#feminism leaving my body the second i see him actually

[jaylaxies]

I WILL BITE HIM

[f0point5]

i NEED jealous Max. Please 🥺🥺🥺 I love jealous/possessive guys haha the feminism just leaves my body

Me too! GOD. Me, too.

It took me ages to decide how to go about this because I had soooo many ideas but I hope you like it!

✨set during the Miami GP weekend 2022✨

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush

Max glances down at his watch. 17 minutes. 17 minutes you’ve been standing in the gallery area of the garage, fanning yourself with a magazine - with Max’s face on the front of it, no less - in the Miami heat, talking to some freakishly tall guy in a Louis Vuitton denim jacket and aviator sunglasses. He’s so painfully American that Max wonders what you even have to talk about for…eighteen minutes.

You tighten your high ponytail while Paul Bunyon talks, his mouth wide with every word. Max studies your face for any sign that you’re bored. He’s bored of watching this, but he knows from experience that not looking isn’t a real option. You haven’t looked over at him once in those eighteen minutes, in fact you haven’t even been distracted by the mechanics moving around or the noise of drilling and clattering tools.

This guy must be really fucking interesting.

You smile at something Captain America says and Max feels his jaw clenched so hard he thinks a tooth is going to crack.

It’s like he’s thirteen again, watching you stand in the middle of the makeshift paddock at the karting track, swarmed by every one of his competitors, their parents packing up their stuff as they vie for your attention. He was the only one who stayed away, following his dad’s instructions on how to properly dismantle and store things while sneaking glimpses at the show you were running. He would win every race and still go home feeling like a loser.

It’s different now, of course. He doesn’t take your gregarious nature so personally now, and he can admit he understands what men see in you now, even if he doesn’t feel it. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t trigger something in him to see the way men react to you. It might irritate him less if you enjoyed it, but you’ve long since grown out of that. Now, you expect it so much that you ignore it, and Max has no choice to but to notice it, the same way you’d notice a rusty knife embedded in your side.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” GP says, which snaps Max out of his calculations.

“I’m listening,” Max says, fiddling with the brim of his cap. “Drive fast, win race, I got it,”

GP frowns at his dismissive tone, and Max makes a point of looking at his water bottle, lest GP realise what actually had his attention. “Max, you need to focus. What are you even-“ It’s the sound of your laugh - high pitched over the deep bass of the music - that makes GP look across the garage. His features twist in disapproval as he turns back to Max. “You’ve got to be kidding me,”

Max looks down at his shoes, moving his foot as he inspects them. “What?”

Above him, GP groans. “I’m not going to say anything about the situation as a whole, because it’s waste of my time. But specifically now, she’s right there, she’s not going anywhere. Can we please just go through this once and then you can carry on staring?”

Max rolls his eyes, steeling his face as a cameraman enters the garage. He’s wearing a Red Bull shirt so Max doesn’t mind too much, but he can’t be captured looking as morose as he feels. The cameraman pans past him and onto you and the guest. Max watches you cringe as the guy throws up some hand sign to the camera, clearly at home with the media attention.

“Who even is that?” Max asks, unable to hide his rancour. He’s probably going to be forced to take a picture with Popeye later.

“I don’t know, some American football player?” GP says with a shrug, giving Max a helpless look. GP couldn’t give less of a shit about the celebrity guests touted around the gargae, and normally Max is his ally. “Are we done?”

Max nods, but not even a second later he’s looking again. It gets worse the more you talk, he can see this guy becoming more enchanted by the second. He wonders what kind of steroids they take in American sports leagues because the meathead is acting like a dog in heat. He leans towards you at an angle that is wholly unnecessary, his eyes fixated on your mouth, nodding too emphatically at everything you say.

“My God, why doesn’t he just lick her face,” Max says incredulously, more to himself than anything.

“Max,” GP sighs.

“Come on,” Max implores with a scoff, stopping himself from outright gesturing in your direction. “Look at him. That’s embarrassing,”

GP fixes Max with a deadpan expression. “Right, but you being sulky and jealous is the height of cool?”

“I’m not jealous.”

And he isn’t. Because Joe DiMaggio over there doesn’t have anything he wants. He’s not going to waste time being jealous of a guy getting half an hour with you when he has cats, and a home, and a life with you.

Finally, you look in his direction, but only because GP calls your name. “Can you come here?”

You give GP a thumbs up and excuse yourself, trotting over to Max without a second thought. Wannabe Tom Brady brazenly enjoys the view, and Max swears he hasn’t been that close to punching someone since Monza last year.

“What’s up?” You ask, slotting yourself between the two men as you lean back against the shelf.

GP hands you his phone. “Beat this Candy Crush level for me, would you? Been stuck for days,”

You look at him skeptically, but years of being filmed up close by cameras on the pit wall have given GP a hell of a poker face; he just stares back at you, and you give up with a huff.

“Men are hopeless,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more,” GP says, his eyes pointedly on Max, who can’t even defend himself.

Desperate to avoid GP’s scrutiny, he glances over at the gallery, only to find the Yank looking at him. Well, not him, you. He’s got that curious expression as he assesses you fiddling with GP’s phone, one that says he’s trying to understand if he has something to be worried about. He doesn’t. You’re not his to worry about.

“Here,” Max says, pulling off his cap. You barely look up at him before he puts his cap firmly on your head, holding it steady with one hand while pulling your ponytail through the hole at the back with the other.

The brim of the hat obscures half your face, and Max turns so that half your body is shielded by his, which he tells himself is in case a camera comes by.

“It’s sunny,” Max shrugs in his own defence, when he notices you looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

You adjust the cap on your head but don’t take it off. “Why don’t you just give me your letterman jacket?”

“My what?”

“Never mind,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him as you pat his chest with an indulgent smile.

He takes the opportunity at the sound of a large wheel gun to glance over at the gallery, only to meet the eyes of the guy you were talking to. Now that you’re no longer next to him, Max does sort of recognise him. He plays for some team named after an animal. Max just looks at him - he’ll do this all day if he has to - until the guy shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls out his phone, starting to tap away. Yeah, go back to Raya.

Good riddance, Max thinks to himself as he turns back to you, only to find that you already looking at him. He wonders for how long.

He can tell by your smirk that he’s been caught. If he’s honest with himself you caught him five years ago, this was just one of the few moments he let you know it. And you know it. How could you not know?

He thinks for a second that you’re going to tease him, but you don’t. You shift on your feet so that some of your weight rests against his arm, and go back to playing on GP’s phone.

“Go on, GP,” he says, fighting a smile at the large number 1 on the brim of what is now your hat.

He knows from the way GP is looking at him that he’ll get an earful about this later, but right now, he just clears his throat.

“Right, so,”

[artstennisracket]

Can you do something for Artrick on NYE? Maybe some feminization?

well yes! this was so much fun to write, I hope I did it justice.

tw: nsfw(18+), forced feminization, drunk sex

Art and Patrick ended up at a frat party on nye because old habits die hard. It was actually a party that Art suggested so that they didn’t spend New Year’s Eve in his dorm room like losers. Patrick was visiting for the next two weeks and Tashi was home for winter break so Patrick was crashing with Art.

Further in the night, many many shots later, Art can’t find Patrick. He could’ve sworn that Patrick was right next to him two seconds ago, encouraging him to do even more shots. He’s stumbling through the frat house and doesn’t see Patrick anywhere. Not in the living room, the kitchen, or the pool room. He decides to check upstairs. It takes a second but he gets up there and starts checking rooms.

He checks the bathroom and sees a girl with her head in the toilet yikes. He checks one bedroom, empty. The next bedroom had two couples going at it. Unexpected but not the worst thing he’s ever seen. The last bedroom he stumbles into before he can register the mix of moans coming from the room.

There he finds Patrick making out with a girl on the bed. They’re both topless but Patrick has his hand down her pants.

“oh I’m- that’s- m’sorry” Art slurs his words half because he’s drunk and half because he’s feeling embarrassed but also weirdly turned on?

“oh my gosh were you just gonna stand there? creep.” the girl says as she gets up grabbing her shirt. She storms out of the room shoving past Art.

Patrick sits up on the bed and sighs running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t think my wingman would be the one cockblocking me.”

“m’sorry i- i- didn’t meant to, i couldn’t find you, thought you left me.” Art hiccups walking over to sit down next to Patrick.

“awe it’s okay sweetheart, you know i’d never leave you. you can make it up to me though.” Patrick smirks as he pushes Art’s hair back out of face.

“how?” Art responds leaning into Patrick’s touch.

“your gonna be my girl for the night, okay?” Patrick leans in and starts kissing Art’s neck.

“wh-oh ah-“ Art moans letting his eyes slip closed.

Patrick moves his hand down to cup Art’s chest. “fuck babe, love your tits.”

“patrick I don’t-“ Art starts but once Patrick moves to start playing with Art’s nipples, Art groans.

“shhh, I just wanna play with you baby.” Patrick says as he pulls Art’s shirt off and then lowers Art down onto his back. He pulls down Art’s shorts only to find a wet spot on his briefs where his cock is straining against them. “you’re already so wet for me and I’ve barely touched you.”

Patrick pulls Art’s briefs off and grabs some lube. He scoots down and spreads Art’s legs coming face to face with Art’s hole. With no warning Patrick flattens his tongue against Art’s hole, licking up. Art feels a shiver run through his entire body, both of his hand flying to grip Patrick’s curls. “oh fuck” Art moans.

“you have such a pretty pussy baby. can I finger you?” Patrick asks pressing his thumb very lightly against Art’s tightness.

Art nods quickly, biting his lip. His mind is feeling a little cloudy, he’s never been this hard before.

Patrick makes quick work lubing his fingers before he presses one finger inside Art.

Art is squirming around trying to fuck himself back on Patrick’s finger while simultaneously trying to get relief on his cock. His body jerks upwards against nothing looking for any kind of friction. Patrick worked his way up to three fingers before. He’s watching Art struggle with a smirk in his face.

“do you want me to touch you? play with your clit?” Patrick asks, working his fingers in and out of Art.

Art nods but that’s not good enough for Patrick.

“say it.” Patrick presses.

Art whines, “can you please touch me?”

“what do you want me to touch baby?”

“can you please play with my clit?”

“good girl.” Patrick smirks.

Almost immediately Patrick moves to start jerking Art off, occasionally swiping his thumb over the tip.

Art is really keening now, between Patrick’s fingers pumping in and out of him and Patrick jerking him off, Art never stood a chance. He cums all over Patrick’s fist.

“did I say you could cum yet?” Patrick questions, moving his hands off Art.

Art shakes his head no. “no m’sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was just alot”

“i know baby i know, but I’m still gonna fuck you okay?” Patrick wipes his hands off on the sheets. Then Patrick covers both Art’s hole and his own dick in lube.

Patrick lines up with Art’s entrance and presses in slowly. “oh fuck baby- your pussy is so tight, fuck”

“fuck patrick your fucking stretching me out right now, feel so good- uh-ah”

“yeah baby? you like when I stretch your tight little hole? bet no one’s fucked you like this before huh?”

Art shakes his head no. He’s put a few fingers up there but he’s never been fucked like this before.

“say it” Patrick insists.

Art obliges, he’s already too fucked out, “no- no- one’s fucked me like this before”

“yeah? where has no one fucked you before?”

“my- my pussy”

“good girl, that’s why your so fucking tight huh,” Patrick says as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. He knows he won’t last long.

“yes, fuck, fuck me please”

Patrick presses his hand on Art’s lower pelvis so he can feel his cock going in and out of Art.

“fuck baby can I cum inside of you? wanna empty my balls inside of you, get you fucking pregnant.” Patrick pleas as he feels his climax approach.

Art nods, eyes glossing over. He didn’t even realize he had gotten hard again so fast. Or how loud he was moaning. Or that he was also close to finishing.

“yes please cum inside me, cum inside my pussy please-“ Art chokes out between moans

Patrick moves his hand to start jerking Art off again to match the rhythm of his strokes. “i want to you squirt for me baby, squirt all over my cock fuck-“

Art almost blacks out at how hard he cums. He feels Patrick cum inside him, filling him up.

Patrick pulls out and watches as his seed leaks out of Art’s now abused hole.

Art is recovering his breathing as he looks down to see Patrick once again eye level with his hole. Patrick uses his fingers to push his cum back into Art’s hole.

“fuck, your so pretty baby.” Patrick smirks making his way back up the bed laying down next to Art.

Art smiles. He feels sticky, covered in his own cum and full of Patrick’s. But he still hasn’t fully recovered because what the actual fuck just happened? He’s definitely sobered up at this point.

Art looks over at Patrick but before he can ask what just happened, Patrick checks his phone to see the time.

“lemme clean you up and then we can head downstairs, if we hurry we can make it before the countdown starts.” Patrick says as he scoots off the bed going to check the bathroom.

He finds a rag and makes it damp using the sink before he returns to clean up Art and himself.

Once they’re both clean and dressed Patrick takes Art’s hand, dragging him downstairs.

10

9

8

They can hear the mass chants from the crowd as they make their way downstairs.

7

6

Patrick lead them to a spot within the crowd that gives them a good view of the TV broadcasting the New Year’s Eve countdown.

5

4

Art is still not fully there yet. His mind is still a little foggy and he can’t stop thinking about what they just did.

3

Patrick is his best friend and he always knew that him and Patrick were closer than regular best friends. Art has always had feelings for Patrick, but then Patrick chose Tashi. Art couldn’t really blame him because he also wanted Tashi.

2

Art wonders what this means for them now or maybe it didn’t mean anything to Patrick.

1

Patrick grabs Art’s face, making them face each other, before he leans in and kisses Art. Right there, in front of everyone. At midnight. On New Year’s.

And maybe Art was just overthinking too much. He really did enjoy his start to the New Year.

[transwolfsmut]

CW. Force feminization followed by soft force masc, some intox. Older cis guy 4 younger trans guy; I imagine them as being around 45 and 22 but adjust as you please in your imagination.

This is an erotic fantasy. IRL I do not condone any way of disrespect towards trans bodies and identities; and I'm an adult trans man + gender fluid.

You've been for a while at the bar when you notice I've been watching you. You've come here on your own, unwinding after a though week. I've seen you have a cheeseburger and 2-3 beers while I drink some harder liquor. You are a cute boy and you catched my attention right away with your alt clothing, like you're trying very hard to look rugged and masc. I knew that you're trans, it's not my first time around you boys and I've never hidden how much I like your smaller hands, your curvy bodies, your chin fuzz, your masculine ways, your smell, your taste. You get startled when you notice you're being watched by a handsome middle aged man who smiles at you when you lock eyes with him. For a split second you feel this weird sense of opposing gender envy and sexual attraction, looking at my salt-and-pepper beard, the chiseled jawline, how good the shirt falls into my chest, the insinuated bulge in my jeans. The hairs of your nape stand and your eyes nervously go back to the remaining fries on your plate when you see me pick up my glass and walk towards you. I sit next to you and your heart is pounding.

I introduce myself and offer a hand to shake. You aren't the guy that is used to talking to strangers but there's something in my voice that makes you feel relaxed, almost hypnotized. You notice a tiny trans flag enamel pin on my denim jacket and you wonder if I'm trans or an ally- either way it makes you feel safe and start to relax around me. I offer to buy you a drink and when you ask for another beer I laugh a bit. "No, kid, you've gotta drink like a grown man." I ask for a couple more drinks, same of what I've been drinking before. I drink it down in a gulp and lock my eyes into yours, waiting for you to do the same. You do so, nervous. The liquor burns in your throat and warmth rushes beneath your skin. I smile, it's a pretty smile. I ruffle your hair. "There you are, my man." You blush. You didn't get annoyed at me ruffling your hair, it actually felt good to be petted like a good dog.

We go on talking and I go on getting you drunk. You know I am. You're getting dizzy, you laugh, you're enjoying the company, you finally feel relieved from the week's stress. Making a friend, that's something you didn't expect tonight. It feels good, the attention of an older man who actually shows interest in you, your chit chat about the stuff that you like. You lean your head on my shoulder for a second and then you jolt back to sitting straight, you've gotten too comfortable around me and feel ashamed. You don't even know if I'm into men, but you've felt kinda attracted to me. Is it the liquor? Is it the loneliness? Is it my musky scent, the protective aura around me? I grope your leg, a bit too close to your crotch. "Let's get somewhere more private." I suggest in a whisper. Your eyes widen, you blush and nod without looking at me.

I pay for the consumption and we leave the bar. "Are you out of your mind!?!?" Your brain screams at you, but you don't stop. You follow me into my car, you gasp when I lean into you and kiss you, you are melting at the way my beard tickles you and how I'm exploring the inside of your mouth with my tongue. I hold the hair of the back of your head brusquely and pull you away from me. "You ok with this, man?" I ask. You nod, speechless. I smile. "Fine, let's go home".

My place is nothing special, the small apartment you'd expect from a single man. I am groping your butt as I push you to the bedroom and into my bed. It's fluffy and comfortable. You'd happily sleep away the intoxication of the alcohol but I'm quickly on top of you and you realize my erection is rubbing on you bum. I lick your ear, and you roll on the bed to face me. "God, you're so handsome" I compliment as my hand creeps down between your legs. I rub on your bits through the hard fabric of your denim pants, and in the moment you moan, I step away. You're a bit perplexed, then you see me strip away from my jacket and shirt and go to the nightstand to grab a joint I carefully pre-rolled before I left the house. "You don't mind?" I ask, while already blazing it up. You shrug. You've done pot before, maybe had some edibles, but that shit I'm smoking definitely smells stronger than anything you've had before. I offer the joint. You take it, smoke from it and cough violently. "Good boy" I say while I again caress the spot between your legs. You smoke some more and the movements of my hand get more pleasurable. You soon realize I'm rewarding you- the more you smoke, the better it feels down there. You're feeling so relaxed, it feels good to let your guard down. You let me strip you from your pants and I start eating you out. I'm careful to only lick your clit, I'm not going anywhere near your hole. I mean your dick. But it's so small I can't think of it as anything than a clit. I notice you're getting wet. You're too high to offer any resistance when I grab you and place you in the middle of the bed, undoing your shoes and taking away every piece of clothing except for your binder. I take off the remaining of my clothing and lean on you, rubbing my boner on your pubic area.

"You want it inside of you". I whisper in your ear. You gasp. "You do want it inside, don't you?" You nod, you shake your head, uncertain. "Oh, puppy, don't deny it. Your body knows." I tap on your bits and a sweet splotchy sound confirms you're soaking wet. "You wouldn't be so naturally lubed up if you didn't want it". My cock is teasing at your hole. "It wouldn't feel so good if you didn't need to be filled". It's just one inch of me going inside of you, parting your labia. "You wouldn't spread open like this if your body wasn't made for this." You moan, as you feel me slowly penetrate you. "Your body wouldn't have this precious hole if it wasn't meant to be filled with cock". You feel it moving inside you. You suddenly realized I never put on a condom, but you're so dazed by the alcohol, the weed and the pleasure to care. I catch up speed, going in and out of you. "You wouldn't enjoy cock in your pussy so much if you weren't made for this... To pleasure males". You open your mouth, you want to protest but only more moaning comes out as I rub your clit while pumping my penis inside of you. "Oh you wanna say something?" I pull out and force you to open your mouth and take my cock covered in your wetness. "Can you detect those? The taste of your vagina, the smell of my balls? The natural distinction of your body and mine?" You're choking on my cock the further into your mouth I push it and face fuck you while I extend a hand behind me to reach into your clit and rub it. It feels both pleasurable and degrading. "I'm gonna pull out and you will say Yes, Sir" I tell you. I wait for one more minute before I do so. You gasp for air, confused and dripping spit. "Yes, Sir" you hear your own voice reply, but it doesn't feel like your own. "Good girl" I whisper in your ear as I ram back inside your pussy and it clenches around my shaft, your hips move by mere instinct in reaction to my own movements.

You hear your voice moaning, and yet it doesn't seem like your own. You're making high pitched girly noises while some guy you met in a bar is fucking your cunt. Perhaps it's the anonymity of being strangers what's allowing you to show yourself like this. Perhaps it's all the booze and the weed that's brought down your defenses. Perhaps it was me who saw through a crack in your stoic mask and knew what you needed. Some good thick cock pumping away all the worries. Your mind is drifting away when I pull out from you, panting. We're not done yet, and you know it so you just remain on the bed. You see me take something out of a drawer.

"It's ok, my man. Let her have this." I tell you before ripping your binder with a pocket knife. I have quickly and masterfully picked up the fabric with one hand while I ran the blade with the other hand, making it slide between your boobs. Just a tiny and swift caress of the knife on the center of your chest, and it feels like I just cut through some energetic field of yours. You fall into the mattress, your binder now like an open vest revealing your tummy and your chest, your tits bouncing liberated from the restriction. You feel ashamed and free. How come? This opposing sensations clash in your brain and before you can even start to process it, I'm grabbing your tits and my mouth latches onto one of your nipples. I lick on your nipples- going back and forth between the right one and the left one- I'm making a circular motion with my hands that feel just right and then I suck on your nipples and press on your breasts as if I wanted to milk you. "You're just divine, sweet one. To be praised, to be corrupted. I want to do so many things to you." My voice is jumping between need and authority. I start to finger you, circling between using a single finger to press directly into your G spot, using two fingers to explore deeper and three of them to dilate your pussy before I use it again with my cock. "I know you're a boy but let's be honest, you're enjoying being my sweet girl. Don't you?" You nod. You obey when I make you take off what's left of your binder and and get on all fours. "Say you want this". My dick is pressing at your opening, my hands are making circles on your buttocks. "I want this." You confess in a whisper. "I need this". Your teeth tighten around your words, you're too ashamed to actually say how much you need this and it feels so good to finally admit it. "You're such a good girl" I say when my cock slides back into you and you gasp with pleasure, feeling it go as deeply as possible and poke at your cervix. It's a bit painful but you can take it. "You were made for this. Your body was made to take cock like this. It's ok. Your body knows it's female and it doesn't matter your mind is that of a man. It feels good to be bred." I grab your titties and milk them while I fuck you deeper and faster. "A horny, eager female boy that was desperate to serve his purpose, her purpose. To be filled with cock and please a real male man". You feel me making circles very deep inside of you feel your body twitch in pleasure like never before. "Say you're my girl." I'm stroking your clit with one hand, grabbing your hip with the other and giving you additional movement so my cock digs more aggressively into your cunt. "Say you are my girl." You're so close. Your legs are shaking and your body is dripping sweat. You feel your heartbeat deep inside your vagina. "Say you are my girl". You feel it coming from inside, this heat, this thundering wave. You raise your upper body from the mattress. I'm sort of kneeling and you're sitting on my thighs, my penis buried inside of you. Your hips bouncing up and down, taking the penetration desperate for release. "I'm your girl!" You are almost screaming. "I'll be a girl for you!" You cum. It's massive. A release like never before. You've squirted on me and soon you realize my own cum is dripping from your cunt. The sticky heat makes you shiver, and you feel me make a few more circular movements around your cervix before I pull out and my cock rests between your labia. You look downwards and see your own body. Your exposed breasts and my penis between your legs. It sort of looks like if it was your own dick. Your brain is confused. Your mind, your gender and your sex feel like static.

I push you softly down into the bed, I caress your hair. Your eyes close, and your body goes limp with drowsiness. You hear me walk to the bathroom and move some stuff there. I come to you and lead you to the bathroom where I have set up a small chair, where you now sit. I make you raise your head, holding your chin. I gaze into your face, still blushing from the intense sex. I comb your hair and start trimming it. You're so deep down into your subspace you just let me do whatever I want to your hair. I use an electric clipper and some scissors on you, like a soft caress. "A man like you deserves a good haircut" I whisper in your ear as you feel the hairs falling on your shoulders. "You'll make one lovely gentleman". You feel the cool air in your scalp, it's refreshing.

I lead you into the shower and let the warm water carry away the trimmed hairs away from your shoulders. Your body relaxes and feels safe as you allow me to bathe you, a certain sense of danger that was lingering from having a stranger do all those nasty things to you is washed away. You know you are safe with me. The smell of soap and stereotypical male scented shampoo fill your nosetrils. I take a bit too long to wash your genitals, rubbing my hand between your labia and making you tremble from the stimulation, but I stop as soon as I see you're getting too excited about it. I wrap you in a towel, and take you back into the bedroom. You are smiling goofily when I show you a mirror and let you look at your brand new haircut. It suits you fine. A rush of gender euphoria jolts up your spine, and your sense of gender is no longer mixed up. The smells of the bath, the haircut- you already feel more manly.

You see me grab some stuff from my clothes drawer and you look in awe as I hand you a brand new binder, much better than the one I just ripped while fucking you. You had forgotten about it, distracted by all the pleasure. "You wouldn't think I'd leave you without any means to flatten your chest, right? Go, on try it". A thought crosses your mind: did I just have a drawer full of binders in different sizes or have I been watching you for days or even weeks and calculated your size? Do I do this often to other trans guys? You shake the thought away and you put the binder on. It fits great. You put your shirt back on and just before pull your underwear up, I get close to you coming from behind, feral. You feel a pinch in your buttock. You turn around hastily and find out I've got an injection in my hand. Your eyes widen, confused; your heart starts racing, afraid. It lasts only a second because I show you a vial of testosterone. The fear becomes surprise and then exhilaration. I've just injected you T. You hadn't started before, this is the first time the hormone enters your body. You want to get angry at me for doing so without telling but you can't, you're just amazed as the possibility of changes open up in your mind. I turn around to deposit the vial and injection in a shelf and grab something more from my closet.

I stick my hand down your undies and you feel something different: I'm shoving a packer in between your legs. You didn't have one when you arrived at my place. "A man needs his own dick" I whisper as I pull my hand out to rub your new soft dick over your clothing. I push you to the wall and masturbate your new dick while grinding my own on you. "Maybe next time I'll fuck you in the ass, make you take it as men do". You moan, about to cum again. "That shot I gave you will make you insufferably horny. You'll have to get back to me, to this place, so you can get more of that T-juice and to get fucked... Who knows? Maybe one day I'll allow you to top me". I squish your balls and jerk you off strategically, you feel the packer pressing against your bits in just the perfect way so it feels like it's your own penis. "Will you come back?" You nod. I rub you faster and harder. "You're such a good boy". You cum. You surrender. You're mine. My girl. My boy. All of you. Mine.

[dantedemorium]

Kratreus Erp

CW: contains dad/son smut material.

hey, I'm Dante (25) and I'm making this post to throw in the tags so I can find some partners for God of war And god of war Ragnarok Kratreus centered erotic RPs. For all intents and purposes Partners gotta be 18+ I can do either character role as needed and really just need A friend to share my creativity with and together we can create something awesome. i play Kratos as a silently caring father who is unsure of how to support his growing son. The hyper conservative teachings of Sparta have left him confused on what a tender hearted boy like Atreus needs. his feelings are strong but smothered to silence as soft sensual expressions of love, lust, and passion are against what he knows.

I play Atreus as softhearted and willful, willing to be social and kind foremost even if it's considered naive. he's become a daddy's boy now that Kratos and he have grown closer settling into genuine closeness and love. Atreus loves everyone a whole lot and his father most of all. Kratos has become a point of safety for him where he can express himself sexually and sensually as he grows into himself.

I have some Ideas like quiet kisses under the pink tinted leaves of Alfheim. Atreus Practicing his seal shapeshifting, splashing about in the water, safe in knowing Kratos is watching. success is rewarded with sweet kisses as they laze about and dry.

Hot sexual passion in the dark nights of wet spring as they rebuild their home for the second time, stronger and larger than it was. Atreus asking to be taken against walls  and floors to test the sturdiness of what they made together. Kratos sees no reason to deny such eagerness.

diving into Valhalla, facing the Psychological drama of what should be a harmful codependent toxicity, yet has so delicately struck a perfect storm between them where such a sexually intimate relationship suits them well.

Father and son traveling the nine realms, rebuilding and letting the scars of their journeys heal with the world, developing something strange and sweet together as they steal moments to explore each other's bodies

concerning Kink Material and boundaries:

things I'm up for (no need to include everything):

size differences,exhibitionism, monster fucking, non-con, mpreg, play fighting, frotting.

Not keen on: vomit, piss kinks, scat. Not a fan of feminization as both characters are fairly masc.

This is to remain fiction. i generally avoid RPF elements like face claims or cosplays. further information can be discussed privately since this search is going in the tags. know that while I have many wants, my goal is only for some of them, A meeting point where we both get something great out of our partnership. so be bold and let me know what you desire so I can give you enjoyment.

now for the technical stuff. I write third person present tense. My literacy would be novella, I write sensually, providing the reader with a wealth of sensation and description. if you feel you don't mach that do not worry as I'll gladly meet other's where they stand. I can do other formats but personalty I organize private servers on discord. it helps to keep boundaries in a clear spot for on-hand reference so everyone stays comfortable and separating friendly ooc chatter, horny brainstorming, and the actual RP makes life easier for both of us.

you can like this post and keep an eye on your inbox for when I message you or you can message me and I'll get to that, much faster.

[you-can-call-me-fangs]

Illumi Headcannons I Have I Don't Think Other People Have (NSFW Edition)

a/n: This is honestly just a glorified list of Illumi smut ideas that I'm trying to keep track of and I need to free up space in my drafts, but still facts

Contains: brief mention of cnc via hypnosis, praise kink, feminization/femboy Illumi, incest kink (I think) but not really maybe incest roleplay? (I dont know), Illumi's internalized homophobia shows up for a second

Illumi is a pillow princess and I will die believing that

How can you tell me he's NOT a pillow princess? He practiaclly has to carry the Zoldyck family on his back because Killua's away and won't do it himself all while holding a steady job and now your telling me he does all the work in bed too? Nah fam

He's not doing anything, except maybe from time to time he'll give you a blowjob or ride you but he's not doing anymore than that

He likes to be in any postion with you where he can look at you because duh, it's Illumi

When Illumi is really getting into it with you -and probably a fair bit of overstimulation- his claws will retract out

Most of the time his hands end up clutching your back and he'll accidentally scratch you really really hard, to the point where he's not just leaving red marks on you but is full on tearing your skin open most times

It's not his fault he doesn't do it on purpose it just happens in the moment

This has definitely resulted in multiple sheets and pillows getting torn apart too

Illumi will honestly do pretty well with degradation, he gets a little turned on at the thought of you taking his usually stoic and expressionless demeanor and turning him into a messy slut for you, and then you verbally pointing this out to him, he can't help but get a little flustered, but you wanna know where the real money makers at? Praise

Please praise him, like, all the time

The praise can come in any form too, you can praise him for how well and deep he's taking you inside himself, praise him for how long he can hold out from cumming after you told him not to, praise him for sucking your cock so nicely, even just calling him a good boy the whole time is high praise to Illumi

I don't think Illumi actually full on blushes either he has more of a subtle blush where only his ears and the back of his neck will turn pink, most of his face won't actually change color that much

But expect to see him blushing the most after you've praised him, I'm telling you it works like magic on him!

Illumi will sometimes just straight up start shivering typically from overstimulation

You'll not so accidentally keep thrusting perfectly into the spot that drives him crazy and the way that he will react is by shaking (and maybe a little wimpering) his body just doesn't know how else to react

Illumi is usually pretty good at keeping his moans in and even prefers to do that

It's not that he doesn't want you to hear his moans it's just that he's been taught his whole life to be silent so it feels unnatural to him to make so much noise

Luckily for you it gets really hard for Illumi to hold back his moans when he's so fucked out he barely knows what's going on around him

By the way his moans are ✨gorgeous✨ like the kind of sound you would only ever hear in heaven because they're so angelic and pretty

Not too loud but not too soft either they're just the perfect volume everytime

He even has those dragged out kind of moans- UGH it's beautiful, he's beautiful, I can't stand it!

Illumi lowkey wants to put himself under the control of his pins and give you the control to do whatever you want with him where he can't say no

I don't know if it's actually plausible for Illumi to hypnotize himself with his own nen ability, but if it is, he's on board with it

A secret sort of guilty pleasure for Illumi is when you call him your brother, whether you call him your little brother or your big brother is gonna have differing effects too

If you call him big brother Illumi gets this weird sense of pride, like he was able to provide for you in way that only he could, he was able to help fulfill your sexual wants and do it in a way that really satisfied you, it feels fucking amazing to him

A sort of 'I'm happy if you're happy' situation

Now if you call him little brother...oh boy

In Illumi's mind he's already giving you so much control over him, please do whatever you want to him and don't worry about how he feels it's all about you, you are the "older brother" after all

Even if he's taller than you he will feel so small compared to you

Illumi has a secret urge to where feminine clothing but he's been repressing the shit out of it ever since he saw the way his family treated Alluka, but whenever he's around you he feels comfortable enough to wear that type of clothing in front of you and show it off for you, but only you and no one else

The type of feminine clothes he would wear are your usual femboy outfits, skirts, dresses, maid outfits, even shoes with a heel to them, he's willing to wear it all, not only does Illumi like dressing up girly but he looks damn good while doing it

Illumi is a homophobic homosexual, there I said it, he will have full on bl sex with you, will let you top and everthing, the whole shebang, but the minute you try to hold his hand during sex, he immediately pulls his hand away and tells you how gay that is. Like, to your face asks you why would do something that gay? Sir, I am inside you right now, what sick game is this?

[imthebadguyyy]

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

-------

A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

To summarise:

It’s that time of the year when the writers need to fill their woke quota. Feminism is the theme of tonight’s episode, which means it’s all about sapphic Cheryl through the ages.

The year is 2022. Or at least, that’s what 1957 (Poppy’s timeline) plus 65 adds to but who cares!

Nana Roseanne Blossom (Nana Rosanna?) is nearing her end. Cheryl attempts to move things along by boring her to death reading to her the family memoirs. Britta is also present to ask pertinent exegetical questions.

The first story is that of Abigail Blossom and Thomasina Topaz schoolmistresses extraordinaires. Don’t be fooled by their juvenile hairstyles: they are indeed adults.

Thomagail’s romance starts after a tumultuous fight over curriculum issues in front of their young wards. Is it appropriate for young girls to gaze up at comets? No, that was not a euphemism. Now, that might seem a topic better discussed before the start of the lessons, but who am I to talk scheduling to the Riverdale writers?

It turns out mistress Thomasina killed her abusive husband in self-defense. Constable Keller turns up to arrest her. If only she had changed her name when fleeing to the town nearest to her own …  

A faked case of pox succeeds in keeping the constable away but not soldier, warlock and amateur photographer Fen Fogarty. He informs Cheryl of her brother’s death in battle. I am absolutely gobsmacked by the fact that a war did actually take place in 1892! What?!

Fen has forged a letter from Jason in order to obtain Cheryl’s hand and fortune in marriage. Thomagail uncover his dastardly plan but he blackmails them with an axe.

He must have left said axe lying around as he got undressed, because on the night of Bailey’s comet passing Earth, Abigail uses it to chop him up. There’s so much blood spurting everywhere, that some must have inevitably gone into her eyes messing with her aim. That’s the only reasonable explanation for Fen surviving his axing, getting up, cleaning up his bloody hands, and calmly cursing Abigail before actually dying. Oh well.

Next up is Poppyseed Blossom’s story from the ‘50s. She’s holding salons that act as a front to reading banned books (Lady Chatterley’s Lover) and providing Rivervale’s female population with root remedies.

These f.e. include herbs that will give TamTam’s husband a stomach bug so that she can take his place working at their family Diner, for what I can only surmise will be no payment.

Apparently, there is no girl code in the ‘50s, ‘cause the Rivervale women tattle to their husbands. The husbands are not pleased.

One would think that sex marathons would be welcomed but Velma’s husband seems quite irate by his wife feeding him an aphrodisiac. Is he embarrassed for liking the pegging?

Jack, who doesn’t know how Vale!Betty rolls, pressures Bitsy into finally agreeing to having a second baby. Mark my words, his days, much like Archie’s in 6x01, are numbered.

Ep4Vale!Blossom, unlike Ep1Vale!Blossom, is against group think.

Kirk the FBI agent questions Poppy.  “Confess you are a communist or I’ll put you in jail to rot” says Kirk, who would have to put Poppy in jail to rot if she did confess she were a communist, 1954 Act and all.

Bitsy visits her in jail for no evident narrative reason.

Poppy remains in her cell for 9 months. She is not allowed to see anyone except her hairdresser and her manicurist.

She finally leaves her cell to help Bitsy deliver her baby in the hospital, as all the doctors and nurses have gone away to observe Bailey’s comet.

Back in nowadays Thornhill, Sabrina the twenty-something witch, makes an appearance to help with a spell and also to explain to Britta -the only person still invested in these stories- what happened. Exposition, thy name is Riverdale Rivervale.

It was a classic body swap, Freaky Friday style, Sabrina says. Cheryl is now Nana Rose and dead Nana Rose is Abigail/Poppyseed/Cheryl, who were all but the same person cursed to eternal life by Fen. Which is to say this episode was a colossal waste of my time.

Happy sad endings are the best, conclude the same writers who gave us 19 episodes of misery in s5.

Toffee has been busy smuggling various Blossom heirlooms from Thornhill. Period pieces sell like hot cakes on e-bay! She’s getting ready to hitch a ride with Jughead through Riverdale’s Cinematic Multiverse.

[chokemeanakin]

Misunderstandings - Anakin x fem Reader (angst +fluff)

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @artiza-n ! 💕

Wc: 6.4k

Summary: Anakin and reader get sent to Naboo to guard Padme and Clovis during a debate and some misunderstandings ensue. Mostly jealous angst, some fluff at the end— happy ending bc we all need that right now.

Gif from @swprequels​

“I still don’t understand why they need both of us,” you grumble, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you walk out of the cruiser. The day is hot on Naboo, but grey and cloudy with a promise of rain later. The humidity makes your skin sticky, worsening your irritation.

“Think of it as a vacation,” Anakin pulls the luggage from the transport cubby, setting it on the ground beside him. “You watch over Clovis, and I’ll handle Padme. It should be a breeze.”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t understand why they need both of us.”

You had just gotten back from a long and grueling siege on Pontoon, another one of those vast, endless desert planets in the Outer Rims. You’d really much rather be sitting in front of an air cooler right now, resting your tired bones and trying to forget the taste of sand.

“These are two very important Senators, Y/n,” Anakin waved off your attempt to help him with the luggage. “If anything happens to them at this debate, the Senate will lose important advocates for peace and the end of this war.”

You knew this, of course you did. Not that you’d completely agree with his statement-- Clovis always seemed a little shady to you, his morals seemingly scattered all over the place. You guessed that’s why the Council sent you, a simple marksman, to guard Clovis while the beloved freedom-fighter Padme Amidala got the most powerful Jedi to ever exist. 

“Besides,” said Jedi nudged you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Of course you do. Between the war and separate guild or Council missions you’d both been sent on, neither of you had time to even breathe in the others’ direction for months. The only reason the Council was able to wrangle you onto this cruiser was because Anakin was going to be there. Not that you’d even be able to spend much time with him during the day, although you were aware that you’d be sharing a room in between the Senators you’d be protecting at night…

You and Anakin meet the Senators at the hull of the ship. They walk down the ramp side by side, heads held high and hands clasped in front of them. Their movements are smooth, like they’re gliding on water, and the heat doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“Master Skywalker. Y/n. Thank you so much for being here, it is so courageous of the both of you to be looking out for us,” Padme stands before you, beautiful as ever in one of her many extravagant, expensive gowns. The headpiece woven through her hair sparkles in the midday light, the warmth of her eyes capturing the rays of the brilliant sun. “However, I must say that I hope your services are not needed. I’d much rather this debate go by smoothly than have any dangerous interruptions.”

“I can assure you, we’ll take care of any problems before they arrive. Leave the dirty work up to us,” Anakin returns her smile, charming as ever. 

Anakin shoots you a glance and then follows her away, carrying multiple bags of luggage in each arm as Padme shows him where to put it. For such a small woman, she seemed to pack heavy. Unfortunately, this leaves you and Clovis to stand alone together, an awkward stillness settling before you.

“Um, Anakin has your luggage,” you yawn into your arm, gesturing to his receding form with the other. “I’m Y/n, and I’ll be your bodyguard for this debate.”

“You?” Clovis doesn’t smile, instead he scans you up and down with hawkish eyes. “You’re such a small thing. What could you possibly be able to do to protect me?”

It’s not said unkindly, but it still irks you. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a nasty retaliation for the sake of diplomacy. “You’ll find I’m pretty good with a blaster. The best, actually, according to the Jedi Council. That’s why they have me work with the Generals in the war.”

“Are you a General yourself?” Clovis begins to walk, heading toward the senate building. You follow at his side.

“Not exactly. They offered me the title, but I declined. I’m more of a freelancer, and once the war ends, I’ll go back to taking odd jobs. Besides, there’s no use in having an army if I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Humble. That’s admirable,” Clovis’s mouth tilts into something of a smile. “I, myself, could never turn down an army. Or the status, for that matter. You could be holding a lot of power if you pushed your way with the Jedi Council, you know.”

“My way?” you questioned. “I just told you, I don’t have a way--”

“And that’s your flaw,” he mused, chin still pointed up, never quite looking at you. “How curious-- your Jedi counterpart seems to have stolen all the ambition.” 

You roll your eyes. You never had a thirst for power, or status, or influence, or any of that. Your power came from behind a blaster, when your focus was trained on a single target and your finger was glued to the trigger. One simple twitch of a muscle, and you could end a life from miles away. That was your power, and it was all you needed.

He is right about Anakin, you have to admit. He was always looking to be better, not just for himself, but for the good of others. You love that about it, in fact it’s one of your favorite qualities about him. Sometimes, though, you wished he could see that he didn’t have to try so hard all the time to believe he was enough.

The blast of cold air that hits you as you enter the senate building wrenches you out of your thoughts. It whisks away the perspiration that had built up on your skin, cooling your body and calming your mood almost magically. The sounds of your collective footsteps tap along the glossy marble floor, echoing throughout the empty chamber.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing here?” Clovis leans against his podium, marked with a nametag spelling his name. Next to him is your seat, and on Clovis’s other side is Padme, followed by Anakin on the end. A cold dread fills your veins, just now realizing how boring tonight’s debate is going to be.

You sigh inwardly, tracing the engravings of your nametag with the tip of your finger. “My job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to observe.” 

“Well, observe away,” he pushes himself off the podium. “Although I don’t think it will be very entertaining.”

He’s right. You sit in your seat, legs crossed on top of your podium as you inspect your nails. It’s been three hours since you’ve arrived, the sun is setting, and all Clovis has done is stroll around the debate room, muttering to himself and pondering through his position. You’re bored out of your mind. Pulling out your holocom, you wonder if Anakin’s situation is any better.

“Y/n?” he picks up a long moment after you send the call, and his face projects blue before you. It’s loud where he is, and his eyes are looking at something else.

“Where are you?” you question. He sounds like he’s a party, but you know that can’t be true. “Where’s Padme?”

“She’s with me,” Anakin tilts his head, signalling that she’s sitting in front of him. “We’re at a restaurant getting dinner. I was just going to ask-- did you and Clovis go somewhere to eat yet?”

You drop your legs from the podium and lean in close to the com, speaking quiet so Clovis can’t hear. “No, he’s barely said a word to me since we got here. He’s been walking around the debate room all afternoon, just talking to himself.”

“You think he’s nervous for tonight?”

“Maybe,” you spare a glance at him. He’s staring at the domed ceiling, as if he’s counting the pillars coming out of it. “Or maybe he’s just psycho.”

“Oh, Clovis knows what he’s doing,” a femine voice interjects. Anakin’s eyes shoot forward again, immediately smiling as Padme speaks. “His pre-debate ritual is long and gruelling-- I should have warned you. He’s simply getting into his headspace, that’s all.”

“How long does it usually take?” you mumble.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Make sure he eats beforehand, otherwise he’ll be crabby during the debate. And trust me, you don’t want to have to handle a crabby Clovis.”

Both Padme and Anakin laugh at this, and you force yourself to smile along. “Yeah, I’ll go see what he’s up to now.”

“Good,” Anakin says, momentarily drowned out by an uproar of cheers behind him. “We should get going, too. Padme needs to get dressed for the debate. See you soon.”

Anakin ends the call, and you’re left wondering how exactly the topic of dressing Padme came up. 

Shoving down your irritation and self-pity, you pocket your com and stand from your seat. Clovis’s head whips toward you like you had pulled a blaster on him.

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” you stretch your arms over your head, working out the kinks and aches from sitting so long. “I was wondering if you were hungry at all.”

“I can’t eat before a debate,” Clovis looks almost angry for a second, and then he glances down at his watch. His expression smooths into one of urgency. “Ah, we should head to the apartments. It’s time to get ready.”

The night is still warm, and the sidewalk drips with a rainstorm that you missed while you were in the senate building. The fresh air is nice, though, and you breathe in the smell of sweet flowers and savory restaurant food. The grumble in your stomach is hard to ignore, but you know you’ll manage.

Clovis leads you all the way to his suite, the temporary apartment that sits in conjunction with yours and Anakin’s, and Padme’s on the other side. Staying in this apartment complex made more sense rather than finding separate housing units, as keeping everyone together would aid in ensuring their safety.

Padme’s mansion would have been a nice stay, you think, but these apartment sweets are also quite luxurious. You walk into the master bedroom to find a formal, dark blue gown laid out for you on the bed. Next to it is a rumpled space where you assume Anakin’s suit had been, but instead there’s a note and a box.

Padme wanted to get to the senate building early, so we’re probably going to just miss you. Too bad, I won’t get to help you into this sexy blue dress. Maybe I can help you out of it later.

You laugh softly, smoothing your thumb over the inked-on smiley face before finishing the note.

I’m not sure if you had time to get anything to eat, so I got you something while we were out. See you soon.

A

You don’t need an “I love you” scrawled into the paper in order to know he wanted to add it. That would have been too risky, and there was no way you’d be able to make an excuse if anyone were to find it. Still, you rip up the note and throw it in the trash before opening the box underneath. Your nose is instantly filled with the smell of food, still warm, and you sit next to the blue dress, digging in unceremoniously.

You scarf down as much of the food as you can and then store the rest in the fridge before getting to work on making yourself presentable. You have to look put together, yet not so much that you stand out. You slip a couple of silver clasps into your hair and do your makeup, opting for a bold lip color because you don’t have much time to do anything fancy with your eyes. You’re running short on time-- you know this because of the knock on your door, and then the irritated sound of Clovis:

“Y/n, we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. You know how bad it would be to arrive late to this event?”

You stand in front of the mirror, desperately reaching behind you to grasp at the zipper of your dress. It would be so much easier if Anakin was here to reach it for you, but you make due and quickly pull it up. The dress is form-fitting and flows down into a puddle around your feet. A bit long, as you opted not to wear heels in case something went awry, so you bunch the skirt up in your fists and jog to the door.

“My apologies,” you open the door to find Clovis, now dressed in a pristine black and white suit with his hair gelled back. “I was making sure I had my equipment all in order.”

Clovis ignores your excuse, eyes instantly moving to take in your figure. You could swear they blow open wide for a fraction of a second before he composes himself, clearing his throat and masking his approval with his usual grim expression.

“You clean up quite elegantly. Now, we should head to the lobby, the limousine is waiting for us.”

…

You’re not sure what the point of a limousine is, as the walk from the apartment buildings to the senate building is 10 minutes tops. Probably for formalities, you decide, as Clovis helps you out of the vehicle. The building that had been vacant only a couple hours earlier is now swarming with Senators, all dressed in lavish, extravagant gowns. Everyone is holding a flute of some sort of drink, and they congregate in small groups, making small talk before the debate starts. 

Clovis wastes no time with socializing, and beelines for his seat.

You hang back, searching the crowd for Anakin. Without heels, many people tower over you and it’s hard to focus with the deafening sound of chatter filling your ears. But you’re trained for this, have spent your whole life blocking out the unnecessary, so you hone into your patience and scan the crowd closer. 

There.

You’d recognize that head of golden-brown curls anywhere, even if it was tamed down for this event. He’s standing tall among the Senators, eyes gleaming bright as he engages a whole crowd of them in some wily story. He and Padme look at each other and laugh, his hand on her shoulder and her hand finding his waist. Your blood suddenly turns hot, and you push your way through the crowd to make it to them.

If you could, you would march right up and pull him away from all those greedy stares. They’re practically drooling all over him, and Padme’s hand is still on his waist. But you know better-- you can’t let anyone know you and Anakin are familiar, so you stand at the edge of the crowd, meeting Anakin’s eye.

You glare at his face, then at Padme’s hand, then back to him. His eyes narrow into a warning, extremely fleeting, and then he continues on charming the crowd. You know what he wanted to say-- it means nothing. It doesn’t stop the heat from blossoming in the pit of your stomach, the irritated glare you shoot Padme before looking down.

Way to stay under the radar, you think, slipping away from the crowd and deciding it’s better to keep your eyes on Clovis than get angry over a move on your boyfriend that was probably innocent. 

Clovis is sitting at his seat, still as stone, surveying the crowd before him.

“You nervous?” you take your seat beside him.

“Not at all.”

“Good. You’ve been preparing all afternoon, I think it’d be ridiculous if you still doubted yourself.”

“You… have faith in me.”

“Of course,” your eyes softened at the vulnerability in his statement. “You’re a powerful Senator.”

He huffed, the crack in his green eyes immediately cementing over. “I know.”

And, there he is. Back to being gruff and dismissive. 

It’s quiet for a moment longer, but you’re okay with that. Small talk is not an interest of yours either, and you’d much rather sip on the flute of drink that a servant had given you than join the crowd on the floor. 

Unfortunately, you have trouble wrenching your eyes away from Padme and Anakin, who are still surrounded by drooling Senators. Padme looks like an angel, dressed in a floor length gown spun out of gold thread that you’re pretty sure came directly from the sun. It shimmers and sparkles as she moves, standing out like a beacon of light among the rest of the room. She is radiant, with a matching headpiece that glitters like a chandelier, the jewels braided in and out of her chocolate curls. Even her makeup is minimal yet blindingly beautiful, with a gold shimmer staining her eyelids and cheekbones that reflect the warmth of her topaz eyes.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Clovis murmurs next to you, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Who? Padme?”

“I believe she’s taking quite a liking to the Jedi.”

Heat sparks in your blood again. The fact that even Clovis notices how handsy Padme is being… then again, it’s a known fact that Clovis and Padme have a history, and he could just be reading too far into things out of jealousy.

“You shouldn’t call him that,” you choose to ignore his concerns. “Anyone could be listening.”

“You see that smile? That’s the smile she only ever gave me. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it…”

“Clovis, Anakin isn’t allowed to form attachments. You have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not him that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s her. Look. Look at the way she leans into him when she laughs.”

You take his advice and… now that he says it, she does get a little too close for your liking. Every time Anakin finishes a punchline, the crowd erupts in laughter and Padme joins in, bracing herself by gripping onto his arms and grinning into his neck. He catches her, ever the gentlemen, but he’s smiling too.

It’s a little more than innocent, and you can’t tell who’s fault it is. But that doesn’t help the jealousy steadily rising in your chest.

“The debate should be starting soon,” is all you say, leaning back in your seat and scowling into your flute of drink.

The only thing keeping you rooted to the seat instead of launching out of your chair to rip Padme away from Anakin by the hair was the fact that you know you’re the one who’s going to be sharing a bed with him tonight-- not her. 

You’re just hoping he even makes it back to your bed. Or will poor Padme need help with something else that requires Anakin’s doting attention?

A bell rings just on time, signaling for the Senators to take their seats. Anakin leads Padme over, arms hooked around each other, and she smiles at you as she approaches.

“Y/n, you look wonderful,” she whispers, and then slides into the seat between Clovis and Anakin.

Your cheeks burn in shame. How can you harbor such awful feelings toward her when she was so sweet? But the anger is worsened by the compliment she had just given you-- it’s one thing to be drop-dead stunning, why does she have to be so kind, too? What are you to compare? 

After tonight, Anakin’s probably going to think you are so difficult-- always complaining, always tired, never as pretty or gentle or kind. You don’t have a laugh that twinkles like wind-chimes, or eyes that reflect the light like soft glowing pools of honey. If she is the sun, you are just a cold, hard, chunk of ashen moonrock.

The debate goes on for an eternity. You zone out for a lot of it, stewing in your anger and drowning in self-deprecating thoughts. A few times you’re brought to the brink of tears before you remind yourself you’re here on a mission, and throw yourself into scanning every nook and cranny for something that could be amiss. Eventually, a break is ordered.

Senators begin to rise from their podiums to stretch their legs, including Padme. She tells Anakin she’s going to the washroom, and your eyes zero in on the fingers lingering on his arm as she leaves. You stand as well, meaning to walk a little and stretch your legs, and Anakin follows you.

“Padme’s right,” he catches up to you easily. “You do look wonderful. Blue really is your color.”

You stop by the open window, breathing in the fresh air as you search his eyes for truth. Does he truly mean it? Does he look at you with that same light he had looked at Padme with? Or is he only saying it because he has to? Because he’s used to complimenting you because you’re his girlfriend?

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lower your gaze, picking at the marble stone engravings of the windowsill. 

“Y/n,” Anakin lowers his voice. He’s concerned now, picking up on how upset you are. “I said you look beautiful. What’s the problem?” “No, you said I look wonderful. It’s different than beautiful.” You mean to leave it there, but  can’t help but add, grumbling under your breath, “Padme looks beautiful.”

It’s immature. You know it as soon as you say it, but for some reason you can’t stop yourself. You just want Anakin to take more notice of how strong Padme’s coming on to him, to assure you that it means nothing. You know it means nothing, but you still need that confirmation.

“She does,” he says, and your heart drops. You look up at him, and he’s staring back with an intensity you can’t decipher. “She’s a Senator, Y/n, this is her debate. Of course she has to look beautiful.”

“She’s more beautiful,” the words fall from your lips and taste like poison.

“What’s this about?” Anakin’s voice is dripping in irritation. Once hearing it himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he speaks again in a softer tone. “Why are you comparing yourself to Padme?”

Gah, even the sound of her name coming from his mouth is like nails on a chalkboard. But you decide to do the first smart thing you have all evening, and take a lesson from him. You breathe deeply and bite down on your anger before answering.

“I’m not trying to,” you admit, eyes falling from his face to trace the exposed skin of his neck. “I just-- she’s flirting with you.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I-- I know. But…”

“It still bothers you. You’re jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous about,” even saying this, you can hear the lie in your voice. You repeat the statement, more to yourself, trying to believe it. He’s yours-- for now. He could just as easily be Padme’s. What if he wants to be Padme’s? 

“Look,” Anakin takes another grounding breath, then fits a finger beneath your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “I can see you’re trying to think rationally, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. But… you’re being ridiculous.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You have to understand, I do not like Padme like you’re thinking. I--” he cuts himself off, eyes flitting around the room before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “I love you.”

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, making you shiver. His lips ghosting over your ear, the whispered promise of his devotion to you… suddenly, you feel very stupid.

“Okay,” you accept, and the bells ring again, signalling everyone to take their seats. You head on over with him, but not before putting as much heart into your next words. “I’m sorry for getting jealous.”

“It’s okay,” he gives you the first warm smile of the night, smoothing your hair down quickly before breaking off to take his own seat.

You sit next to Clovis, considerably calmer, replaying Anakin’s whispered “I love you” over and over in your head, the touch of his gentle hand in your hair. There was no need to make such a fuss, and honestly you were upset with yourself for ruining the night. You decide to make another smart decision for the night, and push away all of the negative thoughts to the deepest corner of your mind. No more, not tonight-- instead, you would focus on a way to make it up to him for being so ridiculous, and to thank him for being so patient with you.

It’s as you’re planning the rest of your night out, that you see Clovis’s knee bouncing under the podium. You know his time to speak is coming up soon, and his actions betray his mind. He’s such a liar. He is nervous.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, reaching onto the podium to give his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, and he looks at you like you’ve struck him.

“I know I do,” he spits, but doesn’t move his hand from underneath yours. “It’s just pre-performance jitters.”

His next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them.

“It doesn’t help that I have two gorgeous women sitting next to me to witness this all.”

Now it’s your turn to look like you’ve been struck. You know he means for you to hear it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, as you can see him give Clovis a sidelong glance just as Padme takes the seat between them again.

“I-- um… we’re rooting for you,” you fumble. “No need to get nervous now.”

Clovis blows out a long breath, and then covers your hand that’s squeezing his palm with his other. “Thank you, Y/n. You’ve truly been so patient and accommodating this whole night. I must find a way to pay you back afterwards.”

“Oh, there’s no need--” your words are cut off as the delegates call for order, and then the debate resumes. You don’t miss the way Anakin’s back stiffens in his seat.

Clovis works up a nervous sweat in the minutes leading up to his speech, but when he gets up, he delivers it without a flaw. Everyone claps, and then Padme goes. You clap along once she’s finished, trying not to calculate if Anakin is clapping harder or faster for her than anyone else. He’s not… but you just had to be sure.

There never seemed to be any threat for the entire night, except for one instance. A young man stood by the door, eyes shifting around for a moment too long to be casual, and Clovis seemed to notice as well. 

“Where, exactly, is that equipment you were speaking of earlier?”

“There’s a strap on my thigh, and it holds my blaster to it. Look,” you pull your skirt back to reveal your leg up to your thigh, where the tip of your blaster peaks out. “See, nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that Anakin would notice, or that he’d even mind.

Finally, the debate ends, and the senate room is dismissed. You let out a long breath, ready to just get out of this dress and relax in the suite with Anakin now. However, you stand to leave your seat but Clovis is in your way.

“Y/n, like I said before… I must show my gratitude for your services. Please, let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh-- Oh geez… um.... I can’t,” your eyes flit from Clovis to Anakin, who’s standing behind him. He’s got his back turned, bidding farewell to the new friends he made, but you know for sure that he’s listening. “I really need to go to bed, we’re leaving early in the morning.”

“You can come to my suite, we can order room service. They’re right next to each other… besides, you can always just stay over at mine for the night. There’s room.”

That tone. Those eyes. You know what he’s insinuating, and it sure as hell isn’t just dinner. 

“Clovis, I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The green cracks of his eyes are hardening again, the soft daisies growing from them being wrenched out in clenched fists and stomped under a boot. You want to stop them from freezing over in that insufferable ice again, and decide it might be nice to humor him for a job well done tonight. After all, he was a lot kinder to you than you thought he’d ever be, and part of you likes being one of the few people on his good side.

“How about I walk back with you to the apartments? We can do that much.”

Clovis smiles, and holds out an arm. “I’ll take it.”

As Clovis escorts you out of the debate room, you turn to look back at Anakin. He’s ushering Padme out of the crowds, staring after you as you leave. He doesn’t smile, or wave, or do anything really. Except look angry. 

A sudden ball of nervousness forms in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Offering to do this was a mistake, that much is becoming clear with every step you take with Clovis latched onto your arm. You can feel Anakin’s eyes burning into your back the entire way out of the senate building, until you’re on the streets of Naboo and he’s off in a limousine with Padme. 

Of course he’s going to be angry at you now. You were mad at him for allowing Padme to flirt with him, and now he’s going to think you’re making a move on Clovis to get back at him for it. Even though that’s not at all what’s happening… Oh how the tables have turned. 

You’re jittery the whole walk back. Clovis tries to make conversation, but you only offer him short, clipped answers. Really, you should have shut down his advances in the debate room. No matter that you pitied him for being rejected by Padme and yourself, you should have said no. You didn’t owe him anything. But here you are, and now you are going to suffer the consequences from Anakin when you get back to your room.

“Are you sure you can’t stop in? Not even just for a drink?” Clovis asks as you make it to the top of the stairs. You turn the corner, and Anakin is leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for you. 

“Uhh,” you unwind your arm from around Clovis’s. “I really can’t. Sorry.”

Clovis follows your gaze, and sees Anakin. His tone turns steely. “Is it because of that Jedi?”

“No, oh my-- no!” you feign the most incredulous expression you can, nerves growing more frenzied as you grow closer to your apartment door. “I really am just so tired. Please Clovis, I have to go.”

“Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“You’re right,” a deep voice cuts in. “It doesn’t.” 

Anakin takes the arm that Clovis refused to let go of, and slips it out of his grasp. Thankfully, for Clovis’s sake, he lets him. Anakin pushes you behind him and stands before Clovis, towering over him by a couple inches. 

“It was a pleasure serving you and Senator Amidala. Hopefully we can work together again soon. Have a good night”

Each word that comes from his lips are dripping with venom. Clovis grows red in the face, and you can tell he’s trying hard not to retaliate. In the end, he decides to turn and stalk back to his own apartment door. 

Once it slams shut, Anakin turns to you. You meet his eyes with the most innocent expression you can put on.

“None of that,” he hisses, and steps past you to walk into the apartment.

“Oh, come on!” you follow close behind, closing the door and jogging to catch up with him. He’s standing before the bed, roughly loosening his tie. “Anakin, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? How am I supposed to believe that after what happened earlier?”

“Yes, okay, I admit I was jealous of you and Padme. But I got over it! I swear I wasn’t trying to get you back for it, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Anakin pulls the buttons off his shirt so hard, you’re afraid they might break. Suddenly, he is shirtless, and so very mad, and so very tall… and muscular… and… wow…

“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that,” he argues, stopping to stand before you. You wrench your eyes away from his toned midriff and meet his eyes, which are blazing with hurt and anger. A warmth is rising in your veins-- a different kind than earlier-- but it’s beat out with something stronger. Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying so desperately to ignore the heat that’s radiating off his chest. “I really am. Clovis was just… kinder than I expected him to be--”

“Was he? Was he kind when he had you sit in silence all afternoon in the senate building? Was he kind when he refused to let you eat? When he guilt-tripped you into spending time with him?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” you cross your arms and size him up. “And you’re not totally innocent either, you know.”

“Really?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow at you, sitting down on the bed roughly. He leans back on his arms, daring you to continue.

“You let Padme flirt with you, and you never told her to stop. You could have set some boundaries, told her to back off a little...”

“And you could have told me you were leaving with Clovis before gathering your skirts and skipping away,” Anakin bites back. 

“I wasn’t planning to! Anakin, please, both of us made mistakes tonight. Can we just agree on that?”

He frowns, eyes flickering over your still-dressed form. He motions for you to come closer and turn around, so you do. Gentle fingers work at the zip on your back, dragging it down to free you from the constraints. You remember the note he wrote from earlier, how he couldn’t wait to take the dress off of you, and grow disappointed at how the night had gone. This was not the context you had been expecting. 

The way his hands linger on your waist, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Okay. We both made mistakes.” You feel his soft curls against the bare skin of your back as rests his forehead against you. You hold your dress up in the front so as not to expose yourself. “I’m sorry for letting Padme flirt with me. I should have put an end to it-- I know it hurt you to watch.”

“It did,” you whisper. “But I’m also sorry. For getting so jealous even though you never accepted her advances, and for making it seem like I was trying to get revenge. It wasn’t my intention.”

A soft “it’s okay” is kissed into your back. His hands grip your waist, turning you in his grasp. He’s looking up at you now, hair mussed up and eyes wary. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

What were you guys doing? At the end of the day, it’s you and him. Padme is out of the picture, and so is Clovis. Everything is alright, and that fuss you both put up throughout the night was virtually pointless.

Looking into his eyes, the ones you love so much and could never picture yourself ever parting from, suddenly this whole thing seems elementary. How terrible, disastrous, and ironic this night turned out. Replaying the events in your head, you find a smile begin to crack at your lips. Anakin can’t keep a straight face either, the ridiculousness of it all beginning to catch up with you both. You begin to laugh, and he follows, burying his head in your stomach as you hug around his neck.

“We must be back in training school,” you giggle, feeling his shoulders shake beneath you. “How pathetic of us.”

“Ahh,” he groans, suddenly wrenching you off your feet and onto the bed on top of him. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pulling you as close to him as possible. “Let’s just forget this night ever happened. It was dreadful and embarrassing.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was never even here.”

“Me neither,” he presses a line of warm kisses down your neck, stopping at the strap of your dress. “Let’s get this off. Do you still have your blaster on you?”

You pat the metal strapped onto your thigh. “Locked and loaded.”

“Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I definitely didn’t want to get my head blown off.”

“Safety’s on, wisecrack,” you help him shrug your dress off, kicking it from your legs and off the end of the bed. You unclasp the band from around your thigh and distribute the blaster onto the nightstand. 

“I’m the wisecrack,” you don’t miss the way Anakin’s voice deepens, attention suddenly captured by the bare skin of your body beneath him. His eyes follow the path his fingers are tracing up your leg. “Careful, or I’ll have to report that to the Council.”

“For what? Being right?”

“For creating conflict of interest on the job,” his fingers skim the soft flesh of your upper thighs, tickling their way past the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, up and up and up… “It’s terribly naughty of you.”

His words are teasing and corny, but somehow the deeper insinuation of them still cause your cheeks to burn red. 

“Anakin,” your voice is hoarse, causing your blush to deepen. His long fingers cup your chin, keeping your lips ghost over his as his other hand pulls the silver clasps from your hair. “I need a shower.”

“I can meet you in there?”

You clutch at his shoulders, bringing him forward to close that gap between your lips. His mouth is warm against yours, pliant and soft and generous. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for all night, all this time you’ve been apart. The smell of him, taste of him, feel of him— you could never get enough. 

“I’ll save you a spot.” 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Pepsi Raspberry

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.

Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.

A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.

Words: 2,416

A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…

You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.

"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.

Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.

“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”

He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.

“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.

“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”

Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.

“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”

“Not gonna happen.”

You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.

“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”

You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.

“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”

You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.

“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.

“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.

As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.

When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.

“Babe?”

You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.

He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.

“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.

“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”

“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”

He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.

“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”

“Not my problem, Frankie.”

Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.

“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“Can you make some?”

“Make it yourself.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

“What's wrong, baby?”

You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.

“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”

Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.

“What's up with you?”

There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.

“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.

“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”

“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”

You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”

“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.

When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.

“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.

“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.

“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.

“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.

“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.

“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”

“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”

Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.

[+++]

Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.

You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.

You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.

And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.

Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You mean the hangover or this morning?”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”

You exhale in an amused little sniff.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”

“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.

“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!

“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”

“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”

You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”

You start crying.

[thechangeling]

She burns like rum on a fire

Why did I do this to myself ughhhhh?

So @adoravel-fenomeno and I were talking about Kit potentially getting into an abusive relationship given that he's statistically likely too given his roots. So now I give you this fic! Sorry. Kit is using he/him in this fic because he hasn't really gone on his gender quest yet.

The title is from Cherry Wine by Hozier. I reccomend you listen to Cherry Wine and Trauma by NF while reading this.

Cw: Mentions of physical and verbal abuse, abusive, controlling behavior, negative self talk and extreme denial. Also brief mention of blood.

2013

Don't cry.

Don't cry Kit told himself over and over inside his head as he tried to get a hold of his breathing. As he lay on his bed at 2 in the morning, desperately refreshing his conversation with Autumn.

Autumn or as his best friend Janessa liked to call her "the virus" was Kit's girlfriend. His very first. A mundane with the sight. They had been dating for a few months now. When they had first gotten together everything was amazing, it so it seemed.

They had some much in common and they had fun together. Autumn was hot, funny and charasmatic. She had this way of making him feel like the only person in the room. She showered him with gifts and complements that made Kit finally feel worthy for the first time in his life.

But as time went on things shifted. Autumn insisted on spending almost ever waking second with him. Kit didn't mind at first, he loved hanging out with her. But he missed his parents and his sister, and he knew they missed him too. Whenever they had family movie night, or they wanted Kit to watch Mina, Autumn threw a fit. She insisted that he was ignoring her.

She didn't want him seeing Janessa either, or Nessie as Kit called her for short. Autumn always insisted that she was plotting to steal Kit away from her, which was ridiculous but nothing could change Autumn's mind when she was in a mood. So Kit had found himself blowing Nessie off to hang out with Autumn and making excuses for it.

Kit always felt super guilty for making Autumn so upset. He tried to get out of his agreements if it to stop her from crying but sometimes Tessa and Jem wouldn't let him. It was frustrating when they didn't understand. She would rage for awhile, calling Kit stupid and worthless. Sometimes she would make comments about him being adopted, telling him that Tessa and Jem didn't really love him and they only saw him as a free babysitter for their real child.

She would make jokes about all kinds of things. How Kit wasn't a real shadowhunter, his weight, his past, his bisexuality, his ADHD. Kit knew that Autimn didn't really mean anything by it. It was nothing personal and she didn't really mean it. She loved him. And he loved her.

Tonight had been different though. His grades had taken a turn for the worst because he had been blowing of the tutoring sessions the school had payed for as a part of his accommodations. Because he had been spending that time with Autumn. Kit knew it was a bad idea to miss those, but his girlfriend needed him. She didn't have anybody else. She couldn't count on her parents like he could, and she didn't really have any friends.

But Kit was in big trouble. Tessa and Jem were mad. The school was mad. People were saying that Kit was ungrateful.

Ah yes because every disabled person should just bend down and kiss the feet of every person that deigns to give them what they're legally entitled to.

But Kit knew that he had really screwed up this time. He tried to explain to Autumn that he couldn't see her as often as he used to anymore because he needed to fix his grades. And she absolutely lost it. Which he had been expecting.

However what Kit hadn't been expecting this time was for her to hit him.

And she hit him hard. Punched him straight in the nose. And sure it wasn't that big of a deal. Kit was a shadowhunter and he was pretty much used to being hit. But he hadn't been expecting it.

And there was just so much blood.

Autumn of course instantly apologized profusely. She kissed him over and over and told him that she loved him and she didn't mean to. And Kit knew she was telling the truth but-

But he still felt a sinking feeling in his chest that he couldn't explain.

But Kit had applied an iratze, wiped off the blood, and now everything was as good as new. When he had arrived back home, his parents had noticed anything or asked him any questions.

Now he was lying awake at 2 in the morning, filled with guilt and worry as he waited for Autumn to text him back. He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously as he tried not to over think things.

Maybe she was still mad at him? Was there something else Kit was supposed to say or do? Or maybe he should just leave her alone for awhile?

It was maddening.

Kit turned off his phone and threw it down in frustration, pulling his giant red and black flannel over his shoulders and curling in on himself. He felt strangely exhausted, but unable to sleep. His nose and left eye socket still throbbed a little despite the fact that they should be healed.

Kit thought about using another iratze but his steele was across the room and he couldn't bring himself to stand up to go get it.

God he really was pathetic. Maybe he deserved this. Tears welled up in Kit's eyes.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

This time Kit couldn't hold it back. So he let himself cry. Tears came streaming down his cheeks as he tried to muffle his sobs with his hand. Deep down he knew it was his fault. It was always his fault.

But with Autumn he had really tried. Sure he wasn't perfect but Kit really cared about her. And it wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough.

Kit couldn't help but think of the last time he felt like this. The last time he was rejected. He had been careful about trying to keep all thoughts of Ty Blackthorn out of his head for awhile. Autumn was a good distraction, even when she was screaming obscenities at him. It was still a distraction.

Kit closed his eyes and conjured the memory of holding Ty up on the roof. If he squeezed his eyes tightly enough, Kit could still feel the softness of his hoodie and the slight tickle of Ty's dark hair against his skin. He could conjure the smell of Ty's skin and the way he had trembled slightly against Kit's body.

I should have kissed him. Kit mused, hugging himself tightly. Just once. Even if Ty had pushed him away in disgust, it would have been worth it. Just to know what it felt like.

Suddenly from the bottom of the bed, Kit's phone lit up with a call. He scrambled to grab it, thinking it was Autumn, but it was actually Janessa. Kit cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound normal as he answered the phone.

"Why are you calling me at 2 am Nessie?"

"The better question is why are you still awake at 2 am," she pointed out, sounding smug. "I'm a vampire. Creature of the night remember? It's kinda prime time for me Kit Kat."

Kit smiled as he felt the previous angst wash away. "Yeah fair enough. But still, why are you calling me?"

Kit heard her sigh into the phone. "Well honestly because this is probably the only time you're free now a days," she said spitefully. "You know thanks to she-who-must-not-be-named." Kit rolled his eyes.

"That's my girlfriend you're talking about, Janessa!" He snapped.

"Well your girlfriend's a total bitch!"

Normally Kit would argue with her and tell her that she was way off base. That Autumn wasn't so bad and that she was trying. That she loved him. But today he just couldn't.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "We got into another fight tonight," he admitted. "Just a few hours ago actually."

"I'm sorry love," Janessa murmed. Nessie wasn't British. She was actually Canadian. But she had moved around the world with her previous band before settling in Devon and leaving them to go solo. She had picked up on some British expressions though.

"I wish you weren't going through this. But Kit, you gotta break up with her! She's bad news!"

Kit rested his face against the palm of his left hand. "I can't," he groaned.

Janessa let out a frustrated yell on the other end of the phone. "What the hell are you planning on doing Kit!? I mean are you just gonna wait into she hits you or what?" She spat.

"She already did," Kit responded instantly without missing a beat.

He gasped and slapped a hand to cover his mouth. Kit had no idea why he actually told her. Impulsivity maybe? Or maybe he just needed to get it out. But he instantly regretted it.

There was a long uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. Kit was just about to ask Janessa where she went when suddenly she spoke.

"I'm coming over."

Kit tried to protest but she hung up on him.

Before he had time to panic or scream or throw something, there was an aggressive tapping on his window. Of course. Janessa had vampire speed. He looked up to see Nessie perched on his windowsill looking solem.

Her long black curly hair was pulled into a high ponytail and she wore what by her standards was probably a casual outfit. A black long sleeved low cut crop top and white ripped skinny jeans tucked into thigh high heeled leather boots. And of course, she wore a full face of makeup. Even after the facial feminization surgery she was still a little insecure about going out without makeup on.

Nessie banged on his window again, more impatiently and Kit jumped up to let her in. She landed on his bedroom floor with the grace of a cat, making no sound. She stared at him silently with an expression that Kit found hard to decipher.

"Show me where," she whispered in that deep raspy voice of hers. She reached for his face and Kit let Janessa cradle his face with her hands and tried not to wince as her cold skin came into contact with his.

He shook his head. "No you won't see it, I put an iratze on it already. It's done." Janessa scoffed and stepped back.

"You know the damage isn't just skin deep Kit," she said pointedly. "No matter how much you want to pretend it is."

He glared at her. "Wow that's so insightful Nessie!," he said sarcastically. "What else you got?"

"Oh come on Kit you know I'm right," She hissed. "You have to end it!"

Kit shook his head. Why does she keep saying that?

"No. Why should I?" Kit retorted. "She loves me." He tried to sound as confident as he could, but truthfully he wasn't so sure anymore.

Autumn had gone above and beyond to make Kit feel loved and appreciated yo the point where she was almost obsessive. But she could also be cruel and spiteful. Kit had convinced himself that he should be happy with what he had because it was as good as he was gonna get.

And the sad part was that was still true.

"No she doesn't," Janessa breathed desperately. To Kit's horror, it looked like she was about to cry. Kit couldn't remember if he had ever seen her cry. Not once.

"Somebody who really loved you could never hurt you like that!" She protested shakily, her voice warbled as tears spilled down her face.

Kit could feel his tears returning at the sight of Nessie crying. He rushed towards her and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. In the comfort of his best friend's embeace he allowed himself to finally sob. He cried for that broken niave part of himself that kept getting hurt.

She rested her chin on the top of his head, (she was taller then him,) and held him close. "Please promise me you will break up with her," Janessa begged.

"I just don't get it," Kit whispered against her skin. "I did everything right. I did everything I could." He blinked back tears. "Why doesn't she love me Nessie?"

He felt her shake against him. "I don't know Kit," she sobbed. "But I love you ok? I love you and your parents love you, and Mina loves you so much!"

Kit sighed, pulling back to wipe his tears. "I know, but what if I, you know-. What if I never find someone? Like romantically?"

Janessa studied him, raising her eyebrow. "Well do you need to find someone? Who is this arbitrary someone who can give you something a friendship can't?"

That's actually a good point.

"I mean," Nessie continued, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. "If you do end up in a relationship then cool, it's whatever. But the way I see it is you shouldn't focus all of your energy on looking because you're gonna end up missing out on some pretty cool stuff in the mean time." She smiled.

Kit thought about it. He knew logically Janessa had a point. But he just couldn't feel it. He was too depressed and defeated. And as ashamed as it made him, Kit still missed Autumn. He tried to smile along with Nessie but it must have looked weak because she looked concerned.

"Hey," she cooed, reaching for him.

"Can you sing to me Nessie?" He asked. Kit  felt a little pathetic but hopefully she wouldn't judge him.

She smiled lovingly at him. "Sure." Janessa took his hand and led him to his bed.

"Any requests?" She asked as she pulled off her boots and lay down on Kit's bed. He followed her, snuggling up against Nessie with his back to her.

"No not really," he murmered, closing his eyes. Kit was finally starting to feel how exhausted he really was.

Janessa wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, resting her head slightly against his shoulder. "Ok," she whispered very softly.

Kit heard her clear her throat softly before the sound of her breathy angelic alto filled his ears.

"I'm turning out the lights, to remember how to see. Till the renaissance takes place, Until a renaissance takes place, and resuscitates the color of paint and divinity."

Kit smiled sleepily at the sound of his enneagram song, something Janessa had introduced him to.

He yawned and let the sound of Nessie's voice lull him to sleep, putting all thoughts of Autumn behind him.

In my head Kit is like 5'4 and Janessa is 5'9. Originally I had her at 5'11 but I wanted her to be closer in height to Kit. Also did I name Kit's abusive girlfriend Autumn after my toxic controlling ex best friend? You bet I did!

Tag list: (you know the deal) @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies   @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @hardlymatters @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @adoravel-fenomeno

[chudleycanonficfest]

you belong with me

Day 11, story #1 is by @accio-broom

Title: you belong with me Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur Weasley / Molly Prewett Prompt:  Soulmate AU Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): None, unless Arthur Weasley trying to enjoy his birthday offends you.

When Arthur Weasley woke on the morning of the 6th February, nothing was out of the ordinary. He took his time, easing out of sleep like a man with nothing to do. He stretched out his body with a loud yawn, then pulled back the curtains of the four-poster bed, ignoring the attack of the winter air that filled the dorm room.

He was going to have a perfect day.

Wiggling his toes on the plush rug next to his bed, he greeted his fellow dorm mates.

“Morning, Ry.” Arthur tipped his head towards the Gryffindor on the bed opposite him. “How’s it hanging?”

Ryan was not a morning person, and he grumbled at Arthur before snuggling further under the duvet. Arthur chuckled and joined in the conversation about the latest Quidditch scores, trying his best to not lament too long on the disappointing Cannons scores. He gathered his wash bag, and made sure he had clean briefs with his uniform, then waved a cheery goodbye as he wandered off to the bathroom, whistling as he moved.

Today was Arthur Weasley’s birthday, and the day he came of age, although the notion was rather peculiar to him. He didn’t feel all that more responsible than he did yesterday, but according to Wizarding Law, he could now leave school, get a real job and get married, should he wish.

He scoffed as the thought of getting married flitted into his head, disappearing as quickly as it came. That would mean actually landing himself a girlfriend, something he hadn’t yet achieved during his six years at Hogwarts. He hadn’t even come close.

As he showered, Arthur mapped out his day in his head. If it all went to plan, he’d enjoy a big breakfast with the rest of his school friends. His classes today were straight forward—double Muggle Studies this morning, then Potions this afternoon. Between these would be lunch, and a free period, where hopefully, he’d be able to go for a fly, if the weather was okay.

If he survived the day, then he and his friends were planning a night of wizard chess, birthday cake and butterbeer, which hopefully Ryan was going to sneak from the kitchens for them.

Shower done, he dried himself off in front of one of the mirrors. As he did, he examined his body. He didn’t look any older than yesterday, there were no new lines or hairs on his body. He was still the same gangly lad with violent red hair and far too many freckles to count.

Arthur settled his glasses on his face, then loosened his towel. Without warning, a soft femine voice filled his head, taking him by surprise.

Merlin, I hate red hair.

Tightening the towel around his waist, he looked around the bathroom for the source of the sound. 

“H-hello?” he called out, but the only reply came from the echo of his greeting bouncing off the tiles. “I-is anyone there?”

I wish I were blonde or a brunette—anything but this. Nobody fancies redheads. 

His heart pounding, he checked all the nooks and crannies in the room, only to find that he was the only one there. The tips of his ears turned bright pink as he turned his attention back to his reflection. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and a frown covered his face. He was tired. It was the only explanation for the voice that was still filling Arthur’s ears with insecurities. There had been a few late nights in the library recently, as well as some early morning Quidditch practices. They must be catching up on him.

He’s no spring chicken, after all.

Hurriedly pulling on his uniform, he combed his hair then carried on whistling, hoping to block out the now persistent voice in his head.

⁂

The girl’s commentary didn’t stop whilst Arthur ate his breakfast. It filled his ears, dragging his shoulders down with negative thoughts and observations.

Everything is so greasy here, the voice wailed. No wonder I’m putting on weight. I’ll get spots if I carry on eating like this. I wish Mary wouldn’t wear so much perfume. It makes me feel sick.

The negativity depressed Arthur and was the last thing he needed on his birthday. He’d hoped for a nice day, full of presents, and easy lessons and time spent with his friends, but instead, Negative Nancy was ruining his time. He didn’t even fancy opening his gifts, which had been delivered by owl mail just as he sat down for breakfast.

Glancing down the table, he tried to work out the source of the interference in his brain, but the Gryffindor table was full of people, and conversations flew around them from every angle. He sniffed, wondering if Mary’s perfume could lead him in the right direction, but all he could smell was baked beans.

With a sigh, he shoved his second sausage into his mouth, letting the taste of his favourite breakfast food cheer him up, even if it was only a little bit.

Muggle studies was Arthur’s favourite topic, but he found it hard to concentrate as his head filled with arithmancy. He hated the subject, there was a reason he didn’t choose to continue the subject after their O.W.L.’s, so it irritated him greatly that the thoughts were disrupting learning more about muggle bridges. They were such beautiful contraptions, too.

Lunch was just as bad. Although the voice was annoying, Arthur was starting to get used to it. However, what was infuriating him was how familiar the voice sounded, yet he couldn’t work out who it belonged to. Whenever it filled his mind, it brought warm feelings and stirred something new deep inside his belly. Whatever was happening to him, he felt awkward that he was getting a very up close and personal look into someone else’s thoughts. Throughout the morning, he’d experienced such a vast range of emotions, and he felt like he might explode.

His birthday was going downhill rapidly.

By the time Potions came around, Arthur was exhausted. He arrived at class before the rest of his peers, and as soon as he settled into his usual seat, he folded his arms and rested his head on them. He was about to drop off to sleep when…

“Good afternoon, Arthur. Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Arthur’s ears pricked up. It was the same damn voice he’d been hearing all day, but this time it was loud and happening outside his head. Peeking over his arms, he watched as Molly Prewett sat down next to him and gave him a warm smile.

It was her, the voice inside his head. How had he not realised this before now?

Although he and Molly weren’t best friends, she had been his potions partner since their first year, and they often found themselves sharing a table in the library late at night. Could she hear his thoughts the same way he could listen to hers? Or was this all one-sided?

“Oh, yes, it’s fine,” he said, finally lifting his head from the desk. “Perfectly spiffing.”

Perfectly spiffing? He’s never spoken like that before, and definitely not to Molly Prewett. He usually chooses his words carefully around her, not wanting to look like an imbecile.

She giggled, and Arthur goggled at her. Was she only laughing at his choice of words, or was his internal commentary amusing her. His pulse started to quicken. There had been many thoughts throughout the day, some that would mortify him if anyone else heard.

Arthur checked on Slughorn, who was distracted writing today’s recipe on the board. Summoning the courage, Arthur took a deep breath then reached out with his mind. He crossed all his fingers and toes that this would work as he thought hard.

“Hello? Molly?”

All of a sudden, Molly sat upright in her seat. Her face turned towards him, and even through the smoke from their cauldron, Arthur could see that her eyes were wide, and her jaw was almost reaching the desk.

“Arthur? Oh Merlin, is that really you? Is it your voice I’ve heard all day?”

“Yes? I mean, I think so. I’ve been hearing your voice since I woke up, and I was curious to see if you could hear the same.”

A red blush crept from Molly’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Arthur was sure it wasn’t from their cauldron or the heat of the dungeons.

“How much did you hear?” Molly averted her gaze from him.

Arthur paused, weighing up his options. Should he lie and protect Molly from inevitable humiliation? Or should he tell her the truth? It was a difficult choice, and both came with a list of pros and cons. But Arthur wasn’t a dishonest man, and if this problem continued for much longer, Molly deserved to know what she was exposing him to.

Plus, if she was experiencing it too, then she probably had a good idea of what he’d heard.

Reaching a decision, he flexed his mind again. “All of it. I’m sorry, Molly. I tried my best to ignore it all, but it’s all I can hear.”

“What’s going on? Do you think we should go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle. The mind-reading was not an illness or spell damage, and they hadn’t been near each other recently, save for right now. 

It’s no coincidence that this started on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, and his brothers had mentioned something similar happening to them, although at the time, Arthur put it down to them yanking his wand. They often liked to tease him, as older brothers do.

It was Percival who’d mentioned it, while they were tinkering with a Muggle car in their father’s garage last summer.

“So, this school year is going to be fun for you, Arthur,” he’d said, a smile on his face. “Coming of age, you’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade without supervision, you’ll hopefully get your apparition licence too.”

Arthur had smiled, his stomach lurching with excited nerves. “If I pass.”

Bilius had piped up. “The family record is five attempts.”

“And Dad has never grown his eyebrows back.” Percival smirked at his brothers.

Arthur joined in with the laughter, relishing getting to spend time with Percival and Bilius. Percival had married almost straight out of school, and although Bilius remained single, he was always away on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix.

Grinning at Arthur, Pervial spoke again. “Of course, apparition isn’t the hardest thing you’ll have to deal with. If the voices start, you’re in for a treat.”

“Voices?” Arthur fumbled with his screwdriver as a frown appeared on his face.

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Percival continued, adding oil to the engine. “When Weasley men come of age, they have a special way of finding their one true love.”

“What? No, you’re making this up. This is all fairy tale nonsense, surely? Bilius hasn’t met anyone!”

“How do think Perce landed his wife so quickly?” Bilius laughed. “Wasn’t his charm or good looks, that’s for sure.”

Percival and Bilius had erupted into giggles again. The tips of Arthur’s ears burned pink. There was no way this sort of thing happened, they were just having him on. But still, the thought had appealed to him. He was so unlucky in love, that the thought of being able to automatically identify his future wife had piqued his interest for sure.

Would he be like Percival or Bilius? Only time would tell.

⁂

Arthur hadn’t thought back on that conversation since it had happened. But if what his brothers had told him was true, then there were worse women in the world to be hearing in his head. Molly was kind and pretty. He’d always had a soft spot for her, but he’d never acted on it for fear of being rejected. Now, he probably didn’t have a choice.

Taking a huge breath, he reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. His grip trembled but felt it pertinent for him to try and be brave, given the enormity of what they were facing. In an attempt to distract himself from her internal panic, he wet his lips before finally whispering in a low voice, 

“What do you know about soulmates?”

[truckloadoffrogs]

I’ve been thinking about this for like a week sooooo pls consider this a smut prompt for u. Praise kink Bucky with dirty mouth Sam. I mean anywhere that’s not an active battle is grounds for Sam to whisper something filthy in Bucky’s ear, and it annoys the HELL out of everyone cause they know when it happens. You wanna know how they know? Bucky short circuits and his face is the color of raspberries and he’s practically in Sam’s lap whenever it happens

This is only a little smutty, sorry about that, but this got in my head and I had to write it! Also, ignore how this is 3 months late I hope you’re still here to read it, sorry!

Also on ao3

There's a little bit (and I mean a tiny bit) of feminization in here, so if that's not your jam, don't read!

—

Everyone thinks Peter is a kid. Well, I mean, yeah technically he only just turned eighteen, and yeah technically he’s the youngest Avenger by, at the lowest, ten years, and, at the highest, by eighty years (?? how does that work??), but he’s not that naïve. He knows what’s going on.

It goes like this. The Avengers are in a (very important) meeting right after a battle, getting chastised on their dumbass risky plans, all of them yearning to get home and clean off the dust and sweat and blood from their bodies. Peter is sitting in one of the high backed twirly office chairs, trying desperately to focus on how they’ve been “very very bad”, and “a danger to the city”, and trying not to spin the chair around in circles, and think about how he might ask MJ if she wants to get some ice cream after school tomorrow, and how he should maybe invite Ned? Or would that make it too awkward? Or would it be more awkward to have Ned not be there? Or maybe— Right. The meeting. Peter blinks heavily, and straightens in his chair.

A cleared throat across the table grabs his attention, and he glances over. Captain Wilson and Sergeant Barnes are sitting next to each other, Captain Wilson’s knee pressed into Sergeant Barnes’ thigh and his arm over the back of Sergeant Barnes’ chair. Peter can’t really tell who cleared their throat.

Captain Wilson is calm, cool, and collected, his flying goggles pushed to the top of his head and the white head of his suit pushed down around his neck. His shield (The Shield!!!) is balanced on the wall behind him. He looks friendly, if not intimidating, with a serious look on his face but his eyes sparkling.

Sergeant Barnes, in contrast, is in his usual all-black leather outfit, smeared black paint around his eyes, with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow. Honestly, it scares the shit out of Peter. His metal arm is resting on the table in front of him, reflecting the lights from the ceiling and whirring occasionally as if to intentionally scare Peter more, and holy shit it’s working. He still vividly remembers the fight between him and Sergeant Barnes and Captain Wilson— then-Mr. Falcon— and how he almost beat them but then got his ass handed to him.

Honestly he thought that Captain Wilson and Sergeant Barnes hated each other, based on their ribbing at the airport, but looking at how close they are sitting now that issue seems to have been solved. Well, he thinks, because there is no expression on Sergeant Barnes’ face right now, other than vague anger. Captain Wilson looks positively gleeful though, a smirk flashing across his face as he leans over to whisper in Sergeant Barnes’ ear, and— oh my god.

Now there is definitely an expression on Sergeant Barnes’ face, and that expression is red. His whole face has suddenly just flushed a deep deep red. What the fuck?

Peter tries to turn off his super hearing as much as possible when he’s not patrolling, having heard way too many things he definitely should not have heard, but now he’s too curious to keep his hearing down low. He hesitantly widens his range of hearing, just enough for him to hear what Captain Wilson is whispering to Sergeant Barnes across the table.

“You look so pretty sittin there, Buck. I wish I could kiss you right here, in front of everyone.”

Peter almost gasps out loud. What the actual fuck was going on? Were Captain Wilson and Sergeant Barnes dating? Oh my god. Peter watches as Sergeant Barnes blushed, if possible, even redder, the tips of his ears almost glowing. With the black eye makeup and his dark blush, his eyes were an even bluer-blue than they were before. A tiny pleased smile flickers on Sergeant Barnes’ lips before he tightens them and looks back to where Agent Hill is still on her tirade. The idea of a former Russian assassin blushing because his boyfriend (?) told him he looked cute was just too weird for Peter to handle.

“You wearing the plug I got you, baby? Yeah? You still all wet and sloppy from this morning?” Captain Wilson is whispering so close to Sergeant Barnes’ ear that his lips are grazing the shell of it, tongue almost glancing off the skin. “I could slide right in, you know that right? I could take you to the bathroom and slide right in. No prep, nothing. You’re probably so slick inside it’ll feel like fucking a pussy.”

Sergeant Barnes couldn’t seem to blush any deeper, but his metal hand was starting to whir louder, and his right hand was twitching slightly. He was biting his lip so hard the thin skin around his teeth was white, and frankly Peter was worried he was going to bite right through it.

“Oh, you like that? You want me to call your hole a pussy? I think—”

Aaand that was enough for Peter. God damn. Who knew Captain America had such a mouth on him? Thank god Peter was still wearing his mask because holy shit his face felt like it was as red as Sergeant Barnes’. Peter had stopped listening, but he could see Sergeant Barnes become more and more tense, his eyes flickering from side to side like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep pretending to listen to Agent Hill or if he wanted to give up all pretenses and give his full attention to Captain Wilson.

Suddenly chairs were being pushed back, the lights were coming on again, and people were starting to leave the room. Because Peter, Sergeant Barnes, and Captain Wilson were at the end of the table and therefore at the back of the room, they had to wait a bit for the other Avengers and Agents to make their way out of the room before they could. Well, Peter had to. Because Sergeant Barnes and Captain Wilson did not seem like they were going to move anytime soon. Captain Wilson looked about 0.5 seconds away from licking the sweat off of Sergeant Barnes’ neck, and Peter could not get out of the room fast enough.

As he was leaving, he bravely turned around to face Sergeant Barnes and Captain Wilson to ask, “Do you want me to lock the door behind me?”

Captain Wilson looked up in surprise before a big grin spread across his face. “Yeah, why don’t you do that. Thanks, kid.”

Turning quickly, Peter just barely kept himself from slamming the door behind him when he saw Sergeant Barnes get out of his chair and start to climb onto Captain Wilson’s lap.

Well, that was the last time Peter would use his superhearing for anything other than crime fighting. Damn.

--

Let me know what you think!! <3

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

lately i feel taehyung is a straight man and his vibez is much more masculinity i mean not to mention taehyung straightly said to jimin he like him most and no offense for me it's just assurance about something etc and i don't feel like in romantic way but much more because he is best friend for life. i mean before you can assume he is kind of gay but lately i feel like he's more focus on masculine way and much more straight man.

Admin 1: Let’s do a little exercise which I think will help us answer this question, as well as showcase why reading it annoyed me so much, especially as queer person myself. Okay, here are nine different men, all of them athletes (why did I pick them? Because idols are basically just as athletic as them and chances of you knowing all nine are low), and now please try to guess which of them (if any) are gay/queer:

…

Do you have your guesses?

…

Okay, as example, if you guessed only the one first row second from the left then, well, you are partially correct. That man is Johnny Weir, former American figure skater, who is, in fact, gay, yes. But you are wrong in saying that out of all the men in those pictures he’s the only one who is queer. Because all of them are. You can read more about them here if you’re interested.

What does this tell us? Easy. The manner in which someone presents themselves (or the vibe, whatever that’s even supposed to mean, that they give off/give you), traditionally masculine, feminine, more androgynous, or anywhere else on the spectrum, has no correlation whatsoever with their sexuality. A gay man can dress in a way that is traditionally seen as more feminine and that’s fine. He can dress and look more typically masculine, and that is fine as well. He can dress and look however he likes and that doesn’t make him any less or more gay, or any less or more valid.

The main thing I would like for you to take away from this answer is this: please do not buy into stereotypical, basically fetishizing, portrayals and assumptions of what constitutes a “gay man” visually and behavior wise. There is no checklist full of boxes a queer man, or any queer person for that matter, needs to fulfil in order to be queer and valid in their queerness. There is no unified look a gay man has to showcase in order to be gay. It’s the 21st century, the year 2021, can we leave finally lay these things to rest?

As for Tae, if you want to know my thoughts about BTS and the LGBT community, I have an entire post about it which you can read here if that’s something that interests you. If we look at how Tae currently looks like, which you’ve defined as more “masculine” (and therefore straight), I will agree that he has gained muscles, if that is what you think is a necessary checkbox for masculinity, but really, all that really tells us is that Tae is healthy, that he looks great, handsome as ever, and that he is an idol of whom it is expected and required to be in a good physical shape, especially with comeback being quite literally just three days away which means a lot of performances, dancing, and hard Bangtan choreographies.

Your taste in fashion and how you feel most comfortable with your body looking like has no direct correlation with your sexuality, and neither does it with Tae’s.

Lastly, how is Tae saying he likes Jimin most on national TV somehow proof of him being straight? What else was he supposed to say? What would he have to say for you to not question his bond with Jimin? Is there a possibility we’re wrong and they’re just platonic, of course, but at the same time, looking at how Jimin said that Tae is a honest person, how Tae basically wears his heart on his sleeve, and how he’s written a song all about falling in love with his best friend, whom we know is Jimin, and we know Tae writes songs based on his own feelings and experiences, I do have a hard time believing that we are wrong. But, of course, we won’t know for sure until Tae or Jimin, or both, tell us themselves.

You are free to believe whatever you like but at least don’t project gender and LGBT stereotypes (most of which have been created and are perpetuated by straight people) onto Tae, and the other members for that matter. Or any queer person really.

Admin 2: I admit that after what I’ve recently observed on various sns platforms, no question will surprise me anymore. In fact, I'm sure I know where this question came from.

The most annoying thing is that despite so many "steps and demonstrations" on BTS' part, there is still an army trying to put people into individual boxes and number those boxes and give them names.

Do any of us have our sexualities written out on our foreheads? Can you see if we are sexually interested in women, men, or anyone else? And how can you know that?

I think a lot of people know Adam Rippon, for example, who is a former American figure skater and Olympic team bronze medalist. Yes, Adam is gay and has a very handsome partner, fiancé actually, who looks like a young god. He's fit, look at his photos on Instagram, Jussi goes to the gym, runs and is even in the process of builds a house himself, like a "real man", a "typical" man ... but he's gay!

If you look at this example, you can clearly see that there are no stereotypes that would indisputably define the appearance of an LGBTQ+ person! Indeed, in the last century, attempts have been made to give "gay" people the weird appearance of only ever being feminized man who are always sassy and the side kick in movies/shows, the stereotypical "gay best friend". It the past century it was designed as such to portray queer people, and especially gay men, in undesirable ways, as jokes and as something "bad", but I thought we grew out of it a long time ago as modern and tolerant people.

Kim Taehyung has to practice and exercise as a member of BTS. That’s a fact. To meet the requirements of their choreographies, whether you like it or not, you must be in an Olympic physical form. Not just him, the entire team must basically be at a near peak physical condition and health. Tae has to exercise, he has to take care of himself, and he has to look great. I have to admit, I've noticed that "gay" men pay more attention to their looks than a normal, unshaven straight guy! (I'm basing this on a joke Adam Rippon once made where he apologized to his followers for looking like an "unshaved straight guy" after he'd just woken up)

What do I mean by that? I want to express the fact that the way you look and take care of your appearance and physical condition are not an indicator of sexuality!

As for the "I like you the most" statement, I'll admit that I've observed many people in many ways trying to use this statement to twist it into whatever those people wanted it to be, instead of taking it for what it actually was, especially since it appears to be something like a thorn in the sides of those who ship other ML pairings.

I'll be rather blunt here now, instead of beating around the bush.

I think this whole question is another attempt at ripping down the Vmin sails and belittling their bond and its possible implications once again.

If we remember how the scene played out, remember Jimin's reactions, his nervousness, how flustered he was, said that things are getting dangerous, and the fact that Taehyung's letter was only for Jimin's eyes. Is that really how "bros" behave? Just a couples of besties?

I doubt that normal best buddies on national TV would feel the need to write mystery letters just for a friend's eyes and tell each other that they like him the most? I'll say more, "boyfriends" don't force their lover to admit that he is copying him in his dance style, only friends do.

It is strange that this "copy" situation was "perceived" as highly romantic, and yet Taehyung's words to Jimin were relegated to "best friends only, nothing else".

However, it doesn't change the fact that Taehyung said what he said, he wrote 95z is love and Jimin confessed that he would love to spend his life with his lovely Taehyungie. Do "only best friends" (best friends that are straight) behave like this?

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

I’m just gonna start tagging all my salt posts “marauders salt” because I have yet more to say, and I want to give people the option of skipping past my incessant whining.  (What’s that?  Stop whining?  No, friend, this is my place to vent.  But I really don’t want to drag other people down, so scroll by if you want something more positive.) 

But anyway, I was just thinking about the discussion that sebastianshaw, esteicy-blog, and others were having about Duggan’s use of “feminism” in Marauders, and how it is a very shallow, surface level feminism that seems to be “men bad, women good, especially beautiful, wealthy white women.”  And especially how Duggan prioritizes the female characters’ emotions, and tends to push aside and ignore the male characters’ emotions, especially anything other than anger.  That was most evident in the latest story, where Duggan invented abuse as part of the backstory of two female characters (Lourdes and Wilhelmina) where abuse hadn’t existed before, and completely ignored two male characters (Christian Frost and Shinobi Shaw) who actually had abuse as part of their canon backstories.  Even though Shinobi Shaw was canonically abused by the same man that abused Lourdes (in Duggan’s retcon), and whom Emma has been repeatedly beating down, Shinobi doesn’t get to be part of Emma’s revenge or Sebastian’s comeuppance in any meaningful way.  Because the real theme of the story is not “dealing with abuse,” it’s “women helping women against male abuse,” (done specifically in a way to prop Emma up as a character.)  

This also got me thinking again about Pyro and the Yellowjacket story, a story that I was okay with back when it happened, but keep getting angry about whenever I revisit it.

So, Pyro gets invaded by Yellowjacket for an unknown period of time (probably at least a few days).  Given how Duggan has been writing the characters, I’m willing to bet that this story would have been taken a lot more seriously if Yellowjacket had been inside Emma or Kate or Storm or Callisto, or one of the characters that Duggan actually cares about.  Then we might have actually looked at Yellowjacket’s actions as a violation of bodily autonomy and privacy, and pointed out how creepy it was that Pyro had one adult and 4 voyeuristic children watching a live-feed through his eyes while he was presumably doing things like showering, changing clothes, going to the bathroom, etc.  (I just KNOW that if it was Emma being spied on during her private moments, there would be a lot of focus on pervs wanting to look at her body, and the violation she feels because of it.)  Not to mention the sheer helplessness of having something inside his body that could kill him at any moment (and Yellowjacket proves that he is, indeed, willing to immediately kill Pyro if he is found out.)

But the situation isn’t taken seriously at all, instead we get jokes about Emma’s wardrobe, and Pyro watching Rick and Morty, and that ridiculous fantasy sequence.  Not only that, but Pyro’s very justifiable anger is treated as a joke.  He asks twice to kill Yellowjacket, and is brushed off by Magneto both times.  Obviously he can’t violate the laws of Krakoa, but Pyro doesn’t get to do anything at all to Yellowjacket, just has to let him go.  Pyro gets to psychically burn Verendi for a few seconds, then Emma drops the link, and again, quickly brushes him off. If anything, she seems somewhat disdainful towards him.  It seems like we are supposed to view Pyro’s desire to hurt Verendi as comically over the top.  There’s only one line that shows any real vulnerability from Pyro, the “You lot have humiliated me in front of my friends....I don’t really have a lot of friends....” and after that we go immediately into him laughing maniacally as he burns Verendi.

And there’s no follow-up after that, at no point does anyone on the crew check in with Pyro to see if he’s okay after that arguably traumatic experience.  Not even a pat on the shoulder and a “Hey man, that was messed up,” from Iceman or Bishop, who seem to be friendly with Pyro.  Or anyone telling Pyro, “Don’t feel bad about it, it wasn’t your fault, could have happened to any of us,” etc.  The only emotion Pyro is allowed to express is anger, and his desire for revenge is treated as a joke.

Compare this to Emma and Kate’s revenge on Shaw.  Emma and Kate also have very justifiable anger over what Sebastian did, and their vengeance is well-deserved.  But while Pyro’s anger is mostly dismissed and treated as “funny,” Emma and Kate’s anger is treated as something to be admired.  They are girlboss queens stepping all over a pathetic foe, and we are expected to cheer for them while they spend an entire issue beating Shaw, torturing him, poisoning him and ripping his eye out.  That’s not seen as “too much,” while Pyro’s desire for revenge apparently is.  Pyro is expected to just step back and accept the single bone that Emma has thrown him, while Emma gets to spend the next several issues continuing to twist the knife into Sebastian, and we’re apparently supposed to be on her side.    

And you could potentially argue that Emma has much great justification for revenge, since Sebastian has done horrible things to her in the past.  Yeah, that’s true, but Emma has already had significant revenge on Sebastian in the past, even killing him at one point.  You could also argue that Pyro needs to learn a lesson about violence and restraint, given his past, and indeed that seems to be the direction Duggan is going with him.  But if that’s the case, someone like Emma or Bishop could have turned the Yellowjacket incident into a teachable moment for Pyro, and actually talked with him about how it will serve their plans better to leave Yellowjacket/Verendi alive.  If nothing else, I would have liked to see a page or two of Emma bringing Pyro out of the dream and actually talking with him about what’s going on.  Maybe then we could have gotten some kind of serious discussion or reaction from Pyro.  But no, he just gets dismissed or ignored by pretty much everyone on the beach, aside from his one moment that Emma allows him.

So basically, Pyro has something bad happen to him, it’s treated like a joke, and his desire to hurt the people responsible is portrayed as over the top and disproportionate.  Kate has something bad happen to her (admittedly something much worse, since there was a chance she’d be perma-dead), and it’s a several issue tragedy, and she and Emma get to act as avenging Furies beating down the evil man responsible.  Their long, drawn-out revenge is righteous and good, Pyro gets a few seconds of psychic pain, and that is treated as too much as Emma quickly cuts him off. 

TL,DR - Duggan really tends to completely dismiss the feelings of male characters in this book, especially Iceman, Bishop, Pyro, Christian and Shinobi, in some kind poorly executed attempt at “Girl power” that isn’t actually very feminist at all.

Deliberately not tagging this as “Marauders,” I don’t want to interfere with the enjoyment of other people who are liking the book.

[empresscaress]

Venting about same sex attraction and life situations and almost-lesbianism and unwanted boyfriends and the yearning oh god the yearning

I just want to preface this by saying I do not think I am a lesbian, and the reason for that is because I still feel physical attraction toward males in an objective and distant sense. I am "almost lesbian" in the sense that I am bisexual and have a strong natural inclination towards women. I can think about a penis in my mind and enjoy it, and I can reason myself into accepting a man's body for what it is, and I don't think lesbians can say that. I don't want to imply I struggle like they do or have a right to claim I'm solely same sex attracted. As happy as I would be to be an actual lesbian, I am just bisexual. That said, I feel I am too traumatized to really love a man and I'm very, very attracted to women. So that's what I mean by an "almost lesbian" experience. This isn't that mspec "bisexual lesbian" crap, it's just a comparison.

Anyway, with that all explained I am beginning to come to terms with my almost lesbian-ism and it hasn't been easy. There are two big problems with confronting this. For start, I have a boyfriend. More importantly, a boyfriend that I am nervous to break up with. I don't really want to go into why but it's stressful to say the least. It's honestly why I signed back in on here again tonight. This setup isn't as secure as I would like but I just needed somewhere to talk where he can't see. Anyway I'm having a harder and harder time ignoring that I feel repulsed by sexual and romantic things with him. It was always that way honestly, but before it felt like that repulsion was a positive thing in a weird fucked up traumatized way. It doesn't help that our main bonding experiences have been drug use so I tend to be out of my mind stoned around him.

I don't actually want him, or any man at all in practice, and it's not because of radical feminism or any kind of political decision. That kind of thing hasn't even been on my mind lately, I haven't had the energy for it. It's because of the second big problem. The yearning. The God. Damn. Yearning. I don't think I've had a single dream in the past month that didn't somehow circle back to dating or cuddling or having sex with a woman. It's not even for a particular woman. I don't have any other women in my life right now besides family. Just any woman. It almost feels like an addiction at this point because I just can't get it off my mind. Even just having short casual conversations with women I don't know sends my heart fluttering with daydreams and what-ifs until we inevitably part ways a few minutes later and it all fizzles away back into cold reality. I got so worked up about it I even wrote a love song about a girl who doesn't exist and leaving my boyfriend to go be with her. I don't even write music. I can't sing or play a single instrument. I'm down that bad.

I don't really have a point to saying all this. I just needed to get it off my chest. I want to be with a woman more than anything I have ever wanted in my whole life and its tearing me up inside that so much of my life right now revolves around acting cute and sexy and romantic for men I don't necessarily want but unfortunately need.