#why aren’t there more established words to describe this difference?

[thatsprettylane]

Being a woman is kind of weird because in a lot of ways, gender feels less like a personal identity and more like a political identity. Because to me, it’s such a small part of who I am, but to many other people, it’s all I am (and they want to hurt me over it.)

[strawberrystepmom]

sanemi x f!reader. isekai au, established relationship, mostly fluff and character study. | wc 1.3k, divider thanks to @cafekitsune

Gentle communication has never been Sanemi’s strong suit.

He’s moved through his life as wild and blusterous as the winds he wields to keep the world safe, a flurry of carelessly running off at the mouth and leaving destruction behind him if it suited him best. At least until he met you.

Brash is the kind word you’ve chosen to describe him or at least that’s what he overheard you discussing with Mitsuri shortly after he realized his feelings for you were mutual, after the two of you had engaged in relatively wordless physical passion more than once. He didn’t know what the word meant (frankly, he isn’t sure if she did either although she never mentioned it) and he asked you, pointedly, to explain yourself.

“What the fuck does brash mean?”

The look on your face, wide eyes and slightly downturned corners of your lips, caught him off guard even more so than you found yourself. He watched you through narrowed violet eyes while you considered the way to phrase the explanation, a little regretful about his naturally commanding and harsh tone though he could not, and cannot, change it about himself. For a period of time, you looked terrified of him every time you glanced at him and while he felt grateful that was no longer the case, old fears crept in when you opened your mouth to speak, eyes still wide.

“Are you upset with me?” You asked, glancing toward the ground for a moment and then back at his face - that scarred, beautiful face - concerned that your choice of words offended him.

“No.” He answered quickly, reaching out to rub his thumb along the soft skin of the inside of your wrist, something that became a habit after the two of you began sleeping together. His shoulders slumped forward, he inhaled deeply and lowered his voice. “I just want to know.”

Smiling at the glimpse of the man beneath the surface, you leaned in toward him to close the surrounding world off to just the two of you.

“It means that you aren’t afraid to speak your mind and to assert yourself. It’s not a bad thing, you just get to the point quicker than other people might.”

He could tell you were beating around the bush, a little trait of yours he noticed more and more over the time that passed, and his face fell into a scowl despite his thumb still pressing against your skin.

“So you’re saying I’m an asshole?”

You frowned back at him, shaking your head.

“No, I think you just forget about the subtleties of conversation. Facial expressions, tone of voice, language,” you raised your eyebrows at him, pursing your lips to punctuate the last point. “Little things matter, Sanemi. I can’t tell you why but they do.”

Tilting his head to the side, he lacked the grace to hide his confusion. You glanced up at him and trailed your free hand up his arm, reaching until you cupped his chin and cheek in your palm.

“Why? Why can’t people just say what they mean?” You giggled and patted his face, shaking your head. “I don’t have an answer for that but what I can promise you is that I’ll always figure out what you mean even if you say it a little roughly.”

He smiled down at you, slight enough that anyone else would mistake it for a grimace, but you knew better. Emotions have never come easy for Sanemi and you knew that long before getting involved with him bearing in mind that he didn’t speak to you for weeks except to bark orders or demand you cover yourself up in the revealing Slayer uniform you were given upon your appearance in his world.

Even back then, you’d come a long way with one another in a short time. You sighed and dropped your hand from his face, sparing him the embarrassment of being caught mid embrace with you lest someone approached.

“I never mean to be mean to you,” he admitted, eyes glued toward his hand still resting on your arm. “I don’t know how else to tell you what I’m trying to say. All this shit is just…different for me.”

Nodding, you reassured him with a half smile.

“I know and I always pick up on what you really mean anyway.”

The small tells have always said more than he thinks. Twitching fingers, especially the ones he has confided in you he has less feeling in, resting against your arm. Low chuckles in his throat, so brief you believe you imagined them. His lips roughly pressing against your hairline, your cheek, your throat in the darkness of your room.

───・・✦・・───

Those small signs have certainly come in handy over the time the two of you have spent together. The days of miscommunication aren’t long passed, they still linger in the back of your mind when his jaw is slackened and he looks like he may open his mouth to say anything and leave you to play damage control, but you have figured out the little tells.

The crease between his eyebrows deepens and he grips his teacup a little too tightly while kneeling in front of the table at his brothers’ home. You wordlessly sip from your own cup but glance over at Sanemi, raising your left eyebrow to give him the silent signal that you are checking on him.

Are you ready to go?

So many words contained in a simple gesture.

Please.

He nods once, indistinct enough that Genya and his wife who are lost in their own conversation do not look away from one another. Cup placed gently back on the table in front of him, he leans upward and folds his arms over his chest, allowing you to do what you do best. Talk.

“I think we’re about to head home.”

Genya and his wife rise and smile at the two of you, exchanging goodbyes and thanking you for visiting them and their ever growing family. Sanemi’s heart still occasionally pumps a few beats harder when he takes the time to consider how thoughtfully you approach him, patiently allowing him to clarify himself when most would just assume he’s impolite and leave it at that.

“Thank you,” he finally says when the two of you have exited out of the gate separating Genya’s home and the road, stepping down the path headed toward your own that is closer than it seems on a dusk summer evening.

“Of course.” You butt your shoulder against his playfully, fiddling with the inside of your sleeves. “I know you better than you think.”

Sanemi chuckles, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. He’s never been one for overt displays of affection but it’s just the two of you, the crickets, and the earliest appearing stars tonight. There’s no harm in kissing the crown of your head and nuzzling his face into it while your footsteps fall into sync.

“You do,” he agrees, kissing your head. “You’ve tried a hell of a lot harder at the very least.”

This makes you laugh, grinning up at him and wrapping your arms around his waist in return.

“Only because I like you.”

He looks down, brows raised, feigning that same angry look he used to wear before he learned to relax and roll with the punches - assisted by you, of course.

“You only like me?”

Giggling, you shrug, pressing your head into his chest so he can rest his chin on top of it.

“Okay, okay, I guess I love you or something, too.” He chuckles and you feel it rumble beneath your ear, cheeks warming his breath gently ruffles the hair on top of your head.

“That’s better. Say what you mean when you’re talkin’ to me.”

There’s no derision in his words. No anger or frustration, nothing to make you jump or wonder what you’ve done wrong. You glance up at him to find him looking down at you rather than the path ahead, smiling. He’ll save his “I love you” for later, in another way, something you’ve come to appreciate about him since the days when you barely knew each other and were trying to figure it out.

[sohnric]

distraction, a fatal attraction – l. chan

pairing: lee chan x fem! reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, college au, fluff. a weird kind of situationship between yn and dino, drunk dino because svt can't stop mentioning his excessive drinking which is so university student of him and i headcanon him as my drinking buddy.

warnings: drinking, swearing, mentions of throwing up, smoking

word count: 7k

a/n: started writing this literally last may. it's now february and i finally finished it after rewriting it like three times... anyways idk how many more svt fics i'll post in the future but i had to get this out in the open lmaoo. as always thank u beloved @csenke for beta reading despite not even being a svt stan <3

You and Lee Chan seem to have the same clubbing tendencies. That being: drinking a little too much at times and getting a little too touchy when doing so. (Or - you and Lee Chan have kissed a concerning amout of times before he finally asks for permisson.)

“Can I kiss you?” Chan asks you one March evening and you don’t know why exactly you find yourself so surprised. 

By default, it’s only natural for the boy to ask– the two of you aren’t dating, not even close to that, you’d say– and while you wouldn’t really mind if he kissed you without giving you a warning and swooped you off your feet on the stairs leading up to your dormitory building (for you found yourself a little too lightheaded and on the edge of your seat whenever he’s around lately, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach only further proving your assumptions– you have a silly, little crush on the male), you must admit that him asking for permission is quite nice. Surprising, but nice. 

One might think you’re surprised because there was nothing that could lead you to this scenario– one might think you and Lee Chan were nothing but friends, not even close ones, per se (you just have a group of mutual friends that somehow always brought you two together when either one of you got excluded out of their conversations, ending up as each other’s, although pleasant, last resort). One might even think the two of you are hanging out alone for the first time together, which isn’t that far away from the truth in the first place, but still, is a blatant lie. What’s so surprising about the question to you, then?

The fact that this isn’t the first time you and Lee Chan would be kissing, and the sheer fact leaves you wondering if he’s forgotten, or if he never really remembered in the first place.

You and Chan have kissed…. an embarrassing amount of times for people that aren’t dating, or anywhere close to the said establishment. The circumstances of said kisses differ from time to time, and while you thought that they were meaningless at first, you must admit that as time went by, you selfishly and almost a little pathetically looked forward to each and every time where a similar situation might occur and his lips would end up on yours again.

The first time you and Chan kissed was also the first time you two met. It’s a strange sentence to use when describing a story about your first kiss with someone that you’re currently (hopefully) on a date with, but it’s the one you have to use, because it’s true.

The group you walked into the club with on the first day of orientation during your freshman year of college consisted of all your upperclassmen friends– the girls you had met in high school and didn’t fail to keep in contact with: Lee Chaeryeong, Kim Minjeong and Huh Yunjin. You would trust these three girls with your whole entire life, and so when they had told you that they could show you around the campus and let you in on all the secrets you only learn with months of attending college, you felt like you just won the lottery. 

After the cheerful senior Choi Soobin walked your humongous group through the campus and showed all of your classmates the fundamental parts of the college building (the gym, the labs and most importantly, the cafeteria), he invited you all to the open semester party in the club just a few minutes away from the campus. And yes, the party was originally supposed to be mainly for the freshmen, but as soon as you texted your friends to let them know about your whereabouts, they announced to you that there is no way you were going back to your dorm room so quickly– the whole campus was supposed to be on that party, and that’s exactly why you were forced to stay.

“So, how do you like it here so far?” Chaeryeong asks you as you start swinging your hips to the rhythm of the music, the DJ surprisingly not as bad as you expected him to be from the reviews you heard from the girls when standing in the queue leading towards the club.

“The music isn’t as bad as you said it will be,” you yell over the music into your friend’s ear, having her roll her eyes and shake her head at you in disbelief.

“I meant the campus, not the club, you silly goose,” she clarifies, making you gasp at the sentence.

“Oh!” you laugh. “Well, I’m less frightened, that’s for sure.”

“That’s gonna come back to you once the exam season starts,” Chaeryeong notes, snickering. The comment is slightly terrifying– therefore you choose to ignore it and stick it somewhere to the back of your brain to come back to when the time is right and your anxiety is no longer a far-away thing, but a very present and real issue.

“Ah! I see Mingyu there!” she suddenly screams, pointing somewhere behind you. “I’m gonna go talk to him, can you try finding our table and going back to Minjeong and Yunjin?”

“I’ll be fine,” you nodded, trying to believe the sentence just as much as you were trying to convince your friend of it. The place was filled with people, and although you didn’t feel particularly in danger, you were getting a little scared of getting walked over to death in the wave of the drunk upperclassmen enjoying themselves in the club.

Feet dragging you through the crowd painfully slowly, you try hard to find your table on the sides of the club. Your eyes never really had a 20/20 vision, but the neon lighting of the club and the glass of Martini you’d had before stepping to the dance floor with Chaeryeong really didn’t help you in seeing things clearly. No matter how hard you try, you can’t find your two other friends anywhere, and if you are being completely honest, you’re almost certain the table you previously sat at with your group was now occupied with someone completely else– meaning that your dear friends either left to the dancefloor, or left the club completely (which you doubted, but the possibilities were never really 0).

And so with that, you drag yourself towards the bar. You think that was a better option to choose in this situation– since you thought that going out for some fresh air is just going to get you kidnapped if you went there alone– and you also figured that you’d be easier to find by your lost friends if you were somewhere out in the open instead of in the corners of the humid room. Ordering yourself another Martini to pass the time, you drink the beverage in slow sips before you feel the presence of someone on the bar stool next to you.

You look up at the stranger beside you, noticing a boy around your age sending you a shy, yet charming look. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks.

“Not really,” you answer, watching as the boy nods, his shoulders relaxing as he orders himself a drink. 

“Are you here alone?” he asks as he looks back at you again, face tugging into a panicked expression when he realizes the implication his words may hold. “I’m not asking in a creepy way, or anything, it’s just- I’m a freshman and I lost the people I came here with, so I’m kind of alone here as well…” he quickly explains, eyes big and honest, “you just looked like you could use some company,” he explains, making an endeared smile flash over your features.

Shaking your head at his tangent, you wave him off with your hand. “Don’t worry, I got it,” you laugh, “and the same as you, actually. I came here with my friends, but they disappeared somewhere, so I just sat here and figured they’ll find me eventually.”

“Great minds think alike,” the boy laughs, holding up his glass before taking another sip, “well, until that happens, I guess we can hang out, can’t we? My name’s Chan.”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself, “it’s nice meeting you, Chan.”

The two of you talk about everything and anything: where he comes from, where you come from, which dorm building you’re staying at, which dorm building he’s staying at, your major  (literature) and his major (dance), your friends and his friends– and with the increasing amount of information you get out of him, the pull of gravity sends you more and more towards the boy. Chan is charming, talkative and fun. You find yourself attracted to him each time he cracks a joke or teases you about your choice of your favorite movie (‘This is the first time I’ve heard anyone say The gods must be crazy is their favorite movie!’), and that’s exactly why you don’t find it in you to say no when he asks if he could buy you a drink.

One drink turns into two– three, four, eventually even five– and you progressively start to forget all about your lost friends as you ask Chan to show you what being a dance major is all about and invite him to the dancefloor, swinging your hips back and forth to the rhythm.

You don’t know if they teach this type of choreography in dance school, but as the songs change from more upbeat to less energetic and more sensual, you find yourself a little too enchanted with the way Chan’s features soften under the neon pinks and purples, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck and stepping closer to him. His arm ends up on your lower back– dangerously close to your bottom, which you aren’t that opposed to anyway– and when his nose brushes against the shell of your ear in the middle of one of the songs to talk to you, you can’t help but press yourself against him closer. 

“You’re kind of good at this, for a literature major,” he hums, his voice making shivers run down your spine.

And sure, it could’ve been just the alcohol levels in your blood that made you so dangerously close to him, but as you study his features– although a little hazily, but still fully taking in the sharp angles of his jaw and the sparkles in his eyes– you don’t have it in you to pull away when the boy leans in and kisses you, lips enchanting you the same way his moves have.

His kiss is heated and sensual, the one that makes your knees buckle and your mind go on overdrive, creating all sorts of fantasies in your delirious brain, and you must admit you don’t mind it when his hands slip further down to grope your butt, the two of you still lazily moving to the rhythm of the song in the background. The sound is coming in a little muffled to your ears as you let yourself fully indulge in the moment– it’s not every day you make out with an extremely attractive guy in the club– before your oxygen runs out and you have to pull away from him, instead studying Chan’s swollen lips from up close. They are inviting you for more, especially as his eyes open and look at you all blown-out and hazy, but you figure that he can wait. You have to catch your breath first and get yourself together– if you don't want to come completely undone in the middle of the crowded dance floor, that is.

You could honestly stare into his face forever, if you wanted to– except, you don’t have the chance as a loud voice from behind you calls: “Y/N! There you are!”

Annoyed thoughts fill your brain the very second you hear Minjeong from behind your back– where were they for the last hour? Of course they had to find you when the night was finally getting good– but you turn towards her nonetheless, showing her an innocent smile. You notice the girl is accompanied by the rest of your girl clover, alongside a tall guy that shows your companion a mischievous grin. “So I see you and Chan have already met and we don’t have to introduce you to each other anymore,” he says.

The sentence has you nervously clear your throat and take a step away from Chan. The boy ironically heaves out a: “Mingyu! How nice to see you again, after an hour.”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t having fun.”

Feeling the atmosphere grow awkward, you quickly look at your friends, smiling tightly to try and save the situation (while also acting as if you didn’t just finish making out with their friend’s friend). “Where did you all go anyway?”

“Oh, we met Seungkwan and Vernon, so we decided to sit together, and then Chae came with Mingyu after some time, and that’s when we realized we were each missing a person… so here we are,” Minjeong clarifies, having you nod.

In conclusion, this is the story of how you met Lee Chan. What was supposed to be a one-night thing at a club for you, never really expecting to see the boy ever again (except from accidental meetings on the campus that could very well be played off as neither of you remembering), turned into a whole another situation as the two of you now shared a surprisingly tightly-knit friend group.

You never spoke about the kiss again. Or much at all, really.

Kind of disappointed with the fact, but still kind of okay with the situation, you found yourself falling into rhythm with the newly found world at university. You’d gotten used to the all-nighters, the weird partying in the middle of the week on a school night, to the hookup culture you’ve never really found yourself fitting in with, and with the life that comes to you when living in a dormitory. All of these somehow had the presence of Lee Chan included, though, as you learned on another Wednesday night (those are the designated bar runs when you’re friends with Chwe Vernon and Boo Seungkwan– since their Thursdays are free and they can get as drunk as they want without fearing being hungover in class), much to your surprise, you and the charismatic boy have the same clubbing tendencies.

That being: drinking a little too much at times and getting a little too touchy when doing so.

It doesn’t help that the both of you were light-weights– or at least that’s what you’ve been told. 

You two don’t talk to each other much before getting a few drinks in, since you’re a little shy when it comes to the charming, but endearing boy. What his reasoning for the seeming lack of interest in you when sober is, you’re not really sure– but as the night usually goes, you bet with Vernon on who can drink more tequila shots before their gag reflex hits, and sooner or later, you find yourself drunk at the bar. 

Once your otherwise stoic friend feels that it’s too much for him to handle and trails to the toilets (accompanied by a sulking Sungkwan complaining that ‘He always does this, ruining the night for everyone!’), you allow yourself to get back to the dance floor. Sounds like a good idea in theory, but is a bad idea in practice– somewhere along the way, you start to feel too dizzy in the heat of the crowd, the lightheadedness making you feel sick. Your figure is quickly dragged outside by a person you didn’t notice has been keeping their eyes on you, and only when you finally slip to the floor and sit on the pavement in front of the crowded bar, you recognise the guardian angel staring down at you with hazy eyes

“You looked like you were going to faint over there,” Chan hums, a perky expression playing with his face. There’s a boyish grin spread over his lips as he stares at your disheveled composure, the two of you coming into a weird sense of déja vu you’re convinced only a few shots of tequila can bring you into on a Wednesday night.

“Oh, I was going to,” you nod, watching as the boy settles next to you on the ground. The place around you is buzzing in true college fashion– people smoking, drinking off-the-counter alcohol straight from the bottle they got at the corner shop down the street because it’s cheaper than the shots in the club, people meeting and talking about their majors and where they’re from, making new connections.

“Thank god I was there to rescue you, then,” Chan chuckles, shoving you with his elbow.

“Yeah, my guardian angel,” you hum dreamily, giggling at the ridiculousness of your comment. 

“Saw Vernon running off with Seungkwan tailing him,” he nods, “now that’s not a guardian angel.”

“That’s a guardian devil for sure,” you hum, pursing your lips. “Wouldn’t want to have Seungkwan as my caretaker. He complains too much.”

“They argue like a married couple,” Chan snickers. 

“It’s the curse of being roommates. After a certain amount of time, you start to view each other like you’re married,” you hum, nodding to yourself.

“Do you consider Minjeong to be your wife?”

“No,” you sigh, shrugging, “she’s too immature to be my wife. I think of her more like my child, actually.”

“Well, looking at you right now, you don’t seem to be the more mature one out of the duo,” he pokes a finger to your side, making you jolt away at the contact. Furrowing your brows at him, clearly a little offended, you huff at him.

“The roles change when I drink. That’s how marriage works,” you say, closing your eyes and pressing your lips together, nodding, fully pleased with yourself.

Chan laughs at you. “I thought you said she was more like your child?”

“Then stop thinking, Chan.”

“You were the one who said it!” he points out, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re not sure to what extent you can blame this on the effect of alcohol– what can you say. Sometimes you get too tied up in your own lies.

“Oh,” you snicker, “right.”

“Dummy,” he teases, flicking the side of your thigh, making your blood boil with frustration.

“Who are you calling dummy?” you argue, having a perfect comeback to snap back at the boy. “Weren’t you the one coming to the wrong class for 2 weeks?”

Chan’s whole composure crumbles, a serious look tinted with hints of shame overtaking his previously grinning face. “Who told you that?”

“Not relevant,” you shrug. You find that it’s the best to keep the identity of the mole confidential. (It was Mingyu.)

“Was it Seungkwan?”

“No.”

“So it was.”

Sometimes you wonder just how clueless Lee Chan really is. Although you don’t think he’s slow, you must admit that he does have his moments that keep you wondering just how he can operate in the world without being used or manipulated on a daily basis. Is anyone keeping an eye on him? What if he accidentally joins a cult one day?

“Well, whoever told me wasn’t the one going to a completely different class for 2 weeks straight, so–”

“Look, it’s not my fault they make the schedule so difficult to read! The classes were overlapping on the thing, and I didn’t know which one applied to me, so I just assumed I could choose,” this has you laughing out loud at the boy, “and so I just chose one. I didn’t know those were electives. I didn’t even sign up for any electives! Can you believe that? We are supposed to have electives?” 

He looks so endearing as he speaks, laughing to himself and gesturing with his arms. There’s a sense of fondness pooling in your stomach as you reach over and plant a soft, quick peck to his lips. The male seems to be caught off-guard as he stops in his tracks, not a single word coming out of his lips after your action– and truth be told, although you’re kind of glad for the silence, the thought of scaring him away makes you a little anxious. When you look at him from the side, though, the boy is grinning.

Scattering to your feet, you wobbly waddle back into the humid building. You don’t think either of you could continue on with the conversation after your actions, and so you figure the best way to go around this is to leave. “Well, I’ll see you on the dance floor, Channie.”

The third time you manage to lock your lips with his is no different. It’s January now, though, and Seungkwan decided to host his birthday in one of the houses you can rent on the beach. It isn't as fun as it would've been in summer and you could go for a swim, but let’s be realistic– you'd never say no to a good birthday celebration. 

There’s havoc erupting all around you as your friend group sings the birthday song to Seungkwan. You all had something to drink prior to the cake ceremony, since some of you came sooner than the others and you figured that you have to wait for everyone with the cake, and so the singing now resembles a mating call of five dolphins more than the casual, harmonic birthday song. 

Seungkwan is sitting at the table, the rest of you gathered around him– some with glasses in their hands, some recording the commotion with their phones– and when the song is over and the birthday boy made his wish, he blows out the candles on the cake. Clapping resonates through the little kitchen, everyone ready for the cake, when Chan pushes the older one’s face straight into the icing.

It only takes Seungkwan half a second before he starts chasing the little devil around the beach house. The younger one is laughing at his own antics– which you must admit, although a little childish, you find to be quite endearing– and the older one curses at him with the most colorful vocabulary you’ve ever heard him say out loud. Not even Lee Chan’s own mother has ever scolded him in a way Boo Seungkwan is able to.

“Do you think Seungkwan would mind if I start cutting the cake without him?” Minjeong asks as she gets out a large knife– she looks a little threatening, you must say– which has you shrugging.

“I think he’s preoccupied right now,” you say.

“Yeah, but I’ve waited for this cake for over two hours,” she grunts, “so if he doesn’t want to cut it, I’ll do it for him,” she shrugs to herself and proceeds with her intentions.

Minjeong cuts straight through the face imprint of Boo Seungkwan in his own cake, slicing the red velvet into equal parts to put on the paper plates Vernon found somewhere in the back cupboards of the kitchen. “Do you want some?”

“In a minute,” you laugh, shaking your head at your roommate, “I’ll go get them before they kill each other. I think the cake is enough to make truce fall over this war.”

“Stay safe out there,” Chaeryeong hums, nodding as she takes a paper plate and puts a chunky slice of the cake on, taking a fork into her hand and tasting the icing. “It’s surprisingly good even with Seungkwan’s skin cells in it.”

Minjeong slaps the other girl’s back, gritting her teeth. “Of course it’s good! I baked that shit for 2 hours and Y/N wouldn’t help, because she didn’t want to ruin it–”

(You just didn’t feel like baking. You don’t want to have another fight with your roommate about it, though, and that’s another excuse to leave the kitchen and go find Chan with his murderer.) 

Peering your eyes around the whole beach house, you fail to find Seungkwan anywhere. Assuming you two accidentally missed each other and he’s back reunited with his cake, your legs automatically lead you on the patio, where you find Chan resting against the railway. He is wearing a leather jacket, his hair now a little longer than when you first met him in September, and when the noise of the back door opening lands into his ears, he makes a turn and watches you cross the space between you, all while eyeing your naked legs. 

You contemplated if wearing a mini skirt in the middle of January was a good idea, but the satisfaction running through your veins at his hungry, yet collected eyes make it all worth it.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks. You shake your head in answer, but he pays it no attention as he takes off his jacket and puts it around your shoulders, the smell of his cologne filling your nose like a blissful drug. You’ve always liked attention, but when it comes to Lee Chan, you are twice as satisfied when he pays you just a mere glance.

“Not anymore,” you hum, smiling to yourself. “Seungkwan gave up on murdering you?”

“I think it was more of a health concern for him. He was breathing so heavily after a few minutes of running that I thought he was going to suffocate,” Chan snickers, making you laugh.

“I’d sleep with one eye open tonight anyway,” you peep, “just in case.”

“Oh, definitely,” he nods, grinning. “I won’t even take any drinks from him in case he poisons them. Better be safe than sorry.”

He takes out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lights up one for himself and offers you one as well. Even though you always promise yourself you’re quitting and that smoking is a bad habit you should overcome, you eagerly nod and watch him with half-lidded eyes as he lights it for you, one hand close to your face shielding the lighter from the chilly breeze, just like every time. You haven't had that much to drink yet, but the effect of nicotine always makes your head spin when the smoke fills your lungs. Truth be said, though, you are afraid that the proximity of your friend doesn’t help much with the weakness of your knees either.

“Come inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he mumbles when the both of you are done smoking, hands gripping the sides of his open jacket on your body, tugging you towards him just the slightest amount. 

Like another bad habit the both of you have to break, he seems to pause for a second, as if questioning himself one more time before he goes for it and places a short peck to your lips, leading you to the beach house again, now flushed and internally squealing.

The fourth time, it happens on his own birthday party. 

It’s too late in the semester for any of you to experience a big party, the exam season being just around the corner. You still managed to gather and celebrate nonetheless– the boys letting you into their dorm building, your little friend group fitting inside of the communal kitchen on the end of the hall. People passing by look at you with half concerned, half annoyed faces at the commotion– which is understandable, nobody wants ruckus just down the hall when they’re supposed to be working on the last-minute assignments– but you don’t mind it much, telling yourself it’s not your problem in the first place and you’re allowed to have a bit of fun once in a while, as long as you’re not the one being wronged in the moment. 

A bottle of champagne is taken out of the fridge by the hands of the birthday boy, the commotion around you happily cheering and clapping (only Chaeryeong hides away from the pointed tip of the bottle, knowing all too well that Chan is not to be trusted with things that can explode), and while Mingyu encourages the boy to pop the champagne open out of the window, you all realize that the action is indeed, not possible.

“Don’t tell me you got the one with the lid that screws on!” Seungkwan turns around to scream into Vernon’s face, having the poor man shrug to himself.

“You can’t really tell in the store when the seal is on–”

“Then you should’ve double checked–” the nagging would go on further if it wasn’t for the last bits of common sense from the birthday boy himself (that Seungkwan would protect with everything in him, making sure their youngest has the best birthday ever, but would never admit to it outloud), as he just unscrews the lid and flicks it out of the opened window instead, earning himself a couple of cheers and claps from the rest of the group. 

The bottle gets passed around the circle, each of you chugging the sparkly alcohol straight from it– because pouring the drinks would take too much effort, and also, there weren't even enough glasses for everyone to pour the beverage into anyway.

The tallest one out of the gathering takes a cake out of the overstuffed fridge, lighting a singular candle in the middle and holding it up in front of the birthday boy’s face. There are sparkles in Chan’s eyes despite the poor condition of the cake– it’s one of those you get discounted in the dollar store, one of those that don’t even have candles on them and you have to get them yourself (which is exactly why Chan’s cake only has a singular, yellow candle in the middle)– and you find yourself admiring the sheer joy and appreciation in his orbs with fondness in your heart. 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you–”

“Happy birthday, dear Channie!” Seungkwan’s vocal abilities shine through in the heartfelt song, the dramaticness of your whole group never denying itself as all of them make sure to sing to Chan with as much theatrical over-exaggeration as they can. Chan watches the flame with an inkling in his eye you can’t quite place. He looks adorable, you think.

You watch from behind as he blows out the candle. Something inside of you beams at the sight of your friend growing older– the fact that you’re here, celebrating with him moving something in you. You don’t often like it when people get older, but you think birthday celebrations make the sentiment worth it. In a moment of particular fondness, you hug the boy from the back– where you’ve been standing, considering the crammed nature of the kitchen– and whisper a giddy ‘Happy birthday!’ into his ear. 

The male turns his head to you, a grin settling on his lips as he scans your face from up close. He looks at you with a look that you can’t really read, but makes you all warm from the inside. It’s different to the way he usually looks at you, and you only decipher it when he quickly leans towards your face and presses a peck to your lips. Only then it starts to all make sense.

He does it in front of everybody, the rest of your friends whistling at the action. Your heart leaps a little as you wrestle Chan off with a laugh, trying hard to keep the unseriousness of it all. If you can keep lying to your friends about the way you feel towards the male, maybe you’ll even manage to convince yourself. 

The cake is taken away from his grasp and placed onto the table, ready to be served. You keep a calculated distance away from him, but that still doesn’t keep you from watching the boy from afar. There’s a certain haziness in his eyes when you stare at him from across the room and an aftertaste of vodka on your tongue when you lick it off your lips.

The fifth time, it happens when you gather to celebrate passing your exams. 

College kids have only one way of celebrating the joys of life (as well as only one way of dealing with sorrows), and that is– you guessed it– alcohol. The whole friend group gathered in the common kitchen of the boy’s dormitories again, soju bottles ringing against each other as you cheered and drowned in the taste of the liquor. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t watching Chan the whole time, the endearing twinkles in his eyes making you foolishly drink more and more, a weird desire in you just begging to be drowned out, since you couldn’t do anything about it.

Once the night was over and the bottles were all emptied, the boys decided to walk you back to your dorm building.

“Gyu, it’s literally a 10 minute walk across the campus. What could possibly happen on the way there?” Minjeong laughed, but the commotion followed you outside nonetheless.

“It’s dark outside!” Mingyu insisted. “You never know what could happen. I don’t want the responsibility of your dead bodies on my hands.”

“Chaeryeong is feral enough to fight off any creeps alone, you don’t have to worry about us,” Minjeong joked, but the boys followed you outside nonetheless, grabbing their coats and escaping the warmth of their dorms.

You find yourself trailing behind the group, the essence of soju lulling you to a peaceful slumber that you perform despite still being on the go, your brain coated with the incoherent buzz. Lee Chan finds his stance next to you, cautiously watching over your step as you shuffle across the sidewalk, a gentle voice coaxing you awake.

“Got any plans for the winter break?” he asks.

“Probably just going to stay home with my parents for a bit,” you muse, shrugging. “Have lots of naps… I need to recharge. This semester was too hectic.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Chan admits, chuckling at your shared despair. 

Kicking the pebbles under your feet, you watch as the male indulges in a little game of football with you, passing the chosen rock back to you each time you kick it too far. The air is crisp and you sniffle a little from the cold every once in a while, but every time you catch the playful twinkle in Chan’s eyes when the pebble hits the side of your shoe again, you feel a bit of warmth engulfing you from the inside.

“I think this whole thing would be far less enjoyable if it wasn’t for you guys,” Chan admits, licking his lips. He’s right– it’s always better to have someone to rely on in university. You can’t imagine going to school and not having a familiar face to fall back to any time you feel lonely. It’s easier when you know all the insider tips from your older upperclassmen friends– when you have a default friend group you fit into without actually attempting to make any new friends yourself. Suddenly, you’re awfully thankful for everyone.

“Yeah. Although they did turn me into an alcoholic, it seems,” you chuckle, earning yourself an amused giggle coming from Chan.

“Oh, for sure,” he nods, scratching the back of his neck. “We have to tune it down next semester. Wouldn’t wanna end up in AA instead of graduating.”

“Now, that’s a long way from here,” you say, shaking your head in amusement.

“You never know before it’s too late, to be fair.”

You don’t realize it back then, but Chan is always somehow there when you take it too far, taking note of your drunken needs and providing you safety from creeps in the club. Lee Chan holds your hair back when you throw up, your stomach too weak on certain nights. He is there when you want to dance and also when you want to cool down. He’s your drinking buddy, sure, but the reality is greater than that– he always wants you to have fun and be as comfortable as you can be. If he can do anything to ensure that, he’s going to do it.

That applies to your sober adventures as well, although he’s more reserved when he has nothing to blame for his obviously smitten actions. Cranking his neck to look at you better, Chan decides to get rid of anything to blame next time. 

Maybe he has to try harder.

Just tonight, for the last time, Chan kisses you with an excuse of alcohol to fall back on in front of your dorm building when nobody is watching, paying his goodbyes to you. He kisses you almost tenderly, making your knees buckle and the lightness in your stomach cry out with full measures.

“I’ll miss you, Y/L/N.”

You don't see Chan for a while after. You spend the rest of the winter break you have after completing your exams at home, relaxing with your parents. They are right when they say that the holidays should be spent with your family– no matter how much you love the friends you made in university.

Coming back to school after the few weeks of break brought a sudden change to your and Chan’s dynamic, though. While you must admit that you’ve grown strangely closer over the months, talking more even sober and naturally gravitating towards each other when sitting in booths at McDonald’s or falling into casual conversation at the back of the group when walking to places with everyone, you find that Chan puts more effort into being friends with you now.

He texts you randomly through-out the day, asking you how you are and what you’re up to. He sends you pictures of Seungkwan when he’s sleeping in the lectures, and you even find yourself laughing at the Instagram reels he randomly shoots your way in the middle of the night sometimes. He doesn’t drink much even when all of you end up going to the nearby bar again on a Tuesday evening, and you find yourself following his pattern, knowing that even if you gave in to the alcohol, the tipsy state wouldn’t be as fun if you didn’t have anyone to share the same energy with. 

Because while you do enjoy drinking, the truth is, it’s not as fun without your drinking buddy. Half the fun of drinking is having fun with the people you share the moment with, and, well, it wouldn’t feel right to drink with the others being sober. You owe your friends that much.

Lee Chan puts effort into being friends with you more, and you don’t know if you like it. 

Because even though before, you weren’t as close as you might be now, the adrenaline of what could be and what even is between the two of you any time you’re under the influence was exciting you, keeping you on your toes, making you feel desired and liked. Now, he’s relaxed– no more than an arm around your shoulder when his hand gets tired in the booth of the bar. The casualty of it all gets you worried.

So when the time comes and the two of you finally hang out one on one today, getting boba and then finding comfort in the April sunlight provided by the park across from your dorms, you find yourself questioning the nature of this hangout. And you think you’re not wrong for that, of course– everyone with working two eyes must admit that Lee Chan has been sending you mixed signals so far.

Hearing the question “Can I kiss you?” from his mouth, his cheeks dusted pink and eyes big in anticipation, was even more surprising to your ears, and you might understand it better now– the history you have with the boy suggests that there’s no need in asking, but also, the intentions are more than unclear at the moment. He’s not drunk– not even tipsy– why is this happening, then?

“I mean, we don’t have to, of course, I– I just–” he stutters, eyes aimlessly breaking eye contact with yours to stare anywhere but at your lips right now, nerves clearly written all over his face and in the stance he’s taking, a few steps below you on the stairway to the dormitory. Snickering at his hesitance, you sigh to yourself.

“This is the first time you asked,” you mumble a little jokingly, and when the boy’s eyes finally meet yours again, he seems a little embarrassed from the way his ears are burning red and he chews on the inside of his cheek. 

The tone of his voice is kind of defeated, a little shy, even, when he speaks up again. “Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “so I finally wanted to do it right. And sober, no matter how fucking wrong and weird that sounds.”

Breaking into a soft laughter at his comment– because truthfully, to a stranger’s ear, that might sound a little alarming– you roll your eyes at the boy and lean down to be at his level, palms of your hands meeting with his cheeks as he watches you with curious eyes, the sparkle in them filling you to the brim with endearance. Your lips meet with his in a gentle, soft, yet yearning-filled kiss, having your eyes fluttering close and the pads of your thumbs softly stroking over the skin of his cheekbones. 

The kiss is no different to the ones you’ve shared before– well, except there’s no loud music in the background, no smell of trash cans behind the bar or the smoke of an earlier-smoked cigarette in the air, and most importantly, no taste of alcohol on either of your lips– but still, it feels a little different. Sure, it has your knees week and your stomach feeling fuzzy, it does make you feel like you’re drunker than you were, which now, sober, you realize it just the effect Lee Chan has on you alone, but there’s a little more care, thought and intention to the kiss now, and it hits you with full force when you pull away from him and feel his hands glazing the skin of your waist in a hesitant hug.

“So that means this was a date then, right?” you ask.

“Well, you didn’t really seem to care about that all the times we've kissed before–” he jokes, earning himself a swat to his shoulder.

Now he’s bold.

“Okay, sure, if it helps you sleep at night. I’ll even take you out on another one, if you want.”

Turns out that alcohol was the variable in your relationship that only brought you two courage– the desire to kiss his lips off has always been there, you just never acted on it sober. And while you’re not so sure you’re gonna tell the story of how you two met in detail to your kids one day, you’re glad for the kick the rum and coke gave you on the day of your orientation, because who knows. Maybe you wouldn’t be here without the weird coincidence.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

The Wedding Planners (M) ~Changbin

Pairing: Werewolf!Changbin x Werewolf!F.Reader Themes: Fantasy/Supernatural AU | Smut | Fluff | Established Relationship Word Count: ~3k | AO3 Synopsis: Planning a wedding was way more stressful than Changbin could’ve ever expected. It seemed so easy at first, like all that was needed was to fulfil a checklist and call it a day, but he realised very quickly that there was a reason for the concept of bride and groomzilla to have been created. [This story is an instalment of my WereRoomies series]. Warnings: mentions of arguments (but it's fine. this is all soft) · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut).

Author’s Note: this was originally going to be a drabble inspired by an ask that an anon sent. however, i felt like moving a bit of the story forward with it, so i upgraded it :^) hope you enjoy!

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Changbin’s WereRoomies Instalments: Finding Comfort in Autumn · Heat · The Love I Always Dreamt Of · The Wedding Planners.

Smut Warnings: unprotected penetration [piv] · creampie · fingering [F.Rec] · oral [F.Rec] · cum-eating/snowballing

Disclaimer: the story presented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Planning a wedding was way more stressful than Changbin could’ve ever expected. It seemed so easy at first, like all that was needed was to fulfil a checklist and call it a day, but he realised very quickly that there was a reason for the concept of bride and groomzilla to have been created. 

Changbin was a perfectionist to a fault, and so were you. This combination was a recipe for disaster… ‘You want those flowers? Are you serious? Do you even want to get married?’, ‘That tablecloth fabric is atrocious, I can’t believe you’d choose such a thing!’, ‘If there aren’t exactly eight flowers in each table arrangement we can’t even call this a wedding’…

It didn’t matter who said what, both you and Changbin had become absolutely insufferable beings. Not only to each other, but to the people around you as well. Which was why, by the nth month of you both planning your wedding, you’d very smartly agreed to create a proper system, name your must-haves and your absolutely-nots, and to fully hand over all duties to a wedding planner, your bridesmaids, and his groomsmen–who had also agreed it was the best choice for everyone’s sanity.

It’d been the best decision you both could’ve taken, since petty arguments over locations and flowers and tablecloths were most certainly taking a toll in your household’s dynamic. 

Finally, after months, Changbin and you had returned to acting like your normal selves again, and he’d figured, what better way to celebrate this regained freedom than to take his beloved fiancé on an escapade to the mountains?

Changbin was a man of luxury, he was well aware of this. When it came to his loved ones, he spared nothing. So renting a cabin in the middle of the woods for five days and four nights was an insignificant expense when it meant he could spend all that time with you. A time where he wasn’t Changbin the engineer, nor the right hand of an Alpha wolf, nor the groom in a wedding that would soon take place…

It was a time solely reserved for him to be himself, for him to be your mate and fiancé, your future husband, and for you to be his future wife.

His wife…

Every time he thought about it, he felt giddy, he just had to admit it. 

It was just a title, of course. He didn’t love you any less when you were ‘just’ his girlfriend, nor would he love you any differently when you’d legally become his wife, but he still liked the way it sounded. Not only that, but you liked the way it sounded.

Every time he called you his wife, he could just hear the way your heart rate spiked, he could see the big smile on your face…

But, oh, boy… When you called him your husband?

Changbin always felt like he was the luckiest man in the world, like he was ready to run a marathon or become the next Ninja Warrior. 

You were mates, yes. You had mated long ago, and although he was very satisfied with this, the idea of being your husband did things to him. Maybe it was the fact that he spent a lot of his time surrounded by humans, but the prospect of being legally tied to you in their world made his heart swell in his chest.

When you’d arrived earlier than expected to the main lodge three days ago, you’d proudly told the receptionist that ‘My husband has made a reservation for one of your cabins. Do you know if it’s already available?’ he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, nor did he want to.

These three days had been absolutely amazing. You’d had the opportunity to go on runs through the woods together, to stuff yourselves full of delicious food, to have couple massages, and to huddle yourselves inside this cosy cabin to escape the outside world.

The fireplace radiated warmth, which was more than appreciated during these cold months. The gentle crackling produced by it was an immensely relaxing background noise. The fairy lights and many candles distributed throughout the cabin covered the inside of your little safe haven with the gentlest light, and, truly, this was probably the most relaxed Changbin had felt in months.

Especially now, when he could feel your nails digging on his forearms, when your delighted moans joined the sounds of your bodies colliding and the wood burning in the fireplace.

“B–Binnie, b–bunny, b–baby–” 

Oh, you were already dropping the Three Bs on him, and that only made him want to rail you more.

Yes, Changbin was usually the more submissive one in the bedroom, that was no secret to either of you, but sometimes, the alpha in him just wanted to satisfy you, just like the omega in you wanted to be satisfied…

Was there a better way to do that than to have you in a mating press right there by the fireplace? 

There just wasn’t.

“Hm?” He grasped at the soft faux-fur rug under you, trying to ground himself. If he focused too much on the vice-grip of your cunt, or the blissed-out expression on your face, he’d just come.

He was so fucking close… He’d been for a while now, but he was enjoying himself too much, he just needed to prolong this for as long as possible. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have you like this again later, on the contrary, he was sure he was going to, but he was horny and an idiot and you felt so good and the sound of the dainty ‘C’ charm on your anklet tinkling next to his ear was just so enticing…

“You’re so–Fuck…–you’re so good, b–baby…” Even if you were looking at him, your eyes had lost focus a long time ago. If he looked hard enough, he could’ve sworn your blown pupils had taken the shape of two cute little hearts. “I love you, love you…”

You repeated yourself over and over again, and Changbin couldn’t help but swear under his breath. He took your calves off of his shoulders and leaned into you so he could hold you close. With an arm under your neck and his forearm planted on the floor for stability, he resumed his steady pace. “Lo–love you, too… Love you, pup…”

Your quiet whimpers so close to his ear were bringing him to the edge at an alarming rate, and he was incapable of keeping his own moans in check with how aggressively his insides were burning up.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so, so, so fucking close…” He mumbled against your hair, speeding the movement of his hips and increasing the strength of his thrusts.

“Yes! Please, please come… Want–Binnie, I want your puppies so badly, please–!”

His brain fogged up immediately, and he started to feel dizzy. “Yeah? My wife wants to be full of my pups?”

“Fuck, yes!” You dug your nails on his buttocks, and the sting alone almost made him blow. “Please, please, my– my alpha, my husband–”

“Oh, shit–!”

An animalistic growl resonated throughout the small cabin when he came. The sound quickly turned into desperate moans as he kept fucking bucket-loads of his cum into your hole. He was too far gone, too overcome with pleasure and warmth.

He didn’t stop moving until your slick walls had milked every single drop he had to offer, and even then, he kept pumping himself into you, just to make sure…

Well, it wasn’t like you’d be getting pregnant, since your birth control had been very efficiently doing its job for months and months now, but his instincts didn’t care about that. All his inner wolf cared about was to try his best for it to stick.

It wasn’t until the mild sting of overstimulation started to settle in that he pulled his cock out, but swiftly replaced it with two of his fingers before he was moving down your body and attaching his lips to your puffy clit. 

Oh, how heavenly it felt when he had you in his mouth… When you grasped at his hair and started gasping because of his tongue. His ears were still ringing, and he was still dizzy, but he needed to make you come, too. He was dying to feel you clamp around his fingers and hear you moan his name over and over again.

“O–oh, Changbin, fuck–!”

More.

He needed more. 

Before he knew it, he was sucking and licking your clit like a starved man, fucking you with his fingers to stimulate that area within your walls that had your thighs trembling around his head and your grip on his hair tightening. 

And, of course, you gave him more. Every moan, every sigh, every whimper was either a pet name, or a version of his name, or just a sound of pure pleasure and he was on absolute cloud nine. 

“Bun–bunny, I’m coming–”

Changbin could barely perceive the sounds coming out of his throat. He’d been groaning and moaning against your folds since he’d settled camp here. But when your walls started fluttering deliciously around his fingers, you managed to pull another growl out of him, and your whole body just trembled in response.

He stopped lapping at your clit when you’d patted his head with a whine. Pulling out his fingers, he revelled in the creamy mix of your climaxes coating his digits. His eyes found yours before he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you bit on your bottom lip as a smile started to spread across your face. Changbin loved to see that twinkle in your eye, to hear your body’s responses to him and his actions. They always made him feel proud of himself, and like you were the only person in this world for him.

He supposed you were. 

Never had he romantically loved someone this much, and at this point, he didn’t want to love anyone else romantically like this ever again. For him, it was just you. Every day, he was reminded that he was ready to spend the rest of his life with you.

As soon as he noticed his cum starting to spill out of your cunt, he immediately started cleaning you up with his tongue. He made sure to collect as much as he could in his mouth before he pressed a final, tender kiss to your clit and made his way up your body again.

With a satisfied sigh and your fingers buried in his hair, you pulled him in, sealing your mouths in a sloppy, loving kiss that had his brain almost disintegrating in his skull.

Changbin let his weight fall on you, and you simply wrapped your limbs around his body and squeezed him tight.

As the kiss slowed down and turned to tender pecks, Changbin hummed, pleased. Not only because of the body-rocking orgasm he’d just had, but because he was just so incredibly in love with you.

When he pulled away and his eyes found yours, he couldn’t help but appreciate how the reflection of the fairy lights sparkled in your eyes. His cheeks heated up at the sight, and a small giggle escaped his mouth before he was pressing another brief kiss on your lips. 

“Y’know”, you mumbled, burying your fingers in his hair when he shuffled a bit so he could lay his head on your chest. “Coming here was an excellent idea”.

“Mmm… Of course. It was my idea”, Changbin laughed when you pulled on his hair at his comment, and pressed a kiss to your chest right after.

“Duh, what would we do without your huge brain, Bin”.

He pulled himself away from your chest and planted both hands next to your head to look down at you. “I don’t appreciate the hints of sarcasm in that sentence, puppy”.

He was, of course, joking. The splitting smile on his face was a great indicator of that. The comment made you chuckle.

“Me? Being sarcastic about these things? Never”, a smile tugged at your lips, and you brought your hands to hold his waist. “But seriously, though. I couldn’t even recognise myself the last few months… It’s been awful”.

“It really has been. I couldn’t recognise myself, either. I’m really happy we can be here together. It’s like our pre-honeymoon!”

“Oh, my God, the honeymoon…” You sighed dreamily, squeezing his sides. “We’re really gonna be gone for two whole weeks…”

“Mm. Two whole weeks of you, me, and all those tourist traps we’re gonna visit”.

“All those tourist traps we’re gonna visit as husband and wife”, you giggled, wrapping your arms around his middle. “I can’t wait”.

“Me neither”, Changbin didn’t think he could smile any wider. The thought genuinely made him so, so happy, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain all these feelings within himself for long. “Anyway, how d’you feel about a warm bath?”

“That is another amazing idea for sure”, you chuckled, hanging onto Changbin with all of your limbs so he could stand up from the floor with you wrapped around him.

That warm bath was absolutely lovely. The way you caressed his hair and lovingly left trails of kisses on his face, arms, and shoulders had his heart swelling with adoration. Plus, getting to pamper you as well always left his inner wolf with a metaphorical wagging tail, so he stepped out of that bathroom feeling light, like he was walking on clouds.

With your bodies dry and fluffy robes over your frames, Changbin held onto you from behind as you both waddled back to the fireplace so you both could lay down again. 

He tried his best to choose a clean spot before he dropped a cushion on the floor for him to lay his head on, and pulled you into his arms. On the very first night here, you’d both mutually decided that you didn’t care about paying the extra cleaning fees for this rug…

Changbin exhaled a satisfied sigh once you had buried your face in his neck and hugged him close.

You inhaled deeply, almost dreamily, and the tender kiss you left on his pulse point had a small smile appearing on his face. 

“I really do love your scent…” You mumbled, letting your lips graze against his skin with every word. “I never thought I’d find so much comfort in an alpha’s scent. But yours is just so… ugh, I just looove it”.

Changbin could feel heat creep on his face, making him blush, and since words failed him, he just pressed a loud kiss on your forehead to show some appreciation for your words.

“I was thinking…” You mumbled after a while, cuddling closer to his side and draping a leg over his torso.

“Mm?”

“Y’know… About puppies…”

Changbin’s ears perked up, and his heart did a flip in his chest. “…Yeah?”

“D’you think Chris would have any problems if another couple in the pack had pups first?” You mumbled, tracing shapes with your index finger on his clothed chest.

What an interesting question… Would Chris have any problems with that? 

He was The Alpha of their pack, their leader, and tradition dictated that the alpha must be the first one to reproduce and bring pups to the pack. However… Chris wasn’t particularly traditional.

Chris had never really enforced anything on their packmates other than a few barely existing rules here and there, not only that but he had a human mate–yes, yes, he hadn’t claimed his girlfriend yet, but there was no doubt in Changbin’s mind that his dear best friend was going to do it at some point anyway. As far as Changbin had seen, having a human mate meant that their relationship would definitely go at a much slower pace than it’d go between werewolves.

Knowing Chris, and knowing his girlfriend, he was sure there wouldn’t be pups from them coming anytime soon. 

“Chris… I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind”, Changbin said after a while, caressing your hair. “I could be mistaken… To be honest, I’m not, but I could be, so it’s something you could always ask him if you’re curious… Why?”

You hummed in response, and remained silent for a bit. Your hand slipped into his robe, and the shapes you’d been tracing over the fluffy fabric were now leaving a fiery trace on the skin of his chest, right over his heart.

Puppies… Changbin had thought about puppies before. Years ago, he would’ve never imagined himself as a father. He was a wreck, he didn’t have the emotional maturity to care for a child in the way they needed. Back then, that was… Nowadays, though…

“Would you… would you like to try for puppies?”

Your voice startled him. It went through his eardrum and spread all over his body, reaching his heart to accelerate its pumping. Puppies… Your puppies…

Changbin pulled himself away from you a bit, enough so he could prop himself on his elbow and look you in the eyes. You were looking straight at him, but he could tell you were nervous about what you were asking, and he realised then that he’d been quiet for a bit too long.

“Yes”.

“Yes?” The shock in your voice almost made him laugh. Were you doubting it?

“Of fucking course, puppy. Have our own litter?” He was almost shaking with excitement at the thought. “It’s like a dream. Our puppies, you and I…”.

A bright smile made its way onto your face, and in no time, you had straddled his waist and started peppering kisses on his cheeks, making him giggle.

“Our puppies, you and I…” You repeated, just before you planted a loud, wet kiss on his lips. “It really does sound like a dream”.

Well, nowadays, Changbin believed he could be a parent, especially if it involved you.

It seemed like that honeymoon was not only gonna be spent as a husband and wife visiting tourist traps, but also mating like dogs until that dream became a reality. It was very clear that you were both absolutely looking forward to it.

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General Masterlist | Ko-Fi Changbin’s WereRoomies Instalments: Finding Comfort in Autumn · Heat · The Love I Always Dreamt Of · The Wedding Planners.

[callsign-rogueone]

a brief history of Navarre - x.r.

Xaden Riorson x marked!partner!reader (gn) Midterm week at Basgiath has you wanting to pull an all-nighter to study, but Xaden won’t let you. requested as part of my Valentine’s day celly 💕 (gonna be posting these well into March, oops) words: 745 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers, just X taking care of his partner. established relationship between reader and Xaden. the reader wears one of Xaden’s shirts, but there is no description of how it fits on them (we bigger / taller girls are tired of reading that [character]’s clothes are soo oversized and long on us!) shoutout to the people who put a full timeline of the continent’s history online bc I was too lazy to find it all in my copy lol

“I’m calling it a night,” Xaden announces, closing his textbook. “Gonna go shower.”

You hum in acknowledgement, pen between your teeth as you read the same page for the fifth time tonight, still trying to cram six hundred years of history into your brain. You’ve been sitting on his floor for hours, and the lines of text are starting to blur together, words starting to look misspelled and foreign, losing their meaning with repetition.

You spent too much time reviewing the first fifty decades. You still have nearly another hundred years to cover, from 530 to present. 

It has not escaped your notice that the book reduces the Tyrrish revolution to an afterthought, at the end of the text. The belittling words they’d chosen to describe your parents’ valiant effort had nearly been enough for Xaden to light the entire volume on fire, but he’d settled for ripping that page out of his copy and letting Sgaeyl torch it.

You’d left it in yours as a reminder that these people are not on your side, nor will they ever be. 

The running water stops, Xaden stepping back into the room a moment later. “You’re still studying?” He asks, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “You must be really into that book if you aren’t checking me out right now. I’m literally dripping.” 

He’s a little offended that you don’t even look up as you answer. 

“This is important, Xay. It’s a third of our final grade.”

He dries his hands on his pants, taking the book from your hands easily -- your grip on it has loosened with your exhaustion.

You protest, but he shushes you. “Why did Poromiel not unite with Navarre after the great war?”

It takes you a moment to respond, pushing through the sleepy fog to find the answer. “Religious differences”, you reply tiredly. “And their king did not want to share his throne with Navarre’s.”

“Good. When was the second Cygni Incursion?”

“328.”

“And the second Krovlan uprising?”

“434.”

He shuts the book, gathering your notes into a neat stack. “You know this stuff, darling. You’re going to pass this exam with flying colors and set the curve for the whole class, but only if you get some sleep.”

Materials now confiscated, you have nowhere to look except up at him, and your resolve immediately starts to crumble.

He’s ready for bed, dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants that drape across his hips and cover the muscle of his legs, but every other inch of skin is exposed; the relic swirling up his muscled arm, the definition of his chest and stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders…

You’re too tired to jump his bones right now, but it would be nice to stop, to cuddle up with him, to fall asleep in his arms. Your schedules are packed with classes, studying, training, his wingleader duties, and your responsibility for the younger marked ones. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been able to hold him for more than five minutes. His skin is always so warm against yours, and his mattress is certainly more comfortable than the hardwood floor… 

You hesitate, still eyeing the book in his hands. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. C’mere.”

You sigh, letting him pull you up from the floor. Your muscles sing in relief as you stand, your back aching from being hunched over for hours. You relax into him, resting your eyes for a minute.

“Go brush your teeth,” he encourages.

You don’t want to move from his arms, but three years of dating the boy has taught you that he won’t yield on matters of your health. You sigh, heading to the bathroom.

When you get back, he’s packing everything into your bag for tomorrow — or today, rather. You’d started studying after dinner, and now it’s well after midnight. 

He helps you out of the day-old clothes and into one of his shirts and a clean pair of underwear -- you keep a few days of necessities here for moments like these. 

You curl into his side, pulling the blankets overtop of you, and the swirling thoughts are replaced with the easy contentment that comes with being held by your partner.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over your back. “Just get some rest, okay?”

You don’t respond, already lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around you.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Comfortable With You (Inexperienced!Painter!Choso x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

"I feel so comfortable with you."

Pairing: Choso x Black!Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Synopsis: Choso has never been anyone like you before: so confident and sure of yourself yet so sweet and compassionate. He can’t stop thinking about you. So to make this Valentine’s Day one you’ll never forget, he’ll show you just how comfortable he is with you and how desperately he wants to make you feel the same…even though you’re his first everything. [Based on the song “Comfortable” by H.E.R.]

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Inexperienced!Choso; Experienced!Reader; First Time PIV Sex; msub Switch!Choso; FDom Switch!Reader; First Time Blowjob; First Time Eating Pussy; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Girl on Top/Cowgirl; Fucking From the Bottom; Creampie; After Sex Snuggles

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Something romantic & nasty for my baby Choso & for V-Day. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!! 🥰🥰❤️❤️ -Jazz

**********

Choso has never met anyone like you before. 

You’re just so confident in the way you speak; the way you move; the way you carry yourself. You know exactly who you are and you aren’t going to let anyone tell you differently. You’re so sure of yourself, something he has never been about himself. You’ve inspired him to be more like you, gently encouraging him just because of who you are. 

And you’re so sweet. So compassionate. You care so much about others, even a stray cat that happens across your apartment whom you feed every day. You understand Choso and all of his quirks which he more than appreciates. And you’re so damn beautiful. Even now, months after meeting and going on your first date, months after your first kiss, he still can’t even over how breathtaking you are. From your glowing skin to your pretty, brown eyes to your luscious body he can’t get out of his mind. 

He still can’t understand for the life of him why you would want him. He isn’t like his younger twin brothers. Yuji is more of a golden retriever out of the three of them with how bubbly and adorably clueless he is, but he’s also excellent at sports and loves to have fun which any girl loves. And then there is Sukuna who is all tattoos, piercings, and a bad attitude that gets panties wet. He can sweet-talk any girl into his bed. 

And then there’s Choso. Although older than his twin brothers, he is the awkward one. The shy one. The artsy one. He is the one you’ll usually find with his nose stuck in his guitar or up painting in the apartment that he shares with his brothers, staining his fingers with oil paints. He has his own tattoos and usually, the artsy guys are adored, but his tired, bored look usually makes women steer clear of him. 

Choso had gotten used to it. He told himself he was happy to not be romantically involved with someone as it makes life too complicated and messy…until he met you.

He was working a Friday night shift at a bar which he usually does to make extra cash, strumming along on his guitar and singing covers. Your eyes met when he looked out into the audience and that was it. He still can’t describe what happened. It was like the world stopped and he very nearly forgot the words to the Summer Walker song he was crooning in the mic. 

You sat in the middle at the table with a couple of friends, your smooth, shapely legs crossed over one another, manicured hands folded in your lap. He could just see the space where your thigh met your ass under the mini dress you had on that hugged your body the way he wanted to. Your braids, black and perfectly twisted at the bottom like coiled snakes, were pulled back to show off your gorgeous face and plump, glossy lips parted slightly as you intently watched him sing. You never took your eyes off of him and he didn’t want you to. In his mind, he sang to you, but to the audience, he sang to everyone else. 

He didn’t expect you to come up to him during his break, body absolutely all over the place. He could barely focus on setting his guitar up next to the stage when he turned and saw you. “Hi,” you greeted him, giving him a beaming smile that made his brain stop working. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you how good you were up there. You can really sing.” 

Choso didn’t say anything at first, not sure how. You were the first girl to ever talk to him first, especially about him and not about his brothers. “Uh…thanks,” he finally said, swallowing harshly. He did his best to not look down at your delectable cleavage that sat invitingly in front of him. 

“I’m Y/N,” you said, holding your hand out for a shake. He noticed how long and pretty your acrylics were and envisioned them gripping his shoulders or snaking down his muscular back. “I’m a regular here, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Hesitantly, he took your hand, noticing how small it was compared to his. “Choso,” he replied. “I don’t work here full-time. I take shifts now and again.” 

You nodded understandably. “I was about to say,” you giggled, “I would’ve definitely remembered a voice like yours…and a face like yours too.” There wasn’t anything funny about the way you said it. You were dead serious, your tone soft and flirtatious. Choso swore he nearly combusted. You were flirting with him. Him! All he could was blush, but you pretended not to notice. 

You stood there talking for the majority of his twenty-minute break and he didn’t mind one bit. He loved getting to know you, placing and storing all of your features into his memory for later. When you asked for his number, he flipped it and asked for yours, smiling fondly at the cute emoji you put next to your name. He left that night feeling like he was floating on cloud nine, prompting Sukuna to ask him what pussy he got when he came into the apartment that night. 

That was six months ago and you’re still here. Despite his flaws and his quirks, you have stayed. He has never been happier than with you…or more comfortable. There are things he’s told you that he hasn’t even told his brothers or closest friends. He feels like he can tell you anything and you won’t run, from how stressful it is to be a parental figure since his parents died when the twins were toddlers or how sometimes he’s afraid that he’ll lose interest in his art or how he doesn’t feel good enough. 

He feels like himself when he’s with you. He feels free. Relaxed. You bring him peace. He wants to give you something to show you that. Though he isn’t familiar with the “rules” of Valentine’s Day because he’s never celebrated the holiday, he knows he wants to make the day one you will never forget. 

So the week before February 14th, a Wednesday, Choso spends his time making his gift for you, closed up in his room with his equipment, and forcing his brothers to bring him meals.

That weekend, he invites you over to his place on Friday. When he calls and asks you if you’re free after work tonight, he feels his pulse jump and his body grow warm. What’s the big deal? You’ve been over his place so many times before, playing video games and shooting the shit with his brothers. 

‘But this is different,’ he thinks. This is for Valentine’s Day. This is to spend the night, with no one around for once. This is for more. “You want me to sleep over?” you ask, sounding surprised yourself. “Are the boys gonna be there?” 

“No,” he replies, smiling at the slight intake of breath he hears you make. So you’re just as excited as he is. “They won’t be here. I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” you giggle softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Can you give me a hint?” He hums a no, earning a groan of disappointment. “You’ll just have to wait and see, but I think you’ll like it.” 

On Saturday, he kicks his brothers out, telling them to bunk with Megumi for the night. Yuji and Sukuna are more than happy to do so, wanting to see Megumi’s dogs (though Sukuna acts like he isn’t). Then Choso spends the whole night cleaning, wiping down the entirety of the apartment until it sparkles. Before he starts cooking the V-Day dinner, he jumps in the shower and lathers himself in the vanilla and lavender-scented soap you love so much, making sure every part of him smells like the soap. 

Once finished, he picks out a casual yet presentable outfit––a black tee that sticks to his toned body, jeans, and the Armani boxers Sukuna got him for his birthday telling him he has “no taste in nothing”––and lets his black locks fall into a mullet over his head rather than applying gel to put them into his usual ponytails. He usually doesn’t put too much effort into his looks but for you? He’ll do anything to turn you on with his appearance. 

You get off from work at 5 PM and he already ordered an Uber for you to arrive on time to pick you up, telling you to not worry about paying him back. “I don’t want your money, baby,” he tells you, hopping right off of texts when you start to argue to call your phone. “I’ve got money. People love my shit, remember?” 

He remembers you telling him that at his winter art exhibit in December. He took you as his plus one and you took it upon yourself to wear his favorite color on your sinfully tight dress. All he could think about was bending you over as you walked around admiring his work of the city in the wintertime––white snow on the roofs of houses; the park glinting in white; schoolchildren in their colorful coats; citizens with red noses and steams billowing from their takeout cups of coffee. Many of his paintings were sold that night, including one of himself, Yuji, and Sukuna decorating their Christmas tree. “You capture things so well!” an art critic has gushed to him. “I feel as if you’ll do so many amazing things, young man.” 

Choso had squeezed your hand, trying to not blush. That was only the tip of the iceberg of praise he received that night. He felt that he had achieved what he went to art school for at that moment. And he was so happy to spend it with you, his number one supporter, who also purchased a painting of a little schoolgirl in a red coat smiling at the person behind the photo. He made bank off of that exhibit and, after doing commissions on his IG page, he is able to save up enough for the next month. 

After taking out the ingredients for miso ramen and spending the next hour preparing it, you arrive in your Uber. After bringing the broth to a simmer, Choso wipes his hands off on a dish towel and guns to the door to answer it. You stand behind it in a red sweater and hip-hugging jeans that he’d like to replace with his hands. In one hand, you have your work bag while in the other, you have your overnight duffle. “Hey, you,” you greet him, looking oh-so happy to see him. 

You inch closer to him and he wraps an arm around you as you lean into him. “Hey yourself,” he greets, feeling relaxed the minute he has you in his arms. He stands aside, letting you step into his apartment. He eyes your swaying ass as you do, unable to stop his cock from hardening at the sight of your cheeks. “Nice outfit. You have a date with your boss too today?” 

You look back at him and smirk. “Oh, yeah, and he loved these jeans on me.” You slide a hand down your behind to which he shamelessly follows, blushing. God, how he wants to see that ass without anything over it. He wants you naked. But in time. You close your eyes at the scent of spices and herbs wafting in from the kitchen. “Mmm, somethin’ smells good,” you hum.

You put down your bags and follow him into the kitchen, grinning at the broth and noodles. “You’ve been sayin’ how much you wanted me to cook with you,” he chuckles. “It’s almost done. You go relax and I’ll take your bags upstairs.” You nod and stand up on your toes to peck him on the cheek before doing as he says, leaving him rock hard and blushing a bright red. 

After the broth is finally done and the noodles are soft, he sets the two bowls of ramen aside before taking your bags upstairs to his bedroom. There, on the bed, is your gift, wrapped in a gold wrapping paper. He feels nervous butterflies flap around in his stomach. Will you like your gift? Will you accept it? Will you think he’s too cheap to have gotten you something better or more expensive? 

He puts these thoughts on the back burner as he walks back downstairs to see you sitting upright on the couch, shoes off and looking relaxed. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he walks past you to fetch your dinner. When he returns, you’re wearing a giddy smile. “So where’s my surprise?” you ask, pretending to be impatient. 

“Damn, baby, you just got here!” he laughs as he sits down next to you on the couch. “You can’t wait till we eat?” You bounce on the couch, making your breasts jiggle and Choso hard enough to fuck a hole into the wall. Why are you so fucking hot? “I’m too excited to eat!” you groan. “You know how much I love surprises, Chosi!” 

He blushes at the nickname only you’re allowed to call him. “Relax, mama,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You’ll get it soon. For now, just enjoy the lovely ramen I made you. I even added extra ham.” You look up at him with big, wobbly lips, touched. “You love me,” you coo. 

‘Yes,’ he thinks. ‘I really do.’ But he’s never said it. He figured it was still too early in your relationship to do so. Not to mention that one elephant in the room: you haven’t had sex yet. You’ve been dating since September and it hasn’t happened yet, mostly because it would be Choso’s first time doing so. 

He has kissed a girl before and has touched some titties here and there, but he’s never slept with anyone before. He never thought it was a big deal until he met you and fell so deeply for you that he wants to give all of himself to you. He has never told you and hasn’t tried to push things any farther during makeout sessions or heavy petting, but he’s hoping tonight that all of that will change.  

He sits and watches you eat, asking you about how your work week went and what you did today. He watches your glossy mouth as it moves, transfixed and wishing his cock was between them. It takes everything in him to finish dinner like a normal person though his body is itching to get this thing going. It is a peaceful dinner regardless, a comfortable silence settling between you both that neither one of you fills. His knee brushes against yours and sometimes, you reach over to wipe broth from his lip. Little touches like that drive him insane. 

By the time you finish and he forces you to wait until he loads up the dishwasher, you’re dying of impatience and anticipation. “Chosiiii,” you whine, lying on the couch. “I can’t wait any longer. Please can we exchange gifts now?” He pauses from turning on the dishwasher, slowly turning to you. “You got me a gift?” he asks, shocked. 

“Well, of course!” you giggle, sitting up. “It is Valentine’s Day after all and last time I checked, you are my boyfriend.” Your boyfriend. Choso has never been more proud of that in his life. As quick as lightning, he finishes up in the kitchen and hurries to fetch your gift, doing his best to not seem nervous when he returns. 

You both sit on the couch, face to face, knee to knee, both shy yet excited. You pass him a small box wrapped with a bow. “It’s something small,” you shyly say, “but I hope you like it.” With shaky hands, he unties it, revealing two gold chains, one with a C hanging from it and the other with the first letter of your name. 

You pick the chain with your initial, handing it to me. “So I’m always close to you, even when I’m not there. I bought one for myself too.” Gawking at the chain, Choso nearly bursts. He’s never gotten a gift so thoughtful before. “Why are you this fucking cute?” he sighs dreamily, earning a cute giggle from your luscious lips. “This is perfect, baby. Thank you.” 

Now it’s his turn. He smiles at you, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes first. No peeking.” You pout but do as he says, closing your eyes. He then takes the gift from behind him and places it into your hands. “Now open.” You do so and tear open the wrapping paper to see what lies inside. When you finally do, your smile fades and you are speechless as you stare at your face on the small canvas. 

He copied it from a picture he took of you one day in the park, the autumn sun on your sleeping face, the sunlight in your lashes. You looked like a Goddess slumbering for the day. He chose the colors carefully, wanting to capture the right tone of your skin in the sunlight and the way your braids lit up from the sun’s rays. He used more defined strokes for smaller details like the coils of your braids, your eyelashes, and the blades of grass beneath you. He used larger strokes for the background, blurring it together so only you stood out. He truly believes that this is the best piece he’s ever painted. You gape at the painting before looking up at him. “Did you paint this?” you squeak. 

He nods, smiling proudly. “This was when we were at the park on one of our dates. You fell asleep in the sun and I couldn’t resist not taking a photo.” He gently runs a thumb over the canvas, admiring your painted face. “I love seeing you like this: so at peace. So comfortable. That’s how you make me feel every time I’m with you.” 

You continue to stare at him, mouth parted and eyes wide. In the silence, he finds his confidence and the will to speak. “Y/N,” he begins, nervously so, “you make me feel something I’ve never felt with anyone. I feel so comfortable with you, like nothing and no one can hurt me when we’re together. You’re like my personal diary—I can tell you anything and can trust that it won’t ever leave you. I wanna be that for you too, baby. I just hope this painting says it more than I could.” 

Now you finally crack and your eyes well up with tears. You lower the painting onto the coffee table beside your gift before leaning into Choso’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. “It does,” you sob. “And you are. You’re that and more. I love you, Choso.” As soon as he hears those three little words, Choso is aglow, nearly jumping for joy at the fact that you feel the same way. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I love you too,” he whispers, pressing a hand to the back of your head. All is right with the world. All is even better when you lean up and press your lips to his. He falls into your sweet, soft lips immediately, pressing a hand to your face to caress your cheek. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow more passionate and heated, leading you to slip into his lap and straddle him. 

Choso groans when he feels the heat in between your legs rub up against his crotch where he can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, especially when his hands find your ass. You wrap your arms around him and bring yourself closer to him, pushing your delectable breasts up against his chest as you slowly grind your hips into his hard-on. He moans at the same time you do, the act of moaning into each other’s mouths making him even harder. You pull away, looking dazed. “Is this okay?” you ask, breathless. He nods, speechless. “I only ask ‘cause you’re so hard.” 

He blushes scarlet, realizing he’s been caught, but then again, it isn’t like you haven’t felt it before. You’ve made out dozens of times before and he sprouted a hard-on but never did anything. You both agreed to give it some time and move slowly. “I mean…you feel really good,” he sheepishly chuckles, earning a proud, beaming, pretty ass smile from you. “But if this is as far as you wanna go, we can.” 

You’re thinking differently though. You hold his face between his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Choso, I’ve been wanting you to fuck my brains out for months,” you boldly say. “I’ve just waited because I thought it was still too early for us.” Choso swears he nearly busts a nut hearing that. “But are you okay with this?” you ask, looking worried. 

He pauses, thinking to himself. Is he okay with this? As fast as the question appears in his head, the answer is there: Yes. He knows he wants this with you and no one else. But he also knows he’ll have to tell you the truth. “I-I am,” he stutters. 

You look at him sideways, your brows knitted. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” you ask worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?” Fear and guilt strike within him. No, no, this isn’t what he wants! He doesn’t want to make––his baby––you feel bad. “No,” he instantly replies, taking your face in his hands. “No, Y/N, you’re doin’ amazing. This is me just bein’ a fucking coward.” 

He looks down, ashamed. What will you ever think of him if he tells you? “Cho,” you coax him with your sweet voice. Seeing the worry in those pretty, brown eyes, he gains the confidence to tell you.  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he sighs. “I do want you, Y/N. I want you so fucking bad, but there’s something I need to tell you.” At the sight of slight fear in those perfect, big eyes, he feels himself wither. He doesn’t want to scare you, but he can’t lie to you either. “I want us to have sex, but…I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. 

You pause, the new information processing in your pretty head. Then your lips part in realization. “Choso, you’ve never had sex before?” you ask, sounding just as surprised as you look. Though blushing red, he slowly shakes his head. “With any type of sex, right?” you continue. “No oral? Nothing?” Once again, he shakes his head, feeling like he will die of embarrassment. 

You exhale softly, stroking up his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You sound oh-so disappointed by that, making him feel even more guilty. “I was afraid you’d laugh or think I was a loser or somethin’,” he admits. “I’ve just never gotten to doing any of that stuff. You’d be the first.” 

At that moment, something in you shifts. He sees a fire flicker behind your eyes which excites him. “So I’d be the first woman to see you naked?” you ask in a soft, sultry voice. “And wrap my lips around this?” Your hand snakes down between you and him to cup his bulge, making him tense and softly moan at the foreign yet pleasurable feeling of someone else’s hand on his cock besides his own. “Y-Yeah,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “The first. I want to give myself to you tonight, Y/N, if you’ll have me.” 

Though there is a part of him that feels afraid of being so vulnerable, he knows deep down he can trust you. You practically melt at his sweet words. “Chosi,” you coo, stroking his cheek, “of course, I’ll have you. I want us to have each other tonight.” You lean in to kiss him, coaxing him to open his mouth and swirl your tongue with his. His eyes roll back into his head at the taste of you. “Just relax and let me show you what you’re missing,” you moan into his mouth. “Let me take care of you tonight, baby.” 

As you continue to kiss him, you begin to palm him through his pants. “Will you let me do that?” you teasingly ask. He gasps into your mouth, your touch so magical. He can’t imagine how it will feel on his naked cock. He can’t take much more and begins to grind into your hands, desperate for relief. “Yes,” he groans. “Yes, baby, please, just touch me!” 

You giggle against his lips, giving him a peck on the chin before doing what he wants and needs of you. You stand up and begin to strip for him as he lays back against the couch, legs spread and cock twitching in his pants. His eyes drink in every part of you as you take off your clothes: your soft, brown skin; your slender back; your legs, calves, and thighs; your breasts that jiggle in your bra; your ass in your pink, lace panties. You’re beautiful. 

You put your hands on your hips, pursing your lips at him playfully. “Well?” you ask. “You gonna join me, stud?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He stands before you and strips with your insisted help. You take off his shirt while he works off his pants, pulling them down his muscled thighs and legs. Finally, he is in his briefs, the rest of his clothes left on the floor. You begin to feel him up, your hands and eyes greedily indulging in his body. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. “You’re so sexy, Cho.” 

He shivers in delight at your reaction to his body. “Not as sexy as you,” he hums. He wants to squeeze your ass or play with those gorgeous titties, but his hands don’t seem to want to move. Noticing, you giggle and coax him back onto the couch. “You can touch me too, you know,” you purr. “Or are you just gonna stare and leave me aching like this?” 

You take off your bra to show him just what you mean, exposing your hard, brown nipples to him. Choso has never seen such beauties in his life and he can’t resist wrapping his lips around one of the hardened peaks. The sounds you make only encourage you to continue sucking and lapping on your nipples, switching between each like a hungered man in need of milk. He fondles your breasts two, gently pulling at a nipple that isn’t between his lips. He pays close attention to your reactions, each one sending tingles into his dick. 

“Fuck, Choso, just like that,” you moan, gripping his shoulders and arching your back, pushing your tits farther into his face. “That feels so good!” He looks up at you from your chest, loving how your lips part and your eyelids flutter from the pleasure that he’s giving you. “Yeah?” he asks. “That feels good?” You hum in enjoyment as he nipples on your tight nipples, using his hand to fondle your other breast that his mouth isn’t occupying. 

He continues to indulge your delectable, wonderful, heavenly titties until you’ve finally had enough. You pull his mouth away from your nipple, a string of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. “I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Can I do that for you?”

Choso’s eyes widen in both shock and excitement. Oh, ho he’s wanted to feel those plump, soft lips around his cock for so long! “Yes,” he agrees. “Just be gentle…please.” You give him a warm smile and kiss him softly before moving off of him. You get on your knees between his thighs and slowly take down his boxers, freeing his cock from its trap. 

“Fuck, Choso,” you gasp. “You’re so big…and you have a dick piercing! That’s so hot!” He flushes at your reaction. “It was a dare by Yuji and Todo,” he admits. You grin up at him and lick your palm before wrapping a hand around him. “Just tell me if it’s too much or if you need me to slow down,” you instruct. He nods and leans back, urging you to continue. 

You first begin to stroke him, coating his dick in your spit in the process. He can’t explain how good yet different your hand feels. Yours is soft and much smaller compared to his, your brown skin and bright-colored nails contrasting with his paler skin. Not to mention the tight grip you have on him. It feels better than all of the times he’s fucked his hand or his trusty fleshlight. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans. “Your hand feels so good.” 

“You’ll like my mouth even more, I think,” you giggle. “And you can fuck my throat if you want to. I love it rough.” You give him a wink to which he blushes a ruby red. “R-Really?” he stutters. “Are you– oh, shit!” His questions are halted when you wrap your lips around him and begin to gently suck on him, getting him used to your mouth. His mouth forms a pleasurable O as he watches you take his cock on your knees, sucking on it like it’s your own personal lollipop. 

Your warm mouth and wet tongue feel so good against his cock, caressing every sensitive part of his shaft. You even take your hand and fondle his balls while your other strokes him in time with your mouth, twisting this way and that as if you’re trying to drain the cum out of him. 

“Oh, my God, baby,” he moans, gripping the couch for dear life. “Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good!” He’s never felt anything so wonderful in his life. 

You briefly pull away to breathe, your mouth coated in spit. It only makes him harder seeing you––his pretty girlfriend––look so slutty for him. Then you put that mouth on him again, swallowing him whole. “Yeah?” you ask, your voice muffled by his cock stuffed deep inside your mouth. “You like my mouth, baby boy?” You go deeper, taking him into your throat with ease despite his girth, and he nearly jumps off of the couch from the sensations. “Fuck yes!” he whines. “P-Please don’t stop!”  

He can feel his hips moving on their own beneath you, gently bucking into your mouth the more you gag and flex that throat around him. Your plump lips look so good stretched around him, dripping in your spit as lewd sounds of you gagging all over him fill the air. You then pull away to take a breath and recover, but not for long. “Fuck my face,” you say, your eyes pleading. “Give me that dick, Choso. I can take all of it.” 

He blinks at you, not sure if he’s just hallucinating from the pleasure, but the eager strokes of your hand around his cock make it very clear that this is real. You plan that throat on him again and, after ensuring that you’re okay, begins to fuck your face the way you pleaded him to. He grabs your hair and thrusts up into your mouth like it’s his own personal fucktoy. He starts to see it as such, not wanting any cock in your throat but his. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, fuck, baby, fuck!” He can’t keep quiet, too overcome with lust and the pleasure he feels as he pistons into your throat again and again. 

It doesn’t take long for him to feel that familiar tightening in his balls, signaling his end. “Shit, Y/N, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns. “I-I can’t stop! You need to get off of me if you don’t want me to–” 

You shake your head and he loosens his grip on you so you can breathe. “Cum for me,” you plead. “Cum deep down my throat, Daddy, please.” Choso nearly busts right there. Again, he grabs you and thrusts into your throat, focusing on the way your tight, wet walls flex around him until he can hardly take it. “Oh, shit!” he groans loudly. “I’m gonna fucking cum, baby! Don’t stop, please! Fuck, I’m…I’m…” 

He can’t finish his sentence because his orgasm erupts inside of him, spilling out into your throat. You moan around his cock as he cums, his sexy groans of release echoing throughout the apartment. He spurts rope after rope of warm, creamy cum into your mouth which you eagerly, your mouth sliding off of his cock. You sit back and swallow it all, some of it dripping down your chin. Once the fog of his orgasm finally fades, Choso looks down at you and feels embarrassed. “Sorry,” he shyly apologizes. “That was…a lot.” 

You giggle, wiping at your chin and the corner of your mouth. “Yes, it was,” you agree. “Mmm, you gave me such a big load, baby. You must’ve needed that.” He blushes again though you seem like you enjoyed it. You then look up at him with those big eyes and a warm smile. “So how was your first blowjob?” 

He doesn’t even have all of the words to describe such a feeling. “Incredible,” he sighs happily. “But now you need your turn, don’t you?” At the mention of this, your smile grows wider and you stand up so you can lie down on the couch beside him. He faces you and gently moves your thighs apart to reveal your panties. “You may have to guide me though. It’s my first time eating pussy.” He gives you a sheepish smile, staring into your pretty eyes between your thighs. “Can you show me where you like to be touched? And how?” 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly drags your panties down your legs that he stops to coat in wet kisses. You moan and run your hands through his black locks of hair, gripping them when he begins to gently run his finger up and down your slit, feeling how hot and wet you are. “C’mon, mama, show me,” he coos. “Guide me. Guide my face.” 

And so you do. You lift your hips as he slides down your panties, whimpering softly as he stares at your pussy. He’s never seen anything so soft and beautiful. As he encouraged you to do, you guide his face to where your clit is and instruct him to gently suck on it while using the flat of his tongue to slowly lick up and down your slit. He does so, enjoying your taste and the sounds you make. 

“That’s it, baby,” you softly moan. “Lick that pussy. Lap up all of me…it’s all for you.” Something inside of Choso bursts at those nasty words falling from your pretty mouth. Something like a wildfire blooms inside of him with no way to put it out until you’ve cum too. 

He goes slow, letting you get used to him and himself used to you. After a few minutes, he’s got it down and knows just how to make you squirm under his hands that stay planted on your ass, angling your hips so he can reach that spot that makes you let out that voice even more. “Oh, my God, Choso!” you gasp, gripping his locks of hair. “Fuck, that’s so good! Please keep going!” 

“You taste so good,” he moans into your pussy. “So fuckin’ wet…so tight…I need all of you.” He’s so pent up that he begins to fist his cock that has begun to harden again at the feeling of your wetness dripping down his chin. He loves eating your pussy. He could get drunk off of you. 

Before he realizes it, he has started to move his tongue faster, his jaw beginning to ache. But he keeps going, encouraged by your loud whines and sobs that bounce off the walls and caress his ears. “Fuck, Choso!” you whine. “You’re gonna make cum!” 

Like a dog reacting to Pavlov’s bell, Choso continues to eagerly lap at your cunt, encouraging you to cum. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums, lips still wrapped around your perfect little clit. “Cum for me, pretty girl. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His words become pleas and begs, needing you to cum for him. Needing you to soak his face. “Cum for me, please! I need it! I fucking need it!” 

And you do. “Fuck, Choso!” you moan at the top of your lungs, arching your back and gripping his hair as you finally cum in his mouth. All over his chin. All over the couch. It’s the hottest thing he has ever experienced. Hearing you sob in pleasure and watching your body contort like you’re being exercised is better than any porn. He nearly cums watching you, still pumping his cock as he laps up every bit of your cum along your sensitive pussy and twitching thighs. 

Finally, he sits back and takes a breath while you lay there, eyes closed and chest rapidly rising and falling. “Oh, my God,” you sigh. And then, again, laughingly this time, “Oh, my God!”. He smiles at the little breathless, delirious giggles that leave your lips. “I guess I did a good job?” he asks, giddy at the fact that he made you feel that good. You open your eyes and smile up at him, noting but sedated lust and adoration there. “That was amazing, baby,” you happily sigh. “You sure that was your first time eating pussy?” He laughs at this, his stomach flipping with joy. “I don’t think my dreams count, so, yes.” 

Noticing your eyes have fallen to his hard cock, he begins to soothingly stroke your thigh, not wanting you to feel obligated to continue. “You need to relax for a minute?” Silently, you shake your head and sit up to straddle him, forcing him onto his back. “You sure?” he asks, concerned. “What about your–” 

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. “I’ll be even better when I get you inside of me.” His eyes widen as he stares up at you, not used to such impatience. The same fire inside of him has grown inside of you too. “Hold onto my hips, okay? I’m gonna guide you in.” Wordlessly, he nods, swallowing hard as your hand wraps around the base of his cock and guides him down to your entrance. He feels himself getting harder as the anticipation and the sight of you on top overtakes him. 

Finally, after running his cock up against your slit, emitting soft moans from both of you, he finally slips inside of you. “Fuck!” he gasps at the same time as you release a moan of pure pleasure. “B-Baby, you’re so tight!” Your soft, wet walls flutter around him and squeeze him at the same time, making him feel like he is being tightly embraced. 

You slide up halfway, grasping his shoulders for leverage. He keeps his hands on your hips to help guide you though he trembles as he does. “Too much?” you breathlessly ask. He shakes his head, nearly groaning when you move black strands of his hair out of his face. “I’ll move slow, okay? Just feel me, Choso. Don’t fight it.” 

Choso doesn’t. He couldn’t even if he tried. The way your wet, spongy walls squeeze around him so tight, slowly stroking his cock the same way your mouth did but way more intense, is driving him further toward the edge of insanity. You begin to alternate between rolling your hips and bouncing on him by balancing on your knees, making him plunge his cock into you again and again. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your tits flush against his chest. “That feel good, baby?” you coo into his ear. “You like this pussy?” 

Choso can’t take any it—the wetness of your pussy; the slow rocking of your hips; your soft body moving up and down against him as you slowly bounce on his dick. He holds you closer to him, needing more. “Fuck, Y/N!” he groans. “N-Need it…need it faster!” 

He feels you grin against his ear as you nibble on his earlobe and kiss down his neck. “Faster?” you chuckle. “Is that what you said?” He frantically nods as you pull away to stare into his eyes. “Then grab my hips and make me go faster,” you purr. “Take what you want. I’m yours, Daddy.” 

That fire inside of Choso damn near explodes. You just gave him confirmation to fuck you up completely. So he grabs your hips and begins to fuck up into you, driving himself deeper and deeper into you. Your walls begin to flutter around him more intensely as lewd, squelching sounds begin to emit from your wet pussy the more his cock fucks up into it like it’s his personal fleshlight.

You’re loving it, your arms tightening around his neck and thighs tightening from the pleasure he is giving you. “O-Oh my G-God!” you moan, each word shaky from being bounced so much on his cock. “F-Fuck, Choso! Sh-Sh-Shit!” 

He grins, proud to be making you feel this good and act this slutty for him. “Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly. He grabs your ass and gives into a smack as he drives his cock into you, his slamming up against yours. “That dick feel good? Tell me, mama. Tell me how good I feel fucking you.” You grip him close, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Yes, like that!” you sob. “You feel so good, Chosi! You make me feel so fucking good!” 

He can’t explain the way that makes him feel. He is overwhelmed and flooded with waves of lust, love, and everything in between as he feels you; hears you; tastes you. He wants to make this count. He needs to make sure you understand how you make him feel.

“Come here,” he demands. “Down here, right against me.” He pauses and lays back against the couch, pulling you against him. There, he begins to thrust up into you again, gripping your ass as you slide a hand between your thighs to frantically rub your clit. 

“You deserve this,” he groans. “You deserve every minute, every second of this. I wanna give this to you all the time. Can I do that for you, baby? Please?” He holds your face between his hands, staring into your pleasure-stricken expression and lust-blown eyes. “Can I give you my cum?” he whispers. 

Biting on your bottom lip from the pleasure, you nod your head, gripping one of his hands and pressing it closer to your cheek. “Yes,” you whimper. You begin to push yourself down against him, slamming your pussy down onto his cock again and again to bring you both closer to the edge. “Yes, baby, give it all to me! Please make me cum with you!” 

Choso then presses a rough, passionate kiss to your lips as he slams into you, gripping you closer to him. “I love you!” he growls. “I love you so fucking much! Let me show you how fucking much.” The more he thrusts in and out of you, the more it feels like your cunt is trying to suck him in. You soon begin to move against one another, swallowing your shallow breaths and desperate moans as the couch squeaks beneath your bodies. He can feel himself edging closer to his end, his balls swelling and that fire growing. 

“Tell me you love me,” he demands. “Tell me right now.” You sink your nails into his pecs, giving him a bite of pain that sends his cock into a frenzy. “I love you!” you damn near scream. “I love you so, so much, Choso!” You stare into his eyes, pleading for him to give you what you crave. “Please cum with me,” you beg. “Please, please, baby, fill me up!” 

Your sobbing wet pussy does the same, begging for his cum the more he pistons into you. Finally, he feels it building and can feel your walls tightening, signaling that your end is near too. “Cum on that cock,” he moans. “Do it for me, baby, c’mon, please!”

Your jaw falls slack as does his and a small lull of silence swells around you as the pleasure builds. When that damn finally breaks, neither one of you can hold back. Moans, cries, and gasps fill the air as you both cum against each other, you gushing around his cock and him filling you up.

“Fuck!” he groans, sloppily thrusting his slick cock into you again and again as he rides out the last of his orgasm with you. You fall slack against him, your moans dying down to soft gasps and tiny whimpers as your pussy twitches around him. 

Finally exhausted, Choso’s thrusts grow sloppier and slower until he finally stops and lets your mingled cum drip down his balls, not even caring if it stains the couch. He feels you twitch slightly against him, but he holds you close to him. “No, don’t move,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on you. “Just stay here for a minute with me.” 

Silence falls upon you as you lay in your afterglow, you on top of him. He stays inside of you, his cock growing soft, but he feels so at home there. So…comfortable. He breathes in your scent, stroking your clammy skin, back, and ass. He can feel his eyes fluttering closed from the sedation of the sex and that amazing second orgasm. “Babe?” you ask. 

He lifts his head to look down at you. “Hm?” 

You peel your head off of his chest, smiling up at him. “I have to pee,” you giggle. Blushing, Choso quickly releases you. “R-Right, sorry! You need me to walk you?” He watches as you carefully slide off of him, his flaccid cock flapping against his lower stomach. You slowly plant one foot on the floor and then try to stand. “Uh, I think I’m–oh, shit!” you gasp as your leg wobbles. You slide the rest of the way off of Choso and nearly fall to the ground, but he catches you. 

He wraps one arm around your waist and sits you back down on the couch. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m not too tired to carry you.” Slowly, he stands, butt naked, and scoops you, also butt naked, up against him bridal style.

“What a gentleman,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as your feet dangle off the ground. “You paint and cook for me, make me cum my brains out, and carry me to the bathroom.” He softly laughs at your compliment, blushing mad hard and secretly beaming with pride. He is so happy you feel this way about him. 

After taking you to the bathroom, he waits for you on the couch with some water. When you return, you both lay on the couch face to face, front to front. “So how was your first time?” you gently ask, stroking his chest. 

He takes a moment to think about this, wondering which words will satisfy you. “It was amazing,” he sighs, earning a pleased smile from you. That was obviously the right answer. “You were amazing.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. 

“So were you,” you sigh, mirroring his actions. It causes him to lean in to kiss you which only makes his cock twitch against your thigh. Noticing, you giggle against his mouth. “Again?” you whisper. 

“Y’know, we’ve got plenty of time before my idiot brothers come back,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’ve always wanted to have shower sex with you…if you’re up for it.” He adds this sheepishly, not wanting to see like a sex fiend when you just got done one round. After all, you need the rest. 

But you seem to be on the same time as your hooded eyes stare into his and your hand gently caresses his cock pressed against you. “Lead the way then, stud,” you purr. 

Choso has never moved so fast in his life. 

THE END.

[theoreticallysensible]

I finished Ursula K Le Guin’s The Farthest Shore yesterday, and it got me thinking about two things:

1) The relationship between truth and meaning.

2) The wisdom of accepting death.

The conflict of the book is established when it is discovered that people have lost their connection to the “true speech”, the language of creation, which means that wizards can no longer use magic, but also that everyone falls into nihilism, listlessness, and paranoia. People retain their regular language, but the language of magic is lost, and so they lose their grip on reality. They see everything as flat, without any transcendence in anything. Nothing is more significant than anything else, and so nothing is worth doing. People keep talking, but none of it means anything real.

The cause of this is someone trying to escape the fear of death by dying and coming back immortal, leaving a tear in the world that magic leaks out of. The fact that they have to first die to find immortal life suggests that death and immortality are in a way the same thing, and that this deconstruction is the cause of the spread of nihilism. The necromancer is able to send out a message to people’s dark sides, causing this change in them:

By denying life you may deny death and live forever!

This is reflected in the fact that the souls of the dead show an even more extreme embodiment of the emptiness and stillness experienced by those seduced by the message. The tear in the world is blurring the distinctions between life and death, and calling for people to hurry it along.

For Le Guin then, life is change and difference - rather like Octavia Butler’s message from Parable of the Sower that “God Is Change”. Maybe the key part of Butler’s poem for this though is “The Only Lasting Truth Is Change.” Seeking immortality is sort of denying reality. Le Guin describes each individual life as a wave on the ocean, and claims that seeking immortality would be like making the entire ocean one wave, so that it grows still. In other words, life cannot exist without other lives, and without a chance of ending. A single life that totalises all would be indistinguishable from death.

I’m with her on the first point, that a changeless life would be indistinguishable from death. Experience is formed through interaction, which inevitably changes both parties. This is ancient knowledge, which Le Guin no doubt gets from her passion for Taoism, but my favourite exposition is Donna Haraway’s Situated Knowledges. But if life is always changing, always unfinished, why could there not theoretically be an eternal life which does not totalise, which accepts its mutability?

I think here is where we run up against the tension between Le Guin’s commitments to true language on on side and contingency on the other. Nietzsche is famous for having pointed out that language is a host of metaphors. Derrida then took this further to point out that no word is self-contained, rather its meaning is dependent on so many others that it can never be pinned down perfectly to mean just one thing for certain. This includes the self. It stops and starts when we’re knocked unconscious, and its altered with every experience, every exchange of atoms. In a sense we die a lot - if we thing of ourselves as a being, rather than an emergent property of various processes. We can’t be perfectly described with a word, because we aren’t a constant thing anyway, irrespective of that final death.

But this is kind of a moot point as Le Guin’s story is concerned. Few of us ever actually seek immortality. And Le Guin is right to frame it as an impossible task. It plays a symbolic role for the equally, perhaps even more, impossible task of seeking control, constancy, solidity. Nothing is constant - The Only Lasting Truth Is Change. But for me this just makes the final change of death easier to accept, as just one more change that will leave the previous version of myself behind - only this time there won’t be a recognisably new version to take its place.

There is definitely a difficulty in accepting the indefinite fuzziness that comes to things when you look at them like this though, that can lead to the nihilism Le Guin was so afraid of. I think Le Guin answers this rather well though, when she says that we cannot help but do everything we do, want everything we want, feel everything we feel. We can’t actually avoid caring about things, especially if we throw ourselves into them. We don’t have to justify what we care about based on some sort of metaphysical truth, as if we could ever be certain of that - we just have to accept the inclinations given to us by the universe and act on them in a balanced way to make ourselves content. Don’t rationalise your feelings through strict force of will, pay attention to them and what the good asks of you. That’s actually from a different anarcha-feminist writer - Simone Weil - but it fits!

[artheresy]

Okay listen, I got sick while at work so I’m in a bit of a delirium idk the word for it whatever, this is what I get for thinking about Blade. The brainworms impacted by immune system /j

Anyways, I’m wondering again about the extent of his immortality and healing. So we get in his hairpin relic lore that his body is perpetually healing wounds that are far too gone to actually be healed, like his hands. We get this line “sharp and distinct with phantom pain” and then this entire paragraph describing it “Like the incessantly flowing stream of a mountain spring, his long black hair never ceased growing. His flesh twitched and throbbed beneath his skin, like river carps flipping and swarming... Fascinating powers ceaselessly reconstructed his body, bringing an everlasting pain of bones and tendons rupturing and healing. As countless phantom agonies and torments tore through his body, his shattered past was also beginning to come together...”

And yet we still see him like die from injuries so clearly, it’s working very very slowly in his body to repair him. Perhaps when he actually fully dies, that power within his body redirects the focus it uses to just generally keep him alive and heal parts of himself that cannot be fully healed to bring him back to life. Hence why he wakes up so far even if there is a pause, a moment of actual rest and peace before he is alive once more.

Now, again we’ve only seen him die via stab wounds and I have that whole other post wondering the extent to which one of Ren’s body parts would theoretically be cut off and how exactly his body would heal that, whether it heals before the limb is entirely cut off so its at least somewhat connected thus making the entire healing process occur properly even with difficulty or if it would literally grow him a whole new arm like a restoration/regeneration type of situation, or if (this wasn’t in the post but) if the injury is treated so he doesn’t die from blood loss which would be the fatality more som would he just like… be without an arm forever? Until he dies next and his body fixes that? I mean I think in terms of non fatal wounds he seems to have a slower healing like I said and then when he’s actually dead, the body focuses on healing the exact area in which he was fatally wounded. And yeah yeah we won’t get this explored much because Hyv is gonna keep things PG-13 and won’t show us any blood anyways

My actual wondering is, I wonder how poisons specifically affect Blade especially just given how different poisons can act. If it’s a slow acting poison, can his body just filter it out with its already slow healing rate? Would he still die if he was slowly poisoned and only then will his body be cleansed of it? Surely he would actually die from something super fast acting right? I mean we already established that Ren’s body slowly heals him and only speeds up when he’s dead. If he has a poison that acts instantaneously, surely he would die and then come back from it after his body has cleansed it from his system with its whole abundance thing.

Or theoretically, does that Abundance power already cancel out poisons working at all and it has to be an intensely violent way that he dies? Perhaps even in his special case, he’d be an exception where it would affect him and then he’d be healed since we know he’s not like on 100% the same level as the marastruck soldiers we fight due to whatever else is causing his immortality (probably the dragon heart or whatever it is) canceling it out so that they both work in tandem with each other. But anyways yeah like, I need to know so badly the different ways Blade’s power (and in general the power of the Abundance) works when faced with all kinds of different methods of killing him.

Also, I wonder how his body is with substances that aren’t lethal in smaller doses but then can be fatal in bigger amounts, things that when they get to that level are considered poisoning like Alcohol and alcohol poisoning and stuff. Could Ren hypothetically get drunk if he drinks a lot? Would his body just clean it out of him overtime naturally getting him sober, presumably at a faster route than normal people? Would he even be able to get drunk? What I said about his body getting him sober faster, would that even happen if its a non-fatal amount of alcohol or would his tolerance to alcohol be solely based on his build?

I dunno there are stupid questions that will literally never ever ever come up in terms of HSR’s story, we won’t see any of this stuff at least answered on screen but doubtfully at all. I’m just so interested in the way Blade’s healing works and I hope I get some kind of idea in order to explore it at some point.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

the pursuer-distancer dyad & how it applies to the world of BL

Not too surprisingly, since I have a psychology PhD, I notice a lot of examples in my BL-watching of psychological concepts related to relationship dynamics and sometimes individual characteristics. I also probably like BLs because I’ve sought them out in part because they present an opportunity to do some complex thinking about relationships and how we approach them. 

A quick thing to note: BL characters are, of course, not real. But their stories resonate with us because they have some kind of relationship to reality. There’s a continuum from very realistic and highly relatable, to heightened for effect (this can make it easier to see certain things clearly, so they can still teach us useful things about real life), all the way to highly unrealistic stuff where we can relate to it because unusual experiences symbolically stand in for something else (see the classic “sure, he’s a murderer, but he’s my babygirl” phenomenon).

This post is about pursuer-distancer dynamics in relationships. I’m going to explain the concept as quickly and simply as I can, then talk a little bit about BL tropes and specific examples. I hope that if I keep writing about stuff like this, this is a post I can link to for background info in the future.

Most of the stuff I’ve seen on pursuer-distancer dynamics stems from Harriet Lerner’s work. She’s a Bowenian family systems therapist with a feminist bent who has written a lot of incisive but accessible books for popular audiences. Family systems theory is a way of looking at relationships as complex systems in which our patterns of behavior are interrelated. Hopefully that last sentence will make more sense after I explain further. For now, let’s dive in.

Here’s Lerner introducing the concepts of pursuers and distancers with a bulleted list from her book The Dance of Anger, excerpted below:

PURSUERS

• react to anxiety by seeking greater togetherness in a relationship.

• place a high value on talking things out and expressing feelings, and believe others should do the same.

• feel rejected and take it personally when someone close to them wants more time and space alone or away from the relationship.

• tend to pursue harder and then coldly withdraw when an important person seeks distance.

DISTANCERS

• seek emotional distance or physical space when stress is high.

• consider themselves to be self-reliant and private persons—more “do-it-yourselfers” than help-seekers.

• have difficulty showing their needy, vulnerable, and dependent sides.

• open up most freely when they are not pushed or pursued.

Sometimes we see these roles happen in clear-cut ways similar to what Lerner describes. But they can also show up in more complex ways. Roles can vary both between and within relationships. In other words, you can be a distancer in one relationship and a pursuer in another, and you can be both a pursuer and a distancer in different areas within the same relationship.

In healthy relationships that aren’t under any particular stress, pursuing and distancing would still happen. But partners would be free to engage in either as needed in a flexible way instead of being stuck in entrenched roles. 

Side note: there’s a difference between pursuing in the sense of wanting to be in a relationship with someone and pursuing a partner emotionally in an established relationship, just as there’s a difference between distancing yourself from a potential partner and distancing yourself from an established partner. I’m including a shot from Semantic Error above because it has a quality that not very many BLs have: there’s a seme type (a character who’s pursuing in the sense of trying to start a relationship) who seems like he’d be a pursuer in a relationship, and a uke type (who’s somewhat resistant to getting together) who seems like he’d be a distancer within a relationship.

So, why do we get caught in these entrenched, interrelated roles in relationships?

Lerner sees them as a sort of unspoken deal that we make with people we’re close to because deep down, we want to avoid acknowledging certain needs and the emotions that come with them. It’s a fairly universal thing that human beings both crave intimacy and fear it. But this is hard to acknowledge. It’s tempting to disavow either our need for closeness or our need for independence.

As Lerner puts it:

Emotional pursuers protect emotional distancers. By doing the work of expressing the neediness, clingingness, and wish for closeness for both partners, pursuers make it possible for distancers to avoid confronting their own dependency wishes and insecurities.

It goes both ways. Distancers can convince themselves that they don’t have a need for closeness because their pursuer is holding all of the neediness for them. Pursuers can convince themselves they don’t have any desire to avoid intimacy because their distancer will hold that for them. 

Not only do we make these unspoken bargains within relationships, but our tendencies to pursue or distance inform the partners we choose in the first place. Those of us with a tendency to pursue may gravitate to partners with a tendency to distance, or vice versa.

So, what’s the alternative? Lerner writes that relationships are healthier and more honest when both partners can acknowledge both their need for intimacy and their need for independence. 

Before I move on to BL-specific stuff, a couple things to note. First, the way in which pursuer and distancer roles are complementary is a pattern that comes up in a lot of other relationship roles. There are a number of ways in which we sort of delegate certain relational tasks or emotional states within a relationship and disavow those they have assigned to the other person. Second, the tendency to pursue or distance is related to other factors, such as attachment style, and I may get into some of those in other posts.

So, on to BL tropes. Let’s start by looking at maybe the most foundational BL trope, the seme/uke pairing. I honestly think I’m still working on fully grasping that concept. But of the varying definitions I’ve seen, I much prefer ones that define the seme as the person doing the pursuing and the uke as the person being pursued (rather than putting it in terms of semes as “aggressive” or making gross assumptions about topping and bottoming). It’s pretty obvious from the use of “pursue” here that the idea of a pursuer/distancer dynamic readily applies here, although it doesn’t map on perfectly.

So, what do Lerner’s ideas about pursuer/distancer dyads tell us about the ways BL dyads negotiate closeness?

It helps to explain the appeal of tsundere characters as ukes. Not as a fictional character, but their appeal to a seme. Watching a BL with a sweet seme and a grouchy uke, you might look at that seme and say, “poor thing, too bad he has to like someone who’s so grumpy” and see him as fully and sincerely seeking as much intimacy with the uke as he can get. But why did this person who’s supposedly so interested in intimacy fall for someone so prickly? Pursuers find distancers appealing because they can chase after them all they want and while, hopefully, they’ll catch up to them at times and experience some intimacy, it won’t be too easy. If it was too easy, the pursuer would 1) get more intimacy than they bargained for and 2) have to admit to themselves and their tsundere that they need distance sometimes too.

The reverse is also true. A uke can better afford to distance himself, or push a seme away, because on some level he trusts the seme to continue to pursue.

One thing I didn’t get into above but that Lerner points out: when a pursuer gets fed up with pursuing and not “catching” their partner enough, they tend to engage in what she calls “reactive distance.” This isn’t like when a pursuer calmly and authentically gets in touch with their need for independence and acts on it, making their approach to their relationship more balanced. It’s when a pursuer feels rejected and, well, pouts. I can think of a few examples of this in BLs but the first one that comes to my mind is from To My Star 2. (Spoilers ahead!) Seo Joon spends most of the season doing a serious full-court press to try to get Ji Woo back. In the face of a lot of rejection, some of it distinctly mean-spirited, he just keeps trying. And then, suddenly, he doesn’t. He takes his camper out to the woods where he has no phone reception, and when his management can’t get in contact with him, Ji Woo panics and is afraid something terrible has happened to him. But when he finds him calmly drinking a beer beside his camper, Seo Joon’s manner has changed drastically--he’s cold and dismissive. He still actually wants Ji Woo back. But he’s gotten to the point where he’s hurt enough to get into reactive distance mode. Later in the show, he does something similar. When Ji Woo finally wants to reconcile, Seo Joon is reluctant (for a little while). Chasing Ji Woo (while Ji Woo distances himself) was easier than dealing with all of the questions that come with reconciling with him, like whether he can really feel safe resuming a relationship with someone who ghosted him for a year. (I should note that there seems to be reasonable disagreement about who the seme is in this relationship, if indeed there is one in the strictest sense, but Seo Joon is definitely a pursuer in the family systems sense.)

There are other ways, besides choosing a distancer as their object of interest, in which a pursuer can build in safety mechanisms to make sure their pursuit doesn’t result in more intimacy than they can handle. I’m thinking of Utsukushii Kare here. I have a lot of thoughts here that should probably be in a separate post. I’ll just say that Hira and Kiyoi are both intensely ambivalent about intimacy and that despite Hira largely pursuing Kiyoi and Kiyoi mostly acting as the distancer, they turn those roles inside out and backwards and randomly trade positions. Honestly half my reason for writing this is so that I can pull all of these ideas into an Utsukushii Kare post later because they are a great example about how these dynamics can turn into a tangled mess.

I’ll leave it at that for the moment. As I said above, I’m planning to pull from these ideas for at least one in-depth post on Utsukushii Kare and if there’s interest and I have the time and energy I’ll try doing something similar about some other constructs that apply to BLs in a useful way.

[unhappytimeleaper]

I love love your Eichi works, but one thing I wondered while reading through them. Why would Eichi take an interest in his darling? What kind of person would capture him? What was the start of it all? 

requested by @diarykeeper

Word Count: 1,000+

In general, I’m going to be editing my writing list here soon/making new separate posts regarding character lists, and along with that, I started working on my own yandere profiles/summary sheets that I’ve seen some other creators make for their own works. My goal is to try to eventually get what I have in my out, which is nearly all Enstars and one twisted— which isn’t bad— it’s just my list will likely be changing soon. Enstars will stay; don’t worry, though. 

P.s. if you have a character you like as a yandere and you see something like this and think, ‘Oh, they aren’t describing me at all,’ who cares? I say this with positivity. Stuff like this is meant for fun, for indulgence, and enjoyment, and while I like writing the analysis side of things, don’t take it overly serious. Enjoy the characters you like and how you want. I’m only saying this cause I had someone who said they get upset when people mischaracterize characters different from how they perceive them??

Tenshouin Eichi; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader.

Warnings; what? Fairly normal Eichi? No. It just doesn’t go into many detailed warnings. Overall just keep in mind this is still yandere content; mentions of jealousy and very subtle mentions of manipulation. 

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

I’d say there are three main things, and really two are more general factors in someone’s life, while one can manifest in a variety of personalities in different ways. While there are some whose specific traits in someone might drive them, Eichi comes off as more of a slow burn who becomes interested in others, not in personality but in different ways that can draw him to you, which leads to establishing a connection based on your own sense of self. 

I’ll start with the general factor since this is probably the most out of your control/lack of personality traits. For one, Eichi has always been a very jealous person. He’s envious of so many things; fundamentally, look at the start of his relationship with Wataru for proof. Eichi was jealous, envious of what Wataru could have that he didn’t, even if there was admiration underneath. Eichi ironically mentions how he wants to step down from power, from the over looming presence he has in the industry but coming from such an affluent background and being a pillar in the industry— not only as a performer but as a business executive. Everything you have, everything you do essentially can be put up in the eyes of Eichi, which gives him a lot to feel envious of. Your closeness with other idols and staff, even more, if you aren’t as involved with Fine. Eichi might not regret his actions, but if it’s so easy for you to seamlessly get along with others without the need for manipulation and control, he’d likely become more invested in you. Getting closer and, in turn, building up those key blocks that he eventually uses against you once unlocking his feelings. 

Similarly, this could be applied to other things like having closeness to your family or, in some cases, a found family; Eichi states his family is not loving. He’s even to an extent disgusted by them so openly being able to see factors of how you might have a positive relationship with people in your family; parents or siblings creates a jealousy that, for some reason, draws him in. Alternatively, a found family is no exclusion if you aren’t on or don’t have the ability to connect with your family; it’s just the compassion and love without expectation he has rooted envy of that brings him closer. 

Just consider the ideal Eichi notes of how he’s been someone who’s lived ‘standing alone’ his whole life, comparatively to someone who maybe it’s only recently, but does have strong support or foundations in others as one thing that would draw him in. You can take this for many different things as long as it’s somewhat public within the company, which would cause Eichi to get involved, which would be an easier way to get to know your personality and cause the events of his behaviors to increase. 

So that’s one way to get him close; in terms of more defining traits, Eichi isn’t someone with a bleeding heart [at least not in the sense of overtly sympathetic]. However, he does tend to have a soft spot for those who also tend to struggle with sickness or other issues. We see this in his relationship with Chiaki and Leo, people who have struggled with various forms of sickness have brought them closer. If it’s a chronic illness or some form of mental health issues— someone who gets common colds or even says something that might only affect once and awhile like allergies, Eichi instinctually finds it easier to bond with those who can have similar life experiences. 

None of this is to say he sees it as babying or that it necessarily makes you weaker. Look at him, how he’s well aware of his limitations but has turned those into his strengths. Something like this isn’t a major make or break factor, but this does lead to a much more common segway to see him and converse that would establish a bond over time to use your specific personality to interest him. 

So the last reason, as I mentioned, can manifest in different ways. What I mean is someone can be loud and brash in how they choose to handle situations they feel passionate about, just as much as someone might be quiet, logical, and reserved in their actions for the same outcome. In this case we might consider these polar opposites, so what could make both or anything in between draw in Eichi? The answer is that it’s someone with passion and a fighting spirit for what they want to see a difference in especially if this comes to the industry. 

Eichi, more than anything, mentions how he wants a playmate. He wants a challenge, someone who can counter and entertain him. I’m not sure how many people know this, but Eichi mentions how he specially worked to groom Anzu into being someone he considered a worthy enemy, someone who could challenge his structure and power ideals. It’s something that likely would continue to draw his eye, someone who he knows can fight his yandere tendencies and, despite being a partner, be a foil to his ideals. Of course, he works to always be one step ahead and have the upper hand, which is reasonably easy for him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he likes an intelligent ‘rival’. 

Being able to counter him doesn’t need to be in a specific way; someone might be much more quick to handle a challenge he throws at them or verbally be loud when calling out specific actions of his. But this doesn’t mean someone who is willing to lose or forfeit some of these challenges for a more significant victory doesn’t entice him more in either as an idea of being the counterbalance to him. As long as you have somewhat of a fighting spirit for what you think is right in the industry and within the relationship that he can shape into what he wants, then it doesn’t matter in what ways it truly shows. 

[twocubez]

Deltarune and Strangerhood

For the best reading experience, listen to Born a Stranger from To the Moon.

There's this feeling that I keep coming back to whenever I talk about Deltarune. It's a little bit tricky to put it into words, but I want to try anyway, because I'm not sure if I've seen anyone express it in relation to DR.

So, in Undertale, you're frisk and frisk is you, more or less. You don't know the world you've entered, or who anyone is, their history, their baggage. You have no clue about any of that stuff, and as a human in the Underground, no one expects you to know. You can just be yourself, discovering this new place and making new friends.

In Deltarune, it's different. You can't be yourself, because you're stuck with kris. People have expectations for kris, because Kris has lived here for their whole life and they already know everyone. They are connected to their home in a way that you aren't. You're alienated from everyone and everything, and worse yet, you're alienated from them too. They are a whole person, and you have no idea how they feel about you. Judging from how they act with you, though, surely those feelings can't be too positive. But it's not like you have any way of telling them you aren't happy either, you're just stuck this way.

The-hard-to-describe-feeling that Deltarune gives me is that of strangerhood. Of knowing very deeply that no matter what you do, you'll be a stranger. You're alien, both to the world, and your assigned partner.

The outsider feeling is why I'm so fiaxted on Noelle and Berdly's trainwreck of a friendship. There's just so much about Noelle that Berdly probably doesn't know, and he's so bad at picking up on social cues and she's so bad at just saying how she feels that there's this giant rift in communication between him and his closest friend. No matter what he does, it'll be hard for him to be as good a friend to Noelle as Kris is. No matter what he does, he'll be a stranger.

Additionally, the outsider feeling comes back whenever certain things, people, or memories are brought up by the characters. Like Dess. She's a stranger to me, but clearly someone really important to everyone, and she's gone. Situations like that are hard for me. I've always been afraid of having to console a grieving person because it seems like something that's so easy to mess up, especially when you never knew the person they lost. And you can't just say or do nothing, because that could hurt them too! Kris would probably know what to say, but they can't, because I'm here. Or with Asriel, I kind of know him... but the Asriel I knew didn't live a life even remotely like that of Deltarune Asriel, so he's functionally a total stranger. Kris clearly has all kinds of feelings about their older brother, who they were incredibly close to and lived in the shadow of, but right now it's impossible for them to just talk to us about those feelings.

I'm very curious as to whether Deltarune makes anyone else feel this way. I should mention something personal that I think is really important here: I'm autistic. I grew up not knowing how to read people in the same way that it seems like most people can do effortlessly. I've always felt like an alien, trying to figure out the rules of Earth, and I've also been quite socially isolated because of it. I'm in college now, and still learning how to establish and maintain friendships, making up for the practice that I missed as a kid when I figured that trying to reach out to my classmates would be too hard and too much work and that I could just entertain myself during recess by reading my favorite books or just watching everyone else. Deltarune resonates with me a lot because of that.

I'm not sure if the feelings it gives me were intentional, and I haven't seen anyone else talk about getting these feelings from the game either. That's part of why I made this post, I want to know if anyone else feels the same way. Thanks for reading.

[chelastuff]

Explaining Parallel Realities in YIIK

This was original made for a r/Y2Krpg post, but I thought I would post it here as well for the tumblr YIIKheads. 

I wanted to make a post discussing my thoughts on the concept of parallel realities in YIIK, because I noticed it’s something people often get tripped up on and end up interpreting over-literally. 

I’ll quickly sum up what we know for sure: In YIIK, there are 128 parallel realities (don’t think this was ever stated in-game, but it was stated in outside sources by Andrew). Each reality has “parallel souls” - these are described people from parallel realities who share the same soul. These realities can be “destroyed” by Alex (or at least, this is how Alex presents the story). And finally, we know that the reality of YIIK is “broken” and it is implied to have been broken from the very beginning. My thoughts are that while all this can feel like needlessly convoluted lore for lore’s sake, I think it serves a specific purpose thematically. 

The absolute most common thing that trips people up is assuming that parallel realities is a concept that is interchangeable with the concept of parallel universes and the concept of a multiverse. I think this is a flawed way to look at it. You can look at the game yourself: the words “universe” and “multiverse” don’t appear even once. It’s always “reality”. But, if realities aren’t meant to be parallel universes, what are they? Here is what I believe: “Reality” should be considered less like the word “universe” and more like the word “narrative”. In fact, if you replace the word “reality” with the word “story”, you get a lot of interesting results. For example: As Semi exits the reality of YIIK, she exits the story entirely. Her leaving “allows Vella to enter” because Alex shifts his focus from chasing Semi to chasing Vella. Alex ends his reality and is “destined to end all realities” = he ends the stories of his friendships by driving people away, and he believes this is inevitable.

(Sidenote: Many people believe that Vella’s dialogue in the sewer establishes a “one soul per universe” rule because she states that Semi leaving is what gave her the physical space to enter, but no such “rule” is ever actually stated. Go back and check - she never states that this is the case for anyone else but her. The reason why it’s true for Vella is because Vella took Semi’s place in the story.) 

We can use this reading to further flesh out adjacent concepts. Under this lens, “parallel souls” can be read as akin to Jungian archetypes. As we see in Essentia’s mind dungeon, there are many parallel Alexes that aren’t like him at all in appearance, age, sex, country of origin, or even time period. Given all this, what exactly does it mean to be a “parallel soul”? I believe that it means to serve the same “role” in their respective stories. As for the Soul Space - it’s described as being a space between realities. So, it can be read as a liminal space after one narrative ends and another has yet to begin. This makes perfect sense, since in the instances it’s entered, it’s always when a character is going through some kind of rough transitional period. 

Another thing to keep in mind with this reading is that if realities are stories, other realities can be made up entirely of fictional characters, since stories can be fictional. I believe this to be the case for the Golden Alpaca/Arcangelo. 

So, assuming this reading is true, I’m going to go ahead and do even more theorizing. What does it mean that YIIK’s “reality” is broken? What’s with the implication that Michael, Vella, Rory, and Claudio/Chondra are all from different realities? An explanation could be that Alex met all these people at different times, but in his retelling, he Frankensteined all of these stories together. In fact, we already know this to be the case with Michael - he was friends with Alex’s older sister and moved away when he was 19 and Alex was a kid, and yet, here he is in YIIK, still 19, playing the role of Alex’s best friend. 

Finally, what does it mean that there are 128 realities? It seems kind of an oddly specific number, doesn’t it? What we know about 128 is that it’s most likely a reference to 128-bit computing. I know nothing about computers, but I’ll just work off the general fact of it being a coding reference to theorize that there being 128 realities has something to do with the nature of YIIK being a video game. I think it’s possible that the game itself could have somehow been the cause of these parallel realities existing. In other words, it might not just be that there are 128 realities in YIIK, the story. It could very well be that these realities are literally inside YIIK, the video game. 

Anyway, I hope this analysis gives you something to think about or clears things up in some way! It got a bit off the rails but I feel like you can’t really talk about YIIK lore without going off the rails given how absolutely wild it is. I may make more YIIK analysis posts in the future, so let me know what plot stuff you’re curious about. 

[edoro]

thinking about my OCs... thinking about Jackson... thinking about his gender

(under a cut bc it’s long)

he is very nonbinary and for him the most importance gender space that he dwells within is not between or outside of male/female, but rather the intersection of those

and that applies in a number of different ways. his identity is all about the juxtaposition of variously gendered traits to create an ambiguous and at times contradictory whole, something that other people don’t immediately understand, something that doesn’t seem ‘right’, that does not easily fit into any established category.

so this is why he feels drawn to terms like ‘femboy’ or ‘girlboy’ - he likes ‘nonbinary’ too but it doesn’t feel quite as rooted in the apparent contrast/contradiction as he’d like. even more insulting words like ‘shemale’ or ‘he/she’ are things that feel quite fitting to him, they feel like they encapsulate what he feels like he is.

his specific identity and the outward trappings of it (presentation, pronouns, etc) are often very reactive and situationally dependent too. at first he’s coming from a lifetime spent being pushed into a very narrow and restrictive mold of masculinity, and the only escape he’s ever offered is an even more restrictive mold of femininity that comes with even less personhood; he rejects the latter and miserably tries to conform to the former, but is frequently abused for not being successful enough at it. part of this includes a very bland type of unremarkably masculine presentation.

as he starts experimenting more with his gender and presentation, he starts getting more fem - growing his hair out, wearing cuter clothes, edging gradually and gradually more towards more and more feminine types of clothing such as skirts and dresses and stuff - and especially in the beginning when he’s still perceived as male and coming from this very masculine type of presentation, it’s important to him to lean into outward markers of femininity to get that contrast.

so he’s performing this specific outward appearance of femininity which appears to contradict certain other things about him that mark him as ‘male’, such as his voice and face and body shape - this is something that he would probably describe as ‘being a boy but in a girl way’ - most people who aren’t either conscientious allies or trans themselves are going to see him as simply an effeminate man, and he’s still trying out this social space and seeing how it feels to put it on, seeing how it feels to be seen that way.

at times like that, people who DO refer to him as a girl/woman or use she/her pronouns for him in public definitely give him a thrill, because his perception is that they know he’s going for something other than what people would assume - and because at that point he’s very likely to get read as male, people deliberately referring to him differently feels very good

later on, as he gets more comfortable with his feminine expression and with living in that area of ambiguity, that place that shifts shape from moment to moment and encounter to encounter, this might change - he might end up more in the area of being a girl, but in a boy way - having long hair, visible breasts, a feminine body shape, but then choosing to do things like leave his legs unshaven in a sundress or shorts, and electing not to do any type of voice training, so that those markers of femaleness which would cause people to more reliably gender him as female out in public are contrasted with markers of maleness that lend ambiguity, that make people unsure, that put him once more into an in-between, both-at-once space

by default he uses he/him pronouns, and he especially likes doing this again as a contrast to when he dresses and presents very femininely and has been on hrt long enough that the shape of his body causes people to gender him as female - the contrast of that feminine body with an apparently unsuitable set of pronouns, leading people to wonder - okay, he’s trans, but in what direction? a trans man? a cis man who likes wearing drag? a trans woman doing some kind of butch thing? he’s clearly NOT butch but - ?

he just thrives there in that place of contrasting identity markers - the clothing and the hair and the voice and the body shape and the face and the way of holding himself and moving through the world, how he chooses to be referred to, how he refers to himself - he’s not a boy or a girl except for when he’s both of those things or when he’s neither of those things or when he’s either of them, but if he’s either of them then he is doing it wrong, that’s the important part, he’s not doing it in the way he’s ‘supposed’ to

and he’s different things for different people - sometimes he’s a feminine boy, sometimes he’s a trans girl, sometimes he’s ???; sometimes he’s a he, sometimes he’s a she, sometimes he’s an exciting mystery.

sometimes he’s Emmy’s girlfriend and they’re having girls night, sometimes he’s Max’s cute faggy fem boyfriend, sometimes he’s his daddy* Morris’s babygirl, and he and Laurence are of course always a reflection and extension of each other, two halves of a whole, each a backwards mirrored image of the other, two things that are the same thing and each half of that thing and each a whole that contains the other...

(*not his actual father but a nice older man who he has a sugarbaby thing going on with and who is very into ddlg)

it’s hard for him to get there, because he starts off from the position of “i either have to be a boy or i have to be a girl” and further having such a narrow understanding of what either of those means, but the more he talks about it with Emmy and just watches the way she and Max both do gender, the more he realizes there are so many more options and he can just do whatever he wants, and the more he realizes that what he wants is, actually, the thing that’s been used as a reason to hurt him for so long: he wants to do it ‘wrong’.

the spot where a boy becomes a girl and a girl becomes a boy and a person must be scrutinized and dissected for signs of what they are, all the tells tallied up to try to fit them into a category, and the space within that spot where the evidence isn’t sufficient either way or there is something so glaringly contradicting it must be addressed - that’s where he wants to live.

[cadyrocks]

Re: My last stupid discourse post on wokeness

I think it’s kinda telling that nearly every attempt to define “wokeness” is coming from someone who’s exceedingly critical of the concept. It’s quite consistent. Definitions of “Woke” aren’t coming from the people being labeled as “woke”; there is no political movement aiming to carry the mantle of “woke”; most people described as such would define their politics in very different ways. Nobody who wants to define the term to make their use of it feel more coherent actually likes the idea. It’s all deeply cynical, deeply critical, and often deeply uncharitable towards the beliefs in question. Again, see my last stupid discourse post on wokeness, a response to someone who insists that the entire concept boils down to ranking ideas based on degrees of oppression. What a douchebag.

Now, I’m going to be charitable, and assume these people aren’t just stupid culture war hacks (although, let’s be clear, some of them definitely are), and try to dig into why this is happening. As far as I can tell, the people who aim to “define” wokeness like this have been exposed to the right-wing version of the term - a straightforward meaningless snarl word used to demean any lefty politics they don’t like - and have also been exposed to a bunch of derogatory talk about leftist politics that they personally dislike and see as problematic*. So they try to put one and one together, and end up with a mishmash of vaguely progressive political stances, anything from DEI workshops at weapons manufacturers to police abolitionist rhetoric to trans people being mean to some heinous bigot they vaguely remember on twitter. This all gets labeled under the broad brush of “Woke”, and used to build something resembling a definition, followed by the insistence that this is a powerful force in modern politics.

It’s generally complete nonsense, with no understanding of power and no clear ability to pick up a newspaper and read a headline**. As far as political analysis goes, it’s worse than useless, much like calling something “political correctness”, for exactly the same reasons. You are trying to define a snarl word in a way that makes sense. Stop it. Get some help.

You want an actual definition? Ask the republicans who are legislating against it, and they’ll tell you! Woke, to them, means the belief there are systemic injustices in American society and the need to address them. That’s what they’re fighting against. That’s what they’re trying to ban. It’s that fucking simple. To the degree that “woke” isn’t a snarl word to these people, this is what they mean. You can stop twisting yourselves into pretzels to figure it out now.

*(FdB’s definition can basically be broken down into the various ways twitter will poison someone’s brain, it’s quite impressive. Oh, woke politics has no nuance? You don’t say, Mr. Twitter-Poisoned Opinion Pundit! What a surprising opinion to have!) 

**(There’s an ongoing trans genocide, abortion rights are under siege across America, police reforms are dead letter, various red states are banning books for having too many black people in them, and the democratic political establishment is doing nothing about any of this. But sure, let’s talk about how omnipresent and powerful “wokeness” is because you had to visit a diversity seminar. Sounds reasonable!)

[talenlee]

Story Pile: Big Trouble In Little China

Big Trouble in Little China is one of those movies that guys like me have opinions on, in the same vein as Knives Out and I want to make sure that whatever I’m doing here I’m not being boring. This is complicated by the way that this movie is appealing to guys like me by being a really fun action movie with sweet special effects and quotable lines and magnetic personalities and action scenes and a few brutal deaths while also being made by people with a lot of thought in their head. The result is a movie that yes, is a wonderful brainless action setpiece where you see a seven foot tall demon ghost get hit by a truck, but also a fascinating piece of Asian-American cinema, complete in how it blends together all forms of ‘Asianness’ to an American perspective.

I’m doing it, aren’t I.

I don’t intend to spoiler much about this movie. There’s some talk about the kind of movie it is and its broad general forms but I’m not going to give away how it ends or what happens in any specific way unless you imagine looking at the poster this is somehow all going to be about negotiations. There’s one minor detail but it’s not going to change much if you know it ahead of time that someone gets captured. Also, content warning, this movie is dated! This movie is a 1986 movie focusing on Asian-American actors, and as good as it is at avoiding some specific storytelling beats it’s still a work that if we tried to make it today, we’d make differently and with a greater priority on the ways people are and behave.

There’s also a scene where a dude gets so mad he explodes.

Alright, the story in summary. Well, without telling you how it ends, Big Trouble in Little China tells the story of Jack Burton, a long haul trucker who uses a CB Radio to truly be one of history’s first great posters. He is a lantern jawed bemulleted muscled up slab of lunk who fancies himself the main character of a story that he lives every god damn day. While visiting a friend on his route, there’s a conversation about owing money and then he’s abruptly ensnared in a kidnapping that turns into a criminal gang war and then the demigods who throw lightning around show up and he watches a bunch of people get murdered in the street.

What follows from there is a classic story about a girl getting kidnapped and a guy rescuing her except the guy is Jack’s bestie and Jack spends multiple parts of the story struggling to keep up. And I mean really struggling, at one point he knocks himself out and misses most of a major fight. Don’t worry, we get to see those fights, they’re cool as hell, just, y’know, Jack is on his face for them.

In the end, heroes win, villains lose, the how and why are all pretty predictable but very fun. This John Carpenter dude can make the heck out of a movie, I’m thinking.

Now with that out of the way I want to address what I would consider the ‘most obvious’ piece of critical observation. Big Trouble In Little China is a movie that is deliberately playing with the audience expectations and the type of movie it is. The kind of movie Big Trouble In Little China looks like is a well-established, well-known genre. That genre can be said most agnostically to be a movie where a character arrives in a new location and his presence and extremely different way of doing things breaks up and changes a status quo to save the day, but you might notice that very neutral way of describing it skirts around some pretty loaded words.

Stated more directly, movies in this genre are about some nonwhite cultural space where a white guy arrives and experiences it for the first time, then fixes the problem they have without any kind of specialised knowledge or expertise. Bonus if it’s a group of people dealing with something really complicated or difficult and to him it was solved by being better at their culture than they are. This is sometimes summarised as the ‘mighty whitey’ narrative, which is a great way to make fun of the simplified story, which is a good thing to do because this kind of story sucks real bad and is racist in a way that’s sometimes hard to properly explicate. How wet is a fish, you know?

Big Trouble In Little China is aware of this trope, and, as deliberately as it can be in the context, resists its framing. The way Big Trouble In Little China is discussed, normally, is to point this out. Hey, get a load of this, did you notice that Jack Burton is not positioned as the protagonist of this movie, but rather he’s the sidekick of the main character? And that’s true and it’s cool but it’s also not something I feel like I get to bring to the table because it’s not only a known thing but it’s so well known I knew about it before I ever watched this movie.

Instead what came up to me is the way this movie handles most of its identities.

In Big Trouble In Little China pretty much nobody is who they think they are. The easiest example is that Jack Burton is playing John Wayne without realising he’s actually Shortround. And I mean that Jack Burton is playing John Wayne. It’s not that Kurt Russell is playing John Wayne; he’s playing a guy whose whole template for How To Be is trying to impersonate John Wayne. What makes that especially interesting to me is that he’s doing the affect without all of its character. Wayne has an accent, but he also has a delivery.

In The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, John Wayne says the word ‘pilgrim’ a lot – 25 times. It’s basically a pronoun for him. If you listen to it, it’s got a good template for how Wayne delivers words; he holds the M and concludes it with a sort of ‘uh’ sound at the end. Even when he’s not drawling it, even speaking it quickly, that’s part of his delivery. Burton doesn’t have the accent, but he does the same thing, holding the tail of words and dipping them up again. It’s a really interesting choice because however it was intended it makes me think that Jack Burton is a guy who watched a lot of John Wayne growing up and uses that as a template for what he thinks the kind of man he is should be.

Thing is, Margo is in a similar boat to Jack. She doesn’t know the kind of story she’s in. To her, she’s in an intrepid plucky reporter story, something in the vein of an Inspector Gadget or Nancy Drew narrative, where whatever is happening out there, over there, her job is to get the information, which will solve things. Knowing what’s going on, putting what’s going on into the record will sort everything out because that’s the power of the free press. In her introduction, a character is mentioned and she immediately demonstrates Stuff She Knows. It gets her an equally abrupt ‘who the hell are you?’ kind of reaction.

David Lo Pan’s scheme relies on being able to find an appropriate bride, but his assumptions about what makes an appropriate bride (a Chinese lady with green eyes) meant he spent a thousand years rolling some very big genetic dice and only finally got his number in the 1980s. But that assumption of an appropriate bride failed to account for, y’know, the vast number of people in a population more likely to have green eyes, until it was explicitly put in front of him. Again: assumptions about identity, about what ‘counts’ as who you are.

It’s honestly a really clever series of moves the movie makes. You start in a truck, implying that it’s going to be a movie about travel. Then you get stuck, then you see a mob movie break out, then it becomes Mortal Kombat before there was Mortal Kombat, and then it becomes a ghost story and suddenly it’s Indiana Jones in Just Below San Francisco. The movie repeatedly uses the way you assume things are supposed to work to set up a scene and then doesn’t do the scene you assumed it might, while also looking like the scene should really once you know how it goes.

Consider Eddie Lee. This dude is a maitre’d at Wang Chi’s restaurant. He’s in a suit, he’s not interested in getting involved in the fights, and he warns Jack about getting involved. When Wang Chi and Eddie Lee go to deal with the baddies, though, Eddie stands side by side with his friend and fights with him. Everything in the story up to that point sets him up to be a joke or a loser, or if we’re going to see him fight it’ll be revealing of something special. Then the movie shows that not only is it not special it’s unremarkably good. Eddie Lee’s identity is presented to you one obvious way, and then you’re shown that your assumptions about the obvious aren’t true.

Big Trouble In Little China sustains itself through these kind of violations of your assumptions and it doesn’t make a big fuss of it. It’s there when you look back on the whole narrative, but throughout it there’s this constant thread of asking you what you assume about the characters you’re seeing and what they’re doing.

What I’m saying is that Jack Burton is a trans dude. The signs are all there, right?

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

[chaostheoryhomeostasis]

Butterflies Can Kill You Part 2

As many possibilities as there are in our multiverse there are as many variations among the multiverse. In fact there are more variations than there are possibilities. There are many multiverses and many are similar or nearly identical with minor changes, minor in terms of a cosmic scale and minor in terms of a human perspective. Yes, of course, there are worlds where the only visible human relevance (if you were contradictorily a spectator of this universe with godly powers) is that your mother never birthed you but, is this difference relevant on a cosmic scale?

Human beings are not as observant as we would like to think. We observe things that serve their purposes and keep us out of harm’s way and what we remember is even less, less than 1% of what we observe. We see what we want to see in the most literal sense and we interpret it in a way that serves us.

Which brings me to the concept of the butterfly effect. Yes, in a very eccentric but brief summary, “A butterfly flaps its wings in Toronto and a monsoon happens in China”. From a more objective systematic perspective the butterfly effect effectively states that a single factor can have a drastic change in the outcome and later state of a system. Think of it as a modern description of the snowball effect. One change leads to another and on occasion, out of all the events in the universe, the event catches our attention and we come to reason that a tiny butterfly somewhere in Toronto caused an event with a huge measurable and visible impact on a human scale. Essentially, the butterfly effect describes change. 

Now, look at the butterfly this way: A butterfly has just as much effect on the world as you. A butterfly is another factor in what makes each multiverse unique. A butterfly has a mother, too.  A single butterfly that causes a monsoon in China causes the destruction of Chinese cities and has a cost of human lives. A butterfly can kill you.

…

Don’t you think we’re assigning too much value to a single butterfly?

Wouldn’t it be a more productive use of time, energy, and sense of self to assign value to things we can change?

That is exactly what the self does. You, the being you call yourself, assigns value to things and events that you can and can’t change. We call them, “inspiring”, “heart breaking”, “disturbing”, “beautiful”, “eccentric”, “funny”, “sorrowful”, “wonderful”, “horrific” and we apply so many concepts and feelings to events and objects that aren’t defined in our mother tongues. We call the things we can’t change “past” and “future”. We call them by their names aloud and often, more often than we’d like to believe, we don’t notice them. Which, by the way, is why it's a handy mechanism of evolution that you have eyeballs in the front of your head, are able to see only your immediate surroundings as opposed to having X-ray vision, and forget anything insignificant especially if you can identify that thing as a non-threat. 

For the time and the modern science harnessed in most countries in current 21st century civilization on planet Earth in this multiverse it’s impossible to test whether a single butterfly is the cause or could be a cause of the next monsoon in China. It’s established in a more thorough examination of the butterfly effect that because we only have so many factors within our control and cannot control factors we don’t know about, the butterfly effect doesn’t extend to applications beyond human value. In other words, the butterfly effect only exists in isolated experimental systems. It’s, well, it’s a concept that has very limited use in actual scientific application. None, actually.

I cannot speak for others so I must answer these questions for myself in terms of my own human condition. If I was never born, in other words, let me say if my presence were erased from the current world through means of impossible and unfathomable time-travel, I would assume nothing would change on a cosmic scale. I have done much of nothing even memorable to me in my life, not to say that my life has been an unhappy one. On the note of whether my lack of existence would affect those on a human scale, I see that people are equal -yes, different - but equal in the way they affect the world. It is what we remember that affects what we see as important or not.

Let’s say I were to time travel and disregard the method of time travel. In typical time travel theory, which is very sparse and is mostly attributed to sci-fi movies that have been adapted from real theory, if I go back in time the world line splits into 2 possible universes, one where I don’t time travel and one where I’ve time traveled. When I time traveled I jumped world lines and into a world where I jumped backwards through time and that action is accounted for. Technically it’s the same world, but it’s a copy of the original, and the only edit made is that I time traveled in the copy. You now know what you knew from the last world and have the opportunity to learn the future of the second world, given I remember that I time traveled. In this typical sci-fi culture model, with a few givens, I can successfully say that the overlap of time from where I left in the first world and the point of arrival in the second world (the one where I time traveled) is exactly the same as long as I repeat the same actions I took in the first world during that period of time. In this imaginary situation, if I go back in time and take the exact same actions in the second world during the specified overlapping time frames the world will be identical in past, present, and future, correct?

Incorrect. I did not time travel in the first world and I did time travel in the second. If I undo the fact that I time traveled through some unimaginable, unnamable invention that doesn’t exist in the realms of sci-fi even, I return to the first world. If I jump through time I return to the second and the cycle starts over. 

Let’s say that the fact that I time traveled was mitigated by something. Let’s say that this action alone didn’t matter and didn’t make the difference between worlds just for the sake of an imaginative argument. How difficult do you think it would be to repeat my actions during the overlap of time in the second world exactly as I did them to begin with? It’s impossible. In lieu of the conversation, I only remembered what was convenient for me.

Let’s look at the butterfly a little more closely: The butterfly exists in less than 1% of the total number of multiverses there are, an infinite number. In less than 1% of those multiverses the butterfly flapping its wings in Toronto contributes to, among many many many other factors, the cause of a monsoon in China. Almost never is the butterfly the singular cause of the monsoon in China. The time traveler can say, “A butterfly flapping its wings in Toronto causes the monsoon in China.” and be incorrect 99.99% of the time. The time traveler is only correct when that single butterfly is removed without changing world lines through some unimaginable, unnamable invention that doesn’t exist in the realms of sci-fi even, and the monsoon does not happen. In a single world is the butterfly the cause of the monsoon from the time traveler’s perspective. 

I’ll be frank, a single butterfly alone can’t cause a monsoon. I must ask myself now, among all the factors that exist in regards to how a monsoon forms, can a butterfly be the cause of a monsoon? It is illogical, unfamiliar, and scientifically incorrect to assume one or even many butterflies are the cause of a monsoon. It is an absurd idea, beyond the absurdity of inventing a time machine, to remove each butterfly one at a time until a monsoon does not happen. It’s even more absurd to believe that butterflies, which only exist on planet Earth and have symbolic value to literate humans, can change the universe.

Therefore, as I decipher my own beliefs, it is known to me that people cannot change the universe either, in the same way that we cannot and will never invent a time machine.

But then, why do I remember that butterfly? Over and over, throughout my insignificant human life, I see the butterfly and I appreciate its beauty. Every butterfly, every time. Am I wasting my own time? Unless that one butterfly can be the cause of a monsoon, I don’t see why I should feel it’s significant at all. Why should I notice the butterfly?