#stop assuming what terminology *i* use for *my* body

[goat-moth-thing]

i wish more people would understand that trying to label a nonbinary person as transmasc or transfem is still forcing them into a binary

[cmdrfupa]

Nanami x Reader

cw: sick terminology (our pookie is having tummy troubles), suggestive if you use a magnifying glass, overall fluff

thank you to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers! 💕

Art in header by the talented @nikawa_2ji! 💕

Being sick isn't exactly something that occurs for Kento. Together for seven years, you could attest to him being ill once. A 24-hour fever he overcame in 10. This bout certainly wasn't the case.

  Kento went to the bathroom attached to his home office, clinging to what he felt were the last remaining pieces of his spirit while hurling for the third time since 4 am. Throwing his eye patch to hell for all he cared, he took his white t-shirt off, placing it under the running water before wrapping it around his neck. The cool sensation gave temporary relief from the wretched sensation of nausea.

Kento entered the hallway, thinking he was fine, only to begin dry heaving again.

"Ken?" You sat the container of flour down, turning your head to listen. He'd been up for a while, and you assumed he was out for his morning jog and maybe stopping at the market. "Kento? You okay?" Nothing.

  "Ugh, fucks sake." he groaned as you heard a thump.

Taking your apron off, you hastily move toward the living room—another spell of retching leads to the hallway instead. The dimly lit hall brought you to your poor husband.

  A shirtless, clammy, and disoriented Kento sat against the wall in the darkened hallway. "Hi, dear."

  You crouched before him, touching his forehead to check his feverish skin, which immediately alarmed you. You pursed your lips before speaking up, "You're burning up, baby.."

  "I don't know what's wrong. My stomach feels like it's being tossed around in a dryer," Kento spoke, taking short breaths between words, his light hair sticking to his forehead.

  "We'll figure that out. But let's get you back to bed. Can you get up?" You placed your shoulder under him, and he slowly wrapped his arm around you, boosting himself up. "What have you eaten in the last 24 hours?" As you strolled, he shuffled beside you, his arm slung over your shoulder.

  "Well, we had lunch here at the house, and then Itadori-kun and I went for a seafood dinner at a restaurant Kugisaki saw on social media."

Sitting him on the side of the bed so he could lie down, he propped himself against the pillows. "We had some sort of paella and maybe a few too many crab legs."

  "Shellfish."

  "How do you know?" Bringing his legs up on the bed, you fluffed the pillows behind him and brought the sheets out in case he needed to cover up.

"It seems to be the possible culprit from what you've told me. Or maybe someone handling your food was a bit unhygienic?" You walked to the bathroom, looking for the first aid kit under the sink to fish out a thermometer and anti-nausea medication. Finding it, you made your way back to Kento's side. "Open."

Eyes closed, he followed orders, the twisting pain in his stomach sending a shiver through his body. The beeping of the thermometer made him focus. "What's the verdict?"

"101.1, which means you're in bed until this passes."

A groan left the sickly man's throat. "It'll pass in a few hours, I'm sure.."

"Your optimism is cute," you kissed his head. Just focus on resting. I'll get you some water to start rehydrating, then get things cleaned up." You placed the nausea medication on his bedside. "And if the room starts feeling like a tilt-a-whirl, let one of these melt on your tongue."

The trip to the kitchen was quick, and upon returning with a glass of water, you watched Kento struggle to open the foiled Dramamine package.

You slide the package from between his nimble fingers. "I've got it, honey."

"What about the plans for my birthday? Gojo will be a nuisance if he thinks I'm faking to avoid his party."

"I know you weren't super excited about the party Gojo was planning, but I'll threaten him if he tries to get fly with me."

"My darling angel of a wife, thank you." He opens his mouth, and you place the tablet on his tongue.

"You owe me, Mr. Nanami." With a wink, you get him comfortable in bed, placing another pillow behind him as he begins to doze off. "I'll come check on you in a bit."

  Kento wasn't sure when you got your wings, but he appreciated having an angel to tend to him. So patient and willing to be by him. Honestly, he didn't know when you got the halo, either. He didn't think you were a full-blown angel until this moment. "A literal angel, wow-" words slurred, and your wings seemingly much more vibrant to him as he passed out into a deep sleep. Ken promised himself he'd verify the angel allegations when he was more fit for thinking.

Day 3 of the stomach virus showed progress despite a rough start. Kento kept trying to force himself to feel better, thinking cat naps would suffice over a good night's rest. But his nausea was a reminder to take it much slower. He watched you prepare for work: a simple black knee-length dress, nude-colored stockings, and his favorite shoes. "The Manolo slingbacks?" Kento perked up in bed. "You know, I'm feeling much, much better today."

You peeked from out of the bathroom. 'You're supposed to be sleeping, not checking me out."

"My love, I'm feeling better than before."

"That's not how this works. You still have a fever, and rest will help get rid of it."

"I am resting; I'm in bed, having bone broth, and not working."

"If you don't want me to go to work, all you have to do is ask."

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want you to stay. He had not tried his luck the past two days, but today was different. Kento was needy and required more comfort to sleep. Was this the man cold? He thought he was above that.

"Please. I promise I will sleep if you stay home with me today."

Your heels clack against the wooden floor as you go to his side of the bed. "Take your aspirin, eat a few more spoons of porridge, and I'll hold you while you sleep." a gentle smooch on his cheek earns a soft smile from him. "Let me call Gojo and tell him he'll be handling training today."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Nanamin. I didn't know he'd get sick! I ate way more than he did and felt perfectly okay this week." you called Itadori a few days ago to see how he was feeling. He was more than okay, finding him out with his peers shopping when you called.

Now, he sat across from you in the dining room, a gift bag decorated with 'get well soon' craftily written across it sat next to him as he ate another croissant. The teen was worried he'd killed the man just from the restaurant recommendation alone. "Is he going to be okay?"

  "Yuuji, nothing you've done is the result of this. The food didn't sit well with him." You take another sip of coffee before reassuring the stressed teen. "He's been resting and getting better the past four days. He'll be better and back on campus by the end of the week."

  "Well, can you let him know I dropped by?" Yuuji stuffed the last of his croissant in his mouth before sipping the hot cocoa and dusting his hands on the napkin. "Some of us got together and made a care package. Gojo made him some ladyfingers, Takuma got him some cool handkerchiefs, Nobara bought him one of those spa gel masks for his frown lines, and Fushiguro found an apron that says 'kitchen boss' he thought he'd appreciate… we want to keep his spirits up while he gets better."

  "He'll appreciate knowing you stopped by. And the thoughtful gifts." Grabbing a small container, you went to the kitchen in a few paces. "The rest of these are yours. I'll be closely monitoring Nanamin's food intake for a while, and pain au Chocolat won't be helpful." You strategically place the croissants in the container, handing them to Yuuji. "Be safe getting back to campus."

  "Will do, Mrs. Nanamin! You're amazing. I'll call to check on him tonight!" The teen hugged you quickly before making his way out of the door.

    "Are there any objections?"Nanami looked around, confident there was nobody idiotic enough to-"Wait! Please!" A pale blue-haired worm slithered down the aisle. The guest gasped in shock as the tubular creature began to morph into a human. "Don't go through with this. I love you more than life itself." Mahito stood in front of you, naked with a ring box in hand.Nanami looked at you, eyes wide. "My beautiful bride, please. Please think of the life we're building. I love you so much."" I'm sorry, Ken. I tried hiding my feelings, but my heart is with Mahito." You let go of Nanami's hands, rushing into Mahito's embrace. "Happy Birthday… Nanamin." The wickedness of Mahito's tone brought Kento to his knees.The guests all stood and began to chant, "Over time for eternity," as the church hall slowly faded into a pool of purple liquid.Gojo kneeled next to Nanami. "Kento, it's not the end. You still have me, yeah?.. honey… Ken?" Your sing-song voice was filling his head."Gojo? You sound like my wife."

"Gojo?" confused, you shook his shoulder to wake him. "Kento, wake up."

He sprung up, lungs empty and gasping for air as he looked around.

"You aren't Gojo!"

"Do you want Gojo?"

Profusely shaking his head, "I'd rather not."

"You were having quite the fever dream, it seems."

"It was an absolute hellish nightmare." He grabbed the water from the bedside, glugging it before you took the glass from him, sitting it down. "How long have I been asleep?"

You smoothed his bedhead hair, kissing Kento's temple before lying back with him. "Well, after lunch yesterday, I couldn't wake you up to save my life, but that seems to have been a good thing. Your fever broke. How are you feeling?"

Kento wrapped his arm around you, pushing the covers off with his free hand. A soft huff of comfort released as he felt the midday breeze flow through the room. "Makes sense; I feel so well rested. My stomach feels so much better. But Itadori-kun and I will have our weekly dinners here at home for a while."

"That's more than okay with me. I like it when he visits. I'm always glad to see him, and he also seems happy to come over."

"He'll be happy to know this. Our next dinner is for my birthday; he's been trying his best not to spoil my gift."

  "We have plenty of easy-to-digest meals for the next few days while your stomach settles."

"Yes, dear," he playfully retorted. Nothing sounds better than an easy-to-digest birthday dinner," he jested, pulling you into his bare chest.

  "Oh yeah. Yuuji brought you a care package. He and a few others put some rather lovely items in."

Eyebrows raised, Kento seemed surprised. "Itadori was here? Not sick?"

You nodded. "Left about an hour ago."

"How am I the only one who got sick?"

"To be fair, the boy likes to eat. And he did eat an ancient finger once, so.." shrugging your shoulders as Kento attempted to stifle a laugh unsuccessfully.

"You bring up a fair point. He can put it away."

  Rubbing his belly elicits a quiet hum of a familiar tune. He stops and peers over to you. The rays of the midday sun cast a beautiful golden hue across the bed and onto your shoulders. Kento studied the soft features that structured your face, the feel of your plush leg thrown over his as you hummed the Jimmy Eat World melody. The lack of almost claustrophobic closeness over the last few days has done a number on him.

His rich brown eyes found yours, and warmth crept up the nape of your neck as his lids lowered. "I have something planned for us."

"Something planned?'

"I didn't want you to plan anything for my birthday because I did. It's a birthday and pre-anniversary getaway of sorts. We're going to the hot springs."

Your lips puckered, landing pecks across his chin and neck. "Hot springs? Kenny baby. Do you know how perfect that sounds?"

"Indeed I do. Two weeks of solitude with my angel baby."

"Two weeks?"

"Two. Weeks."

"2 whole weeks?"

"Darling, if you repeat after me again, I'm going to assume you can't hear me."

Getting three consecutive days was pulling teeth. "What did you do to make Yaga go along with two fucking weeks?"

Kissing your shoulder, he brought your hand to his mouth. "Not much." lightly began to kiss each of your fingertips. "We just have to visit the Kyoto campus," He pressed his lips to your wrist to feel your pulse. "For a few days."

"Hm." you squinted as you read between the lines. The exchange event wasn't quite yet, but there were talks of development training that needed a few more grade 1 sorcerers for demonstrations— "You volunteered us for that combat training."

Kissing your palm and making his way up to the crease of your elbow, he wriggles between your legs until hovering over you.

"Nanami Kento."

"Are you going to be upset with your stomach pain-riddled husband? On his birthday, no less. Who loves you more than life itself? Who worships every cell in-"

"I'm getting a new swimsuit," you said, stopping his sweeter-than-honey ramble and kissing his chest. And I'll make sure Gojo reschedules the party, birthday boy."

  "And I'll be there with a shit-eating grin the whole night. My wife is getting a new swimsuit for my eyes only. I can sit through 2 hours of Gojo and everyone else. Best birthday ever."

[ladamedusoif]

For The Night: A Short Story About Reading and Riding

Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Pairing: Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Summary: You might not be one of the “sweet young things” in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.

Content/Warnings: This is basically just smut; some slightly sweet fluff; but mostly smut; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (M and F receiving); size kink; slight praise kink; sex worker reader; some period-appropriate terminology.

Notes: Look, we all got very excited when one of the Holy Grails of Early Pedrontent was revealed to us today. Some of us (me) were unable to stop thinking about Special Agent Ortega and his dusty, slightly skrunkly late nineteenth-century get-up. And now here I am writing what is essentially PWP for him.

This is very much a one-shot, stream of consciousness fic, so please bear that in mind (as with my Thief story I’m not entirely sure I didn’t dream some of this in a sleepy haze). There may well be errors and typos.

In this story Ortega is called Jerónimo, usually shortened to Jerón.

With love and thanks to @julesonrecord and @lunapascal for being enablers and sounding boards, especially to Lucy for suggesting Ortega’s name!

Divider by @saradika

Nights like this, nights when you’ve got no custom, again, and the rent’s looking unlikely to be paid, you want to storm downstairs and slam down the lid on the saloon piano. It teases and taunts you, like the practiced giggles and moans from the other girls in the rooms along the hall and the bedraggled grunts of drunken men paying for their company. 

You read a little more of your book and try to distract yourself from the noise. Strictly speaking, whores aren’t meant to be bookish - but now and again a traveller might leave a volume behind him, and the other girls know to send them your way. Helps keep your mind busy, especially when other parts aren’t.

There’s a commotion on the stairs, and you can hear the madam’s voice as she guides another man - maybe two men? - towards the landing. You overhear the light, youthful laughter of Rosa, one of the house’s most popular girls, as she flatters and teases her client - clients, you assume - on the way to her room. 

You hear heavy footsteps stopping outside your door. One of the men, further away now, is teasing the other. “Have some goddamn fun, Ortega! We’re in a fuckin’ whorehouse, we’re not on the clock now!” Rosa giggles in response as the man continues, addressing the madam. “My fine woman, can you set my second gun up with a sweet young thing for the night? Seein’ as I’m already covered.” 

The door of Rosa’s room closes and the giggling gives way to silence.

The madam clears her throat. “We do have one girl who’s free, though unfortunately she’s, er, one of our more experienced ladies. I’m sorry, sir, I can see if one of the newer girls is finishing up soon…”

A second voice responds, and you realise it belongs to whoever is standing at your door. “Ma’am, it’s quite alright, I don’t need -“ but the madam interrupts him as she knocks on your door and pops her head in. 

She looks you up and down with evident disapproval and hisses at you. “Put that goddamned book away, girl. It’s your lucky night, you’ve got a customer. HURRY UP!”

You shove the book in a drawer and stand up, lightly plumping your hair with one hand and tugging down the front of your chemise to reveal a little more cleavage with the other. You might not be one of the “sweet young things” any more, so you need all the help you can get. 

The madam ushers him in and closes the door with a final warning stare in your direction. You try to put on a show, shifting your body into something approximating an alluring stance and looking up to meet his gaze. But there’s something in his eyes and his expression that surprises you enough to snap out of your little performance.

He’s young - mid thirties, maybe, not the inexperienced virgin boys you sometimes get in here but certainly not the old-before-their-time grizzled, abusive drunks you’re increasingly used to. And he’s…well. Handsome. Broad-shouldered, neatly-trimmed moustache, good figure, even in his slightly worn and dusty clothes. His low-slung gun belt draws the eye to narrow hips. 

But it’s the eyes that stop you in your tracks. Big, dark, and warm, they look you over with a quirk of his eyebrows as his mouth drops slightly open. As a whole package, he’s handsome; but the face? Lord, he’s pretty.

He stands very still for a couple of moments, looking you up and down, up and down. He moves from the doorway into the room, placing two glasses of liquor on your little nightstand and taking off his hat with a little bow in your direction, which seems endearingly out of place in its formality. He shucks off his jacket and leaves it on a chair.

“What’s your name, sir?” you ask, moving towards him. 

The eyes flick upwards to meet yours, a little smile dancing around his lips. “Jerónimo Ortega, miss,” and your heart does a little flip at his politeness, “but most people just call me Jerón.”

You repeat the name to yourself and sit on the bed, patting the space beside you. He sits down, but there’s a nervousness to him that even the rough, strong liquor can’t erase. 

“Y’know, Jerón, if you really don’t wanna fuck a woman like me that’s okay. We can just, I dunno. Just talk, or somethin’.”

He shakes his head and looks up at you with a grin. He looks even more boyish when he smiles like that. “It’s not that I don’t want to…do anything, it’s just…”

You reach for his hand, broad and tanned. “I get it. You probably wish you’d got to Rosa first, huh.”

His expression shifts to one of confusion. “No, I…shit. I… I just didn’t think you were going to be so pretty.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “Sir, you’re payin’ me. You don’t have to flatter me. Usually I’m the one flatterin’ the man.”

He does a little half-smile, revealing a deep-set dimple that makes you want to reach out and kiss it. He taps his silver agency badge. “You saying an agent of the law is a liar, miss? Because I’m no liar, and you are beautiful.”

You giggle, moving your hand to his firm thigh, starting to trail your fingers up to his crotch. Usually you’d be summoning your best acting abilities around now, to avoid running screaming from whatever sweaty old man was trying to get his dick up, but now? With him? Hell, this could almost feel real.

You lightly run your hand over the bulge that’s visibly straining at his pants, drawing a moan from him, and tug gently on the watch chain that runs across his waistcoat along his middle. You pull him in towards you, fingers entwined with the silver metal, and he reaches up to cup your face in his hands as he kisses you, deeply and hungrily. 

“If you wanna wash, there’s a basin over there behind that screen.” you murmur. “Might wanna get undressed, too.”

He nods and disappears behind the screen as you undo your stays and slip out of your skirt and chemise. You take down your hair and try to arrange it as artfully as you can as you lie back on the mattress, naked and hoping to God he likes what he sees.

Jerón emerges wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned to the waist. His hard cock is visible against the light cotton, and you can actually feel your nipples harden at the thoughts of having him inside you as wetness pools between your legs. 

“Jesus, fuck, you’re even more beautiful naked. Can I…”

You beckon him with a nod of your head and help him out of his shirt as he joins you on the bed. It’s all you can do not to moan when you see just how big he is, hard length thick and reddened and already leaking pre-come from the tip. 

“You ever had your dick sucked, Jerón?” You manoeuvre him down onto the bed, working your way down and between his legs. Hands resting on his thighs, you spread him open a little bit more. 

“N-no…fucked women but not that, not…not yet”. He’s already almost rutting the air with his hips.

“Pity, really, cos this is a gorgeous dick. Mind if I do the honours?” He nods frantically as you look up at him through your lashes and guide his cock into your wet mouth. He bucks upwards immediately, mewling with pleasure at the sensation. You hum with satisfaction as you suck him, sending the vibrations through his cock as he whines in response.

You take him out of your mouth for a moment, trailing your tongue up and down the underside of his cock. “Fuck, Jerón, you like this, huh? What do you want me to do, sweet boy?”

“W-wanna… want to fuck your mouth,” his breathing is ragged as he pants the words. “W-wanna fuck you.”

“Good, darlin’. So fuck my mouth and then you can have me as much as you want.” You brace yourself between his legs, a hand lightly stroking the base of his dick, and slide him back between your lips. Jerón cries out as he starts to fuck up and into your mouth, bringing a hand to the back of your head as he thrusts harder and faster. 

You take his hand and ease him out of your mouth. “You want to fuck me or you wanna finish there, darlin’?”

“Want…want you.” He’s close, you can tell, and you hope the little breather will give him a little more stamina for when he’s inside you. “Want your cunt.”

You move up his body and rest your heavy tits on his chest. He reaches out to grope them as you grind your hips against him, before rolling onto your back and easing him over on top of you.

 You look up at him and open your legs as he gazes down at you, running his hand up and down his wet cock. “Look at my pussy before you fuck it, sweet boy. See what you do to me. Tell me.”

Jerón looks at your cunt as if it’s a lost treasure, bringing his free hand to trail along your slit and feel the wetness that’s been gathering there since you laid eyes on him. “So wet for me. So swollen and wet and fucking warm, sweet girl.” He brings his fingers to his lips and groans at the taste of you before getting down and bringing his face between your legs.

“Is this…okay?” He flashes you a look of those big puppy dog eyes, that handsome face nestled between your plush thighs, and you can’t even find the words. You nod and rest your hand on the back of his head as he brings that pretty fucking mouth to your core. Some men really like this. Some men like this and are bad at it. Some men think this is only for “pansies” and other terms you would rather not think about.

Jerón Ortega is not particularly experienced in this, you suspect, but he’s a natural talent, sucking and flicking his tongue over your clit while using those soft, plump lips to form a tight seal around your wet cunt. You moan and writhe on the mattress as he slips his tongue in and out of you until you come hard on his face, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit as you climax.

He shifts his broad body upwards as you hitch up your legs and reach around to grab his ass and guide his cock inside you. Even after all these years and even with being wetter than you have in a very long time, it’s still a tight fit, his size filling you completely and making you sigh with satisfaction before he’s even moved.

He starts to fuck you quickly, chasing his own high. He leans back a little so he can see you underneath him, tits bouncing as he takes you hard and deep. Sometimes he brings his mouth to your nipples, laving his tongue around the firm peak and the soft skin of your breast, moaning as he does so. You wrap your arms around his broad back and hold on for dear life as he fucks you harder and better than you’ve been fucked in your life, one big hand grabbing your tit so hard you know it’ll leave a mark and the other trying to reach between your legs and rub your clit. 

“So fucking beautiful, you are,” he grunts into your ear, “so soft for me, so wet for me, such a tight, pretty pussy.” He looks into your eyes again, and you feel you might explode as those coffee-brown irises look into the very heart of you.

“Jerón…” You usually try to avoid moaning a client’s name, just as a rule of thumb. But this doesn’t feel like work, tonight, and he certainly doesn’t feel like a client.

“Let go, darling, let go, hermosa.”

And you do, with a deep wail you’re certain has been heard all over the whorehouse and in the saloon below and probably as far as the boundary of the town. And you don’t give a fuck who hears you, as you cry out his name while he fucks you through the aftershocks.

The throbbing of your cunt around his dick tips Jerón over the edge, and you feel him come, hard and deep, his warm body dripping sweat onto your tits below. He kisses you hard before he pulls out, then flops beside you on the bed. 

You look over at him as he tries to catch his breath. Normally at this stage, the client throws your small fee on the chest of drawers before washing again and dragging on his clothes before heading back to the bar. Normally, you can’t fuckin’ wait for them to go so you can wash their smell and scent and come off you.

Him? You don’t want him to leave. You want him to stay. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Forever.

Your post-orgasmic haze snaps as you jolt yourself back to reality. He’s a lawman, a handsome young professional, just passing through on a job. You’ve been a whore since you were a teenager, a long time in this game. You’ve watched girl after girl win over men who whisk them away to better lives, while you stay here in this shitty little room and wait for someone to pay for your body.

In a few minutes, Jerón Ortega will gather up his clothes, dress, leave the money, and disappear out of your life. Just a gorgeous memory for you to replay in your mind when you have some red-faced toothless rancher on top of you in a few nights’ time. 

His breathing is steadier now and he turns to face you. “That was…just marvellous, miss.”

You smile softly and stroke his cheek. “You don’t have to praise me, Jerón. You’re paying, remember.”

A kind of sadness flashes across his face. “Oh. Didn’t feel like a transaction to me, but what do I know, I guess.”

“Didn’t to me, either, but…”

He reaches over and pulls you close to him. “Is it against the rules for me to stay here with you tonight? I - hell, I don’t want to leave you.”

You shake your head. “Stayin’s fine, sweet boy. You sure about this? You don’t want to see if one of the other girls is free?”

He looks at you intently. “Don’t think there could be another girl for me, now.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi Cas :) My younger sister is 22 and recently told me that she’s in a queer platonic relationship. I already knew she was aro so this isn’t surprising but i’ve been trying to understand her identity a bit more so I can help give her advice when she asks and stuff (cause she often came to me for advice with romance stuff and I even helped her find the label aro, which she now identifies with) but I feel a bit bizarre walking into queer places as a straight girl cause I hate to take up a place where people go to be comfortable around others like them. So I didn’t know who to ask. So i’m asking you :)

I don’t really understand queer platonic. I don’t want to know if my baby sister has sex and I don’t care whether that’s her thing or not, but I don’t know the right terminology.

Is her queer platonic person her partner? They were already really close friends, so are they more than that now? Is queer platonic another way of saying bestest friend to ever friend? She said they got together very recently (she was excited to tell me) and so… should I have noticed? Since she said she’s aro, I know she doesn’t get crushes, or want to date, so I stopped thinking about that in regards to her. Was it sort of like a crush except without romance? 

I know I could ask my sister but we’re pretty far from each other right now and it feels like the sorta thing to ask about in person, she speaks a lot in body language my sister, and so it’d be nice to know what she’s feeling I guess, or how I should treat their relationship going forward. 

Also since it’s a relationship, i’d quite like to get to know her partner, but I don’t know if that’s usually within the boundaries of queer platonic (I do partly know them already, but we’ve never met IN PERSON before). 

Also, I assume since she called it a queer platonic relationship, calling it a friendship is rude? Cause it’s not a friendship, it’s a relationship. 

I don’t know how much of it I should understand, you know? Cause obviously it’s her experience and not mine so there’ll always be a part of it I don’t get. But I feel like I don’t get enough of it yet. 

She often comes to me for advice and I expect she will more often now she’s in a relationship, she doesn’t deal with conflict very well and likes to call me to calm down sometimes.

I don’t know whether my advice should change now it’s a relationship. I also don’t know how her dynamic has changed with her partner? 

Also, and I really don’t want this to sound rude, but can I call what they have love? Cause they do love each other, just not romantically, I think. 

Anyway, I don’t fully know what i’m asking. Just if you having any insight into queer platonic relationships, please tell meeeee :) 

I’m super happy for my sister and already psyching myself up for correcting my parents when they use the wrong terminology for my sister and her partner. Oh that reminds me, is there any terminology that I might accidentally use that’s wrong? I assume like “romance”. Unless they can have romance, just not romantic feelings? 

Yeah idk, have a lovely week Cas ❤️ Thanks for reading my questionsssss

Hi hon!

Honestly, I don't have a ton of experience with queer platonic relationships, but I'm gonna do my best to help!

From what I know a queer platonic relationship is what it sounds like, basically. Two (or more) queer people who are in a platonic relationship. They may be partnered, meaning they sort of...belong to each other, ig? Belong isn't the right word, but I'm hoping you get the idea. There's love there, but not romantic. Sometimes there's intimacy, but sometimes not. There's variation there, which is why it's hard for me to answer your questions.

I think the thing is, a lot of these questions, I wouldn't be able to answer even if I had a lot of knowledge. The reason for this is because being aro can be a spectrum. Some aro people like a bit of romance, some like none. Some like physical intimacy, some don't. The questions that you're asking right now are amazing questions, because they show you respect your sister's identity and you want to understand how she feels. You're asking the right questions, but I really think you need to ask her.

I would start by saying something like. "Hey, you told me about x. I really want to understand because I love you. Is it okay if I ask some questions?"

Odds are, she'll be up for answering. Most queer people WANT people to want to learn. Then, ask away. These are all good questions and none of them are inappropriate imo. I think once you know the answers to these, you'll know how to give advice, too.

Remember that it's okay to not completely understand. But asking questions and working to understand means the world to most people.

And if she doesn't want to answer questions? Just be accepting. Roll with it. Try to learn by observing.

But I need you to understand that like...if someone came to me and was like, "I have questions about your gender, can I ask?" I would cry of happiness. So odds are your sister will be willing to answer.

You sound like an amazing person and I hope you ask your sister all of these things, because it sounds like you're exactly the type of sibling everyone deserves to have <3

Naming you qpr anon!

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @leahnardo-da-veggie!

OC in 15

Let's do some Mashal dialog from MG3!

"I kind of just assumed some elves were blue, but then we got to Skysheer and they weren't. That… that probably wasn’t a very culturally sensitive move on my part.”

“Urgent message for Mr. Montane."

“It is our duty to stop her before she extends any further out of Skysheer, which she already rules. We thought that as godly folk who might have some investment in not having your city conquered, you might lend us some assistance.”

This is fine. It’s going fine. Divine contracts probably don’t work if you sign a false name, right? I don’t feel any divine magic binding my soul.

“I know, right? I’m not one to speak ill of people, but I don’t know if I’ve ever come across someone so mundanely cruel. He was like… like a barnacle. An evil barnacle, stuck onto the underside of society and glutting himself on all the refuse.”

“What’s cydo— cydosabe— sabo— Fuck, this magic terminology is not for me.”

“We can find another way if you don’t want to. That’s blood-money magic. I know I— I couldn’t take it. I can’t. I just don’t know what other option we have.”

“What about divinely blessed blood? What about the Chosen?”

“Ok, one last question. Sorry if this is rude. Are you a pirate? Like an ex-pirate? You have that sword scar and you walk like a sailor. The corkboard is an old naval trick too. I just…. You don’t seem like a professor.”

“You have an air of passion, which is even better in my books."

“You think I’m honorable?”

"I knew that was messing with you. But you’re right. I think I’m coming to understand Antonin Montane, and while he is deplorable, he’s not anything we can’t deal with.”

“So, neither of us can swim and we’re heading into a flooded crypt to hunt a…. How did he so expertly describe it? Ah yes, a ‘beast.’ Shall we?”

“It went in my chest plate. My godsdamned chest plate. In my body!”

“I guess we’ll find out. If that’s the case, then… then are we going to stick together once I’m human again?”

I always forget that Mashal isn't super talkative (more so that Astra and Ivander are professional yappers) so I was scrounging for these lol. I'll tag @avidrambling @calamityeden @ominous-feychild @starsoughtfrost and anyone else who wants to play :)

[antiterf]

"Gender identity and feeling a certain gender isn't like sexual orientation. We know what attraction is!"

Okay but can you explain the feeling of being attracted to someone? Can you do it without using symbolism? Can you do it without objectification? Without the "feeling" because feelings aren't objective? We have the term sexual attraction to describe sexual orientation, and we have gender identity to describe being transgender. Both have been neglected by psychology and other sciences in regard to LGBTQ+ people and most of the time, it is, at the end of the day, multiple different theories and not a single explanation.

It took me longer to recognize romantic attraction than it did for me to recognize my gender identity. I assumed that certain things were sexual attractions when they weren't. Many gay, lesbian, and ace people go through that second one because sexual attraction can never be objectively described.

I eventually figured out romantic attraction as the feeling I get when I think someone as cute, not from aesthetics but as a person. That is not exactly specific enough for most people to understand. When combined with sexual attraction it becomes a constant yearning for the person to be next to me, the feeling that part of me is missing when they leave. I cannot separate sexual attraction from romantic, but can separate romantic from sexual. If we're going blatantly then sexual attraction would also be my want to have sex with the specific person because their body alone gives me feelings of euphoria (oh we love the oxytocin), but when comparing that to gender, that would be a sexual expression like how pronouns and clothing are gender expression.

On top of that, I can only speak for myself. Others can and will report feelings that do not match mine, but they still use the same terminology because those feelings will still fall under attraction. Trying to restrict what is and what isn't a form of romantic or sexual attraction by personal experience isn't helpful and likely more harmful.

Gender identity was the feeling that something was off and that I had one foot in the door and one foot out. That something was missing until I put the key into place. It was the feeling of euphoria when hearing my preferred name. It's the comfort I get when there's some compression on my chest because I associate binders with relief and happiness. But wait... wouldn't that second one be instead feelings of transsexualism?

I don't fucking know dude! I don't feel these things separately! Separate orgasm from pleasure and see how that works out for you!

When trans people talk about our experiences with gender identity because someone wants some sort of description, when a cis person who has never had to examine what gender identity feels like, there's not going to be much of a way to describe it where someone completely understands unless if they've experienced it before. We as trans people can go "oh yeah that sounds accurate to my experience" or go "oh no, not me, for me it's a little more like ____" but there's not much of a way to objectively describe it.

What is a woman, anyone who claims that they're a woman, is as circular as a definition as:

Sexual attraction: attraction that makes people desire sexual contact or shows sexual interest in another person(s). Romantic attraction: attraction that makes people desire romantic contact or interaction with another person or persons.

So neuroscience is used to try and find Where the Gender is Stored but the brain is such a complex organ that the shape of your brain can be used to identify you like a fingerprint. Oxytocin is what we have for attraction but which one? Does it matter? There are studies that show that the brains of trans people are different in some way but I kind of stopped caring about them years ago because I don't care! I don't care!

I'm trans, we keep trying to explain what gender identity is, why we transition, but there's always some issue on it being too vague or reinforcing stereotypes (men having flat chests with binding even though not all men do for instance).

So when you get a way to describe all of what you feel objectively that everyone can relate to you can get back to me and I'll fucking applaud you.

[im-no-jedi]

MLWTBB: Business Is Business

aka the (continued) journey into my self insert nonsense✨

chapter summary: the reunion between Hannah and the Bad Batch is delayed due to interference from the Pyke Syndicate, and Hannah finally speaks her mind about how she truly feels about Roland.

notes: this is a continuation of my story, “My Life With The Bad Batch”; I highly recommend reading that first before this one! I created a few new planets for this story. I’m also not 100% versed in SW terminology, so forgive me if some things are labeled incorrectly! each chapter will be rated accordingly, as opposed to the overall fic. lastly, there is romance in this story. hope you enjoy! 💙

add. notes: I FORGOT TO POST THIS BECAUSE OF THE HOLIDAYS WHOOPS 😅 this chapter was edited and proofread by my sis @jam-n-ham! thanks sis!! 😋💙 this was originally where this story was going to end, as it’s the end of the episode, but... well, you’ll see next time 😜

Chapter 3, 2700+ words, rated T (more gun violence and other violence, again just stuff from the episode 😬)

previous chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

next chapter

✨MLWTBB masterlist✨  

______________________________________________________________

The parlor was a mess. All of Roland’s men had been wiped out and now littered the floor more than the actual trash. Cid did her best to not step on any of the bodies as she made her way inside, a smug smile plastered on her reptilian face.  

“See? My plan worked like a charm. Even better than expected.”

The rest of the group did their best to avoid the carnage as well, stepping further into the parlor behind Cid. Hunter’s first instinct was to scan the room for any living persons, but found none, which honestly concerned him. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but his thoughts naturally went to worrying about where Hannah had gotten to. He could still smell her, which somehow worried him even more, but he said nothing about it. More importantly, he could feel footsteps approaching from the back room, which was about to potentially bring about even more trouble.

Stepping out of the hallway was Roland, cuffed at the wrists, followed by three Pykes. Hunter thought he sensed another presence, but didn’t see anybody else yet. Upon noticing Cid, Roland gestured towards her, saying, “that’s her, she’s the one you want.”

Yup. More trouble was definitely about to happen.

“It has come to my attention that you have stolen our shipment of spice,” the head Pyke said, stepping out from behind Roland. “Return it to us, and we will consider this matter resolved.”

Cid put on a confused face, replying, “Not sure what he’s been telling you, but we don’t have any spice.”

Despite their expressionless faces, it was obvious the Pykes weren’t buying the lie. “Kill them all,” the head Pyke said to the other two, who promptly pointed their blasters at Cid and the Batch.

“Wait,” Hunter said, throwing a hand up to stop them. “We don’t have the spice on us, but we know where it is.” He took a defensive stance in front of Omega, who gladly hid behind her big brother.

“My patience is wearing very thin,” the head Pyke dryly replied. “If you know where the spice is, then you should have no problem retrieving it.” His gaze then went downward, towards the little girl behind Hunter. “Until you do, the child stays here.”

All at once, the four enhanced Clones quickly drew their blasters at the Pykes, with Omega shrinking further behind her brothers. “Not happening,” Hunter growled.

“You misunderstand,” the head Pyke responded, completely unshaken by the attempted threat. “This is not a negotiation.” Without anyone realizing it, one of the other Pykes had gone back to the hallway and began dragging someone out into the main room.

Hunter knew who it was even before they came into the room. He heard Omega gasp. His eyes went wide and the grip on his blaster tightened. “Hannah...” Hunter’s blood boiled. It took everything in him to not gun down all the Pykes right then and there.  

Hannah looked terrified. She was cuffed at the wrists like Roland, with a blaster stuck against her back from the Pyke who’d dragged her in.

The room went completely silent.

Then Cid, seeing the situation they were in, decided to speak up. “If I may?” The head Pyke silently approved, and Cid turned to Hunter, who definitely looked like he was about to pull the trigger at any second.  

“You all don’t realize who you’re dealing with,” Cid said to the boys. “If you don’t lower your blasters, we’re all gonna wish we were dead!” She placed a hand on Hunter’s outstretched arm, which made him ease up only slightly. “Let me handle this.”

Hunter looked at Cid, then back at Hannah again. Like she had done earlier, Hannah was pleading with Hunter with her eyes, tears visibly welling in them. Hunter felt helpless, a feeling he couldn’t stand in the least. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew Cid was right. Shaking with anger, Hunter lowered his blaster and told the others to do the same. He could feel Omega beside him and desperately wished he could go in her place.  

“It’s ok, kid,” he said, placing a hand on his little sister’s shoulder. “Stay with Hannah. We’ll be back, I promise.”

Omega looked at each of her brothers sadly, feeling as equally helpless as Hunter. Then she looked to Hannah, who was looking back at her solemnly. If nothing else, having Hannah there with her would make this slightly less painful. The little girl ran towards her friend, who immediately caught Omega in her arms, holding her close.

“A wise decision,” the head Pyke said. “I look forward to you bringing our spice back to us.”

Nobody said anything else as Cid and the rest of the Batch left. Soft crying could be heard from Hannah and Omega, which broke Hunter’s heart. He turned to look back at them one last time, just catching Hannah looking up at him at the same time. The two shared one last longing look before Hunter turned to leave. Hannah held Omega closer, afraid the small girl would disappear if she let go. She too felt nothing but helplessness.

**********************************

Hours passed as everyone at the parlor waited for the Batch to return with the spice. The Pykes had cuffed Omega the same as Roland and Hannah, and they were keeping them in the parlor, still littered with dead bodies. Hannah couldn’t bring herself to look at them, solely keeping her focus on Omega, who had not once left her side. But the little girl in question was much bolder and was already thinking of ways she could get out of this mess. She eyed one of the blasters laying on the ground, which didn’t go unnoticed by Roland.

“Don’t try it. They’ll kill you.”

Hannah eyed him crossly. “Well at least she’s trying to do something, unlike you.”

“Oh, you think I haven’t already?” Roland replied, equally cross. “Besides, if your friends don’t return with the spice, we’re all dead.” He huffed and leaned further against the table he was sitting against. “That’s what happens when you meddle in other people’s business.” He scowled at both of the girls, who were sitting on the floor just a few feet away from him.

“Us?” Omega exclaimed. “You’re the one who took Cid’s parlor from her!”

“You take what you want,” Roland said proudly. “That’s the Durand way.” He sighed. “It’s a tactic my mother has perfected.”

Again with the mother issues. Hannah scoffed, saying, “Yeah, that’s workin’ out real well for you, buddy.”

“So, your mother’s a criminal too?” Omega asked, genuinely curious.  

Roland groaned and rolled his eyes. “You make it sound so undignified.”

Hannah wanted to crawl over and smack Roland on the head. “Gee, I wonder why that is!”  

Roland chuckled to himself, ignoring Hannah. “If she saw me now...”

“You are unbelievable,” Hannah said, shaking her head at him and huffing.

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” A piece of trash came flying at Roland’s head from Hannah’s direction. He looked to see her scowling at him, her face nearly as red as her hair from anger.

While this happened, Ruby came crawling over from the corner of the room and snuggled into Omega’s lap, much to the little girl’s delight. Both Hannah and Roland put aside their squabble for the moment to enjoy the adorable sight.  

“Ruby doesn’t take a liking to many people,” Roland said, almost sounding jealous.  

Hannah snickered, adding, “Omega has that effect on others.”

Omega beamed and began petting Ruby on the back. “Don’t worry, Ruby. We’ll get out of this.”

Roland sighed and looked at Omega. His lip quirked. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Omega asked.

“How can you be so... hopeful? Despite everything that’s happened?”

Omega shrugged. “I don’t know. I have faith in my brothers, and Cid too. It’s part of what being a family is, after all.”

Roland groaned again. “Your family maybe...”

Hannah couldn’t take it anymore. By then, in her mind, Roland had officially become even more annoying than Vin ever was. “Oh my gosh, would you please stop with the ‘poor me’ crap? We get it, your mom is hard on you and your life is soooooo difficult because of it. If anything, I have more respect for her now knowing how much of a brat you are!”

The room fell silent after that. Even Ruby didn’t make a peep. Omega looked between Roland and her adopted sister, wondering if she should say anything or stay out of it.

Eventually, a snicker was heard from Roland. “How about that? You actually were listening to me ramble earlier.”

Omega decided to chime in now. “Hannah’s good at listening to others, even if she doesn’t like them.”

“A good quality to have, I suppose.” Roland looked at Hannah, who was once again glaring at him, then back to Omega. “You’re lucky to have someone like her in your family.”

“I know,” Omega said, leaning harder against her adopted sister.

Hannah just huffed and looked away, unable to hide the gratified look on her face. To her discretion, she began rethinking her previous statement about Roland. Yes, he was still terrible. But maybe he wasn’t as bad as Vin. Maybe.

************************************

By the time night fell, the Pykes received word that the spice was en route back to the city. The girls looked at each other happily, proudly taunting Roland about how “they told him so”. Roland was genuinely surprised and impressed, but he played it off nonchalantly. The Pykes gathered the three of them up and brought them to Cid’s docking bay, along with Ruby, who was still being carried by Omega. They didn’t have to wait long before the Marauder came flying in – a sight that brought Hannah and Omega immeasurable joy.

Once the ship landed, the boys wasted no time hauling the reacquired spice crates out for the Pykes to see. Hannah’s heart swelled at seeing them again, this time believing she might actually get fully reunited with them. She still had a blaster to her back though and told herself to not get too excited yet.

After all the crates were offloaded, one of the Pykes opened a crate to confirm that the spice was still inside. Sure enough, despite whatever had happened to the crates, the spice was still all there and completely intact.  

The head Pyke addressed Cid and the boys, saying, “Since the spice has been returned, the matter between us is resolved.” He then pulled a dagger out from behind him and turned towards Roland, who was still cuffed and kneeling on the ground. “But not with you.”

Omega and Hannah both looked at Roland sympathetically. Despite everything that had happened, Hannah still pitied Roland, if only a little. Then both girls were suddenly shoved forward, towards the others. They were finally free. Both of them immediately ran for Hunter, who had his arms out for each of them. Omega still had Ruby in her arms and was only able to lean against Hunter’s side, but Hannah practically crashed into him, clutching his neck tightly and burying her face into his shoulder.

The moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of Roland being shoved against one of the crates. Everyone watched as the head Pyke raised his dagger over Roland’s head. Hannah audibly gasped.  

“Don’t!” Omega cried out, genuine concern in her voice. She stepped forward, causing Hunter to reach out in an attempt to stop her. “He made a mistake. That’s all!”  

Cid stepped forward as well, adding, “She’s right – kill him, and you’ll be starting a war with Isa Durand. Do you want that heat right now? Call this a bad deal, and walk away.”

To say Hannah was shocked would be an understatement. She was used to Omega doing this sort of thing, but seeing Cid stand up for the guy who quite literally stole her parlor from her made Hannah almost think she was imagining things.

The head Pyke was not willing to listen though. “We do not accept bad deals,” he hissed in his monotone voice before once again raising his dagger over Roland’s head.  

Hannah turned her face away as the blade swung down. She heard Roland cry out and could feel a pang in her heart. Cautiously, she looked back to see Roland not beheaded, but simply rolling on the ground in pain, clutching the top of his head. A severed horn laid on the crate in front of them, which was promptly picked up by the head Pyke.  

“Our business is finished,” he said, then looked down at the writhing Roland. “It would not be wise for our paths to cross again.”

With that, the Pykes gathered the crates of spice and began walking off, leaving the newly disgraced Roland on the ground. Roland turned towards everyone else, an ashamed look on his face. He saw Omega walking towards him, still holding Ruby gently and looking at him sympathetically.  

“Are you ok?” she asked, crouching down closer to him.

Roland shook his head and turned away from Omega, his newly severed horn now on full display. “It’s a small price to pay.”

Hannah looked up at Hunter, who looked back at her, wordlessly telling her that everything was ok. Gently, Hannah eased up her grip around his neck so that he could approach Omega. Wrecker was standing nearby and offered his arm out to her, which Hannah gladly took, wrapping her arms around his waist and getting pulled into a signature Wrecker squeeze. She watched as Roland stood up and was handed Ruby by Omega, with Hunter standing behind her.  

“I’ll be going now,” Roland said, his face once again turned away in shame. He shot a glance towards Hannah, who acknowledged him before he turned and walked away.

It was weird seeing Roland just walk away like that. Compared to Vin, he really wasn’t as bad as Hannah initially thought. Maybe this event would change him in a way that Vin never got. Maybe. Hannah wasn’t going to get her hopes up, that’s for sure.

Once Roland was gone, Cid turned to Tech, Echo, and Wrecker, saying, “Come on boys. First round’s on me.”  

Wrecker scoffed and patted Hannah on the back. “You owe us way more than that!”  

Cid smirked and replied, “Don’t push your luck.”

For the first time all week, Hannah laughed. “Well, I guess I’ll provide the seconds then.”  

Wrecker also laughed, giving her another squeeze and saying, “And this is why you’re our favorite!” The three boys then ran off, leaving Hannah behind with Cid.

“It’s fine,” Cid said, turning to Hannah with a smirk. “I can admit when I’ve been beaten.”

Hannah laughed again. “Alright, who are you, and what have you done with Cid?”

“Hey, even an old codger like me can change if necessary.” Cid came up to Hannah and patted her on the arm. “Besides, believe it or not, you’re my favorite too, Red.”  

Hannah’s eyes lit up, genuinely touched by Cid’s words.  

Cid leaned in closer, saying, “Just don’t tell the boys I said that.”  

Hannah giggled and nodded in reply.

Cid and Hannah began making their way back to the parlor together, the other boys long gone by now. Cid hoped they were making themselves useful by cleaning out the bodies, which Hannah had forgotten about and grimaced at the thought of. She quickly realized though that she was missing something. Two things actually. She let Cid continue on and stopped to look back at the docking bay.  

Still standing together, side by side like usual, were Hunter and Omega – her lover and her adopted sister. Everything that had happened that week suddenly didn’t matter anymore. It was over now. All that Hannah cared about most was what was right in front of her, in that moment. She saw Omega run towards her and smiled fondly, holding out a hand for her. They began walking together, hand in hand, like they had done from the very first day they met. Then turning to the other side, Hannah held out her other hand for Hunter, who she knew was right behind them. He gently grabbed her hand and interlaced their fingers together, pulling her closer and kissing the side of her head.

Hannah was definitely not going to be lonely for a while.

[schizononsince]

Guess I'll do a pinned, since I'm kind of active again.

Call me King, not because of an ego or anything, just don't feel like giving my real name here is safe. So king it is, because I can think of absolutely nothing else but Caleb, and I don't wanna be a Caleb. No offense to the Caleb society.

He / him binary transman who usually just drops the ' trans ' IRL bc letting everyone I meet on a daily basis assume I'm a cisman makes things a lot less complicated for me down here in the south. Where I'm not trying to be put in a situation or catch a case.

Been on HRT for a while, my chest is cis male passing without a binder being needed and these two things make me feel very safe and secure in my body. HRT can do a hell of a lot for a trans person, who woulda thunk?

Here I'm going to post mostly my very negative thoughts when mental illness curb stomps me. So that I don't worry the very few friends I have. But in between that, I'm gonna be talking about advocacy and stuff. Not really gonna let a whole lot of my personalities shine here. You're gonna get the fed up twin on the Gemini here. You've been warned.

I'm solid in my gender identity and I feel this plays a huge part in what I'm about to say;

If you are against detransitioners right to exsist in the trans community then just get off my page now. Stop hating a minority with a gender journey of self discovery that's just as unique as a transgender individuals.

I don't typically fuck with TERFs so if yer gonna be using ' gender critical ' terminology and spread that jelly of hateful ignorance then just block me now. I'm not tryna go back to jail. But I will. This is a threat, leave.

Protect trans kids and protect detransitioners.

Death to Ron Desantis

That's actually probably gonna be the only ' political ' focus here.

May loosen up a little and try to let the cool side of me show. But I'm very on edge in this community and until I feel it's safe to be any degree of vulnerable, I'm not.

Feel free to DM me if you need someone to talk to. If no one else will listen, I will, tell me what's on your mind, or how your day is going.

Not gonna post a DNI bc that's honestly just begging for the kind of people I don't like to purposely come harass me with their single struggling braincell.

I block. Real fast. If u send me some long ass rant Abt how you hate me I'm not gonna read it Homi. I'm just gonna block on sight and spare myself the psychic damage.

I don't fuck with minors, so if you're not at least 18 find someone else to follow. Someone your own age.

You're not going to get an accurate portrayal of myself here. You're just gonna get the grumpy asshole that jumps out when I see stupid shit. Infuriatingly stupid shit. But in DMS, if you're chill, then you'll get a taste of what I'm really like.

Asks are turned off because I don't particularly care for anon hate. Because I just end up blocking before reading it, so what's really the point in even opening myself up to receive it? Got a question? Dm me, I don't bite.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go 

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear. 

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”  

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid. 

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room. 

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?” 

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” 

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.” 

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!” 

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him. 

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.” 

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions. 

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.” 

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?” 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.” 

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression. 

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.” 

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.” 

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours. 

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you. 

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?” 

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.” 

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.” 

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure. 

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.” 

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?” 

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.” 

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.” 

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.” 

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?” 

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.” 

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.” 

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.” 

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?” 

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” 

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes. 

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.” 

[nanaminokanojo]

[9:00 PM] Kamo Noritoshi

LOG 13 OF MY JUJUTSU KAISEN TIMESTAMP DRABBLES

CHARACTERS: Kamo Noritoshi X You | JJK Characters (mentions)

WORD COUNT: 1,112

GENRE: slight angst | fluff | implied race

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of violence | injuries | profanity

SPOILERS: n/a | a little bit of that blond Zenin guy *whispers* Naoya

collection masterlist

📸 photo/fanart credit to @fushigummy

You sat, assuming proper seiza*, on the tatami floor of Noritoshi’s private study at the Kamo Clan estate. Your hands balled into fists while you tried hard not to make a sound or show any kind of expression to give away just how much pain you were in. In an embarrassing concatenation, you ended up there, the left-arm side of your prescribed, dark blue kimono – a sort of uniform as one of the guards to the clan's heir – folded neatly under your arm, while your other hand held onto your hanjuban* to keep your chest modestly out of view.

Your current state of partial undress revealed severe bruising on your left shoulder, the irregular purple and red patches covering that quadrant of your back, extending downwards. It was a result of your reckless decision to go against the arrogant heir apparent to the Zenin clan who came for a visit, only to insult Noritoshi. The young man you served said nothing even as that blond, young master of the other clan said all those disrespectful things, mostly questioning Noritoshi’s legitimacy to hold the same position as he does for the Kamo clan. He had nerve mouthing off when there was talk about him not being fit for the role either.

You ended up losing, and if it weren't for the interference of both present clan heads, you would probably be dead. The malicious intent in that person's eyes as he regarded you as if you were a piece of insignificant trash was etched in your mind, making your blood boil with anger. It wasn't your place to go against the Zenin boy. It was imprudent because your course of action was not under a command but merely based on your whims. Still, your priority will always be to protect Noritoshi regardless of the circumstances, even at the cost of your life as, first and foremost, a servant to him and the clan, and secondly, as his friend.

"What have I told you about your temper?" Noritoshi said rather sternly.

You watched from the mirror on the wall as he knelt behind you, having insisted that he would tend to your injuries himself despite your protests. You hated it when he uses that tone of voice when speaking to you in private when he also insisted you act casually around each other when no one else is around.

"To not let it bring out the worst in me," you answered promptly albeit grudgingly. You didn't really want to speak while he fiddled with your injured back since it was harder to conceal your pain. Your voice came out wobbly at best as you spoke through gritted teeth, breaking into cold sweat. Even harder when you were trying to sound calm.

He sighed. "Are you angry?"

"Am I..." You let out a snagged breath as you chuckled without mirth, the sound coming out from your throat in a stifled gasp. Even that action made your whole body hurt.

You've had enough seeing how everyone seemed to be tormenting him just because his mother was a mistress. You've had enough of witnessing how lonely his existence was, crying for his mother when they sent her away when you were kids, the haughty bastards that they are. You had to see all those tears but you've also watched how hard he worked to become stronger. And you've most definitely had enough of seeing everyone act as if the sins of his father defined him when he was so much more than that. Hell, you were treated better then him until he was named heir to the clan, all because he inherited the clan's curse technique.

Finally snapping, you swatted at his hand, preparing to stand up, acting out of turn again. But he placed a hand on your injured shoulder, the pressure hardly there but you fell back on your knees, your upper extremities seizing. You glared at him from over your shoulder, eyes becoming hazy with tears but you blinked them back.

"Am I supposed to just watch while that person steps all over you?" you hissed. "All this time I've known you, all I could do was watch and wait for you to order me to actually do that. That's my job, but you're not letting me do it. Instead, you're protecting me. To answer your question, no. I'm not angry. I am fucking furious!"

"Y/N, language," he admonished. Damn it, he would be paying attention to propriety while you were lashing out like that. Only Kamo Noritoshi.

"Don't tell me to watch my language! Right now, I don't care if you're the heir to the clan leadership. I speak as your friend, and I'm telling you I won't just stand by idly. No more."

You didn't even realize you were already a crying mess until you felt his warm hands cup your face, kneeling before you, his thumbs wiping away your tears. Just then, he opened his eyes and broke into that rare smile. "So you have this side to you?" His tone was gentle and he regarded you the same way.

You winced, clutching at your shoulder and finding that it had already been wrapped up properly. You sniffled, calming down. "Thanks. You're not even supposed to be doing this for me." You sighed, quelling your fury. "I should be taking care of you."

"Stop saying that," he told you, fingers caressing your cheek as he drew nearer. "You've protected me enough, more than I can tell you. Don't undermine what you do for me because I don't know what I would have done without you by my side all these years."

Your eyes widened at his words, surprised that he thought that way. You never really thought you were doing much for him, but as if he read through you he said, "You've protected me all this time, now it's my turn to do it. I don't keep you by my side because I need you to watch my back." He reached for your hair, letting its silky length run across his palm.

"Then why?" you asked.

"Because you're mine..."

You didn't know if you heard right, but your heart stopped just the same when his words registered. "Huh?"

He smirked at you then and closed the distance between your faces, his hand gently pressing at the small of your back as he pulled you closer, his lips claiming yours in a sweet kiss that knocked the breath out of you.

When he pulled back, he touched his forehead to yours, breaking into a smirk as he said, "And I always want to keep an eye on what is mine."

-END-

TERMINOLOGIES:

*seiza (正座) – the proper/polite/formal sitting position in traditional Japan

*hanjuban (半襦袢) – traditional undergarment worn under the kimono, particularly for the upper extremities; it’s like a traditional undershirt which goes with another piece called susuyoke (裾除け) for the lower half of the body and together, the ensemble is called hadajuban (肌襦袢)

ハッピーバースデー @fushigummy!! This one's STILL for you.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210603]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[i-want-my-iwtv]

I hope the rumours of Louis being a brothel owner aren't true, but if they are I can sort of see why they're going for this route? I mean, with a black Louis they can't have him being a slaver anymore, so maybe they're trying to find something that is also morally reprehensible for him to be.

TL;DR: My kneejerk reaction was to be saddened, and I don’t like that this is starting up, and will continue to fuel, fandom drama. Ultimately, if we want peace, we’ll embrace the fact that the existence of this adaptation doesn’t take away from the existence of the books, and it also doesn't mean we have to acknowledge it.

It makes me wonder whether AMC wants us to make a storm about this. We’ll see...

After all, what makes this adaptation any more important than the graphic novels of the ’90s, the graphic novel Claudia’s Story, movie!IWTV, or movie!QOTD? In fact, many fans here on tumblr consider VC to be a trilogy only!!! and don’t accept the majority of the PUBLISHED CANON so what makes anyone think we have any obligation to swallow this AMC adaptation as some kind of gospel?

I see movie!QOTD as a buffet of ideas carried in an official fanfiction work, and I don’t accept as my headcanon the various things it changed about the books that I didn’t particularly like, such as merging Magnus and Marius (which, IMO, effectively made both characters more morally reprehensible). I accepted the things I did enjoy, like casting a Black/POC actress to play Akasha. I see this AMC adaptation as a buffet of ideas, some can be taken, and some not, it’s just another official fanfiction work.

[Anon, I need to catch other ppl up on the information, too.]

Deadline.com informs us that in the AMC adaptation for Interview with the Vampire, Jacob Anderson has been cast as Louis. I'm not familiar with him, but it looks like he’s a successful actor, from Game of Thrones and other things, he’s also joining Series 13 of Doctor Who. I’ll have to check him out from an acting standpoint!

Aside from his talent as an actor, this is by far the most controversial thing that's happened in VC fandom recently. I've been thinking about this for a few months now, talking about it privately online and offline, still gathering my thoughts. So this post is not engraved in stone, it’s initial thoughts on this.

I’m glad to see ppl talking about it and I’m sure we’ll have more public discussions. I’m trying to discuss it very carefully, but also, this is an entertainment blog, my opinions are mine alone, and I’m not looking for dogpiling on anyone, I have no obligation to respond publicly or privately to anything. Plenty of other ppl have differing opinions on this. So take all of the following with more than a grain of salt, I’m not being salty, I’m providing the links to the little info we’ve seen pulicly, I’m giving my initial thoughts, and I’m also trying to add a little levity because ultimately, again, this is an entertainment blog, and I try to add a little humor to help with such serious topics, humor can help ppl talk about controversial things.

-----

The casting of a POC/Black actor (I’m sorry I don't know the preferred terminology, let me know if you know what Anderson prefers) confirms at least one part of theilluminerdi articles that stated that Louis’ race will be different from the books. I didn’t post about these before bc I wasn’t sure how reliable theilluminerdi’s sources are (and I'm still not sure), but this was one major aspect that theilluminerdi announced before Deadline did, so now seems to be the right time to share those articles. For now, you can go check them out yourselves rather than have my reposting of the information, trigger warning: mentions of sex workers and race in the changes to the canon story of Interview with the Vampire.

>>>theilluminerdi articles from May 21, 2021 and July 15, 2021:

www.theilluminerdi.com/2021/05/21/interview-with-the-vampire-amc

www.theilluminerdi.com/2021/07/15/interview-with-the-vampire-amc-2

^Meme of Dr. Ian Malcom from Jurassic Park reads: “Your writers were so preoccupied with whether they could that they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

I’m using that meme with a little levity here, clearly an AMC adaptation of vampires in which the producers/writers have chosen to change the race of a main character (arguably the original protagonist of the series) isn’t in the same VICINITY as the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park that broke out of containment and killed visitors to the park, but John Hammond’s intention for the creation of that park was very good, as I assume this race change was intended. Time will tell.

“But with this place, I wanted to show them something that wasn't an illusion. Something that was real, something that they could see and touch. An aim not devoid of merit.”

“Creation is an act of sheer will.” 

- John Hammond, Jurassic Park

Race is a more complicated subject than ever, so for AMC to make this bold change, I hope they have POC and Black writers on staff and are handling this very carefully. Even then, no racial group, including POC and Black people, are a hivemind, disagreements are bound to happen in the writing room, whether in good faith or bad. People have different intentions and motives, compromises will probably be made with the story in many ways, we all know how it goes with collaborations; the end product is a shared vision among multiple creators. This could be a potentially controversial adaptation, I don’t know whether they’re aiming for that or not, but with the elements it has so far, it seems to be headed that way.

Here's a comment by "Angellus" on the 5/21 article. It's undeniable that there's going to be the accusation of racism thrown at anyone who has any negative view of this change, regardless of their reasons. I find it unfair and narrow-minded that any negative response is automatically assumed to be coming from a racist point of view. To say that changing Louis' race is unequivocally an improvement fails to take into account how that change has a Domino effect on all of the other parts of the story. Not the least of which is that, if he is still a slaver/slave holder/plantation owner/(insert your preferred term) that adds a whole new racist element to his owning Black/POC people, even though, apparently there were Black/POC plantation owners. 

Not the least of which: How will this change impact his relationship with Lestat? Particularly when Lestat has the added issue of being described in those articles as having “mind control abilities” and “insistent that he gets what he wants and when facing rejection,” a terrible combination in terms of consent, even in a relationship of the same race, let alone invoking Caucasian/white dominance over Black/POC people, AND Lestat being the catalyst to Louis’ questioning his sexuality:

Lestat is insistent that he gets what he wants and when facing rejection, petulance can quickly turn to ruthless rage which causes frenzied acts of horrifically brutal violence. Lestat also has mind control abilities. Lestat initially infuriates Louis, but this soon turns to fascination which leads Louis to question his religion and sexuality. 

^Screencap reads: "I love how racist everyone is in the damn comments, this doesn’t pervert the story you’re all racist and it’s disgusting. I’m looking forward to it, I hope you keep crying your salty racist tears asswipes."

It makes me question whether Angellus truly believes what they wrote, if this is an ideology, or a troll. I would suggest their use of the term “pervert” is correct though, pervert means: “alter (something) from its original course, meaning, or state to a distortion or corruption of what was first intended.” That’s what this race change does, factually. Although, in this context, “distortion or corruption” carries a negative connotation. It would take a lot to show how this change does not meet the definition or “to pervert,” though.

I hope the rumours of Louis being a brothel owner aren't true

I agree 1,000%, I was hoping that these were just rumors. But, aside from the race change, if this were the only change, I find Louis being a brothel owner to be equivalently morally reprehensible to being a slaver/slave holder/plantation owner/(insert your preferred term). Ideally, they’d change his career to something that doesn’t involve benefiting from the bodies/labor of others in any morally reprehensible manner.

I mean, with a black Louis they can't have him being a slaver anymore, so maybe they're trying to find something that is also morally reprehensible for him to be.

He might still be a slaver. Who knows. Being morally reprehensible as a mortal man didn’t seem to me to be crucial to the story, but they still could have chosen something better. It seems to me like they want a brothel so they can have eye candy for an audience who want to see sex workers, maybe full frontal nudity. 

-----

What also gets my attention is that Anne and Christopher Rice have not yet posted publicly about it, which leads me to believe that this change wasn’t their choice. They take every chance to brag when they’re proud of something, every chance to crowdsource about casting ideas or which VC books Anne’s fans liked best, etc., and in this case, as of Aug. 31, 2021, (and to be fair, maybe I missed it), I haven’t seen either of them post about this on the official VC FB, Anne Rice’s FB, Annerice.com, Christopher Rice’s FB, or christopherricebooks.com. If it had been their choice, I think they would have gladly trumpeted their credit by now, but maybe they’re waiting to do it in a specific venue. Time will tell.

[saby-chan]

Fire Lord Ozai: A blood thirsty monster or the less fortunate “Zuko” of his generation?

Hello again and thank you as always for clicking and allotting some of your time to read my humble post! Since I’ve happened to notice quite an increase in posts lately regarding the controversial character and nature of the former Fire Lord, the now imprisoned fallen prince Ozai, and I’ve personally promised in my previous post that I will share my own analysis on him if people asked me to do so (which actually happened), I am here to deliver my own take on this very intriguing man’s character, while also building a potential past for him based on stuff gathered from the show’s cannon.

I would like to start this essay with what I find to be my favorite quote ever: ”Monster’s aren’t born, they are created.” ~ Naruto Uzumaki (Naruto) What I like about this quote soo much and find very inspirational is the truth it holds within its short, yet powerful message. We are often fast to judge a “book by the cover”, to reduce others to what we assume of them by their appearance or latest actions that we’ve seen them do, but never actually take a moment and wonder where they come from, if this person we soo harshly look down upon really has been this way since their very beginning?

I’ve come across many comments on social media related to ATLA, especially on YouTube videos on which people would throw with harsh comments such as “Aang being a coward for choosing to spare the villain just because they saw a dumb baby pic of them” or “Ozai is the essence of evil and even as a baby he’d been a monster”. I can’t help but wonder who hurt these people to make them be so cruel? Like, how messed up must you actually be to say that a baby, a friggin baby, is the embodiment of all evils? Or that a child was a coward for choosing to see his opponent’s last bits of humanity and opted to spare them?

Aang was soo morally conflicted about the idea of killing Ozai not only because it contradicted the morals of his people, but because he himself understood that this man hadn’t always been the cruel beast he came to met in their first and final showdown. It’s important to note here the fact that upon finding that picture, Aang was actually convinced it had to be Zuko as a baby since it looked so innocent and cute and was actually surprised to learn it was Zuko’s father. And that’s the thing, Ozai was born like us all as an innocent and sweet baby. Babies aren’t in any way evil or twisted, they don’t even have the notion of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ defined in their small, still developing minds. In fact, the very choice of the creators to add this picture in the show is meant to tell us this very thing: this man wasn’t always like this. But if he wasn’t always like this, then what happened to make him become this way?

Well, in order to find out the reason, we must go back in time to the very beginning: Ozai’s childhood and upbringing. For this next part I am going to solely focus on the show cannon, as the comics aren’t the products of BryKe and have a lot of inconsistencies to the source’s cannon (you can go and read my other post on why they fail when it comes to Zuko’s character and his family).

 From what we know and can easily deduce by ourselves just from their appearances, Ozai and his brother Iroh have a huge age gap between them (somewhere between 10 and 15 years). This has to be our first red flag: isn’t it soo odd that this family opted to have their children at such a long distance between pregnancies? It almost feels as if Ozai hadn’t actually been part of his father’s actual family planning... In other words, he was a ‘mistake’ child (I actually hate having to use this terminology, but it will become relevant to when we expand on Azulon’s relationship with his sons). Sure, some may argue that Azulon actually decided to have two sons in case something were to happen to his first born, but wouldn’t it have been more logical to have his second born at 2-3 years max distance from his first? Why choose to have your second child when you are much older and thus risk having a baby with issues, if your sole purpose of this child is to serve as an insurance that you don’t ‘run out’ of heirs? It just doesn’t make much sense, so let’s go for the moment with the possibility that Ozai was an unplanned pregnancy.

This perspective actually gives way to another very interesting aspect: remember the infamous “Born lucky...Lucky to be born” quote? What if I tell you that there is a possibility that this quote wasn’t Ozai’s personal wicked invention, but actually something he himself heard from his very own father? It had been puzzling me for a long time why he choose to say “You were lucky to be born” to Zuko, which implies that Zuko wasn’t supposed to exist. I mean, it’s soo odd that Ozai went with something implying that Zuko was an unplanned pregnancy, since Zuko was the first born. So my theory is that maybe Ozai wanted to convey a different message to Zuko when he said that quote, but due to his anger he ended up replicating the same line he received from Azulon at some point in his childhood. We never got the exact flashback when the line was delivered from Ozai to Zuko, so we don’t have the exact context that lead to it (remember, we are excluding Yang’s take on the matter from the comics).

I mean, this feels like something that wicked old Azulon would have said to his least favorite child. Okay, so let’s go with the scenario that Ozai was an unwanted child, to which we could also add the possibility that Ilah’s health deteriorated after the first birth, which makes plausible the family’s initial decision of stopping at 1 kid.

Moving on, we know from the old ATLA character wiki’s that Ozai’s character design was made with Zuko in mind, being meant to be a grown up version of Zuzu, without the scar. An interesting choice indeed and even Iroh’s letter to Zuko on Ozai from one of the ATLA books describes Ozzy in a similar way to teenage Zuko in book 1: stubborn, feisty, determined and with a volcanic personality (easy to anger and competitive), so it means that these were intentional choices to imply that Zuko and his father are more similar than we were led to believe at first glance. Maybe Ozai was the “Zuko” of his generation. Also, in one of the interviews on the royal family, BryKe stated that Ozai worked very hard to get where he is in book 3, referring to his firebending specifically (we all know how Ozzy got the throne, so clearly, he didn’t “work hard” for that), so maybe he wasn’t always the strongest man alive, with the most exceptional firebending skills out there, like Azula who showed ease in her learning, but rather someone closer to Zuko’s weaker performance as a child, building his way to success through endless hard work until he became the prodigy we know today.

Continuing with our theoretical scenario, after his birth, the second child show’s lesser skills compared to his brother Iroh (by that I don’t mean that he wasn’t gifted at all, but that maybe Ozai wasn’t as fast and great of a learner like his big bro), so Azulon opts to just ignore him and continue focusing solely on his golden child. In my headcannon I actually think that Ilah survived the birth and so she was left in charge of the younger child’s education and upbringing. At this point Iroh is already 10 or older, so he is forced to focus on his development, which prevents him from spending time with his lil brother, but just for the sake of being positive, let’s assume that Ozai still had both his mother and his big brother to keep him sheltered from Azulon’s darkness for a small portion of his childhood.

I choose to believe that Ozai had his mother’s love for a small bit of his childhood due to his willingness in the show to allow Ursa (who mind you, as the granddaughter of Roku was considered a treacherous individual) to spend a ton of time with both Zuko and Azula and share her philosophy with the children, as seeing his wife playing with their children probably reminded him of his own bitter-sweet memories he had with Ilah. They also probably spent a lot of their time near the turtle-duck pond since that pond’s existence prolly dates long before Ozai and Ursa married and had their own children.

Unfortunately, Ilah dies and little Ozai remains all alone, to be influenced negatively by his father (and even by his grandpa Sozin, we don’t really know for certain when the old man died, so he prolly was there for a short time when Ozzy was still a child). Azulon most likely blames Ozai for his wife’s death as the second birth might’ve really had a huge toll on Ilah’s already fragile body, bringing her closer to death, so he still neglects and ignores the child, if not straight out bullies and abuses him for not being on par with Iroh. This prolly leads to Ozai becoming jealous of his brother since Iroh has their father’s love, pushing them further apart. I headcannon that this jealousy between the siblings led to Ozai complaining to his dad when he finally had too much of their father’s discrimination (at a similar age to when Zuko prolly did and got the infamous line, if not younger) only to get the “Iroh was born lucky, you were lucky to be born!” line with the sole purpose of hurting him since now the child knows that he was never wanted.

When Azulon scolds very furiously adult Ozai in Zuko’s memories for daring to ask to be named crown prince, he literally says something like “What, you dare ask me to betray MY own son?!” (this is like red flag number two), line that pretty much testifies how Azulon chose to pretty much treat Ozai as if he wasn’t his son too, showcasing how much he despised his second born and favored the first child over him. Since we are on the topic of their last conversation, the punishment Azulon gave to his son alone proves this man’s level of sadism, which leads me to be believe that Ozai’s childhood was full of this type of punishments for bad behaviors that could be easily corrected trough a long serious lecture or a lesser punishment focused more on teaching him an actual lesson. 

The old wikis also mention on the page about the hall with portraits of the previous Fire Lords that it was the place where Ozai chose to spend most of his time in his youth, seeking advice from his ancestors. I mean, seriously now, if he had a good and supportive father and a present brother in his life, would Ozai had chosen to seek guidance from the dead instead of his living family? That piece of information that was easily overlooked by many proves how lonely this man was in his youth.

So for the most part of his life, Ozai grew up under the toxic influence and abuse of his tyrant father who refused to acknowledge him. Yet he managed to grow up still full of determination to one day prove his worth to Azulon and gain his acceptance (just like we saw with Zuko in book 1, who was desperate to regain his honor and be accepted by his father). But unfortunately, no matter how strong he became or how good of a firebender he was, Azulon was unmoved and unphased by his second son’s performance.

From what we could gather from the little info we received in the show, it seems that Ozai was never sent to the battle field to aid his older brother, being kept as a stay home prince, with the only occasion he actually left home being to search for the Avatar (I don’t think Iroh was sent to do his part on searching the Avatar since he strongly believed that there wasn’t going to ever be one, so it’s safe to assume Azulon assigned Ozai with this mission just to get rid of him for a few years) and the only purpose he ever served to his father was to become part of the old man’s genetics experiment in order to create strong unparalleled firebending offspring (which I am pretty sure were meant to be ‘biological war machines’ used by Azulon in the war, as he didn’t really seem to give a shit about Ozai’s children compared to Lu Ten). So just imagine the level of disappointment and dishonor Ozai must’ve felt as a man and young aspiring soldier to find out that he was going to be used like a ‘non-bending daughter’ in a strategical marriage and never get to serve his country in what he’d been taught was the greatest and most important war for their Nation.

All in all, this marriage didn’t really end up that badly because it seems he and Ursa were actually very compatible. The old wiki for Ursa states that she was a noble woman and the perfect match for Ozai, which leads me to believe that show Ursa was intended to be a very strong willed and determined woman who earned his respect. The show never stated that Ozai never wanted his first born or that he was disappointed with Zuko from birth like the comics say, so it’s safe to assume that Ursa and Ozai actually ended up falling in love at some point since they had not one, but two kids with relatively a short time in between pregnancies. 

There are actually many signs in the show that actually prove that these two loved each other and Ozai didn’t abuse his wife: from the fact that they went every year to see Ursa’s favorite play despite Ozai hating the poor performance of the Ember Island Players (I mean, what man would do such a sacrifice as to endure the same torture every single year just to make his wife happy if he never loved her?), Ursa’s undeniable and sincere love for their children (in the show it was never stated that Ursa saw Zuko and Azula as someone else’s children, so if she were indeed an abused woman who was forced to have these children, she wouldn’t have ever loved them to such an extent, especially Zuko who resembled his father the most physically), the fact that Ursa had equal rights in their marriage and raising of their children (her even scolding and grounding Ozai’s favorite child without hesitation), to the most significant scene to the Urzai ship in Zuko’s flashbacks: Ozai sitting troubled all alone in Ursa’s favorite spot by the pond, in a sad and brooding atmosphere, after he lost her, instead of celebrating what had to be the happiest day of his life since he was finally crowned Fire Lord (it’s clear who had more importance in his heart: Ursa meant more to him than the throne, so losing her outshined his achievement). In fact, Ursa must’ve been the only thing that still kept him outside of the darkness that threatened to swallow his heart and once he lost her, Ozai had nothing else to keep him on the right path.

And even as a father, it seems that Ozai wasn’t always cold and distant to his children, as his true self depicted in Zuko’s memories on Ember Island shows him caring for both of his children, even holding Zuko close to him with a protective arm on the boy’s shoulder. Except the Agni Kai, there don’t seem to be any instances in which he was physically violent towards his son before the banishment (Iroh literally let Zuko in to join that faithful war meeting willingly. Would’ve he done that if he knew his brother to be very violent towards his children in case they disobeyed? If yes, then it would make Iroh actually very questionable on a moral standpoint) and even on an emotional level, I don’t really think that he was actually abusive to him (at least while Ursa was there) because from Zuko’s conversation with Zhao, he’s adamant that his father will take him back and even states "You don't know how my father feels about me. You don't know anything!", meaning that the father he used to know showed him a level of respect and genuine affection (if Ozai were to bully Zuko since the boy’s very early childhood, do you think this kid would grow up to be so sure that his father wants him around and would he defend this bully when someone badmouths them in front of him?).

Even with Azula, despite people demonizing her from early childhood and saying that she was manipulated since birth by Ozai to become a war machine, I do believe that she shows genuine love and affection towards her father. I do choose to believe that back in the good times when the family was happy, Ozai spent quality time with his daughter, filling in the gap left by Ursa’s neglect. I theorize that the reason why kid Azula badmouthed her grandpa and uncle was because she was being very protective of her father: since she used to like spying and eavesdropping, it’s safe to assume that she prolly witnessed many instances in which the old man bullied or insulted Ozai, favoring Iroh over him. It’s a bit harder to see it that way since her snarky comments involve dark topics, but since they live in a society governed by power and war, I see them as something similar to if Azula would’ve said “Uncle sucks and he will surely be fired from his job!” or “Grandpa is old and weak, he should leave the family business to dad!”. Even the fact that the only thing capable of shattering her to pieces was her father leaving her proves how much she cared for him. Ty Lee and Mai’s betrayal was a big blow on Azula’s control and sanity, but she didn’t breakdown until Ozai discarded her after his coronation as Phoenix King. There’s nothing more painful in this world than to be left behind by the person you loved the most and was there by your side your whole life, whom you wanted to follow to world’s end and back. That was the moment Azula finally realized that the father she used to know and love was actually gone and had been in fact, long gone for years at this point.

But if Ozai cared for his family what made him change? Easy, it all comes back to the fact that his father never acknowledged him. The throne doesn’t seem to be his ultimate goal in life since Ozai discarded of the Fire Lord title very easily, tossing it to Azula without any remorse or hesitation. It was more about the meaning behind getting the crown: replacing Iroh in the line of succession was the ultimate proof of his father’s acceptance, that he wasn’t only a “mistake” and “failure” in his father’s eyes, but since Azulon ended up saying and doing what he did, backfired Ozai and made him understand that no matter how hard he tried, the old man will never see him for what he is. So yeah, for a proud man like Ozai this was a hard defeat to swallow, which in turn sparked his strong desire of winning the war and becoming the king of the world: if Azulon wouldn’t accept him even in death, then Ozai will prove to the whole world that he was above his father and his “perfect” brother by accomplishing what they never could and even better and no one was going to stop him, not even his own family.

This is what differentiates Ozai from Zuko: while both had similar upbringings, Ozai never broke away from his obsession of gaining his father’s admiration, allowing himself to fall prey to the darkness left by Azulon in his heart and abandon his true self, only to become the copy of his abuser, while Zuko stood up to his dad and chose his own destiny. If Aang were to come back around 20 or 30 years earlier, then he might’ve actually been able to save Ozai just like he saved Zuko, but unfortunately it wasn’t this way.

Do I think that Ozai could still be saved and redeemed even after the events of book 3? Definitely! Since he’s actually a broken man and still has a tiny bit of humanity left within, I think he still has a chance to change his heart. The only thing is that it’d be a long lasting process: first off he needs to spend a long time in solitude and reflect on his life’s choices and his past, understand where he went wrong and that what happened to him in his childhood is called abuse, which he ended up replicating on his own children. After he understands his wrongdoings and becomes willing to rediscover his true self, he needs to understand the truth about the war, that everything he’d known was fake propaganda and that there was nothing glorious in what he, his father and Sozin did under the excuse of “sharing their Nation’s greatness with the rest of the world!”. But most importantly of all, the only remedy that could possibly save him is love. It sound cliche, but by responding to hatred with more hate like Zuko did in the comics would never change the world “for the better” or bring it “to reality”. The only way to save both Azula and Ozai would be trough showing them the power of love, hope and empathy, how they don’t have to struggle alone and push everyone away. And especially by redeeming Azula, she would be a very important piece in Ozai’s redemption: since he had a closer parent-child relationship with Azula and cared for her the most when he did care, realizing how much he made her suffer through his actions, that would probably break Ozai enough to make him admit that he was wrong all along.

So yeah, this is my analysis on Ozai’s character using the cannon information from the show and old wikis and why I think he is just the product of a very bad environment and an abusive parent who never showed him love (if there’s a reason for why Ozai might be uncapable of showing a healthy parental love to his children is because you can’t show what you’ve never learnt yourself), being the Zuko of his generation who never got to experience the positive influence of an “Uncle Iroh” to guide him on the right path. 

You can agree with me or not on this one, but this is what I choose to believe. Maybe I am way too good by choosing to see any potential good in anyone, but I feel it’s a better way than to counter hate with more hate like Yang did in his monstrous portrayal of Ozai in The Search.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and if you agree with anything I’ve said, feel free to leave a like and to reblog this post.

See you next time and stay safe! Bye-Bye!

Saby out.

[ilikefandom]

The Science of Magic

Request: Hi hi. I was wondering if you could write Snape x reader fluff. But the reader is a muggle, not a muggle born witch. If you don’t want to, it’s alright since I saw a lot of requests on your blog u might be busy rn. Love u.

Requested by: Anon

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Two teachers, one magic and one science, A sneek peak into cuteness

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Warnings: Ignorence

“What do you mean you’ve never recorded your marks electronically?” (Y/n)’s voice was shrill and her tone was flabbergasted.

“We are very old fashioned at my school.” Severus said, as he copied down the marks of his third year students from their tests onto his gradebook.

“I know you have magic Sev, but honestly. Using google sheets or Excel is so much easier. It’s how I keep track of all my marks.”

“We don’t use computers or the internet at Hogwarts love.” Severus glanced up at (Y/n) from his place near the fire. 

“You don’t even use pens.” (Y/n)’s tone was on the verge of angry, but still amused. 

“Quills are harder for you to believe in than magic?” Severus chuckled as he placed his quill back in his ink pot. 

“Magic is just energy that you exert from your body, people who have magic just have more control over that energy.” (Y/n) said sitting down on the couch across from Severus. “For example the fire charm Incendio, or whatever latin you bother using, is a cue word for your energy to heat up and cause fire. Ergo, magic is science and has a reasonable explanation.” 

“I can never understand all of your terminology my dear.” Snape said, closing his mark book as he blew on the ink to dry it. 

“You and I basically teach the same subject! Chemistry and potions are the same thing, just in two different contexts.”

“If you want to collect all of my marks on your spreadsheet thing, I’ll send you them via owl every night.” Severus’ attempt at compromise left (Y/n) speechless.

“No, Professor Snape, you will text or phone your wife every night and you will send her all of the grades for your 1000 students.” (Y/n) looked at Severus incredulously. “I spent six years at University getting my degree and masters in Biochemistry, just to fill out a spreadsheet with my husband’s grades.”

“Darling, things are alright the way they are.”

“Husband of mine. Your textbooks in the wizarding world sound like fantasy novels. And your history class is taught by a ghost. Do your students even know basic math?” (Y/n) stretched her legs and looked at her husband. “I have so many questions about this.”

“Arthur Weasly would love you. Muggle obsessed as he is.”

(Y/n) stopped speaking and looked at Severus, head tilted and expression confused. “What’s a muggle?”

Severus sighed. “You’re a muggle, dear.” He cleared his throat. “A non-magic person. Other countries have different words, Americans call you no-maj and Canadians call you can’t-spells. The majority of the world are muggles, just like you.”

“It sounds rude.” (Y/n) grumbled as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Do you have any muggle teachers at your school?”

“We do not.”

“Well why not?”

“Because you can’t teach magic.”

“Well what about, what do you call it? Muggle studies, shouldn’t a muggle teach muggle studies?”

“Muggleborns usually teach muggle studies.” Severus got out of his chair and sat beside his wife on the couch.

“So people born with a magic gene, but of muggle descent. How often does that happen? Is magic a dominant or recessive trait? I doubt it’s a sex linked gene as as many men have it as women. I need to draw a punnett square.”

“No, you don’t love. And I assume it’s a dominant trait.”

“That would make sense.”

“I really must introduce you to Arthur Weasly. He’s in a club of sorts with me, and he is very interested in muggles. Pity you don’t have a background in Physics.” Severus chided placing his cheek on top of (Y/n)’s head. 

She smacked him in the chest. “You don’t even teach two subjects so who are you to judge?” Severus laughed and put his arms around her.

“You know I was joking right dove?” Severus asked

“You, dark, brooding, moody, Severus Snape joking. That in itself is a joke.”

“Well this was fun while it lasted. I’ll have to go back to Hogwarts in a few days.”

“Imagine if we swapped classes. My students would all hate you with your detention giveing self.” (Y/n) laughed and snuggled herself back into his chest. 

“My classes would love you. You’re like Minerva, strict, but understanding and kind.” 

Sevurus pulled her closer and they both sat for a few minutes enjoying the fire.

“When can I meet your co-workers? You met mine at the staff Christmas party, last year when Davie almost set you on fire.” Both Snapes laughed at the memory of (Y/n)’s iddiotic coworker.

“In a few days,” Severus answered, staring at his sweetheart, “We are going to start the Triwizard Tournament. I'll aperate to you, and bring you back for the choosing of the champions. I’ll introduce you to them then.”

“Alright.” Came the soft, sleepy reply from the bundle in Severus’ arms. “Can we sleep here tonight, I don’t want to walk up the stairs. 

It was moments like this where Severus was glad to have (Y/n). She was a light in his shade and a question in his mind. When he held her, in the living room on a cool August night he was content. As he should be, without the knowledge of all of the dark things to come.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading. I am not a biochemist. I just thought it would provide a nice contrast. Please comment and request. Thank you!

[princip1914]

A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild. 

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut. 

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.) 

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process. 

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!). 

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like: 

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal 

Ending 

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology.  In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry! 

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask. 

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff! 

[excelsi-or]

your type (pt. 6)

Hiiii friends, it’s only been like two weeks! Pretty good in terms of posting for me lol. I don’t know what it is about this story in particular, but I feel so self-conscious about posting new parts. But I’m also not someone who likes to leave things half finished.

I hope you’re all doing well :) 

BIPOC recs: I actually have a few! Two books: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 - Cho Namjoo (basically follows a woman’s life in South Korea and all the micro-oppressive things that women face in their personal and career lives); Winners Take All - Anand Giridharadas (a non-fiction about how billionaires create such a disproportionate world for us all; I love listening to Anand’s talks about this subject. I find it fascinating). Music: Cross Country - Breland (excellent country song); Boyz II Men - Kirby (I love this woman’s energy)

w.c. 2.6k

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5

The summer semester has her in the research lab 8 hours a day. Luckily, Jihoon is also on campus for just as long. His professor got him a gig working on music for a few groups in various companies. It helps get his foot in the door, and while the deadlines are tight, he genuinely enjoys working.

They take their lunch breaks together, wandering the green or just wandering hallways if it’s too warm outside. But since he doesn’t have other classes, Jihoon’s been chatting with a few girls he’s met.

And he’s told her all about them, so she isn’t blindsided if someone else decides to share it with her.

“How was your date last night?” she asks at lunch.

Jihoon shrugs. The girl had come over since Seungcheol was at Jihyo’s. “She was whatever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, eating the sandwich that Seungkwan made for her lunch. She’s now taken to spending the night at Seungkwan and Hansol’s when Seungcheol visits.

Jihoon sighs. “Jiwoo was uninteresting.” When she has no response to this, he pouts. “She didn’t really have any opinions on anything, so we couldn’t find anything to talk about.”

“But you didn’t just go for dinner.”

“She was fine in bed.” Jihoon shrugs. “Didn’t really tell me what she liked, so hard to say how she felt about it.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

She pops the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t really know how to continue from that.”

Jihoon snorts. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you just saying she was uninteresting?” She kicks him lightly under the table. “Did you listen to her?”

“Of course I did!” Jihoon sips his coffee. “You said that I need to look at people more,” he makes a point of staring at her, “and to be aware of my body language because it comes off as standoffish.”

“And still?”

“All she talked about was her dog. I love talking about people’s dogs, but not for two hours.”

“Dinner was two hours?”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “The kitchen kept getting the order wrong. Anyway, enough about my failed date, how’s your research going?” He pushes a napkin towards her.

She pulls out the pencil she was using to hold her hair up. Her hair cascades around her and she begins sketching out her reaction. While Jihoon hasn’t quite learned all the chemistry terminology, he recognizes various things, specifically the compounds she’s working on. She’d taught him some basics about catalytic testing, using drawings to help him follow along.

Multiple times she’s insisted that her research is really boring, especially for people who aren’t in science. But Jihoon likes listening to her talk, and her research lets her dominate the conversation. He asks questions and clarification, and she’s always great at simplifying things.

Jihoon has learned that her amazing attention to detail translates well to analyzing his songs. And she’s always very honest about the parts she likes and doesn’t like.

“I have some finished works I want your opinion on.” They start to clean up their table.

She glances up at him. “You don’t have a date tonight?”

Jihoon waits for her to fall into step with him. “I do, but I also have deadlines. So, if you’re not tired later, meet me in the studio?”

She waves goodbye to him. “I’ll let you know where I’m at.” She waits for him to exit the building before going to put her earphones in. As she’s heading to the stairs, she sees Seulgi heading towards her. They cross paths in the chemistry labs, but have never been on real speaking terms.

She smiles at Seulgi, about to go around her like normal, when the woman asks, “Are you and Jihoon dating?”

Despite her earphones in, she does hear the question. She turns. “Uhm, no.” She pauses and Seulgi says nothing. “Why?”

“I just…” Seulgi gives her a once over. “You seem too nice to be dating Jihoon.”

She’s taken aback by that observation. While Jihoon has given off the hot-cold vibe, player energy, and a slight lack of communication skills, she can’t say Jihoon’s ever warranted a comment like that. “We’re just…” She tries to come up with a word. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re smart.” Seulgi seems to mull something over. “But smart girls like you have fallen for his charm.”

“Like… you?”

“Once, but I’m not talking about me here. I’m talking about my friend.”

This piques her interest more than she wishes it did. Jihyo has warned her against listening to all these testimonials of women dating Jihoon.

“Maybe you just need to give the man a solid chance. If you’re gonna spend all your time with him anyway.”

Against Jihyo’s advice, she asks, “What happened to your friend?”

“Jihoon broke her heart. He doted on her and from the sounds of it, worshipped her, but then all of a sudden, he went cold. Stopped answering messages, stopped picking up the phone, avoiding her in the hallways. Then he said—”

“‘I’m ignoring you now, please leave me alone?’”

Seulgi tips her head. “Have you talked to Wendy?”

She runs her tongue along her bottom teeth. “No. I haven’t.”

“So how did you—?”

“I met another girl he’s dated. And… he’s a creature of habit, so… figured he’d say something similar.”

Seulgi hums. “Well, Wendy refuses to see any other man now. But she’s fine, mostly. We just can’t mention Jihoon around her. So, just…”

“Be careful?”

Seulgi chuckles. “So you’ve heard the warnings before?”

“A couple times.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Maybe I should heed them more.” She gives Seulgi a friendly nudge as she walks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jihoon received her text around 4:30, saying that she wasn’t feeling well and would go straight home after she was done in lab.

“Yeah, I’m just… I think I’m getting sick.”

She had seemed fine when he saw her.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then.”

There’s a long pause. “I actually caught up with Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend? He said he would walk me home.”

Jihoon turns in his chair at this odd development. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll… see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” Almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Sorry.”

Jihoon turns back to stare at the pieces of work he has open in the task bar that he wanted to show her. Instead, he closes them and goes back to work.

Time passes without him realizing. Before he knows it, it’s time for him to meet up with Ara. He glances at the clock, thinking.

Jihoon (19:14)

Meet me at the gym?

Jihoon (19:14)

Hey, don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. Caught a cold.

Soonyoung (19:15)

Sure. See you in 10.

Mingyu (19:15)

I’m in.

Ara (19:15)

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you have another woman in mind.

But okay.

Get well soon, babe.

True to their word, Mingyu and Soonyoung meet him at the gym near their homes. Soonyoung leads the way inside and they go stretch while Jihoon disappears to change.

When he reemerges, Mingyu asks him what’s wrong.

“She cancelled on me.”

“Who?” Soonyoung is stretching on his right.

Jihoon crosses his right arm across his body, feels the stretch in his upper delt and across his arm. He updates them on what’s happened in the last 7 hours, from lunch, to her saying she’s sick, to Ara.

Mingyu frowns. “I didn’t realize you two were still going on dates. I thought you’d already gotten to the… dating part of dating.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung seems to realize something, “are you seeing other women right now? We cannot win this bet unless you commit!”

Mingyu observes Jihoon in the mirror. He has a dazed look in his eye, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “You actually like her.” He turns to Jihoon. “You’re genuinely upset that she didn’t come to the studio.”

Jihoon wasn’t really frowning before, but he is now. “No. I’m not.”

“Wonwoo hyung said that he thought you were seeing other women again.” Mingyu turns back to the mirror. “I said that couldn’t be possible, because you don’t like to lose.”

“Can we just work out?” His tone is harsh, but his friends hear a small plea in there too. They exchange looks over Jihoon’s head and shrug.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Soonyoung nudges him towards the free weights.

It isn’t until after their gym session on their way home that Soonyoung and Mingyu begin grilling him.

“Are you seeing other women right now?” Mingyu asks.

“Well…” Jihoon adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu’s jaws drop.

“Dude. The bet.” Soonyoung gives him a push. “What if she finds out?”

Jihoon watches his feet move beneath him. “She already knows.”

“She knows? And she still goes out with you?” Mingyu demands. “Are you guys just friends?”

Soonyoung groans in frustration. “Seriously, Jihoon, bets are serious business. We went all in on this bet. You can’t just let Seokmin win a bet like this.”

“What happened, hyung?”

The question seems to release something in Jihoon. He throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I really don’t. She just… holds herself at a distance from me. I can’t seem to…” He makes grabbing motions in the air. “Get anything out of her.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should just give up here. I don’t know if I can win this bet.”

“Yah!” Soonyoung throws an arm around his shoulders. He squeezes his arm. “I am not losing to Seokmin and Seungkwan on a bet that I know that we can win. You are the best at this.”

“She’s just as good at keeping me at a distance. And apparently she’s also had men castrated before.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung blink in surprise at the sudden information.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let that happen to you,” Mingyu states.

Soonyoung agrees. “But you’re going to have to start pulling out al your moves. You—”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Listen to me. I have been at this since February. The girl won’t even let me kiss her.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You haven’t even kissed her yet? You guys are just friends.”

Soonyoung holds a hand up in Mingyu’s face. “You are not being encouraging.” He readjusts his grip around Jihoon. “Look. We’ll help you then. Lee Jihoon doesn’t tap out like this.”

“You said she canceled on you.” Mingyu tips his chin in Jihoon’s direction. “Why?”

“She said she was sick and found someone else to walk her home.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. He releases his grip on Jihoon to get a better look at his face. “That’s it?”

Jihoon scowls. “Did I not tell you that I haven’t even kissed her yet? I eat lunch with her every day and then I walk her home.”

“Are we in the 1700s? What the fuck?” Mingyu demands.

“I can’t work out what makes her tick. She tells me stuff about herself, but nothing I can use. All I’ve learned is that she’s one of the smartest people I know, reads a lot, paints, and can give me actual feedback on my music.”

“Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve learned.”

Jihoon sighs, racking his brain for more information. There are obviously little things he’s noticed, like that she drinks a shit ton of water; that when she thinks something’s amusing, she lets out a little breath of laughter; or that she presses down on her fingers with her thumbs when she’s nervous. But he can’t share these things. They aren’t useful.

“I’ve learned she hasn’t really dated anyone since Byunggu. That she doesn’t even count that guy as a boyfriend so Jungkook is the last man she dated.”

“Byunggu… why do I know that name?” Soonyoung looks to Mingyu.

“Because he’s the guy who’s either been threatened, murdered or castrated,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung waves him off. “No.” He reaches behind Jihoon to hit Mingyu’s arm. “Isn’t he that guy who debuted last year?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows.

“He stopped coming to parties because he was filming some show or something, remember?” He pushes Mingyu, as if that will jog his memory. “He was one of your girls’ friends. Remember? She wouldn’t stop talking about him? That’s why you dumped her?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Mingyu pulls his phone out and looks something up. When he turns the phone to Jihoon, Jihoon squints at an article about this man who is currently doing small roles in various dramas. He doesn’t recognize the face. But until this point, he’d never seen any photos of this elusive ex. A debut would explain why he disappeared into thin air.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jihoon pushes the phone away. “She clams up as soon as he comes up.”

“Okay, okay. Forget trying to replicate the men of the past.” Soonyoung says. “Just… be you.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She must, because she’s spent a lot of time with you, hyung.” Mingyu sips from his water bottle. “Noona only gives certain people her time, if you haven’t noticed. Her girls, Hansol, Seungkwan, Wonwoo hyung these days.” He shrugs. “If you’re spending so much time with her, she likes you at least a little bit.”

Jihoon bites his tongue, annoyed that they’re right. “I’m only going to give this another month. If I can’t get this girl into my bed, then there’s no way she’s going to say ‘I love you’ first.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Jihyo asks.

The two roommates are having a night in, watching a movie but talking the entire time with take out on the table.

She came home looking preoccupied, so Jihyo forced her to put on her pajamas, pick what sort of take out they would eat, and to bundle up on the couch. Then she forced her roommate to tell her what was wrong.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a sign that two different women have told me I should be careful?” She pouts. “I don’t want to feel like I need to tread carefully.”

“I don’t know what Jihoon was like with those other girls, but he likes you. I know what a guy looks like when all he wants is to get you into his bed. That look on Jihoon’s face when he sees you is pure adoration.”

She carefully breaks apart a cookie before popping a piece into her mouth. “If anything, Jihoon’s just a friend.”

“A friend who adores you. Who you also seem to like.” Jihyo nudges her with the back of her hand. “You can’t go around thinking every boy is going to hurt you like Byunggu.”

“I don’t think that. Why would I think that if I don’t even give them a chance to try?”

Jihyo snorts, both amused and frustrated. “Jihoon is putting in the effort with you. You didn’t even give him your number for like a month and a half. And he still made it work.”

“I did that to keep him away from me.” She rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her face. “So, thanks for helping him out with that.”

“You still hang out with him.”

“You know, he’s seeing other girls now.”

Jihyo pauses. “Really?”

“He tells me about them. He had a date yesterday. He has one tonight.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s just better for me if we stay friends.” She notices Jihyo on her phone. “What are you doing now?”

“Asking Cheollie if Jihoon’s home.” Jihyo turns her phone her way, grinning. Seungcheol had sent a picture of Jihoon next to him on the couch. The two seem to be playing video games. “Give the man a chance. You don’t know what kind of boyfriend he can be if you don’t.”

[desiraypark]

Take What You Want

Characters: !CEO Ben Solo x Plus Size Female Reader Setting: Alternate/Modern Universe  Summary/Content Warning: Fuckin’. On a boat.  Unprotected PIV sex (assume you’re on BC, or don’t!), oral sex (female receiving). Reader is a bit insecure about her appearance but I worked to avoid the whole “woman doesn’t like how she looks, a MANLY MAN-MAN says HE likes it, therefore a lifetime of hurt disappears in seconds YAY!” trope lol. Ben just wants to fuck you in front of the ocean, okay?

*Use of “Ben Solo” is more so to establish his legacy/bloodline, not necessarily his character/personality or anything like that. BEN’S YACHT (Video: 00:15 is where you’re sitting) - I don’t know if I got the terminology right but who cares, let’s get to the bangin’. 

The past five months had been...Interesting. Different. Thrilling. Perfect. Almost, too perfect--but you didn’t fight it.

It was during the second week of January when you strolled through the cool, bland, and dull-lit spaces of Dice6, LLC.--all the way to the conference room where its young CEO, Ben Solo, sat at the head of the table. The receptionist led you inside. You shook his hand and sat two seats to his right. He asked very few questions and listened intently to your answers. Or so you assumed.

Barely five minutes into the interview, he closed your folder, leaned back in his seat, and looked you over. 

“I’m not hiring you,” he said. 

“Oh...okay...” you’d responded, confused and disappointed. 

“I’m going to take you on a date.”

“...excuse me?”

“Why did you apply for this job?” he asked.

“Um, because this is a reputable com--”

“What do you need money for? Do you have a new place? New to the city?”

“I just...I want a well-paying job to survive, Sir...”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. 

“I’ve got a feeling about you,” he said. He crossed his leg over the other. “I always listen to my instincts. How would you like to survive and thrive on my bank account?”

You freaked out and excused yourself from the interview. Of course, he gave you a call that you ignored. The next day, you got an email reminder about your soon-to-be due student loan payment, and well...you went on and called him back.

____________________

“I’ve never been on a yacht before,” you’d told him over the phone.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“What do I wear?”

“Dresses, shorts, bathing suits. Lingerie. Preferably nothing.”

“I’ll have to go shopping, I guess.”

“I’d like to see you in jewel tones. And bright reds. I never see you in red.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You’d sent him pictures of the clothing you’d bought with his money. In his calm abrasiveness, he’d called you and told you that he hated your swimsuits and lingerie. Later, he sent you photos of things he wanted you to wear--lots of things you’d never felt comfortable wearing. Or rather, things other people would make you feel ashamed for wearing. But you took another shopping trip and did your best.

____________________

Ben stood at the door to the outer deck waiting for you. You smiled as he took your hand and led you into the open space for dessert and champagne. The two of you sat close on the plush sofa as you ate a fluffy, strawberry cake and stared out at the sparkling waters.

“Are you enjoying everything?” he asked, breaking the serene silence. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his jaw.

“I’m loving it. Thank you for this.”

His eyes didn’t leave you when you pulled away. The pupils were dilated and he was chewing on his lip. You were familiar with that look. Past loves had also signaled their desire to fuck with darkened and narrowed eyes, and working jaws. 

Ben traced the outline of your red lips with the tip of his index finger. You parted your lips, signaling for him to place the tip into the small hole that had formed. He smirked and pressed his finger inside and you licked it. He pushed it further, making you suck. 

“My dirty girl,” he purred. “Where else do you want my fingers?”

You smiled, took his free hand, and guided it to between your legs. He hummed and grabbed your fleshy mound. Then, he removed his finger from your mouth and replaced it with his lips and hot tongue. When he was satisfied with the amount of your saliva he’d collected, he pushed the small dining table back, knelt to the floor, and lifted your emerald green sundress.

You froze and clamped your thighs shut.

“Shouldn’t we go inside, Ben?”

His hungry eyes met yours. He squeezed the soft fabric between his fingers and proceeded to lift your dress until it stopped at your knees. 

“No.”

He placed a hand between your knees to space them apart but you kept them clamped shut.

“What if somebody sees us, Honey?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said with shortness. “I’m not waiting another second to taste you.”

You exhaled. Your clit perked up, but Ben was still. His eyes still on you and the skirt of your dress still scrunched between his fingers. 

“I don’t care about your size, Y/N. You know that,” he said.

“I know you don’t,” you started. “But, sometimes, I do.”

Ben released your dress and rubbed your clothed legs. “May I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure, Baby,” you responded, running your fingers through this hair.

“For me--just this one time--let me fuck you right here,” he requested. You swallowed, but before you could speak, he continued. “I want to see your pussy clench when the cool air hits it, then feel it melt when I wrap my lips around your clit...”

He tugged at the skirt of your dress again. “I want to see the sky behind you when I hold your legs in the air.”

Your knees weakened and your ass began to sink into the sofa. Ben pushed your skirt to your thighs and pulled your panties down.

“No more underwear this weekend,” he demanded. He balled your panties up, stood up, leaned over you, and threw them out in the ocean. Then, he fell back to his knees and pushed your heavy legs back.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you fell back on the sofa. You jumped at the feeling of cool air on your moistening pussy and bare thighs. Ben rubbed his fingers up and down your ass and reached up to pull the sandals off your feet. 

“I want to see how your skin glows under a sunset when I’m making you come...”

Ben gripped the back of your right knee with his left hand and rubbed circles over your ever-spreading labia with the pads of his right fingers. You moaned for him--moaned for yourself. Your mind relaxed as your nipples awakened. 

“Is your pussy as juicy as it looks?” he asked.

You threw your head back, now a complete goner. Suddenly, you felt a quick sting on your pussy lips, making you gasp. Your head shot up and you looked beyond your belly and into Ben’s fierce eyes.

“Answer me.”

You nodded profusely. “Yes, Baby. It is. Get a taste, Baby. Please.”

“Mmm...” he said, his index and middle fingers retreating from the others to rub deep into your slit--the crevice keeping your plush pussy lips together slowly drifted apart as your clit poked through them. He slid the two fingers over your wet clit--the insides of his digits stroking the soft bud, and the outsides stroking the warm inner flesh of your labia. Finally, he turned his palm up, pushed his middle finger inside of your welcoming hole, and trailed the very tip of his tongue from your opening to the pointed end of your edible rose.

“Oh, God...” you whispered. 

Ben took his time--licking every centimeter of your delicious pussy--slurping, sucking, smelling--burying his nose inside to get it sticky. You were helpless under him--pussy melting, ass cheeks sticking together with sweat and arousal. Ben would look up to see your contorted face--your breasts jiggling every time you moaned or groaned. He glanced at the orange sun setting behind you, smiled, and returned his focus to his task. When you grabbed his hair, he pulled away.

“I want your first orgasm from me to be on my dick,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you watched him. Once Ben’s pants and boxers were on the floor, he sat on the sofa and gestured for you to come toward him. “Get on top.”

You froze again. 

“Ben, I don’t--”

Suddenly, his long arm reached out and his hand was around your wrist. He yanked you close--your face nearly falling into his lap. 

“Don’t be disobedient, Princess,” he said. You exhaled, and as fast as you could, climbed onto your knees, hiked up your skirt, and threw your leg over Ben’s lap to straddle him. He alleviated some of your worry by holding your left ass cheek in his hand, and his dick with the other. With his help, you slowly sank on his length. He stared at you the entire way down--patient, but hungry. He seemed to have an aversion to showing too much emotion, but you saw his eyebrows scrunch when your hot walls stretched for him--when he felt just how slick you were.

“That’s it, Gorgeous,” he mumbled. He bit his lip and smacked your ass. “Now, bounce on it. That’s your dick...”

You lifted your hips and fell back down with a pained-but-pleasured moan. 

“Give that tight pussy what it needs.”

“Fuck!” you shouted, picking up your pace.

Ben’s hands rested on the bottom of your ass as it jiggled and bounced in the salty, aqueous air. “Shit! Yes! God! Fuck! Ahh!” a chorus of obscenities you sang out to the sky--so loud, so free that the few remaining clouds parted so that the praise of your own pleasure could be heard by the naughty sector of angels. 

You covered him in your juices. Your flesh clapped against his. He’d ripped the bust of your dress and licked the sweat off your breasts. You pulled his hair. You called him Baby, he called you Princess. You screamed “yes!” he grabbed your throat to momentarily trap the sound. The heavens couldn’t have all of your “yeses”--your body needed to absorb some of your beautiful sounds, too. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered--your fingers falling to your clit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shouted as your clit turned to mush under your fingers--gushing and clenching around Ben’s girth. Your head flew back and your eyes crossed as you rode out your wave. When you came to, you recognized Ben’s grazes against your flesh. 

After a quick, hot kiss, you climbed off his lap and he bent you over the sofa. He sucked at your juice and swallowed sticky cream. And as you observed the waters part for the heavy boat, you felt your walls part once more. Ben buried himself deep inside of your sensitive pussy and leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“You feel so good,” he said. He dragged out of you and slipped back inside. You turned your head in his direction and he found your lips and kissed you with passion--with fire. Then, he slammed into you repeatedly, chasing his own orgasm. He reached around to rub your clit, hoping to bring you to your second.

“No!” you squealed--squirming away from his touch, but he pressed down harder.

“Yes,” he retorted. “I know you’ve got some more in you. Give me another one.”

Feeling the pressure building inside of you again, you bounced back against Ben’s crotch. 

“There you go,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s it. Take what you want, Princess...take what you want...”

Just seconds after you exploded on his fingers and around his rock-hard dick, you felt him pulse inside of you. After a few more strokes, he stilled his movement--and you felt his warm cum spreading around inside of you--filling you up. 

Ben collapsed on your back but quickly crashed onto the sofa--as did you. The two of you caught your breath, then you finished your dessert and champagne. When the sky was completely dark, you’d gone back inside of the boat, washed, and changed into warmer clothes. Then, you went back out onto the deck, cuddled on your christened sofa to look at the stars. “I saw you in a dream,” he said out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He ran his fingers up and down your arm. “I dreamed about you before I met you. That’s how I knew you were my girl.”

You smiled and felt the urge to break up the sappiness before you started to tear up. “A genius and a psychic. Are you strong with The Force, too?”

Ben smiled--something he rarely did. “Don’t tease me when I’m being sentimental, Princess.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. You gazed into each other’s eyes, then Ben gave you another kiss and pulled you closer to him. ______________________ Thank you to @bluestarego @ellelaconi @xxcatrenxx @millenialcatlady @mariesackler and @clydes-hole for helping me out with this one!