#i dont think they have conversations about sex. like actual in-depth conversations

[lemotmo]

When that one AMAZING BLOG responded with “You guys have spent the entire hiatus letting people convince you that he's becoming an integral part of the show. That he's going to have storylines and episodes devoted to him and his past. He’s not”. 💀💀💀💀

Here’s what the BT fandom either don’t want to admit or don’t know (because they haven’t watched the previous seasons), this is NOT bucks first relationship. We have Abby (which was more her ARC, then bucks). But also having that relationship being the turning point for buck, buck 2.0. Then we get to Ali. While Ali and Buck didn’t have many scenes together, they gave us JUST enough to always know where they stood with each other. Next we have Taylor. You MEAN TO TELL ME, TAYLOR AND BUCK WHO WERE TOGETHER LONGERAND HAVE MORE SCENES TOGETHER, and their friendship, didn’t give her a “Taylor begins” or “main character” or “to be on the season poster” but will give it to Tommy???? Are we drinking stupid juice? This is someone who buck has been dating for 10 a total of minutes of screen time? You literally are saying that with YOUR FULL CHEST? Better yet, Natalia. Natalia could have EASILY been a main if they wanted. Why? Because they had the scenes. They had the depth. They had CONVERSATIONS. Buck and Tommy DONT. they purposefully chose not to, rather equate their relationship ship to strictly physical (given all the fucking sex jokes). So please, miss me with “Tommy main s8 bullshit”. Don’t they know, if they were to make Tommy a main (which they won’t), they would need to build an entire NEW set and hire more actors?? I truly don’t see ABC wanting to pay additional money for a NEW side character. 💀💀💀

That's what it always comes down to, isn't it? Most of these people haven't seen the previous episodes, so they don't know what these characters have experienced in the past seasons.

If they had seen all of the previous seasons, they would know all the above you mentioned.

Making a new character a main character is something that doesn't happen very often in shows. It mostly happens in shows where a main character left.

For example: Two main characters left SWAT last season, so they might be looking to make some beloved recurring actor a main character. Now that I think about it, that actually sounds like an awesome idea to me. ;) So, this is a strong possibility.

For 911 there is no possibility right now. And if they were to make someone a main character? It would certainly not be Tommy, but would most likely be Karen, since she has been there since the beginning of the show.

[doll-elvis]

I AGREE SO MUCH ABOUT CHILD BRIDE. i went into it knowing nothing about the author, and in the forward shes really emphasizing how crazily obsessed she was with priscilla so i guess i was expecting it to be a sympathetic view of her😭 definitely not. what is suzzanes problem dear lord. shes so convinced and desperate to tell you that priscilla was some evil teenaged succubus out for rockstar blood. jesus christ. like girl even if she actually was who gives a shit????? same goes for currie grant. i dont care if he showed the author concrete evidence on a golden platter that he was telling the truth. hes just such an obvious sleazeball. just disgusting……. and she dedicates like 300 chapters to him saying over and over again that he fucked 14yo priscilla and that she was into it. babe they couldve had a steamy decade-long affair and NOBODY would care because he is literally just some random creep ass loser 13 years older than her. and when it comes to his attempted rape of her hes literally like “no i didnt try to rape her i just [decribes attempting to rape her]”. i really dont know suzzanes backstory but she is insane.

but uh. anyways that aside i did enjoy parts of the book for the more in depth view of the story. like suzzanne has such intense bias that really shows throughout but even with that it was still a great way to understand some of the situations a little better… i wish elvis and me was a little more detailed but i can appreciate how and why it is. and i am strangely curious about the actual nature of priscilla and curries relationship (i dont think they ever had consensual sex but i do believe he attacked her before elvis left germany and that leaves me curious as to why she still hung around him afterwards... i.e. those pictures of her to send to elvis that he took)

sorry for the huge wall of text im just.... very .. intrigued? by the book? its just so bizarre and raises a lot of questions lol.

“Currie’s like “No I didn’t try to r*pe her I just [describes atttempting to r*pe her]”

YES THANK YOU!!

if I could, in my own words, summarize the transcript of the conversation between Priscilla & Currie it would be this ⬇️

Currie: I didn’t r*pe you

Priscilla: You forced yourself on me

Currie: I didn’t force anything, you just weren’t into it

Priscilla: So you didn’t try to kiss me?

Currie: Well yeah I was trying to kiss you, you just wouldn’t kiss me back. You were very cold

again that was just my own words so not the actual transcript but that is exactly what I got out of that conversation- which is Currie denying he forced anything on her while simultaneously describing just how unresponsive she was to his advances, so THANK YOU for articulating that perfectly

He is an absolute sleaze-ball as you said, and clearly did not realize he was incriminating himself throughout that whole exchange

like even if Currie’s version of the events were true (I highly doubt it), he still committed statutory r*pe. Perhaps Suzanne and him don’t understand the age of consent but a fourteen year old girl cannot consent to intercourse, so anything he may or may not have actually done to her is still R*PE, whether she seemed willing or not. I’m completely abhorred that a biographer would give a man like that such a large platform and not only that, but agree/go with the story he tells- I’m sickened by it

and god, his reasoning as to why he wouldn’t need to r*pe Priscilla is just the most insane thing I’ve ever read ⬇️

“I had at least ten girls that I could call any night and go have sex with them,” countered Currie. “I’m not bragging—at least ten. I didn’t need to rape anybody ”

excerpt is from “Child Bride” by Suzanne Finstad

okay like?? Ted Bundy had a longtime girlfriend and yet he still went out and s*xually assaulted and murdered women… what’s your point, Currie?

what also bothers me is that Suzanne Finstad is sitting on the full audio tapes of that conversation between Priscilla and Currie, and knowing her history of misquoting people and writing things that don’t line up with other testimonies, I wouldn’t be surprised in the very least if parts of that tape have been conveniently left out, or transcribed wrong, as she converted it from audio to text

like the whole 1961 photoshoot, as you mentioned, is something that I just wish I could hear Priscilla explain for herself

Priscilla Presley and Currie Grant in 1961

It does raise the question if what she said transpired was true why would she ever want to be alone with Currie again, and better yet, why would Elvis willingly put her in a situation like that?

Especially when he was aware of the attempted r*pe ⬇️

MARTY LACKER: “There was a guy who used to bring Priscilla around to Elvis’s house some, over there in Germany. He would take her home to her parents’ place, and then he’d go back to the barracks. Well, he was a scumbag. He was using cute little girls to get into the house, to be around Elvis. And he tried to put the make on Priscilla one night when he took her home. She says in her book that he tried to rape her. But he didn’t succeed. Elvis told us about it, himself”

excerpt is from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash

The only explanation in my mind that makes sense is that perhaps Currie Grant was Elvis’ only remaining contact in Germany- or at least the only person in contact with Priscilla- and since he was so desperate to see her again, maybe thought that the reward outweighed the risk

And obviously a 15-year-old Priscilla was still reeling over him leaving Germany and would likely agree to anything to please him…plus since it was Elvis who asked Currie to take the photos, maybe she thought if Elvis trusted him to do that, she could trust him as well ?

And although I doubt she intended too, Suzanne inadvertently said something similar when trying to do one of those logical fallacies that she does throughout the duration of “Child Bride” ⬇️

“Priscilla, despite her claim that Currie tried to rape her, was thrilled to oblige, “desperate” for word from Elvis, through Currie”

excerpt is from “Child Bride” by Suzanne Finstad

I feel like Suzanne is basically answering the dilemma herself despite her attempt to point out the inconsistency in Priscilla’s behavior (her being afraid of Currie, but also being around him)

Priscilla was willing to be photographed by her attempted assaulter as she was desperate for contact from Elvis and Currie just happened to be that link between them

and I have to say, my original response to the ask that I received about “Child Bride” was something that I was worried about posting as many of the more passionate anti-Priscilla crowd tend to treat it like it’s their Bible but WHEW- I am beyond relieved that so many people have also seen just how outrageous that book is, especially the narrative that Suzanne Finstad goes with- like as you said, trying to make a fourteen-year-old Priscilla out to be some “teenaged succubus” LMAOOO (that took me out 💀)

I honestly consider myself to be Priscilla-neutral despite what some people assume of me based on some my posts 🤧 and so because of that, I am very open to reading and discussing the valid criticisms against her HOWEVER- I have no time in my day to take someone like Currie Grant seriously so that is why the first half of “Child Bride” (chapters about Germany and what fourteen-year-old Priscilla may or may not have done) are just what ruin the whole book for me

And it’s a shame because again, there are some very valid things that Suzanne points out about Priscilla, especially the things that were left out of “Elvis and me”; like her inconsistencies in recalling certain events, her sometimes questionable character (treatment of others), her possible greed (suing and more suing) and the biggest one to me- her involvement in Scientology… but all of that is just dampered by Suzanne’s god awful commentary and god awful judgement

also girl please do not apologize for sending this in- I sincerely thank you for adding to the conversation about this book as I think these kinds of discussions are so beneficial and I’m just truly grateful to be able to have them with y’all- I’ve fr learned so much from your guys’ insight

and since there is such a surplus of information about Elvis (and Priscilla), I feel like the best way to navigate through it all is by breaking it down like this, and so if y’all ever want to talk about another book feel free to send in your thoughts <3!!!

[homophyte]

okay im going to be vulnerable and admit though ive owned house of leaves for a few months i was spurred to start reading it the other day after watching that video on myhouse.wad . no one make fun of me. that being said.

im not necessarily going though it super in depth and more just trying to unravel some stuff for funsies with some various help from old forums and what strikes me as sometimes glaringly missing from discussions on the book is the way it relates to women. like the fact that the house itself is treated as though it has a female identity will get talked about but theres not rlly discussions about the ramifications of that--how will and holloways posturing--named as explicitly about 'male dominance'--is essentially a fight over who gets to get the girl. wills early venture into the house is literally likened to karen kissing wax, like theyre BOTH infidelities, and thats not nearly the first time karen herself treats the situation like the house is her romantic rival or at least rival for wills attention (im not far enough in to have too solid a grasp on the implications of the name delial--but lets just say i have a suspicion?).

anyway whats maybe even more interesting than that is the way its kinda ALL about gender--its men who keep entering the house desperate to know what its about, its men driven to write about it and uncover its secret knowledge, and it drives them fucking crazy. like...you can read that--VERY EASILY--as men 'discovering' the ""hidden"" interiority of women, like, the very idea that women are complex people with their own ideas and emotions and inner worlds. the fact that the house has a secret inside is huge fucking news and just about every man in the novel reacts to it as such, but the reactions from women are like...not that. idk im not done with it by any means but the similarity between the conversations between karen & wax at the end ch VII and johnny & thumper at the end of VIII really apparent. when thumper is listening to johnny, seeking to understand him, being really invested and interested and not reacting with annoyance or disdain or boredom like he expects, it genuinely really knocks him out to the point he nearly cries--and then he bottles it up, writes it off, even when she echoes karens exact words flirting with wax he doesnt register it.

the text displays a consciousness around gendered expectations here, particularly bc thumper is a sex worker, that she cant be expected to intellectually engage w it, but she can and does...and then johnny doenst know what to DO about it, how to engage w a real moment of understanding between the sexes or whatever so he very consciously falls back on gender expectations for men and refuses to feel that connection, severing the tie he inadvertently built w her and consigning the moment to unknowable blackness. the void is invented by people determined to treat it as foreign--which often means treating it as hostile (holloways gun, johnnys suspicions when thumper didnt call him back).

that she ends with the comment 'you just need to get out of the house' is like...almost laughably on the nose especially w the way chauvanist culture has proliferated on the internet. like in the book too, dont get me wrong, its just so startlingly accurate to whats going on it seems like she really must UNDERSTAND in a way johnny fails to capture in his narration but still comes through due to her being kinda fucking great--sorry i REALLY like thumper in this actually she may be my favorite. its sort of difficult for me to look at the line and divorce it in my head from the phenomenon of the incel--read a certain way, you have johnny ranting and raving about how he just cant ever figure out what the collective 'woman' is thinking and all this time hes spent driving himself crazy about it, and thumper listening and understanding and very sympathetically and honestly saying 'that wouldnt be a big deal if you interacted w women instead of holing up inside trying to theorize about it.'

i dont necessarily think its a mistake that johnny is the kind of person he is, a partying womanizer or whatever, bc sex becomes his only interaction w women (his failure to talk abt the book w kyrie in favor or fucking her) just as entering the house becomes wills only interaction w it (or at least he rages when he cant have that interaction, he values it above others). the book is pretty clear about both of these acting as forms of penetration. as johnny gets more invested in the text he interacts more and more w the women zampano used as interpreters and comes more and more into contact w women and less and less able to deny their interiority.

the reaction from men that women are people is simple and plain disbelief, followed by disconnected, invasive, rigorous study, study that is likened to war, to surgery, to expedition--anything but understanding. its kind of baffling idk maybe im just not looking in the right place to see people talking about it but this sorta feels like...the point. hell even earlier in ch VII on page 91 you get will and holloway excitedly talking about calling the press about their huge discovery that no one will believe...and then just, karen, living her life, treated like an enigma. i literally have this written in my notes as "men discover women have internality; their wives decline to comment"

[schakira]

from the very depths of my core, i truly have had enough of men. i'm going to speak honestly here, and i really don't care if it seems excessive — i'm allowed to speak my mind on my blog. being a gay man is currently my most humiliating experience. to think that men would abuse of my kindness, manipulate me, lie to me, cheat on their boyfriends just to treat me like a weird fucking side piece, damn near sexually assault me, blackmail me, humiliate me... there was a time where a man touching me would make me feeling butterflies in my stomach but now a single touch feels like fucking needles on my skin.

to think i'd go through the humiliating experience of being in the closet, keeping myself from living my life freely, all to be insulted by my family, lose friends, and for men to absolutely treat me like shit? like a fucking object? do you guys only think with your dicks? and actually while i'm at it, that shit fucking annoys me. do you all just talk about dick and fucking and sucking 24/7? i get the sexual liberation but why is it that when i try to have a normal conversation, some guy tries to make it sexual. can't we speak earnestly? do you truly only desire sex from me? how is that treating me with the respect i deserve; i don't WANT you to see me sexually i want you to love me. when have we started confusing the two? you think i came out just for me to treat me like a fucking piece of meat? risked losing my family just for dick?

and while i'm on the fucking kinkshaming train, how is it normal to have such desires for weird relationships of power? raceplay? fucking raceplay? do you guys have to paint racist caricatures for your sexual desires is that something you oughta be proud of? the amount of guys that either want me to the be their big black daddy dick (DIE), or submissive black slave n*gger bottom (some words that were actually said to me...) and how you lot picture muslim men as fucking barbaric like some macho fantasy...? and then you TALK like you're proud of having those weird ideals? and how men would pursue me for being small and looking younger than my age? the amount of old men hitting on me when i looked fucking 15 at 19 years of age. the amount of nudes i received from random old men on the internet — how is that fucking fair? do i have to just sit down and act like that's normal, like we don't have to do better as a community? "blah blah no i dont wanna be a puritan blah blah" — i'm talking about establishing a baseline for respect? something that will make people treat me like a human being worthy of respect? and not a fucking sexual object? hello? does my consent mean nothing anymore?

to think i had to sit a man down, tell him "you damn near sexually assaulted me" and then he had the gall the fucking audacity to say "you're crazy you must be thinking of somebody else you were into it" i think you have to physically restrain me from not beating his ass to a fucking pulp. and now i have to what? live with that fucking nauseating feeling for the rest of my fucking life. and that's not even the worst thing that has happened to me but i don't wanna talk about it. there are men ON HERE that have truly destroyed my fucking self-esteem and i won't find any peace of mind unless i have a proper fucking apology

[nonbinarygamzee]

Dave thoughts? I'm very curious about your hatred for that guy (if that makes sense)

HAHA ok so admittedly maybe my posts about how much i hate him are a bit overblown because i basically think its really funny that he only comes up on my blog if i am being a hater. integral to understand that while i post "fandom" content on here that i dont really think of this as a fandom blog so much as a blog where i come to have conversations with myself and so naturally just bc of who i am a lot of my little posts are full of context and meaning i never bother to externalize because they are for me to reread later and have a little chuckle about.

anyways. theres a lot of reasons i find him grating but i can at least admit it that a lot of my annoyance has more to do with the way i was forced to slog through strider manpain posts endlessly as a teenager any direction i tried to look. when the fandom seemed hyperfocused on him and his woes while actively sending me like graphic gore at like age 14 for saying hey maybe this other character also deserves some sympathy and maybe even analysis that has more to say than why they are an evil irredeemable monster for being unstable as a child. which yknow that isnt daves fault but man even without that part it was tiring to see all of the emotional depth constantly boxed into his corner. and then to repeatedly have the comics itself affirm all of this as valid exploration and then ridicule me for My exploration. for many many years the strider manpainisms made me not bother with dirk just on principle even though today hes one of the more interesting characters to me! so i can admit im not being totally "fair" here but well. as usual i think the fandom darlings can handle a fraction of the disdain ive see thrown my favies ways constantly for over a decade.

and like none of that to say i dont Get why people do this with him or that he deserved anything he got as a kid or it wasnt abuse or whatever. let the records show that i think it is Wrong to terrorize your brotherson with swords and sex puppets. im a feminist.

more rooted in the reality of the comic itself though i just find it grating how often daves sole function in a scene is to be the authors mouthpiece and specifically often in ways where you are meant to implicitly agree with the things he is saying irregardless of whether they are a centrist gen x nightmare opinion because its also the larger opinion of homestuck as an entity. dave is far from the only character to do this and id say any of the characters you could comfortably refer to as the "protagonists" actually end up slipping into this fairly often. that said the other biggest offenders imo are karkat, egbert and terezi and i also have feelings of extreme ambivalence for terezi and to be honest an outright disinterest in egbert. so. i am at least consistent about it! karkats my special guy but i need him hunted for sport and tortured until he stops being this and largely the things he believe that make me feel that way heavily align with the opinions the comic depicts as mostly right and again tend to be moments hussies worldview is bleeding into the narrative especially openly.

anddd ok. i just find daves personality grating on top of it. i cant sit here and pretend ive never laughed at a dave strider dialogue but generally a lot of the parts people find very funny are parts i tend to come away having seen the thousanth iteration of dave having his worldview affirmed and getting to do some #awesome clapback at the person insinuating he even try to think outside of his own preconceived ideas about what things should be like. in general in a story so full of characters doing bad things it just grates on me that, while his offenses are certainly usually "minor" in the grand scheme of things, the lack of willingness to challenge them often just means like dave gets to be right and nobody remembers when he actually massively fucks someone else up or makes them feel worse. like to be clear none of this is a problem in that characters cant "do bad things", i literally like vriska, but it would be cool if we could at least like. acknowledge that theyre anything but entertaining even within the context of the universe where other characters should be allowed to be uncomfortable when hes actively creepy or uses their emotional breaking points as a soapbox for how He feels. but since it would cause this big rift in how homestuck itself presents the opinions it wants you to agree with, those characters just..... not only do not mind most of the time but even if they do its never in a way that allows them agency in the matter. thats the crux of it all for me actually, hes by far one of the most autonomous characters of the bunch and it feels frequently like his agency is at the expense of others because hes a self insert.

um ok tldr hes annoying and him being the Face of homestuck is like..... accurate but in the most painful nightmare way because he kind of just. Is homestuck. to me.

(and i actually do see iterations of him sometimes that i find compelling but they all feel so detached from how hes presented in the comic that it just feels like someones oc. all of this said also i actually kind of have an absurd amount of thoughts on how he would act post game (epilogues ignored here) just i dont bother to do much with em because dave likers would hate it and other dave haters probably wouldnt care enough lol. also always secondary info anyways, hes finally allowed irrelevency in My city)

[mythtakxn]

umm just ranting cause ive been thinking about this a lot

but feel free to ignore

so i sent one of my moots a tiktok of really just a generic skinny white boy in a crop top and running shorts (also cant forget the hair because like above shoulder length wavy/curly hair is my fave, and just idk a hair style i love)

and i said

and she was like "why do i get exactly what you mean"

and like idk ive been thinking about it more. ive always been wishing i was like /boy/ skinny ya know. and like other things

and when i didnt have other ppl. influencing my clothes & decisions in what i wear, like i always felt comfier not wearing skirts or dresses. and whenever i did it was like idk because i thought its what i should be doing or like because i thought ppl. would think i was attractive that way

like highschool me was legit like skinny jeans, band tees, converse. and then when i had my own money id like buy stuff from hollister cause i thought it would make me cool

and i still remember like one of my friends saying "i miss when you dressed cute"

cause by senior year i started dressing in band shirts again

and its so funny to me that like people in my "friend" group (and i use friend lightly) made up rumors that i liked girls which LOL (like i do now) and they were like why dont i date anyone? (like it was none of their business)

but its like? all teenage boys cared about was sex. and idk most guys in general.

and like ive known since i was 12 that i never wanted kids. and like i never imagined getting married. and just the idea of marrying a man is such an ick. (cause god imagine all the weaponized incompetence and just a million other things)

and its so annoying because i like some guys, and obvi slept with men. but ick id never wanna get married to one

and like one of my internet friends and i talked about this last year, and i think shes the only one i actually really talked to about this - but like there was this person at our job last year who was so attractive omg they (she? idk what their pronouns were) like short black hair, dressed kinda masc or like neutral. - and like my friend is the only one i really talked in depth about liking girls. and she was like even you have a specific type or only eve have a crush on one girl, you still like girls. and liking more like masc presenting doesnt make me not like girls.

i get off topic very easily but like im totally fine with people referring to me with like she/her pronouns.

but ive also been thinking about like "they" recently but i dont know. - reading online wasnt helpful and i was overthinking. and like gender is a fluid thing so i can also be like eh 🤷🏻‍♀️ not for me

idk if id ever wanna be a guy, but sometimes im just like damn i wanna look like that, i wish i could be like that

[talenlee]

Mistral Motion

I think about the responsibility I have to an audience.

TISM Play Mistral For Me

Watch this video on YouTube

One of the fun things about getting older is seeing the ways that things you have had in your head for a long time have endured. You get to see the thread reaching back all those years and how many things you’ve got that you do that you can connect to odd or interesting sources. Fox and I routinely reference Strong Bad Emails at one another, sometimes with the right level of levity (“look who thinks he’s clever dan“). Quotes from the Bible, inflections from 1990s sitcoms, the occasional idiom from a They Might Be Giants song. Sometimes, I’ll stop mid-sentence and we’ll have a little chat about oh, huh, I guess that’s where that’s from, huh.

These are literally memes; they’re transmisable ideas, things that cling to the memory and can be easily exchanged, which in turn promotes their existence. They are used for a meaning below their exact meaning. If I say someone’s Clever Dan it’s bringing with it a framing that speaks of children’s cartoons.

It takes a great person to get an idea But don’t go public, it’ll ruin the plan ‘Cause no matter how intelligent or clever you are You’re only as good as your fans

There’s this band I like, TISM. You’ve probably heard me mention them. If you’re on the internet of the right age range, you’ve probably heard their song Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me, a song bemoaning, christ, yeah, one’s access to sex. The realisation that the parents that warned you against sex had more sex than you, like people with plate fulls of cookies warning you that you’ll get fat if you have too many, kinda thing. It’s a fun song, and it had a fun video.

I didn’t discover TISM until I was out of the cult, and really, in the early 00s, so I was already by most accounts an adult. But the impact of TISM on my mind and life was pretty deeply stamped. When I found them I found earlier albums, and they had just the right kind of depth of lyrics and breadth of reference – and a fun conspiracy theory about their identities – to reward me for digging into what they were saying and why. I like them, I like what they were trying to do, even if I dont like their methods.

There’s this song, Aussimandias, which I’m not linking here, but which seems to be a bunch of early 90s guys wondering about the extremely Australian attitude towards racism which is sports teams that don’t have any actual motivation for their hatred but know they want to fight one another. It’s a good first step into the conversation, to consider how ridiculous the need for violence is, and to make fun of it. Wish it didn’t have an N-bomb in the chorus, though, even though it is specifically a reference to another song with the N-bomb in the title.

Peter Garrett chanting “Oils! Oils!” Can you imagine it? I don’t think you can As a Mistral employee once told me You’re only as good as your fans

The stuff TISM talked about was very much Australian stuff. Consider in the song here, the one whose lyrics break up this article like images. It’s called Play Mistral For Me, which is a pun on Play Minstrel For Me, which is a mis-quote of a Shakespearean phrase — to ‘play Minstrel’ was to take on the role of the minstrel, to play a servant for entertainment. It was like saying you would make fun for an audience, or that you would take on the role of a performer. It’s also a reference to Play Misty For Me, which is a horror film about a Radio DJ being pursued by an obssessive fan. And the fact that these are both part of the conversation is a telling sign of the kind of people TISM were.

Mistral was Australian’s most widely recognised local brand of fans. You know, the big things with whirly bits that propel air around to cool a room. Turns out this is a country that had a big market for fans and wanted them everywhere, what with the heat. It’s a specific reference that I need to explain to you, because I know that even if you’re Australian, you’re probably young enough to not remember Mistral as a brand. Because I think of you as my fans, and I think of how what I share makes meaning to you.

There’s a confidence in TISM’s music, a willingness to present themselves as stupid while also presenting themselves as willing to think about challenging ideas in the language and demeanour of the unserious people. In this song, they sing about how musicians and their fandoms relate, and the strange painful coda of the refrain:

Each man kills the thing he loves The fisherman caught in his own net It’s frightening that you deserve The audience that you get

This is one of those ideas that lasts in my head. One of those sticky memes. One of those ideas that I can pull apart and look at in many ways. Am I beholden to how I want to be perceived? Am I tangled in the net, because I don’t want to – say – include a link to Aussiemandias, as if you might click on it and go ‘hey, Talen, this song from the 90s is pretty racist,’ when I’m already saying it’s pretty racist?

The idea that you deserve the audience you get, in its worse moments, makes me think about how my readership on this blog works. Time to time I see people on Reddit talk to me about what a relief it is to see someone with a blog, someone who has put their stuff on a website and not on some other ephemeral bit rottable place like a discord post or a screenshot of a tweet.

But there’s also a grimness to it.

You deserve the audience you get.

Who am I entitled to reach? If I deserve the tiny audience I have, the audiences of those people with millions, do they deserve them? I tell people success is random so I have to think that’s true. I have to centre this not on what other people and other audiences are doing, but my audience. What can I say about them? What does it say when you can look at your audience and imagine them being upset at things you want to say? Is your audience shitty people?

Is your audience the kind of people who would say ‘I don’t see anything wrong with Aussiemandias, after all, it’s just a song?’ ‘Cos, you kinda are responsible for that then. You should do something about that. You should take responsibility, since you did something to deserve that.

I had an organic growth on Youtube (sounds bad like that) a few years ago. I commented on one person’s videos, and a viewer of that came and looked at my stuff and looked at what I said and decided that they wanted to see more. And then in one of my videos, they saw that I said ‘Cis’ about something, and complained about using the made-up word. And I thought for a moment about getting into a fight with them in Youtube comments, and if that was fruitful. After all, this is a person who was doing what I wanted, I wanted comments and I wanted growth and I wanted more subscribers just because a number going up is what I was promised if I made sincere content I found interesting.

I told them they were wrong, and got rid of the comment, knowing this would probably stop them paying attention to my work and tell whatever algorithm gods that suggesting my work to other people was a bad idea.

Because that’s my audience. I need to cultivate it. I need to be mindful of who I am making comfortable and who I want to be uncomfortable. I can’t make my space safe for everyone, and I don’t think I should, nor do I even want to. But I know who I want to make uncomfortable.

I know what I don’t want in the fans that I get, and I know who’s responsible for that.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[robotpanties]

Ok so this is coming from someone who hasn’t engaged with the fandom in a while so my memory might be a bit off.

there’s multiple ways for cybertronians to reproduce but I’ll focus on the pregnant one (mostly)

So every cybertronian has a spark, their life force, in a way a “soul” simply a big energy ball

and they also have protoform which is… their living metal, the groundwork of their body sorta thing. If a baby was gestating it would be the start of/most of the body being constructed.

tbh the fanon pregnancy is pretty much like human preggers with little to no difference, but I know some? fics have “keep fucking to grow that baby”, using transfluid (sperm) as a building block for babies?

There’s multiple ways more cybertronians come into existence, depending on the continuity. But to my knowledge the more human pregnancy one is purely fanon.

uhuhghuhu sorry if this incomprehensible…

(Also I get it, re: avoiding it. There’s so fucking much going on, and depending on which continuity you get into too! There’s 50 thousand different universes for this franchise!)

also if you don’t mind, what was the outcome for the baby swordsmachines? Like, how did they come about? (They sound adorable🥺)

oh dont worry anon this wasnt incomprehensible at all, you explained it pretty well i think i kinda get the idea. huh. neat! living metal.. the 'keep fucking to grow that baby' is kinda funny though. respect to the transformers fans for whatever that is

as for the baby swordsmachine thing it was a combination between agony and tundra :) which is why theyre pink n purple. it came abt from a conversation with my friend Dreamy who had the idea for beby swordsmachine. the concept strays much further from how it works in humans though... robot baby is kinda... either a copy of one or a combination of two or more machines and their functions n programs (however it gets a bit more confusing the more you add to the mix OR if the machines are so different that theyd seem almost incompatible).

baby starts out kind of less like a baby and more like a chip (probably wrong term but just roll with it man). its consciousness starts out there, and to actually give it a body machine parents will have to scrap together parts and pieces to build a body, usually based on its own blueprints and its partners blueprints. sometimes these dont mesh well, but other times it works out alright :) s2g though a good chunk of scrap baby construction is going against the blueprint so it just kind of Slightly resembles the parent.

similar to how humans grow, USUALLY once they get their first bodies its rather small. its a temporary body, and will be changed to suit the needs as time passes. until it does get a body though, typically the chip will be held onto, stored somewhere inside the body. it can really be stored anywhere but its easier to keep track of something if its attached to you.

there doesnt really have to be sex involved with it it can just. happen. its got a lot of potential for weirdness + slightly more in depth discussion abt why shit like this happens in the first place

[sostrangerous]

I finally got around to reading your new update and all I can say is I need to give Mark a hug and then push him to go to therapy. I really like reading the dynamics with Jeno, Jaemin and Mark. It seems that Jaemin is trying to pace his relationship with Mark and be sensitive but it might frustrate him at times? And I would understand Jaemin if that was the case. Because like the conversation about touching was interesting because if I was Jaemin I would be hesitant to want mark to touch me or par take because Jaemin is actually out of the closet gay and Mark literally in the chapter before said he wasn’t gay (side eye by the way. Like how are you not even questioning your sexual identity after having sex with not one but two men!!??? Come on Mark!) so I can see how Mark is giving mixed signals to Jaemin. Also I’ve noticed the shift in the dynamics is mostly Jaemin and Mark communicating about real issues. Like Mark wants to just assure Jeno he’s fine and drop it but he’s much more vulnerable with Jaemin and seems to be willing to have more in-depth moments with Jaemin. Like I wonder if this is because mark was like I don’t think of Jaemin as a friend so it’s a bit easier to tell his secrets to? Cause he hasn’t even been so open and honest with Hyuck of Renjun like he’s been with Jaemin. Even if he wants to keep details to himself it’s seems Jaemin knows a lot about why mark is the way he is.

mark is the king of giving mixed signals, jaemin would be absolutely right to get irritated by it and give up. but he's also very stubborn... i wrote him to be a bit like me, in several different ways.

i try to be careful about discussing character motivations and internality through asks and comments, because i don't want to word-of-god things into characters heads. i think characters should speak to the audience through the words on the page. but ALSO sometimes i dont even know exactly whats happening in my characters heads myself

like you pointed out that mark initially feels more comfortable telling jaemin secrets because he doesn't consider him a friend, and i think you're totally right!! but i didn't have him act like this on purpose, or least i didn't articulate it to myself in such clear terms when i started writing. and you're right, he doesn't tell hyuck or renjun anything, either. much to consider!!!! writing is very fun :]

[lunaticbronde]

As a recently 26er, i have been feeling some sort of inadequacy. While I got my degree, and a job, i feel stuck in this position for the foreseable future, still depending a lot on my parents, no prospects of a salary increase, no prospects of love.

That last part is not completely true, i suppose. I have been talking to some guys, but they dont seem to be the right ones. I just keep them around for the ocasional date and sex. I wonder if it makes me a bad person, but everybody takes what they can get.

Am i wasting my last few good years? Im also pissed at society for establishing these unwritten rules that there are certain steps towards what is supposed to be a good life. I should not feel like im in my last good years while im only 26. But I do.

Will it make me make some stupid desicions? I hope not, but I am aware its a very real possibility.

I have been feeling... Dissasociated. Like in a limbo. Like i am not living my life, or like my actual, real life is not what I am experiencing. I know this is above anyones paygrade, other than a psicologist, but thats another wrong thing with me.

I have never been to therapy. I like the idea of it, i just dont think I could open up to anyone, and its easier to write about it.

So back to my love life.

I have two possible dates this week. I suppose I like both guys, in different ways. One is a tatted up lawyer who calles me baby. I hate being called baby. That one was a surprise, i previously did not expect him to have any depth, but conversation is interesting. I think we might not be very compatible sex wise though, but I suppose I will be finding out some time soon.

The other one could be relationship material, but he is vegetarian, and i literaly have no food for him on my pantry. Is it wrong on my part to think we are not compatible just because of that? There is something else, i don't think he has a plan for his future. Also, he sort of seriously joked that we could not have a relationship because i dont swallow. Who says that? He has a way with his hands though... Its like he knows the pleasure points other man just seem to ignore exist. We are uncompatible, i just wish we could fit. But I will enjoy him until one of us gets bored.

Oh, and dont even get me started with the one thing really wrong with my love life. I am still very much infatuaded with one of my exes. The one I thought I would marry. The one. We broke up, i actually wanted to break up with him, but I didn't consider that I might never get over him. It has been about 5 years I think. So yeah, i am real fucked up.

I do not want a relationship, i want to be free, so I dont even know why I keep torturing myself trying to fit some guy in the picture. I suppose part of it is because i feel lonely, but thats when we come back to that clock ticking society thing I hate.

I want to travel, i feel like there are greater things for me in the world, but I am stuck in this place, in this job, with these mediocre relationships, getting wasted on something every weekend and making bad desicions every once in a while just to feel like i am alive, with no regard for the consequenses.

I dont necesarily hate my job. I hate that I dont feel like i can do it, i feel like i dont have the tools, and i feel its not a passion, its just a thing. I am a creative person, and i am not using that side of myself right now.

I feel like im a train that its on fire, but still rushing to a destination not even the driver knows, while trying to put away the fire with glasses of booze.

I also recently lost my dog. I had her for over half of my life, since I was 10 years old. Thats a whole lot of unpacked feelings I refuse to open. I will write about her some day.

Oh, that guy I like but think we are not compatible, he likes to analyse me. He threw some bombs last time we were together, that felt like a poke to an exposed nerve. He says that I dont like to open up because i dont want to be hurt like i have been in the past, so while I fool myself thinking I can open up, i can only do it sexually, not with my feelings. He was right. He also said that the music I listen to is melancholic. I didnt think so, but he might have a point.

Which came as a surprise to me, because i considered myself a happy and optimistic person. Hell, my mother calls me every time she is feeling down because she says my good mood is always contagious.

But if my music is melancholic... It makes me question if its a facade. Am i happy? I dont think I am. Why?

[jangofctts]

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.       

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 

You smile. “Lovely.” 

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  

                                        -=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes. 

Fuck yeah.    

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 

Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 

There we go. 

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb   @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts​

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

[zooophagous]

I used to be one of the ppl walking around not knowing about asexuality, that I was ace, until around my 30th birthday (in this decade) from a friend of nearly 20 years who'd go on to ghost me from then on. Took some time to heal from that, longer to be able to separate the word mentioned from the person who said it, to look into it and find that it fit me. I'll never know if that was a parting gift or a factor in why things ended. But at least I know who I am now. 1/2

Oh yeah I dont fault everyday people for not knowing about it. In casual conversations it still just... doesn't come up so much? I think a lot of it is because ace people aren't necessarily under so much pressure to come out (where if you're gay and you date and it gets serious you have to like, announce it eventually) like its easier to sort of hide and ignore to a point.

And partially because being ace isn't really taken seriously or is shrugged off as a disorder by a lot of folks still, even folks who are otherwise pretty progressive can be really ignorant or downright shitty about it for no reason. So the average person, who probably hasn't had a ton of in depth sex ed, could be forgiven for not knowing. Hell, sex ed is actively suppressed in a lot of places.

My issue stems from a mental health professional who is ostensibly LGBTQ friendly not being familiar with the term. Not even that she has a backwards view of it, but that she hasn't encountered the entry level terminology at all.

It's very concerning to me. It tells me that this individual is content to use the label of inclusivity but hasn't bothered doing much, if at all, actual research on the topic. I know from my own family that being a licensed medical doctor requires you to continue your education and stay abreast of new medical topics. I can only assume she focused more on the medication and chemical side of things but hasn't kept up with any journals or studies on human behavior, which to me is a big blank spot when I consider going to a mental health professional.

I can't trust her to know how to adequately treat me if she doesn't know what I even am.

[euphoricsunflowers]

drowning in your scent — chae hyungwon

a/n: ajshdhs this this officially the longest fic on my blog by a whole lot (i think the only thing that comes somewhat close is queen’s whore at like 3.1k sheesh) so in the spirit of that! please give this fic a lot of love!!

word count: 4.7k

content: goddess au, sub!hyungwon, dom!fem!reader, the sex scene involves kissing, lip biting, neck kisses, and riding, fun stuff like that, and minhyuk is here!! he’s mentioned a lot lmao hyunghyuk besties

warning: this fanfic does take place in a village setting where there’s a bad harvest of food and so there’s a lot of mentions of food and starving. as someone with problems with food myself this could be potentially somewhat triggering so please don’t read if need be and i want to emphasize that if you need help to please reach out for it. i know what it’s like, please even feel free to reach out to me if need be, but do remember i’m not a professional.

summary: a boy from the village struggling through a bad harvest and the goddess of nature, of animals and forests, and of flowers so lovely the scent will make you dizzy, make a deal.

“hyungwon,” the voice calls out to him, and his heart aches when he sees it’s minhyuk that’s speaking to him. the usual cheer and brightness to minhyuk’s voice has all but vanished, “come on, we need to get to work,” he trudged slowly behind his friend, with minhyuk’s hand holding his own. there’s nothing but comradery between them, and yet hyungwon feels like he would trust minhyuk with his life.

“i hate this,” hyungwon murmurs under his breath, but he can faintly hear minhyuk chuckle at his whining, “i’m serious!! there’s barely any food and i’m starving and i’m supposed to pick fruit that i won’t even be allowed to eat?!”

minhyuk’s face is stone cold suddenly as he turns to, for lack of a better phrase, tell hyungwon to shut the hell up, “lower your voice,” he orders, and hyungwon deflates, but he obeys, and the quiet returns as they continue to walk to their spot in the field to pick the fruit, “i’m sorry, but i worry that being so outspoken will be your downfall, won.”

as they pick the apples, in silence from their short and blunt conversation, hyungwon spots one that stands out from the rest. he tries to resist getting a closer look at it, but he just can’t. he takes a few steps over towards it, subsequently a few steps away from minhyuk, and the apple does the rest. it’s almost hypnotic in the way hyungwon can’t take his eyes off of it. it’s red and glowing and hyungwon doesn’t know how he’s the only one captivated by the apple.

it’s like the fruit is speaking to him, calling him away, and he starts walking, even when minhyuk calls after him, he knows minhyuk spoke even though he couldn’t hear him. he walks for a few minutes, through the trees and the dense forest that he’s never traversed before. he doesn’t have to constantly gaze at the apple now, but he grips it in his hand like his life depends on it.

he comes upon a small statue hidden in the depths of the forest. it’s a stone carving of a bird, wings spread as if flying through the sky. it’s beautiful.

“isn’t it?” he hears from behind him, actually registering someone spoke to him this time, and he turns to see who it is. instead of the face of cheerful minhyuk he’s so used to seeing, a beautiful figure graces his eyes.

hyungwon can’t even focus on the physique, though, he’s too entranced by the piercing eyes that stare into his soul practically and the voice he can hear ringing in his head. “isn’t it, dear?” your voice repeats again, and he feels compelled to answer, though he’s not exactly sure how you read his thoughts. maybe he had actually said them out loud.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, turning back to look at the statue, “it’s gorgeous,” he takes a step closer to the statue to get a closer look.

“your voice,” you speak again, “i- nevermind,” you stop yourself, instead choosing to take a step closer to him, your hand touches his shoulder, “can i help you with something, dear?”

“i- what?” he’s taken aback by your question, because he didn’t search you or this place out, he was practically lured here by the fruit, “no, i-i’m okay, thank you though.”

“are you sure?” your touch on his shoulder finally registers in his head, like all his reactions are slowed and delayed, “if you’re not here for something, then… why are you here?”

“i dont… i don’t know,” he was never loud, but he’s even quieter now, “the apple… it led me here.”

you suddenly fell silent. he wonders if you used to apple to lure him, if this is a trap, but your touch is still so distracting and he can’t bring himself to care much. you look so harmless, with such pretty features that he wants to stare at forever.

it does make him wonder, however, just why your tone was so brazen when he said he wasn’t here to ask anything of you. you looked baffled when he said no, like that was the only reason you expected him to be here, “do people always just come searching for you… asking for things?”

“yes, they do,” you respond bluntly, but your words aren’t hostile. he faintly feels a sense of pity in his heart for you.

“that sounds like… such a sad existence,” the words leave his lips without him really putting much thought into them.

“it is,” you say as silence falls between the two of you before he speaks up.

“you uhm… are you… human?” you’re a beautiful yet lonely person in the forest, and it makes him wonder if you even are a person.

“no, dear,” you say as you lift your hand, the grass beneath both of you growing as you do so, “i am a being that represents nature. i think you humans would call me a god or goddess?”

“oh that’s… incredible. please explain to me more,” his eyes find you once again, watching you with already such a soft, adoring gaze.

“you just want to hear me talk, little human,” your tone is playful as his cheeks become rosy.

“maybe,” he smiles cheekily, “will you still explain it to me?”

“of course, sit with me and the flowers, will you?” you ask him, and he plops on the ground, sitting with his legs crossed as you begin, “i can control how nature exists in this world. i can make your flowers grow or trees in your forest more dense. you humans also love to hunt the sweet animals i create, ”

you pause, as if to give him a chance to speak up, and he does, “i’m sorry about that.”

“it’s alright, dear, your apologies are not necessary. besides, once they do die, they become gifts for other gods, and those gods treat their gifts from me very well,” you smile somberly, “tell me, how are you humans doing?”

he wants to lie, for some reason. he has an urge to just say ‘everything is fine, let’s just talk about happy things. i want to be happy’ but he doesn’t, “we’re… you want my honesty, right?”

“yes, yes absolutely,”

“we’re suffering. there’s too little food for everyone,” his stomach rumbles as he’s in the middle speaking, and he makes a sort of ‘see what i mean?’ gesture, “and we barely have enough to keep everyone alive through the month..”

you subtly gasp at his confession he just gives so easily, “and yet you were expected to pick fruit? that seems unfair, dear.”

“it was work that had to be done for the good fo the village,” he lowers his head at the thoughts racing through his head, envisioning the soft eyes of his friend, “but min- uh, my friend, he’s all i have. i know i… said i didn’t have anything to ask of you… and this may seem too much of me to ask, but now that i know what you are and can do, could you please help them? the people of my village, i mean,” he pleads, his eyes shining in the light.

“you want me to… provide them food?”

“please, i’d do anything,”

your face is suddenly much more serious, and you grip his shoulder as you lean in close to him, “for future reference, dear, don’t ever tell a being like me you’d do anything. ever. got it?” you were kind. you knew you were kind, but there were some that would rip his poor, innocent heart to shreds, steal his soul because he didn’t read the fine print. you’re relieved someone so soft and sweet and almost angelic stumbled upon you of all beings.

“yes,” he practically squeaks.

“good,” you sigh as you stand up, “i will help you, little thing. in return, please stay with me for one day. tomorrow afternoon, at this exact hour, you can return to the village,” you extend your hand for him to shake, “are those terms agreeable to you, my little human?”

his heart pounds in his chest. you want him to stay with you? for a whole day? he decides it’s a price that’s easy to pay if he remembers the prospect of being able to save him friend and his people from starvation “yes,” he murmurs, reaching out to shake your hand.

—

it doesn’t take much effort from you, just a wave of your hand and apparently, the harvest in the village would magically improve. he supposes one day is not a lot of his little time to give up if it meant the village could be revitalized with a bountiful amount of food. he just hopes minhyuk isn’t worrying too much.

you have a cottage of your own, he learns. it confuses him slightly because you’re a goddess, why would you need a very human-esque living space? he supposes he’ll never learn the answer to that question. the thing itself is impossible to see from the outside, he could have sworn nothing was there until your hand was in his (his heart stopped for a good minute) and you led him up the stairway leading into the cottage.

“make yourself at home,” you tell him, and he nods in a daze. your place was beautiful, full of flowers and vases with more flowers and little flower trinkets on the table and mugs with flower designs. judging from anything you considered to be your domain, you seem to like flowers. the softness of the atmosphere is calming to him, the scent of all the flowers is overwhelming, his knees are weak.

“what- what are you going to do with me for this day that you have me? you must have some plan for me,” you tilt your head with a faint smile on your lips as he sits beside you on the couch, “do you want me to work? am i a servant? please, all cards on the table, tell me what you want from me.”

“all cards on the table?” you echo, and he nods, for a second wondering if you just straight up didn’t know what he meant, but you lean in to him, close enough to just barely need to lean just a little more and you’d be kissing him, “i just think you’re cute. forgive me if i just wanted a day to gaze at you.”

he’s startled as you pull yourself away, leaving him flustered and blushing and stuttering as you excuse yourself outside to grow more flowers. he sees the beautiful sunflowers and roses and tulips and then his eyes find you once more. your beauty just radiates, it’s so overwhelming and intoxicating that he feels the safest really taking it all in when you’re focused on your flowers, not leaving him a blushing mess whilst so close to kissing him he just might faint.

the sun hits your skin in such a beautiful way that he can’t can’t stop staring. it’s ironic how you wanted him to stay for a night because you thought he was cute but he cannot take his eyes off of your beautiful smile and hair and demeanor and just… aura. your presence is so soft and comforting yet so overwhelming to him. it’s all something he can’t understand.

you return a few hours later, having given your guest time to really settle in. as you open the door, he’s in the kitchen area with one of your mugs, drinking a cup of tea peacefully and quietly, “welcome back,” he mumbles with a smile.

“hi there, little human,” you smile back at him, taking a seat beside him, “i’m… sorry. i know you were probably lonely, here all by yourself-“

“no, i actually enjoy the quiet. it beats picking fruit,” he shrugs.

“speaking of food, i was able to grant your request, but i completely forgot about you. would you like something specific to be prepared for your evening meal?” hyungwon forgot what it was like when there wasn’t barely enough food to survive on. he tells you his wishes for meat and vegetables and starches his stomach aches for, “alright, dear. sit at the counter with me as i cook.”

he’s stunned for a second, “i didn’t know you can cook.”

“you don’t know my name, my sweet. we have a lot to learn about each other.”

“what is your name?” he asks, and you giggle to yourself, having known he’d ask it the moment you brought up the fact that he hadn’t yet.

“y/n,” you answer, finding the spices you wanted, “and yours, my beautiful flower?”

his heart skips a beat at the endearing term you use. at this point, he wonders if you’re getting enjoyment out of flustering him so helplessly like this, “hyungwon,” he sees the way you smile when you hear his name. it makes him smile too.

“hyungwon… what a beautiful name you have, my dear. it’s fitting, for someone as beautiful as you,” at this point he’s absolutely sure you’re getting a kick out of making him a flustered mess, because now his cheeks are red and he can’t meet your gaze, “sorry, i don’t mean to fluster you—,” liar, he thinks, “— i just can’t help adoring you.”

“you’re too much for my weak heart,” he mumbles exasperatedly as you cook, looking over at him with that cheeky smile on your face like you know just how much you wreck his heart and his composure.

you seat him at the small-but-not-too-small dinner table, bringing plates of food and finally sitting at the seat across from him, “eat as much or as little as you want, dear.”

he goes to ask before he puts too much thought into the question, “are you not gonna eat-? oh, wait, nevermind, do you not need to?” you nod, smiling.

“i’m grateful that you think of me, angel, but you’re correct: this is all for you,” and while he’d theoretically be hesitant to eat while you just sit there, he finally remembered just how hungry he was, and so it would have taken much more restraint than he currently had to restrain himself.

after dinner, you lead him him to the bedroom in your cottage. emphasis on the singularity in that term, “oh- uh, a-am i going to sleep with you-?” he stutters.

“you can, you don’t have to if you don’t wish to, flower. i don’t really have to sleep so if you want the bed all to yourself, then it’s yours. i just… i thought maybe- you know what,” you tone changes suddenly, and he’d be damned if he didn’t catch it, “nevermind. take the room. call for me if you need me, i’ll be outside with the flowers again-“

“wait!” he calls out as you turn to leave him alone. you look over at him, eyes shining so beautifully in the moonlight.

“yes, my flower?”

he’s flustered once again, but he can’t help wanting you to stay with him. he reaches his hand out to you, similarly to how you reached yours out to him, “stay with me?”

you accept the proposal, sitting on the bed with him, weaving a few flowers into a flower crown while he lays on his side, watching you work on the crown like it was the most entertaining thing in the world.

“i think sunflowers will look pretty against your skin, hyungwon,” you mumble, keeping your voice soft as to not disrupt the peaceful atmosphere you’ve both created, and he smiles bashfully at your words, “truly, i think anything would look beautiful on you, but the yellows would really bring out the strong, almost sensual browns in your eyes. can- can i?”

he nods in consent, sitting up and sitting still for you, and your fingers gracefully position the crown on top of his head, “ah, do i look good with it on?”

“oh absolutely, sweetheart, but,” you scoot closer to him, and once again, his heart beats rapidly and his thoughts evaporate into thin air, replaced by the bashful shyness and the way he’s suffocated by your scent, breathing it in like it’s a drug, “in my opinion, you’re the most beautiful.”

he can’t breathe.

“i-i, um, oh my god,” he stammers, so shy as you smile at how he struggles.

“can i kiss you, pretty boy?” you whisper, your hand raising to hold his cheek as you gaze at his lips. it’s subtle, probably because he was malfunctioning inside, but he nods, closing his eyes and passively waiting for your lips on his.

he didn’t know what to expect, with you being a god and all, but it was so much more than he could have prepared himself for, both mentally and physically. it was a rush if he’d ever felt one, both his body on fire and goosebumps lining his skin.

your style of kissing makes him ache in so many ways. his lips will definitely be bruised from the way you bite them, drawing blood like a vampire but in the kindest way possible, your hand cupping his cheek and you other rubbing his thigh soothingly is enough to keep him from crying out because of the pain.

“stop me, hyungwon,” you mumble under your breath, “if you don’t want this, you need to stop me. tell me to stop and i will,” but how did you ever expect him to do that when he’s already so wrecked and all you’ve done is kissed?

“don’t,” he whispers, “don’t stop, please,” and you oblige, keeping your lips busy on his neck as he groans, reaching out to hold your waist, “please,” he echos his own words weakly.

“tell me what you want, i’ll do it, just tell me,” you see how choked up he is, and it’s cute how easily he’s wrapped around your finger, “tell me, tell me, my flower.”

“touch me more,” he breathes, and you help him throw off his shirt. your hands are all over him in an instant, you press kisses down his neck, paying attention to his chest as your hands wander lower and lower.

he bites his lip in anticipation, but it feels just like how it felt when you bit his lip before and he audibly moans at the recent memory. it’s almost embarrassing when he realizes just how openly and easily he’s been moaning since you started.

and it’s not like he exactly expected a warning, but he wasn’t ready for when one of your hands started rubbing his crotch and making him moan and whine helplessly, “please don’t tease me.”

“hm, alright, sweet thing. how about i ride you? would you like that?” he nods desperately, weak at the thought of you using him for your own pleasure and leaving him to drown in the overwhelming pleasure you give him, “take off your pants and underwear, then.”

he scrambles to do as you say, watching with his jaw dropped as you make the garments you wear all but disappear with just a wave of your hand, and he’s intimately reminded that you’re not human, that he shouldn’t have trusted you so implicitly as to let you put him in this position, and that he’s playing a game where he doesn’t know the rules.

but then he sees the genuineness in your smile, the way you treat him so kindly yet assertively, soft yet harsh, and he just can’t fathom being in any real danger when he’s being swallowed by so much pleasure when he’s under you like this.

he’d been zoned out for a few moments until you’re actually riding him already, holding his hand in a softness that makes him weak. he suddenly notices the flowers in your hair, the way your nose crinkles up when you smile down at him, the way looking at your lips reminds him of the ache on his. it’s incredible just how infatuated he is, the way he adores so much being not just under you in a physical sense but also being under your spell.

he moans in such a heavenly bliss, eyes fluttered shut as he can only hear his own voice make sounds that would normally make him embarrassed. he can’t bother to care right now because when he opens his eyes, you seem to like the sounds he makes. and he wants to please.

“hyungwon, d-dear,” you murmur, your hands resting on his chest to keep yourself stable on his chest, “i can’t keep my eyes off of you, baby. you’re absolutely ethereal. so please, can you show me how pretty you are when you cum? can you cum for me, my flower?”

god that name was the most precious thing to him, he wanted to be your beautiful flower forever.

he does cum. he orgasms viscerally, his body trembling as he throws his head back, his jaw slacked as he moans loudly, cumming so hard he can see white.

he stays in that headspace of pleasure, higher than the clouds, for a few moments as the high subsides and he’s left with a euphoric feeling that keeps him shivering with aftershocks, until he starts to hear your voice. you whisper little nothings to him as he starts to come down completely, “i’ve got you, little thing, don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

he briefly ponders why you keep calling him ‘little thing’ when he’s as tall as he is, but your kisses to him temple take that thought away, “y/n?”

“yes, dear?”

“can you sleep with me?” he asks, not realizing that you already told him that you don’t need to sleep.

still, you can’t resist him when he’s just so adorable with that pout he probably doesn’t even realize he’s making, “of course, let’s clean up just a little bit, and i’ll lay with you while you sleep, angel.”

—

morning comes far too soon. you still have him for another 7ish hours, but once they’re up, he’ll return to his village, to that friend he mentioned, and disappear from your existence forever. it’s almost pitiful how quickly you became attached to the pretty thing.

you look over at him, sleeping so, so peacefully, his cheek squished against the pillow while he pouts and you can’t help but coo at how precious he looks.

it’s impossible to imagine a life anymore where you can’t keep looking at his face, at his pretty lips (that are covered in bruises in a way that makes this moment a bit less melancholic and innocent), at the softness in his eyes when he gazed at you. what a miserable fate that would be to live through.

“what’s on your mind?” you hear him groan tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. you go to object, say ‘of course it’s nothing just go back to sleep dear’, but he catches it and, even in the early morning, he won’t take a lie.

“i just… you have a life to return to, and i don’t want to deprive you of that. i’ve just grown to like you, is all,” you murmur as you run your fingers through his hair, hearing his soft gums of contentment, “an existence of being by yourself might make one somewhat… easily attached.”

hyungwon doesn’t know how to respond, but he sits up, despite the tiredness that still rests in his body, he moves to get himself out of bed, using his hand to brush his hair out of his face, “we still have time together, so let’s do something you want to do.”

“like what?” you smile sadly, “what should we do?”

“hmm…” he makes a really cute face when he thinks, you realize, and it just makes you fall a little bit more, “well you really like flowers right?”

“of course,”

hyungwon’s face lights up, like he’s had a sudden realization, “oh! then what if we painted? i have minhyuk’s paints in my bag!! minhyuk told me to hold onto them for the day and i kept them on me!”

“wha- what if your friend doesn’t want you to use them?” you stutter, but you can feel that you’re already on board.

“then that’s his problem!”

now to be honest, painting was not hyungwon’s strong suit, but he had such a fun time with mixing colors and making flowers that don’t really look like flowers come to life on the many wooden walls of your cottage. neither of you had brushes either, so it was really just fingerpainting, and by the end, your hands were covered in myriads of greens and yellows and pinks reds and blues tinted by the white, they were almost works of art themselves.

and after hours of painting, making more flower crowns, even teaching him to make flower crowns, and more activities, your time with him was dwindling. of course, he doesn’t have to leave, but the time that he had to stay was slowly slipping away from you.

“hyungwon,” you mumble, getting his attention as he sits on the couch while you were supposedly making tea. you raise your hand, displaying a bright red apple, “this is the one from yesterday, right?”

“y-yeah, i think so, why?”

“i- come here, please.”

he wobbles over to the kitchen, sitting beside you as you show off the fruit, “what’s going on?”

“remember when you told me the apple lead to you the statue?” he nods, “this apple is blessed with my energy. it’s… magical, in a human sense. i just want to apologize for decieving and likely confusing you yesterday,” you look down at the fruit, shiny and glowing red with liveliness, “but i have a… proposal of sorts.”

“i- alright, what is it?”

“take a bite,” you say, your tone heavy with implications of what will happen, “take a bite, and stay with me, will you?”

“what- what about my family? my friend? what about the life that i have?” he asks, but it’s all rhetorical, he doesn’t expect a serious answer, “i was willing to give you a day, i can’t give you my life.”

why can’t you, you feel the urge to murmur to him, why can’t you give that all up? you know i’m all you want now, you’ll only spiral down even further into me, “you don’t have to eat it all, just a bite, just one.”

“what- why are you so adamant that i eat that apple?”

“because!” your voice cracks ever so slightly, and once again his heart aches and he rushes to attempt to soothe you, to hold your heart in his hands and never once let it be hurt, “because you are all i want, hyungwon,” you mumble as he hugs you, resting your head against him, “because i want you to return to your friend and your village, but i’m selfish, i’m so, so selfish. this is the best middle ground i could think of.”

“...what does taking a bite entail?” he asks tentatively, and his heart jumps when he sees your eyes shine with hope. whether or not you know it, you’ve got him good.

“half the time, you’ll be mine. your soul has to reside in my domain, your heart will constantly ache for me,” you murmur, your hands suddenly wandering and he chokes out a moan, “but the rest of the time, you can return to the village. you can return to your life, and i will not make any attempts to steal you away during that time.”

he’s left speechless, not exactly sure what you’d want him to say now, but you place the apple in his hands, pressing a few faint kisses to the edge of his lips just to fluster him, but then you disappear outside. he watches you through the window as you tend to your flowers, picking a sunflower to place into your hair. he’s so entranced by the way you move that he can barely focus on what he needs to focus on: the apple.

he wonders what minhyuk is feeling right now. he’s probably worried to death, horrified out of his mind that his friend just disappeared into the forest. he wants so badly to go back and reassure him that nothing bad happened and go back to the way things were except things would be better.

but he does also feel a sense of… devotion? infatuation? love, maybe? whatever it is, he feels something towards you. his heart aches to please you, to do in this situation what would make you happy. the way you looked when you were so emotionally vulnerable with him, you didn’t seem like a god that he had to worship in that moment, you seemed like a soul that he wanted to love. it’s this feeling deep in his soul that just leaves him, both his heart and his body, utterly defenseless to the prospect of you.

so this is the end of him as he’s been for his whole life. or at least, in a sense, half of him. he’s grateful that you went outside to let his head clear just a bit, it’s always so clouded with you and your scent and your aura that he feels delusional. he tosses the apple around anxiously as he tries to decide what to do, but in the end, there’s not a chance in the world that he could ever go against what would make you happy.

he tries to delude himself into thinking it’s a conscious choice he makes, but he knows he’s lying; he just doesn’t want to accept it. he’s been a wreck since the moment you lured him away with the very apple he holds, there’s not a single reality in which he gives you up. his heart aches to protect yours, and his body wishes to be ruined by yours.

he takes a bite. he’s yours.

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @mellowriting @foenixs @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

[mimikyuno]

Wow thanks for the casual panphobia in that last post

i was for real waiting for this ask 😭

“Pansexual is just another word for bisexual except now you’re being biphobic (and transphobic and homophobic) about it.” is what the post said - and here’s why i agree!

i have seen pansexual defined in millions of different ways since it first appeared. at first, pansexuality was created with the aim to substitute the bisexuality, because young LGBT kids mistakenly thought the the “bi-“ prefix (which in greek means two) meant that bisexuals were attracted to only 2 genders, so they took the prefix away and put pan- in its place, which also comes from greek but means “all” instead of “two”. just by doing this, they clearly created the pansexual label in opposition to bisexuality, advertising the neologism as being more inclusive, and i remember the definition at the time being like “attraction to men, women, trans men, trans women and non binary people” (i think you can still find this definition online somewhere lol!)

bisexuals at the time started to vocalise their discomfort with this new label, as it erased bisexual history and the true meaning of bisexuality, and they highlighted the biphobic origin of the name of the label. trans people were also very uncomfortable with it, why would you need a special label to be attracted to trans men and trans women? trans men are men and trans women are women, not some elusive extra gender. some nb people also pointed out a similar issue, u dont need a special label to be attracted to nb people… even other sexualities (like lesbian, gay, straight etc.) can be attracted and be in a relationship with nb people without it affecting their sexuality/gender identity.

at this point, instead of reading the bisexual manifesto or acknowledging the concerns of actual bisexuals/trans ppl/nb people, pansexuals came up with a new definition, the (honestly TERRIBLE) “hearts not parts”, which was called out for (again) being biphobic because like: are u saying bisexuals only care about “parts”? this defintion was not only biphobic, but also homophobic too; same gender attraction has always been seen as nasty and impure and being only about sex, and to make bisexuality (historically associated with gay people, it is the LGBT community after all) all about sex is a bit (a lot) 😬 yikes

so then the definition changed again; now it’s bi = attraction to more than one gender and pan = attraction regardless of gender and like. im sorry but that’s literally the same thing, just worded differently

so my (and many others’) question is: what’s the point of having two names for the same thing? the post i reblogged was about the dangers of microlabeling, and it being a reflection of individualism and a symptom of late-staged capitalism, and pansexuality is a stark example of that. the word bisexual is enough! as a word, it has history, depth and carries a sense of community; on the other hand, pansexuality was first born out of a misunderstanding of bisexuality and has biphobic, transphobic, and homophobic roots in its (very short) history; the definition differs only in meaningless semantics, and it does not carry any of the history nor sense of community. so like! what’s the point? is it really so important to have both? is it necessary? does it benefit anyone, apart from corporations who can now also sell pan flags and movie studios who now can call it "representation" just bc they claimed in a tweet that a character is “pan” because they want to fuck an alien but otherwise show no signs of same gender attraction? idk stuff i think about a lot i guess!!

anon - im sorry you were hurt! this is my personal stance on this and im open to dialogue, but if you feel uncomfortable and dont wanna engage in a conversation about this feel free to unfollow, i completely understand! 💌

[just-antithings]

to piggyback off that one anon abt how their parents agree with them abt antis and censorship, i had an irl friend block me bc i read/watch yaoi and i’m not an mlm (i’m a non-mspec lesbian) and when i told my mom abt it she was just like “he stopped talking to you bc of the shows you watch??? how are you ‘fetishizing’ gay men by watching romance about them, you aren’t even attracted to men????” antis whole ‘WHY DONT YOU TELL YOUR PARENTS ABOUT LIKING [insert ‘problematic’ thing here]’ gotcha is so pointless. i’m so sorry /your/ parents are unsupportive of the things you enjoy that don’t hurt anyone but not everyone’s are like that. (also they like to say that abt ns//fw stuff and i just want to ask them if they tell their parents about the wholesome vanilla p0rn they’re into bc if so i think they need to establish boundaries. like why do you think it’s appropriate for me to tell my parents details of my sexual life? that’s a lot more concerning than whatever fiction i’m into imo)

I’m sorry I have no idea why but you identifying yourself as a non m-spec lesbian gave me like, second hand euphoria because that’s just. I never would have thought to use labels like that and I feel like it will make m-spec lesbians feel super validated and that makes me happy?

People mean fetishize wrong. Like. They use it wrong. From a sexual fetish standpoint, the broad designation “mlm pairing/ship” doesn’t even work because fetishes are highly fucking specific and there is no way that every mlm pairing would fit the criteria. Like claiming that someone needs to think about 2 men to “get off” is a reach in the first place but in second place, it... straight up doesn’t work like that.

(I don’t wanna get into too many details on this blog, I might reblog it to my personal discourse blog and add more thoughts there because my thoughts go pretty in depth into how fetishes function.)

I talk to some of my found family about my nsfw fanfic tastes. They’re sibling-ish relationships and we are all careful of each others boundaries (I have some of the biggest boundaries because I’m ace and sometimes sex-repulsed) but we have fun having conversations! Those conversations never include explicit details about anything we ~do~ with the things we like. Because that would bother all of us. I could maybe seeing have a similar type of convo with a parent if I had a good relationship with a parent, but that’s a foreign concept for me so I can’t really say for sure.

For my sfw fanfic tastes, I actually do talk about those a lot with my circle of friends/found family, and all that happens is if they’re uncomfortable with a topic or subject is that... they ask me not to talk about it and I don’t mention it around them again. It’s not hard. This is how healthy adult relationships work.

I’ll never understand why antis think that anyone would be interested in someone’s private bedroom life anyway. Unless they’re all secretly voyuers and are trying to involve people in their kink without consent.

Thanks, I can’t fucking unthink this now.

[sagessoftwings]

Oky!! Well I prefer she/her but to be honest I'm good with anything. I'm pan as well so any sex works.

My hobbies are more on the crafty side with drawing, clay work, painting. I'm also into tennis and I do chior.

I think alot of the time one of the things that inspire me to do better is the praise of my family and closest friends, but a good life inspires me to do my best too.

So tbh I didn't really get what you meant by favorite past time, ( its probably because it's late and my brains telling me to go to bed) but if I'm interpreting it right, I really liked my late elementary- intermediate days (3-6th grade)

I seem to struggle with venting. I have had a good life so my brain always goes back to "they dont need to be burdened with you pathetic little worries when they have other worse things going on". So I dont think I've ever really vented

Anyway! I absolutely love my family and friends, the smell of rain and freshly baked cookies, the stars at night. I'm a sucker for chubbier women and for tall men, large muscular women as well. I love when it rains but doesn't thunder so you can run and dance through it. I love when people get really happy about small little thing. I also sing alot as well. One of absolute favorite things ever is a good big warm hug

For the fandoms: mha, haikyuu, and marvel if you could

Thank you so much for doing this! You seem very nice tbh! Anyways have a good rest of you day/night and may your week be amazing!! <3

HIII BEAUTIFUL I SHIP YOU WITH NEJIRE HADO FOR MHA

SHE IS SO LOVABLE AND JUST ADORES YOU BABE

Please pLEASE GOD TEACH HER HOW TO DO CLAY WORK SHE THINKS ITS SO COOL

She keeps a stool in like every corner and will sit near you while you draw or literally anything

That’s if you will let her, she of course reflects your privacy

Nejire just doesn’t understand how you can be so good at so much 😩💖

Loves playing tennis with you! Has such a cute tennis skirt to 😪

WILL TAKE YOU STARGAZING PERIOD

Probably was your first date

IS ALSO SO GOOD AT BAKING

You’re in luck bestie

Randomly hugs you all the time

Nejire just gets so excited when she is around you

PLEASE RANT TO HER

Listening is one of her love languages

Never feel like your burdening her please, she’ll lay on top of you until you tell her how your day was

For haikyuu I ship you with Issei Mattsukawa!!

BABE… BABE

This 6’2 giant is absolutely in LOVE with you

If you like family and friends this is your man 😩

Has a younger brother and sister and has to babysit all the time

You actually thought he was avoiding you but felt so bad and was like “do you wanna come over? I have to babysit my siblings but I really wanna hang out with you!”

His siblings ADORE YOU

His sister loves to play with play-dough with you and bake cookies which somehow have crayon shaving in them

She thought the were sprinkles

Mattsukawa was forced to eat them and then after putting the kids to bed he threw up pink and purple

You did have to stay and take care of him

Will sit you on the couch in between his legs and play with your hair and kiss your shoulders while you rant

He doesn’t mind at all, he has to listen to oikawa

You’re much better than that drama queen

Dances with you in the rain 🥲

I’m jealous 😮‍💨

Mans is infatuated with you… seriously

For marvel I ship you with Jane Foster

Loves to take you stargazing whew

Literally her favorite date scene

Darcy likes to bake for your dates too

Literally anything where you spend time together is just amazing

Will rant with you and you two have very in depth conversations that last till like three am

Sometimes all she needs is a good hug but you will have to beg her to let go

Also literally makes you break a sweat when you cuddle

Is a heat lamp, she can’t help it