#these possibilities are not even considered

[always---wrong]

One of my favorite scenes from season 1

Gi-hun! Do you know why your life is so pathetic? Because you ask the dumbest questions even in this situation. Constantly minding other people's business with that pea brain of yours, not knowing your ass from your elbow.

[smuttysabina]

AriaSaki Earns Some Mortgage Money

(Aria Saki x Male Reader, 5.3K Words) Tags: Prostitution, Regrets from selling your body, Getting off to selling your body, Unexpected creampies, Vaginal and Oral Sex, Tittyfucking, She really should just release an Onlyfans, No handholding, Protected Sex (lol)

AriaSaki looks glumly at her computer screen, her eyes glazed over as she wracks her brain for some way out of her current predicament; her mortgage. Who knew something so mundane could bring so much stress? How was Aria supposed to have known that her org contract would fall through literally right after she bought herself a house! So she had spent the last year streaming constantly, doing everything she could to make her monthly payments, going live for days on end to try and make it through another pay period. I mean sure, she had also been splurging on pets, oh and on Pokemon cards, and on figurines, and... um well lots of things actually. But now Aria was truly struggling to keep up, and she had no idea how to make things better. She had spent her early years as a cumdump for LCS players, before transitioning to helping the nascent OTV group around the house, and then finally moving to streaming fulltime herself; aside from her cooking skills, she didn't have much to make a living with if streaming fell through. Well, there was one asset she still had left, but her parents would disown her if she started an Onlyfans to show off her voluptuous body to her fans; so she couldn't do that! Even that slut Jaime was coy about openly showing herself off, she would just tease on camera but keep the juicy stuff for her rich benefactors... Wait a minute, if Aria couldn't sell her body online, what if she could sell it in person?

Aria shudders in revulsion, was she seriously considering prostituting herself for some easy cash? Yes, yes she was...

You had always enjoyed perusing the escort listings, imagining yourself with the girls on display, stroking furiously to the thought of spending your hard earned cash on the chance to cum inside a woman. Of course, you had never actually paid to sleep with a prostitute, it was just arousing to browse and fantasize, especially since some of the girl's prices were nothing short of absurd. You nearly choke on your own spit as you read one listing, ten-thousand dollars for only one hour! At that price you might as well rent her for a whole year, and though her body was nicely shaped, there was no way she could possibly be worth so much. You shake your head in disbelief, what sort of moron would burn so much money on a simple fling? Probably just some rich brats who didn't know any better, and the escort's face was even blurred out as well, this was more likely than not just a scam. But that haircut did look oddly familiar... Frowning, you scrutinize the few pictures the lady of the night had on display, realization scratching at the rear of your brain as your mind attempts to connect the dots it had been given. You had seen her before, you were sure of it, though from where... You continue to beat your meat even as you drink in the sight of those saggy tits framed by that severe hime haircut, a sense of deja-vu filling you as you discern that you had masturbated to this view before. Your eyes boggle as realization finally dawns, perhaps $10,000 an hour was not too steep a price to pay after all...

Almost a week later, and you found yourself standing in front of an upscale hotel room door. If anything, the past week of paperwork and extensive background checks had left you even more convinced that the girl you were about to meet was in fact AriaSaki. You had signed no less than five separate NDAs, each more strictly worded than the last and filled to the brim with draconian punishments should you even think about this encounter in public. And the fact that she had dredged up drama from back in middle school to confront you about indicated that this was someone with a paranoid streak more than a little wide. The fact that the hourly rate was so obscenely high also was a glaring indicator, Aria had always been wont to splurge, and so probably was looking to buy all sorts of expensive junk to hoard. So you continue to wait awkwardly in front of the door, having knocked several times already, with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you had somehow been scammed and that this entire endeavor had been a complete waste of time. But before you turn to leave with a heavy heart, several loud clunks sound from the entryway, and the door opens a smidgen, allowing an elegant hand to reach from the darkness within and frantically beckon you inside.

You gingerly push open the door, stepping past the lady into the gloomily lit interior, before it is shut behind you and thoroughly locked. You turn to examine her, but she hurries past you into the hotel room, before collecting herself with a huff, clearly she was as nervous about this as you were. In the dim lighting you strain to make out her features, her face concealed behind a dark facemask with her olive-shaped eyes peering out above it; her hair was shorter than in her photos, but it matched how Aria's hair had looked on stream recently. Her voluptuous body was tightly constrained by a sleek black dress, showing off her noticeable curves without making her look like, well, a whore. The woman coughs before speaking in a rather familiar voice, "Okay, so before we do anything, you're going to need to transfer the money over to my account," she holds out her phone, with her bank account's QR showing on the screen. You dutifully pull up her account on your payment app, hesitating a moment before tapping in the desired amount to transfer. $20,000 might take a while to work off, but it would certainly be worth it... The girl sighs in disbelief as the notification pops up on her phone, "Wow. So this is for... two hours then? Whew!" she appears to hyperventilate for a moment before calming down and giving you a nod, and slowly undoes her mask to full reveal the face of your favorite streamer: AriaSaki

Aria grimaces awkwardly at you, "Okay, so I have never done this before so, um, I guess let's get this over with then?" She starts walking towards the bed before whirling, "Wait! Okay, um, so no anal, no oral, no kissing, don't ejaculate on me, I won't give you a blowjob, and you have to use a condom at all times, got it?" She glares sternly at you before you agree fully to her terms, and only then does she stalk towards her bed, grabbing a plastic tray from the nightstand and placing it beside her as she clambers onto the mattress. Aria gets on her hands and knees, her back inexpertly arched as she looks back at you in trepidation, "Um, I don't know how large your... penis is, so there's a bunch of different sizes in the tray. Oh! And lube." Then she waits, studiously ignoring you as you undress, and she twitches nervously as you climb onto the bed behind her. Feeling a little let down by the lack of intimacy, you nonetheless find your manhood fully interested in the situation, and you rummage through the tray before finding the correct size to cover it. Your cock's enthusiasm remains undiminished even after sheathing it in cool latex, and you crawl forward on your knees until you are in position behind the streamer. Aria flinches when you pull her dress up over her waist, revealing her pale ass that neatly compliments her juicy thighs; and nestled between her cheeks was the thing you had been lusting after for years.

AriaSaki's pussy was a deep brown, its sunken shape endowed with some sizable lips that were no doubt the reason her camel-toe showed up so easily. And of course, like the lovable gamer gremlin that she was, she had obviously not bothered to shave in several weeks; well at least she had showered recently, you had been somewhat worried she would not have... Aria stirs nervously, "Are you done looking at me, are you not going to stick it in?" Remembering her warning, you apply a hefty dollop of lube to your dick before grasping her waist with one hand to hold her steady as you guide yourself in. Your tip presses against her folds before angling upwards enough to find her entrance, slipping suddenly inside of Aria's hole and causing her to jolt in surprise. Aria lets out a despairing groan as your cock fills her pussy, "I cannot fucking believe I'm actually doing this right now..." Whatever reservations Aria might be feeling went ignored by you as the sordid heat of her cunt can be felt even through the condom, and the pressure of her folds around her shaft had your eyes rolling. The streamer placidly stays in position as you thrust away at her rear, her lack of enthusiasm not bothering you in the slightest due to how excited you were to be fucking AriaSaki herself! This truly was a wet dream come true...

The steady slap of flesh fills the room as you plow Aria's bent-over form, the streamer gasping and groaning in a mixture of disgust and natural pleasure; her pussy cared not a whit about the moral implications of this coupling, merely that it was being filled. So as you continue to fuck her, the wet squelching noises that accompanied your sex seem to be growing louder with every passing minute, until... Until you can't hold on any longer, and with a moan you clutch at the streamer's waist as you thrust as deep as possible inside of her, your cock pulsating with pleasure as it fills the condom with semen. Aria gasps at your sudden motion, her butt clenching rhythmically as her body shudders, and you feel a film of wetness drips down your balls, "Oh my fucking god, did I just... from this?" Aria whines in horror, "What kind of slut climaxes just from some random guy cumming in her?" She buries her face in a pillow and screams into it, her feet drumming against the mattress. Once her tantrum subsides though, a red-faced Aria looks back at you and asks petulantly, "Are you going to pull out, or do I have to feel you going soft inside of me?" With such a bitchy attitude, in your post-coital clarity you were starting to question whether even your favorite was worth nutting inside for 20,000 dollars.

Acceding to Aria's wishes, you gingerly unmount her, allowing your cock to slip out, along with the reservoir of semen dangling from the tip of it. The streamer collapses onto her side, and then gawps when she spots the massive load contained within your condom, "What the heck," she squawks, tentatively poking at the yolk-like mass of jizz hanging from the end of your dick, "That would... that would have all gone... in me?" You blush at Aria's prodding, you had saved up all week for her, but even you were shocked by the sheer quantity of cum you had unloaded for her; and that had been with minimal help from her as well. When you start to remove the condom she stops you though, seemingly mesmerized by what it contains. Aria breathes rapidly, and appears unaware that one of her hands is getting rather busy between her thighs, as her face slowly moves closer to the object of her obsession, "I-I came, I came from this?" Aria's face becomes completely flushed as she masturbates while you watch, "I-I'm a slut!" she gasps out, her fingers furiously churning her cunt, "I'm a prostitute, a fucking whore, oh fuck it feels so good!" Aria's eyes narrow as she drowns her shame in a tide of lust, she knew what she was doing was wrong, and it filled her with a lustful mania to be doing it. She pants as her tongue lolls, and she hesitantly licks the swaying sack of seed, before letting out a sultry groan as she orgasms, her entire body shivering until it passes; and she looks up and gives you a lascivious smile.

AriaSaki reaches up and gently removes your condom for you, though you had grown so flaccid that it was about to fall off anyways, and then to your complete shock, empties it into her mouth. The streamer lets out a muffled moan as your thickening seed fills her mouth, her tongue visibly roiling it around as she savors the harsh taste of your semen. Well savor might perhaps be a touch too strong a word, as Aria gags violently, nearly expelling the load all over the bed before recovering and returning to attempting to swallow it. All the while her finger's continue to be busy stirring her slit, as she fights to overcome her disgust through sheer pleasure; until with a grimace the foul fluid slides down her throat. Aria trembles as yet another round of squelches come from between her shivering thighs, and when she opens her eyes again to stare up at you, her face is a mask of arousal. Her ample chest heaves as she struggles to breathe, "I think... I think I'm down for round two..." Aria glances at your cock and seems unsurprised that it is nearly fully erect once more. Naturally, watching your favorite streamer swallow your cum while masturbating, had indeed made you hard once more, powering through the aftereffects of your first orgasm with gusto.

Aria tentatively grasps your cock, slowly stroking it while judging your reactions, "Are you ready for it again?" she asks, making you nod frantically in affirmation, causing a sultry smile to spread across her lips, "Fuck, I'm ready for it again..." The streamer promptly turns about and bends over once more, though this time her back is lasciviously arched and she spreads her cheeks with both hands. She coughs pointedly when you slap your bare member against her slit however, even lost in a fugue of lust, she still expects you to wear protection. This time when you take Aria from behind, she is far more vocal about it, screeching into the sheets while your cock churns her sopping cunt until it is gushing all down her thighs, wailing for you to fuck her harder. The slap of her surprisingly well-sized cheeks against your crotch echoes around the room as you relentlessly plow her, now you truly felt like you were getting your money's worth pounding away at AriaSaki's sloppy pussy! Her folds tighten greedily around your shaft as you fill her, desperate for the seed that would invariably fill the condom, yet dumbly hungry for it anyways. Your core burning from your efforts, you slow down, switching to slow, long thrusts as you struggle to catch your breath. Aria glances back at you in confusion, tears glistening on her cheeks, "Wait, did you finish already?" she says in exasperation before hearing your frantic denials, "Okay good. Want to swap positions?"

After taking a minute to recover, Aria rolls onto her back and spreads her legs for you, showing off the sopping mess you helped make between her lower lips. She smirks as you lean down to closely examine her pussy, drinking in the details that you missed during your only cursory inspection of it framed by her butt. Aria puts a hand on your head and guides you in, gasping with delight as you dig into her swollen folds, "Oh fuck yes, taste it, fucking eat it!", she quivers delightfully as your tongue laps its way up her slit, "Fuck I cannot believe this feels so good..." By the time you are finished, a fresh slick of juices spills out and soaks her asshole, and she is more than ready, and you more than rested, to continue. With a sleazy grin, Aria pulls her legs back until they are behind her head, her meaty tits squished between them, and her pussy completely vulnerable to your attentions. As you slap your hardening dick against her, you comment on how much she looks like a fleshlight like that, which only seems to excite her even more, "Oh yeah? Does it turn you on thinking I'm just a filthy pocket pussy for you to dump your loads into? That I'm just a whore addicted to random guy's fucking cocks?" she snarls up at you. Well, she said it first...

You mount Aria then and there, slipping your covered cock into her hole and placing yourself atop her thighs, your body weight squishing down onto her in a classic mating press position. Your sex was fantastically intimate, face-to-face as your manhood plunges deep inside of her, it was only natural that you begin to sloppily make out; you had already fucked her twice and this was the first time you had kissed her. Aria's lips were as soft as you had expected, though her tongue was almost off-puttingly aggressive as it forces its way into your mouth. As enjoyable as being pressed against your favorite streamer with her arms locked tightly around you was however, your thighs were already starting to scream from the effort; this position was far more difficult than porn had made it out to be... So after taking a short rest laying on her soft body you reluctantly pull out of her embrace, much to her obvious bemusement at your lack of stamina. You haul Aria to the edge of the bed, her dress dragging against the sheets, bunching uncomfortably up against her breasts and revealing her fertile belly. Who blushes at the reveal of her somewhat pronounced tummy, but she is soon distracted from her gloomy thoughts as you spank her clit with your cock once more.

Now you are able to get more solid thrusts in, while being able to grind your member deep inside of Aria's guts had been quite pleasant, pounding away at her contorted body like a cheap toy was even better. And Aria seems to agree, if her rising voice is any indicator; soon she is howling as loudly as she had been when you had mounted her from behind for the second time. Grasping her sweaty thighs to hold her steady, you relentlessly slam your cock into her sloppy folds, her juices soaking the sheets beneath her as she leaks uncontrollably, "Oh fuck, I'm getting used," Aria groans, "My pussy is getting used like a fucking onahole, why does it feel so good to be a fucking whore?" Her cunt sloshes excitedly, squelching loudly as her entire body starts to quiver, "Fuck, it's happening again! I'm fucking cumming again! Oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK!" Aria gasps as a stream of fluids gushes out of her pussy, her eyes rolling back as she shudders, squirt spraying with every convulsion as her folds spasm around your shaft. You nearly join her in orgasm, but her shaking is so violent is expels your cock, the streamer unfolding herself and laying on her side until the pleasure surging through her finally subsides. Aria looks blearily up at you, "Fuck... I haven't squirted in like a year... Why am I enjoying this so much?"

Shaking off her reflective lapse in arousal, Aria returns to her cock-hungry state for ignoring the moral implications of selling her body, and needily spreads her legs for you once more. But after that last effort, you were exhausted, sweat slicking your skin while your back and abs scream with soreness, you might need a few minutes... But Aria doesn't have a few minutes to wait and ponder her situation, so instead she orders you back onto the bed, "Okay, just... just lay down, I'll get on top this time..." You are admittedly more than happy to let her take charge, her bossy attitude while streaming had always scratched at a particular itch, and your dick shows its enthusiasm by staying at attention. So you clamber onto the bed and settle down onto your back, your condom-sheathed cock resting stickily upon your chest, the rubber made almost opaque from Aria's juices. The streamer winces as she straddles you, her own legs a touch cramped after spasming while stuck behind her head, but she shows no sign of stopping to stretch out a little. Instead she seems intent on stretching out her pussy some more using your manhood, as she slides salaciously upon it, smearing yet more of her honey onto it. Giving into a whim, you reach up and yank the top of her dress down, allowing one boob to pop out while the other remains awkwardly caught in the tight fabric.

Rolling her eyes, Aria properly pulls her breasts out for you and leans back, allowing you to drink in the sight of her weighty tits sagging down her chest. She seems somewhat self-conscious about showing them off, but you are quick to reassure her by vigorously groping those flesh globes. Aria's thick, brown nipples harden quickly from your attentions, her pillowy boobs so large they are nearly spilling out of your hands, "Geez, you guys always love these so much, don't you?" she sighs, grinding all the harder upon your member, "Fuck, I need it..." Letting you continue to freely maul her tits, Aria squats over your cock, pulling it upright against her folds before sitting on it. You both groan as your dick slides into the familiar warmth of her pussy, the streamer taking it to the hilt and pressing her puffy lower lips against your crotch. Slowly, but swiftly starting to speed up, AriaSaki rides your cock, her thighs pistoning up and down your length with a frantic energy, her juices splattering across your chest with every bounce. Her face is beet ride as she fucks you, before she had been able justify her shameful arousal from letting a stranger use her for money with her passivity, but now that she was on top, she had no excuse to be enjoying this as much as she was, "Oh fuck!" she screams, "I'm a fucking whore! I'm a fucking whore! I'm fucking cumming on some rando's cock like a slut! Fuck, this feels too good!"

A fresh gush of squirt heralds Aria's climax, and she collapses down onto you, shuddering uncontrollably as her cunt floods her brain with pleasure. Your hands fervently roam her back, groping her squishy ass with glee until she recovers enough to continue riding you once more. Her pussy was so wet you could practically feel it slathering your shaft with every bounce, and it's burning heat made it feel as if you were not wearing a condom at all. Aria's messy hair sticks to her sweaty face as she fucks you, her face locked in a paroxysm of lust, "You fucking love it, don't you?" she salaciously licks her lips, "You love watching your favorite streamer turn into a slut for you? You love watching me begging it for it? Fucking give it to me!" she snarls, "I want your fucking cum!" she shrieks as she slams herself down onto you again and again, her folds gripping you like a vice. Having nearly finished twice already, your balls were more than ready to mindlessly empty themselves into this virile slut, and you hold desperately onto her waist as she rides your load out of you; her breasts flopping wildly as she does so. With a loud moan, you creampie AriaSaki, every fresh spurt of cum sending shivers through your body, filling the condom to capacity with your thick seed. The streamer quivers atop you, your sweaty skin stuck together as you both gasp for breath, and you felt as if you had just lost a year of life from orgasming so hard. Aria smiles blearily down at you before her face twists in confusion, "Wait, why is it...?"

Aria scrambles up off of you, hurriedly unmounting you before shoving her fingers into her cunt before dragging out a string of creamy fluid. She looks at the goop coating her fingers in shock, before you both look down at your cock as realization dawns; it turns out you had been feeling her wetness. Several inches of bare skin stands proudly above the yellow wrapping of the torn condom, streaked with your conjoined juices; insufferably proud of itself. Aria gawps at it for several moments before stammering, "Wait wait wait wait, that means... oh gOD YOU CAME IN ME?" she frantically scoops out yet more of your semen, hyperventilating as she processes the scale of this disaster, if it was as big as your last load then... "Oh FUCK," she groans in despair, "Am I gonna get pregnant? Did I really just get knocked up by some random guy?" her fingers stop scooping and instead start churning instead, "Fuck this is so risky! I need to... I need to..." her eyes roll back as she shudders once more, too busy drowning in pleasure to do anything about the unwanted creampie drying in her cunt. Desperate to continue outrunning the inevitable crash, she tears the remains of the condom off before bending down and taking you in her mouth.

Aria throws herself into the blowjob with reckless enthusiasm, her teeth scratching against your shaft while she gags violently from your tip banging against the back of her throat. You wince as your cockhead grinds against her molars, and you hesitantly suggest you take this to the edge of the bed once more...? "Oh, um okay?" Aria looks up at you in confusion, clearly worried that she was doing something wrong. She understands though when you get her to lay on the mattress, her head tilted back over the edge, and her tongue lolls expectantly as you rest your dick against it. Your brain was working overtime to overcome the usual post-climax downtime, and the stimulation from Aria's hole would assist greatly in that. And this time when you fill her mouth, you are easily able to push onwards into her throat. The streamer gurgles as your meat fills her throat, and a noticeable bulge shows in her neck, the sight of which dispels any lingering hesitations. Grunting like a beast, you fuck Aria's face with abandon, your cock roughly stuffing itself down her hole again and again, her Adam's apple bobbing frantically as she struggles to breathe. Spittle pours out of her mouth and erupts out of her nostrils as your balls slap against her nose, running down her forehead and into her hair while she steadily continues to masturbate even as her mouth is getting abused. Her breasts wobble enticingly upon her heaving chest while you relish the warm, wet hole you are fucking, and you know how you want to finish.

You pull out of Aria's mouth, and your dick is soon followed by a fresh gush of spittle that pours down her face as she gasps for air. She hurriedly scoops the frothy fluids out of her eyes as you haul her back onto the bed and clamber onto her chest, and she smirks knowingly as you grope her breasts, "You fucking want-" she coughs, "my fucking tits don't you?" her hands shove yours off of her breasts so she can squish them around your cock, and you start thrusting before she is even able to position it properly. You groan as the soft flesh of her boobs presses in around your shaft, it felt even better than you had fantasized, and you feel your balls quickly rising as you continue to hump her chest. Aria bites her lip and nods frantically, "Oh yeah, you fucking love my boobs, don't you? How many times have you beat your cock to my huge fucking tits?" she leans forward and sticks her tongue out, licking at your tip whenever it peeks out between her fleshy mounds, "I know you fap to me all the time, thinking about me on my knees with my slutty fucking tits out out for you... Yeah? Yeah you fucking do you fucking pervert! Oh fuck! Do it, fucking do it!" You are almost blubbering as you reach your orgasm, desperately fucking AriaSaki's massive breasts while she naughtily urges you on, precum already slopping out down her neck. With a howl you explode between her boobs, your load filling her cleavage before your cock slips out and your next ropes splatter against her open mouth and face. You frantically stroke your dick, working out the last dregs of sperm from you balls as you cover Aria's nipples with thick globs of cum, "Oh fuck yes," Aria exults as you paint her chest with your semen.

Aria happily sucks you clean, and while she does an idea pops into your head that you cannot ignore. You reach for your phone, which surprisingly had not been launched off the bed by your vigorous sex, and the streamer smiles dreamily as you hold it above her. You heart hammers as you drink in the sight through your camera: the famous AriaSaki with your softening cock resting between her tits, her breasts streaked with sweat and lines of cum, throwing up a double peace-sign while her spittle and jizz slathered face was twisted into the most depraved ahegao you had ever seen. It was almost enough to get you hard again, almost. But then Aria's alarm goes off on her phone, and you both glance over at it, realizing that your two hours were up, just in time. The streamer coughs awkwardly, and you scramble off her as she woozily lurches upright, giving you a shell-shocked look as she processes what she had just done. Sure, she was up 20,000 dollars, but now she had a stranger's semen roiling in her stomach, his sperm was wriggling its way into her womb, and his load covered her entire upper body. Aria lets out an exhausted sigh, before giving you a gloomy glare, "I think you should leave now," she says testily, before collapsing back onto the stained sheets. Not wanting to endure her infamous rages (by this point the poor neighbors had probably heard enough screaming already), you hastily dress before departing. And as you leave you hear her groan, "Oh my fucking god, he CAME IN FUCKING PUSSY! NEVER! NEVER AGAIN!", and you promptly slam the door shut to drown out the rest of her enraged shrieks.

A month later and you were at it again, perusing the backpages for hot escorts to masturbate to. Your time spent with Aria if anything had increased your arousal towards escorts, and when you were not pounding one out to her streams or your own memories of your time with her, or even that picture, you were pumping away to images of some lady of the night. Your heart nearly stops though when you come across a familiar advertisement for an insane price, it couldn't be. She said she would never do it again... But when you open it, you see that it was posted recently, and unlike before the description now was for a "No limits prostitute, please get tested so that you can fuck me raw in any way you want, my curvy Asian body is yours to use!" You are shaking as you type out a message, inquiring when she would next be available, and you almost pass out when you receive a response. A lewd selfie of Aria with her tongue sticking out, her arm pushing up her fat tits, precedes the message: "You again? Make sure to get tested this time so you can fuck me bareback properly this time! I love being your nasty little whore..."

Well, it seems like you will be spending the rest of your life ruinously in debt, but at least you will be spending it balls deep inside of AriaSaki's pussy!

[ladyzephroar]

I came across my first AI fic on Wattpad a couple of months ago. It was for the Harry Potter fandom and the author did warn for it in the summary and the AN, so I knew what I was getting myself into. I just feel that issues aside with AI scraping stories to create its own, AI just doesn't know how to tell a story at all.

The AI story was all over the place really. It genuinely forgot that in a previous chapter that one of the main characters was in a life and death situation, but the next chapter opened up with him being present with his friends (in name only, I guess?), but then the next scene was where the friends of this character had to actually go and save him... and like the character was mentioned going with them even though he wasn't actually there with them. It was just so bizarre.

Not sure if the story is still posted there, but I never went back after reading the first few chapters. I did tell the author in a comment that it's a shame that the story was AI created because if they wrote a story that followed the same story line, I'd love it. Not sure if the author took my words to heart and honestly, I don't want to go and check.

It's just... Why use AI to write stories? It's not like you're asking for prompt ideas or asking to 'bounce ideas' so that you can form your own and start writing.

I just wanted to put this post out there to say that AI generated stories are everywhere now. AO3, Wattpad, possibly a few on FFN. It's a problem for sure when you consider the fact that in order to 'write' the story, that AI is using the works of other fic writers to do that writing, too.

no way ppl are using ai to write ao3. what happened to being a tortured writer. what happened to blood on the page. what happened to the ao3 curse. people used to get run over, have their houses burned down, break their entire spines and they still put in the work to finish a chapter. fuck you, using ai. y’all are weak

[bonefall]

Is there beef with the Holstein cows and you or what was that joke lol

It's kind of wild It's just never come up on this blog before, but I HATE holsteins. Bottom 10 cow breeds for me. I hate how they're so common they account for the majority of milk produced. I hate that they're the "default" cow to the point where some don't even know cattle HAVE other colors. I hate their tiny horns (IF THEY EVEN HAVE THAT. LOSER ASS HORNLESS COW) and their painfully massive udders.

Legit I'm trying so hard to not launch into a No Mouth Must Scream style AM speech-- shoot my hand slipped.

(AM speech about why i dont like holsteins below the cut)

For starters, I have to give a brief lesson on what these terms mean; the "Holstein" is the American strain of the "Frisian" breed. Frisians are an ancient breed from Frisia, in the north of what we now consider the Netherlands. Crosses between the breeds are "Holstein-Frisians."

(There’s even more to this but im keeping it as simple as possible. Also one of my friends is Frisian and she is probably going to kill me for describing it like that.)

Historically, livestock was adapted to the environment they lived in. Frisians were bred by the Frisii people for hundreds of years in extremely grass-rich, lush, flat environments. The "polders" of the northern parts of the Netherlands. They're huge and eat a LOT of food.

Traditional Frisians were developed to produce as much meat and milk from a single individual as possible, without compromising the health of the cattle with constant inbreeding to get quick gains. We are talking about a breed that is over 2000 years old. They had the perfect environment to make The Ultimate Food Cow and by god they did it. I can respect that.

So, take that, drag it across an ocean to a place that does NOT have polders, and add the rapid enshittification of capitalism to it. BAM you've got a fucking holstein.

There is ONE goal for "improving" the holstein. Make More Milk. As long as the black and white milkbag leaks enough, nothing else matters. Health? Fertility? Feed ratio? Ability to not die of infection? WHO CARES. MILK LINE GO UP.

Over 90% of holsteins are inbred to start with, because Milk Line Go Up. To the tune of having an average COI of 8%-- where extreme negative effects (think Hapsburgs) start to crop up around 10%

Holstein bulls are aggressive bastards (many dairy bulls are), so no one wants to keep intact males in their herds, meaning most cows are artificially inseminated

Not being limited by the natural lifespan of a living bull means that the same stud can keep having direct offspring for decades after his death

Toystory the bull had 500,000 calves before he died, and hit over 1 million offspring in 2015. That's ONE animal and to put this in perspective, there are 9 million holsteins in the US.

DON'T WORRY IT GETS WORSE

Not only can 99% of holsteins be traced back to just two bulls-- 99% of male holsteins share one of two exact Y chromosomes with those two bulls.

The gene pool is so small that it's equivalent to about 60 individuals. Warrior Cat allegiances are larger than that. That's barely bigger than modern ThunderClan.

"Massive lack of genetic diversity" does not begin to capture the existential dread of this situation. Mark my words, WATCH, when the Bird Flu finally mutates a strain that rips through a mammalian population, it's gonna be in the USA and it's going to be through our dairy cattle.

This is not prophecy or me laying a curse on the land, this is the natural consequence of basing the stability of US milk production on the equivalent of 9 million clones of two classrooms worth of individuals, and then packing them in close quarters

And we don't have to wait for doomsday for the impacts to be apparent on the cattle themelves

Holstein fertility has also dropped by half since the 1960s when the intensive inbreeding really kicked into high gear

Because their whole body is dedicating all of their resources to milk production, they have a notoriously "bony" frame.

Show judges, however, like this because they think that's a very "feminine" look for a 1600 pound ruminant. Very normal thing to think.

Like. I don't know if i can communicate this to people who don't look at cows a lot (it's not quite as obviously dramatic as a pug skull) but here is a comparison of an "ideal" show holstein and an "unselected" holstein from a herd that's been established as a sort of "control group" for what they looked like back in the 1960s;

The way that the artery on the "modern" cow's belly runs to the udder like a big pink worm freaks me out the most ngl

The udder also bulges out from between the back legs

The show cow is so thin

And then compare these both to a Holstein-Frisian cross who leans more on the Frisian side;

Proper weight, developed legs. Its biggest "problem" is actually just the udder shape-- deep udders, which "hang" low like that, aren't optimal for milk-focused breeds because the higher away from the ground the less chance there is of infection. In that department, the "unselected" holstein clearly outclasses the holstein-frisian.

But it probably won't be surprising to hear that the "show holstein," with its massive, swollen udder, is SUPER prone to infections such as mastitis.

But it is also just more prone to getting sick generally

And, to keep up with these insane demands, holsteins need a TON of food. You aren't going to just turn these things out into a pasture and be done with it. Even its ancestor the Frisian needed premium Dutch polder grass to be such a good cow-- crank that up to 11 with these Monuments to Humanity's Hubrice

The Texas Longhorn developed in semi-feral conditions and can eat a bush to become the best thing in a 10 mile radius. The Scottish Highland was iron-forged in upland moors with a steady diet of turf and rain.

Meanwhile if a Holstein has less than 5 homemade meals a day without poland spring bottled water it will die to death.

And the WORST part? You have to use these if you want to make money in dairy farming. It's WAAY too expensive to just run a suboptimal farm. Their milk isn't great, but they sure do make a lot of it.

...so Holsteins and Holstein-Frisians (and other "super efficient" breeds) have absolutely decimated heritage cattle. The American Milking Devon is a deep reddish brown with gorgeous horns and low maintenance; rare. Randall Linebacks are painted with lines of white speckles down the back and can be used for any purpose; critically endangered. The Niata was a pug-faced cow who could fight jaguars; extinct.

And THAT'S what makes me hate them most of all. I LOVE cows, but whenever I see a reference to one, it's a holstein. It's always boring black and white splotches with big pink udders. They're practically synonymous with "cow" when their homogeniety is actually hiding much cooler breeds from you.

Did you know cows can be tiger-striped?

And that England has its own type of longhorn?

Or that cow horns can twist upwards like an antelope?

And that they can have REALLY LONG ears?

And that they can be blue?

And that's not even getting into some of the cows that have gotten a small crumb of attention lately, such as Highlands, Ankole-Watusi, and Texas Longhorns. There's so many cool cows out there! And they're all really different from holsteins! MOST of them are also a lot healthier and produce tastier milk and meat!

TL;DR yeah i don't like holsteins and I like sniping at them. For reasons both legit and petty.

[mayasaura]

In the backstory chapters of Nona, there's a strong thread of racism running through what goes down and why, but it's all under the surface. Unacknowledged. John frames the injustice done to him in squarely economic terms, or about being fair, or he doesn't explain himself at all, and so there's always something in his story that rings false. A disconnect between the events and John's reaction to them. John clearly knows what it is, but he's still unwilling to overtly name the accomplice even after everyone else involved is dead. Why is that?

Well. Probably because of racism. One of its little tricks is how no one likes to hear about it, especially if it implicates their own communities. Talk about an instant way to lose a crowd. Or a scholarship. John was an indigenous student without a safety net. He spent his whole life making himself palatable to first Pākehā and then British institutions, in the hopes that by chasing success in education, he could lift himself out of poverty and make a difference in the world. That's what everyone tells you, right? Get yourself an education, and that's your ticket out. Survive the abuse, and you can make something of yourself.

John played that game perfectly. He worked his way up, he endured, he got his degrees, and in doing so he learned to frame things in the way people wanted to hear them. And how to avoid mentioning things that might be used against him.

None of it protected him, of course, that's the true bitch of it all. He was still put in his place as soon as he tried to use his investor's money to help people like him, and there was nothing he could do about it. The harder he fought to blow the whistle on them the worse things got, until he was stood in front of the government with all his evidence, and instead of considering a word he said, they threatened him with racialised violence. We were going to put you fellas in jail, weren’t we?

Ten thousand years later, he's still not ready to confront any of that. I got mad, he tells Harrow, as if that could possibly adequately explain what had happened. As if he'd even know where to begin explaining why.

[heartepub]

if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightley finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[kaisentine]

is the mikage corp’s heir trying to steal your man? you know that he probably is.

purple is a unique color, purple is a noticeable hair color, purple is a striking eye color, purple is the color you can see from your peripheral vision when nagi is snuggling up against your side.

“sei . . . did you invite mikage?” you lean down to whisper in his ear—referring to reo as mikage because you aren’t at all close at him nor do you think he likes you. anyway, nagi didn’t mention anything about inviting his best friend today.

he’s too lazy to look at you to respond but you see the way his head just barely moves when he opens his mouth, “nope.” he matches the volume of your voice. so was this considered a break in or . . ?

you fight the urge to cling onto nagi like a koala because reo just keeps . . . staring. “sei, he’s literally in your apartment.” you deadpan as quietly as possible whilst trying to keep audible for him to hear because you know damn well he’s about to fall asleep right on you shoulder.

this time, he moves his head to look up at you. then his eyes start wandering off to the side—did he finally see him? you get the answer when he starts speaking. “reo? why’re you here?” he asks the purple haired male—not bothering to mention how he got in because nagi was the one who gave him the keys.

finally, he actually steps out of the shadows. he looks scary like this, giving you a deadly glare. “sorry, did i interrupt? i was just going to check in on you.” he quickly switches up when answering your boyfriend. obviously he interrupted something . . . but to your dismay, nagi only shakes his head.

the night ends with nagi sandwiched by two people: his very lovely amazing partner and reo.

it feels like you’re in a constant competition with mikage reo. the way you lowkey have to fight with him to snag the place beside nagi.

you and reo glare at each other as soon as you guys see the vacant spot on nagi’s left side. it’s gonna be a race that reo wins, you know that for sure—you’re not even gonna try to win against a freaking scary 6’1 soccer player.

so while he is fast walking to his best friend’s side, you’re taking slow strides to catch up. it’s only a matter of seconds before he sits his ass down triumphantly in victory—you roll your eyes at him. when you do get to the destination, you’re giving him the “i’m gonna win in the end anyway” type of glare.

nagi obviously doesn’t care,he probably doesn’t even know what just transpired because he’s still on his phone playing some video game.

“sei, you’re still on that game?” you ask, standing on the other side beside him. he hums as a little yes to your question, you let out a fake chuckle. “you’ve been playing for too long, i wanted to show you something.” you pout and almost direct an evil grin to reo but stop because nagi pauses his game to look at you, grey eyes lazily staring back at you. “what’d you wanna show me?” he’s interested now, he hates surprises because it’s too much of a hassle to think about what it could be. “it’s in your bedroom,” you put an innocent smile at the end and he’s already jumping out of his chair. when you’re both leaving reo to sulk on the counter, you turn back to flash him a devious smile—the one you intended to give him the first time.

“we’ll be right back,” said nagi.

you guys were in-fact not right back.

reo later found you guys sleeping on nagi’s bed, bodies all up against each other.

i don’t think nagi understands the phrase “bros before hoes” nor does he understand “hoes before bros”. . . he doesn’t really care—he’s too lazy to give a fuck.

sticky note. i feel like nagi is lowkey a red flag or probably a yellow ( beige??? ) flag . . .

[marzipanandminutiae]

I genuinely think there were far more trans people in 19th century western history than we're aware of, simply because of the nature of how most LGBTQ people lived their lives back then

namely, though of course this varied WILDLY by time, place, cultlure, race, gender, etc., in relative secrecy

if you go back far enough, legal identifying documents were barely a thing for many people. and even if they existed, circumstances in which they'd be checked were few and far between. surveillance was nowhere near what it is now simply because of technological limitations. and due to those same technological limitation, people were more used to accepting at face value the identities of people with bodies that varied from the norm

Gilbert and Sullivan mention, in their 1885 song "I've Got A Little List," the singer's "auntie with a mustache" (albeit in a negative context). not "well, I don't hold with all this woke DEI nonsense and have we checked Auntie's genitals and what's the marker on this alleged woman's passport?" is it very probable that the auntie was cisgender? yes. there are plenty of reasons for cis women to grow more facial hair than is average, ranging from genetics to PCOS to post-menopausal hormone shifts. before HRT, in a time with few readily accessible safe hair removal techniques (though they tried, and electrolysis had been technically available- at ruinously expensive rates -since the 1870s), you'd be more likely to encounter cis women with facial hair who chose not to try removing it. and you assumed all women were cis. so your set concept of A Woman included, potentially, facial hair, and it was less likely to make you question someone's gender

EDIT: wow okay so that is NOT an original G&S lyric! it's so borderline in terms of Poor Taste that I assumed it must be 19th century. nonetheless, references to old women with whiskers and moustaches abound in Victorian and earlier literature, so the point still stands

besides which, for a very long time, personal questions along the lines of "what's in your trousers/skirt" were considered HIGHLY impertinent

so, while there would be a world of trouble if a trans person was caught or if suspicions began to arise about their gender for some reason- the past was not a trans-friendly utopia by any means -it was often somewhat easier to fly under the radar than it generally is today. the transphobic powers-that-were were less aware of this possibility and therefore not on high alert for it, generally speaking

and since most trans people then and now want to have jobs and social circles and families and do things to which being trans is incidental, while trans, it wasn't likely that they'd call attention to themselves in a time when Closet = Safe. indeed, most trans people from that era that we know about are only publicly known because their death wishes to be buried without autopsy were not respected. I'm thinking of Dr. James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, and earlier the Chevaliere d'Eon [no, that's not a misspelling; it's the feminine form of Chevalier since she was a woman]

(you hear about more transmasc people in the history of this era because it was harder to establish an independent life as a woman, at all, without some kind of support network/establishment of Reputation in the area where you were living. unless you were a sex worker, and while we do know about some transfem sex workers of the era, the specifics of their identities are often obscured behind salacious news reports of Man Disguised As Woman Tricks Other Men Into Doing Icky Gay Things. so figuring out whether they saw themselves as women or crossdressing men can be difficult. Mary Jones comes immediately to mind)

how many similar wishes were respected? how many people slipped through history with their gender variance unremarked-upon? there's literally no way of knowing- which is good in terms of immediate postmortem respect, but leaves historians of queer subjects nowadays with a herculean task

I think, in light of all that's happening right now, I just want to remind everyone that trans people have always existed, will always exist, and are an integral part of humanity's fabric

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

[bunny-jpeg]

quenching a thirst

daniel ricciardo

request: is there any possibility to have 2 and 10 with daniel for the valentines ask? 2. “i’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.” + 10. “we’re in public, you know.”

tags: smut/pwp, semi-public sex (in a closet), assistant!reader, secret relationship, oral sex (reader receives), quick & messy, hair pulling

eros (the valentine's collection)

"danny." you said as you placed your hands on his chest. it only encouraged him to lean in closer to you. you said a little more sternly, "danny."

"no one is watching, just one kiss. i want to taste that lip gloss of yours when i talk to the reporters." he licked his lips. you hated that there was something about him that made you flustered. flirting came natural to him and it made you feel warm all over.

you held onto your clipboard in your free hand and said, "and they could come bargaining in at any second. you want to be on the news for being at this charity event, not for kissing your assistant." but daniel still captured your lips in his.

when he pulled away, he licked his lips and said, "mmm, apple pie."

but you knew one kiss wouldn't calm down daniel's need for you. one kiss turned into two and two often turned into three rounds of sex in the closest bad you could find. you knew you had every chance to say no, but the charm of daniel ricciardo was undeniable.

even when he got on your nerves at times. you gave him several small kisses and one long make-out session with his tongue in your mouth before he was able to do his interviews. you tried to deny the heat between your legs while you watched him from the sidelines. you could see the slight shine on his lips, obvious from your kisses.

you had been secretly seeing daniel for about six months. you had been his assistant for over a year and a half, all that time together let something bloom between you two. nights spent between races, the home-cooked meals you made him try, that one time you held his hand while he got his newest tattoo.

you two were close and daniel loved you. which was why he yearned for your kisses. and why he whined when you refused to give him more. he was insatiable at times, but yet it made you flustered. like when he kissed you and ran his tongue across your bottom lip.

"we're in public you know." you said as you ended up pressed against the wall of a hallway. you moaned into another kiss when he pinched you behind.

you knew it didn't actually matter. you could publicly date him with little to no fuss. but you didn't want people to think you got your job because you were sleeping with your boss. daniel understood, he respected that you wanted to be seen with integrity. but that didn't lessen his need for your kisses and your love.

"sorry, babe." he said sweetly, "i like when you make sure i'm well taken care of. i feel like i should do the same considering how needy you get."

you chuckled, warmed by his words, "what do you me to say? i've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly? get on my knees for you." you held onto his strong shoulders. you were totally smitten.

the allure he had over you, you were both alone in the hallway with his lips on yours. he said lowly, "i want you. i want to taste you. i don't think i can wait till we get back home." his large hands were on your hips. he held you close and licked his top lip.

"you're insatiable, ricciardo."

he leaned in further, "i know, but you love me. just like how i love you." you quickly ended up in a supply closet with your back up against a few shelves.

"fuck." you whispered as daniel quickly and quietly closed the door and turned on the low light. even in the dim light he looked good, you eyes him as he got to his knees and hiked up your short skirt. you covered your mouth as he pulled your panties down and exposed your pussy to him.

"look at you." he mused quietly, "you look so good. i et you taste so sweet. when i was talking to the press i thought about you. how i'd rather be back home with my head between your thighs." and chuckled before he heard you quietly moan.

"danny." you said and tensed up as he kissed your pussy. he held onto your soft thighs with your skirt pushed up to your waist and your panties to your ankles. you leaned further against the shelves.

his tongue was talented, and with a pussy as perfect as yours he only wanted to make you feel good. he groaned against your cunt and licked at it. he could feel heat in his body, the air in the cramped space got warmer. his cock throbbed in his jeans. he held on a little tighter and pressed his nose further into your sex.

your wetness stained his lips more than your lip gloss did earlier. while daniel liked the apple pie flavour, your pussy tasted better. you moaned and tried to keep yourself composed. you couldn't be too loud or else people would start to get curious. you covered your mouth once more with one hand and held onto his short dark hair with the other.

daniel groaned against your pussy when you gave his hair a short tug. he licked your stiff clit and felt an electric feeling move through him. you tasted divine. he pressed further, he couldn't get enough. your pussy was the most divine of tastes and it made daniel eager to have more.

his attention on your clit made your body tense up as pleasure raced through you. "danny." you said in a hushed tone, "right there, fuck. i love when you tease my clit." you shakily exhaled and held onto his hand with both hands now. it all felt overwhelming in the best way possible, but you couldn't cause a scene right now.

you didn't want to be public with your relationship at that time, you knew what a hard launch was. but you didn't want to launch your relationship because someone cause daniel's head between your legs!

he looked up at you and dragged his tongue messily across your cunt. your wetness drooled down his chin. he was a messy eater. it was endearing, almost cute. you felt a wobble in your knees as he admired you for a moment before he went back to orally pleasuring you.

you felt the lingering heat in your body and swore under your breath. his large hands held onto your thighs and he licked your sopping wet sex. you whimpered as his movements and you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

daniel felt the strain in his jeans as he continued to pleasure your pussy with a talented eagerness. he could feel the pre-cum stain the front of his briefs. he couldn't care less. not when he had a mission. your eager noises only pulled him in closer and he loved how you tasted. it was like a taste of heaven and your noises were angel choirs, it made his heart sing. it felt good as he applied more pressure to his movements and then felt you quiver around him.

in a cramped storage room, daniel feasted on your beautifully slick cunt and your hushed pleasured noises. you felt blissed out as he only worked himself harder against you.

daniel loved you, that was certain. he knew it from the bottom of his heart. he ached for you, needed to be close to you. even when you tried to do your job. you held on a little tighter and pushed your pussy up against him. he could feel your love through your pussy up against his face.

"please. fuck, yes." you near squeaked as the pleasure reached its pack. you shakily exhaled in an attempt to hold back a moan. silence was key. it was heated in the closet, the sweat dampened your back as your breathed heavily.

daniel's moan was muffled by your pussy and felt the tension in your thighs. he gave you one last lick and felt your orgasm cross through you. he looked up and watched you have to cover your mouth as you came. your knees shook as the intense feeling washed over you. a small noise spilled from his lips. you cursed under your breath as you relaxed a little.

daniel pulled away and wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand. he chuckled lightly and let himself remain excited. he grinned at you, "pretty girl." then helped you back into your panties before he pushed your skirt down over your thighs.

"i'm not making this a habit." you said pointedly. daniel got back to his feel, he kissed you on the cheek before he wiped his wet mouth.

"of course." he wrapped his arms around you, "next time we'll just leave easily and i can see how loud you can get." then winked.

you playfully pushed his chest, "you're insatiable, danny."

"i know, but only for you." <3

[mohfamily]

🌟 A Plea from Gaza: Rola’s Story 🌟

Hello, my name is Rola, and I am a mother of two children living in the Gaza Strip. Our lives were once filled with love, laughter, and dreams for the future. But everything changed on October 7th, when the war shattered not only our home but our entire world.

That morning, my family and I were enjoying coffee together on the balcony. Out of nowhere, an explosion erupted, shaking our home violently. My husband and son ran for cover, falling over each other in panic, while I stood frozen, still holding my cup, unable to process the chaos around me. When I looked out the window, I saw that our neighbor’s house, once filled with life, had been reduced to rubble. Ambulances rushed to the scene as people scrambled to rescue the injured and pull bodies from the debris.

The bombings didn’t stop. At night, the rain poured heavily, and the cold seeped into our bones. I stayed awake, covering my children to keep them warm and praying for their safety. But safety is an illusion here. Another explosion shattered the night, and our neighbors’ home was destroyed. Their children, who had been sleeping peacefully under a blanket, were found lifeless, their cover soaked in blood.

I looked at my children with tears in my eyes and thought, How can I protect you? We had to flee our home with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We left behind my children’s toys, their clothes, and their beautiful bedroom. Everything we had worked so hard to build is gone.

Our Current Reality Now, we are displaced and living in a nightmare. Food is scarce, and prices are unimaginably high—$10 for a kilo of sugar! The fear of death hangs over us constantly. My children deserve a life of joy and hope, not one defined by fear and loss. Why can’t we live like everyone else—go to work, visit family, and watch our children play in safety? Why do our children have to grow up surrounded by death and destruction?

How You Can Help I am pleading for your kindness to help us rebuild our lives. We need your support to: 💔 Rebuild our home, so my children can feel safe again. 🌍 Evacuate from Gaza, seeking a future where my family can live with dignity. 🩺 Provide urgent medical care for my children, who need protection from this nightmare.

Even the smallest donation can make a difference. If you can’t donate, please share my story. Every share brings us closer to hope.

What Your Support Means Your kindness is not just about helping us survive; it’s about giving us a chance to dream again. To rebuild what we’ve lost and to ensure my children have a future filled with possibilities, not fear.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Your support means the world to us. Let’s work together to rebuild hope, one step at a time.

🌸 Please share our story and consider donating today. 🌸

[haerenven]

Pairings. M.D.Luffy - R.Zoro - V.Sanji - Nami - N.Robin - Shanks

summary. Them with curly headed reader

— (a/n): consider this a gift for my gorgeous curly girlies ₍^. .^₎⟆

MONKEY D LUFFY

- Endless Fascination with Your Curls

Luffy is obsessed with your hair—not in a poetic, admiring-from-afar kind of way, but in the most Luffy way possible. He tugs at your curls just to watch them bounce back, sometimes even poking them with a finger like he’s testing if they have a mind of their own. “Whoa… they’re like little springs!” he exclaims every time, as if he’s just discovered it all over again. And if you ever get annoyed? He just laughs, completely unbothered, and does it again.

- Zero Concept of Personal Space

If he’s tired? Your curls make the perfect pillow. If he’s hungry? He’ll lean against you, idly playing with a strand while thinking about meat. If he’s excited? He’ll grab you, spin you around, andsomehow get his fingers tangled in your hair in the process. Luffy doesn’t care about boundaries—he’s always close, always touching, always acting like he has every right to be tangled up with you, just like your curls are with each other.

- Unfiltered, Genuine Compliments

Luffy doesn’t have a poetic bone in his body, but when he compliments you, it’s so real that it sticks with you forever. “Your hair looks like a whole adventure!” he grins one day, staring at the wild way it moves. “Like if I followed every curl, I’d find treasure at the end!” It’s ridiculous, but he says it with so much excitement—so much Luffy-ness—that you can’t help but smile.

- Doesn’t Understand Hair Struggles but Tries Anyway

If you’re ever frustrated with your hair—too tangled, too frizzy, too much—Luffy doesn’t get it, but that won’t stop him from trying to help. “Just leave it like that!” he suggests with a grin, fully convinced that you look amazing no matter what. And if you insist on fixing it, he offers solutions that make no sense. “What if we dunk your head in the ocean and see what happens?” (Spoiler: Bad idea.)

- The Ultimate Protector—Even Against the Wind

Luffy doesn’t care much about the wind messing up his hair, but when it comes to you? Oh, he takes it personally. If a strong gust blows your curls into your face, he immediately stretches his arm out like a shield, standing in front of you with a dramatic stance. “I GOTCHA!” he shouts, as if he’s just saved you from mortal danger. It’s completely unnecessary, but he’s so proud of himself that you just let him have his moment.

- Plays with Your Hair Absentmindedly

Whenever he’s deep in thought—rare as that may be—his fingers somehow find their way to your hair. He absentmindedly twirls a curl around his finger, stretching it slightly just to watch it spring back. He’ll braid random sections (terribly), tie tiny knots (that you definitely have to untangle later), and sometimes just hold a curl in front of his face, squinting at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

- Unapologetic About His Preferences

One time, Nami tries to brush your hair out into loose waves, and Luffy immediately pouts. “Nooooo, put it back!” he whines, reaching over to mess it up again. “I like it all poofy and crazy!” He doesn’t care about what’s fashionable—he just loves you, exactly the way you are.

- Loves How Your Hair Feels Against Him

If you ever rest against his chest, he immediately buries his face in your hair, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat. “It’s so soft!” he laughs, nuzzling into you without shame. If you try to push him away, he just stretches his arms to pull you right back. “Nope! I live here now!”

- A Love That’s Loud and Unshakable

Luffy doesn’t do subtle. If he loves you, everyone knows it. He shouts your name across islands, tackles you into hugs that leave you breathless, and brags to strangers about how cool your hair is like it’s his greatest discovery. And when it’s just the two of you, when the sea is quiet and the stars stretch endless above you, he tugs at a curl, grinning softly. “I dunno,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual. “I just think everything about you is perfect.”

RORONOA ZORO

- Absorbed in the Movement of Your Curls

Zoro is not a man prone to idleness, but when it comes to you, he finds himself drawn to the subtle movement of your curls, as if they’re the sea itself—wild and free. In those quiet moments, as the crew rests, he may sit next to you, his hands absentmindedly finding a strand of hair to twist between his fingers. His touch is unthinking, almost a part of the background, but there’s a quiet fascination in the way he does it—his rough fingertips tracing each curl’s path, not because he’s trying to tame it, but because he finds it impossibly captivating. If you tease him about it, he’ll turn away, muttering under his breath with the same gruffness he’s known for. “It’s just… bouncy,” he’ll say, though the pink in his ears tells a different story.

- A Shield Against the Wind

Zoro observes, always quietly aware of his surroundings, and he notices how your curls seem to fight against the wind, their natural beauty battling the elements. While others may not notice, he does. When the wind picks up, he’ll subtly shift his position, always placing himself between you and the gusts, blocking the worst of it with his broad frame. If you ask him why, he’ll scoff, “You could move, y’know,” but his stance remains unchanged. It’s his way of silently protecting you—and your curls—from the chaos outside.

- Comfort in the Aftermath

After a fierce battle, when the adrenaline that had once sharpened his senses fades into a quiet exhaustion, Zoro finds solace in your presence. He doesn’t need to say much—his actions speak for him. With a quiet breath, he’ll reach for you, running his fingers through your curls, feeling the softness of each strand as his hand tangles within them. It’s not about comfort; it’s about grounding himself, reminding himself that you’re still there, still safe. In those moments, his touch lingers just a second longer than necessary, and though his eyes may not meet yours, the weight of his affection is undeniable.

- Uncomplicated Praise, Deeply Felt

Zoro is blunt, his words seldom adorned with the sweetness others might offer. But when he compliments you, it’s grounded in truth, uncomplicated yet deeply sincere. When you’re struggling with the tangled chaos of your curls, his gaze will lift to you, and with a grunt, he’ll say, “Looks fine to me. Don’t change it.” It’s not flowery, but it’s Zoro in its purest form—honest, no frills. On rare occasions when you take care more of your hair and styling it, his eyes might linger a moment too long, before he clears his throat and mutters, “You look… good.” Simple words, yet they carry the weight of his admiration.

- The Battle of Haircare

When you mention needing new hair products, Zoro’s mind immediately shifts into a mode of confusion. He’s never thought about something as trivial as shampoo, but his love for you has him trying—if only to see you smile. In the aisles of an unfamiliar island store, he glares at the endless bottles, trying to make sense of them. “What the hell is ‘hydrating curl cream’ supposed to do?” he mutters, but when you ask him to help detangle your hair, he takes the task more seriously than anything else. His brows furrow in concentration, fingers working through the knots with an intensity only rivaled by his swordsmanship. Each strand is handled with an unexpected patience, proving that even in the smallest things, Zoro will always give his all.

- A Silent Protector

Zoro’s way of protecting you isn’t flashy or showy. He doesn’t need to make a spectacle of it. But when your curls are threatened—by the wind, by the crowd, by something as simple as an ill-timed brush of someone’s hand—he steps in without hesitation. With a firm but gentle hand, he pulls you closer to his side, shielding your hair from harm, acting as if it’s no more than a casual motion. If someone dares to touch your curls without permission, his gaze is enough to make them rethink their actions, his glare sharp enough to cut through any pretense.

- Loyalty Shown in the Quiet Moments

Zoro’s love for you is shown in the quietest, most sincere ways. If you run out of your favorite hair product, he’s the one to notice, somehow keeping track of the small details that others might overlook. One evening, he’ll appear beside you with a new bottle of your favorite oil, placing it gently in your hands as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you’ve had a long day and your curls are more unruly than usual, Zoro will offer a gruff, “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.” The way he works through your hair is slow and deliberate, as if he’s taking the time to tend to something precious. It’s not about the task—it’s about the way he quietly shows you that, no matter the day or the chaos, he’s there for you, always.

VINSMOKE SANJI

- Adoration in Every Strand

Sanji’s fascination with your curls borders on obsession. The moment you walk into the kitchen or sit down at the table, he can’t help but be drawn to the way your hair naturally moves, the way it defies gravity, as if each curl is a work of art in itself. “Mademoiselle,” he’ll sigh dreamily, gazing at you with the adoration of a man utterly enchanted. “Your hair… it’s like a perfect symphony of elegance and chaos—so wild, so effortlessly beautiful.” He could spend hours simply staring, but when he’s around, you’ll always feel like the most stunning creature to ever exist.

- The Art of Curly Hair Care

Sanji may be a chef, but when it comes to your hair, he becomes a meticulous artist. He knows exactly how to make it shine, how to take care of it with tender touches, and he’s the only one you trust to give you the perfect trim. Whenever you ask for help with it, he responds with complete seriousness. “Of course, darling, it’s my honor to ensure your curls remain as perfect as they deserve to be.” His hands are always gentle but firm, his focus intense as he works on keeping your hair looking its best.

- Flirty Comments with a Side of Gentle Touch

His flirting knows no bounds, but with you, it always feels different—genuine, tender. If you catch him staring at your hair, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “How do you make your curls look so good?” he’ll ask, his voice thick with admiration, leaning in as if he’s trying to discover the secret. “Are you sure they’re just hair, or do they have a mind of their own?” he’ll muse, his gaze so intense it feels like he’s searching for the very meaning of life in your locks.

- Curly Hair, Perfect Partner

Sanji’s love for you goes beyond superficialities, but the way your hair frames your face? He can’t help but be captivated every time. You’re a vision—whether it’s in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of his best dishes, or on the deck under the golden sun, your hair always perfectly wild and untamed. “How did I get so lucky?” he’ll whisper to himself, caught in a moment where everything seems to revolve around you. “My perfect, beautiful mademoiselle…”

- The Hair-Ruffling Ritual

On rare, quiet moments, when you’re sitting together or sharing a peaceful moment, Sanji has this little ritual. He’ll reach over, carefully running his fingers through your curls, smoothing them down as if it’s his responsibility to protect them. When he does this, there’s always a soft, affectionate smile on his lips, as if he’s savoring a secret joy no one else gets to see. “I swear,” he’ll say with a soft chuckle, “if I could, I’d make sure every curl stayed as perfect as the first time I saw it.”

- Teasing with Adoration

Even in his playful teasing, Sanji’s love for you is clear. If your curls are a little out of place, he’ll make a show of dramatically fixing them, acting as if it’s a matter of utmost importance. “There’s no way I can allow such disarray on my lovely lady,” he’ll say with a smirk, his fingers carefully tucking a curl behind your ear. You know he’s teasing, but the care with which he does it shows just how much he values you.

- A Man Who Wants to Spoil You

He doesn’t just want to cook for you—he wants to pamper you. He’ll surprise you with special oils, conditioners, or hair accessories that he swears will make your curls even more radiant. “Only the best for my queen,” he’ll proclaim as he carefully places a luxurious bottle of hair serum in your hands. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves the world, including perfect curls.”

- In Private, He’s Your Rock

When it’s just the two of you, away from the prying eyes of the crew, Sanji’s admiration for you feels like a soft, steady thing. In moments of quiet, when you’re lying in his arms after a long day, he’ll press gentle kisses to the top of your head, letting his lips linger just long enough to enjoy the feeling of your curls against his face. “You know…” he’ll say softly, “I’d protect every single curl on your head if it meant keeping you safe.”

CAT BURGLAR NAMI

- Strategic Observations of Your Hair

Nami is always keenly aware of your curls, though she rarely shows it. She’s more practical than emotional, so she admires the way your hair moves with the wind or the humidity with the same precision she’d use to study a map. “so gorgeous,” she’ll say, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth as she watches a few stubborn strands fight against the breeze. You can see that spark in her eyes—Nami loves a challenge, and your curls are one she enjoys mastering in subtle ways.

- Curly Hair Care Expert (Without the Compliments)

Nami isn’t one to shower you with over-the-top compliments about your hair—she’ll leave that to others like Sanji. Instead, she’ll approach your curls with the same pragmatism she applies to everything in her life. She’ll be the first one to suggest a new hair product when your curls are looking frizzy, her voice casual as if she’s offering you an extra map for your travels. “Try this—works wonders with humidity. Trust me, I’ve tested it.”

- The Subtle Tease

Nami loves to tease you, and your curly hair is a prime target. “It must take you forever to untangle that mess in the morning,” she’ll comment with a smirk, clearly enjoying the light-hearted jab. But when she says this, you know there’s affection behind the teasing—Nami isn’t mean-spirited, she’s just playful. Still, you’ll catch her grinning as she watches you attempt to fix one particularly stubborn curl.

- The Subtle Compliment (When You Least Expect It)

While she’ll never openly gush about how beautiful your curls are, she’ll show her admiration in small, subtle ways. When she notices a particularly well-placed curl or a new style you’ve tried, she’ll make a nonchalant comment. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” she’ll say while adjusting a map or focusing on something else. “That curl right there—looks good.” She’ll never go overboard, but you can hear the sincerity in her voice.

- Curly Hair, Practicalities First

Nami’s practicality takes over when it comes to your hair. She’ll often have hair ties and clips on hand, offering them to you without hesitation. If your hair starts getting in the way during a storm or a chaotic situation, she’ll hand you one with a knowing look, as if it’s just another tool to make the day go smoothly. “Trust me, it’s easier when you don’t have a ton of hair in your face while navigating through this mess.”

- Shared Moments in the Sun

On those rare, peaceful moments when the crew is relaxing on a beach or under a tree, Nami will sit beside you, eyeing your curls with a kind of fondness. She’ll reach over to lightly tuck one curl behind your ear, the touch soft, almost intimate. “Your hair’s wild,” she’ll comment with a small smile, “but in a good way. It suits you.” These little moments of connection, where Nami’s usually cool demeanor softens, are a quiet but important reminder that she values you, in every sense.

- In Private, She’s Surprisingly Gentle

When it’s just the two of you, Nami can be surprisingly tender. If she catches you adjusting your curls in frustration, she won’t let you do it alone. “Let me help,” she’ll say quietly, gently moving to fix the curls you’ve been trying to tame. You’ll feel her fingers brush your scalp, working in silence with focused care. For someone who doesn’t always show her emotions, her actions speak volumes.

- Nami’s Way of Saying “I Care”

Nami doesn’t always wear her affection on her sleeve, but when she does, it’s in these small moments with you. After a rough day, when the rest of the crew is busy or unwinding, she’ll settle beside you. Without saying much, she’ll gently adjust your curls, fixing them in a way that feels almost soothing. “You’re fine. Stop stressing,” she’ll whisper with a calm smile, her touch tender but firm, reminding you that she’s there.

NICO ROBIN

- Admiring Your Curls from a Distance

Robin, being observant as always, notices the subtle beauty in your curls, though she’s not the type to openly gush about them. When she’s deep in thought, her gaze will often drift to you, to the way your curls frame your face so perfectly, as if each strand is in its rightful place. She’s not one to speak often, but when she does, it’s always with a calm, almost meditative tone. “You have a way of making chaos look beautiful,” she’ll say, the softness in her voice making it clear that it’s more of an observation than a simple compliment.

- Gentle Touch and Care

Robin isn’t the kind of person who’s outwardly affectionate in the traditional sense, but when she does show her care, it’s in the smallest, most delicate gestures. If you’re struggling with your curls, or if the wind has made them unruly, she’ll quietly take a seat next to you, her hands moving to adjust a few strands with meticulous care. She doesn’t rush, allowing the moment to feel intimate, her touch feather-light as she smooths down a particularly stubborn curl. “There. That’s better,”she’ll say softly, her eyes lingering on you with that serene, knowing expression.

- The Quiet Compliment

Robin doesn’t give many overt compliments, but when she does, it’s always in the form of quiet, thoughtful remarks. If your curls catch her attention—perhaps when the sunlight hits them just right—she might lean in ever so slightly, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “You always seem to look the most radiant when the wind plays with your hair,” she’ll comment, her voice low, as if she’s sharing a private thought.

- Her Subtle, Intimate Observations

Robin’s way of showing admiration is to notice the things that others might overlook, the subtle movements, the small details that make you unique. She’ll watch your curls bounce as you move, and though she might not comment on them every time, there’s a certain glimmer in her eyes that lets you know she’s taken note. “Your curls have their own rhythm,” she’ll muse, her voice a soft hum as she watches them shift in the breeze.

- The Quiet Protector

Though Robin is typically reserved, when it comes to you, she’s remarkably attentive. If she notices you becoming frustrated with your curls, especially in the heat or humidity, she might offer you a calming smile, her hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “Don’t let something so simple trouble you,” she’ll say, her voice as smooth as silk, her touch both soothing and reassuring.

- The Curiosity About Your Hair

Robin’s intellectual curiosity extends to you as well, and she’s often fascinated by the way your curls seem to have a life of their own. “It’s remarkable,” she’ll say with a quiet tone of wonder. “How do you keep your curls so full of life?” She’s genuinely interested in your haircare routine, as it represents the unique qualities of your personality that she finds so intriguing.

- A Gentle Bond in the Quiet Moments

In private moments, when the noise of the world fades away, Robin enjoys the soft serenity of your company. She might run her fingers through your curls, not in a rush but with a calm, soothing touch, as if she’s cherishing the peacefulness of the moment. “Your curls remind me of the ocean,” she’ll say, her voice almost distant as if lost in thought. “Full of mystery and depth.” It’s her way of expressing how much she values you, in her own quiet, graceful manner.

- Noticing Your Efforts Without Saying Much

Robin is keenly aware of the effort you put into your appearance, especially when it comes to your curls. She notices when you take extra care, or when you’re struggling with them. If you’re frustrated with the way they’re behaving, Robin will gently offer assistance, her tone soft but sure. “I’m sure they’ll settle. It’s just a matter of patience.” She understands the small, quiet frustrations that others might overlook, and she offers support without making a big deal of it.

- The Protective Quietness

In the rare moments when someone else dares to make a comment about your hair—either teasing you or offering unsolicited advice—Robin is quick to defend you. She’ll raise an eyebrow and speak with calm authority, her words firm but never harsh. “I don’t believe they were asking for your opinion,” she’ll say, her gaze never leaving the person who dared to intrude on your space.

- Help with Your Curls

Nico Robin’s Devil Fruit powers, the Hana Hana no Mi, allow her to sprout extra limbs from almost any surface. She’s not one to show off, but when she notices you struggling with your unruly curls—perhaps a particularly stubborn knot or frizz—she’ll use her powers in a subtle, gentle way to assist you. With a calm, focused expression, Robin will sprout delicate, flower-like hands from the back of your head or from the side of your shoulder. “I’ll help you with that,” she’ll say, her voice serene. These hands will deftly smooth through your hair, massaging out any tangles or gently pushing stray curls back into place, working with the same care and precision she’d apply to her own tasks. The hands, sprouting from places like your shoulders or even from behind you, are soft and graceful—never overbearing or intrusive, but more like a quiet offering of help, her calm presence easing away any frustration.

It’s a gesture that’s almost poetic in its execution—Robin’s powers are used not for grand battles or dramatic displays, but to ease your mind and make your hair fall just a little bit more perfectly, with a soft smile on her lips.

RED-HAIRED SHANKS

- A Love as Wild as the Sea

Shanks has spent his life chasing the horizon, but when he looks at you—when he watches the way your curls catch the sunlight, wild and untamed—he swears he’s found something even more boundless. He cups your face in his one strong hand, his thumb tracing over your cheek as he gazes at you with that easy, knowing smile. “The sea’s spent its whole life trying to move like you… and it still doesn’t come close.” he murmurs, voice dipped in quiet wonder, as if he’s found the only treasure that truly matters. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, once, twice, before giving him a look somewhere between amused and skeptical. “You always this smooth, or did the sea teach you that too?” Shanks’ grin deepens, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your cheek. “Nah,” he muses, voice low and teasing. “The sea just taught me how to chase what’s impossible to resist.”

- His Fingers Lost in Your Curls

His hand is calloused, rough from years at sea, yet when it finds your curls, his touch is impossibly soft. He has a habit of playing with them absentmindedly—twisting a strand between his fingers while deep in thought, brushing them from your face with the backs of his knuckles. When you sit beside him on the deck, he leans in just enough to let the scent of salt and wind in your hair lull him into contentment. If you ever rest against his chest, his hand naturally moves to cradle your curls, holding you there like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

- A Sailor Who Studies the Storm

Shanks is a man who understands the sea—its tempests, its serenity, its unpredictability. And when he looks at you, at the way your curls shift with the wind, full of their own wild defiance, he understands you in the same way. He watches as they move in the ocean breeze, never trying to tame them, only admiring the way they mirror your spirit. There’s a quiet reverence in the way Shanks watches you, as if memorizing every twist and turn of your curls the same way a sailor memorizes the tides. He never tries to smooth them down, never seeks to control them—because to him, they are a perfect reflection of you. Wild. Free. Untamed by the world. When the wind picks up, pulling at your hair like the ocean reaching for the shore, he only chuckles, his hand instinctively finding its way to you. With an easy touch, he tucks a curl behind your ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to make you feel the warmth of his calloused palm against your skin.

- Sheltering You from the Wind, His Own Way

Shanks doesn’t just pull you close when the wind picks up—he does it casually, as if he has every right to. He’ll throw his heavy cloak over your shoulders with a smirk, shifting his body just enough to block the strongest gusts. “Can’t have the wind stealing my favorite sight,” he muses, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with his thumb. He may be missing an arm, but that never stops him from holding you the way you need—as if the sea itself could never sweep you from his grasp.

- The Scent of Salt and Memory

He’s drawn to the scent of your hair in the same way he’s drawn to the ocean—something comforting, something constant. When he embraces you after weeks or months apart, he buries his face in your curls, inhaling deeply before exhaling a slow, content sigh. “Smells like home,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and unguarded. If you tease him about smelling like rum and mischief, he only chuckles, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Then I guess we belong to each other, don’t we?”

- Taming His Hands, Not His Heart

He may only have one arm, but when he touches you, he makes you feel as if he could hold the entire world. If you ever struggle with your curls, he’ll offer to help, his fingers threading through them with surprising patience. “You trust me with this?” he teases, though his touch is careful, reverent. If you let him, he’ll tie loose sections away from your face, securing them with a scrap of ribbon he cut from his own coat. And when he’s finished, he leans back, studying his handiwork before murmuring, “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

[meowcats734]

I think there was a push about fifty years ago, when the manifold egg hatched and modern computation was kickstarted, to categorize all the neighboring dimensions that wizards could reach unassisted. The last remnants of that eternal endeavor had died down when we collected all the data and realized that there were no reliable accounts of ever opening a portal to the same dimension twice. And it really sucked that nobody from our world would ever get to return here, for two reasons. The first was that we wouldn’t get any subsidies from the Orchards for a record of our experience.

The second was that this forest was beautiful, and I wished I could return.

The tree trunks were several meters thick and ten times that distance apart, giving Ana and I a lovely view of the ceiling of undulating leaves. They formed fractal borders that reminded me of countries, or cracks in glass, each greatwood declaring its own patch of sun to be harvested.

Ana glanced up, following my gaze, then resumed scanning her surroundings. Her only weapon was a long bone spear, which would leave us hopelessly outmatched against any inhabitants of this dimension who had built technology based on this world’s physics.

Thankfully, none of the formicine creatures who’d come to meet us seemed hostile. They’d made a path straight to where the last person to come from our dimension was staying, and walled off every other direction with a thin, translucent film. The message was clear: the natives of this world were happy to let us retrieve members of our home reality, but anything beyond that was off-limits.

Which I was fine with. Coaxing rogue spectives back into society was how I stayed fed and housed. It just saddened me that I couldn’t sightsee even a little.

Ana swiveled as a titanic, feathered form rustled in a nearby tree, spear ready, and for a heartbeat I thought we’d come across some gigantic sparrow giving birth. A moment’s observation, however, showed that the second, smaller creature was burrowing into the still-living bird, ignoring its thrashing. 

The dog-sized squirrel finished melding with the bird, wearing it on its back like a hermit crab did its shell. Silver hairs snaked upwards from the squirrel’s form, digging into the poor bird’s eyes, and it ceased its thrashing before mechanically extending its wings. Its takeover complete, the composite being flapped off into the air, swooping up past the trees.

I watched the entire process with wide, fascinated eyes—if phones weren’t likely to either violently explode or simply cease functioning upon being brought outside our universe, I would have snapped a photo. “That was sick,” I whispered to Ana.

“Ngh.” She set her spear back into a ready position. “Let’s get out of this dimension as soon as possible.”

My enthusiasm melted away a little. “Hey, Ana? Did I do something—“

“Not the time,” she said brusquely. I hurried to catch up with her, chewing on my lip. We passed by a bloom of pale, wriggling grasses whose mouths opened and closed aimlessly; Ana warily navigated us around them, some of the tension leaving her body when we were past. We’d hardly gotten by the grasses when Ana held out a hand for me to stop, and I obeyed. Ignoring your girlfriend and ignoring your bodyguard separately were two imbecilic things; doing both simultaneously was not to be so much as considered.

The ground looked perfectly normal to me, but Ana poked it with a wooden touchstick and scowled. I was about to ask what was wrong when she jabbed the earth with the tip of her spear, and with a yip of pain the ground imploded. Some kind of fox had apparently turned itself inside-out and laid in wait for an unwary meal, because what I’d thought was more dirt and soil turned out to be the guts of a fox who scurried away, slurping its bleeding insides back into its unhinged, rubbery jaw.

“You didn’t have to stab it,” I weakly said.

“Would you rather it ate you?” Ana snapped���and since when did Ana snap at me?

I hesitantly set a hand on her arm, and she flinched, giving me an ashamed look. “Did I… did I mess up somehow?” I asked.

“No! No, you’re perfect, you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m the one who’s yelling at you and—agh!” She grabbed her hair. “Can you get mad at me? Just a little?”

“What?” I drew her into a hug, at which she stiffened. “No! Why would I be mad at you?”

She pulled away and I let her; she scanned the forest for threats once more, almost automatically. There was a squawk as the inverted fox devoured what appeared to be a rabbit, but was actually just a lure for an oversized underground owl. All I saw was a flash of beak and the fox disappeared.

“Because I’m—this! The only thing I can think about is what’s going to kill us, and—ugh, I’m doing it again. I—let’s just keep going, okay?”

“Okay, but… can we talk about this after the job?” I asked, stepping to her side.

But instead of agreeing or refusing, she inhaled, sharp and pained as if she’d stepped on a caltrop, and said, “You’re right.”

“Huh?”

“If I put this off again I’ll never tell you. Now’s as good a time as any, and that’s the problem.”

I almost wanted to ask if she wanted to double back and call off the job, but she felt brittle and I didn’t want to push her. “What do you mean?”

“I never stop being—this.” She gestured at the bone spear. “Even when you just wanted to show me a good time, something in the back of my mind kept looking for threats, something that would hurt us, something to hurt. And I—I’m not good for anything else.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Anachel.” I stepped up to her chest; her downcast gaze met mine. “You’re good for me.”

“Am I?” She clutched her head. “I could say something right now that would hurt you. Hurt you so badly you’d hate me.”

“You won’t,” I promised. “Ana, I will never hate you.” 

And something twisted behind her eyes, the violent instinct of the first punch thrown, the heady call of a bridge’s ledge, and Ana spoke three words and I flinched as if slapped—

A.N.

This is part of a longer story, check out the rest below if you liked this one!

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imagine if the oceans were replaced by forests and if you went into the forest the trees would get taller the deeper you went and there’d be thousands of undiscovered species and you could effectively walk across the ocean but the deeper you went, the darker it would be and the animals would get progressively scarier and more dangerous and instead of whales there’d be giant deer and just wow

[myderis]

honeycakes ꒱ mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.4k

MYDEIMOS had never been one for idle indulgences, but here he was, standing before you with a carefully wrapped Golden Honeycake in his hands. He had noticed, of course—how your hunger struck at the same hours every day, how your eyes would flit toward food stalls but you’d brush it off with a laugh. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

So why had he gone through the trouble of making this for you? The scent of warm honey and spice wraps around you as you take a bite of the fluffy cakes. The delicate flavors melt on your tongue, sweet and rich, as you hum in delight, savoring the treat before glancing up at the man who gave it to you.

“Mydei, why do you even carry these around?” you ask, tilting your head. His entire frame stiffens. A warrior, a prince, a legend in his own right—reduced to a flustered mess by a simple question. His lips part, then close, his golden eyes darting anywhere but at you. “I… I just happened to have them.”

A pause.

“…In perfect condition?”

“Yes.”

“Still warm?”

“…Yes.”

You raise a brow, and he clears his throat, clearly thinking of a way out. “You’re always hungry at this hour. A warrior should never fight on an empty stomach so—” He stops, realizing he’s said too much.

For a moment, you consider teasing him, pressing the matter further just to see that rare, adorable panic cross his face again. But the honeycake is far too delicious, and honestly, the warmth of his thoughtfulness lingers just as sweetly. So instead, you simply nod, offering him a small, grateful smile before taking another bite.

Mydei watches you. Not in a strange or unsettling way—he just… watches. He never thought something as simple as eating could make his heart race like this. You’re radiant in the glow of the never-setting sun, utterly content, and for a moment, he forgets where he is.

What have you done to me? How is it possible that the battlefield, the weight of his name, the blood-stained history of his family…none of it matters as much as this? As much as you?

A voice pulls him back.

“Mydei?” He blinks, suddenly aware that you’ve been calling his name. You’re looking at him now, curious and slightly concerned. “I wanted to share the honeycakes with you,” you say, holding a piece out toward him. He doesn’t deserve this. But gods, he wants it. 

Taking the offered piece, his fingers brush against yours—warm, fleeting, but enough to make him a nervous wreck. The battlefield is where his heart should be hardened, not softened by the sight of you enjoying a simple treat.

The mighty prince of Kremnos, the undying Mydeimos, is in love.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[duusheen]

So Dora talked to Yaoko after the fight with Isaiah, but she was sent to wait in the parking lot. Just as Pandora was starting to think she’d end up sleeping on the street, Ashlyn showed up and invited her to stay at her place. At least she’d have somewhere to spend the night