#gonna pin whatever my most recent thing is to the top of my blog i think

[livecrow]

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

(cw: noncon)

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[imagine-this-overwatch-blog]

Adoptable requests

If any other writing blogs would like to fill some of these, I’m sure the requesters would appreciate it! Thank you!

You can probably write this later something but, I have acne scars and get zits on my butt, boobs and thighs, I’m thiccc fam, and I get so scared of someone seeing it and like ugh. This has came to my head before of like hanzo having the most flawless skin and then you have me with pimples and scars on my butt like I’d be so scared for him to see em

Hi! Could I have Jesse Mccree and a younger so (nothing crazy everyone’s legal) and they both have feelings for each other but both are too scared to act because the s/o feels like he would never be into her and Jesse feels like she would never be into him and feels like he would be taking advantage of him

Hi!!!! May I have okami!Hanzo (the werewolf not just the white haired old man lol) who’s in a rut, with a sweet thicc™️ s/o who’s more than willing to be bread by him?????? Thanks~

May I request a doe!reader w/ human!Hanzo? Possibly human!McCree if you do more than one character in a request! If not, thanks anyway!

For the skin thing, could you write something with Mystery Man McCree where him and his S/O are partners like Tonto and the Lone Ranger? Sorry I’m just a huge western show nerd 😂😂

My friend, may I request some sub!Reinhardt? Both nsfw and sfw. I feel we lack content with a submissive buff german boy <3

What headcanons do you have for oni genji :D one of my headcanons for him is that (after he's "killed") he wonders around the forest he lives in and searches for lost children (the forest often have many since theres a small village nearby) he guides them out of the forest so they don't get taken by the mean witch mercy who will turns them into frogs or ingredients for her spells (she doesn't but the villagers believe she does)

Headcannons for islander roadhog? Like, who is he? Where did he come f r o m

Young!Hanzo, Okami!Hanzo, and/or Scion!Hanzo! Pretty please!

Can I request some headcanons around getting Blackwatch!Moira's attention?

Camgirl (or boy) adopts hybrid of your choice, hybrid of your choice gets introduced on screen (after consenting of course), hybrid of your choice immediately becomes a fan favorite, hybrid of your choice has just stolen your show and donations.

Hey! Can I please request some shower sex with McCree and a fem!S/O? Gotta get dirty while getting clean, am I right?

All these hybrid AU makes me happy ❤❤ but what if we have kitty!Reader hybrid instead?? Which ow boys gonna love it? And which boys likes kitty!reader with brave and naughty, and which gonna likes it with timid and obidient??

Can you please do a nsfw scenario of junkrat sleeping with a virgin reader? Thank you!

Can I request Jesse or Hanzo with a hybrid panther s/o? Sfw or nsfw, it's up to you

Can I have an order of Genji with a fem!kitty!hybrid reader? I need some kitten play in my life honestly. Whatever you wanna do is fine (but bonus points for collaring and leashing)! NSFW is preferred! :')

Maybe some gentle fisting with McCree, with him being extremely vocal, dirty talking his small trans woman s/o

(NSFW) Poly McCree and Reinhardt with a shy and timid trans woman s/o who is nervous about telling them about her kinks (Mainly musk, feet/socks, size difference, daddy kink) as she's never had a loving partner before, let alone 2. The boys are happy to make her feel nice and loved, while also being naughty and kinky themselves

Hello!! I saw up top it said you were open, but I apologize if not just in case. How about some Hanzo with a housewife kink?? Maybe she can cook exceptional well too? Thank you so much for being so open! Have a great day!!

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako getting jealous? Thanks!

Can I request platonic!Hammond and reader? Like she is a resident of Junkertown that lives near the outskirts of Junkertown and found out about Wrecking Ball’s identity? She’s practically giddy about him being a hamster and gives him a place to stay and work on his mech and Hammond is very grateful. I think it would be fun to be best friends with an adorable hamster!!

How would Genji, Hanzo, Mcree, Mercy, 76, and Reaper feel about an s/o that’s younger than them? Like someone in their twenties while they’re in their thirties or older?

JABDOCIDBWBDKDKS I'm a recent follower and I'm screaming some of your hcs are just so GOOD???? Pls hit me with all that Good Shit©. If it's by any chance okay, could I maybe request Hanzo with fem!s/o that is initially headstrong, but secretly has an omega/housewife kink?? (I'm not sure if I'm using the AU right so sorry in advance.) Thank you so much for always being so open and kind!!! ❤❤

Maybe some headcanons for Brigitte and a hybrid Lion!Hybrid S/O? Fem or gender neutral is okay! Idrc if they're sfw or nsfw I just enjoy your hybrid AU. Do as you please with request! 💕

How about McCree with a puppy hybrid fem!so whose going through a particularly rough heat. Perhaps she's getting false pregnancy vibes, collecting his things behind his back and making a nice nest of it to comfort herself during these trying times. :')

If it’s okay may I please have a scenario where Genji’s been gone for a couple days on a mission and when he gets home he walks in on his girlfriend masturbating and whimpering his name and he just watches for a few minutes before pinning her to the bed and eating her out? Thanks in advance and I hope you’re having a great day :)

Could a hybrid s / o rabbit with a kitty! Genji / kitty! Hanzo?

Could you do Brigette with a chubby fem! So? Like, her gf sees cute couples doing piggybacks all the time and is a little sad bc she thinks she’s way to heavy for Brigette to handle?

Junkrat with a hybrid tiger!reader who growls and hisses at people they dont like and are generally moody except with Junkrat? Like, they'll usually avoid most people but when they see Rat their ears perk up and they stick close to him and just enjoy his company.

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako trying to flirt with a crush? Thanks!

reader is on the enemy team, but our heroes have taken a romantic liking to them (and vice versa). during the middle of their ultimate in-battle, reader pulls them in for a kiss ('stunning' them, thus cancelling their ult) in order to save their own team. by the time the kiss is over, the heroes' ultimate timed out, and reader scrambles back to their team for safety. how would Reaper, McCree and Genji react?

Some NSFW for a nice shiba!Genji? Perhaps he's hit a rut and his fem!so wants to be able to help him out a bit.

[amiafairyprincessyet]

I absolutely love your blog! Your outfits are so well put together, and the whole thing has a really nice positive aesthetic. I'm curious though, what got you into fashion? And how did you learn to curate your look?

Thank you so much!  And I’m afraid my answer for this stuff is always a bit useless, because I’ve been obsessed with fashion since I was old enough to be obsessed with stuff in general.  A lot of the stuff that I do when putting an outfit together is completely instinctual; I just know what works and what doesn’t.  I can tell you that these shoes won’t work with that dress, but I can’t tell you why.  (I have the same problem with grammar and writing conventions, since I grew up reading so much that I never consciously learned the rules.)

I can give you a few tips on how to curate a wardrobe/aesthetic, but they’re pretty general.  But also very long, as it turns out, so let’s continue this under the cut.

The first thing is just figuring out what you like and what you’re going for.  I recommend using something like Pinterest and just pinning stuff every time you see something you like.  It can be all kinds of things–runway models, someone’s selfie, a photo of a landscape, etc.  After you’ve been doing this for a while, scroll through the board and think about recurring patterns.  What are some things you keep seeing over and over again?  Are there any colors that are present in most of the pictures you’ve pinned?  Looking at that, you can figure out some stuff that you really want to incorporate into your aesthetic.  Let’s use me as an example; looking at my Pinterest, I’m noticing some patterns.  Right now, I seem to be into:

earth tones and neutrals, esp. dark green and off-white

stripes

athleisure

draped, loose stuff

fun details, like jewelry and embroidery

(My Pinterest actually tends to lag a little behind what I’m really into, because now that I’m a High Level Fashion™ I kinda do things in the reverse order of what I’m advocating here.  So I’m actually into more tailored, somewhat professional stuff now.  But this is a good way to start out.)

So I’ve got that.  Now, I might think about my closet–what stuff do I already have?  I definitely have some draped/loose stuff, and plenty of earth tones and neutrals.  I also own a lot of jewelry, but I don’t wear most of it.  So if I want to move closer to this aesthetic I seem to like, what do I need?  I need striped stuff–I don’t have much–and athleisure clothing.  I also might want to look for some embroidered stuff, and I should sort through my jewelry and get rid of the stuff I don’t wear.

With that in mind, I can go shopping.  I find that having a list like this really helps keep me from a) spending too much, and b) buying random crap that doesn’t actually work in my wardrobe.  If I know that I’m looking for stripes, athleisure, and embroidered stuff with an emphasis on earth tones, neutrals, and loose-fitting things, that rules out a ton of clothing!  I can also go through stuff I don’t wear very often and see if any of it fits what I’m into, and maybe that clothing will get a second chance instead of getting donated.

(I do also recommend getting rid of as much clothing as possible, basically, because having stuff in your closet that you don’t actually wear much can make it harder to see the stuff you do like and wear.  But I don’t mean “oh you should own thirty articles of clothing and No More” since I am absolutely a cluttered maximalist.  If minimalism works for you, cool, but I don’t recommend it as a hard-and-fast rule.  I just recommend getting rid of excess crap.)

Now, let’s say I’ve bought some new stuff, and pulled some old stuff out of the depths of my closet.  Combined with the stuff that survived my hypothetical closet clean-out, I have a pretty decent wardrobe set up.  It’s not totally complete yet, but I can definitely make enough outfits for most Life Stuff I have to do.  Next, I have to turn it into outfits!

(A note on storing clothes–I’m boring and practical and do it by function.  So shirts are together, dresses are together, etc.  But I’ve found that, when I’m in situations where my closet ends up jumbled, I come up with some cool outfits because I see two things near each other and realize they could go well together.)

When I’m getting dressed in the morning (or picking my outfit out the night before, if I’ve got my shit together) I ask myself three things:

What’s the weather going to be like?

What am I going to be doing?

What do I want to wear?

These questions all interact with each other.  For example, if I want to wear a crop top but it’s gonna be twenty degrees Fahrenheit all day, I’m shit outta luck.  But what if it’s going to be forty degrees, and I want to wear a light, summery dress?  I can make that work, with clever layering.  Unless!  What if I’m going to be outside a lot, catching buses and maybe walking through town?  Then I might want to wear pants; a lightweight dress in cold weather only really works if you’re gonna be mostly indoors, no matter how well you layer.

Let’s use today as an example.  Right now I’m typing this partially dressed–I didn’t have work this morning, and I don’t have to leave for class until 12:50 pm.  (I should be doing homework in this time, but whatever.)  So, what’s the weather going to be like?  It’s going to be in the low seventies, overcast, with a low chance of rain later.  What am I going to be doing?  I’m going to class, and then I have work in the evening.  I also rinsed my hair this morning, and the dye is fresh enough that it’s leaking/rubbing off on things a little still.  Since it’s wet, I want to leave it down to air dry.  That means I can’t wear anything too light-colored on top, since my hair will touch it and stain it; if it was dry, and I put it up, I could wear a lighter shirt.  (It comes out with some stain remover spray and a wash in cold water, usually, but it’s not a risk I enjoy taking.)  With both school and work, I want to dress a little nicer/more professionally.  And, because of work, I have to wear a brightly colored top.  What do I want to wear?  Well, luckily enough, I want to wear a brightly colored top that I bought recently and haven’t had a chance to wear yet.  And it’s orangey-pink, so once my hair’s air dried a bit more, the stains shouldn’t show.

This top works with the weather (although I may need a light jacket) and what I have to do today.  Now, what should I wear with it?  My black pleated skirt would be cute, but I just wore it yesterday.  It doesn’t need to be washed, since it didn’t actually touch my skin and I didn’t do anything strenuous, but I don’t want to wear it two outfits in a row.  My dad just made a trip up to drop off some things I forgot at home, including some bottoms.  But none of those work; they clash with the top, aren’t right with the weather, or would just look a bit weird.  Maybe a pair of jeans?  It’s going to be cool enough that I can do that without overheating.  I think my mom jeans would look too ‘80s-in-a-bad-way with the shirt, but my skinny jeans would look nice!  And I can wear a random pair of compression stockings under them.

Now, with my skinny jeans, I have to wear boots.  Which ones?  Well, I also want to wear my newish watch, which will kinda match the shirt.  It has a brown band.  My brown boots will look nice with that, although I’ll need to remember to wear socks on top of my compression stockings, since those boots are a tad large.  The boots are leather, and I’ve never bothered to seal them, so I try not to wear them when it’s going to rain.  The chance is low enough, though, that I’m not worried about it.  But wait!  The brown boots have brass buttons, and the watch has silver parts.  Oh no, not mixed metals!  Well, I’ll have to make it obvious that it’s intentional–I’ll wear the chevron earrings that have a few different metals in them*, and I’ll mix it up with my other earrings too.  I might wear a necklace, if I can find one that I think works.

None of my jackets that I have with me at college work perfectly with the outfit, so I’ll just grab my olive green one with the daisies embroidered on it.  It’ll look fine, and I won’t include it in my photos.  With my makeup, I’ll probably do some brown, and I might mix some metallic stuff there as well.  I’ll most likely go for a darker lipstick, since bright ones would clash with my shirt.

So yeah, that’s my thought process picking out my outfit today–I started a lot of it last night, because I was thinking this was a day where I could finally wear that new shirt.  It looks like a lot written out like this, but I go through it pretty quickly in real life.

I hope that helps!

*this is why I wear that pair so often lmao

[venusdebotticelli]

hi! I’m sure you mean well, but (referring to the recent ed post) could you not tag art of trans interpretations of characters as rule 63? It’s not a “genderbend,” there’s not actually any design changes to the character and they’re very much the same as their canon gender.

Hi, I know exactly what you mean, anon, and I just wanna start by saying that you are absolutely right and Rule 63 is really not an adequate tag for trans fan creations of characters because yes, indeed, canon!ed is a boy and a trans ed is still a boy too, exactly the same gender. 

That being said, there is a reason why I still use that tag for trans fanworks, however inaccurate, and it’s mostly for archival reasons, but not only because of it. 

As someone who isn’t cis myself, and who has only been properly thinking about and exploring my own gender for the past few years, any fanwork that deals explicitly with the gender of a character in a way that canon doesn’t has always been fascinating to me, and I’ve always wanted to keep a collection of that on my blog in an easily searchable tag. 

I started using the tag “Rule 63″ mostly because of its ambiguity. Both the terms “genderbend” and “genderswap” sound horrifying to me, and I absolutely did not want those to be my tags for it. For “Rule 63″, I know the original source of it has terrible wording along the lines of “opposite sex” or whatever bullshit, but I’ve seen the explanation of it reworded enough times that, in my personal experience, it’s actually more uncommon to see the original wording connected to it. In the fannish circles I’ve seen it most used in (which admittedly are probably schewed towards my own preferences anyway), it’s usually used as shorthand for any kind of play with a character’s given gender presentation or sex characteristics or anything else along those lines. But anyway, not to derail from the point, I adopted it as my tag because unlike terms like “genderswap”, it doesn’t straight up tell you the meaning you should abscribe to it, but instead your understanding of it depends on other context cues--which is very much how I relate to my own gender, in a “fuck concrete labels and make of it what you will” sort of way. 

When I started using it, it was 100% for fanworks that took amab characters and portrayed them as afab instead, or the other way around, for the simple reason that I’d simply never seen anything other than that. But then one day I came accross trans and nonbinary and genderqueer fanworks and I lost my fucking mind because it was??? the most amazing thing?????? I’d ever seen in my life???????? 😍😍😍 And I wanted to keep them in the same tag as the other fanworks, because they please me and fulfill me in the exact same way, so the ambiguity of “rule 63″ served me just fine, even if I am aware it’s not really always the most accurate.

Now, that said, if I am aware of its shortcomings, why don’t I just stop making excuses and change it to something like “Fandom Gender Exploration” or “Fandom Gender Play” or anything more accurate? Apart from my general allergy to well-defined labels, I also happen to have thousands of posts in that tag, and xkit’s tag replacer function has literally never worked properly for me, which would mean doing it by hand, and I’m just never gonna do 😬

Anyway, I know this answer is verbose as fuck, but I do realise that this entire thought process is not exactly something that can be implied within my casual use of the tag, and it has probably been years since I actually discussed this on my blog, so I hope you don’t mind I take this ask as a chance to talk about this at length again 😅

Because you are right, trans men ARE men, no caveats about it, it’s not a different gender as in canon. But within my own adhd-fueled convoluted mess of a tagging system, that’s the tag it falls under, and I will keep this post pinned at the top of my blog for a while as a disclaimer, because I really do not want to be disrespectful towards trans people, and as I am gonna keep making use of the tag for my own personal reasons, it does deserve an explanation. 

[travelwithannmoses]

Network Marketing Business | 3 Proven Ways using the Internet to Grow Your Business

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Friends of mine, who have earned tens-of-millions of dollars in network marketing, are FINALLY starting to publicly concede that Internet-based recruiting works!

In fact, despite being “hush, hush” in most circles, it’s one of the most effective network marketing strategies ever.

Now, I’m not just talking about prospecting via social media, but actual marketing strategies as well.

“Internet marketing” simply means using online branding strategies: advertising, Facebook Pages, video blogging, email blasts, etc.

It always perplexed me that many leaders have this belief that Internet recruiting strategies are a “distraction,” especially given the fact that many top earners have gone on to build their online brands using… well… Internet marketing!

Specifically, a type of Internet marketing we call…

“Attraction Marketing,” which focuses on building a loyal following and a trusted brand online

…where people will literally buy anything you recommend because they know, like, and trust you.

Over the years, I have seen many people build successful network marketing businesses using the Internet, but since the majority of the industry still doesn’t subscribe to these Internet marketing strategies, most leaders maintain the belief that it can’t be done and refer to it often as a “distraction.”

Recently, however, I attended a private gathering of about 200 top earners (some of whom you’d know doubt recognize), were many people who had built their organizations partially or even entirely online using pretty diverse Internet strategies.

These top earners were being recognized for their success and demonstrating that network marketing can be done successfully using the Internet through a diverse number of online network marketing strategies.

And believe me, I was paying close attention to these leaders when they stood up and shared, as did everyone else.

So, in the spirit of full transparency and disclosure, I’m gonna share with you the top 3 Internet-based recruiting strategies that are being successfully used by top earners to build network marketing businesses today!

This strategy is an approach which will seem pretty familiar in network marketing. It’s prospecting but with an online twist.

Now prospecting on social media is NOT “Internet marketing,” however it still beats camping out at Walmart.

But that’s just the start.

This is the process my client Jason, who is a 7-figure producer in network marketing, teaches to his team after their warm market runs out…

1.) SEARCH

Use Facebook Search to find “Friends of Friends” who live locally (at least to start with).

There are a few reasons for doing it this way…

First of all, Facebook allows you to directly message “Friends of Friends” so that your message goes into their main inbox instead of the “Other” inbox that most people don’t even know exists.

Secondly, you start with local because it will allow you to eventually meet face-to-face with them to form a more powerful personal connection.

Given that you have no prior relationship, it’s important to meet.

2.) QUALIFY

Next, you take a minute to look at their profile and identify key interests that might resonate with you personally, your business, or your products.

You are also looking for more subtle things:

Are they smiling in their pictures?

Are they outgoing?

Do they seem to be a positive person?

Bear in mind, you are prospecting, but you are also qualifying them.

For example, an interest in Robert Kiyosaki might indicate an interest in entrepreneurship or diversified income streams.

An interest in CrossFit indicates an interest in health and wellness, and that might resonate with your company’s products.

3.) MESSAGE

Then you craft your first message to them, which believe it or not, follows a somewhat standard prospecting approach.

You can come up with a template, but each message will be tailored to them specifically. This message will mention the friends you have in common.

You mention that you’re a recruiter for a “health & wellness company” or whatever the niche is, you’re “expanding in the area,” and you ask if they are “open to earning extra money?”

As Jason described it, “You throw the ball in the air and see if they swing back at it.”

You DO NOT want to be posting copy & paste messages with links to sign up for your opportunity.

Not only is that not effective, it’s considered SPAM by Facebook and can get your account shut down and get your company in trouble too.

In this initial message, you aren’t giving them any info or links. You are simply trying to get them to express an interest.

4.) BOOK

If they “swing back,” book a face-to-face meeting, if local, or at least get them on the phone.

You just let them know that details are better explained in person and…

If we were to work together, it’s a good opportunity to see if we would like each other!

At this point, if they meet with you, hopefully, your company or upline have provided a solid process for you to follow here.

According to Jason, he and his team experience about a 30% positive response rate.

If they don’t answer back, there are some different approaches here.

Some play it safe and leave the 70% that didn’t answer back alone.

Jason is an advocate of following up with a 2nd message 4-5 days later if they don’t answer back.

The 2nd message will usually double his overall results vs only sending 1 message.

Sending a 3rd follow-up message is not recommended.

At this point, you assume a “NO” and move on. Being pushy is a sign of a bad network marketing strategy and will not fly in the online world.

But this is just the tip of the iceberg…

This process is pretty simple and depending on your personality, may or may not be great for you.

This pretty much involves posting your results on social media (i.e. setting the “mouse trap”) and waiting for people to express an interest via the comments or private message. (i.e “SNAP!!!”)

Additionally, to boost results, you can add a CALL TO ACTION to message you if they want more info.

From a ‘leading with the opportunity’ angle…

This would involve posting pictures and announcements about your ‘rags to riches’ story, income results, and the impact it’s made on your lifestyle. (Obviously, you can only do this if you’ve gotten results.)

I’ve seen people, who I know personally, deploy this strategy with great success, but I’m a person that is very wary of this approach as I can see you running into compliance or even legal problems if lots of people in your company are doing this.

I personally don’t like this angle because it can piss off your real life friends & family, but I know it can work well too because, let’s face it, most people have a desire for more income.

Alternatively, with a ‘leading with the product’ angle…

The mouse trap approach could be very powerful and usually more friend & company safe, especially if the results you are posting have to do with a personal or customer case study.

This angle will help you generate more customers and a few of those customers may express an interest in the business after they fall in love with the product.

We’ve seen this angle run rampant with weight loss challenges & case studies, which still work amazingly well, but can also work with other products if there is a clear and visible result that was produced from product use.

For example, I’ve seen people in travel businesses post pictures of their luxury vacation/trips and reveal how little they paid for that experience.

Or you can post pictures of yourself running a marathon, triathlon, or whatever that would not have been possible without certain supplements.

Essentially, show everyone connected to you on social media a desirable change in your life that was achieved in part or as a direct result of your product.

Once they express an interest, you follow whatever process you’ve been taught for closing people.

For closing offline after using strategy #1 or #2 for getting the prospect, I would recommend training by Tim Sales on presenting, closing, and enrolling new reps.

But if “closing” people is not your thing, then there’s my favorite Internet strategy for network marketing that I’ve employed in my business for the past 9 years…

This might FINALLY be the year we look at as the tipping point for when Internet marketing (i.e. passive online selling & recruiting) was finally legitimized as the powerful strategy it deserves to be recognized as in network marketing.

Remember the private gathering of 200 top earners I mentioned above?

Well, person after person stood up at the event saying they had built their businesses primarily using the Internet.

Now, if these folks were “only” 6-figure earners, the “old-schoolers” would dismiss their successes as “flukes” or “non-duplicatable.”

However, when 7-figure earners were asked to identify themselves a woman two seat from me stood up and openly said that she built online and described her strategy. (I later interviewed her to get a detailed account on what she did.)

What she outlined as the blueprint for her business was exactly a method we’ve been teaching at Elite Marketing Pro for over 10 years, which we call “attraction marketing,” taught in our FREE 10-Day Online Recruiting Bootcamp available here and published in our flagship product, Attraction Marketing Formula.

Others also stood up and shared similar approaches.

These folks didn’t message strangers templated messages online like in Strategy #1. They didn’t fill their friend’s News Feeds with promotions for an opportunity or product as in Strategy #2.

What they did was they created a truly PASSIVE way of making sure that when they woke up each morning…

They would have an inbox full of notifications letting them know that there were 10, 20, 50, or even hundreds of new prospects interested in learning more about their opportunity or product or mentorship.

Or, they would also have an inbox full of notifications of 5-10 new CUSTOMERS waiting to receive their product and excited about the possibility it holds for them.

Or, they would also have an inbox full of notifications of 5-10 new DISTRIBUTORS ready to get signed up (or possibly already signed up while you slept), waiting to be led in their new, exciting venture.

You see, just about every other type of business in the world is now using proven network marketing strategies, passive and scalable online marketing & advertising methods, in ADDITION to prospecting and referral based methods.

Why NOT your network marketing or direct sales business?

The only reason would be if it wasn’t a REAL business.

But you and I know better.

So, if you want to learn a strategy that is a proven way to build a real business online, you can learn more about it here via my bootcamp.

There, I’ll show you exactly what to do and how to position yourself, so you’ll never have to chase, annoy, pester, or beg anybody, ever, to take a look at your products, services, and business.

These methods allow you to build your business automatically—where prospects reach out to you (instead of you having to reach out to them) and all online!

The bottom line is that, in today’s age, you don’t need to be pushy, obnoxious, or overly-aggressive to build a successful business.

So if you’re ready to get started…

Just click this link to get immediate access to my FREE 10-Day Online Recruiting Bootcamp and start generating leads this week!

Just like anything else in business, this will take work and study.

But ultimately, you can enhance your skill set by moving your business into the 21st century, the online century!

Let’s do this together!

Much success!

Ann Moses

source http://travelwithannmoses.info/network-marketing-business-3-proven-ways-using-the-internet-to-grow-your-business/

[dominavontana]

Wed Aug 15 #sexed @sugartheshop Sensual Bondage with Pervertibles

Perveritble: any common often domestic item that can be used for a different purpose other than that originally intended by the manufacturer in a style that is part of a BDSM or kinky play scene

Below are three separate blog posts because ain't no body got time for that...separate posting bullshit.

I just want to go play in the woods.

1. Sugar classes, when sex workers lose clients to death, and the amazing Domme I met

2. The post I promised you yesterday

3. Summary of the successful summer tour (and whatever shit I decide to write about along the way)

First up...SUGAR

Below is the post I promised you yesterday.

 But before we get to that...please check out this  bondageworkshop I’m teaching on August 15 in Baltimore at www.sugartheshop.com. Tickets are $25 and the classis 90 minutes, from 630 to 8. I always hang around til close because it’s fun and the teaching space is super gorgeous. The stores great too :) and they share the same space…

 On a more personal/professional note, I’ve read about the grieving process particular to sex workers who loose long term clients. And now I am both proud and saddened to say I find myself for the first time at this place in my peculiar career. Both clients are regulars and souls that I genuinely enjoy, cleints who respect me and men I believe are a blessing to those who know and work with them, and especially those that may love them or call them family. Good people. I’m not sure what this chapter of my journey is going to have in store but I’m prepared to face it without fear or reservation, because as I see it? My job is to make every moment feel like life its self until the last moment the slave can retire to the great Master of us all, that quaking moment between here and forever.  

 Last Wednesday after my class at Sugar I attended the wake for the untimely end of the Baltimore Eagle and bumped into an amazing Domme with the verbal gymnastics of the best stand up can offer and she was dressed like a pin up doll, veil and all. And I wondered, why can’t we all be like that? When I discussed my style with her, professionally speaking, her replay was,

 “Oh honey, you work so hard, that’s why they have to pay you for it.”

 Such a siren with the sweet tongue was she that still I do not know if I am flattered, or being scolded.

 I liked her. It’s a lonely sport, topping the top 1%.

 One. More, Eclipse. This week. Then you can all breath but my ruler is gonna play hopscotch across my sky for the NEXT two months so I’m just gonna keep riding this ride and asking for patience because GD if I couldn’t slap a bitch on a day like today #PMSRealness B r e e e a t h e

 See you on the 15th.

2. Yesterday's blog post is about domestic violence, the kind I have lived with most of my life until now, so I'm finally ready. Let's all take a deep breath.

DV stands for a lot for a lot of things. Not just my initials, Domina (D) Vontana (V), but also...domestic violence. This post is a coming out story. This is my emotional psychological and mental #metoo moment. I’ll never be capable of sharing the stories of my multiple sexual assaults. I’m too much of a scorpio for that shit. Last week I picked up a new pickup truck and it’s been glorious. I’ve started rapidly checking things off my to do list at the farm that have lingered for months, years even. And then finally today the clouds part, the sky clears and FOR FUCKING ONCE there is sun in the sky on a Saturday. If you live in the Mid Atlantic you appreciate what I know. For those of you who don’t let me say this - I arrived back from Asia the last week of April. I arrived at the farm the first week of May. It has rained. Every. God. Damn. Day. Since minus maaaybe...a total of 2 weeks. Today is one of those days that makes up those two weeks and so I took a nice long drive through the country in my new truck. And that’s when I realized...I haven't been yelled at by a man in a year and a half. That is a record in my recent history. And by recent I mean the past decade, at least. Because strong women get abused too. Honestly, I’ve often wondered if my abusers didn’t take more pleasure in hurting me BECAUSE I was a dominatrix. My father was a Pisces and a preacher. My mother was a Sagittarius and a musician. If you know your astrology your cringing right now, and probably laughing. Both my parents were trauma survivors. Especially my father. He was as queer as his daughter here and just as charismatic and beautiful. My mother was the codependent to his addict and as the eldest child and a daughter I was expected to perform the role of caretaker to both. And it sucked. It sucked every single day. There wasn’t a god damn day that went by that there wasn’t some potentially humiliating and or completely unjust situation to deal with while the world outside the window carried on like inside everything in my life wasn’t completely absurd, completely violent and completely religious, all at the same time. Mind fuck is not even the word. Oh and the cherry on this shit cake is that the context for all of this is rural, white America where everyone knows your name and your business. The only place to hide is literally, the corn fields. My parents did their best. I know this now. And it was not that great. I accept this now. And that is why for most of my adult life I have loved men who returned my love with vicious emotional and often violent attacks. Some of these men I am still friends with and they may read this and be upset at me and that’s a price I’m willing to pay because the very reason I haven't been screamed at in the past year and a half is because finally, finally...I am putting myself first everywhere in my life, not just in the dungeon. It is a choice who’s time had come and a choice that has made me more available to the people in my life, not less. If I hadn’t had the figurative and literal space of the dungeon to practice speaking up for myself and EXPECTING to be heard I would most certainly be less fulfilled than I am today. And today I am filled with all the things that make life worth living - love, friendship, passion, creativity, community and family. And I’m almost positive that the only reasons I’m coming up with this blog post now, at this moment, rather than any other I’ve contemplated revealing the truth of my struggle is probably the intense PMS I’ve experienced during the full lunar eclipse on my moon. So bare with me, babes. And what the actual fuck is my part in all of this? I stayed. I believed the lie that obligated me to fix these men. I honestly thought I could heal someone, all I lacked was resources. Then I found myself in a situation with limitless resources and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference - the addict stayed sick for a very long time. Long enough for me to finally skip country and fulfill my expat fantasies and also to finally quit my codependent habit. Now I am in control of my life in and out of the dungeon and no longer suffer fools in any area of my life. And for that every broken bone, every stint in the ER, every bruise and every scar is worth it because I am free at last. Psst. Come closer. I have another secret to tell you. The final reveal. Remember when they said it was scary out there in the real world and so maybe we closed our heart chakras to feel safe? Turns out that is a red flag for predators that sends them knocking at our doors. It was only after I took the chance and did the work that I found myself starting to attract the kind of people and experiences I had always longed for that’s why recently when I felt my heart trying to close again I reminded myself that THAT was NOT the path to security. My brother (biological): “Once a woman realizes she doesn’t need you? It’s over.” 3. Summer Tour Summary

This note is to tell you Mistress had a wonderful summer tour and will be taking the next week off to do even more fun stuff, the old fashion way - without social media.

 Three a.m. and the gypsy finally rests, alone, on her bed. It’s been ten days and four states. At least 1,000 miles.

 I.am. so. Blessed.

 Several years ago I was up for a full ride to UNC so I moved to Chapel Hill. Thus began a period of restoration. My work is very demanding and there are few opportunities for training or mentorship. I left my vanilla life behind when I went pro out of necessity, not choice. This past week I visited the very people who gave me back my vanilla life.

 It wasn’t until this week when I stepped back into the wooded paradise I called home for two years that I felt like I was finally back from Asia. That yard is where the Japanese Ume plum blossom first appeared in January and I didn’t even know what I was smelling, but it was fantastic. Fast forward four months it’s April and I was stepping off a plane in Tokyo with just a backpack. My dream to change my life yet again started in that yard, and it ended there. Last week.

 Some people know what they want. I know what I don’t want. The path to perfection for me is a process of elimination, not acquisition. Turns out, I want less of myself and more of others. I want more experiences and less things. I want love. And beauty. And art. And laughter. And dialogue. And play. And I’m an introvert. So quality not quantity.

 I’ve spent much of my life alone, in one form or another, often literally alone. I admit that part of this lifestyle is self sustaining for me, if not self serving. But all good things must come to an end. Now that I’m back my gypsy spirit has managed to work out a reasonable circuit: Baltimore, DC, rest at the farm, repeat.

 So I’ll see you there (www.sugartheshop.com)

[sleeplesssecrets]

today is the fifth anniversary of my miscarriage. my middle school math teacher’s daughter just had a baby today. i dont feel anything. i never truly did unless someone else does. the day it happened i didnt express myself at all and i can’t remember what i was thinking exactly, i can just remember how much pain that was. it was nothing compared to full term labor, but at that time it was the most physical pain i had ever experienced in my life. the top three most insufferable physical pains i have experienced are labor, a miscarriage, and a disease i have i dont talk about because its not that big of a deal but when it happens it’s completely miserable. the worst emotional pain ive ever felt is hard to pin point because ive never really had a terrible thing happen in my life that affected me so bad emotionally. i guess the worst is having poor self image, which is an eh on the emotional pain scale compared to losing a baby to most people. my mom thinks im more sensitive about my miscarriage than i am. im more sensitive to her emotions. anyways im watching a new show i dont like so far and i hate how poorly they portray people. its just not believable. people dont talk to each other in code or fast and witty jokes all the time. people talk over each other and dont know what to say and dont say everything theyre thinking. i dont always have the right words or perfect story or best possible response. yesterday we were out with tanner’s grandparents and his grandma recently lost her mother. she said that losing her mom is a completely different pain than losing anyone else you love. and i awkwardly smiled nicely and watched her eyes swell with tears and didnt know what to say. i didnt want to say im sorry or that i understand or anything i obviously dont really mean. so i didnt say anything. i dont think im a very relatable person so i really dont know what to say. ive been trying really hard lately to be a patient and active listener and it’s paying off. it has it’s downsides but the best part is the more i listen the less i have to share. people love to talk about things and i have always been envious of people who cared about what other people had to say. people who listen and make eye contact and nod their heads and remember what people tell them. i always thought i was the type of person who didnt feel like i have to give up a part of me to be there for other people and it’s not like that. im not giving a single thing up from myself when i hear what other people have to say. not even my time. my time is relatively less important than having a conversation about anything with anyone. anyways i have one empty notebook on my bookshelf and i hate writing in real life for lots of reasons. the biggest one being anything you write is permanent, even if it was with pencil or whatever. you can burn the sheet of paper you wrote something regrettable down on and it doesn’t take away from the fact that you had to write something down and it was so bad you had to destroy it. ive written about a couple of my insecurities on this blog before and i realized how much they mean to me after i made them real by writing about them and posting it. it made them worse maybe. it doesnt help me to talk about things to myself. although i dont write to help myself, i write because i love to type and sheer boredom. nothing on this entire blog but the insecurities ive written about really explore myself. for my one empty notebook, ive been considering writing a couple major things down in it. and just keeping it on the bookshelf. i have had blatant secrets spelled out easy for anyone to see folded up in notes to my friends scattered on my bedroom floor and no one has ever had the mind to pick them up and read them. i could write about my greatest fears in that notebook and seal them away anticlimactically by shutting the book and putting it back where i had it. it’s the same meaningless notebook, same meaningless spot on my shelf, same meaningless arrangement with all the other same meaningless things i keep near it, just with fears and secrets and shadows and bottled up thoughts inside. i can take away from the realness of written out negative thoughts by storing them next to tanner’s unused bible and my high school graduation cd. but i probably wont do that. my next writing project is a google doc called in the case that i die. tanner gave me one condition about my dating life if he dies. and it made me wonder if i had any conditions for if i die. if i have any certain ways i want things to be after my death if it should happen so soon. i dont think i do but i cant know unless i start writing it haha. of all the things i fear, i dont necessarily fear death. ive come to terms with the end of my life. speaking of fear and death, i really miss roller coasters right now for some reason lmao. when i was little i would ride anything my height limit. if it went upside down, sideways, stopped midair, turned the lights off unexpectedly, or jerked you around i was not afraid. im still not, and i think im more of a thrill seeker than i thought i was. i dont say no to anything that feels dangerous but isn’t, like roller coasters. there is the inherent danger of them breaking, but if i die on a roller coaster i die happy. if i get severely injured on one i might think differently but that hasnt happened so im not going to worry about it. anyways. a question a lot of people have been asking me is what im going to do for my honey moon, and tanners parents are offering to gift us a cruise vacation after we get married, but tanner and i were talking about going next year when we have money again haha. i want to really enjoy it and whatever they say about money not bringing true happiness is stupid. having fun and having money overlap. and having fun and having other people’s money is the same thing ha. also, we have loosely planned a pregnancy... idk we havent talked it out details wise, but i want to have another baby before i never have another baby. my grandma had 5 babies like, 10 or 15 years apart i cant remember. and thats amazing and i low-key want that but also really dont. i think ill have one more baby, then start donating my eggs if im eligible. my mom hates that idea which makes me want to do it more. im a fertile but fragile human and i want to share my fertility with people by donating my pretty, smart lil eggs to people who will love them. women are born with all the eggs they ever will have in their entire life, but not all women have viable eggs and not all couples have uteruses at all. i want to extend the fruits of my womb to humanity. anyways im gonna go