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sweetbillwriting · 2 months ago

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Way Out of Line

ONE

Beneath my perfume and make-up I'm just a baby in disguise. And though I know that it's wrong to be alone with him that "come on look" is in my eyes.

Character: Keith Toshko from Barbarian (2022) played by Bill Skarsgård.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

Notes: Merry Christmas! 🎀 I present my newest story now because it's set at Christmas. This story will be full of subjects that can provoke and a theme many recognize. The french is google translate!

Silver Bells, Silver Bells… It's Christmas time in the city…

I looked at the mountain of gifts in front of me on the floor. It was silly I still received so many Christmas presents and that my parents still said it was from Santa Claus. I was twenty-one years old, a whole woman, but I still got everything from my wish list. I sat and looked at an eyeshadow palette from Dior, swatching the shades on my hand while my dad sat and looked at me like I was still his five-year-old little girl. I would always be his little girl, even if I went to college and had my own car. Or technically it was his, but it was mine. What would he have done with a little white beetle?

“Are you happy with your gifts, Jacqueline honey?” Asked my mom when she came into the room, carrying her coffee mug. She was still dressed in her red robe that matched my red pajamas.

“Oh yes, thank you so much, I mean Santa,” I said with a giggle and laid the palette on the neat pile of gifts by the well-decorated Christmas tree. My mom smiled, pleased, and sat down next to my dad, who also drank his morning coffee.

“When will the others be here?” I asked as I stood up, ready to take a shower and make myself ready for our Christmas guests. It was my older brother with his family and my aunt with hers. There would be thirteen people, and I would sit by the kids table as usual. I didn't complain because I had never had a reason to leave the table, and I probably had more in common with my teenage cousins than the grown-ups.

“They will be here at one, but you know Jason is always early,” my mom said looking at her phone, probably checking for Christmas greetings on Facebook. I nodded a little before leaving my parents in our Christmas-decorated living room to walk to my bedroom on the second floor. I had my own en suite bathroom there and could take the time I needed. It was just family, so it wasn't really that important to look great, but it felt better to do my full routine even if no one would touch my smooth legs or check if my eyeliner was completely even.

While I stood in front of my mirror, after my shower, there was a knock on the door, and in confusion, I answered, “yes.”

“Can I come in?” my mom asked, against the door. Doubtfully I opened it even if I was just dressed in a white spaghetti top and panties, but my mom didn't seem to think about that; she just looked at me with big eyes.

“Would it be okay if you took Jason's old room for a few days?”

My first thought was that my aunt and her family would sleep over, but a few days sounded like a very long time.

“What? Why?” I looked around in my bathroom, all my expensive things and light colors. Children were not allowed in there. My mom looked stressed, fixing the red jacket of her velour tracksuit over and over.

“Your dad's friend, Keith, has suddenly showed up.”

I looked at Mom with furrowed brows. I have heard about Keith but more in a nostalgic way from my father’s old stories. I knew he was a musician, and my dad had been close friends with him when they went to college but seemed to have drifted away because of their different lifestyles.

“Why? It's Christmas Day? You can't just show up on Christmas Day?” I said, pulling out a drawer under the sink to search for a warmer shade for my lip pencil. My mom leaned against the marble sink and sighed.

“He has separated. Seems like he has been kicked out and needs somewhere to sleep. Awful woman who kicks him out on Christmas morning!”

“Maybe he is a pig? Maybe he has cheated? Or he's abusive? I dunno, men can be trash.” I continued to search for the right pencil, comparing them to each other. My mom shook her head but then looked at me seriously.

“So can he take your room?”

I had forgotten about the question, and when she asked it again, I felt my hackles go up. Some cheating, gross man would not sleep in my bed.

“Why? He can take Jason's room?”

“Yours is the only one with a bathroom. If he will live here for a while, he can't use the bathroom in the hallway all the time.”

I crossed my arms and pouted.

“Why not? I can't just move all my stuff to Jason's room!”

“We’ll move the important things, and he will let you in to get stuff. I'm sure of it! Keith is nice!”

I made a frustrated sound and pouted, trying to make my mom feel sorry for me, but she started to go through my drawers and cabinets, probably to see what I actually needed to move into the other room.

“Mom...! I whined and stomped my foot like a toddler but didn't get a reaction. Instead, I walked out to my room and looked at its cream color palette. It was so light, fresh, and clean, and a man would absolutely destroy that. I had never even had a guy in my bed, and I wanted it to be that way. I didn't like the smell of heavy cologne or cheap hair products.

“He will destroy something!”

“He will not,” sighed my mom as she walked out from the bathroom too, looking at my room. I think the both of us found things that were a bit embarrassing. My prizes from spelling competitions, my old children's books and movies, but also a super old picture of me and my high school boyfriend I still hadn't thrown out. There were leftovers from my time as a teenage girl in the room; it wasn't a grown woman's bedroom completely.

“Maybe you should stuff some things away…” My mom said gently while looking at my collection of seashells that lay spread out on the windowpane. Once again I huffed in frustration, but Mom didn't care.

“I'll go and find some linen for him, and you can start to move your things to Jason's room.”

I watched my mom leave while I stayed in the middle of my room with crossed arms. I didn't want to leave my room to a stranger. It felt intrusive, and I wondered if he would go through my stuff, read my journals, sniff my panties, or something. I had so much makeup he could break, and he maybe would leave hair and body fluids on my stuff, but my mom had made the decision. I knew she wouldn't change her mind, but I knew there was maybe another way to go, and that was to ask Keith.

I pulled on a pair of silky baby blue pajama shorts with my spaghetti tank. I fixed my hair, long and flowy, and then my makeup the sweet and girly way I've noticed other men liked. I maybe wasn't so experienced in having relationships with men, but I knew how to get their attention and use it for my own gain. Every good-looking girl knew that.

I walked down the stairs while practicing what I would say in my head. I would talk to my dad so Keith could overhear my fake sadness, and say to him how I can't sleep somewhere else. When my dad would say no, because he would, even if it pained him, just because he couldn't go against my mom, I would leave and go by Keith and say hello to him. I would look sad with shiny eyes but sweet and kind, playing with my long hair and fluttering my long lashes. I would brush my hair over my shoulders so he could see my chest, and I would play with the bow in the front of my shorts. I felt quite sure that he would give in.

When I had descended the stairs, I tried to locate my father and listened for sounds and heard someone sniffle in the living room. Knowing that my dad had a cold for a long time, I was sure it was him and prepared myself to look like his sad little girl. I walked into the big living room, looking around the corner by the open fireplace to see if my dad sat on one of the couches, but he wasn’t; instead, another man sat there.

I had never seen a photo of Keith, and I had never thought anything else other than that he was the same age as my dad, but the man who sat on the couch was probably just a few years over 30 and also looked handsome, even if his face was covered by his two big hands. He was crying, and something told me it had been far worse earlier because his hands shook, and in front of him on the table lay several used napkins. He sniffled again and dragged the back of his hand over his eyes, and it was then he saw me.

Both of us looked surprised at one another. In silence, we looked at each other up and down. I couldn't say how he saw me or why we didn't say anything. I just knew I was looking at a really attractive man with big, sad eyes.

“Are you okay?” I said carefully, and he smiled sadly and nodded. My first instinct was to run from him, run from the awkward moment of seeing a grown man cry, but my curiosity took over, and I felt a need to know more. Slowly I walked up to him and sat down in the other corner of the couch with my feet pulled up.

“Are you Keith?”

“Yeah… You must be Jacqueline?” He changed his position so he sat more towards me. I nodded a little and looked away in embarrassment after having looked at him a bit too long.

“Thank you for letting me come like this to you… And on top of that, take your room. I understand if that doesn't feel good; I can sleep wherever-”

“It's okay. It's okay,” I interrupted with a smile even if I had felt something completely different before. He dried his cheeks and smiled with a lowered gaze that made him look boyish even if he probably was ten years older than me. A giggle escaped my lips, but it caused him to just look at me with a bigger smile.

“I can show you the room...”

“Oh, thank you,” he said and stood up with me. He was much taller than me, and I got a tingle in my stomach that moved down lower when I looked at him up and down discreetly.

Been an awful good girl. Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight…

He walked behind me up the broad stairs, and I wondered how his view looked. How much of my ass could he see? Could he see how closely I've shaved my legs?

My cheeks heated like I've been sitting by an open fire, but thankfully my makeup covered a bit of it. I stepped into my room a bit embarrassed but also overwhelmed over having such a big man so close to me. His presence was almost overbearing, and I could feel my heart beating faster and faster.

He took some steps into the room and looked around at the interior, but I just looked at him. He was the first guy, except family members, who had been into my bedroom. He had on a pair of loose lounge pants that sat more tightly over his ass and also in the front, and I couldn't stop myself from looking. I could feel a pulse in my nether regions that made me squirm a little in my place. I had never had the feeling of wanting to be close to a man before just by looking at him, but there was something special with him, but I couldn't say if it was his eyes, lips, or body that made my limbs get soft.

Just by reflex I looked up at his face and met his questioning look.

“Hm?” I said, laying a hand over one of my glowing cheeks.

“I should give you a gift; it's Christmas, and you let me sleep in your bed and… Yeah, it's really nice of you. I should give you a gift.”

I smiled at him sweetly even if my thoughts were far from sweet. Something had taken over me after just meeting Keith, and my otherwise sweet thoughts were dripping with promiscuity. The only gift I wanted from him was to be able to share my bed with him and feel that Christmas spirit taking over us completely.

All I want for Christmas is you…

×××

Have a holly jolly Christmas; it's the best time of the year…

I wore a velvety burgundy dress with a big white collar and a black bow in my half-updo hairstyle. I had always dressed sweet at Christmas, going back to my childhood style, but I felt silly when I stood next to Keith. He was in a deep conversation with my brother about some soul artist I had never heard of, so I stood awkwardly next to them and just listened. During family celebrations, I most often was with my sixteen-year-old cousin Savannah, but I was afraid Keith would see me as a teenager if I was with her and talked about young actors and influencers.

The men continued to talk over my head while I played with my fingers nervously. Earlier, before my 28-year-old brother began talking to Keith, it was he who had been awkward. It was understandable; he would celebrate Christmas with a family he didn't really know, invited due to unfortunate events. He didn't seem to have had much clothing with him either because he had one of my dad's plaid button-ups on, but he still wore the gold band on his left hand. I didn't know what to think about it because I had no idea how it was to be separated, but I still thought he should have taken it off; he had been thrown out on Christmas.

“Chéri, aide-moi au lieu de rester là comme un imbécile.”

My mom began to carry out the dinner to the table and told me to help with a snappy voice. I woke up from my deep thoughts and met Keith's eyes. I couldn't read him, and I swallowed hard before giving him a shy smile. My brother mentioned another musician, and Keith turned his eyes to him quickly to be able to follow the conversation and made me feel silly that I believed he would give me his attention. I started to help my mother, even if my hands shook, and from nerves I did everything thoughtless and messy. My mom groaned, irritated, and fixed the cutlery I knocked into and moved the serving plates I put in the wrong place.

“Tu vas bien? Tu es si maladroit aujourd'hui.”

My mom asked if I felt alright but more irritated than caring, and I looked at her tired; she always stressed on Christmas.

“Je vais bien j'ai juste un peu mal dormi.”

I blamed my sleep and shrugged my shoulders. My mom accepted my excuse, but when she walked back to the kitchen, I looked towards the living room, where I could see Keith now talking with my aunt's husband. I wished I could join them and talk with ease and charm to him, but I didn't even dare to go up to him again. It felt like I had stood awkwardly next to him too much this evening. Instead, I stayed by the dinner table still just as awkward and looked at him with wide eyes. He didn't look like any other guy I've met, and he was so tall he was towering over my whole family. Even if he looked so manly, he moved softly and had a kind aura.

“Are you avoiding me or something?” Savannah had walked up to me with crossed arms.

“What? No.” I looked down at the table and pretended to correct a glass.

“Good.” She pulled out a chair and began playing with a fork, something I would never dare to do because of my mom.

“Do you keep up with Barry Keoghan?” She said excitedly, like it was the most important thing in life. I gave her a fast look and right after that at Keith. If he walked in and heard me talk about such shallow things, he would never talk with me for real.

“I must help Mom…” I said instead and gave Savannah a shoulder shrug.

There wasn't much left to do, and just minutes later, everything was ready. I took a last look at the tables. The dining table sat seven people, and then the other table sat six. I would sit at the smaller table, the kids table. I looked at the childish napkins and the soda in the middle and then thought about Keith. I would sit at the kids table. I felt a weird mix of panic and shame and looked at my mom, who took a last look at the arrangement. It was now or never.

“I want to sit with the grown-ups.”

I sounded like an eleven-year-old that wanted to play adult, and I felt my cheeks glow. My mom turned to me and looked at me confused, but then she shook her head. She gave me a sharp no in French.

“Why?” I whined and felt the panic even harder.

“It's good you're there and can help the younger kids.”

“But Savannah is there!”

“I said no,” said my mom with a louder voice, probably to make me give up, just like she did when I was a kid. That got my dad's attention, and he peeked into the dining room looking confused.

“What is it?”

“I want to sit with the adults. I'm 21! But Mom won’t let me!”

My dad gave my mom a look with furrowed brows. For many years he had felt that I should have a spot at the adult table, so for him it was given that I would change seats. My mom looked at us and then sighed and muttered something in French I couldn't hear. I didn't care what she said because I had won, and I couldn't hide my big smile… It wasn't really that I wanted to sit with the adults; the thought made me slightly nervous, but it was a relief to not look like a kid in front of Keith.

I'll have a blue Christmas without you. I'll be so blue just thinking about you…

Savannah looked hurt when she saw the kids table get filled up while I stood by the dinner table. I had taken a seat at the end where I knew my dad would sit. It felt safe to have one of my parents close, even if I knew everyone except Keith around the table. I looked at an empty seat, and that's when I realized the only seat left for Keith was the one right next to me. I stared out in front of me, scared to look toward my side when he walked up and filled my nose with a warm, musky scent.

“Is it okay if I sit next to you?” He asked, and I gave him a glance. I stared right into his chest, forgetting how tall he was, and looked away again. I gave him a little nod, then looked at my father, speaking to my brother, while standing by the chair next to him and opposite of Keith.

“Thank you…” Keith mumbled, and I gave him one more glance, this time remembering his eyes were higher up than mine. I met the green of his iris, and he gave me a smile before he took a hold of my chair and pulled it out for me. I didn't know where to look because to me that was a thing guys did on a date, or at least for a woman they were attracted to. I looked at my father, afraid he would be upset with Keith, but my dad shared a smirk with Keith, his friend, who just did it playfully to amuse his little daughter.

Keith let go of the chair when he realized I hadn't sat down, and I could see my dad looking on still amused, as if he had made fun of me. I felt the shame rise again but tried to swallow it down because I really wanted to make a good impression in front of Keith. I didn't really know why. It wasn't like I believed anything would happen between us, that I had a chance with a married man, but I wanted to be able to at least pretend something could happen between us.

I sat down, trying to do it smoothly, like a lady, and then looked at Keith when he had sat down next to me. I could feel my cheeks heat, like they had many times that day, but I pretended like it wasn't there. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to feel I was closer to him.

“How old are you?”

As soon as I heard what question I had picked, I bit my tongue. I had so many questions, but clearly my mouth had chosen the question I wanted an answer to the most. Keith smiled a little and took the wine bottle in front of him and the cork screw that lay next to it.

“Younger than your dad, if that's what you're wondering.”

Instead of looking at me, he looked towards my dad so he could gain his attention. “I'm not an old man!”

My dad laughed and threw out a finger towards Keith.

“Still, you look older than I do, Toshko!”

Keith laughed like it was impossible, and then they continued their banter. I sat and looked between them with a small smile even if I wasn't amused. I wanted a real answer to my question and had a silly thought about how I didn't want Keith and Dad being friends, even if that was the reason why Keith was in our home.

The men quit joking when my mom came to my father to ask him something, and Keith looked at me again.

“I'm 38. So yeah, a bit younger than your dad.” He smiled kindly at me, and I could see small lines around his eyes. He was almost 40. My dad was 47, so the age difference wasn't as big as I had thought between them. The age difference between me and Keith was bigger, though. 17 years.

“You're 20, right? I think you were, like, four when I met your dad.”

“21…” I stared at his big hands while he opened the wine bottle skillfully and I felt something itching in my stomach.

“Did you meet me then?” My voice was small.

“No, it never got that way.” He shrugged his shoulders, then showed me the bottle.

“Wine?”

I looked between his handsome face and the bottle before shaking my head.

×××

Santa, tell me if you're really there. Don't make me fall in love again…

I had said to myself that I wouldn't be with Savannah so much to make a more grown-up impression in front of Keith, but after he had told me his age, I gave that up. After dinner I played cards with her and her fifteen-year-old brother and then watched Miracle on 34th Street with the rest of my cousins. How Keith would see me as an adult felt impossible when he had heard about me since I was three years old. I would be a little girl in his mind forever.

I saw him drink whiskey, smoke a cigar with my uncle, and was loud in that obnoxious way only middle-aged men could be. My ex had been a boy, a boy who liked tennis and Fortnite. I shook my head to myself when I thought about it but still felt an exciting curiosity when I looked at him. He smiled at me a few times, and a couple of times I succeeded in smiling back, but that was the only contact we had the rest of the day until it was time for me to go to bed.

After my brother, Savannah, and all the others had left, I helped my mom in the kitchen so there wouldn't be so much work to do the next day. Both of us could feel the tiredness in our eyes and bodies and looked at each other confused when we could still hear my dad laugh loudly from the living room. On past Christmas Days he had even fallen asleep before the guests had gone home, but now he listened to jazz, drank, and laughed with Keith in the living room. He seemed to have lost ten years on his age by having Keith there, and I could see my mom was annoyed. She probably wanted to be able to lie down in bed with him because she marched out to them and told him sourly it was time to go to bed. I smirked, amused in my loneliness, because with age, my mom's diva behavior started to become funny instead of scary or annoying. I walked up to my room, skipping on saying goodnight so I wouldn't need to wait for them to finish their nagging. I was tired and lost in thought, so I forgot an important thing: I wasn’t sleeping in my bedroom. It was loaned out to someone else, but I just walked in and, in my sleepiness, closed the door and started to take off my clothes.

I thought about Keith's marriage while I pulled off my tights. Who was his wife? How long had they been married?

I thought about their separation while I pulled off my dress. Why did she kick him out? Would they make up?

I thought about who he was as a husband while I pulled off my bra. Was he loyal? Was he romantic? Was he a generous lover?

When I stood in my panties, laying my clothes on an armchair in the corner of the room,I heard a creek and looked towards the door that was being opened determinedly. I concealed my chest but didn't do more than that to cover my modesty. In my mind it could only be my mother. No one else would just open my door like that, but in the doorframe stood Keith, so tall his messy hair licked the top of the doorframe. I looked towards him in confusion for a few seconds. His eyes showed shock at first, but then we both seemed to relax under each other's gaze. I could feel him looking at my body from top to toe, and I basked in how his eyes glittered.

“I can take the other bedroom…” he said as he smirked a little. The smirk made me feel a sensation take over me, and a need for rebellion came over me, so I let go of my chest slowly. Keith swallowed hard but his smile grew while dragged a hand over his face. He looked over his shoulder like he was afraid someone would come, but at that moment I didn't care. He pulled his lip and shook his head a little.

“Um... Good night.”

“Good night,” I said, with a teasing smile, playing with my hair while I walked to my bed, letting him see my breasts in motion. I didn't know where the confidence came from, probably just seeing his eyes swimming with attraction and his cheeks rosy.

“Merry… Merry Christmas,” he mumbled before taking a last look and closing the door to my bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the door for a few seconds before starting to giggle. I couldn't believe I had done that. I couldn't believe how he had looked at me. Keith was a grown man. A tall, sexy man. 38 years old. But he was also a friend to my dad.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #barbarian #keith #Keith toshko

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whoishotteranimepolls · 1 year ago

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Welcome! Requests are Closed

I post a lot of polls, all in the name of some good fun. Please stick to the rules. If you made a request I'm getting to it, but I am a full-time college student, so I am very busy.

Propaganda is welcomed. However, please be respectful.

Disclaimer: My rules state characters must be canonically over the age of 15 or assumed high schooler or adult. Now that means minors can and probably will be matched up against each other and against 18+ characters. Please don't come at me about that choice. These characters are fictional. You can't hurt them, and a blog like this isn't going to normalize preying on minors. YES, it's wrong in real life, but anime teenagers are not normal teenagers. I literally just finished an anime about an assassin trying to get back to his wife. He was 16 and had a wife. I swore he was at least 20, but sometimes anime ages don't make sense. Please don't start anything, or I will start blocking. But for those of you who don't want to participate in those polls, I will tag them with #minor poll so you can block all polls that have confirmed 15-17-year-old characters. So if you have a problem with this decision, block the tag and don't participate. Don't start crap I have ways of punishing people even if they cause issues anonymously that's why there is fandom jail.

Now, that does mean please, in your request, mark that there is a 15-17-year-old so I can add the special tag for the sake of everyone that doesn't want to participate in these polls. To clarify, if they started the series at 14 and ended the series at 16, they will still qualify for my polls.

Now if you see a character that is a minor and the poll is not tagged, please let me know. You can politely leave a comment or shoot me an ask and I will add the tag. Some people are not the best at letting me know their poll has a minor in it and needs the tag when they request

Characters, where age verification is complicated due to magic, time travel, other universe shenanigans, or the immortal child trope are accepted on a case-by-case basis and will be tagged with the #schrodingers minor just to be safe

If the ship is incest, whether it be adopted or blood I will have to tag it with #incest ship so So people can filter it out if they don't want to see it. So if you see a poll that needs it. Let me know in the comments. However, this does not include found family. Please do not try to argue that ships like Naruto/Sasuke or Zoro/Sanji or somehow incest. I have seen things on the internet so I have to clarify.

If you have particular photos in mind, you can submit them through the inbox. Now if you send photos please no photo links. They are unreliable. They frequently do not work. And because I try to only use official photos, I do not accept links to Facebook or Pinterest for photos

Polls that contain spoilers relating to any fandom will be marked with the tag #spoiler poll so you can go ahead and block it now Now if you see a poll that contains a spoiler you can leave a comment and I will mark it. People are also terrible at letting me know if things are spoilers.

Not sure if the show counts here. Is it a list of cartoons and anime-like shows and if can they be requested before you ask

Please be aware sometimes people are degenerate and love to respond to things, with unhinged thirst so those posts will be tagged with #spicy or #nsft if you would like to block those tag

Non-Poll Series

These can all be found under their respective title tags

Poll Analysis, where I write down my thoughts about observations I have made about fandom behaviors and trends because some of you guys have interesting behavioral patterns, and I read every tag and comment left on my polls

Nicknames and Funny Tags, where I collect All those creative tags and comments that have been left on my polls for your viewing pleasure. I have posts dedicated to specific fandoms and their creativity, which I update whenever I have time

Fandoms vs Illiteracy, where I publish one of the many essays I receive asking me to ban certain characters or fandoms and due to their problematic nature or other stupid reasons. This can sometimes turn into a fierce debate

Defend Your Blurbo, (Series moved to sideblog) my bi-weekly series discussing how some people can find (insert Blorbo of the week) attractive. This can be funny. This can be stupid. Sometimes, this involves PHD level dissertations in defense of our favorite 2D characters. You never know what you're going to get. Also, look under the Defend your Blurbo response tag. That's where all my followers send their responses to the original Defend Your Blurbo post. Those can get wild! DyB Masterlist and Series rules and guidelines. This series is the reason I now have the #spicy and #nsft tags due to the amount of unhinged thirst that is NSFW so you can block those tags if you don't want to see it.

The Horny Scale (Series moved to sideblog) is a series where people ask where particular fandoms fall on the horny scale. I made details here, and the Masterlist. The series also use spicy tag system

Horny Jail's Anonymous: (Series moved to sideblog) Dyb and the horny scale's bastard child. For all the unhinged thirst and love letters to blorbos that I have received that do not fit dyb. Think of it as anonymous confessions. They come in two varieties: the Thirsties for all the thirsty confessions and the Fluffies for all the wholesome fluffy ones. They will be tagged with #thirsty and #fluffy accordingly, along with the usual spicy tags. More details here & here

Sideblog for the thirsty non poll series @welcometothehornyjail

Fandom Jail, aka the Wall of Shame

All fandoms listed below are serving their jail sentence due to bad behavior. Here are the dates of when you can expect to see polls from these fandoms again

The jail is empty. Everyone has been on their best behavior. Let's keep it that way

#poll request #request rules #blog intro

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maggplays · 4 months ago

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Bio? Something like that.

How did I start modding? Literally no one has asked this, but here's my story, don't worry it's not long... I guess that depends on what your definition of “long” is, haha! Hang on, here we go.

On a random day in January, 2024, a few days before my birthday, I might add... I woke up to stars in my right eye. A few days later, I was told I had a very rare injury and it would never heal. Those are not words an artist/gamer wants to hear! Long story short, I am now legally blind in my right eye. If you think, oh that's not a huge deal, you can still see. Humor me, get a cheap pirate eyepatch, put that on, then pour yourself a cup of coffee. Not as easy as you thought, right? Depth perception. It’s a thing. Anyway, on with the story. Suffice it to say, I was depressed. Majorly. Then, through some random conversation somewhere, I found Stardew Valley.

Perfect! 2D animation, cute pixel art, story that's not sugar-coated anime, I love it! Got to year 3, TBH I've never played past year 3 because ADHD, and realized the dialogue was quite lacking. Then I discovered mods. What the-, it's a freakin' goldmine! Downloaded a lot of things, mostly dialogue, and tossed half of them. While playing through a Sebastian run, I saw it. Oh. My. God. It's a coding error glaring at me in my dialogue box. This is NOT acceptable. I tried to ignore it, but then it happened again. Okay, time for some investigation. I opened the folder and found... json files. Interesting, I wasn't entirely clueless since I do know HTML code from back when the internet was a baby, Facebook had no ads, and dinosaurs roamed the earth. Okay, okay, the internet was more like a spoiled toddler. Yes, I'm old. Shut up. But I digress. It didn't take long to discover the misplaced punctuation and go on my merry reality-avoiding way. Until I got bored again.

I looked for more Seb mods, but there were like seven. Three were yandere, not my jam, and only 2 were updated for 1.6 and were dialogue-only. Solution? Make my own mod for myself. I spent six weeks downloading mods, learning code, Googling to very little effect, writing dialogue, learning how to make an event, discovering I knew nothing, and on and on. The perfect distraction from the whole eye thing. I finished a decent draft, loaded it up, and praise Yoba, it worked! And on we play. At some point, I saw a comment complaining about the lack of Sebastian dialogue mods. Huh, yep, they're right. Too bad. Oh. Well, I guess I could load this thing I made, it's really just my own internal story monologue while playing the game, I'm NOT a writer, and most people probably won't get it. But I did spend a lot of time on this, and maybe someone out there will like it. Heck, no skin off my nose since it's free. So I took a deep breath, made peace with my inner demons, and threw it out into the void of Nexus, expecting it to be swallowed up and ignored. That... didn't happen.

In the first few hours, several people downloaded it. Huh, Nexus must have a decent search algorithm. That was literally all I thought about it. The next day, 300 downloads. And comments! Mostly positive with the exception of one wild demand I subsequently ignored. At one week, it had 3,000 unique downloads. I was floored, 3,000 weirdos downloaded my mod. Add to that, people seemed to actually like it! I've never gotten so much positive feedback for anything in my life. Seriously. Apparently, my oddball internal monologue, thanks ADHD, is quite entertaining. Heck, might as well make another one... and here we are. Yes, I've gotten negative comments and unreasonable demands, but I do my best to ignore them and practice staying positive. Trolls be damned! It's a lot harder to do that for yourself than for other people, turns out.

So, bottom line, found something interesting? Try it! Does it make you happy? Keep doing it! Even if it's only for yourself, do the thing and let it make you smile. Share it with the world if you're so inclined. Get out there and kick ass!!

#maggs immersive sebastian #maggs immersive sam #stardew valley #stardew mods #stardew sebastian #creative process #creative writing

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ryiju-muunie · 4 months ago

Text

[I] Know it's for the better

Usopp/transfem!Sanji Vinsmoke & Luffy D. Monkey/Zoro Roronoa Warnings: college/university AU, POV Usopp, Nami-Usopp friendship, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff and humor, tooth-rotting fluff, light angst, misunderstanding, cuddling, slow dancing, applying lipstick, cheesy romance, ambiguously early 2000s Word count: 18816 DESC: Ever since high school, Sanji and Usopp were the best of friends. Two social outcasts with nothing better to do than talk to each other. But now, he hadn’t thought about his old friend in almost three years, opting to live his life in the present rather than focus on the past. Who needed that jerk who ghosted him anyways? Not him! He was happier now! That was until he got a message on Facebook. //// Usopp mistakens his very intense feelings as misogyny.

Two uploads in one night whaaat

NOTES: I want to thank @pyr0frnzy for helping me with some plot ideas as the god of Sanuso and putting up with my constant DMing for how I could improve scenes! None of this would've been possible if you and I didn't bounce back and forth between different ideas! I've had this idea in my head for so long and it turned into something more meaningful than I could've ever expected. It's so much more heartfelt about love than it was originally going to be. More Rom than Com. And yes, Sanji might be OOC, you'll have to tell me. I'm not too good at writing him as a character, but I really wanted to give it a try in this kind of au. So let me know [politely I will cry] if I can improve! Thank you to Sailor Song by Gigi Perez for being the only thing I listened to, to write the latter half of this story. Especially since my mom texted me to change it because it's been days.

They were inseparable. Ever since high school, Sanji and Usopp were the best of friends. Maybe it was because they were opposites who attracted one another, or maybe it was because they were both a bit socially awkward. Two social outcasts with nothing better to do than talk to each other. To anyone else it could have seemed sad or pathetic but having each other was enough. Someone to lean on who understood you. So, when Sanji had decided to leave the country for college, it was devastating. He had told his friend of his plans to become a culinary chef and make a name for himself. He had said how he’d never leave, but instead improve his own community with his food. So, it was a surprise to the brunette when he found out that his best friend would leave, especially to a place with such … little technology.

Of course, he had assumed it had to be him. Did he stink? Did he smell so bad his friend had to leave across the globe? Oh, maybe he did something so embarrassingly stupid he blacked out! And now the blonde was leaving him because of it! Of course, Usopp knew that it couldn’t be that [he never blacked out]. So, it had to be something else he did. Was he too touchy? Or too honest? He knew that all those late-night talks about their feelings would eventually bite him in the ass!

Whatever the case was, he bit back his protests in favor of his best friend. When they said goodbye, that was that for three years. Three years had passed, and the brunette had grown. It was apparent from his constant habit to Facebook his whole life, or the fact he started working out as a nervous habit. The once scrawny guy who used to be too scared to even stand up for himself was now … well, still scared to stand up for himself- but he was more built now!

Sanji wasn’t on his mind anymore. The first few months he tried to Facebook messenger his friend, but the messages would never go through. That, or he was being ghosted. Either way, he had to give up at some point, right, and move on! So maybe that’s why he started working out. Every time his mind would wander to his almost infatuation with his friend, he picked up a weight and crunched until he couldn’t think anymore. Was infatuation the right word? More like, constant-need-to-be-around-him-and-touch-him-and-breathe-in-his-scent-itous! And that was totally normal. Best friends always touched each other, like hand holding or cuddling if it got too cold at a sleepover. He couldn’t help but miss that, yet when he started to yearn- he went to do a few pull ups.

Now Usopp was 22, almost 23, and taller than before. Maybe he grew muscles in his feet too! He’d have to Google that. He hadn’t thought about his old friend in almost three years, opting to live his life in the present rather than focus on the past. Who needed that jerk who ghosted him? Not him! He was happier now! College was about to start up again, his senior year. He had a future career planned in engineering and the student wasn’t about to let some old memories rupture his plans.

That was until he got a message on Facebook as he was watching TV on his couch. He wasn’t too good with phones, preferring a laptop instead. But this I-Black-Moto-Whatever would work for now. The man pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and used that strange mouse thing to click into his Facebook app. He hadn’t used that app in, honestly, a few hours. Getting a message this late before school wasn’t uncommon, but it wasn’t typical. Clearly someone needed something from him, probably Zoro. Knowing him, the idiot got lost on his way back to the apartment.

But instead, it was a blank profile he hadn’t seen active in three years, with one message queued: ‘Usopp, can we talk?’

His eyes widened at the sight, letting out a breath. What. Was. He. Supposed. To. Do!? Usopp hadn’t prepared for Sanji messaging him out of the blue! He wasn’t even prepared for his upcoming midterms and his semester hadn’t even started!! Instead of acting, however, he opted to set his phone down. As if it was on fire, he dropped it and covered a pillow over it, then pressed his hand to the center.

Demon phone, being possessed by such negative energy…

Then he heard it buzz again from under the cushion. That made the student jump and stare down at the cushion. Two messages in the span of about forty-five seconds was a record. Especially for Sanji. It had to have been important, or at the very least something. I mean, radio silence for three years then two messages back-to-back? If anything, he was kind of lucky. The blonde could have just not ever messaged him again, leaving him to wonder what if for eternity. But he did get a message. Two in fact. It would be rude at that point not to respond with something, or at least not read the other one.

Slowly, the man pushed the pillow from his phone, letting it fall to the ground. Then he picked up the demon phone and turned it, looking at the screen. Another message had queued on the app, from the same person: ‘It’s Sanji. From High School.’ Before he could dare respond, however [or process what the hell was happening], his phone lit up. Someone was calling him. Was it him? Was it the person he swore he’d never see again if he could help it? Was it the person, though, that he deep down secretly hoped would run into him at the supermarket, so he could beg for him to be back in his life?

Usopp wasn’t even prepared!! The man never knew what he was going to do if Sanji wanted to come back into his life. Frankly, he assumed this would never happen. He just thought they were done with. Forever. So, the fact this was happening, days before his senior year at college, was very very stressful.

Without looking at the number or caller ID, to verify if it was the contact he never erased from his phone, he clicked the button and brought it to his ear, “...Sanji?” The brunette’s voice was timid, a soft whisper. Never did he think he was ever going to hear the other man's voice again. Or even think that they’d get to see each other. It was almost surreal, a kind of moment he wanted to photograph and save in his memories forever. It could be the beginning of something more, another chance at their friendship. Or it would tie up the loose ends of their old one, leaving them both satisfied with answers.

“Who the hell is Sanji?”

But no, it was Zoro.

Usopp kind of deflated at the sound of the gruff voice on the other line, contrasting the soft voice he had grown to miss. Sanji’s voice was nice and fluttery, although he knew he could raise it to be rough if he needed too. His roommate was definitely gruff, or less emotional than he was used to. The other man was more in touch with his emotions [anxiety], whereas the moss-headed one didn’t feel nearly as many emotions [anxiety] as his roommate.

He swallowed, “Uh TV character, whaddya want?” The man placed his phone between his shoulder and his head, adjusting his position on the couch to look at the screen ahead of him. It was some YouTube video he had found, nothing he was really interested in. YouTube was just a glorified ad filled Netflix with weird homemade videos. He’d rather watch anything else than the gardening video he ended up clicking on.

“I got us Chinese food,” Zoro replied into the phone, shuffling a bit into the microphone before he continued, “And I ran into that chick you liked last year. She’s ugly.” From the way his voice muffled a bit, before becoming clear, his roommate could tell he was probably eating some of their dinner. Great.

“She isn’t ugly!” Usopp retorted, looking away from the TV to find the remote to shut it off. Maybe some Criminal Minds would suffice…

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud exhale, “You have the weirdest type in women.’

“She isn’t ugly,” he narrowed his eyes, taking a hold of the remote and clicking the television off YouTube. What a self-centered sword obsessed prick. Zoro was more focused on Luffy’s [their other roommate] muscles than actual women. He just didn’t have taste! To Usopp, all women were pretty! Even that one girl who tried to get some of his blood to sell on the dark web… To be fair he had a crush on her before he realized she was weird like that.

“She so is,” he bit into another piece of food audibly, “I have Luffy, too.” Zoro passed the phone to the spikey haired maniac as the brunette sighed out an ‘of course you do’.

“Heyyyy Sopp!” Luffy yelled into the phone, making his roommate pick his own device up and turn it on speaker phone, to hold it away from his ear, “We got Indian!”

“I thought Zoro said Chinese?” He asked, a bit unsure. When it came to Zoro, though, he was used to hearing the wrong thing. Maybe he was dyslexic or had one too many boxing incidents, but he had no sense of … anything. Direction, spelling, breathing, direction, walking, anything!! He was unsure as to how the moss was able to survive that long without him in order to watch over him.

“No, I said Indian,” Roronoa spoke into the phone, before it was pulled back to Luffy who giggled, “We got Indian.”

As Usopp went to reply he heard another faint voice in the background, who he instantly recognized. He let out a gasp and brought the phone to his face, nose pressing against the small screen, “Put Nami on.” Nami wasn’t exactly their roommate, but she was welcome to live with them if she so chose to. She was one of his closest friends, someone who remembered their high school days with Sanji. She’d understand his anxieties and most of all she’d talk some sense into him. Knowing her, she’d tell him to respond politely instead of hiding away forever. Even though he really wanted to hide forever.

“Usopp?” Her voice cut clearly through the microphone of his cellphone.

“Go off speaker, I have important business to discuss,” he wasn’t wrong per se, but he didn’t want to outright say it knowing that Luffy and Zoro could hear. They’d probably laugh at him for freaking out so much! It wasn’t his fault this was basically the end of the world for him!

The man’s friend let out a sigh and he heard a bit of shuffling before she responded, “What’s wrong now?” Of course, she knew something was wrong! It was Nami! Nami knew everything! He knew he could always count on her for advice and more so to calm his nerves.

“Well,” Usopp hesitated a bit, his voice pitching another octave before he continued, “Sanji Facebooked me.”

“Sanji Facebooked you?!” She repeated before the student shushed her loudly.

“No-no! Don’t say it out loud!” He hit the phone against his head. Then he spoke in a more quiet, shaky voice, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was silent for a moment, but he could tell she was giving him her signature look, “You’re pathetic.”

“Hey!” He interjected as she then asked, “What did his Facebook say?”

Oh … what did it say? Usopp had been so caught up in all the drama of it he kind of forgot what the message said. He pressed his lips together and made a small popping sound, “Um… It’s Sanji from high school…?” That was right, right? Probably.

“And you answered right?” Nami prodded. By this point he knew his roommates were probably listening, or worse had her put him back on speaker. Cat was out of the bag, and the cat had Facebook, apparently.

“...Was I supposed to...?” He squeaked. What did it matter if he saw the message and didn’t answer yet? It wasn’t like Sanji could see the fact he had read it without answering.

“Did you click into the message?” Her voice was beginning to sound annoyed, as if she already knew the answer to what she just asked.

“Yeahh,” he looked away as his phone jolted in his hand from a loud, “YOU IDIOT!” From Nami. Usopp jumped and his cellphone fumbled a bit in his hand before it landed on the floor before him, shaking as she yelled, “Facebook has read receipts now!” Read receipts? He narrowed his eyes at the phone and peered over the couch as it rumbled around.

Then it went silent as the phone had been clearly taken from her and Zoro’s voice played through the speaker, “Your Sanji can see you saw his message without responding.” Oh! Oh. He knew? He knew Usopp read the message and seemingly ignored it? Oh god! Oh no! He didn’t mean to ignore his old best friend, more so, he was trying to figure out what to do. I mean, if he had it his way, he would ignore it. Not in a mean way, more in a cowardly way. But knowing Nami, she’d never let him live if he didn’t at least respond. Maybe she was in it more for the drama or she was trying to get him to be a better person than she clearly was.

The brunette climbed down from the couch onto the floor, kneeling over the phone as he let out a breath, “How far are you guys?” Maybe he could wait for them to get back so he could respond with all their help, instead of being left to navigate it on his own.

“Thirty minutes!” Luffy shouted from the far side of the phone, “We went to the Indian place across town!” Okay, so he could wait thirty minutes.

Sanji would just have to be patient; he was patient right? But knowing Sanji he was probably concerned. He knew his old friend well enough to know that if he had read a message without responding it meant something was up, even if he didn’t intend it. That blonde always worried for him, even if he didn’t need it. That’s why they were such good friends. Usopp had someone he could lean on who had just enough emotional un-regulation to understand him and his own anxieties.

He knew Luffy and Zoro were good friends, and they meant well, but none of them were in tune with their emotions. Nami too, she was nice but she wasn’t the emotional type. He needed someone he could cry to, and someone who would know him well enough to know exactly what to do. In some way, the man wanted to come crawling back to his old friend and pretend no time had passed. Pretend everything was okay so he could be held with comfort and fed those rice balls, those delicious rice balls.

Usopp went to speak but his ginger friend read his mind, “You’re not waiting. Respond to him then call us back.” And the phone clicked, turning the screen off from the phone call to show his Facebook messages. Sanji’s chat was open, and ten minutes had already passed. He seemed to still be online, his profile picture just being a faceless photo of some scenery. His old friend's profile was the same, and it had been for three years. There was one post he made when he started high school of some flowers, with the caption, ‘Just planted these. Hoping they’ll grow by the time HS ends’. That was his only post. Nothing with his face now or his new place.

He wondered, did Sanji look the same? Did the blonde grow his hair out or keep it short? Did he change his part and finally brush those strands away to show both of his eyes? Or maybe he finally shaved that annoying stubble on his chin that Usopp would always make fun of. Or he grew it out into a long beard. The man squinted his eyes at the thought, shaking his head. His friend wouldn’t do that, he wasn’t the type to like facial hair like that. And a blonde beard? That would just look strange.

Usopp sighed and picked up his phone, drumming his thumbs against the keyboard. I mean, he could say hi to start. That wouldn’t be rude, right? It set the stage for a nice conversation! It was polite and cordial, and it said nothing about his desperation to hear his friend's voice again. So, he sent the message, ‘hi’. As he went to put his phone down, it buzzed. Oh. His eyes widened slowly at the realization Sanji had been waiting for him to respond for … ten minutes. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done that before.

Sanji’s message read, ‘Hi, Usopp. It’s Sanji. Can we talk?’ Weren’t they talking now? Or did he mean over the phone? If his friend wanted to call him all he had to do was that, just call. And if he was honest, the brunette was betting on this. He really wanted to hear that man’s voice again. How soft it was, and how calming it could be.

So, he responded, ‘yeah let’s talk’. To which he instantly got the reply, ‘What’s your number, I got a new phone.’ Is that why they lost contact, because Sanji lost his number? I mean, that would make sense. But why for three years did he neglect to message Usopp and ask for it? Why was it now that he decided to message and break the ice? Unless something happened. Oh god, was he dying? Was his old best friend dying!? He was probably bald and sick, in the fetal position in a hospital bed!

Usopp sent his number and set the phone down on the floor beside him. It was quiet. No calls or buzzing for a few minutes, to the point where the man had suspected Vinsmoke only wanted his number to block it. I mean, was this it? Was he never going to hear from him again? Was this a taste of something that was going to be taken even quicker than before? So, it surprised him, causing him to jump just a tad, when his ringer went off. There on the screen was an unfamiliar phone number with an even more unfamiliar area code. He did say he was going far…

The brunette drummed his fingers against the side of his phone before clicking the answer button, turning it on speaker. God, was it always this nerve wracking to talk to him? Well, before all of this they lived practically next door to each other, in a town Usopp never left. Okay technically, he did leave- now he’s in the city over.

“Usopp?” A light voice filled his ears from the other side of the phone. It was different from what he had remembered of Sanji’s prepubescent voice. It was airy and dainty, something that reminded him of spring, oddly enough. His voice was gorgeous, so pretty he barely even recognized it until he made a sort of strangled noise, causing his friend to laugh. There it was. The same laugh he was so used to it felt so homely to hear. A breathless laugh, the kind where you knew he’d be covering his open mouth with a lazy fist.

“Sanji,” he responded in a whisper, staring wide eyed at the screen. If only he could Skype on such a small device. That would be neat, right? “You’re real…” Usopp didn’t mean to say aloud, but he couldn’t help it. Some part of him really wished this would’ve happened sooner. Some part of him was dreaming about this day for three years. And that part of him had taken over, taking control of his mouth too.

There was no response for a few seconds, before he heard the other say, “Of course I’m real… I can’t believe you responded to me.” He sounded shocked, as if he was in as much disbelief as the other man was. But they were both tiptoeing around the subject at hand. Why did Sanji leave him in the dark for three whole years? No messages or calls back? Why did he have to go so far away and seemingly never return until now?

“Why did you go, Sanji?” Saying his name was foreign, but Usopp never wanted to stop. He missed how it felt on his tongue as it rolled off. He missed hearing his own name from his friend's lips, hearing how elegant it sounded compared to anyone else. That’s what he was, the blonde was elegant. In everything he did, he did it with poise and grace. God, in a way he kind of envied that. All that training in manners and etiquette from his dad really paid off, making the brunette look like a slob in comparison to the other. But he didn’t envy his friend's home life.

What Sanji went through made sense as to why he’d want to leave. Why he’d want to abandon everything and start over in another country. Yet… he always wondered why he wasn’t asked to come with him. Why didn’t his friend think, maybe my best friend should accompany me? Wasn’t it obvious? Usopp would have followed him to the ends of the Earth if it meant they could’ve been together- platonically that is… With wives. And sex! Yeah…

It was becoming too quiet on the other end; the student half expected the blonde had hung up on him before he heard a small sniff. Small enough for him to know that he was going to get a loaded answer for his very loaded question.

“I’m… not the same person,” he heard a shaky voice murmur into the phone, “I was scared you wouldn’t like it…” Wouldn’t like him? Was Sanji kidding? He loved who he was, every bit of it. How could he dislike or even hate him? Even if it had been so long, he couldn’t deny the fact he could never hate his best friend. No matter how hard he tried, Usopp physically couldn’t.

“I’m happy,” he let out a cry, “I’m finally happy,” there he heard a hiccup, “I miss my home. I’ve been away from home for so long…”

“Home?” Usopp asked, drawing a blank as to what home his friend missed. Last he checked, he wanted to get out of that house as quickly as possible. How could he miss it?

“Home is with the people I love,” Sanji inhaled shakily, “I want to go home. I want to,” he hiccupped and sniffed, clearly sobbing more than he had intended to, “I want to go home, Usopp. I’m me and … I want to go home…” It was heartbreaking to hear his friend fall apart, all while he could do nothing but listen. Nodding his head as if the blonde could see it and rubbing the side of the phone as if it was his back. The man didn’t entirely understand all the words his friend sobbed about being himself, but he didn’t care. If he was happy, why was he needing to understand? All he wanted was his best friend back and now he got it, he wasn’t going to lose it.

“Come home,” he answered, determination rising in his voice, “Please.”

The plan was simple: Sanji and Usopp were going to have a good old-fashioned sleepover. I mean, what's to stop two best friends from sleeping in the same bed after two years? Nothing! If it was too awkward, he’d take the couch and let his guest veg out on his twin XL. Yeah, okay, it was going to be crammed, but nothing that they couldn’t handle!

Usopp had been counting down the days until his best friend's flight came back, as he had transferred to his college to finish up his last year, Facebooking him any chance he could get. It was truly an addiction. Talking to his friend and being able to hear his voice whenever he so chose to. All the student had to do was pick up the phone and press a few buttons to hear that laugh, that sweet laugh he could trigger with just a few stupid jokes. Now it was the day of, or well, the morning of. Of course, he couldn’t sleep. It was due to a mixture of nerves and pure excitement at the thought of seeing his best friend. Although, his anxiety was beginning to outweigh those bundling feelings of joy, ever since he got the text, ‘When we meet. I need to tell you something important.’

Okay, so this could have meant about two things: Sanji was dying, or Sanji had a girlfriend. It was more realistic to think his best friend was dying, since he never had luck with women. So that had to be it. I mean, what other major change could he have gone through in three years that fundamentally changed him as a person? At least, that’s what he kept alluding to, that something would be completely and utterly different. It didn’t feel different when they’d sit on the phone and talk into the depths of the night, or text as if no time had passed.

That’s what scared him.

What if the change was something more physical that Sanji was insecure about? What if, instead of dying, he had no arms? Or… no legs! That’s ridiculous, he thought, being an aspiring cook detailed a lot of hand work, so he made sure to keep his hands out of danger. So, if he didn’t not have arms or legs … maybe he shaved his head, or did something more permanent. A few tattoos wouldn’t scare him away, or even a lot of tattoos. The thought of his friend with tattoos wasn’t bad actually. As Usopp turned onto his side, trying to sleep, he couldn’t keep that image out of his head. The man who swore he’d quit cigarettes, shirtless with different inking's littering his body- And he sat up. Maybe he should do a pull up.

It was weird to think of Sanji shirtless! I mean, who did that? Not him. Okay well, occasionally him. It was normal to figure out how time had treated the blonde and how different he would be now. It was normal to imagine how his skin would feel underneath his own hand, tracing small circles against his arm. How soft he was… would he stay that soft? Or has he spent so much time in the sun his skin has turned tougher, like leather. Maybe he did have a few tattoos, something small. Something meaningful in a place he could show off and hide just as easily. Red, it had to be red. If Vinsmoke got anything it needed to be small and with hints of red to contrast his pale skin.

Usopp had done about twenty pull ups at his door before his roommate had walked out of his room- huh? Zoro had come out of Luffy’s room with a different outfit than what his roommate had seen him go to sleep in. Oddly, they had been becoming so close over the last month and a half. It was strange how they’d exchange glances or longing stares. Was longing even the right word for the types of looks they’d give each other? It was more intimate than that, if that was even a thing that could be considered intimate. Romantic, if he thought too much about it.

Zoro hadn’t noticed him yet, his back turned to his roommate who was hanging off the pull-up bar in his doorway. He was walking around as if he could trigger a landmine at any moment, making sure each step was quieter than the last to his room. Now that was strange. The guy had never cared about being loud until it was sneaking from Luffy’s room to his own. He never cared until Usopp noticed the strangest looking mark on hi… oh. Slowly, he looked away and began to pull himself back up on the bar. It wasn’t his business anyway, no matter how much the little voice in his head told him to pry. It wasn’t like he wanted to be in on the loop if his roommates were dating each other. Not like he wanted to be the first to know, or anything.

Was he wrong for feeling bitter? They never owed him anything, but he had assumed all of them were close. He always let Luffy use his fancy coffee maker and Zoro his DVD collection. And Usopp was the one who even suggested the three of them room together, over using the dormitories. They had been in the same English class, in need of roommates. It was a shot in the dark but it paid off. At least, he had assumed. Now, was it even worth it to ask what was up? Would a, “hey I know you guys are boinging but I wanted to know first so I could’ve made you a celebratory sodomy cake” be too weird?

The student’s thoughts were interrupted by the fifth pull-up when Zoro opened his door, jumping at the sight of him, “How… long have you been there?” His eyes were wide, staring like he had seen a ghost. Usopp blinked a few times and pulled himself higher on the bar, before slowly letting go and jumping onto the floor. He could be honest and tell the truth; say he saw the mark and the fact they were being sneaky. There wasn’t any point in lying when they were both standing and staring at each other. His roommate's face was riddled with sleep, deep in his dark features as they exchanged looks. It would have been more awkward to say nothing, right?

He went to speak, putting his hand on his own neck, which caused Roronoa to pull at the collar of his shirt. Over the mark. Just that movement alone had spoken more words than he had intended to, speaking volumes. It said, ‘I know you guys have been sneaking around and, yeah, I saw your neck thing’. It also said, ‘I wish you guys would’ve told me instead of hiding.’ Maybe the moss saw it on the others face, from how he frowned with anxiety, or how he darted his eyes to avoid the inevitable words to come.

“So… You know, don’t you?” Zoro looked away before continuing, “I thought you’d be, I dunno, upset.” Upset? How could he be upset if his friends were happy? Usopp was more upset over the fact he wasn’t told, but it was neither here nor there. He had things to do that day and someone more important was coming, in all honesty. So, not that it didn’t matter. But he wasn’t going to ruin his day with a soured mood. Instead, he was going to take it in stride. Which was harder for him, but for Sanji he would.

Usopp pressed his lips together and let his shoulders shrug loosely, “Zoro, you know I’d never be upset with you for something like that. I’m just glad you’re happy.” And he meant it. Even if he wasn’t told before, he knew now. That’s all that mattered, he supposed.

The two heard a bit of shuffling behind the green-haired one as Nami appeared, looking as if she had just woken up from the sounds of their voices. She rubbed the side of her head with a gentle palm, her ginger hair pulled back into a messy bun, “Why the hell are you guys being so loud for 10 AM?” It was 10? How long had he been doing pull-ups? He must’ve miscounted… He swore he had done just 20…

“Usopp knows me and Luffy are…” He trailed off, which elicited an offended gasp from his roommate.

“Oh, you told Nami but not me?” Usopp frowned and pointed a finger at him, “I live with you! All she does is leech off our takeout orders!” He wasn’t wrong, she only did come over when Zoro and Luffy were in the city for food. Or when he needed emotional support

“So mature Mr-I’m-having-my-old-situationship-sleep-in-my-bed-after-three-years!” She retorted, “He told me because I keep my mouth shut.”

His eyes widened, “I shut my mouth!” He does not.

Zoro narrowed his eyes, forming a tight smile, “Remember the pineapple?”

“Yeah, pineapple!” Nami shouted to which Luffy’s door opened and he groggily peaked out, mumbling, “Hmhmgm pine…apple?” His boyfriend beckoned the sleepy student over with one arm and let out a breath as the other slumped into his side, clearly also just waking up.

“Don’t bring the pineapple into this,” Usopp spoke, pressing his teeth together and restraining his jaw from making them grind together.

“You did talk for the pineapple,” Luffy mumbled, pressing his face into Zoro’s pectoral, causing his other roommate to roll his eyes.

“I had to tell the aut- you know what I’m not arguing with you guys,” he placed his hands on either of his hips, letting his foot tap against the wood as he debated what to say. Well, today was the day. His roommates knew vaguely who Sanji was, whereas Nami had had classes with him for several years. They knew he was blonde and liked to cook and, well, that was about it. There weren’t enough words in the human language, across all languages, to describe how truly amazing he was. How utterly fantastic he was to be around, how his company was unlike anyone else's he’s ever been in. So, he instead wanted them to get to know him themselves, rather than have some expectation of him built up.

“He said he’s at terminal B, with his luggage,” Usopp said as the group headed down the airport, looking for his old friend. Luffy and Zoro had been told to look out for a relatively tall, lanky man, with blonde hair covering his left eye. Simple enough, he supposed.

Except for the sea of people he was searching through, he couldn’t find him. Where was the man he had been waiting for, for three years to see? He was searching through the crowds, hoping to stop and make eye contact with the person he had been, well, yearning for. Yearning was a very… Well, it wasn’t the word he was looking for but it was the closest one he had! Yearning without the homosexual undertones that he didn’t have because he wasn’t gay.

“I think we passed term B,” Luffy chimed in, walking on his roommates left.

The man turned his head, letting his curly hair fall behind him [that he had styled back into a ponytail for this occasion], as he gaped, “What do you mean we passed it!? Sanji’s probably waiting for us!” With that he stopped and turned on his heel, pulling his small cell phone from his jacket pocket to see if there were any new messages. Of course, it had been two minutes since he sent his message so there wasn’t a new notification.

“I think he’ll be fine waiting,” Zoro gruffed, opting to stay behind the two eager ones with Nami, who enjoyed taking her time as well. It wasn’t a big deal to them if they got to Sanji right as his plane landed, but it was a big deal to the other two. Although Luffy was more so there for the ride.

Usopp craned his neck to send a glare his roommate's way, “We are not making him wait any longer!”

“I think an extra few minutes wouldn’t hurt,” Nami attempted to interject but she was slowly stopped by the vicious look that her friend hurled her way. He was so serious, more serious than she had ever seen him in his life.

“It’s just rude to make people wait when they land from flights. He’s probably jetlagged! It’s really the principle of it,” and he continued on.

He didn’t want to keep his friend waiting after so long. I mean, a flight that long surely had to have him worn out. Usopp knew all the blonde wanted to do was curl up and sleep, preferably with him. I mean, in the same bed. They always used to nap together in their high school years. It wouldn’t be too weird if they shared a bed again, so napping together shouldn’t be weird either. He just wanted to lie there, feeling his friend's body warmth beside him. Skin brushing against skin as the brunette let his hands trail to Sanji’s hair, lightly running his fingers through it. Combing through the strands.

As he spoke, he didn’t notice a woman approaching him from behind. She was taller, looming over him with heels adorning her feet. Long blonde hair that was pulled back at the bangs to show two pairs of shining blue eyes. Nami was the first to spot her and when she did her eyes widened just a bit with understanding, before she smiled. Zoro and Luffy didn’t realize, ignoring her to focus on Usopp’s intelligible ranting about proper airline etiquette.

“Um, excuse me?” The woman asked, lightly tapping Usopp’s shoulder. It brought him out of his words and made him turn his head. They looked at each other and there was an air of familiarity there. Something was different, but something was earnestly familiar. She looked like home, like someone he had waited for all his life finally back to him.

“Can I help you?” Usopp ended up asking, although he had more questions than that. Who was she? She looked like someone he had known, but that face was long forgotten. This face was the face he had pictured when thinking about his friend, the original image lost to the depths of his mind. It couldn’t be … but it wouldn’t… could it? He just stared, trying to piece together a growing puzzle before him. All the while her eyes were growing glassy.

“Do I know you?” He asked, staring at her with narrowed eyes and a hollow expression. She felt so far away from him. Almost as if she was across the terminal and he had to run to see her, to feel her.

“I’d hope so,” and there was the laugh. The laugh he knew so well.

Had it just been three years? And was this the change? Only this?

Why would this make him hate … her?

It made so much sense now. All those longing glances to women, or their dresses, or the constant twirling of strands of hair between her fingers. The magazines he found underneath her bed, the lipstick she swore was her mothers. The lipstick he always wondered about. How it would look on her, contrasting her skin. She wasn’t the same person, no, she was herself now. Sanji was herself and Usopp couldn’t help but feel incredibly at ease seeing her, with grown out hair and mascara on her long lashes.

“Usopp?” Sanji murmured, placing her palm against her forehead in disbelief. He nodded slowly, then again, and again until he forced himself into her arms. She wrapped her arms around him as he did for her, bracing her to his chest. She smelt like oranges and other sweet fruits, something homely. It wasn’t the smell he was used to, the one he remembered, but it was something he never wanted to end. His hands entangled in her hair, the strands he had been fantasizing about for days. He missed it, he missed the soft way it felt against his fingers.

And he missed her. Her. Not anyone else. Not Sanji before, but Sanji now. Whoever he knew before was gone and he was so utterly glad. “You’re real…” He breathed out, pressing his face into her neck, “You’re so real…” The blonde let out a gasp and he could tell she was crying. Was he crying too? Maybe just a bit. Usopp didn’t think about the others watching them, and he didn’t care to remember them. All he wanted to focus on was her. How she felt in his arms and how he never wanted to let go. I mean, friends felt like this right? A protective urge to make sure she would never leave no matter what. She would never leave him.

His roommates insisted on leaving the two of them in the airport cafe to catch up, wanting to look at the souvenirs instead. Although, Usopp wasn’t sure how interesting souvenirs from their home town would be. I mean, how many plush bears could they buy with their state abbreviation on them before it got boring? Either way, he wasn’t focused on that.

He couldn’t help but stare at her. The way she stood as she ordered coffee for the both of them. She knew exactly what he wanted without having to ask, effortlessly laughing as the barista made small talk with her. Sanji’s lips shone in the pale light, a pretty pink painting them in a way he had never seen before. It was glossy and a bit sparkly too if he looked up closely. Pink was a pretty color, but he wanted to know what that lipstick from their childhood would have looked like. That dark red with hints of berry undertones against her pale skin tone.

She insisted on waiting for the coffees while he found them a place to sit. Usopp didn’t mind, finding a nice seat by the window that looked out onto the rest of the airport. He sat down and found himself looking out the window for about a minute or so, before his attention drew back to her. Her hair had gotten so long, and it was pushed out of her face now. He remembered when they were younger and the blonde had insisted her hair should cover a bit of her face. He was so glad she had a clip pushing her hair back to show her eyes. Were they always that blue? Was there a chance her eyes had gotten bluer over the years? And that smile, it never changed. Maybe it was brighter now, more authentic. Prettier. Yeah, prettier. It suited her.

As he watched her, he couldn’t help but notice the barista giving her a certain look. I mean, he knew she was attractive but that was a bit much. The way he almost outwardly flirted with her in an airport of all places made him frown. Okay we get it, he wanted to scoff, looking away to the window with a hand propping his head up. But then Usopp froze. Why was he feeling so … would jealous be the right word? No, protective? No, no. It felt almost like disgust, a visceral reaction to anyone hitting on her. Anyone getting near her… Anyone touching her- Oh god. This was new. He had never experienced this before. In fact, everything she did was making him feel so strange.

He tried to swallow them as Sanji sat down across from him, two cups of coffee in her hands. She set one down in front of him and the other beside her, smiling nervously, “It was your old order in high school. I don’t know if you still like that stuff…” There was a weird feeling building in Usopp’s throat as she looked away. Everything she did was making him feel just that, weird. The way she pressed her glossed lips together, or how her eyelashes brushed against her cheek. Sure, she was pretty and he could acknowledge that, but she was starting to make him feel itchy in his skin.

After he didn’t respond for a minute they made eye contact, and he remembered he had to speak, “Oh, uh, I like it. I haven’t had,” he turned the cup over to look at the order sprawled on the side, but his breath caught in his throat. Usopp didn’t realize she remembered every aspect of his order, down to the milk and pumps of syrup. He had assumed she knew the general order of a matcha latte, but he didn’t know she remembered it… all.

“You remembered,” the brunette whispered instead, not bothering to finish off his sentence.

Sanji’s eyes met his and she looked away in apparent embarrassment, a pink blush rising on her cheeks and forming down the bridge of her soft nose, “How could I not remember!” She laughed stiffly, “You used to order it all the time after school!”

“It’s been three years. I didn’t even remember,” Usopp let himself smile, but he was soon overtaken by that weird uncomfortable feeling again. It settled in his stomach and made his smile falter for a moment. The feeling was different than anything he had felt toward his best friend before, causing him to come to a conclusion: He must be misogynistic.

…

I’m misogynistic!?

The wheels began to turn in his head, clicking as the gears grinded. It made so much sense. He had no issues with Sanji before but now he had issues. The only thing that was different was her gender, so he must have started hating women sometime after she left him. I mean, he always felt weird around Nami and the women he had crushes on, so it made sense that he secretly hated women without knowing he hated women. All the true misogynists were so misogynistic they didn’t even know it, being so deep into their anti-woman rhetoric, you see.

It made sense. Every movement she made was making his skin burst aflame, as if he’d stop breathing if she kept looking at him like that. So now that he knew he hated women, what was he going to do!? I mean, she was going to be sleeping in his bed for a week! Well, until her dorm was ready for her to move into. It could be a week, or it could be well over a month. Not like he was complaining- oh but he was complaining! He was going to have to share a bed with a woman, the thing he just realized he hated!

“Usopp?” Sanji’s voice broke through his thoughts, making him blink to remember where he was again. It was silly, he tried to calm himself. Maybe he wasn’t misogynistic but instead nervous to see her after so long! “Did you hear me?” She tilted her head, resting her chin on an open palm. The movement made his stomach do a flip, and he was back to the misogynistic drawing board.

“Uh, repeat it for me again?” Usopp trailed off, smiling awkwardly.

She nodded and continued a bit sheepishly, “I’ve been thinking about you for three years. So, I haven’t really forgotten…” The blonde’s finger traced small circles around her cup, not daring to drink it yet. Her eyes were on him, before she spoke again, “I really wanted to contact you, but I felt too scared that you’d-” But she was cut off by a signature awkward laugh from Usopp.

“Haha! You! Scared? Me? Hah! I’m… bathroom now!” And he got up, darting from the coffee shop around the corner.

God! How stupid was he! Of course, he’d have a misogynistic revelation right as he reunited with his best friend, totally ruining the moment. I mean, he could swallow it and hope that this wasn’t misogyny but instead pent-up anxiety coming out in the form of women hating, well, hatred. He should swallow it. The worst-case scenario was he could sleep on the couch and hope it would pass as the week went on. Yeah. It would pass. It would pass and he would be able to enjoy his best friend's company without all of these feelings floating around inside his head. Feelings if she got too close to that barista again, if she looked at him through her long eyelashes, or if she smiled. The smile he loved, the smile he still adored, was being tainted with his own women hating feelings now, wasn’t it?

They got back to his apartment soon after that. Usopp tried his hardest to ignore his very weird outburst and make her comfortable, regaling her with a story about a play he had the honor of being a tree for back in his first year of college. He was able to swallow his hatred for a bit, focusing on anything else but her. Sitting on the couch, he opted to put Luffy in between them. He didn’t need Nami near him either. Two women was something he wasn’t ready to battle yet.

Sanji got along with his roommates great, better than he could have ever expected. She offered to cook, although she didn’t have to. She practically insisted, begging them to let her try out a new recipe with whatever she could find in their cabinets [which would not be a lot]. As she cooked, she glided with ease across their small kitchen, going back and forth from boiling the rice to cutting the vegetables on a plate [since they didn’t own cutting boards]. The woman looked ethereal, making Usopp look away instantly when she caught him staring. Why was he staring so long? Was it the hatred of women seeping back out making him ultra focused on her movements so he could promptly feel disgusted afterwards? That had to be it!

“Usopp,” she called, breaking him from his thoughts again. He turned on his heel and watched her smile form, “Could you tie my hair back?” She nodded down to her hands which were busy with raw chicken, doing whatever it was she had to do with that stuff. Usopp wasn’t big on cooking, so truthfully, he had no idea.

Touch her. Touch her hair. Well, he had done it earlier when he was overcome with joy from seeing her. So, he could do this! He could do this! The student smiled tightly and followed her command, falling into a step to stand behind her. His hands ran through her strands as he had imagined doing so for days. Soft. It was so soft. When they initially met, he didn’t get the chance to truly soak in how soft her hair was. Usopp took a spare hair tie from his wrist and gathered her blonde strands by the base of her head, bringing it up into a soft bun. Something that he figured would suit her. Yeah. It was pretty.

It was so pretty, as Sanji looked over her shoulder to thank him, a few hairs falling out of place from behind her ear. Without thinking, the man reached out and tucked them back behind her ear, taking his time dragging his fingers down her earlobe. As he realized what he had done, especially seeing her facial expression, he pulled away. Her lips had parted, as if she was about to speak, and her crystal blue eyes were widened. Why would he do that? Why would he go ahead and do that without thinking!? Stupid, stupid, stupid Usopp! He pressed his lips together and took a step back, wanting to apologize but he … couldn’t. He would have never done that to a man, so why did he do that to her? Did his women hating ideologies also mean he had to push their hair behind their ears and caress their earlobes, too!?

“Usopp,” Sanji began but she was cut off with a nervous noise escaping his lips, followed by a, “HOLD ON!” The man turned away and made a b-line to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. His back pressed against the door, forcing it shut away from the world. No one else saw that, right? No one else should have. It was weird, God, he was so weird, wasn’t he? Of course, he was. No rational person would be misogynistic and no rational person would take it out on the one person he had been so excited to see for weeks. He was being such a bad friend, wasn’t he? Being so weird and thinking these things, and feeling these kinds of ways.

Usopp turned the lock on his door and stumbled away to his desk. If he couldn’t come up with answers on his own, as to why he was feeling this way, maybe the internet could help him. It was a long shot, as he was never very good at the internet, but he could try. There was anything and everything on those forums he had heard so much about, there had to be something on misogyny, right?

So, as he logged into Bing, waiting for his computer to load, he thought about what to search. He could go to Wikihow, and figure out how to tell if you’re truly misogynistic or just weird. Or… worst case scenario, both. Maybe he could go to this website he had heard about called Buzzfeed. Take a few quizzes and hope for the best, he supposed.

The first quiz he found was titled, “Are you misogynistic?” It was straightforward and to the point, which was what he needed. The first few questions weren’t too weird, like do you have women friends and should women have the right to vote, all things he said yes to. Then it got a bit strange.

“Do you think men are the superior gender…?” He read aloud, squinting a bit at the screen. Wasn’t that what misogyny was about? And if he was feeling uncomfortable around women, he was bound to think that too, right? So, he decided to click yes, moving onto the next question.

The rest of the questions had that same kind of air to them, all about how men were superior and women being less than. Each question he chose the yes answer to, as he thought that’s what he felt. Clearly, though, as the audience we know better than that. When the answer screen came up, Usopp felt his world shatter. It said he had a probability of 85% being misogynistic, with the other 15% being inconclusive as to if he was or not. So, he was then. That was all the evidence needed. I mean, the internet was always right, right? Especially Buzzfeed, or whatever website he was on at the moment.

He went to click out of the tab, but the man heard a knock on his door. He grabbed his laptop and slammed the top closed as the door opened, his best friend’s head peering through the door to look at him. Alone, sitting in the dark, panting a bit, was what she saw of him. Well, it was better than if she had seen the tab opened on his screen, right?

“Are you okay? Dinners done, I brought you a plate if you didn’t want to eat with everyone,” Sanji spoke softly, as she always did. She was quiet as she entered, closing the door behind herself with her hip and lightly turning on a light. How was she always so kind to him, even if he was such a complete weirdo to her? Even in high school she offered him a kind ear and a plate full of food, even when he didn’t deserve it. He never deserved it. He never deserved her kindness, especially with this new revelation about his personal beliefs.

“I’m okay,” Usopp smiled at her, reaching out for the plate as she handed it to him. Chicken fried rice, and it looked amazing. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he smelt it, setting it on top of his closed laptop. His bed was in the center of the room, he noted as she sat down on the edge, just on the floor. The student had never thought to splurge on the fancy stuff like a box spring or a headboard. Sleeping practically on the floor was good enough for him, he supposed.

“Zoro was telling me about a girl you liked last year. He said she was ugly,” she said suddenly, an air of teasing to her voice as she looked over at him, “I didn’t know you had piss poor taste in women.”

He turned his head to his best friend, scrunching his face in disapproval, “He always brings her up. She was very pretty.”

“Was?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Is,” a frown pulled on his lips, “She’s pretty. Just into blood sacrificing stuff.” He shrugged, waving a hand in the air before continuing, “I think all my exes are pretty.” Exes. Usopp couldn’t believe he could even say he had exes. In high school he had always dreamed of being able to say he dated women, and now he could. It was kind of hollow, showing him, he couldn’t hold down a relationship even if he tried. Three ex-girlfriends, all a copy pasta of each other. Was that misogyny, too? Dating women who looked the same?

“How many exes have you had?” Sanji asked curiously, “I’ve only had maybe … five,” she said, as though it wasn’t a large number. As if it could be larger. That was Sanji for him, always thinking there could be more when it came to romance. More women, more men, or stuff like that.

“Oh wow, I’ve just had three. I think we went to high school with almost all of them,” and he listed their names, ticking them off with his fingers. Sanji’s eyes hardened as she watched him, her brow slightly furrowing as he continued on, detailing when they dated and when they broke up. “They all wanted me after I, you know, got more fit.” He motioned to his person a bit stiffly, trying to laugh under her intense gaze. Had he said something wrong? Was it weird to talk about exes with your old friend?

“They’re all blonde,” Sanji murmured after a moment, her lips barely ghosting one another as she spoke. They looked so full in the dull light of his room, glittering from the angle he was at. For a split second, Usopp wondered how they would feel underneath his fingers. Just trailing his thumb across her bottom lip before letting go and pushing away. How would the skin on her face feel under his palm, as he cupped her face. How would she react if he nuzzled his nose against her cheek and inhaled her citrus like scent?

He hadn’t thought about the fact they were all blonde. I mean, they did kind of look the same. Usopp nodded, “I guess they are. Are your ex's blonde, too?” He raised his eyebrows, still not quite understanding why her gaze was so intense.

“No,” she breathed out, “Brunette. I like brunettes better.” Usopp’s stomach turned into a knot, panging deep in his body as she spoke. Why did that make him feel so incredibly nauseous? Was just hearing about her type triggering his misogyny!?

He blinked a few times and pressed his lips together to attempt to form a line, but it was breaking into an awkward smile, “You know I’m tired. I think I’m gonna sleep,” the student stood and motioned to the bed, “You don’t have to go to sleep now if you don’t want.” He just needed and out of these feelings building in his chest, and if it meant sleeping a bit early, he’d do it. I mean, he could always see his roommates tomorrow. And knowing Nami, she’d be staying for as long as she wanted if it involved free food.

Sanji stood as well, nodding her head slowly, “I’ll get ready.” That was all she said before she exited the room and left the man alone with his thoughts. Well great, he was going to have to sleep in the same bed with the gender he just found out he hated. He had hoped she was going to stay up with his roommates so he would be asleep by the time she went to sleep. But he couldn’t get everything he had ever wanted, right? Instead of complaining, he pulled his shirt off and slid on some pajama pants, plopping down onto the side of the bed he always slept on the most, the right. He laid on his side and covered himself with a few blankets, trying to will himself to sleep before she got back.

There was a fifteen-minute period where he was alone, where Usopp tried so desperately to sleep. When the door opened again, and he was still awake, he mentally groaned and turned on his back to see her. Sanji was wearing a tank top that framed her body and her new assets well- although he wasn’t staring! He wasn’t a pervert! No, he was a misogynist.

Quickly, he glanced away and turned on his other side to face where she would be laying. She sat down onto the bed and shuffled onto the mattress, covering her side in a blanket and staring at him. Her face was bare from makeup, showing bits of freckles poking across her cheeks. Her eyelashes looked the same, and her lips did too. They were still pink, maybe stained from whatever product she had worn before. But soft, they looked so utterly soft. He really just wanted to reach out and touch her face, for a moment.

“Hi,” Usopp whispered, blinking slowly at her.

“Hey,” she replied, brushing one of her hands past her ear to push some hair from her face, “I missed this.”

“Staring at each other?” He raised an eyebrow, to which she nodded.

“Yeah. I like watching you sleep,” a smile pulled at Sanji’s lips as she looked away, “Did you watch me sleep?”

Usopp looked away as well, trying his hardest to ignore his thoughts and those overwhelming feelings brewing in his throat, “I mean…”

“Be honest,” she put a hand on his, that had been resting on the pillow before him. It was soft, sending electric waves through his body as she intertwined their fingers, “You’re going to make me sound creepy if you don’t answer, Usopp.” She was always soft, he thought, remembering their old sleepovers. She was soft and warm, and plush, and God, she always smelt good. He had to admit, he wouldn’t just watch her sleep. He’d bask in her everything until she woke and he’d pretend to be asleep.

He hesitated, before nodding, “Yeah, I have.” Then it was quiet for a few beats before he spoke up again, “If I fall asleep first are you gonna watch me?” Her hand was so warm, almost lulling him into sleep. If only she was just beside him, pressed against his chest so he could bury his face in her hair… Usopp blinked a few more times, quicker than before as he tried to snap himself out of that thought process. God, that was creepy! Clearly, being misogynistic also meant he was bound to be creepy too.

Sanji smiled, biting down on her bottom lip, “Maybe. Only if I really want to.”

“If you want to?”

“I want to lay next to you,” she spoke quietly, squeezing her hand that held his, “Like we did when we were younger.”

For just one moment, he wanted to pretend nothing had changed. For one night, he wanted to act like they were back in high school, holding each other and talking about nothing until the sun rose. For one night, he wanted to press a kiss to her shoulder while she slept, knowing she was still coherent enough to remember it the next day. And for one night, he wanted to be the one to fall asleep last. He knew Sanji felt the same way. He knew all she wanted was to go back and pretend nothing had changed, that three years wasn’t three years but a day. That she never left but instead stayed, lived with him. Moved in with him at college. Cooked him food every day. Was his- his friend that is.

But he had to realize that she chose to live her life away from him, instead of what could’ve been. She chose to leave and every day he had to come to terms with the fact that it never would happen. She would never live with him, cook for him, or stay by his side. Because instead of a day passing, as he so desperately wished, three years left.

He was completely different now.

“Okay,” Usopp finally said, letting go of her hand forcefully and patting the space between them, “C’mere,” he mumbled, letting a new wave of exhaustion take over his face. He closed his eyes and felt two slender arms wrap around his back and her face press against his chest. This wasn’t the position he had expected her to take, but he didn’t mind. He pulled her in and curled around her form, chin resting atop her head.

For one night, they were going to pretend like no time had passed. Even if it was so apparent that it had.

Usopp hated waking up that week. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own, being thrust out of his peaceful dreams into a misogynistic sweat. Every day, he awoke to see Sanji nestled beside him, snoring lightly. Her hair was splayed across her forehead and her hand was always interlocked with his. Fingers twitching from deep sleep. It was cute for a moment, before that panging anxiety filled him. And he was back to realizing that this wasn’t as he wanted. He was holding her but at what cost? Secretly, deep down, he hated her and her gender. Everything she stood for; his subconscious hated it.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

A week had passed and her dorm still wasn’t prepared for her to live. It didn’t matter to her, meaning she got to spend more time with her old best friend. That was all she seemingly wanted, and it pained him to feel these feelings. Every time he saw her, his heart caught in his throat and made the words he wished he could say barely come out. Every time they made eye contact, he forgot where he was and uttered nonsense to cover it up. And every time she touched him, held his hand, brushed her arm against his, he felt like he was burning from the inside out.

That morning especially, he was on fire. His arm was on the pillow beside him, hooked around the blonde as she clung to it. As if it was just natural to touch him like that. Usopp had been awake for a bit before she stirred, just watching her. He watched as her breathing steadied and her eyes slowly fluttered open. It was anxiety inducing to hear her groan and turn to face him. Her eyes widened just a bit seeing him stare back at her quizzically.

“Did I wake you?” She murmured, bringing her soft fingers to push blonde strands away from her face. Sanji looked like a dream, painted by the finest oil paints for Usopp to drink in. For a moment he forgot his misogynistic feelings, his anxiety, all of it. He was stuck watching her chapped lips and her tired, sunken eyes with awe. She was beautiful, in every sense of the word. No- she was more than beautiful. She was ethereal.

“No, I’ve been up,” Usopp breathed out, bringing his right arm to wrap around her waist, resting his hand against her back. It was unconscious, pulling her in and relaxing at her laugh. For a moment he forgot why he was so anxious to be around her. He forgot his anxieties and instead focused on her warmth, radiating off of her body onto his.

“I had a dream about you,” her voice was quiet, whispering against his skin.

“Hm? What was it about?” Usopp asked, looking down at his friend.

“I cooked you eggs and then you exploded. Oh, because it was so good, you know,” Sanji laughed as he looked away to her shoulder, letting his thumb rub small circles into her back. It was quiet as they fell into a nice silence, that she broke after a few seconds, “Usopp?” The brunette looked down at his friend, “Do you want to do something today?” At that, he glanced away. He never said no to her, at least he tried not to. And hanging out with her was always fun … in a group setting. The truth of the matter was he had been avoiding one on one interactions, even cutting their late-night talks short by feigning sleep.

“Yeah, I think Luffy’s probably available- oh and Nami. I think Zoro’s working…” Usopp shifted onto his back, as he thought aloud, adjusting his arms to keep his left around her, while the other stretched out to the ceiling, “We could go to the mall. They have a Macys with, you know,” he glanced at her, “Clothes.”

Sanij sat up, pressing her palm to her brow bone as she stretched her body away from her friend. She always opted to wear loose fitted tank tops when she slept, which Usopp always tried not to stare at. Being a new misogynist, he realized that creepiness was a part of it too. He tried to push away as much as possible. Yet, every time he saw her exposed skin, he couldn’t help but feel sick. A sickness that called to him, begging him to touch her skin. Just feel it beneath his fingers and wonder why it was so warm.

“What if,” she looked back at him with her voice tight from her ongoing stretch, “We went alone?” Her hand slipped into her blonde hair, fingers entangling by the root. Slowly, she combed down to her long ends, repeating the motion methodically as she waited for an answer. Usopp never wanted to deny her anything her heart desired, truly, but this was going to kill him. If he was alone with her for more than a few minutes, he was fine. But a few hours? The entire day? Oh, he was going to have to plan his funeral now!

The man looked away, pressing his lips together, “Yeah,” a croak escaped his lips as he sat himself up, “Yeah, let’s do it.” He gave her a tight smile, something he hoped she wouldn’t read into. Something he hoped she wouldn’t try to ask about later.

Sanji gave him a small look, but it melted away into a smile, “I can make us breakfast.”

The brunette shook his head, “Nooo, you’ve been making breakfast everydayyyy.” Not that he didn’t love her cooking, but he didn’t want her to overwork herself, cooking every meal for him. Instead, he pulled his phone out and handed it to her, on a Food Delivery app, “Get Chinese.”

Sanji took his phone and tilted her head, “What about Indian?” She asked, scrolling through the app and pressing the tile for Chinese restaurants in their area anyway.

“I had that, like, two weeks ago,” Usopp peered over to the phone to watch as she inputted her order, “And I’ve been craving Chinese for, like, two weeks.”

The blonde looked at him, narrowing her eyes, “What happened two weeks ago?” Well, two weeks ago she contacted him. And two weeks ago, Zoro had promised Chinese food, only to bring home Indian food. Which was delicious, but not at all what he had been craving.

“Zoro lied to me,” a laugh came from his lips before he could help it, “I think he had an accident at birth that made him, you know, directionally challenged,” Usopp spoke, waving his hand with a slightly limp wrist to convey his point.

“Oh, he was a preemie?” Sanji handed him his phone, which he saw also had his order on it too. She had remembered it.

The thought pulled at his heart and caused a wave of nausea, as he replied, “No he was born.”

She stared at him for a moment, silently figuring out what it meant. Until it clicked and she laughed, leaning back on the bed and putting a hand over the top of her collarbone, “Oh! He was the accident!”

Sanji’s laugh was incredible. He couldn’t help but stare as she smiled, letting out tumbling breaths of laughter. Strands of blonde hair fell into her face as she leaned forward and brushed her index finger at the corner of her eye, stopping the incoming tears from her joy. It wasn’t even that funny of a joke, let alone Usopp’s funniest joke. But she found it funny. In some way, she found it funny and it did something to him. It pulled his stomach down and then up, stretching it thin in his body as he watched her.

Oh, he was going to be sick.

Usopp stood up and made his way to the door as she steadied her breathing, giggling and repeating the joke occasionally to herself.

“I’m gonna get ready,” he called out, forcing his own body to move as he went into the bathroom and locked himself inside. His brown eyes stared back from across the sink as he hunched over the porcelain. This wasn’t normal. This couldn’t be normal misogyny. Misogyny was a hatred for women, not the gender making you sick! I mean, unless he had unlocked some kind of rare form of true misogyny. Unless he was the ultimate misogynist who felt so much hatred it manifested into sickness.

His hands gripped the edge of the sink as his breathing came to him in shallow bursts. Never before had he felt like utter garbage, especially because of her. Because she was doing nothing more than laughing, God he was a prick. He had to call someone, tell someone. Ask for help. Pray for help and hope they could save him from this level of pure evil.

Shakily, the man pulled his phone from his pocket. Who could he call? Nami was probably asleep somewhere in the apartment, Luffy was at the gym at this time, and Zoro was at work. Calling Nami was the obvious answer, but she didn’t answer the phone. He didn’t want to tempt fate and call her multiple times in fear of sparking her rage. Luffy was the next answer, but he wasn’t very good at keeping secrets or truly understanding human emotions. He was a good friend, but not good with feelings.

So, Zoro was his last resort. He called, and called, until the moss answered exacerbated, “Long-nose you better be dying,” he gritted out through apparent clenched teeth, on the other line. Okay, so that might have been a mistake, the brunette thought as he awkwardly stared back at himself. He couldn’t recognize the disheveled man before him, who looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Zoro-” Usopp tried quietly, but he was interrupted with a rant.

“What is so important you had to call me ten times!?” Okay so this was definitely a mistake.

“Zoro let me-” Cut off again.

“You’re so lucky I was outside taking out the trash-” Zoro spat as he was cut off by a loud, “I’M MISOGYNISTIC!”

It went silent on that end; however, he could hear shuffling come from outside. It sent a sinking pang of fear through Usopp’s stomach as he came to the realization Sanji must have heard him.

The image of her crumbling because of his words- no, his beliefs- it was making him sick. If she cried because of his words, fell apart and sobbed, he would hate himself. He would hate every fiber of his own being if he was the reason she spoke low of herself, or even thought lowly of herself. He never wanted her to hurt, let alone from his stupid actions.

“Usopp did you say something?” He heard her voice suddenly through the door, knocking gently on the white wood. A wave of relief flooded his features as he realized, no, she didn’t hear him. She probably heard a commotion and went to check on him, because of course she would. Because she was kind.

The male released a breath and closed his eyes, deflating back against the sink, “No, Sanji,” he called back, placing the phone to his ear to hear more silence, “Zoro…?”

There wasn’t a response for a bit, until he heard a small groan, “I’ll have Luffy take Sanji out when I get home. So, me, you, and Nami can understand what the hell you mean by misogynistic.” And the line clicked on the other end, leaving him to stare back at himself.

The two drove in silence to the mall, with some soft music playing from the radio. It was a song Usopp didn’t quite catch the name of but Sanji enjoyed it, humming along quietly as she gazed out the window at the large city buildings. Living in the town over from his childhood home, he knew the area like the back of his hand. The roads were slightly congested, but as they delved away from the heart of the metropolis into the outskirts of town, it got smoother.

“You know, there is something I want to buy,” Usopp began, signaling to change lanes to the right turn lane, craning his neck over to check it was empty. The car ride was comfortable, especially since he knew he would be able to finally get this weight off of his chest. Get this dark secret off and tell someone without consequence. Well, not that many consequences anyway.

“What are you gonna buy?” Sanji glanced over at him. She had brought her makeup, setting up a small station on the floor beside the full length mirror her best friend had. She could do it in a few minutes, as if it was perfect. And it was perfect. The wing of her eyeliner brown and subtle, with a few coats of mascara, a bit of concealer, and blotted pink lipstick. All of which Usopp had no idea were things until she explained it to him as she went, earlier.

He looked at her and smiled, “Surprise.” When they were teenagers, he found a bottle of lipstick in Sanji’s room. She swore it was her mothers, as he investigated the tube. It was a dark shade of red forever burned into his cranium, down to the brand and shade name. He had thought about it every night for weeks after he found it, wondering what it would’ve looked like on her mouth. How it would accentuate the fullness of her bottom lip and her pronounced cupid's bow.

“Oh, come on, give me a hint,” she frowned, lightly pushing his shoulder.

Usopp laughed, as they pulled into the mall parking lot, not budging, “Nope. I’ll buy it and you can see it afterward,” a promise fell from his lips as he found a parking spot. It was somewhat by the entrance, showing off the old architecture of a mall that was stuck in the decade prior. But it was comforting, it reminded him of his childhood. This was the mall he always went to growing up, especially with her.

They got out of the car and walked to the entrance, which he made sure to hold the door open for her. She simply shook her head with a smile, trying not to let it take over her face. It hadn’t changed in about ten years since he started coming there when he was about thirteen, everything stuck in a haze of the nineties. It was nice, especially since he saw Sanji’s face begin to light up as she was filled with a sense of familiarity. She slowed her steps and took it in, gazing with wide eyes at the place before her.

“Do you remember when we went to the Blockbuster and you tried to rent the R-rated movie?” Usopp asked after the silence was stifling, nudging her shoulder with his own, “Kate Winslet had you in a choke hold.” This was easy. If he didn’t think about it, if he forced himself to swallow his anxiety, it was easy. She was … comfortable. She was home.

“It was pg-13,” she breathed out, slowly turning her face to look at him, “Where’s the Macy’s?” Sanji’s cheeks were a light pink, different from earlier. She hadn’t applied blush in her makeup routine, unless the cold was starting to nip at her skin.

Usopp led her to Macy's, breaking off from her as she went to look at clothes. He promised he’d return after he found the bathroom, which was a total lie. Instead, he found himself in the makeup section. It was memorized deep in his skull the name, which shocked the woman at the counter when he said, “I need to find MAC Cosmetics Lipstick in Spice It Up.” She hesitated for a moment and then nodded, pointing him to a row of lipsticks all without the tubes so he could pick the color.

Instantly, it caught his eye. The color hadn’t changed much over the years, although he remembered it looking a bit more vibrant than the slightly dull maroon he came face to face with. The tube was black, as they all were. But it was hers. It was the deep red he had remembered yearning to see contrast against her pale skin, like drops of blood against white snow. He remembered rolling the tube in his hand and imagining how she would apply it, how she would press her lips together and how it would … look. Usopp picked up the box where the lipstick laid in, paying for it almost instantly. The money didn’t matter, the only thing he could focus on was the fact he was going to see her wear it.

Usopp found Sanji looking at green blouses a few sections over, running her hands over the fabric and feeling it between her fingers. She studied the material with a keen eye, trying to find the best match for her. It would look amazing, he knew it. He approached her, clearing his throat to gather her attention. The blonde looked over at him and he raised the bag that said “Mac Cosmetics” awkwardly, with a small smile.

Her eyes widened at the sight, “Usopp… What did you get?”

“A surprise,” his grin widened as he reached into the small bag, pulling out the tube he had unboxed a few minutes prior, “An old surprise.” He waved it a bit then handed it over to her, where their hands overlapped. Sanji held onto his hand for a few silent moments, staring at her hand over his. Her eyes were glassy, fogged over with a hint of nostalgia creeping into her features. She knew. Of course, she knew exactly what it was even from the tube alone.

“You remembered?” She looked up at him, pulling her hand away and popping the cap off the lipstick. She twisted the container and out came the color. He was right, it was perfect for her. Her hand entangled into her hair, pressing against her scalp, “I didn’t think you’d even remember the color. I didn’t even…” It was a look of disbelief as she lightly tapped the top of her head a few times with her palm, trailing off from her thought.

“Of course. C’mon, can I put it on you?” Usopp extended his hand, before he truly understood what he had just said. How could he even think that was a good idea? He wasn’t worthy to hold her face, cradle it in his hands, and gently press the stick to her mouth. He wasn’t worthy to be the one who applied it, even though he really wanted to. It wasn’t normal to want it this bad, it had to be the misogyny talking or something like that.

He hesitated to speak again, but she nodded and handed it back to him, “Do it. But don’t get it all over me, long-nose,” a small fond smile pulled at her lips.

“Oh, don’t tell me Zoro taught you that,” he frowned and twisted the tube back down a bit, so not as much product was extended. She laughed as a response and he stepped forward, breaking the distance and forcing himself into her personal space.

Slowly, his left hand cupped her jaw, with his thumb coming to rest on the underside of her chin, tilting her face upwards. Sanji’s eyes darted from the ceiling to the brunettes, watching with stiff eyes as he brought the lipstick to her bottom lip. He had never applied a woman's makeup to their face before, but he knew you had to be gentle about it.

Methodically, he pressed the tube of red onto her bottom lip, dragging the tip down from the center of her lip to the bottom, before curving it around the edge of her lip and dragging it to the corner of her mouth. He had seen this done in a movie once, many years ago. And Nami had applied lipstick around him loads of times. The student just needed to go into his mind and unlock those memories.

The top part of her lips was an easy task, following the natural curvature of her upper cupid's bow and connecting it back to the corner. Delicately and carefully, he patted the product into the center of her mouth, continuing until it was darkened enough. He didn’t want it to be too much; It needed to be just right. As he applied it, Sanji’s eyes stared into his face. She stared with a new look of fondness he hadn’t even seen before, and when he asked her to press her lips together, she looked away quicker than she typically would.

It was silent, as he watched her shyly pull out a compact mirror to admire the color, he knew she had wished she could’ve worn years prior. She looked ethereal if that was even the correct word to capture her otherworldly level of beauty. It brought out the deep crevices of her face and painted in her ways he never once thought about. She was an oil painting that he had slaved years and time away to create, until she was perfect. And she was perfect. She had always been just… perfect.

“You did good,” Sanji closed her compact, bringing his thoughts back to reality, “For a beginner.” A smirk tugged at her painted lips and he felt a wave of nausea through his body. He tried to push it away, as she continued, “I never let myself wear it back then. I bought it and stared at it for hours but,” she exhaled, “I’ve never been brave enough to wear it.”

“You look really good,” Usopp replied, before a heat rushed into his skin, burning it with a deep red, “I mean- Not that you typically don’t- You do- You always look good- I mean you know what I mean… right?” His voice trailed off with anxiety, as his eyes squeezed shut.

His eyes didn’t stay shut for long, as a subtle hand on his upper arm made them flutter open. She was watching him with a wide-eyed expression, that same pink blush caressing her cheeks. In that light, she was prettier than she had ever been. She was glowing. She was an angel from Earth who had come to take him away. In that moment, he forgot everything he was supposed to worry about. His anxiety, that stupid misogyny, all of it. He forgot it and lived in her presence. He forgot it and lived like she was the only thing worth living for. In that split second of time, Usopp even forgot who he was as he stared back at her with a slightly agape mouth.

“I know…” Sanji smiled at him, pulling his forearm with her as she began to walk toward the escalator. Like a limp rag-doll, Usopp let her drag him with ease. She had always been stronger than him, even if he had a different body all these years later. Maybe it was because he let her throw him around, because he didn’t have the heart to use his actual strength, let alone fight back. He watched her as she stepped onto the first step and began to drift upwards, waiting for him to follow.

He always would.

They arrived upstairs, to the home goods section. It was dystopian to walk around in a department store with a girl he didn’t think he’d ever see again, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was silent as she led him, looking at the different furniture with a soft glance. He tried to focus on the chairs or the different couches, but his gaze went back to her. Every time, his eyes found their way back to her face, her hair, her red lips, all of it. As they stood by one couch, looking at it as she prattled on about how it would look good in Usopp’s living room, she slowly trailed off. Sanji’s expression shifted, as if she was holding back a smile. She pressed her lips together, biting down on her bottom lip tentatively. Her thoughts were clear on her face that she was debating something, mulling it over visibly.

“Sanji…?” Usopp breathed out, looking at her and waiting for a response back to signal she was okay. The blonde looked at him, taking both of his deep hands with hers. She enveloped them with her warmth and pulled him in, both metaphorically and physically. There was no space between them as they watched each other.

“Do you hear the song?” She asked, in a quiet tone. It was a song playing over the speakers that was barely audible to him at first. But then he heard it and slowly it captured his ears in a rhythmic tune. He had never heard it before, but clearly, she had, as she hummed along. “I love this song,” Sanji continued, beginning to sway slowly, “Will you…?” She looked between them, raising their entangled hands up to his eyeline.

She wanted him to dance with her in the middle of a Macy’s. The thought made Usopp want to push away and laugh nervously, declaring he couldn’t embarrass himself like that. But the thought made him want to take her close and hum along too, even if he knew none of the lyrics. The thought made him want to hold her and sway, even if it was just to appease her for two minutes. Two minutes he was going to cherish for as long as humanly possible until it was all over and he was back to being riddled with anxiety. Anxiety that was so far away now, he could barely taste it.

Usopp pulled her in, taking her left hand in his right and holding it out, while his left arm rested on the small of her back. Her head of blonde hair rested against his collarbone, letting his nose brush against the top of her hair. It smelt better than he realized, something fruity. She was a bundle of summer wrapped into a person's body. Like a ray of sunshine, embodied as a person.

Sanji’s voice was soft against his ears, singing gently along to the song that was barely audible to him. All he could hear was his own heartbeat and that faint singing. The lyrics were barely visible on her tongue, but he cherished it. Her voice was above a whisper, as if she was soothing herself rather than trying to be known. Almost like she didn’t realize she was singing along.

Then she squeezed his hand, trying to remind herself she was here with him. Like … she was reminding herself he was truly real. Like she wasn’t sure if this moment would fade and she would wake up alone in a room halfway around the world. Like this moment could disappear at any time and they’d both be left to mourn the shattered pieces.

He realized he couldn’t let her go. As much as he knew they needed to break apart when the song was done, he physically couldn’t let go. His body wouldn’t let him. He’d keep her caged in his arms for as long as he could until she broke from it. Then he realized she wasn’t going to break away any time soon.

Not at all.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight: You’re a misogynist now?” Zoro’s voice rang into Usopp’s ears and brought him back to reality, where he was sitting on the floor with his back to the couch as his friends sat across from him. Luffy had been kind enough to make up a cooking excuse to get Sanji out of the house so they’d have at least an hour alone with the famed misogynist as he explained his entire thought process.

Nami’s eyebrow quirked up as she leaned behind on one palm, “Is that why you’ve been acting weird? Did you discover 4chan or something?” She asked, turning her head to watch her friend.

Just a few hours prior he had forgotten all about it. All the misogyny, all the nerves building up inside his body making him shake. But now it was all out in the open for his friends to dissect and pick through, making the man feel completely naked under their stare. He was baring himself to them with his struggle, a struggle he didn’t even know he had until Sanji appeared back into his life. This could be the answer to help him, to get rid of it once and for all.

“Well, no,” he inhaled stiffly, “It’s about Sanji. She makes me feel so nauseous and gross, and it’s never been this bad before. So I went onto Buzzfeed-” Usopp began but he was cut off by a snort from Zoro.

“Buzzfeed? You trust that shit?” He chuckled to himself.

“Hey,” Nami swatted her pale hand at her friend, lightly hitting the bridge of his nose as he frowned, “Let him continue. Even if it started from Buzzfeed.” Her words were sarcastic and pointed, garnering another laugh from the moss beside her.

Usopp looked away. They didn’t seem to understand this ran deep. This was affecting him so much and it was all fueled by hate. A hatred he had and harbored, that could easily hurt the one person he cared so much about. He never wanted to be the reason she cried. He never wanted to be the reason she left again. His ginger friend’s face hardened when she saw his anxious expression. Then it hit her. It wasn't just a stupid joke he was going to say, with some stupider punchline at the end. It wasn’t something that was funny. No, it couldn’t be funny. Hurting Sanji would hurt him so much more than anyone would ever be able to understand. It was serious to him so it had to be serious to her too.

“Go on,” she spoke softly, nudging his knee with her foot so they could make eye contact. Her eyes said more words than she ever could, trying to be comforting in some way.

“Every time I see her, I feel so sick. And when she touches me my skin gets all hot and itchy… Buzzfeed said I was misogynistic when I put in all my symptoms,” he said low, shame rising in his throat, “A-And I feel terrible. She cares about me and here I am being all hateful.”

Zoro watched him, blinking slowly. He was silent as he processed this information, trying to fully grasp what Usopp meant. Then he spoke up, “Do you hate women?” Eliciting a smack from the woman beside him. The brunette looked up from his lap and he continued, “Do you really hate women?”

“Can you try and be sensitive?” Nami retorted back to him.

“I am! It’s good to ask questions when your friend is self diagnosing as a misogynist,” he spoke through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at the girl.

“No,” Usopp’s voice made the both of them look at him, “I don’t really hate anyone. But if I’m not misogynistic how can that explain m-” Before he could explain further, Zoro waved a hand in the air.

“You have a crush- OW YOU CUNT-” Zoro began but was instantly cut off by a smack from Nami, which sent him falling backward onto the wooden floor.

“You can’t just tell him he has a crush! You have to ease him into it!” She reprimanded, pointing a finger at the moss, “He can’t handle all that in one go!”

“He’s an adult,” he groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at her, “I think he can handle knowing he’s in love.”

She pushed his forehead back, “In love and crush are two different things, idiot!” The man fell back, onto the wood, letting out a breath of defeat. He was stronger than everyone in the apartment, although Luffy rivaled him in that area. It was clear from that interaction alone, he was letting her have her way with him. Zoro never really minded letting people hit him, he had no reason to fight back if it was his friends. And half the time it was.

All the while as they bickered and pushed, Usopp was seated across from them. His eyes began to unfocus and blur the world before him, turning it into street lights on a night sky. Streaky and blurry against his irises, as he sat and took it in. He wasn’t in love, he was the furthest thing from being in love. No, love was different. He had been in love before when he was younger, with one of his first girlfriends. It was intimate, quick, and it was fun; nothing like the torture he was enduring.

Sanji’s mere presence made him sick, made him unable to think of nothing but her, made him sweaty and prickled with heat on his cheeks, and made him a terrible person. Around her he felt comforted when he was far away from that mindset, but when it came back he could focus on nothing more than his breathing to ground himself. I mean, it was like this when they were in high school, but to such a lesser extent. He was always on edge around the blonde, breathing heavily and clammy. But that was normal. All friends were like that. All friends wanted to be near each other every day. All friends cuddled into the depths of the night, until it was practically suffocating for them to even think about letting go.

Friends touched each other, against bare skin for practice. Friends would spend nights upon nights talking until sunrise, because there was so much more to say. Friends kissed the skin on their friends neck every night, as a way to say good night. And friends shared intimate moments since they were young and stupid, and, of course, it wouldn’t mean anything in the moment- or the day after. Of course, they’d never speak about it again.

Of course, they were best friends.

Then it began to click, all the pieces falling into place. He never heard Zoro talk about Nami like that, how they’d steal glances and wish it would last forever. Or how when their hands touched it felt electric. They never spoke about how hard it was to sleep when the person you loved the most was pressed against your chest and breathing softly into the pillow beside you, so quietly you could barely hear her. But you knew she was there, and that was the most comforting aspect.

Usopp looked down into his lap, frowning deeply. How could he have not seen he was… in love?

“Guys?” He croaked, causing them to perk up mid-fight to look at his astonished face, “Am I stupid…?”

Nami hesitated as Zoro blurted out, “Yes.” Causing her to tackle him again and punch his frame, which he let her do as the floor was too comfortable for him to fight back.

“God, I’m so stupid!!” Usopp groaned, turning and burying his face into a pillow where he screamed just a little bit. How could he not have seen it wasn’t misogyny but years of neglected and intense feelings coming up to the surface to bite him in the ass? Maybe he shouldn’t have invested in a mechanical engineering degree if he couldn’t even deduce a simple crush.

“Why are you stupid?” A voice rang in his ears, causing the student to raise his head from the pillow. He saw Sanji, standing above him with a curious expression. She came back a lot sooner than he thought, with Luffy dog piling his boyfriend and their mutual friend with ease. Her outfit had changed from this morning, into something more casual. He sat up and pushed the pillow away, so she could sit next to him on the floor. However, she opted to sit on the couch so her legs were beside him.

With this newfound information bouncing in Usopp’s brain, it was hard to pry his eyes off her frame. She was gorgeous, even if it was in a baggy T-shirt and jeans. Her body was hidden, and he wanted so desperately to put his hand on her back, bringing her into his clutches. He wanted to run his fingers against her skin just to see what would make her pull him closer. He wanted to see how her hair smelt today, how her skin smelt, how her mouth would feel against his.

It was perverse and it was wrong, to have these thoughts run rampant in his mind. But they weren’t misogyny, they were built off of pure unbridled love. They were built off of innocence and purity. They were built off of his affections for her. The fact he loved her, so deeply and truly. He always had, ever since they were teenagers. He never stopped loving her, chasing her through other women to fill the void she left when she, well, left.

Sanji watched as he stared at her, eyes wide with curiosity, “Usopp?” Her voice broke into his thoughts, being the thing that caused him to turn away for a moment. He wasn’t being very inconspicuous with his staring, in fact he was being too obvious. How could Usopp not be obvious anymore, when it felt so good to indulge and watch her exist as a god amongst men?

“Yeah?” The man looked back at her and he saw something in her hand. It was red and white, and the moment he saw it the thoughts of his affection were replaced with confusion. He hadn’t seen her smoke the almost two weeks she was staying. In his mind, he assumed she had quit between the three years they were apart.

“Come outside with me? I could use the company,” she motioned to the box, shaking it a bit, “Zoro’s been coming outside with me usually before bed, but he looks a little busy,” her blue eyes trailed ahead of her, where he was letting Nami and Luffy punch his body while he laid there, half asleep. It felt like home to be there, watching them fight and sitting beside someone he cared about, without having to feel bad for those feelings.

“Is that why you get up early? To smoke?” Usopp asked her as they exited the apartment building into the middle of the street, where the crisp night air hit his cheeks and made them prickle with a red blush. She put on a jacket that was his, asking if she could borrow it because all of her’s were dirty. It was brown leather and too big to fit her anymore, loosely hanging from her frame as she lit the cigarette hanging from her bottom lip.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Sanji looked at him, waving the lighter before placing it back in her pant pocket. She pulled the cigarette from her lips and exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction from her friend, clearing her throat before she continued, “I always think you’re asleep by the time I go to bed, so Zoro comes with me out here. But then I get to your room and you’re still awake.”

“So that’s where you got long-nose from?” He mused, placing his hands in his own jacket pocket as he slowly walked forward.

“He did call you that once, yeah,” she smiled and pressed the cigarette to her mouth, inhaling and closing her eyes. It explained the homely scent that lingered on her skin, even if it was covered in citrus. There was something savory to it he couldn’t quite place, but it was the cigarettes. He knew she had started smoking young, it was almost like her thing back in high school. He could even picture her smoking behind the school as he sat on the ground, watching her with keen eyes.

“You don’t mind the smell do you?” Sanji asked, turning her head to him.

They made eye contact and he brushed some coils of his own hair from his forehead before he responded, “No. Reminds me of home.”

“I didn’t know your parents smoked when you were younger,” she flicked a bit of the ash onto the pavement. With the subtle glow of the cigarette then the dim street lamps, she looked like a dream. Something only a painter could capture. Something that if he tried to get a photo of, it would never be the same. It would never have the same effect as living it would.

Usopp shook his head, causing her brows to furrow, “You smoked when we were younger.” Sanji silently stared back at him as the small stick stuck from her bottom lip. She let it drizzle smoke from the head as she watched him in the darkness that began to surround them as the sky turned dull blue.

“I remind you … of home?” She asked quietly, a pink blush forming at the bridge of her nose and coming to the apples of her cheeks.

“Sanji,” he breathed out, “I think you are my home.” Before Usopp could catch himself the words came slipping out, telling more of the truth than he wanted to tell.

Her lips pursed and she pulled the cigarette from her mouth again, to cradle it between two fingers, “You’ve been acting so weird all this week. I thought I did something. You’re always so red and … sweaty,” a small but awkward smile pulled at her lips, “And you look scared, all the time. Like you’re saying the wrong thing.”

The moment felt right. The moment was right. She was standing in dull light and he was beside her, just a mere foot and a half apart. The night was fading into darkness, the cigarette was almost up, her hair was pushed back in a messy ponytail, and, god, her lips looked beautiful in the faded shade of red he had applied hours prior. There was nothing more that he could do than stare, even though he knew he needed to respond.

But how could he respond to her? He was being weird, and sweaty, and scared. He was all of it. No matter what he said, it would sound like a stupid lie to cover up an even more stupid lie. Because in truth, it was. It would be a cover up for something he never wanted to tell her.

“I’m misogynistic.”

Usopp pressed his lips together as he realized what the hell he just said. Sanji stared at him blankly, the cigarette falling from her fingers as she slowly blinked in thought.

“No- Well I was- well I thought I was! I thought I hated women, because y-you know you’re a,” he awkwardly motioned to her body then his eyes widened, “Not because that makes you a woman- you are a woman- a very pretty woman! And that makes me scared and sweaty- because I thought I hated women!” Usopp inhaled sharply before he continued, “But I don’t hate women- I don’t hate you! I thought I did- an-and I felt so bad, because then that would mean I hate you- but I don’t! I love you- I love you. Oh. My. God. I love you. I love you like- like- It hurts. It hurts so much that I love you and I’m … saying this… out… loud…”

Sanji stared back at him as he rattled on, eyes becoming glasslike until they started spilling silent tears down her cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed, until his sentence trailed off and she saw her face glisten in the street light. He had done it. He was the one to make her cry with the beliefs he tried to keep from her. Usopp had made the woman he loved more than he could physically bear because of his idiotic words and timing, and because he couldn’t hold a secret for more than five minutes before pouring his heart out.

He tried to fix it, “Sanji…” But his voice died in his throat when she let out a small sob, covering her mouth.

“You… idiot,” she looked at him, brushing her fingers by her waterline to try and stop the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. All the while, a wide smile adorned her face. The smile was what made her friend tilt his head and narrow his eyes in surprise. Surely, he had upset her, I mean, she was crying! How could she be smiling at his misogynistic confession?

“You idiot!” Sanji smacked him on the head, causing him to stumble back a bit before she grabbed the collar of his shirt and forced her eyes to bore into his own, glossy with her tears. Her expression was crumbling with something that looked akin to joy as she held him close, trying to speak but all that would come out were garbled sobs. And at that moment, all he could think about was how beautiful she looked, all messed up. Her eyeliner was slightly smudged at the corners of her eyes, although her mascara wasn’t budging. Her bottom lip was quivering as she tried to hold back a smile she never wanted to hold back.

“Are you… upset…?” Usopp raised his hands, slowly placing them on her shoulder blades, slowly prying her away from his shirt. She shook her head quickly, to which he responded, “You’re happy?” At that she nodded vigorously, “Why?” He asked, clearly not understanding.

“Be-e-cause,” Sanji squeaked, hiccuping before her words spilt out, “You love m-me, too.”

“Oh,” he had forgotten that in his confession of past misogyny, he also confessed his feelings a few minutes after realizing them. “Wait, too? You love me, too?” A kind of burning sensation was growing in his chest until it finally exploded, rising in his skin and melding deep into his face. He was on fire, and it was perfect. If she caused him to burn, he’d thank her and ask her to burn him again. Because he loved her, fuck, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it.

Sanji nodded, taking her knuckles to her eyes to wipe away the excess of makeup pooling at the bottom of her eyelid. Even with that messed up makeup and tear stained face, she looked like a painting. She looked messy and human, so beautifully human.

Usopp placed his shaky hand over hers and brought it to his lips, pressing his mouth onto her fingers. Then her finger tips, then down the base of her fingers to her palm, down to her wrist. She hiccuped as he brought her in close and pressed his lips to her neck, pressing a delicate kiss to her skin as she held him closer.

“I don’t think you understand,” he breathed out, pressing kisses on her face until their noses were mere millimeters apart, “I love you.” Usopp’s voice was barely above a murmur, something that he spoke only for her ears to hear.

“I- I know, long-nose,” Sanji sniffed, “I’m home… I’m home now…” She spoke as if she was sure this wasn’t a dream, but she needed to be certain. She needed to know she’d never wake up, and this would never end.

Slowly, he brought his lips to her’s, just to feel it for a moment. It was perfect, it was absolutely right. His lips were carved from the finest clay and made to be molded against her’s, no one else's. He was made to be her’s. Usopp was born to worship her and be there for her. No one else but Sanji.

His home.

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thefirelookout · 7 months ago

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Dead silence

This post is an attempt to share or let out some of my complex feelings about the situation in Bangladesh.

We went to our city's protest yesterday. It was a silent, peaceful protest. The Bangladeshi student community here in Kingston stood in a human chain with placards. "Save Bangladesh student", yes grammatically wrong, yes, it assumes that young revolutionaries need saving, so on and so forth. The protest started and ended quietly. My non-Bangladeshi friends were a bit confused, since they're used to chanty protests for Palestine, or union picket lines with cars passing by, honking in support. There was more noise even for the Iranian protests, Zan Zendegi Azadi. The silence of a graveyard in this one, though.

Who cares about little old Bangladesh? I sometimes wonder. We're not in the eye of the middle eastern storm like Syria, Lebanon or Palestine are. We're not strategically important, we don't even have many natural resources like Sudan or Congo do. The Prime Minister visited China recently to ask for an aid or a loan, and came back pretty much empty handed. China isn't very interested in us. India has gotten what it needed to get, and can milk more out of us, but they can do the same with Nepal or Bhutan too. We're never in the headlines, the US or the West in general isn't interested in us at all. And Pakistan denies that the 1971 genocide ever happened.

Which is why, the world isn't missing our voices due to the internet blackout.

The voices were all over my Facebook newsfeed. Aunties and apus on Facebook live selling sarees, jewelry, crafts, elderly boomers sharing gardening tips, quick fixes or herbal remedies that they swear by, people sharing posts about cricket or which cricketer's wife wore what, food bloggers calling every possible dish juicy (be it a burger or the meat in biriyani), celebrity drama, political drama to the extent of what was allowed back home. That sort of thing.

Now, again, there's the silence of a graveyard over here. And I feel like screaming till I snap my vocal cords. Can you all please come back? Please? The silence is unbearable! Please! I won't judge you if you sell your wares! Please! I won't judge if you think turmeric water can act as a miracle detox! Please, please I won't say a word if your post about your stupid cricket match! Just something, please say something! I haven't seen a single one of you online. Please don't die, please stay safe. When the internet comes back, please, post about your vacations and your pets. Not the dead, please, don't post about the bodies. I can take a bit of silence but not more bodies please!

Speaking of bodies. There was an armoured vehicle, painted navy blue in the colours of the police (fuck them). And there was a body on top of it. Dead, obviously, very dead, because it flopped down with the slightest nudge, and was left on the streets. Before that happened, the vehicle drove about as if parading its spoils of war, with the body on top. Sending a message. This will happen to you if you raise your voice.

That image has been haunting me for two nights now. So yeah, I'm not man enough to get some incisive political analysis out. I have no either or predictions for what happens if the regime falls or doesn't fall. My body feels numb, I've been binge eating because I still have food in the house and I won't be gunned down if I go out to get groceries now. My non-Bangladeshi friends, bless their first world hearts, have never had to live under fascism. Bless their hearts, have never had to stifle their voices to the extent that we've had to. Bless their beautiful hearts, could hardly pronounce Bangladesh. But they still showed up to that docile little protest because they care about my spouse and I. I can't even begin to thank them.

My insides are tearing up. I'm sitting with a poker face typing all this word vomit, but my insides are nothing but a scream. No clever realpolitik comes out of a heart that's screaming, because our mouths are sewn shut.

#bangladesh #student protests #quota movement #all eyes on bangladesh

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bottomless-pit-of-whining · 4 months ago

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So here's a thing I wish I could put on my main blog, or post on my Facebook, but I think all it would do is make me feel even more miserable and alone.

So, I consider myself Jewish and always have. That's my cultural and ethnic heritage on my dad's side of the family, the only family I grew up with. Yes, patrilineal, but I'm still Jewish. My dad's grandparents fled pogroms in Ukraine and came to the US as deeply traumatized people seeking survival. You can see the repercussions of that recent history in the generations that followed them. For the past few years, I've been actively working to find my place in that history and that heritage, because it's a part of who I am and who I will always be, and I want to be able to be part of it in return. That's my personal context.

When a terrorist group murdered and kidnapped a bunch of civilians last October, I was horrified. When a far-right extremist government retaliated by slaughtering an unthinkable number of civilians, I was horrified. I contacted my own politicians, I donated what money I could spare, I wept at the nightmare that was playing out.

I continue to be horrified as the inhumanity continues, at the sheer scale of tragedy and terror. I wish I had any power to stop it, and I do the small things I can to try to help alleviate suffering.

But you know what else has horrified me? The way my so-called allies, the leftists, the social justice warriors, have responded. I'm lucky that I could grow up without hate being thrown my direction (perhaps because people where I grew up did not know I was Jewish despite my very Jewish last name), but I am aware of what Jew-hate looks like. And I have been seeing people I thought I could trust now wallowing in variations of centuries-old hatred without questioning it, believing outright lies that can be easily disproven with even the most superficial fact-checking, listening to people who wish to do harm, and reducing a complex situation to the stark black-and-white, good-versus-evil conflict from a bad young adult novel.

I'm still going to hope for peace. I'm still trying to contribute what I can to help victims of violence and war.

But, speaking frankly, I don't trust a lot of people anymore and I probably never will. There is no place for me in leftist social justice communities.

I don't know why people have hated Jews for so long, except that I suppose it feels good to have someone else to blame your problems on. But people really truly do hate Jews, and they really truly have for a very long time with unthinkably tragic consequences, and there are modern groups who are absolutely thrilled to be able to bring newcomers into their circles of Jew-hate in the guise of fighting for justice.

And so many of the people I thought were my friends are following them into it without a second thought.

I am disappointed. I am betrayed. I am hopeless.

And I guess I'm pretty damn alone, because I am sure as hell not going to align myself with people whose values are in opposition to my own just because the leftists are also showing their hate.

It breaks my heart.

I'm posting this on my secret sideblog because, I don't know, I've been reading Jumblr for months now and it often helps me feel less alone and I suppose I am reaching out a hand asking if anyone else will be willing to take my hand and tell me I am not alone.

We are not a monolith, I know some of you feel differently from me in either direction, but I know at least some of you feel like I do and even those of you who don't fully align with me will still not smear me with hatred.

Tomorrow I am going to my first ever Rosh Hashanah service and I have been doing my best to prepare and I want to be proud, I want to be joyful, I want to embrace hope for a brighter new year and I want to shout to the rooftops that my people are beautiful and our traditions are beautiful and isn't it wonderful that I am able to step back where I belong among them, but instead I want to weep.

#jumblr #jewblr #does anyone hear me #because I sure do feel alone #side blog

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winteriron-trash · 7 months ago

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pinned faq

hi, my name is roman. i used to be a semi-popular winteriron blog, but now this blog is mostly dead. so. rip, gone but not forgotten. but i still get some pretty common questions so here's a one-stop shop for most of them as well as links to the important things.

My Tumblr Fic Masterlist

My Ao3

My (dead) WinterIron Discord Server

Did you write the Tony Stark wifi tower fic?

yes, i wrote that fic! it is by far the most popular thing i've ever written and it will probably outlive me.

I found that fic on [insert site here], do they have your permission?

probably not, no. i have found that fic everywhere. and i mean everywhere. pinterest, wattpad, facebook, instagram, tiktok, mediachomp, and so on. honestly, it's been years and i can't control or chase down every single copy and i have no interest in doing so. i don't love that it was stolen from me (especially on for-profit sites) but it just is what it is. it's a fanfic rite of passage to have your stuff stolen, honestly.

can i do a translation/podfic/write something inspired by one of your fics/posts?

yes! there is always a blanket permission to do any sort of transformative work with my work, especially my older stuff. if it sparks joy and creativity in you, run wild with it. i prefer to be credited, but honestly, i'm just happy to see my stuff still inspiring people.

will you ever write winteriron/mcu fanfic again?

well, you should never say never. but in this case, you might want to say never. i have very little interest in winteriron or the mcu in general outside of nostalgia, and i likely will never write anything substantial for them again. it's sad, i miss it too, but i just don't have that spark for marvel these days. mostly i write dc comics fanfiction.

did you write [insert winteriron fic/post here]?

idk. maybe. probably. i wrote and posted a lot of things. you can scroll the tag on this blog to find all my old posts, some more popular than others. if you think it was me, chances are, it probably was. i got around a lot from like 2018 to 2020.

do you have a tagging system?

i used to but lord if i'm going to use it now. i don't even remember it, so your guess is as good as mine. tbh i just use tags as a place to ramble these days so navigating my blog is about as easy for you as it is for me. which is to say, it's not easy at all. because tumblr's search function is ass. i do know one of my old tags has my deadname in it. you'll probably find it if you look hard enough, but that is what it is.

are you going to revive this blog?

probably not consistently, no. if i have something i really want to say here, i'll say it, but i don't have much interest in maintaining this like i used to. i want to be able to, i miss posting here a lot, i just don't think it'll spark joy for me the way it used to, which sucks but that's just the way things go.

why did you leave this blog?

idk. life happened. i was an 18-year-old fighting chronic health conditions and mental health issues that led to me dropping out of high school so, tumblr sort of fell to the back burner, then got forgotten about entirely. eventually, i lost interest in the mcu as i felt the quality of it took a turn for the worst and i went back to dc, which i'm still into. i read some marvel comics, enjoy an occasional mcu project, but largely i just don't have the interest i used to. it sucks and i miss it, this blog probably kept me alive as a teenager. but now it's mostly just an archive of my past, and i'm okay with that.

can i talk to you/send you an ask/befriend you anyway?

sure, if you want, don't know if i'm good company though. but i'm always open to making friends and reminiscing about winteriron, marvel, and all that good stuff. i've gotta warn you though, tumblr fucking eats my DMs on this blog like no fucking business. i'm regularly fighting it. my discord is devilbonesofmetal if you wanna yell at me there, just say you're from tumblr.

#faq #about me #pinned info #personal #and that's all i got. i might change or add to this idk #and in case anyone asks: my pfp is winter soldier 2099 #i think i'm the only person out there who's a fan of her but by god i love her.#keeping the old natasha pfp felt weird so i ditched it #mostly bc having read some black widow comics i can safely say mcu natasha was fucking wasted potential.#rip comics nat you would fucking hate your adaptation self #anyway #i'm very serious about the blanket permission thing pls go wild with my stuff i don't care.#honestly #you can just outright steal an idea from me if you want. be free.#the stuff on this blog is so old i have no possessive attachment to it #so go wild

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randomfoggytiger · 9 months ago

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"I find it tasteless that you don’t really care what KF did to those young people as long as your golden boy comes out looking alright...."

"You’ll defend anything adjacent to D. I see a lot of arguments that do not have anything to back it up, like he probably acted inappropriately while drunk at a party before and so what? I’m taking about MP (who said she was drunk?) being unable to control herself because she needed everyone to know she was with D and touches his dick in her spare time. Disturbingly, that’s what seems to give her self-worth. All that is why she’s not very likable or tolerable. Evidence shows that chiropractic adjustments do more to harm than help, but as long as people feel they work everything is hunky-dory? It alarming that you don’t care about real harm being done to people’s spines because it’s D’s gf’s father providing the service? I can’t respect people who push any of that bull crap."

-@iwantapenguin, 2024

Lie, verb: lied; lying. To make an untrue statement with intent to deceive. To create a false or misleading impression.

Slander, verb: slandered, slandering. To make false and damaging statements about (someone).

Gloves off, then. But next time, tag me properly so I can be notified that you are going to abandon a civil discussion and resort to violence.

Post I'm responding to here (and tangentially, here.)

I shall also give you the curtesy of quoting you directly so that everyone can judge for themselves if my claims are valid, fair, or truthful.

**Note**: I do not begrudge anyone feeling disgusted or grossed out by age gap relationships: the majority of those relationships start from a bad place, continue in a bad place, and are doomed to fail or take both parties down with it. However, the accusations flung against David and Monique without merit-- not those that are or were provably awkward or roughshod -- are a waste of my time, energy, and brain power. Give me proof or give me death.

First: "Whataboutism?" Wherefore art thou, 'Whataboutism'?

Next: "People who post their family’s whole lives on social media for attention or to make money are vultures." Except Monique doesn't get a cut off of management deals, engagement, or even ads. DD and his kids have posted pics of their personal lives, homes, and vacations, as well. They not only let Monique continue to post pics and videos, but also respond to (West) or engage with (David) them. And hi, yes, hello, I also despise family vloggers because they exploit children who can't consent.

Next: "MP has thousands of followers she does not know, so private her account is not." ...What? You can have a private account and still have followers without following them. I know people who operate their dinosaur Facebook accounts like that, young and old generation; and they're most certainly private citizens. I know youngins and oldins who operate their Twitters like that. You probably do, too, or at least know someone who does. I'm hungry for facts, but nothing's been proven with that statement.

Next: "D is so clueless he didn’t know that Gillian was taking BTS pictures on TXF’s set to post on Instagram." David didn't know GA was posting their bts vids online, true; but he was also the one who brought up that she was "always taking pictures and videos" when they were discussing fan engagement; and he and she both laughed over it while he assured Gillian he was okay with "it", regardless.

Their exact dialogue, transcribed:

David: "You know how stupid I am? How innocent and naive I am? You would take a video and I'd go 'oh, cool'."

Gillian: *smiling* "And not realize that I was gonna post it?"

David: *smiling*: "Yeah, and then you'd post it. It'll be like, 'Oh. Well, I should have taken a look at that one.'

Both: *laughing*

Gillian: "Well, you never complained so I thought you were okay with whatever...."

David: "I AM o-- y'know, none of it was terrible; but it was like, I never think to do it."

Also, he clarified in May 2015 (before, as you theorize, Monique could have gotten her hands on his phone or publicly posted about him) that he doesn't trust social media because of the assumptions, misinterpretations, and no-going-back nature of technology: "The 54-year-old actor, who has daughter West, 16, and son Miller, 12, with ex-wife Téa Leoni, admits he only uses Twitter because he was ''prodded to do it.'' The 'Aquarius' star said: ''I'm skeptical of Twitter. I'm prodded to do it, and so I do it. But I feel like there is an opportunity to screw up constantly. You have to be careful. It doesn't go away anymore! I tell my kids the same thing.'" Not because of some high-minded but too-lazy-to-accomplish-her-schemes gold digger posting his private business behind his back.

Next: "A few of his daughter’s friends unfollowed her after the sneaky filming started. The photos are already out there for many people to see curtesy of MP, so I’ll document her ridiculous behavior." Perhaps. I don't discount it. But if David didn't have a problem posthumously with Gillian filming him then, and if he still doesn't have a problem with Monique filming him now-- and I know he doesn't because I've watched him play to the camera in some leaked vids others repost here or there-- it would make sense, logically, why West engaged in the same behavior then and now, on her own and with Monique. Some days he might not want to be on camera for all posterity-- indirectly implying that lightheartedly to Gillian in the above transcript-- hence the leg and feet filming.

Again, we. don't. know. If she's a monster or he's a monster, I cast them off into the abyss. But we, the public, have no actual, factual information of... anything, really, other than rumors, speculations, or opinions. What we do know is: he was fine with Gillian posting, even after being made aware of it. He's fine with West posting his apartment and their family activities. He was fine posting a pic of Miller to his own account. He seemed fine with West's boyfriend posting an intimate father-daughter hug for Bucky Dent's premiere. And he seems fine with Monique posting since then.

For every mention you have of West and her friends not engaging with Monique years ago, she most certainly does now. And you can't hide that fact behind West using her father as a leg up in the industry without bringing Tea's contacts from both entertainment and finance into the discussion. Tea who, by the way, has been more than cordial and civil in each outing and sighting with David, saying they're friends, saying they still love each other, telling him he's a good influence and father to West, etc. Even after the timeline you allege he started dating Monique. Even after the other dating timeline you allege she gave fans in a conversation somewhere. Even after he flew in and out of New York before the pandemic. Even after spending the pandemic locked down with his son.

Next: "The photos are already out there for many people to see curtesy of MP, so I’ll document her ridiculous behavior. I’m not his gf, I’ve made no vows to him. He likes to make money on voicing his feelings and opinions. While I’ll continue to comment on a public figure." 'Ridiculous behavior', you say, about an adult posting milestones or cute pictures and videos to her Instagram. Interesting. If she were trying to launch her own career-- which you and your responders have said before she would, a couple times, without anything coming to fruition (the archives don't lie)-- your argument would have a leg to stand on. But then again, David and Tea talked about explicit sex (and their sex lives) back in the day; rolled atop each other on a crowded, public beach; sold David's bottom-as-brush paintings for charity; and promoted her charitable causes during their various movie interviews... so, I would still retract half a point.

Next: "She should have the loyalty, respect, love and care to not use him for attention." Would you say he used her for attention during his performance the night before Bucky Dent, pointing at her and waiting for her response during one of his songs? Did he use her for attention during his recent stories about their private lives on recent podcasts? Did he use his children for attention on his podcasts? Did he use Tea for attention during their collaborations? Did she use him for attention to promote her friend's brand during their recent family vacation? If we broaden this out to its conclusion: do the Obamas use their children or each other for attention, setting aside their 'loyalty, respect, love, and care' for each other in order to do so? Or do they just say or post what they want within personalized limitations that are narrowed or broadened as relationships shift and grow?

Next: "He’ll hold her hand or leg in public now that his mother isn’t here to witness them. How romantic." David's stated in the past his mother didn't listen to what the talk shows said or read what the papers wrote about him. If you want to be really technical, he's also said she had dementia or Alzheimer's (can't recall which specifically) for a few years now; and that it was so advanced by the time of her death that she didn't recall one day from the next. Would she have disapproved? You bet your bottom dollar she probably did. She also would have disapproved of him being as explicit and cussy as he was for decades; and she would more than likely have disapproved of him getting tattoos; and she would have most definitely disapproved of all his youthful, adult, and older adult sexual shenanigans, innocent or not. That didn't stop him before.

To be even more technical, most of the pap shots of DD and MP are taken at Soho House and Erewhon Market, two celebrity hotspots that managers, publicists, and paparazzi use to prearrange meetups in order to get the celebrity's name out there in advance of the next promotional tour, as well as merge their interests to get a split of the photograph proceeds. (I covered the topic here.) All David has to do is show up--ultimately, they're business strolls. He's annoyed (even angry) at having to do it; but he still holds up his end of the celebrity bargain 'cuz that's Hollywood, baby. And he's always brought Monique along with him.

Next: "He pushed her hand away when people were looking before...." Continuing on my train of thought. The other times he and Monique were caught unawares by paparazzi (his band at the airport, Vancouver, the beach, etc.) were during the Revival hype. Monique didn't try to snuggle up, grab his hand, or get too close most incidences. The hand move you're referring to was, I believe, after a live show when he was super-duper keyed up, wanted to leave, and was followed (semi-circled?) by fans. Yeah, it could be a sign he wanted physical distance from her... except he acted out the exact same routine with his kids whenever they got papped or surrounded by a crowd: walking ahead of them, retreating into himself, not touching anyone unless they were feeling insecure or scared, looking serious or annoyed unless talked to or joked with. It was a clear pattern to me, so I guess I'm surprised you didn't notice it, too.

Next: "...and made her hold his arm like he was her gramps." I have an older couple-- 70s-- who have been married forever and still hold each other's arm like that, preferring to keep any romantic overtures tightly under wraps. I knew other older couples who would think that's rubbish or insanity. I know other young couples who are physically affectionate in public; and others who, again, would prefer to keep contact to a minimum. I've seen, read, or heard of every shade in-between; and I know you have, too. Maybe David likes how it makes him feel. Maybe Monique likes reenacting Austenian period dramas. Of all the accusations brought against them, this amuses me the most.

To be even more technical, I can pull up preeeeetty much all the paparazzi pics between he and MP in chronological (not release, they were reshuffled) order to prove that he initiated more contact with MP than the other way around, stemming as far back as 2017.

Next: "They didn’t have to have contact with Tim once he started dating their mother but they always did." First of all, I challenge you to prove that assertion. Second of all... why is that the focus of your question? Why did or didn't they have to? That's an assumption equal to the kids having no contact at all with MP for years. We don't know.

Tim said on a podcast that he and Tea shared a trailer to catch a nap early on in their relationship. Their coworkers suspected they were dating the entire first season, long before they announced it publicly (five-six months later around Christmas.) Tea and David previously married each other within eight weeks. Tea moves fast. We don't know how fast; but we do know one source alleged she and Tim were an item since summer (July) of 2014. David then filed for divorce in August, citing an "irretrievable breakdown of the marriage" (meaning Tea was ready to move on, that's her prerogative); and she and Tim spent Season 1 fake kissing but looked like they were "really kissing", according to an onset actor friend. All this to say, pretty sure Madam Secretary's pilot filmed in May; and if she and Tim were "on" by July, etc., it stands to reason she moves at the same pace as she did with her first husband; then David; then (presumably) Tim. Meaning, we don't know how much contact the kids had with Tim; but it was probably, likely, a lot. Monique, meanwhile, lived primarily in California; and she and the kids had separate worlds, we assume, until West graduated and started forming her own relationship behind the scenes. Miller seems to have followed suit; and the rest is history. All of those are provable facts because we have what David and Tea have said about and done with each other; what Tea and Tim have said about each other; what observers have confirmed or denied on all angles of the situation; and what the kids were doing then and doing now.

Next: "She smoked, loved red meat, wasn’t a gym rat etc. It’s just a little thing, not marriage ending but people fair better the more similar their habits." Your previous implication in the comments of our last chat here was that they wouldn't have lasted long because David couldn't mold Tea into the woman HE wanted. You assume he cheated, cheated, cheated until rehab, then cheated, cheated, cheated some more until their second and final breakup (despite the fact sources from her side said the final dissolution was due to her love not being the same as pre-rehab, not that he'd kept acting reprehensibly), then hooked up with a 19-year-old mercenary social climber that, somehow, waited two years before accidentally leaking where she and her boyfriend would be working out (in a reply to the owners of the Instagram gym they would be going to... which means someone had to have been stalking who she was talking to in order to find that information, hm) so he could no longer hide her away like a dirty secret. Those aspects of Tea were brought up to subtly back your larger point, which was to lay the blame at David's feet one way or another. If he deserves it, lay it there. But prove that he deserves it.

Next: "MP is at his beck and call, she will also twin him without hesitation." MP at his beck and call? ...Or maybe she's down to fly free to any cool new location, down to fly wherever he is because he's her boyfriend and she loves him, down to enjoy a financial freedom we mortals could only dream of having, etc., etc.? Assumptions on all sides; and, again, no proof.

Next: "They didn’t follow each other before because they didn’t interact in real life either. She had to leave when they were visiting up until 2022 and 2023. They didn’t have to have contact with Tim once he started dating their mother but they always did." Never denied that was the case. Still don't buy there was some grand conspiracy happening behind the scenes to keep the kids away from the disgusting age gap relationship and the dastardly, evil machinations MP was concocting on her evil Instagram account. I need hard proof before I believe assumptions.

Next: "Regarding Téa you are assuming she must be ok with MP because she’s good with D but I’m pointing out that she admitted she still wanted to strangle him sometimes for the things he does on a national television show" I never said Tea was okay with MP, just that she's more than okay with David despite his relationship.

Also, Tea's throttle comment disproves your angle, actually. Might as well throw it in here because that's a point you've not let go.

Tea's comment with full context:

In fact, the exes are on very amicable terms and talk almost every day, they even shared a rental home with all of their family over the Christmas period. But this doesn't mean the pair's current relationship is always smooth sailing. “On occasion, I want to throttle him,” she said of her former hubby. "But in any real relationship with someone you love, that’s true.”

Tea's quote the previous year, fresh from divorce:

"Listen, David gave me the two greatest gifts on the planet; I don't know how I could ever hate him. We've always loved each other, and we adore these kids," the 'Jurassic Park 3' actress said of her children, Kyd Miller, 12, and Madelaine West, 15. "I'm not playing stupid-I understand feelings can get hurt and things can get icky. We've had our moments like that. But these kids are too important, and he feels the same way. I know it," she continued. "He's a good guy."

Next: "Of course MP showed everyone the second she first hung out with both of them to no one’s surprise." This doesn't hold up in court, either, because West and her boyfriend gushed over MP all summer. West would have complained to her mom or dad if she felt uncomfortable with the video posted; and neither parent have would let that happen again. Furthermore, guess who was relaxed, smiling, and engaging with the camera, other than Monique? West. Guess who hugged up on Monique while her dad and Ben Stiller celebrated Bucky Dent's release with a performance? West. Guess who gave Monique a happy Happy Birthday message? West. Guess who attended a Taylor Swift concert with Monique? West. Guess who went with her to London to, as you say, "babysit" Monique? West. Guess who celebrated her birthday in New York with, you assume, Monique? West. Guess who'll be elsewhere with Monique in future? Probably West.

Next: "What are you taking about fixing things because of what’s written about her? She made fun of people for saying her friend was her boyfriend because they were disgusted by thought of David dating her and didn’t want to believe she was for real. So that was proof she was reading a few tumblrs when her name was first revealed." Logical inference but incomplete reasoning, I believe. David knows exactly what was said about his House of D movie; David knows what everyone was saying and has said about him during his rehab, reunion, and divorce; Tea knows what might be said and forbids Tim to talk about her in interviews; I know and you know what is being said about each other, which is why we're here (but at least I'll respond to you properly with a reblog or @); and Monique knows what people say about her because she possibly Googled herself or, I don't know, took a look at the vitriol in her comments section-- a few of which you've reposted in the past so even I got to see them. Lovely times. Again, no definitive proof.

Next: "How am I supposed to know if she’s read my blog? But what a dedicated reader you are." Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment instead of a barb. I began poking around your archives right around the time you made a post trying to debunk my David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson seasonal palette posts. (If you're trying to put me off, consider that you brought up our difference of opinion once again in the midst of an entirely separate talk about Monique and David's relationship.) You didn't have the curtesy to @ me then (and now); but I started scrolling while waiting for you to respond, came across a host of information, and decided to come back later to iron out some details. Needless to say, you can't passive-aggressively point a finger at me when your posts are supposed to be public to begin with, not even coyly private like you claim Monique's Instagram account is. One pointing forward, three pointing back, after all.

While we're on the topic, I also caught a lie you told during our previous conversation. Back in 2019? you put a cryptic message saying you didn't believe David and West were close because of Monique; and when West posted the next day for Father's Day, you followed up with another cryptic post hinting MP was reading her Tumblr detractors; and when another user called you out for that, you denied, denied, denied that was your intent; and then you confirmed that that had been your intent to me (in essence, restating that you believe MP keeps up with her anti Tumblr accounts and pressures DD's kids through him to post nice family tributes so they'll cover for her manipulative tactics actively destroying everyone's hunky dory life.) It's the same train of thought as "Gillovny is married"; except your theories are couched with half facts instead of pure insanity.

Next: "She’s never looked anorexic to me so thin yes but not too thin. D was only shockingly thin after Téa left him for good in 2011. My criticism has alway been to question the men in her life and her surroundings pushing her to get plastic surgery and to over exercise which made her much slimmer than she was before. Is that constructive enough?" Yes, actually; because this ties beautifully into my next point about your warfare tactics.

Indirect aggression is a form of aggression that hides behind "my opinion" or "my two cents" to bully others without receiving backlash. While it can be used in sexually competitive environments (in same sex bullying, for example), it mainly extends to interpersonal groups, families, and anonymous online forums. To quote National Library of Medicine: "According to Björkqvist [15], females prefer to use indirect aggression over direct aggression (i.e. verbal and physical aggression) because this form of aggression maximizes the harm inflicted on the victim while minimizing the personal danger involved. The risk to the perpetrator is lower because he/she often remains anonymous, thereby avoiding a counterattack. As well, indirect aggression harms others in such a socially skilled manner that the aggressor can also make it appear as if there was ‘no intention to hurt at all’." I recommend reading the study: it has a few fascinating things to say about perceived threats and thinness, as well.

The study continues: "Indirect aggression is circuitous in nature and entails actions such as getting others to dislike a person, excluding peers from the group, giving someone the ‘silent treatment’, purposefully divulging secrets to others, and the use of derisive body and facial gestures to make another feel self-conscious." While I can't see your face while typing out a post, your words do a sufficient enough job: "When has she ever been stunning honestly? She’s comparable to Perry Reeves and Suzanne Lanza. Average, a little masculine, thin and no sagging. The face doesn’t matter to men like David, nor intellect."

Another quote from a study published on PubMed Central: "In indirect aggression, the aggressor often uses others in the social group to harm the target and may avoid direct confrontation, whereas in direct aggression, the aggressor either physically or verbally confronts the target." Examples? Posting one's opinions about another person indirectly to their blog by not, say, tagging or addressing the 'opposition' directly, leaving them to be told about it or stumble onto it later before they can defend themselves... that might, perhaps, fit the bill. As would calling David and Monique names; then, when given pushback, telling detractors they don't need to care about your opinions, anyway. (For the record, I don't. Just found it fascinating to study the oh so subtle shifts of your narrative back and forth. That compliment's a freebie, by the way-- I try to hand out at least one in each negatively bent post.)

Don't get me wrong: if Monique were a provably bad person, I'd dust off my hands and let you have at. But for all your opinions, you have very few facts; and the mess-ups, flubs, or ill-thought actions on MP's part you have mentioned are so disparate and scattered-- and rarely repeated-- that they look less like condemning incidents and more like overblown reactions to mundane or innocent mistakes.

And before you write off my points by claiming I'm claiming you're jealous of Monique or some such nonsense, one of the above studies openly acknowledges that indirect aggression is not built on the premise of intrasexual competition strategy: "...developmental psychologists have tended to not conceptualize females' use of indirect aggression as an intrasexual competition strategy."

Next: "Again with the whataboutism." Art thou 'Whataboutism'?

Next: "So you were at the after party to see people’s reactions and parties where D’s been drunk?" No, and neither were you. You were also not at David's apartment when Monique and the kids might or might not have been there; you were also not in the room when David and Tea and the kids discussed Tim or Monique; and you were also not in either Monique's or David's head during the posts, blocks, unfollows, refollows, etc. decisions that were made. I merely commented on the fact that you have brought up his drinking before events in in the past, your reactions to it, others on here's reactions to it, and David's circle of friends, and what I do and don't know of said friends' behavior in the past.

Next: "D and T were inappropriate but consensual. PM pulled G’s bikini bottom down when she was trying to close the umbrella and I slammed him for that too. She was humiliated and embarrassed when the pictures were released." Conflation. David and Tea were surrounded by people in both instances, knew others could see them, and didn't care, inappropriate or not. Peter Morgan and Gillian were on a private vacation; and their privacy was infringed on by the paparazzi and media. For all the negative talk that came out of that incident, not one person stated that G was unwilling, visibly uncomfortable, or angry at Peter Morgan for doing so; only that she was "humiliated and embarrassed" after the fact. The problem in BOTH situations is that PM and MP were groping their partners in what they took for granted as private situations-- I have a casual understanding of David's friends and wouldn't be surprised if they didn't care about her or his antics in the long run-- and were filmed without any parties' consent.

Next: "D did not know what MP was doing, he almost spilled his drink jumping back away from her and he did not look like he enjoyed that trick in a room full of strangers." I saw the video a couple times. Did you not catch his smirk once he realized she wasn't trying to tickle his stomach but was doing a game to end up at his junk? It wasn't a polite one, either. If she had intentionally crossed a boundary and made him uncomfortable, I don't condone that behavior.

Next: "Defending that kind of public humiliation is repugnant." That's a lie, and you know it. Not once in our conversation have I taken the position of condoning, endorsing, or rug sweeping manipulative, abusive, coercive, or other boundary stomping behaviors. They are repugnant to me; and though being called 'repugnant' doesn't make a dent because you have no proof to back up your claim. And, frankly, it speaks to your character that you would try to blacken mine.

Next: "I find it tasteless that you don’t really care what KF did to those young people as long as your golden boy comes out looking alright."

Excuse you, that is a lie and slander.

In the comments of our previous conversation, I stated over and over he was a pimp. He should absolutely rot for what he's done. But you assume that Monique is just as guilty: benefiting from a business relationship with him, sweeping his treatment of other girls under the rug, using a victim's story to score back pats for herself. The reality is, the victim sided with Monique, both when MP supported her in the comments and when MP posted her own Instagram story sharing she'd been "there" before. Foregoing the obvious conclusion, you posted their first back and forth with other comments tearing Monique apart as the secret villain in this tragic story. That's disgusting, in my opinion. I tried to understand why you got to that conclusion; but if not only her friends, not only her coworkers, but the victim HERSELF is standing by Monique, then it is not the time to vindictively insinuate she exercised the same mean, grasping, oily tactics as her former boss. Further, that she was exploiting someone else's tragedy and trauma for her own gain.

Next: "She can be immature and also be a user who uses situations to her advantage." To quote you once again: that's a lie. Prove it. You can't. You can only assume what her intent, motives, and actions are based on your inference of her character.

Next: "...the old greasy celebrity rocker KR was trying to push on them." You can't prove that; and until you can, I can sit here and say it's a lie. It's your inference against mine.

Next: "She did not say she was mistreated by her boss." I never said her boss mistreated her. I never even got that indication from the post you spread around. She related to her coworker's experience through her personal one. Just because KR was an absolute monster to other girls doesn't mean he was a monster to all of them: monsters, abusers, and manipulators pick on the weakest person who has no one to stand behind and back them up. Her father, for instance, would have been a not insignificant buffer. He's well-connected in California, or so you imply by saying he's met David before. And it stands to reason he would be, supplement and wellness culture being what it is in the Golden State.

Next: "According to you MP was an adult and mature enough so she should have know what those special favors from the boss looked like to everyone else." Let's not get into the "his family and friends should have known Ted Bundy was a horrible person" of it all. No one knows what they're not aware of. I have a close, close family member who grew up adoring an abuser because he'd never abused her; yet was horrified and had to process the fact her other sibling was being used for everything short of penetration. To quote a good ol' Aslan meme: "Do not cite the deep magic to me, Witch! I was there when it was written."

Next: "She wrote a short perfunctory show of support for damage control and went back to thanking her lucky stars she now has an easy life of privilege living in a multi-million dollar Malibu home by the ocean thanks to her boss at SLO." First: prove it. You can't with any degree of fact. Second: I'd be thanking my lucky stars, too. So would you. So does everyone who's been in a tangential situation to an abuser and escaped unscathed-- so unscathed that they didn't even know the boss was perpetuating abuse. And that can at least be proven because, as you say, MP's boyfriend was still buying from that shop days before everything broke out; and she publicly empathized with and received empathy from the victim right after. Has the victim made a scathing comment calling out Monique later? Nope. Bet they're still on good terms, too.

Next: "What else does a very rich 54 year old man want from a 21 year old but lots of sex and an easy relationship with someone who doesn’t know any better?" Lots of sex, an easy relationship free of the complicated dynamics of children from other relationships, and someone to love and love him. Seems logical to me. What is unacceptable in age gap relationships are the predators who aim for 21-year-olds (or 19-year-olds, as you posit) because they pull women their age and can't aim lower; and who lock 'em down and knock 'em up as quickly as possible so they can't escape. Or those who say "yeah, sure, I'll marry you" while dragging their feet until the girl (as they see her) gives up and stays or gets up and leaves. If the latter, they start fresh with another young woman who might not see through their routine bag of tricks. David, for all his faults, has stated his intentions up front and publicly: he's not marrying again. He still wears the ring tattoo from his previous relationship. He relived the trauma of a broken home through his own actions. He still can't dwell on the pain his kids went through during that time. Unless he decides to change his mind, Monique's outta luck. Yet, I don't believe she cares as much as you do if they do get married or not. Certainly not as far as either of us can prove, anyway. By the way, Tea and Tim haven't married yet, either; and they've been together provably longer than Monique and David.

Next: "She was male celebrity obsessed, younger but she went with the one who came into the shop and showed interest." Prove it. You can't. Let's say that's the case: she would've hopped to a new person long before now. David's got friends, she's gone to his parties, she's met his people. Opportunists don't sit long with a second option when they get an opportunity to grab for their first. I read your old posts about her Twitter/Instagram follows; but none of you take into account if she was following other people and pruned those people out as her interests changed. You also can't prove when she followed those accounts: the next day after she opened her account? A month after? A year after? I have accounts open I've never used; I have family and friends that do, as well. Let's say she opened it right away and began using it: again, when did she follow those accounts? Were those celebrities part of a collective that her boss or coworkers said came into the shop? Did she prune out the others after seeing them in person? Why? Because you assume other celebrities are immune to her masterfully unskilled manipulation, but David wasn't?

Next" "You’ll defend anything adjacent to D."

That's a lie.

Prove it. He had to go into a sex addiction program because he hurt his wife and kids. He talks about saving the planet yet doesn't take more than bare minimum actionable steps himself. (What he does in his personal life is of no concern to me; but it is hypocritical of him.) If he backs up Chris Carter against Gillian in the Revival controversy, I will lose a qualitative amount of respect for him (because there is actual, factual proof of wrongdoing on Chris's part to his longtime friend and mother of his goddaughter.) He has blind spots, faults, weaknesses, and failures like any other person.

Next: "I see a lot of arguments that do not have anything to back it up, like he probably acted inappropriately while drunk at a party before and so what?" No, my comment was even you have picked at DD for drinking before his shows. That even he has probably acted on impulse before or during a party. That even he didn't seem too bothered after he realized MP wasn't tickling him. That his expression changed when he saw someone filming their interaction. I also pointed out his and Tea's post-rehab reconciliation shenanigans of equal and greater caliber (having a jolly time at a public ballgame and rolling on top of each around other beachgoers.) I also pointed out that GA had a Portofino moment. Would I grab my boyfriend's junk if we were in public? No. But David did with Tea. The only difference between those situations was DD and T had the power of denial on their side while MP was not afforded that luxury. You called her behavior trashy; but posting someone's junk grab to the internet without their consent is trashier to me.

Next: "Disturbingly, that’s what seems to give her self-worth." Prove it, with testimony and evidence other than assumptions you and other Tumblr, Instagram, or Twitter jockeys assume and interpret. Give me a firsthand witness of her behavior. Give me a former friend or a colleague. Give me a family member. Give me someone other than people on Twitter being blocked by DD's account and assuming it's her. Further, give me proof what they were saying before they were blocked: I don't give mercy to people being snide, snarky, or vile and boohooing about it later. You don't, either, so I'm sure you'll respect that quality.

Next: "Evidence shows that chiropractic adjustments do more to harm than help...."

That's a lie, and a pretty brazen one.

WebMD, MayoClinic, Medical News Today, healthline, and more medical websites and journals have articles promoting chiropractic methods, as well as the warning signs like any other medical procedure. The only disclaimer they put up was that chiropractic adjustments haven't shown a conclusive improvement in athletic achievement.

One of their articles state: "All chiropractors must earn a postgraduate degree (DC), taking up to 4 years to complete, and are required 90 semester hours of undergraduate coursework, and some programs require a bachelor's degree. All states also require chiropractors to be licensed." And all medical doctors and nurses are required to be licensed if they practice medicine; yet, bad apples slip through the cracks. It's slander to paint me as a blackhearted, single-minded, "let them eat cake" person towards victims of possible scammers, manipulators, and frauds just because I don't fall in line with your viewpoint. Further, you indirectly lump me in with your public statements about her "snake oil salesman" father without having any proof whatsoever that chiropractic practice is detrimental other than a few studies-- which I hope you didn't lie about looking up, too-- that the medical community doesn't even stand behind, while using them as your sword and shield. All because you didn't have concrete proof against Monique's father, all because Monique is dating David, all because you don't like their relationship.

More quotes and linked studies from healthline: "For example, in a 2015 study, researchers found that a group of 544 people in chiropractic care reported a high level of satisfaction. ...A 2016 study found that the Cobb angle in a group of five children with scoliosis improved after 8 weeks of chiropractic treatment. Noticeable improvements were seen after 4 weeks of treatment. ...A 2017 case study examined the effect of chiropractic treatment on a 27-year-old woman suffering from back pain, neck pain, and headaches caused by hyperkyphosis posture." They even provide guidelines to find a chiropractor-- "Ask for recommendations from your doctor, physical therapist, or other healthcare provider." And-- "Ask your friends, coworkers, or family members if they have any recommendations."

Next: "Evidence shows that chiropractic adjustments do more to harm than help, but as long as people feel they work everything is hunky-dory?" Prove it. I have genetic backproblems riddling the maternal side of my family; and my great grandmother, a nurse, and her daughter, my grandmother, both had their spines slowly realigned over time with chiropractic procedures. From an almost noticeable hunch to an almost straight line.

Next: "It alarming that you don’t care about real harm being done to people’s spines because it’s D’s gf’s father providing the service?" I also have a maternal family member who suffers from severe back pain every day but can't afford treatment where she lives. You know how I help? Reflexology. Every time, it takes her back from a ~8/10 to almost nothing-- and this from a woman hypersensitive to her body's workings and with an incredible pain tolerance. And yet, I'd be the first person to sign her up for surgery if I could. I regularly push her to seek medical attention for the most minor inconveniences.

CONCLUSION

I'm sorry to say that you are either: A. blinded by my lack of agreement into misinterpreting my words to fit your own narrative-- which is really probable, actually-- or B. willfully telling lies, to yourself or others, because it helps you feel like you've come off on top of an argument.

I'm not interested in creating a rift or a war. I'm also not interested in lies, slander, gossip, and bullying disguised as "this is my opinion."

You can attest I've been nothing but kind, overly so, in the past; and that I didn't ever strike out unless you struck first-- and even then, only to mimic your words or phrases back to you.

I do not respect your opinions: they are baseless and poisonous.

I do not respect your tactics: they are beneath you and I.

I do not respect your lies and slander: that is a given.

Fare thee well. I'm sure we shall speak again.

#iwantapenguin #drama #skip if you don't want to read a breakdown of lies and slander XDDD #this has devolved from a civil discussion to a slander campaign #no chiropractic measures are not anti-science: even WebMD/healthline/Mayo Clinic promotes them #no I do not stand behind all age gap relationships #no I don't believe David is faultless #no David is not my golden boy #no I do not believe in your assumptions because I've tracked all of them to their starting points and they mostly contradict each other #or are based on anons or blind items that ALSO contradict your opinions #yes West is a nepo baby but no she is not friends with MP to get jobs from her dad when she can also get contacts from her mom #who has long-standing connections in the financial/wealthy/high society money class as well as entertainment #no I do not repugnantly defend public humiliation #(I pulled up exact quotes to prove my points below:)#no MP doesn't post behind DD's back and no DD wasn't uncomfortable just because he wasn't aware of it #no Tea does not want to strangle him because of Monique #no MP isn't exploiting the victim of a pimp and groomer just because she worked at his shop (like... y'know... the victim)#yes I do care about victims who are duped and deceived by snake oil salesmen #yes this post is long. Had a lot to respond to; and a lot to disprove

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