: about three years ago, DC came up with their new line of comics, where the big draw was the total lack of censoring. It was promised to be super bloody and full of gore and cursing and stuff. The first series of this line was Batman Damned, and the first issue featured the… batawang. I mean Batman’s penis. Returning from some mission, Batman starts undressing the moment he steps into the Batcave, stripping naked, and on some panels one can clearly see… little Bruce. It had no point. It could have easily been brushed out, and it would not have looked out of place. Or course, the internet had a field day with it, about the same way they are having a field day with his lack of oral sex now. It grew so big that within a couple of days DC announced that they’d airbrush out the batawang in the second printing and in any subsequently sold digital editions (which then caused the price of the first print editions skyrocket, to some $300, I believe). So to sum up: DC showed Batman’s penis for shock value. Seeing Batman’s penis wasn’t awe-inspiring, a show of power, but the butt of the joke—because examining the phallus shows that it cannot live up to the hype! So Batman’s power, his standing as a masculine ideal/male power fantasy was misplaced in a moment. (Something similar was happening behind the scenes of the Watchmen series as well: when Tom Mison had a full frontal nude scene, they actually used a penis-double—as there was no shot where his face and penis was shown at the same time—now imagine the casting for that role!)

In some way, this is happening now as well—not showing Batman performing oral sex is not because it “hurts toy sales;” it’s because it breaks the myth of the phallus, thus it breaks the myth of the Batman as an immaculate male power fantasy. Batman receives—power, admiration, and, of course, sex. But within the framework of sex, he needs to be the one that dominates, the one that mostly on the receiving end of the pleasure. What is important is that 1, he gets the woman and 2, he gets off. Whether the woman gets off is unimportant within this framework, because it doesn’t serve the myth of Batman/the male power fantasy. Within the fantasy, women need to want to sleep with him because he is Batman (because the male reader identifies with Batman, and he needs to feels as if the women in the comic want him just because he is him/Batman), but if he performs oral sex on the woman, it presupposes an active need for effort from his part from her to want him. It gives her agency, which elevates her to a partner, not an object to-be-looked-at.

So if Batman performs oral sex, his body will be put on display as something beyond the realm of the male power fantasy; it will be examined, and thus determined he is not all-powerful. His dominance within the narrative will be questioned. The role of the woman will be elevated. The patriarchal dominance displaced. So, yeah, that’s why Batman can’t give oral—not because it will hurt the toy sales.

I mean, it might. But because it will hurt Batman as a hypermasculine ideal

[gojology]

Teddybears and Shitty Cards.

back to homepage pairing : yuuji x gender neutral reader warnings : minor cursing, fluff wordcount : 1529 a/n : i hope i did u yuuji stans justice .. probably not but this is rlly good for my characterization :) also i thought that gojo wasn’t as well loved as megumi/yuuji/nanami etc but holy shit i thought wrong. my megumi and nanami fics got little to no attraction, or maybe i write them horribly, idk. is gojo satoru the best husbando in jjk? (the answer is yes.) also uh.. i didnt proof read this ████████████████  100% Complete. Enjoy your game.

     “Itadori!” you yell, panting, cupping your hands together around your mouth to amplify your voice. He had asked you prior to meet with you for Valentines in this particular park, most likely because it was Valentines day.        You had to admit, his selection in nice places was clearly defined. The views from the hill you and him sat upon was spectacular, you could see the city in it’s whole. This was amplified with the setting of the sun, a hazy beautiful orangey-yellow gradient was all the eye could see from up here.       It was definitely worth the walk up the steep hill, and you took a much needed seat and breather on the painted wooden bench, pulling out your water bottle you take a long swig, wiping the sweat off your brow as you did so.       You took a quick sneak peek at Yuuji, who was humming a tune, earbuds in. Shielding your eyes with your hand, you leaned closer into his shoulder. His thumbs were fumbling with something, which you now realized was a Nintendo Switch.       “Watcha playing?” you ask, breathing in his scent. Remnants of candy and baked goods filled your nose.        Yuuji didn’t say anything back, instead continuing to hum and mumble a few lyrics, lost in his own world.       It was only until you impatiently tapped at his broad shoulders to pay attention to you. He jolted up, looking left and right before finally realizing you were sitting next to him. Taking a deep breath in, he cheerfully smiled before taking one of his earbuds out.       “Hey! You came early~ are you excited to see me?” he questioned, setting his Nintendo Switch into his backpack before picking up what seemed to be a bag right next to him.      “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be, baby?” you reply back, grinning, deciding to pay no mind towards this bag. Yuuji was quite popular, especially revolving sports or something along the lines of that. Many famous coaches had said that he possessed super-human strength, and he had been showered in contracts with sport teams not long after those few words.       In return, this caused Yuuji to be insanely busy with many interviews and pelted with multiple adult-y stuff to do, which had hurt you exceptionally. It greatly hindered the relationship between you two. Weekly visits turned into monthly, and you couldn’t bare to see him drown in all his work. He was a busy guy, but yet always so carefree, and you didn’t want that carefree childish aspect of him to disappear. After all, that was something you loved about Yuuji.       He looked up at you with a reassuring beam, and you felt yourself melt under those warm eyes. “Aww, that makes me happy, (Y/N). Scratch that, you make me happy!” facing you, he gave you a quick peck on your cheek. Your heart bursts, it had been too long since you felt that specific thing, and you give him a gentle kiss back, running a hand through his fluffy hair.       “I missed you. It’s been too long since I’ve talked to you, lovebug. Schedule is jampacked. But I met some nice friends along the way, and my coach is super nice!” he rambled on, fumbling with the handles of this mysterious bag.       “Oh? How so?” trying to make conversation, you want to appear as interested as he talked about his coach, but you were focused on his outfit and how he looked in general.        He had gotten way more stronger, you noted. He was much more scrawnier when you two first started dating, and you wondered how his cuddles might feel like. Something that didn’t change though, was his horrible fashion sense. Wearing a turquoise t-shirt with a lemon yellow jacket over it, you almost winced. Yuuji dressed like a 6th grader who had their mom pick out clothes for them.        “...And he annoys the absolute shit out of his co-worker, Utahime. It’s funny! I also met this guy named Nanami and I have no idea how my coach and Nanami are friends. Nanami always looks like he’s on the verge of murdering him whenever he opens his mouth to speak! Oh and also me and my coach made Valentine cards together and I worked really hard on it and I just know you’ll like it! Also-”       “Alright, alright. That’s a mouthful.” you sang sarcastically, Yuuji awkwardly laughed and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, looking at you like you had caught him stealing a cookie out of a jar at 12 AM.       “Sorry. I get carried away a lot.” he says, peering into the bottomless pit inside the bag. You couldn’t quite see what was inside of it.       “No, no. I think it’s cute, Yuuji-san! I didn’t forget how you acted in the span of 1 month, why would I be dating you if I thought you were annoying?” hoping this’ll knock some sense into him, you closely examine his body language for any changes, hoping that went through his mind.       You had to make sure, the guy was dumb when it came to social cues.       “Ohh, really?” he looked up, pointer finger on his chin, a confused expression covering his features. “I didn’t know, I’ll act more annoying for you then!”       Smacking your forehead, you studied your shoes, too giggly to look at him eye-to-eye. “That’s not what I meant, idiot.”       “...What did you mean then?” Yuuji quizzed, tilting his head to the side. You really couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, you’d think that all sport players would be brutes and be masculine and perhaps... Not stupid? But here you were.       “No bother.” waving your hand as a dismissal of the conversation, you instead lean towards the bag he was holding, fluttering your eyelashes. “What’s this?”       “It’s a surprise~” he responded, obviously giddy. You felt yourself soften once more, how could someone be so cute just answering a question?        “Hey, come on!” tugging on his arm, you try to yank the bag away, curiosity killing you. His grasp was firm, and he laughed as you did so, it felt good to hear him laugh like that again.         “Okay, okay! Fine. Here, go at it.” handing you the bag, you practically ripped the handles off, ecstatic to see what could possibly be waiting to be discovered.          Inside was an incredibly large teddy bear, soft. The color was almost exactly the same shade of Yuuji’s, and you squeal, hugging the plush.          “Awww! This is so cute! I woulda never believed you’re smart enough to get a good gift for me!” you joked, he caught the sarcasm this time, giving you a confident grin. He liked the compliments.          “It’s supposed to be me.” placing a hand onto his chest dramatically. “I don’t know if you realized though.”          Scoffing, you put the teddybear to the side. “Of course I’d realize! I’m not dumb, Yuuji-san!”          “Why not? We could be dumb together! Also, there’s something extra at the very bottom that I think you’d like.”          Blinking, you realized that you had completely forgotten about the bag between your legs. Looking back down and rummaging for what possibly could be there, you pull out a card.          On the front, there’s a tacky lopsided heart, made with glitter glue. It seems there are also many failed attempts of starting this large heart at the sides of it. At the top, there’s a large, “Happy Valentines Day!” in red marker that was also uneven. Underneath the heart? A stick figure drawing of you and Yuuji, which was also... Pretty horrible.         Stifling a giggle, you open the card, eyes scanning the left for anything, you turn to face the right as soon as you deem it clear. That’s where the writing is.         Dear Y/N,          I love you very much and I know I do not spend that much time with you anymore but you still make me very happy. My coach was very nice and gave me Valentines day off because he felt bad.      I had to run to the nearest drugstore to get you this teddybear, but me and Mr. Coach decorated this together! He says he’s a very good drawer and I agree. I think the drawing is very detailed. He also helped me with the heart (we picked out the color together) and we had a lot of fun decorating. He says my handwriting looks really bad (is that true?) can you please help me fix it later? :(                                                                           With a lot of love,                                                                              Your Boyfriend and Gojo Satoru (his cool coach that helped him write this, thank me later. I have no idea how you handle this guy, but God is he such an amazing kid.)      Looking back up from the card, you look at Yuuji, who is looking at you back, squeamish. Without another thought, you kiss him, soft and light ones on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, everywhere on his face. When you finally pull away, both of you are staring at each other fondly.        “Yes, I’ll help you fix your handwriting, dummy.”         Yuuji gave you a toothy smile that he only saved for the special ones in his life.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Path Walker (Levi x OC)

Summary: Emory and Erwin butt heads

AN: In future chapters there WILL be mentions of sexual assault I will put a warning on that specific chapter and other future chapters that mention mature content. 

Word Count: 2.4K 

A grunt escaped my lips as I fell to the ground, Annie loomed over me her icy blue eyes burning into my own. I risked a glance at Shadis who lurked on the edge of the clearing with that brooding expression, those hazel eyes locked on Annie and I. Annie followed my gaze and smirked,

"Nervous Black?" Annie purred, leaning forward to hoist me up.

"Never." I snarled, swinging my fist in a wide arc, effectively clipping her chin. She stumbled backwards, surprised by my dirty attack. Shadis raised an eyebrow at this move, not necessarily an impressive technique but definitely unexpected. I gave chase, closing the space between us, forcing Annie to take a defensive stance. When I first started sparring with Annie she almost appeared bored, now she was wide eyed and very alert. I kept my elbows close to my chest as I scanned her small frame for an opening. Annie was about the same size as me, making us a relatively equal match. She danced back a few more steps, seemingly desperate to get away from my lightning quick punches. This time I allowed her to retreat, my cobalt eyes taking in the way her chest heaved and her hair was displaced and slipping from her low bun. The usually composed Annie Leonhardt was only slightly undone but all of your comrades took note. I allowed my eyes to scan the crowd that had gathered. Shadis had also snuck up on Annie and I, his features hard and unforgiving.

"Draw?" I asked, my voice coming out airy as I spoke. Annie nodded, her chest still heaving as she recovered from our tussle. The crowd let out some 'aws' and 'boos' due to our little show ending so abruptly. I dusted off my pants as the rest of the cadets dispersed as Annie and I recovered. Annie held her hand out and I took it, shaking it wordlessly before departing to find a new opponent. I halted abruptly when Shadis called out to me in that hoarse voice of his.

"Black! Your presence is requested in my office." he stood a distance behind me as I raised an inquisitive brow. Odd, sparring practice still had at least another hour. Surely he wouldn't leave the cadets unattended to hold a private audience with me? The thought made my stomach clench with dread, I learned early not to trust men. I paused before saluting him and giving a curt nod. I walked briskly over the training grounds, kicking up dust as I crossed the vast clearing. Finally I found myself in front of the small building that the superiors used to hold formal meetings and also were the few offices on the property were located. I paused, a carriage catching my eyes, a solider stood by the horses, holding the reins. I squinted trying to see the symbol on his military jacket. But he was too far away, and I wasn't very keen on getting caught staring at a stranger. So I walked into the building, heading straight for Shadis' office. I knocked on the door, not expecting a response since Shadis was supervising the sparring practice.

"Come in." I jumped at the sound of the deep masculine voice on the other side. My hand hovered over the knob, had Shadis set me up? Was I about to get thrown in jail? No I hadn't done anything illegal, at least not recently. Was Shadis conspiring with those notorious human traffickers? Was I being sold? No I need to chill the fuck out. I gripped the door knob and pushed the door open. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Erwin Smith seated comfortably in Shadis' chair, although he rose as soon as I entered. I saluted him quickly, leaving my hand over my heart even though he had dismissed me.

"You gave me a heart attack, thought I was going to be sold into slavery." I sighed as I crossed the room and sank into the uncomfortable wooden chair across the desk. Erwin furrowed his eyebrows and fought a smile off of his lips at my words.

"Why on earth would you think that? Have you been so terrible that Shadis has resolved to slavery as a threat to make you behave?" Erwin asked raising a bushy brow. I scoffed and leaned forward in my seat.

"No, I've been quite good actually." I said proudly, a smile curving on my lips. Erwin smiled fully before turning his attention to a folder that sat on the desktop.

"I've come here today to remind you of the deal that you agreed to three years ago." straight to business, gotta love the guy.

"Yes I recall." I said leaning back in my seat. God has it really been three years?

"Your graduation is in exactly two weeks, and I am very pleased with your rankings." Erwin said as he flipped through the file, his blue eyes suddenly flickered to my face.

"Oh, well I wish I could've made top ten but..." I trailed off, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"Ranked 11th in your class, still an impressive feat, this is a very competitive group of cadets." Erwin said giving me a pointed look. I could only nod at his words, still confused as to why he had come all this way to visit me.

"Anyway, I just wanted to ensure that you would be joining the Survey Corps as arranged, I'm sure as you know our numbers have decreased significantly." he said, slowly standing up, his tall build did make him a bit intimidating. I lifted my head a bit higher in an attempt to meet the mountain of a man without standing. He placed a large hand on the back of my chair, I allowed my eyes to flit over his calloused hand for a moment before turning to meet his cerulean gaze.

"I am aware." I spoke curtly, growing tired of his condescending tone.

"We are in need of promising recruits like yourself and to see you slip into another regimen would truly be devastating. Besides..." his hand slid off the back of my chair and onto my shoulder. My blood ran cold as he leaned down to my level and tightened his grip on my shoulder.

"There's a certain someone who is expecting you." his words sent goosebumps up my spine. It had been three whole years since I had seen Levi. Now of course Erwin was using him as an incentive to stay true to my word. I tensed under his grip, but still managed to nod.

"Does he ask about me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No... But I know he thinks about you." Erwin said, I nodded grimly, not really knowing what else I expected, he was kind to even add the last part. I laughed bitterly, "Why do I even bother." I cupped my face in my hands and slowly drug them down my cheeks. Erwin still held my shoulder firmly.

"Just uphold your end of the deal." he whispered, with a final squeeze he released my shoulder and returned to Shadis' seat, sinking into the back rest.

"Don't worry I will." I said, my own sapphire eyes narrowing as I spoke lowly. He waved his hand, dismissing me. I turned and quickly left without saluting him, a small act of rebellion. Gods, fuck that, did he really doubt my integrity so much to make a journey out here to ensure that I remembered the deal? Outrageous, I didn't even want this I never wanted to be a solider. I was only a child when this deal was made. By none other than Isabel, which is the only reason why I have decided to uphold my end.

When Levi, Farlan, and Isabel had been arrested Isabel begged Erwin to go back to the flat and bring me with them, at first he refused. But then when he learned that I was twelve years old he changed his mind. Why you might ask? Simply because he realized that he could make me a solider, a pawn in the fight for freedom. So exactly one year after my family's arrest he returned and gave me false documents, freeing me from the underground city. I stumbled, leaning against the railing of the dining hall, so engrossed in my memories that I failed to see a large rock in my path.

I blinked, the images of the dank city still dancing across my mind. I looked up at the sky to see the sun sinking lower, dinner would begin soon. But my stomach was churning with nerves as I thought about the place I had grown up and the people who had ensured my survival. Isabel, Farlan, Levi, they had saved me gotten me out of that hellhole. Now only two of us remained and he couldn't even fucking write me. I straightened up, pushing off the railing I stormed back towards the barracks, a new found rage instilled in my chest. Or maybe it wasn't new at all, maybe it had always been there, a nagging in the back of my head. Levi was never keen with me, but surely he cared enough to at least ensure that Erwin fulfilled Isabel's wish. But then again maybe he only enforced the deal to honor Isabel?

I frowned, Isabel was one of the few people who showed me kindness during my short life, she was like a big sister to me. I finally found myself struggling to open the door to the barracks, my hands shaking with emotion. With a final shove I pushed into the room, the bunk beds all made with care. I flopped onto my bunk and buried my face in the stiff pillow. I allowed a few small tears fall into the fabric before I finally pulled away from the pillow and breathed a heavy sigh. I looked down where my pillow once rested to see the carefully folded paper that I kept stored underneath the pillow. I gingerly unfolded the worn parchment with shaky hands. My shoulders sagged when I finished, the image that stared back at me made my heart ache. A drawing that Farlan had done only a few weeks before everything changed, a family portrait of sorts, you and Isabel between Levi and Farlan, Levi was drawn with a slight curl of his lip, his own way of smiling.

Isabel looked vibrant and full of life, Farlan looked cool as a cat, and I looked like a snotty brat with missing teeth and ratty hair. At the sight of my messy hair I recalled I memory of Isabel attempting to comb it to no avail, Farlan tried and also ultimately failed. But Levi pinned me to the ground and viciously raked the brush through my hair, and succeeded in detangling the mess. You didn't talk to him for a week after that. A shaky breath left my lungs as I focused on Isabel's wide eyes and the way Farlan's had an arm carelessly thrown over my shoulders. What I wouldn't do to feel his warmth by me again, admittedly I'd had an innocent crush on Farlan. It was only natural seeing as he was the one to take me in so graciously. I yelped when the door banged open, quickly stuffing my precious keepsake back under the pillow. Ymir padded in first, her arms folded behind her head, Krista followed closely after her. Mikasa wandered in after the odd pair along with Sasha and Annie brought up the rear. The lot of us occupied this small section of the barracks, Annie was the only one to spare me a second glance before tossing her jacket onto the bed above mine.

"What did Shadis do with you?" she asked indifferently, such an odd tone that made me think she didn't really care, but still bothered to ask the question.

"He did nothing, it was an old acquaintance of mine that requested my presence." I said throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. Annie raised a brow but didn't question any further, she set to work on unbuckling her harness, and shortly after, stripping her white jeans off. When she tossed the clothing onto the ground a strange scent washed over me. It smelled simply raw a foreign scent that I had never caught a whiff of before. Just as quickly as it had drifted under my nose it was gone, leaving an odd feeling in my stomach. Hm how odd, I thought as I watched Annie pull on a pair of loose pants. Just as I opened my mouth to ask her if she had found a new perfume or something Sasha plopped down on my bed.

"Sorry you couldn't come to dinner, I saved you a little something though!" she beamed as she pulled a half eaten loaf of bread out of her jacket pocket. I couldn't help but smile, in an odd distant way, she reminded me of my dear Isabel, kind and hard headed.

"Thanks Sasha, I appreciate that." I gingerly accepted the gift, and took a bite out of the loaf. Sasha looked pleased with herself, she got up and left me alone on my bunk, Annie crawled up onto the top as I dusted crumbs off my bed. Come to think of it, that scent from earlier was familiar, maybe she used the same soap as someone? No it wasn't a manmade scent, it was strange but somehow I knew that it was uniquely her. Like pheromones or some shit, my nose wrinkled and suddenly I felt over powered by the scent. I looked up to see Ymir passing, her shoulders pulled back proudly. What the fuck, man they reeked how had I never smelled it before? They smelled like sweat mixed with an earthy musk, my eyes watered as the smell continued to overpower my senses. I fell into a sneezing fit shortly after Ymir had walked back to her bunk, drawing some curious glances my way as I continued to sneeze my brains out.

"You alright down there?" Annie asked, her head dangling upside down to look at me underneath her.

"Fine, just.... Allergies." I sniffled, rubbing my arm discreetly over my nose partially to wipe snot away and also to protect it from her scent. Annie brushed her bangs off her face to get a better look at me, her brows pinched together and her mouth opened slightly as if she was about to say something.

"Lights out cadets!" Shadis banged on the barracks door loudly, shutting up every girl in the room. Mikasa got up and extinguished the torch, plunging the room into darkness. I heard Annie settle back into her bed, and I followed suit, my nose still burning from the stench.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader}

Masterlist

~^*^~

The fog that had settled overnight was nothing short of opaque. Thick and with an amber tinge, it seemed to cast a curtain between the north cliffs and the harbour, and, the North Sea, of course. However, a little fog wasn’t going to get in the way of any business or any vendor today as people still busted about the small seaside town, getting on with life.

Your feet carried you over the swing bridge and down to Bridge Street, where shops began to open by pulling up their shutters and the owners looking out expectantly as the small clusters of customers waiting to come in. Instead of following the road round to find yourself on the other side of the mouth of the River Esk, you abruptly turned left up to Church Street, where the cobbled road made walking just that little less easier. The boutiques here were also opening up, doors unlocking and shutters ascending to be concealed by the concrete above the windows.

Although the fog that had seemingly come from nowhere overnight, the humid summer air still clung to the streets and made a sheen of sweat grow on your skin. The walk from the viaduct, all the way down the cinder track and even this far was quite a trek when it got warm. 8am, a foggy day and you were still panting from the heat? Something wasn’t right.

But then again, you had read in the news this morning that a strange man had been surrounded by police on the sea front, not too far from the cliffs that hosted Whitby Abbey in the early hours of the morning. And that was the cause for your journey so early. Clutching your bag closer to your chest, you made your way past the countless Whitby Jet distributors and found yourself at the top of Church Street, eyeing the 199 steps.

“Quite a lot of exercise for first thing in the morning, no?”

You snapped your head left, eyes connecting with the blue orbs belonging to Dr. Zoe Van Helsing. Her eyes smiled at you, along with her lips that pulled up mischievously. She had caught you off-guard and she knew it. Replying to her question with a hint of sarcasm, you both began to climb the stairs. About halfway up, when the seagulls had no issue with swooping far too close to your head, you decided to pipe up and inquire about the gentleman you had been called to visit.

“Ah, you mean the Count? Yes, he is definitely a piece of work. We have a whole test group of people to come in close contact with him, however, we’d still like for you to have a chat with him, given your expertise in the area.” She turned her head to look at you expectantly.

“Well, it sounds like it’ll be a challenge. But you know me, I love a challenge.” You smirked back at her.

“We’ll see.”

When you both made it to the top of the steps, you stood to take in a deep breath of air and look back out towards Whitby. The fog was moving inland and it was getting difficult to see even the band stand, which stood overlooking the harbour on the opposite side of the mouth of the river from where you stood. There was a faint noise coming from the amusements and the sound of people slowly filling up the streets. But it was all drowned out by the roar of the North Sea, the howls of the summer winds and screeches of seagulls.

You turned once more, facing towards and beyond St Mary’s Chruch. Just further up, you could make out the peaks of Whitby Abbey. You were close. No more words were shared between the pair of you as you walked further up. You pushed past the open gates and found yourself facing the visitor centre. You turned right once more and before you, as grand as every, the Jonathan Harker Foundation.

Zoe led you through the winding halls and turns once inside and it seemed she knew the place like the back of her hand. You had only been inside a handful of times, and yet you still hadn’t acquainted yourself at all with the winding halls.

“I must warn you before we go in, so I suggest you take a seat.” Zoe began, leading you into a small room with a desk. She held the door for you as you stepped inside and reluctantly took your seat.

“You say it like it’s a life or death situation.”

“Actually, it is.” As if she had simply stated on the weather, she strode last you and slumped down into the seat opposite.

“You alright?”

“A little tired. Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix. Now, let me explain to you a little about the gentleman we are... housing. You need to throw all of your understandings of this world out of the window. This isn’t some basic cannibal or murderer we’re dealing with.” With every word, with the seriousness of her tone, you were starting to panic.

“Ok, Zoe, you’re really starting to worry me now.”

“There’s no need to panic. You see, you will be in safe hands and there are precautions put into place to ensure your safety.”

“My safety? What on Earth, Zoe-?”

“Count Dracula, the man you will be speaking to today, is a vampire.” Your mouth dropped at the words. The absudety of it all! A real life vampire?! What nonsense!

“Ok, you’re definitely pulling my leg. There’s-...” you looked at the demeanour of her expression. Her eyes were cold, lips softly turned into a frown. She wasn’t joking.

“Count Dracula is approximately 525 years old. He spent 123 years drawing energy in a box of his own Transylvanian earth at the bottom of the before emerging last night. According to oral accounts, Dracula is the cause of one of my own ancestors deaths, along with several others on the Demeter that brought him here. You will be assessing him - just like you do with all of the other criminals you’ve worked with before. Except he isn’t a criminal. He’s a beast.”

Those last three words rung in your ears continuously as you followed Zoe down the hallway towards the room that held this beast of a man. You did not know what to expect, though the image of an old and shrivelled man concealing superhuman strength came to mind. He was over 500 years old, after all. You had read the case file after Zoe’s briefing with you, and learnt about the real mystery of the Demeter whose ruins lay on the coast line. It had come as a shock to you to learn of such things actually existing, yet you had no time to digest the information as you practically marched behind Zoe. Lining the hallway was an abundance of guards; you took notice of the fact that they were oddly guarded with crosses and stakes. Clearly all of this vampire lore turned out to be true. You wondered if Zoe had figured this out, or if it was the work of her ancestor who was murdered by the man lurking behind you door you stride towards.

“Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s like a dog - can smell fear a mile away. He feeds off of it.” These were Zoe’s last words to you before she pushed the doors open. A large room stood before you, with a glass square in the centre perched on a circular stage rising maybe a foot higher than the rest of the floor. Inside the box, a desk, and standing in the corner, hidden in the shadows, a looming figure. Zoe spoke again, “you may close the skylight. Let him come to us.”

As if her words were spoken by a god, the light that streamed down into the glass container began to dim as load croaks came from the ceiling. Now, he was free to roam his transparent prison. Your eyes locked on his form, watching as he slowly prowled forwards. His nose twitched and pulled his head up. He was taking in a scent.

“Ah, I see you’ve brought me another new appetiser.” His smirk was plastered over his face and you were finally able to take in his features.

He was nothing of your imagination. Nothing close. He was a towering 6’4” with ebony locks styled up and out of his face. Matching thick eyebrows kept watch over darkened eyes and although his face was clearly mature, it was built well and prominent with masculinity. This, paired with the tailored suit he wore (where on Earth he had managed to acquire such clothing, you hadn’t a clue) screamed danger. It screamed warning. He was sophisticated; he was inviting; that meant he was dangerous. His feet carried him towards the glass panel closest to you and he pressed his long, thick hands up against the glass.

“I can smell her from here.” His smirk deepened.

“Pay him no attention, [First], he’s trying to scare you.” Zoe rolled her eyes, leading you closer towards the cell.

“No, just... testing the waters.” His tone was slightly mocking. His voice was deep and somewhat sensual to the ears. It was nice, melodic voice. It was a dangerous voice. Just like the rest of him.

“Well, there’s absolutely no need. Count Dracula, this is my associate, [First].” Zoe stepped aside, allowing him better access too look you up and down. Had he been a normal male, the gaze would have been dubbed rather disgusting, eyeing you up with a sickly grin toying on his charming features. But he was not a normal male and he was gazing at you like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Very nice to make your acquaintance, [First].” He locked his eyes with yours and you could only stand the building tension for a fraction of a second. But you continued to keep the gaze locked, wanting to prove that you were the stronger of the two of you, “oh, I like her.”

“Good. You’ll be spending a considerable amount of time with her. Now, step back so she can enter - and don’t you dare forget that we can end your pathetic existence in a second if you attempt to harm her.”

“I have been around for over 500 years, Helsing, so don’t be surprised if some things happen to slip my mind.”

“You have no reason to harm her. We have provided you with adequate nutrition.” Zoe stated plainly, leading you closer to the door.

“You humans have no reason to indulge in confections, yet you do. It’s about the satisfaction, is it not?” His eyes bore wicked holes into you. You were much too close to him now, mere meters and a thin sheet of glass separating you from him.

“I am not your confection, Count Dracula.” You narrowed your eyes, “ and believe me, you try to put a single malicious finger on me and it will be the last thing you do.”

“Ooh, feisty. You remind me of someone I once knew. Hopefully your fate will not adhere to a path similar to theirs...” he trailed off and once he realised your presence was about to accompany him, he stepped backwards, keeping his eyes locked on you.

“Do not threaten her.” Zoe warned before turning to you and placing her mouth close to your ear, “he tries anything funny, use your fingers as a makeshift cross. We’ll get you out as soon as we can.” You merely nodded, psyching yourself up for this fateful date with a real life vampire.

The ceiling opened up as the door opened in sync and you stepped over the threshold. Immediately, you were hit with an intoxicating scent of something. Pine, maybe? Or something more earthy. It filled your lungs in a matter of seconds and you took a moment to intake the scent, pleasing to your senses. 

Dracula’s eyes watched you closely as you placed your bag down beside the door as it snapped shut. Now, a triangle of light illumated the centre of the glass cell and Dracula was pinned against one dark corner.

“Come closer.” His velvety smooth voice commanded, long finger beckoning you towards him. You knew that he wouldn’t try anything here. The jeopardy to his life was too great, and so you found yourself being pulled closer towards him. In this proximity to him, you realised just how much he towered above you. His head found itself slowly rolling downwards to stay connected with your eyes and his mouth was turned upwards smugly.

You grew closer still, until all that remained between you was the barrier of light. An oddly symbolic line of goodness and of evil.

“May I?” His eyes trailed down to your hand. You looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly, “my only intention is to be chivalrous, I swear.”

“If I get even a hint of tooth-“

“You have my word that you will not.” His eyes flashed with mischief.

Oh, the way he spoke! The way he smiled! The charm oozed from him, but that was to be expected. He had over five centuries of experience under his belt in the art of charming his victims. Of course he was going to be good at it.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and it cut through the veil of darkness. Part of you was intruding on his side now. His cold hand slipped under your own, a tinge of freezing cold electricity running up your arm and down your spine. The smirk that had played on his lips since the very moment you stepped into the room moved towards the back of your hand, and cool lips struck your flesh.

“Compliant, I like it.” He spoke against your hand, “why don’t you come into the shadows?”

You immediately pulled your hand away, taking a large step back into the light as you did so.

“Why don’t you come into the light?” You mimicked.

“Touché.” He turned his head to look at Zoe who was standing close to the door, “where did you find this one ? She’s got a fire to her.”

“Yes, well let’s hope you don’t get burnt.” Zoe countered, ignoring his question.

You looked around the cell, mostly at the large desk in the centre where a chair sat on either side. You looked back at the count who was eyeing you up (again), clearly waiting for your next move. Taking a breath, you pondered on the recklessness of your request the followed.

“Close the skylight.”

“[First], that’s not safe!” Zoe called, alarm bells clearly ringing in her head at the million different scenarios that could play out from that action alone.

“It’s alright,” you eyed Dracula, “he won’t hurt me. He knows his place.” You glared.

“I do, do I?” His right eyebrow cocked.

“Yes. Now to make yourself comfortable. We have quite a discussion.”

When the sound of the skylight closing filled your ears, your heart began to pound. You took steps backwards in the light as it retreated, and like a slow, careful dance, he took steps forwards, like he was commander and the darkness filling the space was his army. This was a battle you were losing.

“You’ve got some nerves, haven’t you?” He lowered his voice, “trusting a vampire so easily.”

“I don’t trust you. I trust them.” You eyed the several guards stationed around the room.

“And who do you think would come out as victorious?”

“Why don’t you tell me? I want to know everything about you, Count Dracula. Now, take a seat.”

You slumped down into one of the two chairs and Dracula took the seat opposite. He sat up with a straightened back, crossing one leg delicately over the other and rested his elbow on the mahogany, and his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I can hear it.” He spoke softly, eyes once again locking with yours. Every time they did so, your heart faltered.

“Hear what?”

“The blood rushing through your veins. It was rather sweet the way it jumped when I kissed your hand. Tell me, [First], why are you putting up such a front? I can read you like an open book. You’re nervous, you’re afraid.”

“I told you. I’m not afraid. You can’t harm me because they will harm you.”

“And again, I must lead you back to the rhetorical question of who would win?”

“You believe it is you, correct?”

“Correct.” He leaned forwards, closing the gap by another inch, “well, I know. I do not believe anything.”

“Well, I know that all we have to do is open up that light once more and you’re toast. Quite literally.” He chuckled at this. A deep, booming noise that sent a chill down your spine.

“There it is again, your heart. You must be infatuated with me.”

“You wish.” You glared, “now why don’t you tell me just what happened on board the Demeter.”

“You see, to tell that story, I’d have to begin right back in Transylvania - months before I even set foot on that ship.” He noted, eyes boring into your face.

“I have already read the accounts, Count Dracula. I already know. I want to hear it from you.” You folded you arms, tryinf to control your heart rate.

“Why from me?”

“To understand you. That’s why I’m here. Surely you knew that. Just get on with it. I don’t have all day.” You unfolded your arms, your impatience beginning to get the better of you. Your fingers found their way to the edge of the table.

“Then let’s begin,” he raised his head, just enough to slip his hand down into the table. In a swift movement, his right hand had swept up your left and encased it in coolness, “when I stepped foot on the Demeter.”

It took no less than two hours for Dracula to finish his account of the Demeter and he decided to also explain what had happened after he was arrested on the beach in the early morning. The entire time, he was effortlessly attempting to charm a little of your trust into him, but from the first words that left his mouth, you knew what his game was and you wouldn’t give up. Often, his foot would brush against your own, he’d insist on eye contact, or he’d grasp your hand in his at every opportunity he could get. By the time he was finished, you were beyond pissed off with his actions, horrified with the story he had told and exhausted from trying to keep your body from ratting your true emotions out to him.

“Right,” you began, pushing yourself up from the table, “I think that will be all for today.”

“Going so soon?” He faux pouted. He rose with you, clearly trying to prove his dominance over you one more time before you left.

“Unfortunately for you, yes. I’m afraid your company has ran out for today.”

“Is she coming back again?” He looked past you, towards Helsing who was frowning deeply.

“Perhaps. Don’t concern yourself with it, though.” Zoe snapped, “come, [First], you have other appointments this afternoon.”

Turning on your heel, you began to make a b-line for the door. However, the vampire behind you had other plans and before you had even made it halfway, his icy fingers hand tangled around your wrist and kept you held in place. Your heart jumped. Your blood pounded in your ears. His lips brushed against the cartilage of your ear, a cool sensation rippling throughout the left side of your head.

“You really must work on that heart of yours, it is much too easy to pin when you’re lying.” He mumbled, the words pooling in your ear, “even now, the blood coursing your veins is pumping with some vigor. It makes me... hungry.”

You tore your body out of his grasp, turning on your heel to face him and the smug look on his face at the reaction he gained from you. The door was opened and two strong arms hailed you backwards before the door shut once more and light began to flood the cell. Your body collapsed under the pressure of the other person pulling you and your knees buckled.

“Are you alright?!” Zoe was by your side, kneeling quickly to help you up, “you!” She bellowed to the vamp, “you shall be getting only scraps today for that!”

“Now, where have I heard that before...” Dracula mused.

He watched as you practically fled the room, eyes following your every movement until the doors shut. Helsing was glaring at him.

Your feet carried you, the adrenaline pumped in your veins and it was like you knew your way back out without ever having remembering it before. At the entrance, a man dressed up a little too much was arguing with the lady sitting behind the white desk, but you could only catch a snippet as you got yourself out of the building as quickly as you could.

“...-don’t understand! I’m his lawyer!”

Later that evening, when your appointments had all been dutifully carried out, you found yourself wandering along the beach below the cliffs where Whitby Abbey stood proud. The summer air had cooled and the fog had all but dissolved into the summer air. You looked out towards the wave cut platform where rock pools had been formed, and remembered times when you were younger and had gone fossiling (usually with little luck), or waded throughout the rock pools until the sea licked the sand once more.

The dusty sky was lilac, slowly bleeding into navy the higher up you looked and the sun had already disappeared behind the horizon south of you, behind the swing bridge and beyond. The tide was completely out, the waves sounding years away as seagulls cruised the sky above, unable to find any supper for the evening. The sand was derelict apart from you.

“We meet again.” You gasped loudly, turning on your heel to come face-to-chest with a rather unfortunately familiar form.

“Wha-.. I-... how did you-?”

“Get out?” He finished your rambles amusedly, “I have connections.”

“Even though you technically haven’t been on earth for over a century?”

“Yes, despite that.”

“What is it that you want...?” You took a step back, feeling a small pebble bite the underside of your foot through the flimsy sandals you wore. His eyes bored down into yours with such an intense predatory gaze that you felt your knees buckle for the second time in the day. He grinned.

“What else? You.”

[iwach4n]

i said I'd do it and now it is simp time because punk yamaguchi is the only thing on my mind rn. general hcs for now but perhaps i will do a boyfie hcs for him as well

also yes this is sorta badly written and obnoxiously long its mainly just me rambling all my ideas

punk third year hcs

his confidence has grown drastically since the beginning of first year, especially when it comes to volleyball. but the end of second year and the holidays before third year starts are when he really starts to come out of his shell and experiment with his style

his hair comes first. he doesn't have time to get a haircut for a while, and so he ends up tying it back as a temporary thing. except its no longer temporary because he really likes it

he only does it for volleyball and when he's studying at first, just to get his hair out of his face. sometimes when he goes out on errands.

but he leaves it up after morning practice once, and suddenly he's getting Looks. he would have missed all the blushing stares of the girls (and probably a few guys) if tsukishima hadn't pointed it out to him

his face has become a bit more defined and masculine recently coz puberty, and although he still has pretty soft features, tying his hair up shows off a sharp jawline

he's a bit awkward about all the attention he's getting at first! like he really doesn't know what to do with it. but he slowly manages to take it in his stride (tho he'll still get blushy if anyone outright compliments him on it)

buying a leather jacket on impulse is really the turning point for him. he loves the more confident vibe it gives him, which in turn makes him even more confident

he buys more clothes like that to match it, and by the time third year starts he's decked out with a whole new wardrobe

when the new first years start on the first saturday practice, they're already a little nervous because karasuno has a pretty intimidating rep.

but when they see this guy with long hair, a leather jacket, big boots and ripped jeans unlocking the club room? shaking

that is, until he notices them and starts talking

he literally just smiles and they know they're fine. just immediate 'cool older brother' vibes

he's absolutely great as a captain, he helps out all the new kids and keeps tsukishima and kageyama from being too mean or intimidating

one day, yachi asks if she can paint his nails. he agrees and loves it and now he constantly has his nails painted. they're black more often than not but sometimes he switches it up with random colours. because of the volleyball they're always chipped but it just adds to the whole vibe

tanaka invites noya and all the third years (like the year below them you know what i mean) over to his house to catch up. when yamaguchi shows up he does a visible double take, but before you know it he's giving him an undercut and noya's dying his hair black

he's now a lot more scary at games. not only is his style more evident even without the clothes, he's also spent years watching his teammates intimidate their opponents and he's picked up a thing or two

while hinata, tsukishima and a handful of the younger ones are actively insulting the other teams, yamaguchi can't really make himself do that and knows that as captain he should reign them in

"leave them alone guys, we don't have time for this"

but his confident stare and tiny smirk sends shivers down their spines too

the minute they get round the corner, everyone's clapping him on the back and cheering about how he 'totally made them piss their pants', while he just laughs awkwardly

the first time he does something like that, he genuinely feels bad about it and almost apologises. but sooner or later he just finds it kind of funny

at some point, tsukishima finds some rings that akiteru used to wear (akiteru had a low-key eboy phase in my mind but thats another story) and gives them to yamaguchi. its like a gateway drug to jewelry for him honestly

rings? yes. chains? you bet. bracelets? fuck yeah.

soon enough, he's got a couple of piercings too. he starts off with a few in his ears, but then he gets a lip ring and eyebrow piercing too and he looks sO GOOD

he's pretty much got fangirls at this point. and one thing they love is how he looks really punk and hot but whenever they talk to him he's super sweet and awkward

he forgets to take his lip ring out before a game once and they l o s e t h e i r m i n d s

audible groans from the stadium when ukai reminds him at a time out

(honestly me too i can't stop thinking about how hot he'd look with a lip ring)

(i've been trying so hard to keep it together and not just yell about him this whole time but it's so hard. i'm breaking down man. i've got a crush on punk yams send help)

ukai is also his go-to for advice on piercings, and the man lives for it. he's watched this kid grow from a nervous smol babie to a confident punk child and he's more than happy to take him under his wing and share what he knows

if there's one group of people he knows he'll never be nice to if he ever saw them again it's his old bullies. he’s moved past them but looking back he gets kinda mad

well, one day he’s walking out of saturday practice with tsukishima and sees an awfully familiar group of guys walking down the road, talking about the school, and about “doesn’t that really weak freckly kid from elementary go here?”

well, speak of the devil

remember how they were intimidated by tsukki before? oh how the turntables.

i wouldn’t say tsukishima has a ‘soft boy’ style, but he opts for slightly preppy clothes like button up shirts, knitted sweaters, that kind of thing. and he usually wears lighter colours (beige, light blue, a muted yellow, ygm)

meanwhile, yamaguchi is here with all his black clothes and piercings and newfound confidence, and the way he’s looking at them is honestly a bit terrifying

“t-tadashi?” “who the fuck let you call me that?”

tsukishima is genuinely impressed. probably the first time he’s heard him swear not out of frustration

its a bit of a staring contest until one of the new first years runs up and calls him captain and asks him if they’re getting meatbuns (he totally carries on daichi’s tradition of treating the team to them prove me wrong). he’s back into nice senpai mode when he says he’s buying, but the bullies now know he’s also the captain and it just increases the air of authority he’s got right now

they keep staring each other for another minute or so, and tsukki’s getting concerned because god knows what this kid’s gonna do

but he suddenly just starts walking past them, no fucks given

“come on tsukki. these assholes aren’t worth our time.”

those bullies are left having an existential crisis in the street because that was mildly terrifying and also the last years treated him well damn (puberty hit him like a freakin BUS)

I WAS GONNA END IT THERE BUT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT TATTOOS

while he’s still in high school, he can’t get any tattoos done professionally, but he definitely messes around giving himself stick-and-pokes

they’re all quite small and simple - little stars and smiley faces on his ankles and arms

would probably let the team try their hand at it on him. as a result he has some deformed splodges, something that is just barely recognisable as a volleyball and a couple freckles on his legs joined up like a dot-to-dot (he asked yachi to do a crow on his bicep because she’s the best at drawing but she was too nervous about messing it up)

he’ll also try giving the team some if they want to (though not first years coz to him they’re literal babies). hinata tried to get the third years to have matching ones but tsukishima didn’t want to be associated with them like that and yachi was a bit scared to so they didn’t end up doing it

when he’s old enough, he gets a few proper tattoos, but they’re all quite small and simple. he probably seriously considered getting a big design on his neck (kind of like this) but he ultimately decided against it

in conclusion yamaguchi is punk in third year and my heart is going absolutely crazy over him

(jesus christ this turned out long)

[one-boring-person]

Unexpected Resistance (Part One)

T-800 (The Terminator, 1984) x OC

Warnings: gun violence, injuries, death, vague blood

Context: So @jawline-of-steel and I came up with this whole AU style story based around the first Terminator film, and we've been basically obsessed for like a good five days now. It starts in the Technoir Club and is a basic introduction to the story itself, with a whole lot of description 😅 enjoy!

A/N: This is co-written with @jawline-of-steel , and is also edited by her, so please go show her work some love! It's amazing!

Masterlist

Edited by: @jawline-of-steel

Bright, blaring lights flash in vivid colours around the wide room, the rapidly moving bodies illuminated in alternating tones and hues, giving off a confusing yet strangely endearing mirage of shapes. Music thrums loudly in the background, the bass vibrations felt through the soles of shoes throughout the club, though this is mostly unfelt as near enough everyone dances along to the beat and rhythm of the same song, alcohol lending its hand in the loss of inhibitions and worries for all. The air is hot and stifling, the odours of sweat and strong perfumes mixing together into a miasma of heady scents that are inhaled with every breath.

Amongst it all sits a lone figure, her body slouched over the table as she cups her head in her hands, body tense and rigid as if from stress, the drink beside her left forgotten as she seems to try and control herself, having just returned from the phone behind her, where she received the instructions she'd been asking after for an hour now. As she pulls her hands away from her head, she notices that they are shaking, her palms sweaty and clammy until she moves to wipe them, hastily, on her jeans, sighing nervously as she looks around again. Moistening her lips, she moves to place her hands back on the table, only to curse under her breath when her elbow knocks the bottle to the floor, the sound going unheard through the surrounding barrage of noises. Rolling her eyes, she bends over to pick it up again, just missing as a great hulking figure steps past, movements slow and calculated, head rotating systematically to take in every inch of the room.

The figure is distinctly masculine, his massive build towering over practically everyone in the room, his muscles visibly bulging under the tight shirt he wears, though they are slightly obscured by the presence of an oversized jacket laden with chains. His features are square yet chiseled, but his eyes are dead, as if there is no emotion being registered behind them, their only function being to observe a space and determine its characteristics; his expression is also like this, the heavy brow drawn into a line, mirroring the tight yet somehow lax set of his lips, which are pulled into a perpetually serious glower. Around him, people instinctively move out of his path, his steady, deliberate movements strangely unnatural, almost too calculated to be human, though his appearance is clearly that of a person.

Across the room from him, a pale woman scans for any prominent signals. The hazel hue of her eyes hides the scanner just past the surface, though the faint glow of a red light is just visible, should one look close enough. Flashing lights cast strange shadows across her soft features, highlighting her clenched jaw, lips pursed in a strangely concentrated apathy. Strong, dark eyebrows frame hooded eyes, further obscured by the sleek sheet of straight, dark hair that just grazes her jaw. She stands tall, not exactly towering over anyone, but the way she carries herself, paired with her expression, makes people part like the red sea as she walks past. Black tall, booted feet slap the club’s floor, showing no sign of emotion; no acknowledgement to the tightness of the too-small shoes on her feet, nor the way the buttons on her too-small shirt strain to accompany her larger build. Maybe she should have stolen clothes from a bigger person. 

All this goes unnoticed by the woman at the table as she sits back upright again, righting the bottle in front of her as she does so, before turning to look around her again, looking out for one specific person. Her body goes cold as her eyes land on him, her throat undulating as she swallows in a panic, now terrified that she is in danger, the presence of the lithe man across from her not something she expected in this place. Subconsciously, she thinks back to the words of the officer she spoke to over the phone:

"You're in a public place so you should be safe."

As she continues to stare at her stalker, however, she starts to think that this may not be true.

Distracted, she doesn't notice the piercing stare that is turned on her, the muscular man instantly focusing solely on her as she sits there, beginning to move towards her, hand reaching into his jacket to pull out a gun. This new movement draws her attention away from the object of her panic, a deep sense of fear starting to set in as she finally clocks the real threat, the man from before forgotten from her fearful mind. At the sight of the approaching threat, her body freezes up, muscles tensing in place, breathing becoming ragged and forced, her entire being screaming at her to move, to get far away from this intimidating man.

Her eyes can only widen as she watches the gun being raised, the barrel leveled with her forehead as the crimson laser sight focuses on her skin, flaring briefly across her vision as the man adjusts his aim, his stance mostly even and controlled. His finger moves over the trigger, the digit tightening with a blank finality as he goes to take the killing shot, only to be thrown to the side as a deafening gunshot tears through the air. A second swiftly follows it, then another, the man falling to the floor as holes appear in his coat, blood swiftly staining the fabric as he goes limp, body prone momentarily. 

Screams cut through the music, the dancers now realising just severe the danger around them is, the crowd moving in unison towards the entrance, desperation lending it's speed to them as they scramble amongst each other to reach safety, the threat of being shot still on their minds. Upon seeing them, she jumps up from her chair, shooting a quick glance back at the direction that the first shots came from, where she catches sight of the female figure standing stiffly, a shotgun held in her hands as she reloads it, every movement controlled and deliberate. As she turns her head back again, she also notices her stalker, the lean blonde in the grey trench coat, pulling a sawn-off shotgun from under his jacket, the weapon raised and aimed at the unconscious man on the floor.

Terrified, she hurries to catch up with the other people, not quite catching the movement of the first man slowly reopening his eyes and bending his fingers, his torso lifting from the ground as he adjusts his damaged body into a better position. He moves to pull out an assault rifle, firing rapidly into the crowd of people, as well as the bar itself, shattering glasses and splintering wooden panels, in addition to maiming and killing many of the innocents running for safety. A scream escapes his target, alerting him to her exact position, which he advances on immediately, his rifle raised in preparation to fire again. Once again, however, he is interrupted by four shotgun shells embedding themselves into his back, the impact ejecting him forwards out of the glass windows of the club, where he then lies on the pavement, apparently dead.

Breathing heavily, his target looks back around again, spotting the woman from before approaching her, the blonde man just behind her, his shotgun raised and ready to fire at her, in case she makes a threatening move. Emotionless, the woman reaches out a hand towards the target, opening her mouth to speak.

"Sarah Connor?" Her voice is smooth but unnatural in a way, as if not quite her own.

"Y-yes." Sarah responds, terrified as she hesitates to take the hand.

"You must leave this building immediately. Go with Kyle Reese. Now." She commands, staring blankly down at the fearful girl. The blonde man looks shocked for a moment, before he gingerly moves past the woman, offering his own hand to her.

"Come with me if you want to live." He says to her, his eyes now trained on something behind her.

The other woman reacts accordingly, levelling her shotgun again and firing a round, pausing to reload, giving Sarah the chance to turn around and find out what her target is. Her eyes widen considerably as she sees the man from before rising from the floor, seemingly unaffected by the wounds it has sustained.

As he stands back upright, he looks over the woman wielding the shotgun, a very faint twitch of the brow recognisable as he stands still, only moving again when Reese and Sarah turn and leave, making the third member of their group step into his path, gun lifted and primed for use. Upon seeing this, the man goes to say something, only to be shot through the chest twice, making him stumble backwards to regain balance.

By the time he has regained it, the other woman has gone, leaving his HUD flashing warnings and notifications of model matches, the series inferior to him, yet somehow perfectly functional.

[shipersanonymous]

One Hit West

Chapter 5

Author's note:

Took forever!!!! But for a 4000 word chapter I think the two week wait was kinda OK? I hope? Of course as always this chapter will leave you with more questions then you care to have and all building up to the great answer!

Hope you all like it!!

Cliffhanger warnings apply 😉❤️

P.S There’s a bit of a flashback within a flashback here. Hope it doesn’t confuse you! 

XOXO

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[Iris]

The doorman holds the door open for her and Iris thanks him with a smile as she pushes the stroller in. Her mom jeans hang loosely around her legs, concealing the armada of weapons strapped to them and years of practice allow her to walk without acknowledging the extra weight. It’s an easy enough target, mistaken identity style kill, but she’d rather be prepared then to get trapped with nothing but a rifle. Iris walks into the lift and keeps on her act. Bare hands (except for her ring); large, square shades obscuring her face and a short wig that’s styled into a generic “mom-like” messy bun.

As the numbers on the little screen change, taking her closer to her destination, she finds herself taking deep breaths and completing her transition into her work persona.

Cold.

Cruel.

Calculated.

The transition is almost ritualistic. Usually she switches within the blink of an eye but this evening her mind is pestered by memories of the night before…

“Iris,” her father greeted calmly, without turning his head towards her. His relaxed attitude aggravated her further and she found herself forcing deep breaths in order to stay as composed as possible.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“Upstairs, fast asleep, but…”

Iris stopped in her tracks.

“…before you go up and get her…”

Joe put his cup down and stood up to face her for the first time.

“…you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Iris spat, and turned around to ascend the stairs when her father’s bellowing voice stopped her mid-step yet again.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me Iris!”

“Or what? Huh?” She challenged, her cool seeping out of her with every passing second.

“What are you gonna do dad? In a matter of hours you’ve attempted to kill my daughter’s father then kidnapped her. How are you planning on topping that off?” Iris kept her voice down out of fear of waking Nora and having to face questions she wasn’t as yet ready to answer.

“What were you doing at the casino?” He asked, ignoring her question. Iris looked at him incredulously then let out a half-hearted chuckle and answered:

“I felt lucky, thought I’d have a go at some poker.”

“I’m going to ask you, one more time. What? Were you doing? At the casino?”

“I already-”

“Iris.” Joe’s tone came out as a warning and he turned his head to the side, closing his eyes shut like a man trying to hold back an outburst.

“Hasn’t that boy ruined your life en-”

“No dad! He didn’t ruin my life, you did! You ruined my life when you kicked me out!”

“I gave you an option God damn it! It was your decision to walk away!”

Iris couldn’t believe her ears. To this day her father still thinks that the alternative to her packing her bags would have been the better choice.

“I’m not in the mood to have this conversation for the billionth time. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to get my daughter and go home.”

“Where is he?” Joe demanded, once again paying her statement no mind. His ability to hear what he wants to when he sees fit never fails to surprise her.

“We both know I’m not going to tell you. I didn’t save him just to have you kill him.”

“So you were interfering with my hit?”

Iris sighed, tired and exasperated.

“Yes dad I was. Is that what you wanna hear? That I was doing what’s right for my child like any good parent would? Do I have to explain how this works since clearly good parenting is a language you forgot the minute I told you I was pregnant?”

She regretted the words the minute they left her lips but it was too late and the grave expression that fell over her father’s worn features told her that she’d pressed the mother of all buttons.

“Get out,” he growled under his breath.

“Gladly. After I get what’s mine,” she answered without letting her regret show through.

The lift dings on her floor and Iris pushes the empty stroller to apartment number 64, the very apartment she pretended to be scouting a week before as she took notes of the building’s important features: emergency exits, security cameras, fire alarms etc. That’s how she knows that the hallways are monitored with cameras while the apartments are kept safe with motion detectors.

The stair ways are dead zones and are basically the least secure places save for the automatic locks on the doors that can only be opened with access key cards. The stairs are also the only way to reach the basement and that’s where the screen room is located. Not that she needs any of this information. Her father has a Loyal in almost every building in the city. These are people that either owe him, work for him or are too afraid to test him and therefore grant him any and all means of access into a number of places. Apartment buildings, restaurants, entertainment destinations, tourist attractions – you name it. And all she needs to get in is her red ruby ring. It’s a simple stone, common enough not to draw suspicion if worn by many and yet unique enough to be used as a distinguisher. Although in her case the red makes it special. The rest of her father’s hit family have rings with much the same design but their stones are green emeralds instead. Red rubies are reserved for those with the last name West.

They were her mother’s favourite gem stone.

The walk up the stairs threatened to bring back memories she didn’t need roaming through her mind at that very moment. Memories from before. Before loss turned her father in to a cold hearted killer. Before she saw the way his face changes just before he pulls that trigger.

Before she became him.

Iris walked into her old bedroom, all the details giving her a sense of Déjà vu. It was all exactly as she’d left it, from the positioning of the furniture to her high school photo frames (considerably emptier than they were when she still called the room hers), to the paint on the walls. It was like stepping into a time capsule of some of the greatest moments of her life…

Her freshly painted toes wiggled in the air as her feet rested (crossed at the ankle) against the wall. The still hot curls in her hair, cascaded over the edge of her bed like a water fall and she passed the time with a book in her hand. Getting dressed with three hours to go seemed like over kill and even though she was excited to see Barry, she wanted the moment to be perfect.

Perfect didn’t include her looking sweaty in a wrinkled dress. So she practised the art of patience as she dove into the third of the Twilight books. A knock on her door drew her attention away from Bella’s latest inner turmoil and she asked the visitor to come in. Barry’s fresh shaven face popped into her room, his hair neatly slicked back and as he stepped inside, the space was filled with a deliciously masculine scent. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets as she took him in, pressed suit with a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand, ready to go and earlier than ever.

He was up to something.

“Barry what are you doing here so early? We’re not supposed to meet for another three hours!” She asks, putting her book down without saving her page, she’d already read it three times any way, she’d be able to find that page with just a few flips.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you.” He smiled, though she noticed the glimmer of nervousness in his stare.

“But - ” Before she had a chance to finish her sentence Barry dropped down on one knee and Iris felt herself grow pale.

“Barry? What are-”

“Just, hear me out ok? I know that we’ve only known each other for a year and that we still have a life a head of us – graduation and college and work - but Iris the truth is, within our first week together I already knew that no one would ever complete me the way that you do,”

“Barry,” was all she could whisper out as she tried to keep her tears in. She was shocked out of her mind and had no idea what to think but her heart felt every word that slipped out of his mouth.

“I love you Iris,” he said as he reached into the bouquet and pulled out a tiny red velvet box.

“And I know that we’re too young to get married, but I can’t stand the thought of a possible future without you. Which is why I found a compromise.” He opened the box and inside rested a single silver band with tiny red jewels imbedded into it.

“This isn’t an engagement ring, not yet anyways, but it is still a symbol of my promise to you. My promise to love you, be there for you, support you and take care of you for the rest of our days. And someday, hopefully soon, I promise to replace this ring with a much more permanent version.”

Iris found herself struggling to breathe and if it weren’t for the fact that she was still standing paralysed in front of him she might have thought her legs had magically disappeared because she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel any part of her body except for her roaring heart.

“What do you say Iris? Will you take this ring as a symbol of my promise of forever?” he asked and at that the tears made their debut on her yet to be made-up face. She nodded, unable to speak and covered her mouth with her left hand as she slipped the delicate piece of jewellery on her right hand’s ring finger. Barry rose back onto his feet and she half laughed, half sobbed as she noticed the moisture in his eyes before she pulled him into her and hugged him tight. They parted a few inches, just enough for him to lean into her and offer her a tender kiss.

“I’m guessing this means that she liked it?” came Joe’s voice from the door way and the young couple took a reprieve from their embrace to look at him, though they remained in each other’s arms.

“Dad?”

Joe smiled and folded his arms over his chest as he leaned side-ways against the door frame.

“And I thought I had a hard enough time gift shopping for you, but this young man right here second guesses everything when it comes to you. This was the longest jewellery hunt in the history of man.” He commented with a chuckle and a look of fondness directed at the youth before him.

“Wait a second, so you knew?” Iris asked.

“I kinda asked your dad for help shopping for the ring,” Barry admitted, sheepishly.

“Right after he asked me for permission to give it to you and promised never to break your heart.” Joe added proudly, there was nothing Joe loved more than a respectful young fellow with good old fashioned morals. Except of course if that young fellow happened to look at his little girl like she hung every star in the sky. That was reason enough to have his old heart smiling for the rest of its beating days.

Because she’d found someone who would love her as much as he once loved his wife.

“Hold on to this one baby girl. He’s one of the good one’s”

“I know,” Iris said, her twinkling gaze glued onto Barry’s just before he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers.

Her eye’s drifted briefly to the jewellery box on her vanity table and almost as if she had x-ray vision, in her mind’s eye, she looked past the white jewelled exterior and could picture the ring where she’d left it. Hidden from herself at the very bottom. Almost as if she we’re trying to bury the memories and emotions that came with it.

The whiskey burns its way down her throat and warms her up from the inside out. It’s the only thing she currently feels as she waits for the tiny buzz of her watch.

Beep – beep.

There it is.

With one last look at the city she downs the rest of her dry drink and turns around to make her exit, grabbing the diaper bag and travel seat that rested on the couch. Her “busy mama” act has her power walking to the nearest stairway exit where she uses her access card to disappear from the cameras view. The stairs offer her all the privacy she needs to slip out of her baggy sweater and jeans to reveal the black leather, skin tight suit she has on underneath. Her weapons are still carefully attached to the sides of her legs.

Iris pulls on her gloves and ankle length trench coat then whips off her wig and reaches down for a gun as she gazes at her watch. A door on the wall to her left opens up to a storage closet that she uses to hide away her baby seat and diaper bag then up the stairs she goes, screwing on her silencer as she takes the stairs two at a time. All the while she takes deep breaths and pushes down the last of her humanity, the last of her thoughts of her baby girl.

Her focus shifted from the Pandora’s box on the table to Nora’s sleeping figure. Cecile, who was seated on the edge of the bed beside Nora, looked at Iris and smiled sadly. Iris’s heart went out to her, she was the only one who could get her father to feel anything other than hatred at the world since her mother’s passing and yet she couldn’t get him to be the old Joe, the Joe she deserved.

“How long has she been asleep?” Iris whispered, kneeling down beside her bed and stroking her daughter’s hair gently. All at once the action soothed her every insecurity and it felt like discovering how to breathe a new. She leaned in and planted a tender kiss to the child’s warm forehead and breathed her in.

She smelled like home.

“Not long. Go ahead, take her, I’ll help you out with her chair.” Cecile whispered back, smiling sympathetically. Iris thanked her with a smile of her own and shifted so as to slowly lift her daughter up. She was careful not to make any violent or miscalculated movements, almost like she were handling a rare doll made of glass.

But the caution was needed.

Nora curled into her mother’s arm burying her face in Iris’s chest and no words could describe the paradoxical feeling of fear and security that came with having her baby in her arms. With one arm under her daughter’s knees and the other supporting her back, Iris walked down the stairs and out the door towards her car, her father paid her no mind as she left and she did her best to ignore the sting his lack of attention injected into her.

“Thanks Cecile.” She said once Nora was safely strapped in and her chair tucked away in the trunk.

“Not a problem, and don’t worry about your dad. He’ll come around.” She said.

“Not if he keeps hating on everyone with the last name Allen,” Iris pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That name, it’s taken a lot from him.” Cecile tried to reason with Iris and the other woman’s eyes seemed to say ‘form us’ though she dared not speak of her loss. It hurt too much to think about.

Iris wouldn’t budge. She knew better. She knew that her father didn’t know the half of what he’d lost, of the nightmares she attributed to that name. And with the way that things were going he would never know. Not from her mouth anyway. So as she steps into her car she responds:

“Not me, he pushed me away all by himself.”

The jog up the three flights of stairs help circulate the adrenaline in her system so by the time she steps out into the hallway of the 28th floor she’s fired up and ready to strike. She takes calm steps towards apartment number 81 and stands in front of it like she’s ready to knock. With a subtle movement she tucks some stray hair behind her ear, flashing her ring at the camera and a few seconds later, the red recording light dies out.

She’s got five minutes.

Her actions gain a certain fluidity as she turns back towards apartment number 83 and knocks as gently as she possibly can. A tall man with a 6 o’clock shadow and a head free of hair answers the door. His dress shirt is half undone yet still tucked into his black suit pants, under different circumstances Iris might have stopped to allow herself to take him in but her mind is elsewhere and she’s still pissed about last night. She needs to blow off some steam. His seductive smile slips from his lips when his eyes land on Iris giving away that he was expecting someone else.

In his confusion he asks:

“Who the he-”

But Iris has no time for chit chat. Before he can blink, she’s moved into the apartment, closed the door behind her, pressed her weapon against his forehead and pulled back the trigger. Pieces of cerebral tissue redecorate the space behind him and he falls to the ground, painting the white tiled floor with blood. Iris approaches without hesitation and stairs at his wide eyes with indifference.

“Your wife sends her love,” she says before firing two more shots. The hit brief she got requested that this be staged as a crime of passion. Hence the foreign gun and overkill. Some poor unfortunate side piece is about to get some major jail time while the “weeping” widow cashes out the prick’s life insurance. All’s well that ends well in the game of hearts. Iris discards the weapon on the floor and walks out with a minute to spare. She sees the numbers above the elevator light up as it brings a passenger closer to her and she smiles, assuming that it must be the unsuspecting mistress. Just before the lift reaches her floor she walks back out into the stair way and follows it down to her disguise with a reassurance that a few seconds later the cameras rebooted and set the perfect trap.

…

[Barry]

Earlier today…

It’s a weird feeling, waking up in a strange bed at a strange house and yet somehow feeling completely at home. This notion haunts him all morning as he stares up at the white ceiling and tries to make sense of it.

Maybe it’s the thought of it being her house. Or the fact that her scent lingers in every little corner of the place. Maybe that’s why it all seems so strangely comfortable. Like getting to share her little secret.

Getting to be her little secret.

Yet, as good as that all might sound Barry can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, the dull ache of his heart’s every thud. The gut twisting sensation that she’s hiding something from him, something life changing. He plops one hand underneath his head and sighs. It’s mid afternoon and Barry is wasting his day away in bed. He tried to do a little cardio, made some breakfast, read a page or two but every action put him down a path of what ifs.

What if Iris were there? Would he be making her breakfast? Would she be reading him a passage from the book as he poured her coffee? Would she be wearing one of his old t-shirts and chuckling when he pressed a random kiss to her cheek?

Sigh.

More questions without answers.

It’s times like these that Barry normally turns to his brother. Bart is most definitely the most rational of them both. Barry always thinks with his heart despite his superior intelligence but Bart always finds a way to act with rationality. They always joke that their personalities came with their middle names. Bartholomew “Barry” Henry Allen took after their father, flexible mind but much too large a heart. Bartholomew “Bart” Harry Allen took after their ‘uncle’ and legal guardian Harrison, kind at heart but ever the critical thinker. It’s a trait that Barry, at times, envies in his twin brother: the ability to disconnect from emotion in favour of science. Barry can’t bring himself to do it.

He always wears his heart on his sleeve.

The sound of keys turning in the lock draw Barry’s attention back from his differences with his twin and he turns his head towards the sound while listening intently.

“Can we get the purple tights and my STAR Labs sweater aunt Anissa?”

A young girl seems to ask and the innocence in her voice brings a smile onto his face.

“’Course you can baby. Since your mom forgot to pack your clothes this morning you get to pick what ever you like.”

That voice is unmistakable. It’s definitely Iris’s favourite cousin Anissa. Barry hasn’t seen her since that random run in, a year after the break up…

It had been a year since he’d last seen her. Their anniversary was drawing near and he hadn’t so much as glimpsed her across the street or bumped into her at the grocery store. It was hard but nothing compared to those first few months.

The confusion as to what could possibly have gone wrong. The multitude of questions without answers. The heart ache, so strong at times he’d wake up in the middle of the night fighting for breath. He’d sunk into a depression so deep that his uncle had him seeing both a psychologist and psychiatrist. He’d been prescribed antidepressants and moved to England because a “change in scenery” would do him good.

All it did was provide him with enough isolation to feed his loud mind. So during the brief Christmas break, when Harrison summoned him back home, Barry made a habit out of wondering aimlessly about the streets of Central City. He blamed his sleeplessness on the time zones but he knew better. A good night’s sleep hadn’t formed part of his routine in a while. Power naps and unhealthy amounts of coffee were what kept him afloat in college.

In England he’d found an escape in his academics, burying himself in pile after pile of literature. Completing assignments way ahead of the due dates and prepping tutoring material to help a few nameless faces after class. So when the holidays came around he suddenly found himself spoiled for time and with nothing else but his neglected heart ache to occupy his mind.

That’s when the endless drives around the city became routine. He’d managed to convince himself that he was simply trying to pass time but he knew – he felt – that in reality he was looking for her.

Iris.

It was on one of these drives that he ran into Anissa. With no where to go, Barry found himself at a 24hr convenience store, roaming through the aisles of all things comforting and deadly. On his way to the freezers he glimpsed a familiar profile in his peripheral and stopped mid step. Low and behold there she stood, with a tin of powdered milk in her hand and a shopping basket filled with baby supplies. The tin she held grabbed all her attention so she didn’t notice Barry approaching till he was a few steps away and asked:

“Anissa?” She startled, which was expected, but when her face turned towards him it didn’t instantly flood with recognition and a drop of sympathy. Instead her eyes widened and her face paled with fear. Without warning she dropped her basket on the floor and took off running. He chased after her, too desperate to pay the questioning looks any mind.

“Anissa wait! Please!”

But she didn’t slow. Instead she knocked down a stack of canned food in an attempt to leave the tin of milk that was still in her hand. Barry chased her outside but couldn’t catch up to her. So eventually he stopped and simply watched her make her escape. Jennifer, her younger sister, was in the car with her and she seemed to have a baby in her arms…

Barry remembers wondering who’s baby was in the car that night. Now, doing the math, he realises that it could have been Iris’s little girl. Which leaves the question: Where was Iris when her cousin was playing house with her daughter?

“Do you want to get any books while we’re here?”

“No it’s OK. I’ve read all of these already. Mom promised she’d take me book shopping on my birthday anyway. I can wait till then.”

The little girl’s voice held a note of sadness at the mention of her birthday, but a sadness brought on by hope. Almost as if she wanted to believe that the statement was true but knew otherwise.

“Does that mean you’re not coming to see aunt Jen and me? You know she’s been working real hard on your surprise.” Anissa tries to cheer the little girl up, all the while Barry listens intently from his new vantage spot behind the door.

“I like cup cakes better the next day. Aunt Jen can just put them away for me.” She answers, by the sound of it she seems distracted.

“Cupcakes? Who said anything about cupcakes?” Her aunt sounds surprised.

“Come on aunt Nissa. I practically live with you and I know you barely get enough time to bake. I also know that you only get one bag of flour to last at least five months if the expiry date permits and only get enough chocolate chips to cover one batch of pancakes or cookies when you feel up to the task. That being said, last week you bought a fresh bag of flour, a dozen more eggs when you already had in your refrigerator and enough chocolate chips to either make three batches of cookies or aunt Jen’s double chocolate cupcakes. You’re out of shortening so that can only mean you’re making cupcakes. Conclusion: aunt Jen is making me cup cakes for my birthday.”

Barry’s jaw drops and it isn’t till he sees his own shock reflected on Anissa’s side profile that he realises he’s stepped out of his hiding place. His ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing so he subconsciously walked towards the sound of her voice only to find that the person giving out such a detailed explanation is in fact a little girl.

Her back is to him as she’s sorting through some clothes in a drawer and her hair is done in two loose fish braids that disappear into the back of her wheel chair.

“Are you sure you’re five?” he blurts out, unable to suppress his own shock and startling them both. The little girl manoeuvres her chair so that she can face him and Barry feels his mouth go dry as he takes in her face.

He’s suddenly lost in her little green eyes.

[raptured-night]

Hi! I’m part of the lgbtq+ community and Severus is my favorite HP character and I was wondering (if you have the time and feel obliged) if you could please give me a few examples of how he’s queer? It’s been a few years since I reread the books, and def before I came out, so I’m a little in the dark here lol Thanks!!

First of all, I just wanted to apologize for how long it has taken me to properly respond to your ask. I’ve been dealing with some ongoing health issues that have turned me into something of a moody writer. I’ll get random spurts of energy and inspiration and then hit a wall of absolute writer’s block assisted by a major case of executive dysfunction every single time I try to respond to the multiple asks languishing in my inbox. Fortunately, I found myself involved in a discussion just today that addressed your ask so perfectly that I wanted to share it with you.  In the very least, that discussion has also managed to shake off my writer’s block temporarily so that I have found myself in the right head-space to finally be able to give this lovely ask the thought and attention that I feel it deserves. 

Although, in regards to the Snape discourse I linked above, I feel that I should warn you in advance that the discussion was prompted by an anti-Snape poster who made a rather ill-thought meme (I know there are many in the Snapedom who would rather just avoid seeing anti-Snape content altogether, so I try to warn when I link people to debates and discussions prompted by anti-posts) but the thoughtful responses that the anti-Snape poster unintentionally generated from members of the Snapedom (particularly by @deathdaydungeon whose critical analyses of Snape and, on occasions, other Harry Potter characters is always so wonderfully nuanced, thought-provoking, and well-considered), are truly excellent and worth reading, in my opinion. Also, as I fall more loosely under the “a” (I’m grey-ace/demisexual) of the lgbtqa+ flag and community I would prefer to start any discussions about Snape as a queer character or as a character with queer coding by highlighting the perspectives of people in the Snapedom who are actually queer before sharing any thoughts of my own.

In addition, I also wanted to share a few other posts where Snape’s queer coding has been discussed by members of the Snapedom in the past (and likely with far more eloquence than I could manage in this response of my own).

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Along with an excellent article in Vice by Diana Tourjée, in which a case for Snape being trans is convincingly argued. 

Importantly, you’ll notice that while some of these discussions do argue the possibility of Snape being a queer or trans character others may only discuss the way that Snape’s character is queer coded. That is because there is a distinct but subtle difference between: “This character could be queer/lgbtq+” and: “This character has queer/lgbtq+ coding” one which is briefly touched on in the first discussion that I linked you to. However, I would like to elaborate a bit here just what I mean when I refer to Snape as a character with queer coding. As while Rowling has never explicitly stated that she intended to write Snape as lgbtq+ (although there is one interview given by Rowling which could be interpreted as either an unintentional result of trying to symbolically explain Snape’s draw to the dark arts or a vague nod to Snape’s possible bisexuality: "Well, that is Snape's tragedy. ... He wanted Lily and he wanted Mulciber too. He never really understood Lily's aversion; he was so blinded by his attraction to the dark side he thought she would find him impressive if he became a real Death Eater.”) regardless of her intent when she drew upon the existing body of Western literary traditions and tropes for writing antagonists and villains in order to use them as a red-herring for Snape’s character, she also embued his character with some very specific, coded subtext. This is where Death of the Author can be an invaluable tool for literary critics, particularly in branches of literary criticism like queer theory. 

Ultimately, even if Rowling did not intend to write Snape as explicitly queer/lgbtq+ the literary tradition she drew upon in order to present him as a foil for Harry Potter and have her readers question whether he was an ally or a villain has led to Snape being queer coded. Specifically, many of the characteristics of Snape’s character design do fall under the trope known as the “queering of the villain.” Particularly, as @deathdaydungeon, @professormcguire, and other members of the Snapedom have illustrated, Snape’s character not only subverts gender roles (e.g. his Patronus presents as female versus male, Snape symbolically assumes the role of “the mother” in the place of both Lily and later Narcissa when he agrees to protect Harry and Draco, his subject of choice is potions and poisons which are traditionally associated more with women and “witches,” while he seemingly rejects in his first introduction the more phallic practice of “foolish wand-waving,” and indeed Snape is characterized as a defensive-fighter versus offensive, in Arthurian mythology he fulfills the role of Lady of the Lake in the way he chooses to deliver the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry, Hermione refers to his hand-writing as “kind of girly,” his association with spiders and spinners also carries feminine symbology, etc.) but is often criticized or humiliated for his seeming lack of masculinity (e.g. Petunia mocking his shirt as looking like “a woman’s blouse,” which incidentally was also slang in the U.K. similar to “dandy” to accuse men of being effeminate, the Marauders refer to Snape as “Snivellus” which suggests Snape is either less masculine because he cries or the insult is a mockery of what could pass for a stereotypical/coded Jewish feature, his nose, Remus Lupin quite literally instructs Neville on how to “force” a Boggart!Snape, who incidentally is very literally stepping out of a closet-like wardrobe, into the clothing of an older woman and I quoted force because that is the exact phrase he uses, James and Sirius flipping Snape upside down to expose him again presents as humiliation in the form of emasculation made worse by the arrival and defense of Lily Evans, etc.). 

Overall, the “queering of the villain” is an old trope in literature (although it became more deliberate and prevalent in media during the 1950s-60s); however, in modernity, we still can find it proliferating in many of the Disney villains (e.g. Jafar, Scar, Ursula, etc.), in popular anime and children’s cartoons (e.g. HiM from Powerpuff Girls, James from Pokemon, Frieza, Zarbon, the Ginyu Force, Perfect Cell, basically a good majority of villains from DBZ, Nagato from Fushigi Yuugi, Pegasus from Yu Gi Oh, etc.), and even in modern television series and book adaptations, such as the popular BBC’s Sherlock in the character of Moriarty. Indeed, this article does an excellent job in detailing some of the problematic history of queer coded villains. Although, the most simple summary is that: “Queer-coding is a term used to say that characters were given traits/behaviors to suggest they are not heterosexual/cisgender, without the character being outright confirmed to have a queer identity” (emphasis mine). Notably, TV Tropes also identifies this trope under the classification of the “Sissy Villain” but in queer theory and among queer writers in fandom and academia “queering of the villain” is the common term. This brings me back to Snape and his own queer coding; mainly, because Rowling drew upon Western traditions for presenting a character as a suspected villain she not only wrote Snape as queer (and racially/ethnically) coded but in revealing to the reader that Snape was not, in fact, the villain Harry and the readers were encouraged to believe he was by the narrator she incorporated a long history of problematic traits/tropes into a single character and then proceeded to subvert them by subverting reader-expectation in a way that makes the character of Severus Snape truly fascinating. 

We can certainly debate the authorial intent vs. authorial impact where Snape’s character is concerned. Particularly as we could make a case that the polarizing nature of Snape may well be partly the result of many readers struggling against Rowling subverting literary tropes that are so firmly rooted in our Western storytelling traditions that they cannot entirely abandon the idea that this character who all but had the book thrown at him in terms of all the coding that went into establishing him as a likely villain (e.g. similar to Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, Snape is also coded to be associated with darkness/black colors and to represent danger and volatile/unstable moods, while his class status further characterizes him as an outsider or “foreign other,” and not unlike all those villains of our childhood Disney films which affirmed a more black-and-white philosophy of moral abolutism, such as Scar or Jafar, the ambiguity of Snape’s sexuality coupled with his repeated emasculation signals to the reader that this man should be “evil” and maybe even “predatory,” ergo all the “incel” and friendzone/MRA discourse despite nothing in canon truly supporting those arguments; it seems it may merely be Snape’s “queerness” that signals to some readers that he was predatory or even that “If Harry had been a girl” there would be some kind of danger) is not actually our villain after all. 

Indeed, the very act of having Snape die (ignoring, for the moment, any potential issues of “Bury Your Gays” in a queer analysis of his death) pleading with Harry to “look at him” as he symbolically seems to weep (the man whom Harry’s hyper-masculine father once bullied and mocked as “Snivellus”) memories for Harry to view (this time with his permission) carries some symbolic weight for any queer theory analysis. Snape, formerly portrayed as unfathomable and “secretive,” dies while pleading to be seen by the son of both his first and closest friend and his school-hood bully (a son that Snape also formerly could never see beyond his projection of James) sharing with Harry insight into who he was via his personal memories. For Harry to later go on to declare Snape “the bravest man he ever knew” carries additional weight, as a queer theory analysis makes it possible for us to interpret that as Harry finally recognizing Snape, not as the “queer coded villain” he and the reader expected but rather as the brave queer coded man who was forced to live a double-life in which “no one would ever know the best of him” and who, in his final moments at least, was finally able to be seen as the complex human-being Rowling always intended him to be. 

Rowling humanizing Snape for Harry and the reader and encouraging us to view Snape with empathy opened up the queer coding that she wrote into his character (intentionally or otherwise) in such a way that makes him both a potentially subversive and inspiring character for the lgbtq+ community. Essentially, Snape opens the door for the possibility of reclaiming a tradition of queer coding specific to villains and demonstrating the way those assumptions about queer identity can be subverted. Which is why I was not at all surprised that I was so easily able to find a body of existing discourse surrounding Snape as a queer coded or even as a potentially queer character within the Harry Potter fandom. At least within the Snapedom, there are many lgbtq+ fans of his character that already celebrate the idea of a queer, bi, gay, trans, ace/aro, or queer coded Snape (in fact, as a grey-ace I personally enjoy interpreting Snape through that lens from time-to-time). 

Thank you for your ask @pinkyhatespink and once again I apologize for the amount of time it’s taken me to reply. However, I hope that you’ll find this response answered your question and, if not, that some of the articles and posts from other pro-Snape bloggers I linked you to will be able to do so more effectively. Also, as a final note, although many of the scholarly references and books on queer coding and queering of the villain I would have liked to have sourced are typically behind paywalls, I thought I would list the names of just a few here that I personally enjoyed reading in the past and that may be of further interest should you be able to find access to them.

Fathallah, Judith. “Moriarty’s Ghost: Or the Queer Disruption of the BBC’s Sherlock.” Television & New Media, vol. 16, no. 5, 2014, p. 490-500. 

Huber, Sandra. “Villains, Ghosts, and Roses, or How to Speak With The Dead.” Open Cultural Studies, vol. 3, no. 1, 2019, p. 15-25.

Mailer, Norman. “The Homosexual Villain.” 1955. Mind of an Outlaw: Selected Essays, edited by Sipiora Phillip, Random House, 2013, pp. 14–20.

Solis, Nicole Eschen. "Murder Most Queer: The Homicidal Homosexual in the American Theater." Queer Studies in Media & Pop Culture, vol. 1, no. 1, 2016, p. 115+. 

Tuhkanen, Mikko. “The Essentialist Villain.” Jan. 2019,  SBN13: 978-1-4384-6966-9

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[mrsbhandari]

Artsy As Fuck - Charcoal

Author’s note: HIIIII i decided to post pretty much all of my writing on here, just to make it more accessible!! I hope you like it!!

Word count: 1718

Warnings: language, colt is ~nude~ in this chapter but it’s not sexual teehee, there will be eventual smut in this fic tho....

Summary:  Colt picks up an extra job for some extra cash. He doesn't expect standing naked for an hour every few days to actually land him a date.

Masterlist

--------------------------

“Go ahead and take off your robe, Mr. Kaneko.”

“Sure. And...it’s Colt. Don’t worry about formality when I’m going to be naked in front of you for an hour, sir.”

The professor laughed, clapping Colt on his bare shoulder. Colt had at least a foot on him and was significantly beefier, but he was almost knocked off his footing by the older man. Colt took the robe off but kept a towel wrapped low around his hips to keep his modesty until the art students arrived.

“You ever model before, Colt?” The professor was moving around the room quickly, tidying up and preparing the easels for the students who were supposed to be arriving any minute.

“Can’t say I have,” Colt admitted, positioning himself on a large white platform in the middle of the easels arranged in a circle on the light wood floor. Each wall of the room was a window with three of them facing outside. Colt had been reassured that each window was one-way, so passersby couldn’t see in. He didn’t particularly care, but figured that the studio wanted to avoid complaints about a naked man being so...displayed, even if it was in the name of education.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. The artists will tell you how to position and move, so just listen to them and you’ll be fine.” The professor ended his advice just as a student walked in followed by a stream of classmates with pencils and charcoal at the ready. Colt kept his cool and ensured that his face remained neutral, not wanting to give away too much to a room of strangers. Each student surprised him, though, by asking his name and how he was doing. He was expecting pretentious artists who couldn’t give less of a fuck about him; what he got was a group of kids his age who were polite and just as poor as he was. Another thing he was expecting was at least a little bit of discomfort at drawing him naked, but once he dropped his towel and struck a final pose on his platform, the class just began with no objection--all but one.

A girl with a braid down to her waist had caught Colt’s eye as she walked in, eyeing his chest and suggestive towel placement with an indecipherable expression. Her true feelings were painted in the soft blush coloring her tan cheeks pink. After looking him in the eye and giving a brief greeting, she immediately averted her gaze and practically ran to an easel. Colt didn’t have time to worry about it with the rest of the class eager to begin, but the girl’s face still stayed in the back of his mind as the room filled with the sound of light joking from the artists and the scratch of their utensils on paper. As soon as the students began drawing, different demands were called out at him as politely as possible.

“Can you put your fingers under your chin, please?”

“Colt, would you be comfortable if you stretched your arm behind you?”

“Would it be alright if you spread your legs just a little bit wider, Colt?” He raised his eyebrows at that last one, but figured he wasn’t paid to question it. The girl he’d noticed before happened to sit in the seat he was facing, and Colt enjoyed watching her features contort in concentration. She had never asked him to move or change how he was sitting on the chair on the platform, but she seemed to take every movement in stride, never letting frustration show on her face. She had chosen charcoal as her tool and his eyes traced her hands and fingers, stained black with her effort to capture Colt on the page. Her eyes flicked back up at him to study another line of his body to soon be translated to paper, but they met with his gaze instead. A fresh coat of pink was  brushed across her neck, blooming from the collar of her plain white t-shirt that was stained almost as much as her hands. She moved her eyes down to her paper to sketch out his body more and Colt took the chance to study her a bit more.

Her eyebrows were knit together and her hands were making measured strokes against the paper before gently blending out with her fingers. He wondered how he looked to her and what she would show of him on the easel. He knew that with the way his legs were posed, his muscular thighs were on display for her, which he reasoned could be the cause of her blush. Maybe she had never been with anyone before, he thought before pushing it out of his mind. Now wasn’t the greatest time to be thinking of sex. The girl leaned closer to her paper before blending more and Colt fought to suppress a laugh as her tongue barely peeked out her lips in concentration. The irony of the innocence of her action next to the picture of the naked man she was drawing was definitely bringing him to the brink of falling off the chair.

“Colt? Are you alright?” His expression (of course) didn’t escape another girl a few spaces down. Colt tore his eyes away from the beauty in front of him and looked at the girl who had exposed him, trying to come up with a reason for his face in the split second it would take to turn his head.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he answered lamely. Inwardly, he cringed at his response but remained cool.

“No need to apologize, Colt! I was just about the call time anyway. Alright, put a name on the back of your art and leave it on the easel,” the professor announced, clasping his hands together. “Go get some lunch and I should have these graded quickly.”

As the students began to pack up, Colt hopped off his platform to quickly dress in the small bathroom connected to the studio, splashing water on his face before exiting again. Glancing around the room, he had to admit that he was slightly upset that he never got the mystery girl’s name before she left, but he figured that if he was going to ask for it, she would be more receptive to a dressed man. The professor spotted him and invited Colt to look at the different artworks, but to avoid seeming oddly fixated on one of his students, he leisurely walked around the circle of easels, staring at each picture of his naked body. It was weird to him, seeing the lines of his anatomy so clearly sketched on the paper. Colt did consider himself somewhat attractive, but in the rugged way associated with being a mechanic. He was grease and sweat and muscles. The sharp lines of his face and pointy corners of his attitude defined his physical being.

These sketches though...they were all graceful waves and soft shading. They made him look...beautiful, unlike any way he had ever seen himself.

“Good, aren’t they?” the professor asked, watching Colt’s amazed expression with amusement. “They’re one of my best classes. Don’t tell them that, though.”

Cole smiled as he reached a specific girl’s paper and let out a small gasp. The other students had only included his body due to the specific assignment being about anatomy, but this girl somehow found time to draw his face as well. The professor whistled next to him.

“Roze doesn’t disappoint. She’s always been quick!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to the paper for a better look. “The detail is immaculate.” Colt figured he should have been uncomfortable or at least weirded out at how closely the professor was studying his body, but after looking at his own face etched into the paper, all thought left his mind.

Colt’s face was depicted with a slightly amused look, complete with a barely-there smirk and a single raised eyebrow. He could feel the snark that so many people knew him for dripping from the paper. The way this girl seemed to capture it without ever having a conversation with him bewildered him beyond belief. The blending created shadows accentuating his cheekbones and sharp jawline, bringing out the masculine qualities typically associated with him.

Colt’s eyes meandered down the page and saw that his collarbone was also dramatized with shadows, muscles impeccably defined, and the pose she had caught him in only emphasized the overall sass of the picture. He had been instructed to raise his chin and place his fingers under it, which gave the picture the haughtiness of a prince being told to work; the stretch of his torso and the flexing of his abs added a seductiveness Colt had never been expecting the girl to really sketch. This girl--Roze--was talented.

The ringing of his phone pulled Colt away from the picture and he hurriedly answered it. “Hey, Pop. What do you need?” Colt would’ve been foolish to consider his father was calling for any other reason than a job.

“Are you finished with your thing, son? We have a customer that stepped in just as I was about to step out.” His father’s voice crackled through his phone’s speaker and Colt could hear the exhaustion.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in five.”

“Fantastic.”

Walking into the shop and hearing laughter wasn’t uncommon; hearing it when it was just supposed to be his father and a customer was definitely not normal. Cautiously, Colt parked his bike and took his helmet off, trying to gain information from the scene before he entered it. Unfortunately, the two were in the office, so the only way to learn was to walk directly into the lion’s den.

“Hey,” he greeted his father as he stood in the doorway to the office. As the customer was turning around, Colt thought to himself how familiar the braid going down her back was. He realized why when he faced Roze, the girl who had drawn him so perfectly that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the picture as he rode over to the shop. The blush returned to her neck and face as she undoubtedly thought about him naked just half an hour before.

“Colt!” she exclaimed, lip immediately becoming worried under her white teeth.

“Uh, hey.”

[otonymous]

Your first time headcanons for Ikesen Masamune and Yukimura are amazing!!! I really love reading them! Not because I’m a horny mf (okay maybe) but they’re really well written and really embody the characters. Would you do one for Kenshin to please?

Hi dear Anon and @dani677​!  Thank you both so much for your comments and asks! 💕 I’ve combined the answers since your questions are so similar, so get ready for A LOT of reading!  

And don’t worry dear Anon, when it comes to Kenshin, I am also a horny MF 😂 Hope you both enjoy these HCs!

Warnings:  NSFW/18+: explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Slight spoilers for Kenshin’s MS.  Potential trigger warning: bondage.

Even Gods Fall in Love: Intimacy, First Times & Erotic Triggers for Uesugi Kenshin (Ikesen HC)

Make love, not war: How does it feel to lie with the God of War?

Sex with Kenshin is INTENSE like the man himself

Light-hearted is not in his vocabulary, and love making is no exception

It is a serious, passionate affair, practically a spiritual experience — two separate entities coming together physically and spiritually to become one — think Tantric sex

Hence, quickies are really not his style, but all the same, he will never pass up the opportunity to have sex with you

In fact, Kenshin doesn’t do casual sex.  He doesn’t have a particularly high sex drive (unless he’s in a committed relationship), and would rather go without than sleep with someone he had no feelings for

Once he’s found that special someone however, watch out because he’ll be down to dip his wick 24/7 (why do you think rabbits are so inexplicably drawn to him?!)

He can and will go wherever, whenever — it doesn’t matter as long as no one else can see your naked perfection (or else they can kiss their eyes goodbye)

Once Kenshin has decided you’re the one, he will love you forever and a day.  Even something as trivial as death could never alter his love for you  10000% would watch over you as a ghost if he passes first

It’s no secret that the man’s thoughts can border on obsession, especially when it comes to you.  And although he is trying to overcome it, his past has left him irrevocably scarred.  He still struggles with an intense fear of losing you and it leaves him feeling lost and helpless, something he finds difficult to accept — it is at times like these that love making will be crucial in helping him get a grip

So while he has moved beyond keeping you safe by locking you up in a cell or his castle (thank god), the act of physical intimacy is the one area where he can feel as deeply connected to you, physically and spiritually, as possible

It is as if the man wants to become one with you in the truest sense of the word, his alone to love and protect forever

Therefore, sex with Kenshin would both reflect and encourage this sense of bonding

His favourite positions will be ones where he can hold you as close to him as possible while he’s buried deeply in you: Missionary, Side-By-Side, Lotus, Spooning (basically any position where he can fuck you with as much skin-to-skin and eye contact as possible)

There’s a real need for Kenshin to feel every single twitch of pleasure in your body, sense the heat emanating from your skin every time your precious heart beats to send the blood rushing through your veins

Look into his eyes, for he will always be seeking yours.  And try not to gasp when you see the vulnerability in those tender pools of blue and green.  Kenshin will bare his soul to you and only you.  And nowhere do his walls crumble faster than when you’re making love

A single session can cycle from love making that’s tender, gentle and sweet to something that’s absolutely primal and unbridled, and then back again.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

Kenshin’s love embodied in a song: “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden

First Kiss:

Kenshin will have his eyes open for most of it, if not all

The man doesn’t want to miss a thing.  He wants to see every reaction: the pink that suffuses your cheeks, the barely perceptible flutter of your eyelashes, the slight lift of your brows in euphoria

He is trying to sear the moment into his mind — life is so ephemeral, he often feels like memories are all he has; that try as he might, they’re the only things he can hold onto

Hence, Kenshin engages all of his senses when he kisses you (or is intimate with you in general) to commit as much colour and detail to memory as possible

He is drunk on the smell of your skin, the warm silkiness of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the blooms of crimson on your cheeks, the breathless whimpers that reach his ears — all that you are is this man’s greatest aphrodisiac

The kiss starts off delicately slow: gentle presses, the soft brushing of lips against each other, mouths tentatively opening to accept hesitant licks from shy tongues

Kenshin will drop tiny kisses at the corners of your lips, and you will never have felt so cherished before in your life

He needs to touch you, feel you under his skin: his long, elegant fingers — which never shook when wielding the weight of his blade — will tremble as they move to frame your face, weave through your hair, circle the shell of your ears.  Kiss his hands as they’re tracing the line of your jaw and you’ll have him in the palm of your hand (as if you didn’t already)

Then, the kiss grows in intensity as Kenshin suddenly becomes ravenous: his tongue is pushing further into your mouth, greedily exploring and tasting every inch, testing your limits until you need to gently push him away so you can breathe again

Seeing him in this moment, it strikes you once again just how ethereally beautiful the man is: fair hair falling over delicate features, eyes so dark with desire they almost mask his heterochromia, flushed cheeks that naturally draw the eyes to the masculine lines of his sharp jaw

Perhaps he really is a god amongst men

You barely have a chance to inhale before his lips are on yours again, passionately insistent as his tongue pushes at the seam of your mouth, begging for re-entry

Pack your Sengoku era equivalent of chapstick and be prepared for swollen lips: Kenshin will be kissing you for a very, very long time

Declaration of Love:

Kenshin will be the first to say “I love you,” and he will tell you early on in your relationship

It is rare for Kenshin to find someone he deems worthy of his time and attention, and even rarer for him to fall in love

Once he does though, he falls hard and will not hesitate to try and get what he wants — the man is incredibly straight-forward and doesn’t play games

If he loves you, you will know it, by way of both action and words

You are initially taken aback when the Lord of Echigo tells you he loves you within the first week of your relationship

This is no dramatic declaration and there is no prior planning.  Kenshin simply says what he feels as he wanders the streets of Kasugayama’s castle town with you

“I love you.”

Surprised, you turn to him, thinking it impossible for Kenshin to be serious when you’ve barely spent enough time together to be able to judge whether or not you truly love a person.  Surely, he must be mistaking infatuation or the excitement of a new relationship with love…

But then you see the look in his eyes and are struck dumb

The light in his soft gaze is wise beyond his years, reasoned and measured, tempered by some mysterious intelligence that speaks to the truth of his words: the God of War loves you — you are the first and will be the last person to ever make him feel this way.  The strength of his conviction shakes you to your core, and you know that you cannot, will not, ever doubt him again

Kenshin wasn’t expecting an answer from you, he just wanted you to know the extent of his feelings and the sincerity of his intentions

So he is absolutely beside himself with happiness when you respond in kind — it is more than he could ever wish for

The First Night:

Although Kenshin was quick to tell you he loved you, he will be excruciatingly slow to take you to bed

You will partake in hot and heavy make-out sessions: tons of kissing, lots of heavy petting and grinding up against each other for hours on end but still NO SEX

You’re so pent up you accidentally snapped at Shingen (and then apologized profusely when you saw the crestfallen look on his face)

At first, you’ll wonder if it’s something you said or did.  Even worse, you’ll start to wonder whether Kenshin has fallen out of love with you.

But when you finally gather up your courage to broach the subject with him, you’ll discover that he was holding back out of fear of breaking you with the intensity of his love and feelings

Cradle his face between your hands as you solemnly whisper that you need him to fuck you immediately or else you will expire on the spot

Invite him to assess the sturdiness of your body for himself by running his hands up and down your body.  Tell him to seek proof that you’re stronger than you appear, and that the only thing that would break is your will to hold back any longer should nothing continue to happen

The God of War goes slack-jawed when you suddenly undress before him, but the shock only lasts for a second before the fire ignites in his eyes.  Your breath hitches at the sight, for it reminds you of the way Kenshin looks on the battlefield in the middle of a particularly good fight: he is a man possessed, so singularly focused on his goal the rest of the world could crumble around him and it would be nothing more than a mere annoyance.  During times of war, he’s acting on an instinct to kill.  But here, the vision of you bared before him stirs some other primal desire that incites him to claim you, ravish you…ruin you for anyone else by making you irrevocably his

And when you finally see him fully naked for the first time, it is your turn to be speechless: you’ve always figured Kenshin would be fit beneath his clothes, but the man looks like Michelangelo’s David come to life, and despite the odd battle scar here and there, his skin is incredibly fair (yes, we are jealous, and stop staring, the man is staring to blush)

Kenshin’s hands are cool on your skin, as they’ve always been.  But this is offset by the blazing heat of his mouth and tongue roaming across the surfaces of your body

Kenshin really wants to know everything about you and will take his time finding out.  Just lay back, relax and enjoy watching and feeling Kenshin explore every part of your body with his mouth, tongue and fingers

You find proof of the God of War’s divinity when he goes down on you: Kenshin’s oral skills are so damn good, they transport you straight to heaven.  You almost black out when he adds his long, deft fingers into the mix

By the time Kenshin is finally ready to penetrate you, you are so impatient with desire that you’ve wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and are rubbing up on him like it’s nobody’s business

The man must know a thing or two about the wonders of delayed gratification because when he finally enters you, the anticipation has got you so aroused and swollen with desire that every move he makes within you has got you screaming into the bedclothes like a madwoman.  But don’t worry, Kenshin looooves it when you get loud for him 😏

If you thought the intercourse itself would be anything like Kenshin’s foreplay — soft, slow and sweet — you are in for a surprise

Sure, it starts off that way.  Kenshin does want you to be able to handle his above-average length after all, so he will give you the opportunity to acclimatize to the sensation of feeling full to bursting with him inside you

But once you do, the God of War will be holding you close, looking deeply into your eyes and dropping tender kisses on your face and neck as he jackhammers into you (is it even humanly possible for hips to move that fast?  You have half a mind to ask Sasuke in the most discreet way possible afterwards)

Dimensions: Kenshin’s cock is as beautiful as he is.  Above-average length and average girth.  But the way he uses it is anything but average

Just when you think he is on the verge of cumming, Kenshin will pull back into gentle, unhurried love making — the man is the undisputed KING of prolonged orgasms (a single session can last for hours)

Things will get messy — yes, you will have to change the bedclothes before finally retiring for the night (when you actually get a chance to sleep — see above)

If you allowed it, the man would definitely prefer to cum in you, as he views the act as the pinnacle of intimacy and bonding.  What better way to become one than by actually leaving a part of himself deep within you?

Aftercare: stay where you are and don’t move a muscle.  Taking care of you after you’ve been intimate is a point of pride for Kenshin.  Not like you’d be able to move anyways after that pounding.  You know what, take the next morning off too.

Erotic Triggers/Kinks:

Body worship: Kenshin especially loves the areas which are particularly delicate and vulnerable, like the nape of your neck, your hands and fingers, your ankles

Absolutely lives for you to sit on his face — the man can go for hours

Loves, loves, loves your lips.  Loves to stare at them while you speak and is entranced by how nimbly expressive they are, changing from smiles and smirks to frowns and pouts with ease.  He loves their smoothness, their warmth, their taste, their colour.  Just another reason why this man adores kissing you

Has a love/hate relationship with bondage: Kenshin knows he cannot and should not keep you under lock and key like he initially tried to, but he also cannot help but feel incredibly aroused at the sight of you so beautifully tied up and entirely at his mercy.  You’ll have to convince him that this is something you enjoy doing as well, explain to him that the existence of mutual consent and understanding makes this a completely different situation from being involuntarily imprisoned, and introduce him to the concept of boundaries and “safewords”

Good conversation is actually Kenshin’s biggest trigger.  The man could spend hours on end just talking with you, learning to see the world in an entirely new way through your eyes.  

Your take on the meaning of life, happiness and sorrow is so foreign to Kenshin that he is absolutely fascinated by you

Because of this, the sound of your voice has turned into an erotic trigger for him 

Talk dirty to him.  Nothing gets the God of War off faster than your voice gasping into his ear that you belong to him now and forever as he’s pounding you to within an inch of your life

You made it to the end!  Thanks for reading and check out more of my work here! 📚