#Yes; even if it turns out you were cis and straight after all

[bas-writes]

Neighboring Whispers (Higuruma x f!Reader)

Character: Higuruma Hiromi Reader: female (cis) CW: explicit nsfw content, pre-relationship, neighbors next door, attraction at the first sight, mutual pinning, hair fetish, hair pulling, blowjob, fingers in mouth, spitting in mouth, praise kink & pet names (good girl and variations), fingering & vaginal sex, spanking, creampie, reader has long, non-curly hair and tattoos (yes, it's plot relevant) Word Count: 9k Synopsis: By a pressing accident you were left without water in your apartment, and you were forced to beg your neighbor, Higuruma, for letting you to take a shower in his bathroom. Dazed after a sleepless night, he obliged to your request. The consequences of his spontaneous decision had been haunting him ever since... A/N: little birds chirped @lale-txt wanted a sexy lawyer under her christmas tree and since we were already doing a server exchange... ;) merry a little late christmas, Lale, I hope you will enjoy this absolute monster of a one shot! ❤

The first ring was like an irritating fly, bouncing off the walls of his exhausted concentration, its dull buzzing drilling into his ears.

The second jolted him from head to toes, the first move in a prominently long time, aching and tingling in stiff joints and drowsy muscles.

The third finally made him peel eyes off the screen, his sight blurry and invisible sand grazing under his eyelids. 

Higuruma hid face behind the soothing shadow of his hands, plastered tight to his skin, and groaned, almost cursed. He was tired, so deadly tired he would swore he could feel the dark circles under his eyes. The dizziness was comparable to one after an unsuccessful power nap—yet, he knew he wasn't asleep even for a second. He couldn't, not when at work, at that damned work he swore he would touch only for an hour, two at the absolute maximum, and then go to bed, to finally grab proper rest for the rare free day to come. 

For how long was he stuck by the kitchen table, the place he had chosen to avoid the focus? Higuruma feared to peel hands off his eyes, but he still did so. The light, sipping through wide open blinds, was already bright and dazzling. The microwave clock was even more merciless: it showed a few minutes past eight.

Fuck.

The fourth ring was the longest, desperate and inappropriate for such an early hour. Under other circumstances Higuruma wouldn't welcome the intruder with open arms but at that moment he felt somewhat grateful for snapping him out of trance. 

"Coming." He announced, more to himself than to the person behind the door. Legs bent and swayed under him at first, he had to lean against the table for a moment, cursing his workaholism and age, but he forced himself to stand straight, then to walk. By the time he reached the door he was almost back to state befitting a man in his thirties, not a senior he got turned into by a sleepless, work-full night.

Higuruma didn't look through the peephole first, just opened, catching you already turning back. A whirl of long hair caught his attention faster than your face, not that it helped him much when he finally met it with his exhausted—yet still attentive—gaze. He could roughly pinpoint it as familiar but couldn't bring any name nor other particularly useful information to it. 

He knew you lived on the same floor. He knew you were often doing groceries in the same shop as him. He knew you both were sometimes taking the same train in the morning—but he had never caught which was your stop.

That's all.

"How can I help you, miss—" Higuruma's voice faltered; he was still trying to squeeze your name out of his memory, but his focus was already taking a different direction. There was something eerie about you, something concerning not as a danger for him but as a sign something must had happened, to you or to the whole surrounding. He wouldn't put it past himself to miss an emergency; when he was working, he could have easily overlooked a whole apocalypse. 

You were a mess. Possibly worse than his own. Uncombed hair, falling over your shoulders in tangled strands, greasy face, visibly home-only oversized tracksuit, blowzily thrown over your shoulders, a tote bag, overfull, squeezed tight to your chest… He wasn't a detective, but he could easily tell you left your place in a hurry.

"Y/N." You relieved Higuruma of his main concern. "I live at number 33."

You took a sharp turn, nodding to your door, but Higuruma's eyes barely followed, yet again swallowed by the sheer waterfall of your hair. 

"Alright, this is gonna be…awkward." You took a deep breath, as if adding yourself power to wade through whatever pressed on your soul. "Please. I beg. I need a shower."

"Pardon?" Higuruma almost choked on breath, shocked less by the sudden request, just rapidly pulled out of chaotic thoughts buzzing at the back of his head. Thoughts full of your hair and its flow, the suffocating and entrancing vortex. 

"I have no water." You nearly sobbed. "There's a renovation up there, I forgot… The whole plumb line is turned off on my side. I don't know when— Fuck, I have a meeting in three hours. I don't have time to run to a bathhouse, even if they would let me in…"

He must have made an exceptionally stupid expression because you stumbled out of your panicked trance and hurried to explain what he hadn't even deemed as needing any explanation. Hugging the tote with one arm, you rolled the sleeve of the other and revealed a tattoo running up the forearm towards the elbow.

He nodded with understanding.

 "Please, sir, no one else answers the door…" Your gaze flicked at him with such pleading that his already crumbling resolve immediately backed off, leaving him unarmed against you and your illegally beautiful hair. "I'll pay for the—"

"I charge only for legal advice, shower is a free service." Higuruma tried to squeeze a joke out of himself but with his exhausted expression he could as well recite a random sentence out of the case he was chewing through for the whole night. "First door to the left. Ah, and sorry for the…mess."

It was a massive overestimation, he realized a few of your steps into his apartment too late. His place needed a thorough tidying like fresh water. It wasn't dirty, at least that—but everything screamed "single, overworked, and too done to bother" at anyone who paid a minimum of attention. Dust, empty mugs and beer cans, takeout boxes piled into a temporary dumpster, any flat surface littered with books, files, loose notes, newspapers… Hey, he wasn't that bad usually, but you caught him in the worst moment, right before the day booked for being a responsible adult

Hell, he should have at the very least do something about his bathroom before he let you in. But you pounced at the door faster than his thought and he had to chew on his shame with the noise of his own shower filling the awkward silence around him. 

When was the last time someone barged into his life like this? The last relationship Higuruma could call a serious one had lasted before he finished his apprenticeship. With time slipping through his hands and wallet filling with money he had eventually stopped inviting his flings to his place. And in the past few years he had extinguished even this fragile flame that kept pushing him into love hotels with equally tired participants of seminars, coworkers, and random lays he had stumbled upon in bars and never bothered to remember their names. 

He couldn't see nor hear you, nothing over the hum of water, and yet, your presence was mercilessly crawling under his skin. He felt your breath at the back of his neck as he was tidying the space around in hurry. Maybe it wouldn't have been so palpable if you were a man… But a woman in his kingdom of the mid-thirty loneliness? Something about this fact cut a good half on his year count—and not to his advantage. He never pegged himself as shy nor crude to be bothered by a fact of a woman simply existing in his proximity, but…

It had been long, too long. And you were exactly in his type.

Exhaustion played a huge role at that, he was sure of it. Exhaustion paired with neglected libido and long-forgotten fetish perking their traitorous heads up at the slightest trace of your presence. You dropped something and shivers ran up his spine so hard he almost dropped his laptop too. A faint smell of fruity cosmetics reached his nose, and he couldn't remember anymore where he should put the papers he held. The hum of the shower finally stilled, and panic bubbled under his skin, cutting him short on sight and breath for a split second—split but long enough to mess with his balance.

You caught him like this, still bent over the table, at first glance nonchalantly checking something on the phone, in fact—fighting for the last scrap of dignity left in him. 

Higuruma observed you with the corner of his eye, tense like a string. It was easier to look at you now, with your hair meticulously tucked under a towel tied around your head, so he took that risk. Little did it help. The sight of you casually standing in the middle of his apartment, bare feet, damp shirt plastered to your sides, churned his insides with yearning that had nothing to do with lewd ideas. 

Yes, it definitely had been too long since he was touched with this level of intimacy.

"Sorry for the mess," he repeated himself, his voice feeling dry at his throat. 

Your laughter suited the sharp yet sweet scent of your shower gel, filling his apartment for hours to come, "I won't look a gift shower in the plumbing. Thank you, mister—"

"Higuruma," he quickly cut in before awkwardness managed to drag you into his misery.

"Higuruma," you repeated, mimicking his accent almost to perfection. 

He loved the way his last name rolled on your tongue. He loved it so much he had to turn away for a moment and bite on his own. Thoughts dancing in his head pressed too much to his lips. But he wasn't that much of a creep to let them do as they please. Just the fact they existed was putting him into embarrassment. 

Did you notice? Most likely not, too busy balancing on one foot to pull a sock, then shoe, on the other. With a tote tugged under your armpit and in a hurry, you clearly struggled, but Higuruma didn't move from his place, mindful of his sins and the situation overall. If you needed help, you would ask, until then it would be better, if he kept this distance. 

"I know you said no money but any chance I could return a favor in any other way?" You pulled him instead into conversation, much to the panic of his tongue, tying into clumsy knots at the slightest thought of speaking.

"It's nothing." Higuruma let the dream scenario fly over his head. He wasn't sure if you were flirting or just hated the idea of being in debt and in front of uncertainty, he preferred to stand his stubborn ground.

"You let a stranger use your shower." You didn't give up. You had the ball and you insisted on rolling it despite hurry pressing at your back, it seemed.

"My impossibly cluttered shower." Years in court made him more patient than a saint, even in front of a person crumbling his resolve into dust with a single flick of eyelashes. "I'd feel bad if I asked for something in exchange for such conditions."

"And what about me? I already feel bad for cluttering your space with myself."

"If I ever find myself without water, I'll know where to go."

You rolled your eyes and laughed again, your voice sharper this time. Higuruma wasn't especially sensitive with sounds but the change of yours immediately caught his attention and craved itself into his memory.

Oh, it was bad.

Dumbfounded, he didn't react when you pounced towards his abandoned workplace and snatched a piece of paper and a pen.

"I don't have much time left so—" You scribbled fast, digging deep into the surface, and yet clear enough for him to read with ease. "I'm a regular here. Come anytime and tell them Y/N sent you. The lunch is on me."

If not for the paper on the table and scent you left all over the apartment, Higuruma would classify you as a fever dream of an all-nighter the moment you sprinted out, apologizing and saying goodbyes all at the same time. He followed almost blindly, ready to shut the door as soon as you crossed the threshold (and cut you out before any weird new thought would haunt him). He already planned to air the whole place and scrub the bathroom out of your presence

He would, no hesitation, return to his cozy loneliness if not for a draft finally crushing the fragile construction on top of your head. Cascade of hair tore the knot apart, the towel slid down your shoulders straight into his hand as he reached for it without thinking twice and before it managed to untangle fully from the wet strands. They brushed his fingers, for a split time he felt their soft texture and weight, and his heart throbbed so hard he lost a good ounce of breath right there, over the threshold. 

"Sorry and thank you! Take care, Higuruma!" The door of your apartment clicked closed before the echo of your voice disappeared. He stood there even longer, pulse beating in his ears like a drum and his cheeks burning. It felt like hours before he finally forced himself back into his place, barricaded into illusive safety, hand pressed tight to his face, to muffle a loud groan.

His skin was still slightly wet and smelled of your shampoo.

Oh, he was so done for.

He should have trashed that note.

It glared at him right from where you had left it. Higuruma hadn't dared to move it any way, himself not sure why, but instead of blending into the environment, as he was hoping, it stood out like a huge, bloody stain of shame. A reminder of what he had been praying for to be just a dream born out of exhaustion and sleepless night.

He was doing his best to not look at it. It attracted his eyes like a magnet.

In no time he knew the name and address by heart. His excellent memory, so helpful in his career, became his curse. One look in note's direction and his mind was already mapping the route. Of course, it had to be conveniently located, in the area he knew well, relatively close to his workplace, in distance perfect for a lunch break.  

If only he trashed this piece of damned paper!

Maybe then his mind wouldn't be plagued with ideas and temptation. Maybe he wouldn't have to sneak in and out of his own apartment like a thief, jerking at the slightest sound behind his back. He was leaving earlier, returning later, changing routes and shopping in a different 7-Eleven. Everything to not run into you—just to return to your scent still somehow lingering in the air. 

Higuruma was ready to swear you had somehow cursed him. Was it humanly possible to influence his life with only showering in his bathroom? The sharp and fruity scent grew stronger near the cabin, shaped in his mind like a vortex of your hair. Warm water falling on his head felt like your laughter, droplets traced down his chest and stomach like signs you wrote on the note, elegant and pronounced. 

Your name tasted sweet and heavy on his tongue. Higuruma didn't dare to say it aloud, but it lingered, a sweet aftertaste of a candy he couldn't bring himself to ask for. He still tried to weigh it, right at the tip of his tongue, slick as a feel of your wet hair slipping through his fingertips. 

Only once, he tried to put it into life, but it barely danced at the edge of his teeth and died with a miserable groan as he couldn't hold himself back any longer and spent the rest of his morning shower on furiously fucking his fist.

He should have trashed— No, burnt this note and thrown the ashes in the wind.

By the time his legs finally carried him, still against his will, to the address, Higuruma had already abandoned the idea of avoiding the problem. He wasn't quite there with an ultimate decision, but the desperation reached the level where he had to simmer it down. Giving in to temptation of seeing you again was only a reasonable decision; with some luck he would not find you there and, with a now clean conscience, he would finally get rid of the paper of shame.

Seeing the signboard took him aback. Higuruma didn't ponder over the location to expect anything, but he still froze in place, hand clenched stupid at the handle as he took a step back to look at the name again. 

It sounded like one of those modern, instagram-catered places for a quick lunch in a break from rushing through the city. It was nowhere close to what, in fact, the place was: a cat cafe, in its whole camp and overfly fluffy glory. 

Higuruma looked at the signboard, then took a peek through the window again. A fat tabby cat, loafing on a table by the sill, peeked back at him and slowly blinked. He took it as an order.

One deeper breath later he finally entered. Right by the threshold he was attacked by the suffocating, sweet scent, dangerously reminding him of the cosmetics you used in his bathroom. Panic roared at the back of his head but before he could listen and withdraw, he grabbed eye contact with a barista who had perked her head over the coffee machine.

"Good afternoon, sir." She smiled at him, as full of enthusiasm as professionalism allowed. "A table in a regular room or in a cat—"

"I have received a capias issued for a certain gentleman I found resting in your property." He said dryly, maybe a little too much as the woman's friendly expression tensed into a mix of stress and confusion. "Just joking. I'm not arresting anyone. I had this place recommended by an acquaintance of mine."

When he said your name, she immediately smiled (not without a breath of relief, he noticed) and dropped the mask of a perfect employee. He was stared at curiously now, from the tips of leather shoes to neatly composed hairstyle. Oh, he definitely was the main subject of workplace gossip—and would jump back into fashion once he left this place, no doubt in this matter. 

"My apologies, sir, Y/N mentioned you would show up but hasn't notified us when." She flashed him with a genuine smile. "You're in luck, she's stopped for a lunch today, she's in the cat room right now. Shall I—"

"I'll find my way." Higuruma quickly cut in. He wouldn't mind adding spice to the gossip, even if just to ease his own stress, but…somehow, the thought of being observed during an inevitably awkward moment churned his stomach in a very not good way. "I would like—"

He studied the menu at the blackboard. Most of the names reminded him of absolutely nothing. "Something… decadent and viral, how kids call it. Surprise me, please."

"Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you."

He was ordered to strip from his jacket and scarf and asked to keep his briefcase as close as possible. Barista took her sweet time to study him as she walked him to the cat room, on her way explaining in detail what was allowed and what not. Higuruma let the words fly over his head: he had no interest in tormenting poor animals (who and for what would want to pull them by their tails?), but even if he had, his plans would be undeniably ruined by your presence. He already felt his throat clenching—not in fear or panic but in the same kind of embarrassment he felt whenever his thoughts about you slipped into the direction, he'd been avoiding at all costs. All of his thoughts were decent at that moment, yet he was tense and flushed regardless. Something, from the depths of his intuition, was whispering that, no matter what he does and says, he would reveal everything that happened, in his mind and not, since the day he had seen you barefoot and with wet hair in the middle of his apartment.

It would straight up make him come across as a creep.

He didn't want to come across as a creep.

"And no apprehensions." Barista finished her lecture with a smooth joke and pulled at the door to the cat paradise.

The main part of the cafe was calm—but the cat room was even calmer and silent, no music, none of the steady hum of working machines. It was almost empty too but a small group of teenage girls, flocking around the table by a huge cat tree, and you, of course, in a cozy corner, leaning over a book. Higuruma's heart almost flipped in his chest at the sight and fluttered just harder and faster when you pulled a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. The move was slow, smooth and so sensual one would think you were doing it deliberately. 

But you were lost in thought, unaware of your surroundings and Higuruma's gaze taking in the view voraciously, straight up swallowing every inch of yours. From your face, beautiful in your calm focus, to the tips of your fingers, still tangled in the strands behind your ear—and down your back, together with the flow of loosely tied hair. 

His mouth was dry and full of saliva at the same time. A smooth starter he had prepared in a case of wonderfully bad luck just died, leaving him with tight, uncomfortable silence and head empty of thoughts, full just of the feel of the same hair against his hand. 

He hoped too that seeing you in a more presentable state would crush the intimate, inappropriate for your level of familiarity, appearance of yours he had coded. And eventually relieve him of the yearning that had nothing and everything to do with sex, all at once.

Fool, idiot, a hundred times a naive kid. Seeing you like this only made everything worse.

"Y/N! Your neighbor with a sexy nose is finally here." The barista chirped over his shoulder and bolted before neither of you both could react.

If the block in his throat was difficult to swallow before, now Higuruma could as well just suffocate and die on point.

"Higuruma!" You tried to feign a cheerful attitude, but flustered expression and sudden flap of both hands betrayed you. One of them was still tangled in your hair; you yanked it free from the ponytail and sent your ornate hair clip flying. It fell right by his feet with a little metallic thud.

"You seem to lose your head at my sight." Higuruma saw the opportunity to avoid your gaze and snatched it so fast he almost hit his head against the table. "Or I should rather say: things from your head."

His hand trembled under the weight of the little trinket. It seemed alright except for three zirconias that fell out straight into his palm, "Towel at least took it better."

You muttered a simple thanks and took the hair clip before he climbed up from his knee. Your hands met for a split moment and a sharp shock snapped up and down Higuruma's spine. 

He hoped he managed to feign his calm better than you.

The silence that followed was heavy but not awkward for a change. Higuruma found himself a new excuse to look away, subtle and polite, just right to give you space for collecting thoughts: the decor of the cat room was truly entertaining to observe. Higuruma never had a cat; he was very pleased to notice that the furniture he took at first for clutter was in fact a developed playground. Little creatures, intrigued or concerned by the noise, moved from their spots. Shelves, ottomans and line bridges fluttered with elegant steps and soft tapping of little paws.

Even the fat tabby turned its head and gave Higuruma a look full of pity.

"It doesn't click right," you finally broke the much needed pause, pulling his attention back to you. "Oh well. I really liked it."

"It is a pity." He agreed, somehow keeping voice in check. The last thing he wanted was to suddenly screech at you. Fate knows how much his throat tried to, though. "It really suited your hair."

He didn't get a good look at it but after so many thoughts recalling your hair in detail, Higuruma could easily imagine it from every angle. His cheeks filled with traitorous, familiar heat. At least he wasn't prone to blushing.

By the gleam in your eyes, he could tell you were about to pick up the flirting, but you were interrupted by the barista. Looks were exchanged over his head, a slight tick at the corner of your lips betrayed their nature, but his attention was instead pulled by a piece of latte art put in front of him.

They really took his request to their hearts. Milk foam on top of his coffee was piled into a chubby cat face. They went as far as adding eyes, nose, whiskers and a little cunning smile. Three stripes at the top of its head must have been made with coffee as a paint. He had to admit the dedication to detail was truly endearing.

"Oh. That's surprising." You hummed, more to yourself, but continued louder prompted by his furrowing eyebrows. "You don't look like someone who would order a cute latte."

"Oh? And how do I look?"

"Black coffee. No sugar."

"I like it very sweet, actually." Higuruma finally felt more at ease, tension melting down his shoulders so visibly he could swear it was happening literally. "With a dash of milk."

The first few sentences were always the worst, in law and flirting alike. Once he got a good grip of the situation, he could finally focus on the exchange only. You were a cunning conversation partner, fast to catch his jokes, smooth to follow the thread and bounce the ball back at him. You had quite a gamut of shared topics and he just kept growing more interested—no, fascinated. 

Your mind and soul were fitting his type even more accurate than your appearance.

And yet, Higuruma's thoughts kept bouncing back to the fateful morning, to the perfection of your body in its messy glory. He couldn't help but to compare all the time. A strip of your tattoo peeked from under your sleeve—and he knew how far it, in fact, reached. A contour of your bra was visible under your shirt—in almost the same place where wet spots had pressed since you had dried yourself in a rush. Your hair fell smooth over your shoulders, in heavy strands he was dying for to caress—because he remembered the sensation of their ends touching his skin. 

Over and over again, his flesh was taking over his mind. And it was…infuriating.

When something touched his calf, Higuruma nearly jolted. He managed to forget a little how tense he still was, illusion destroyed fast by a friendly tail, wrapping around his leg. 

The indifferent stare and chunky posture were already familiar.

"Oh, someone likes you." You cooed with a bright smile. "It's rare for Haru to come to a new client."

"She's being picky?" The lawyer leaned down, let the curious cat sniff his fingers before he gently caressed its head.

"He. He's a little fussy diva. Wait, maybe I'll encourage him a little—" 

You leaned to the side and behind to reach for a toy, move quite fast, and your hair repeated the vortex he had seen even before he had taken a look at your face. The almost painful churning in Higuruma's stomach rushed dangerously low; he coughed into fist to give a reason for leaning forwards. Haru snapped his head back at the noise, but instead of running away he leaped into the lawyer's lap, fitting tight the space between his torso and thighs. And successfully hiding the area that could become problematic at any moment.

"Thanks, buddy," Higuruma whispered and scratched him behind the ear.

"He really likes you." You laughed, by no means offended for your sneaky plan to fail before it had started. "You're so natural with cats."

"It's only one of my talents." He flicked his gaze at you, his hand resting full on the cat's head, deliberately swept along the line of its spine. "Been always told I'm good with my hands."

The risk was exceptionally calculated, even for him. But it paid off with sparks of interest flickering in your eyes and fast, so easy to miss, bite at the side of your bottom lip.

The note had been replaced by a hair clip.

Higuruma hadn't even thought twice when he had sprinted out of work straight to a jeweler. His mind and soul had been in a different place, entranced by your number freshly saved on his phone, and hadn't perked up even at the significant amount of money he had spent on a golden clip. 

The coincidence had been too good to be just a wink of fate: the design was almost identical to your old one.

Complications had appeared after he had come back and grabbed much deserved sleep. Fresh brain had pushed the old scruples back to the surface, and the would-be gift had ended on the kitchen table, leering at Higuruma as he was sneaking by, in shame and trying to look away.

Since the cat cafe date, you had met at least five times. All meetings had been rather non-committal and platonic, and the closest he got to fulfilling his fantasies had been a gentle kiss on his cheek he had earned after a movie. Yet, Higuruma knew there was a prominent spark of interest on your side. So far you had answered all of his advances with eagerness if not straight forward had been playing with him as if he was a cat on the other end of a teasing wand.

He was still feeling ashamed of himself but didn't intend to let such an opportunity slip through his hands. All he needed was that last step…but he couldn't quite grow spine to finally make it.

So the hair clip kept glaring at him, and he kept ignoring it, as much as he could at least before he was caving in to all those temptations leading him to late night shower fantasies.

By the time he heard you ringing to his door he even managed to forget about it a little. Well, he was deep in work again, his mind finally free of all red-hot thoughts and quandaries—until said sound pierced him like a stray bullet. He knew immediately it was you; he couldn't explain why and how but he knew. The rush of blood thudding in his ears for once had nothing to do with anxiety—this time it was a genuine excitement, hope even, if he dared to somewhat name the vortex of his thoughts. This was but just a little change; it meant nothing for heat building in his cheek nor for trembling of hands he barely tamed on his way to the door.

Before he opened, he had to take a deep, hopefully calming breath.

"This is gonna be awkward again." You admitted with a shy smile. "There's no heating at my place. And no warm water. "

Your appearance was a stunning middle ground between the scrupulously crafted look you donned for your little dates and the casual home-only mess Higuruma had learnt the day you got to talk for the first time. You were still dressed neatly but disarray had already sneaked with crumpled fabric, rolled up sleeves and the mess of your hair, barely tamed with a hair band. 

A loose strand fell out of it, and you tugged it behind your ear, with the same smooth, sensual move he had learnt by heart. Higuruma swallowed, a bit too audibly for his comfort.

"I can offer warm tea and warm company," he moved to the side and gestured towards the apartment. At least this time the mess was more tamed; since he had been caught red-handed, he paid more attention to the state of his surroundings. 

It couldn't possibly be a more obvious excuse, but Higuruma's thoughts were speeding too fast to do something more than taking a mental note. He intended to guide you towards the living room, but you took your guest rights to the fullest and chose a seat by the table in the kitchen from where you were piercing him with a curious gaze. In a calmer state Higuruma would pay more attention and take note how strategic your move was—but he was too busy masking his stress by preparing the tea and snacks. Before the doorbell, at least a shadow of the hair clip had existed at the back of his head. Now the whole trace was gone, replaced by all his dreams and worries packed into a single vortex of inner and somewhat controlled panic.

Why was he so nervous? He had no reason to delve into his thoughts anymore. All that was left was one of you finally tugging the rope to their side. You were right there, behind his back, twisting a strand of your hair around your finger, legs crossed just right to roll your dress up your thighs a little. Part of him was itching to turn and pull you into his arms, to bury his face into the back of your neck, to trace your tattoos and check how far they really reach. The other kept spraying the horny demon in him with cold water—and by far winning at that time.

If only you gave him a little more prominent sign…

"A hair clip?" As if reading his mind, you sprung forwards. "It looks like mine… Where did you get it?"

Higuruma almost dropped the cups with tea.

"Oh. That." He had never been blessed his experience with stress-taming than he did now. He needed only a single breath to look presentable again. "Well… Now it's my turn at the awkward merry-go-round. Was supposed to be a gift."

He set your cup in front of you, his hand almost free of trembling. Your gaze grazed over it for a second before it flicked back to the accessory, by "chance" placed right within your sight but out of reach, "Gift?"

"Replacement for the one I broke." Higuruma had no choice but to grab it himself and offer it to you on open palm. "I plead guilty and have already paid a fine."

You said nothing but he could read from your face his choice was simply perfect. You gently traced its edge, almost took it, but at the last time you withdrew, your eyes full of sultry gleam. "Thank you. It's so pretty. But you shouldn't have—"

"Oh, I should. And I loved it." Higuruma already knew where it was going. He felt sweat pearling at his temples, a single droplet traced down the side of his face. "It's but a pleasure to offer beautiful things to a beautiful woman."

You traced the clip again, with more prominent pressure this time, such a perfectly feigned hesitation. 

"Then…" Your gaze wandered up and locked with his. "Would you like to clip it in?"

Higuruma's knees nearly gave up under him when you, no longer waiting for his answer, let your hair flow free. With a single shake of your head, you spilled it all over your shoulders for him to gather it again, smile dancing at the corners of your lips a shameless proof you knew exactly what you were doing. 

Were his thoughts that obvious? Were his sinful dreams written all over his face? Was he being pulled into a trap from the very beginning? 

As if entranced, Higuruma approached you from behind. Even with explicit permission he was more than gentle when he caressed your hair from the crown of your head to its tips. It was smooth like velvet, far more than he had imagined it to be after the brief contact. 

The flame inside him churned and roared, pulse thudding in his ears muffled down all the other sounds. Hands shaking, he started gathering your hair to the back, into a single, thick thread he tried to hold firmly for the clip. He feared to tug too much; if he slipped once, he knew he wouldn't stop, the loose yet so heavy knot around his fingers just waiting to be tightened.

In the wildest fantasies flowing through his dreams Higuruma hadn't considered it to feel so good, almost too good to be real.

He couldn't hold it for longer, he let go, watched your hair spill again in awe, his throat dry and clenched. Threading fingers through it, he reached deeper, brushing at your scalp, and noting, pleased, a low, purr-like sound you made. Entrancing smoothness pulled him yet again, though, and he combed the strands to their tips, and returned to the crown of your head, over and over and one more time, and more—

"You don't have to be so gentle," you hummed, arching into his touch with no trace of shame. "I quite like it pulled."

Higuruma swallowed the hook together with the rod.

He gathered your hair into his fist, wrapped it around, and slowly—but with prominent power—pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck to himself. You mewled, following the move without further encouragement, giving him better access in the most arched, sweetest way possible. He leaned closer, his lips an inch away from your skin as he soaked in the familiar, sweet, intimate scent. The choice between possible routes was hard but eventually he settled on the most shameless one. He kissed your ear, brushed his lips right under it, and dived straight into the source of the fire burning him through all this time, through weeks that felt like ages. 

The softness of your hair was even more intoxicating when Higuruma felt it against his face. The first tasting nudge found your approval, so he went for a shaky, almost desperate breath of your scent, so rich and so throughout yours. It was a sin to abandon it, but he knew he had to discover more—or else the doors to the forbidden garden might push him away and shut closed. Shaking and almost sobbing in immense pleasure and happiness, the lawyer trailed his kisses back to your neck, then down to the curve of your shoulder until he felt the seam of your dress under his lips. 

"Hiromi…" You pleaded in whisper, for the first time calling him by his name. "Kiss me…"

Hand still tight in your hair, Higuruma tilted your head stronger to the side and leaned over your shoulder. Your noses brushed awkwardly before he finally found your lips. He expected it to be slow, just a little peck for a starter, but you apparently just waited for it. You grabbed him by the tie and pulled, your tongue slipping into his mouth without a warning nor hesitation. He let you take the lead at first but soon your advances weren't quite enough for his voracity, and he answered you with even greater eagerness.

It was his first kiss in so long and one of the very few so intense. You were barely stopping for a breath, one immediately pulling the other back when it halted. Higuruma's head was spinning, from lack of air and overflow of emotions. His heart was beating so fast that he danced on the line of fainting right in front of you, no wonder you guided him as you liked despite his hand clenched in your hair and kisses swallowing your breath.

You stood up and pushed him against the table, finally giving the both of you much deserved break and freeing each other of the tight clutch of your hands. 

"Lemme," you nipped at his ear shortly after. 

Gasping for air, Higuruma watched your advances with fascination. You unbuttoned his shirt with a casual knack and pawed at his hairy chest, trailing down the dark line towards the hem of his pants. Part of him was relieved to have his hard, almost painful, erection finally freed—the other dusted his cheeks with embarrassment. So fast and so easily… He wasn't a teenager anymore, his desperation was almost shameful.

Little did you care, almost shaking yourself when you fell to your knees and peeled his pants and underwear out of your way. You licked your lips at the sight of his hard, throbbing cock, and wrapped fingers around it. A few testing strokes later, you brushed a droplet of precum off his tip with a thumb, then leaned for a little, almost cute kiss.

"Shit…" Higuruma muttered through clenched teeth. For once forgetting about your hair, he held on to the table for his dear life and focused on not cumming right on spot. Unaware of his fight, you continued with teasing kisses and kitty licks towards the base. With the tip of your tongue teasing the sensitive skin of his balls you almost sent him flying; to stop orgasm from coming he bit his lip so hard he almost cut it to blood.

"So full…" You cooed, unawares of his struggle. Higuruma didn't dare to look at you—a futile effort as he could easily imagine what you were doing just by the feel of your lips and tongue at work.

"It's been… A while— Fuck!" As if it would help him if he held his breath and closed his eyes. Your mouth was so wet and hot and sucked him off with such fervor he was ready to beg you to slow down. It was illegal for a simple blowjob to feel so good; was it your skill or his desperation, all of it mixed with the tension building up relentlessly through the last few weeks—it didn't matter. Various thoughts were speeding through his mind, but he quite literally had no power to process them. 

Higuruma mewled your name, a pitiful whimpering sound that clenched his chest with almost painful embarrassment. He felt your approving hum vibrating around his cock as you slid him into your throat, until you reached a depth comfortable for you, and started bobbing your head along his length. His imagination reached its peak of capability, drowned into comfortable darkness he desperately tried to enforce on his poor, tortured brain. So slick and hot, so tight when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, balancing right on the thin line between ineffable pleasure and discomfort.

You were on a mission to suck him dry—and he had no power (nor desire) to oppose you.

Yet, with the tension relentlessly building and nearing its peak, Higuruma put every ounce of his might left and peeled one hand off the table to immediately tangle it in your hair. You chirped, pleased, around his cock, clearly expecting a pull towards—not backwards. Eyes wide open and dark with desire, you gazed at him with upper confusion. You didn't even close your lips, a string of saliva still connected them with the tip of his dick.

"N-not like that…" The lawyer managed to choke out between desperate draughts for air. "I want—"

Thank goodness you read his mind like an open book. Otherwise, he would stutter there to the kingdom come and back, like a dazed idiot he was.

"Bed?" You nuzzled your head into his palm. The temptation to pull grew stronger again, so strong that Higuruma's cock twitched just at the thought. He quickly withdrew, brushed his fingers down your face to wipe saliva off your lips and chin. At the desired level he hesitated—and brushed a little string of drool back into your mouth and deeper. If you were surprised, you hadn't showed it, instead opening wider for him and swirling your sinful tongue around his digits.

A wild idea crossed his mind, a kink he had tried with one of his past partners but hadn't quite brought it back until now as he was fucking your mouth with his fingers and staring at your drool pooling inside and dripping down your chin, first droplets falling on the front of your dress. He didn't dare to say it but a move, expression or the whole situation must have betrayed him yet again. 

You pierced him with an understanding gaze and nodded.

Higuruma slowly withdrew his fingers and grabbed your chin, soon tilting your head back. With his throat so dry it took him quite a moment to gather enough drool, but you waited oh so patiently, your eyes closed and your hair flowing down your head with the heave of your heavy breathing. 

He leaned down and let his spit slowly drip down from the tip of his tongue, straight into your wide open, waiting mouth. Your whole body trembled and a little mewl broke through your lips as you let it slide down your throat.

"Such a good girl…" The guttural, heavy with desire voice that got out of his throat surprised even him. "Swallowing everything for me…"

He did it two more times before he couldn't find more spit to share. Instead, he returned to torture you with his fingers, playing with your tongue and testing how far he can reach before you gag around them. With great pleasure he was surprised to not find this moment despite trying really hard.

"If you're gonna torture me like this—" You warned with an impish gleam in your eyes as soon as he gave you a break. "—I won't hold it for longer and make you cum with my mouth."

Higuruma leaned against the table and cooled his head down with a few deep breaths.

"Bed," he agreed with the unanswered question of yours and helped you get up.

Yet again you took the lead and straight up herded him to his bedroom. When and how you figured which was the right door, he had no idea, but he also didn't ponder over this fact too much, too busy with not tripping while kicking his pants out of the way. You both fumbled at the threshold, tangled in clothes you desperately tried to get rid of while kissing each other blindly, until the lawyer finally found an upper hand and pushed you inside and then on top of the bed. 

You started rolling the dress up, but Higuruma shoved your hand out of the way and reached beneath you for the zipper. It gave up so easily he worried for a moment he broke something, but you just graciously wiggled out, freeing your shoulders and breasts. The sight messed with his momentum, a heavy lump stuck at his throat, and he had to close eyes for a moment to not cum on the spot.

You finished rolling your dress down your hips and snapped your legs open with great impatience, "What, have you changed your mind?"

Higuruma cursed under breath, wiped his face with both hands—and immediately dove for it much like a bird of prey. Avoiding the temptation of your hair at all costs, he focused on your tattoos instead, tracing them with his tongue and kissing. He had no idea you had so many of them, in so many interesting places he was dying to explore and to cover with hungry hickeys. 

But he was also aware of the burning hard problem below his waist, so he didn't waste a droplet of time. He reached straight between your legs, hummed at the feel of soft bush brushing against his fingers and spread your labia open.

"So wet for me, baby girl?" He breathed against one of your nipples before sucking on it with fervor. 

A needy mewl was your answer as you bucked your hips, trying to steal friction from his palm. He didn't hesitate from giving you all you wanted, two fingers sliding into you at once. Just the squelching tight sensation was enough for a wave of pleasure to crush against him; with a whimper Higuruma thrusted dry against your side, staining your skin with precum.

"Fuck, you're so sexy…" His voice was breaking with desperation, but he kept a reasonable pace with stretching you. Your tightness was so hot and intoxicating, but he worried he could hurt you if he hurried the matters too much. If he made a mess and embarrassment out of himself because of it, he would take it, as long as you hadn't felt any unwanted pain. 

You read him right yet again and grabbed him by wrist, "I'm ready."

His next move hadn't met the same patience as you whined when he left you on the bed to look for condoms in the drawer.

"It's okay, I'm on pills." You pulled him back by the hem of his shirt and slid it away a moment later, leaving him completely naked. 

Clawing at his shoulders you kept nudging him until he was back in his place, teeth grazing at your neck. You fumbled in sheets warming each other up and experimenting for the last time before the main event, both of you growing impatient beyond tolerance. 

"How do you want it?" Higuruma rasped into your ear and bit at its shell. His cock throbbed with warning at the sweet mewl of yours; he knew he wouldn't last much longer if he kept edging himself.

"You can be rough," you whined without a hesitation as he pushed himself on top of you again. "I'll just tell you to stop, if needed. And hair—"

"Got you."

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips and gave you space to roll on your stomach and climb on your knees. He tried to not stare too much, just a glimpse of your ass arching for him, your hips swaying with invitation, put his blood pressure to alarming limits. Lining himself up at the best angle he could find, Higuruma kneeled between your legs and kneaded your cheeks. He loved how his fingers dipped into your soft flesh, but he didn't quite have enough time to appreciate everything you had to offer.

"Hair," you reminded him, looking over your shoulder at him with such heat in your eyes that a harsh shiver ran down his spine.

"I got you, my sweet girl." Higuruma leaned over your back and kissed the nape of your neck before taking a fist full of your hair. He hadn't pulled on it just yet, waited for the perfect moment when his cock slid into you and nestled comfy between your slick, tight walls.

He needed a break again, an inch away from an early finish. He kept the fire simmering by peppering you with bites and kisses, the grip on your hair kept satisfyingly strained until he felt he could move freely. 

A single deep and shaky breath later Higuruma finally rose straight to his knees, pulling you with himself until you arched your back and mewled. A tinge of pain was audible in your voice, but your cunt fluttered around his cock, and you hadn't said anything, so he followed with the plan, trusting your words from a moment earlier.

"F-fuck…" He muttered as he bottomed out, hips pressed flush to your ass. "Such a good girl you are…"

You stated your limits clearly, but Higuruma didn't want to test his luck. The grip on your hair was more than enough to satisfy his wilder side—and still he refrained from yanking your head too much. Just enough to have your back tense like a string as you were taking each one of his deep, desperate thrusts. More out of curiosity than anything he smacked your ass with a juicy slap, the sight of your body rippling from the impact so powerful he had to slow down and wait through another dangerous close call.

"Hi… ro…" You struggled to call for him, one hand clawing at sheets, the other between your legs as you played with your clit. He clenched his teeth and spanked you again. You responded with loud and enthusiastic moans, the best music he heard in a long, long while.

The finish was really close. Higuruma's hand clenched hard on your hip, maybe even bruising you in process, but then his focus narrowed to your union only and its unbearably hot, slick sensation that kept swallowing him. All he needed was your high first; he didn't want to go there without satisfying you at least this much. Your sweet sounds and trembling body were giving him good guidance—and he kept repeating what he was doing until the tight knot in your abdomen finally snapped and you spasmed in his hold, the tight clench of your pussy sparking friction almost too intense for him.

It didn't take long for him to finish too; a few erratic thrusts later he spilled his seed deep in you and collapsed on top of you, pressing you tight to the mattress.

Catching on breath, almost blind from exertion, Higuruma kissed your neck right under the hairline and buried his nose at the back of your head. You didn't make any sound under him, and he worried he might have pressed you too hard—but as soon as he shifted his weight to side, you budged and protested with a weak mewl.

"Stay." You reached behind and threaded fingers through his hair. He shivered under the gentle touch, almost literally melting when you kept scratching at his scalp and playing with his sweaty strands. 

"I'm staying," he promised and nuzzled close, flush against your back, cock still nestled deep in you. Frankly, even if he wanted, he didn't have much power left, just enough to roll to the side and collapse there for good. But he loved the intimacy of this moment even more than sex before, the warmth of your body, the rhythm of your pulse, the smell of your sweat covering your skin with a thin, sticky layer.

"Fuck, I think we need a shower." He mumbled to himself and chuckled, sure you had snoozed in his arms, but you answered the laughter and reached for his hand.

Higuruma gladly intertwined fingers with yours.

"I'd love to see your shower again." You kissed his knuckles, a smile pressed to your lips. 

#higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma x you #higuruma hiromi x you #higuruma x y/n #higuruma hiromi x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #higuruma hiromi #female reader #bas writes #sinful

[magnorious]

On so-called "ace-erasure" in the Hazbin Fandom

I feel compelled to say something, as a proud ace, regarding the maelstrom of hate and bullying surrounding a fandom I just dipped my toe into, but it concerns the broader concept of fanfic and fanart as a whole.

Y’all. It’s a cartoon. They’re not real people, they’re not based on real people, they exist to be entertainment and to make you smile and sing along and root for their success.

It’s funny how you can look at any straight, cis male in a movie or TV show – whether he be in a happy, healthy straight relationship or otherwise, and the fandom drags his sexuality through the woodchipper in the name of fanfiction.

Oh but there’s queerbating, they’re totally gay even if the writers refuse to admit it. Oh but it’s just for fun. Oh but it’s just wish-fulfillment, it’s not doing any harm. They’re just fictional characters.

Excuse after excuse after excuse for raunchy art and sordid storytelling that can boil over into hating on not only the female characters in these men’s lives, but their female actors.

And yet.

God forbid you drag an ace’s sexuality through the mud for the same exact harmless, wish-fulfilling reasons. Or anyone who isn’t cisgender and straight.

Oh but it’s queer-erasure. It's different because there's already not enough of us and we have to fight for what we have.

No. It’s not. Because you’re not the writer. It’s not your show. So long as the person who made the character proudly defends them and respectfully depicts them, then it’s not erasing anything. Otherwise the thousands upon thousands of wailing fans would have turned some of the most iconic men of fiction into proud gay icons simply by wishing it so.

The whole point of fanfic is being able to see situations, circumstances, and relationships in a what-if scenario. Yes we know this character is straight, or gay, or bi, or pan, or ace or aro, but what if they weren’t for just a few thousand words? Yes we know this is how it happened on screen, but what if it happened a little differently?

It’s supposed to be fun.

I love ace representation. There’s not enough of it and there needs to be more. I want to be able to say See! We exist! Look at us go! with the rest of you.

I also respect shippers doing whatever they damn well please because no matter what they say or do, I can re-watch the show and still see my ace on screen unblemished (as can all the straight viewers who cling to their straight heroes).

Is the motto of fanfic not “don’t like, don’t read?” The amount of nasty comments on incredible art is insane. Don’t like? Don’t look. You’re the one with egg on your face wasting your time and effort typing out and posting that nasty comment. You don’t like it? Scroll on past. Ignore the art and deprive it of the attention the artist posted it for because it’s fanart of fictional characters.

Is this post going to make a difference? No. Am I inviting my own slew of nasty time-wasting comments? Yes. But as an ace who saw an ace and does actually appreciate (if not agree with) the potential in all these what-if scenarios in the right, specific circumstances, I’m fervently siding with those artists who just wanted to draw something pretty and share it with the world.

It’s entertainment. It’s just for fun. Do you really, seriously want this fandom to be looked on from a distance as “oh yeah the violent, bullying nerds that take a cartoon musical way too seriously”? Instead of, I don’t know, “Hey, I want to watch this cool show and peruse some awesome fan content because I can’t get enough of what little we were given, look at how many wonderful options there are.”

#ace pride #acespec #hazbin hotel #alastor

[catgirlknighted]

“What’s that about being straight?” Story Time 💜

I had an ex who I gave a major voice kink to and I was already out to when we were together. Over the years we’ve on off had a bit of casual fun even after breaking up mutually. Just some fun little phone sex together, mutual masturbation, body worship, etc. I was always a sort of domme in her life back in the old days. The only cis lady (presumably to this day- PRESUMABLY) I’ve ever fucked.

Now at a point we hadn’t talked for like a good year or two, just life stuff, and she tells me “yeah so I think I’m straight.” I laugh and question it like how? We were going to town on one another over the phone many times! She tells me she hasn’t found a woman she wants to fuck and actually just isn’t sure. Then I get this little idea on my mind. I tell her we should hang out over the phone & catch up. We catch up for a good bit of time and I bring up the comment about being straight. She clarifies again that she’s not sure actually and before she can say anything else, I start doing the voice. I hear her gasp softly and whimper. It’s been literally years since she’s gotten to hear my special voice yet this little cutie was still so receptive to it. She tells me softly that she’s soaked down there as I use the voice a bit more and asks me to stop, but then clarifies to only stop until she gets to her bedroom.

“Awwww you missed my voice, didn’t you little one?” She whimpers as I hear her looking for her vibrator and chokes out a needy “yes.” “Yes who?” I ask sternly. “Yes mommy.” She tells me. “Good girl, I like to hear how needy you are even after all this time you’re still such a good slut.”

I hear her unbutton and quickly take her pants off as I tease her with my voice more & more. At her whimpers I ask her if she wants me to stop as I hear the vibrator turn on. She begs me to keep going like a good little girl. I ask her if she still craves my thick girlcock in her wet little pussy and she says she does and craves any cocks she can get her hands on. She tells me she’s a cock hungry whore openly. I tell her she’s such a good girl for admitting it and she’s mommys good girl for wanting to take all the yummy cocks inside of her. I keep using my special voice to rile he up as she presses and teases the vibrator on her clit. She’s moaning out & making so many great sounds for me and I ask who she belongs to and she says “you mistress!”

She tells me she’s getting so close and the audio I’m picking up would most certainly backup those claims. She starts calling out for me saying mommy & mistress and telling me she’s mine repeatedly like a good girl should and how badly she wants me to fuck her. “Even after all this time, you’re still mommy’s little slut and you aren’t straight at all are you?” I hear her choke out a yes and a couple more yes’s over and over until she lets out a loud moan and gasp, having finally came for me. We chilled out after and laughed about how she absolutely wasn’t straight and just wants to get railed often. More guys than gay gals & nonbinary pals in the local area I guess. She just hasn’t has a good non-guy dick in a long time. To this day she craves my girldick whenever we call. 💜✨

💜 So really no one in this story was straight. 💖

#next time I’ll tell y’all the G!lf story I think who was also cis but unfortunately we never got to go through with it #real spaghetti noodle straight until wet metaphor put into play here lmao #rose.txt #my writing #trans dom #trans domme #trans switch #trans nsft #nsft trans #trans ns/ft #trans ns/fw #nonbinary nsft #nsft enby #enby nsft #voice kink #possession kink #a little bit?

[frooogscream]

So David making the show gayer and listening to his collaborators... is a bad thing. Even if you weren't twisting his words, you're not making the point you think you are.

I did never say anything like that, what I sad is that the show was never supposed to be so queer in the beginning and that pretty much all of the queer details about the characters came from the queer actors. My conclusion was not “David Jenkins bad because he didn’t want to make a queer show”, my conclusion was “it is beautiful that these queer people poured their hearts into it and created something with a lot of meaning for other queer people”.

Yes I also used phrases like “we were never even supposed to have what we got” and “This show was NEVER supposed to give us beautiful things and treat it’s queer characters with “kindness”! It was NEVER supposed to be for queer people!”, implying that I personally felt like s2 made some choices that I, with my personal experience as a queer person was disappointed in (such as cutting all the poly scenes and killing of the older queer characters right after giving him a coming out arc, in doing so removing an actor who is very vocally supportive of trans people which I, as a trans person appreciate and used the opportunity on convention panels to talk about queer rights and removing the only of the three most central characters in s2 actually played by a queer person, etc.).

But that was just a tiny and implied undertone in an overwhelmingly positive post, in which I praise the cast of the show. And for the record, I DO think that it is great that DJ made these adjustments, I work in theater and occasionally in film and know that it is also not uncommon or bad to make changes as the project evolves and actors flesh out the roles more. I simply pointed out that he is not the one who originally had the ideas to make it this queer and that he originally didn’t plan to let the main queer love story end with a happy ending. Firstly this is not a bad thing, there are a lot of shows out there that aren’t queer, no body is “required” to make queer shows. Secondly where the hell am I twisting his words, he LITERALLY said all of the things I listed as changes towards a more queer show himself and you can find all the interviews linked in the source I gave in my post! Again the over all tone of my post was “oh my god, look what crazy info I stumbled upon and isn’t it fucking fantastic that these gorgeous queers have turned this regular show into something that means so much to us”. And that you manage to take that positive post and read something sooooo negative into it, just because someone dares to say that maybe David isn’t this amazing queer rights activist that some fans make him out to be and didn’t plan on making a revolutionary queer show, is honestly baffling to me.

I am also not “trying to make any point”, this is my personal block with barely 30 followers where I described my personal feelings towards factually true information and my personal feelings are:

I fucking love Vico, I fucking love Con, I fucking love Kristian (also Nathan and every queer person who worked on this behind the scenes) but I’m not gonna kiss David Jenkins feet for something that wasn’t even his idea, I don’t “owe” a cis straight guy who dosnt understand half of why the things his queer cast came up with are so important, gratitude. I gladly and freely extend a big fucking chunk of gratitude to queer actors who put their heart and soul into their queer roles way more then they are required to. Hope this helps.

#the gentlebeardies are at it again #now you can’t even compliment the actors anymore without being a hater #ofmd season 2 #ofmd drama #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd discourse #fandom culture #why the fuck is this fandom so toxic #why are you going into peoples post just to tell them they like the wrong things about a show #I don’t purposefully search for gentlebeard posts just to yell at them that actually Stizzy is way better #If you disagree with a take based on actual show facts argue about it in a polite way #If you dislike a take ignore/block and move on but don’t come at people screeching “you’re wrong/not making the point you think you make” #our flag means death #toxic fandom #ofmd 2 #david jenkins

[jimblejamblewritings]

hello! i just found your profile and i really loved your writing! if that’s ok, i wanted to request a cedric diggory x reader oneshot with scenarios where cedric shows his love through acts of service (ex: keeping hair ties on his wrist for reader or finishing a homework since they’re tired). <3 i’m looking forward for more of your stories.

small acts | one-shot.

Pairing: cedric diggory x gn!reader

Word Count: 0.8k

A/N I: I wasn't sure if you wanted a female reader or not so I went with gender neutral because you used they're in the ask (I myself am a straight cis girl so that perspective tends to be what I automatically write from so if you ever want different just let me know and I'll try :) )

A smile graced your face when you met Cedric outside the Slytherin common room. He handed you a fruit cup and held onto the strips of bacon for you to eat afterwards. It was your morning routine because you never got up for breakfast. 

“Thank you,” you said, taking the cup. 

He just shrugged and kissed your cheek before you two headed off to your first class of the day— Divination. You tried to chew the bacon as fast as possible before Professor Trelawney started class. Cedric started to organize your supplies. 

“You’re going to choke if you keep scarfing it down.” 

“Then you’ll have to give me CPR,” you said with a smirk. 

A dusting of red covered his face. “You’re sleeping over after tonight’s game, right?”

“Yeah, I am.” 

He smiled as you both turned to listen to your professor. You rested a hand on your boyfriend’s knee. Cedric always loved when you were touching him in some way. You didn’t mind because you loved touching him, giving him hugs, holding each other. The two of you walked hand in hand to lunch when morning classes ended. It was a Friday which meant sitting at the Hufflepuff table. You both talked about everything but quidditch, agreeing that the sport would never be talked about on game day. 

“Eat.” You poked your fork at his mouth. “You need strength.”

“So do you,” he countered. “Is your wrist okay from last week?”

You didn’t really get a chance to answer. As you made sure he ate, Cedric gently massaged your wrist. His fingers worked over your skin as he wrapped some tape around you. You gave him a final kiss before the two of you parted ways for basically the entire day. Even without being near each other, the Hufflepuff’s presence was always there somehow. You could find it in your textbooks for Potions, where he highlighted the important parts and jotted notes in the margin of how to perfect the potion. Sometimes you wondered what you did to deserve a boyfriend as sweet as him. When you had asked him out on a whim just because, you didn’t think he’d say yes. But he did agree to one date in Hogsmeade and before either one of you knew it, you were together. 

~~

“I still can’t believe you didn’t give me a heads up about the bludger,” you complained to Cedric as he ran you both a bath. 

“Love, if I did then Slytherin would’ve won.” 

“And?” 

He gave you a look that you ignored. Cedric pulled the hair tie off his wrist and turned you around to tie up your hair. You both settled into the warm water and let it ease all the tension in your muscles. His hands gripped your waist as he held you flush to him, occasionally moving to kiss your temple or your cheek. He left the bath first, getting dressed in the bathroom so you could continue talking to him. You only shut up when he said that he’d be right back after getting some snacks from the kitchen. Sometimes you wished you were in Hufflepuff just for the ability to sneak to the kitchens. You were still wrapped in a towel, sitting on the edge of the bed, when Cedric came in. He set his stuff down on the nightstand and handed you your cup of tea with some small tea biscuits. Your boyfriend was a busy bee as he moved to find something for you to wear from his trunk full of pajamas.  

“Ced?” you asked.

“Hmm?”

“Are you ever bored with me?”

“Why would I ever be bored with you?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Because I don’t really take care of you? I can’t think of the last time I made breakfast for you that wasn’t your birthday or a holiday… I kind of feel like a bad partner.” 

He stood up from where he was leaned over the trunk at the end of the bed. You would have thought that his family had just been insulted with the way he looked at you. He took your tea from you, leaving the biscuit that was in your mouth. 

“Arms.” He waited for you to lift your arms up so he could slip his shirt over your head. “I like taking care of you, it makes me feel needed.” 

“But I don’t really do anything for you.”

“Love, that’s not true. You always hype up my playing even when our Houses are against each other, I never have a morning where I’m not being hugged, and I know you hate Charms but you still look up those textbooks so you can talk my ear off about something I like. Besides, I’d feel weird if you started doing things for me… do you not like when I do this?”

“No, I like it. I like it a lot.” 

He breathed out a sigh of relief, sitting down and handing your tea back to you. You settled back into his arms feeling reassured in your relationship. He liked to do things for you and you liked to compliment and hug him. Both of you were more than satisfied with each other. You leaned over to kiss your boyfriend, enjoying the way he smiled into the kiss.       

#my asks #cedric diggory x black!reader #cedric diggory x reader #slytherin!reader

[power-chords]

i would love to hear your answer to this, since it's something we sometimes ponder as a far-out hypothetical: if my kid gets a scholarship to [insert private school here], would it ever be worth it to do such a thing? were there any pros to your experience or was it mostly terrible privileged kids in a toxic environment?

Oh, absolutely. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me in terms of aggregate psychic damage, but I got a world class education out of the deal, and it serves me to this day. I credit every ounce of my reading and writing ability to that school. I was a reasonably bright kid, but Nightingale taught me how to engage critically and creatively with information, to really analyze it and organize it at a sophisticated level. It was boot camp for learning how to learn, how to love learning, and my enjoyment of art has been so enriched by my time there, however miserable it was for me socially. I got thrown out of my freshman college writing course at SUNY Purchase after I handed in my first assignment. The professor said to me, essentially, “What the fuck are you doing here? You don’t need this.” I can write a term paper in my sleep. Not that I have much need to at age 34, but the research skills are invaluable.

And even social misery has paid dividends: I can flip a switch and turn on the poise, speak the language, ingratiate myself amongst the types of people who are likely to have influence over or direct control of my income. I have never not gotten a job I’ve interviewed for. Ever. 100% of that is the prep school pedigree talking, because I would have no fucking clue how to make an impression otherwise. Definitely not one for polite company!

Would I do it all over again if given the choice? Probably yes. I’m insane for saying so, but yes. I would also be willing to bet that things have changed for the better, culturally and environmentally, for kids like me. Meaning weird ones, meaning gender-nonconforming ones. I’m a neurotypical, straight cis woman, but was not considered nearly neurotypical or straight enough by standards of upper class normalcy circa 2000-2006. I attribute a lot of the bullying and ostracization I experienced to being clocked as “different” in some way, for not performing girlhood correctly in an all-girls school. I also got accepted into NBS during a freak transitional year where New York was changing the elementary/middle school cutoff. So I was one of only TWO new girls entering a grade of 40 kids, and had there been more newbies to buffer my entry, I’m sure I would have stood out a lot less. The circumstances put an extra target on my back, I think.

[holycrimin]

Hi!! Since it's pride month, i'm gunna be sharing my ninjago character hcs! :)

Kai

-He/him, is trying to experiment with they/them pronouns aswell

-Bisexual with a lean towards women, thought he was straight then realized he also liked men and other genders aswell

-Cisgender and incredibly supportive of transgender people

-will gladly kick and/or punch a homphobe/transphobe

Nya

-She/they queen

-DemiAce (Demiromantic Asexual) she didn't have a lot of friends growing up, which in turn also means she never really crushed on anyone aswell.

-thought they were Aromantic for a while until she looked it up on google and went "OHHH"

-Demigirl, and just like her brother, they will gladly kick and/or punch a homophobe/transphobe in the face.

Cole

-He/him/all, he prefers he/him but can go with any pronouns really

-Gay. I think a lot of us agree on that one

-Didn't have any crushes on girls but somehow didn't connect the dots until he was like 15-16

-Alot of internalised homophobia at first because he was scared his dad was going to be disappointed in him, he wasn't but Cole was still scared

-Idk but he's definitely not cis, maybe agender or non-binary?

Jay

-He/him

-pansexual, he does not give two shits

-growing up, he had a LOT of crushes like i mean a LOT, on boys, girls, androgynous people, just.. everyone really

-Ed and Edna just accepted it and even encouraged him to be whoever he was.

-speaking of which, he's transmasc. Idk why it just makes sense

-Had a "i'm not like other girls" phase, then turns out he wasn't a girl at all

-Is on T and had top surgery between S7 and S8

Zane

-He/they/it

-Panromantic Asexual, it just makes sense man

-When they met their father, he asked if it was normal for him to feel attraction at all

-ofc It's dad said yes, then they had an hour long conversation about attraction, the LGBTQ+ community, etc.

-Agender. It was built as a man, but since learning about LGBT stuff, he's found an identity he was comfortable with.

-also they made like.. little metal plates resembling a female and male chest just incase dysphoria hits

Pixal

-Goes by all pronouns

-Greyromantic Asexual, never thought he could ever experience attraction then Zane came along and he was like "uh oh i think i'm inlove"

-wasn't sure what it was at first, human emotions were confusing for her at the time.

-They eventually learned over time and she's proud of who she is.

-They're also Agender, not for the same reason Zane was, though. She was actually supposed to be an androgynous android, but then decided it would rather have a more feminine body, voice, face, etc.

-His father, Cyrus Borg, just kinda went "Okay whatever you want sweetie :)"

-if dysphoria ever hits, she just uses the different breastplates her father made.

Lloyd

-He/It, he just likes it

-demiromantic asexual, thought he was straight his whole life then he found out about the Aromantic and Asexual spectrum

-it told its mother and she was like "that's great honey, do you wanna drink some tea now?"

-was genuinely surprised she didn't have a reaction at all even though he hyped himself up the night prior its coming out, and also practiced in the mirror in which the others overheard and now he denies it ever happening

-he found out like.. way after his dad kinda yknow.. 💀.. so obviously he literally couldnt tell him

-Transmasc. Bc i'm transmasc and I say so.

-he has indeed beat up a transphobe/homophobe before. Multiple times, actually.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #zane julien #cole brookstone #jay walker #lloyd montgomery garmadon #nya smith #pixal borg #ninjago headcanons #ninjago hcs #edit: i changed lloyds bc i feel like asexual just fits better with him-

[lxvenderhxzehv]

(Daniel Craig) [The Provider]. Please welcome [Oliver Thompson (He/Him)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [55]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [TOWN]. You may see them around working as a [UNEMPLOYED]. They are looking for [Samantha Thompson ] their [DAUGHTER] Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

Name: Oliver Thompson Nicknames: Ollie and Lee Age/DOB: 55 March 20th, 1968 Gender: cis-male He/Him Sexual Orientation: Straight Personality type: The Provider Relationship status: Married Occupation: Unemployed Destination: In Town Role: Hunter Family: Wife, Daughter (Sammie Thompson ~ deceased), Granddaughter (Ava Thompson ~ 9 years old)

Being a dad at 21 was not part of Oliver's plans. Yes, he loved his wife but they were both very career orientated people. So having children was never the plan let alone so early in their lives. By the time he was 21 he was already working for one of the top Law firms in the city, he was married, well off, and he had a beautiful baby girl on the way.

That baby girl was Samantha Thompson, and would grow up to be one of the biggest you tuber's of the this time. Raising Sammie was never easy but Oliver loved her with his whole heart albeit a bit strict and over protective over her but nothing like his Wife. And while they budded heads from time to time he always had her back. So when the time came and she turned 18, her mother and Sammie got into a blow out argument he was powerless to stop her. His baby girl was on her own and he wasn't going to change her mind.

He caught up with her life through her videos, watching Every. Single. Upload. Even following her friend Harvey to see a bit more into her life. He called on occasion but she always seemed preoccupied. When one day and out of nowhere. There was a knock on their door. It was Sammie in a panic crying, carrying a small baby in her arms. Their granddaughter. She begged them to take her in, protect her, keep her away from the lime light. Sammie would provide for her but she just needed some more time and the 9 months wasn't enough. After some convincing of her mother they agreed to let Ava stay with them and raise her. Under one condition, Sammie wouldn't be as involved, she could help with bills and clothes and such and could visit her any time. But Oliver and his wife would be known as Ava's parents and Sammie would be her older sister. Oliver hated the idea and resented his wife for her cruel ultimatum but if it kept Ava safe and Sammie was okay with that then so was he.

Ava was a dream to raise......until she wasn't doing things that were nothing short of concerning. It wasn't until she was about 4 they found out who her father was. Sammie came crying that she once again needed more time. She had everything ready for Ava to come live with her and then an true crime author had written a book that was....sickeningly close to Sammie. Oliver promised Sammie that this would be taken care of. What was the point of having a layer for a father if he couldn't pull some strings. But the more he looked into the more there wasn't much he could do. At best she might be able to fight for custody. So they just decided to keep the same arrangement to keep Ava safe and to keep her a secret from Andrew.

5 years later, Sammie is thriving albeit a little worried her Ex hookup is going to kill her at a moments notice. Scared her daughter is turning into her father. The therapy and medication was helping but she was only 9 this wasn't fair to her. None of this was.

Oliver knew Sammie was gonna be on a convention circuit for a good while but when news broke that she was missing he kicked everything into high gear. Pulling all the stops to try to find her. When her friends Harvey was pronounced missing a few months later as well and his latest Video landed him in west Virginia. Oliver didn't waist anytime. With Ava in tow leaving his wife who had dismissed the whole thing. He began searching and searching and nothing. It wasn't until he heard whispers of a town stuck in time, where people would go in and never come back. He hardly believed it. Making his way down the road he found himself and Ava in Huntsville just a little over a week after the earthquake.

Little does he know, his baby girl is no longer with us.

#Musings (Oliver) #Face (Oliver) #huntsvilleintro

[hihimissamericanbi]

8 9 and 12 for your lovely ask game!!!!!

Lane, my beauty, my love. Anything for you. Thank you for your patience.

8. What would you turn into a horcrux and where would you hide it

Maybe my dog so we can live forever together? Like I would def kill for her. And because I have a nice soul and not a nasty one like voldy she would be happy to share a soul w me. AND THEN WE COULD TALK TO EACH OTHER TOO. I mean we basically already do.

9. What character do you identify with most and why

Ma'am I know you know this answer you just want it on main. Alright yes I am a Sirius BUT I would argue that if Sirius grew up a cis girl like me his trauma and personality would look very different. Ie, all that brashness and arrogance and impulsivity as a form of rebellion? Idk I could see that playing out very differently if he were a woman instead of a dude. But yes the whole black sheep eldest child family disappointment complicated mommy and sibling relationship thing. And the vanity and mint aesthetics. Me.

I'll also throw in Fleur bc jkr's internalized misogyny did Fleur so dirty in the books like it was DRIPPING with pick me energy, how she talked about Fleur. Like babe is THAT BITCH ok? And she knows what she wants and is French and blunt AND I would argue could have a touch of the tism, but being a pretty girl everyone thinks she's just rude or awkward or can't read a room as society expects pretty women to always make everyone around them feel good.

Also she pulled Bill fucking Weasley and the biggest insult to her is the idea that Bill wouldn't love her for exactly who she is and let me tell you MOOD.

And and I ship Flonks and even a nice open poly situation with Bill too and like those are the queer joy vibes I am after. Like Bill might actually be straight (highly doubtful) but his wife is queer and is also in love with nonbinary trans Tonks and they all just love each other

12. I don't care what house you are. I want to know what house your frenemy is in.

Ugh Gryffindor. I think I answered that. But yeah. I'll also put hufflepuff on here, like a Zechariah Smith situation. Kinda dumb and makes it everyone else's problem

I'm slowly but surely getting through these asks!!! I am having SO much fun seeing all this interaction on these questions KISSES FOR EVERYONEEE

HP hard hitting questions

#hp ask game #hp hard hitting questions #celine spills #life in the fast Lane

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Yes, I know it’s Ben Shapiro, I don’t care. The real problem isn’t watching a video with Ben Shapiro, it’s why you have to watch a video with Ben Shapiro to hear the stories of people like Helena. Why outlets like CNN and MSNBC pretend that people like her, who have been impacted by radical gender ideology, don’t even exist.

“In that context [fitting in socially on social media], I was learning a lot about how, like, white people are evil, cis people are evil, straight people are evil.

And then on top of that, there was also messages telling me well, if you feel like you don't fit in, that means you're trans. If you feel like you don't like your body, that means you're trans. If you feel like other girls don't understand you, that means you're trans,

So it's kind of like that convergence of those two lines of messaging that really led me to start thinking like, hey well maybe if I just change my pronouns that'll give me an indication of if that's right for me.

And then you know you get those messages back at you that it's like, yes, you need to change your pronouns, gender questioning is good, that's how you discover yourself, and by the way, only trans people question their gender so if you're questioning your gender that means that you're trans.

So I began like that, and then it was a process of about two years where i just kept kind of like going further and further down that rabbit hole.

I would change my pronouns, get a ton of positive affirmation, and then after a while i would say like, you know I'm still uncomfortable with myself, I want to go a little bit further, kind of subconsciously thinking this way.

So then I would like, cut my hair for example, and then tons of positive affirmation. I might change my pronouns again, tons of positive affirmation and after kind of like two years of going down a rabbit hole like that, i ended up thinking, oh i was actually meant to be a boy, and i need to transition.

So it wasn't like one day I just woke up and started believing that. It was kind of like this long process of being very detached from reality and not having a lot of social influences in real life to challenge or push back against some of the things i was learning online.”

-

“I think part of my ability to desist from this ideology was the fact that I had stopped using the internet so much. So, I had gradually been - because my life was so dysfunctional, I just didn't feel like posting on social media anymore, and I was just kind of in my own world.

And I think being separated from all of these like, social reinforcements and messages that you see online allowed me to kind of think and eventually come to the conclusion that I wasn't trans.

So, in that sense when I detransitioned I didn't have that immediate social circle to blow back at me.

But I did go back to a social media account that I had and announced that, you know, I was no longer transitioning and I said that my my neliefs about gender issues had evolved. And when I made that post, that's when I got some blow back.

I had some old friends that at one point were very close to me, but we hadn't talked in maybe a couple of months, actually messaged me like, you're a disgusting person, I'm so disappointed in how you turned out, you've gone insane.

Because there's kind of like this attitude in the trans community that if you question your transition, that makes you insane.

So I was kind of getting like those kinds of accusations as well, so it was very difficult, but I do think that not having all of those social reinforcements there in the first place is what allowed me to begin to unpack my beliefs.”

==

Sounds like a cult to me.

#Helena Kerschner #gender ideology #detransition #detrans #queer theory #pronoun culture #pronoun ideology

[rasazys-ramblings]

Sorry for the rant/vent (whatever) but I feel like Tumblr is the only place I can turn to to talk about my problems, especially related to gender and sexuality, without someone I know making fun of me

I still remember my two day field trip for orchestra. On the second day after our concert, we got to go to a hot spring or walk around the area. There were two any gender changing rooms, but only one was open. There were six of us, including me, standing there, waiting to change out of our concert attire. I knew everyone waiting. I am an introvert who doesn't know anyone except my friends and the kids that the teachers always call on.

We stood there and waited for about half an hour to a full hour, I can't remember clearly, waiting to change. One transmasc, four non-binary, one demiboy. It was terrible seeing everyone having fun, but us stuck waiting for each other and taking turns using one changing room.

Sometimes I forget how much it sucks to be any gender other than a male or female in this world, and it sometimes makes me wish I was a straight, cis Asian woman, but I'm not. I don't want to be. But looking through everything, I no longer feel comfortable being nonbinary, omni, ficto, abnosexual, or aegosexual. But that's what I think I am, and that's what I've been trying to accept, but society won't let me and it keeps reminding me, along with my parents, my entire family, that I can't be, and I shouldn't be any of those. Everything is she/her, he/him, male, female, brother, sister, man, woman, ma'am, sir, it's driving me crazy and it makes me wish I never found out about other genders or sexuality, it makes me wish I never found out about lgbtq, and sometimes it even makes me wish I fucking discriminate people who weren't their assigned birth gender, and it's terrible because I don't want to be, and I literally cannot make myself be one, and it makes me sick knowing that this world has made me think that at all. I feel like no one should ever think that. No one should ever have to think any of that. It's disgusting.

I'll never, never forget the time when I was at a friend's birthday party and my mom asked how many boys and girls there were. I told her how many, but added how a few people were trans. She instantly started using correct grammar and punctuation. She never does that.

I also won't forget those times at the dinner table when I asked my parents, "Are you okay with gay?" "Are you okay with trans people?" etc. and how they said they were okay with it, but proceeded to say something that completely contradicted their "yes". Or maybe I just remember a time they were being phobic. Yeah, they might not realize it, but it's made me afraid to talk about it around them.

I wish it was easier to accept who I am. I wish it was easier for others to accept who they are. I wish society could be more friendly to us. I wish there were more people whose families supported us and their children, and could understand us better. But no. They can, the could, but they won't.

#rasazy's ramblings #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #lgbt struggles #gender dysphoria #nonbinary #enby #asexual #ace #omnisexual #omniromantic #aegosexual #abnosexual #fictosexual #fictoromantic #rant #ranting #vent #venting

[yareadyfreddie]

I can't figure out if I've never come out, have always been out, or am constantly coming out.

I've never felt the need to announce myself, because I guess I feel like it's obvious, and yet I get weird or surprised looks when I mention finding a woman hot or dating a girl. "Weren't you married?" To a man is implied, even though same sex marriage has been legal in this state for over a decade. (I was married to a man, as a Cis woman, so I suppose what's obvious to me wasn't to the masses, but that's not my problem.)

I never think about beforehand, while alluding to my queerness offhand, matter-of-fact; it's only in the aftermath, getting funny looks and less than favorable reactions that I think, "should I have said that?" Not really my problem though.

The only struggle I've had, bisexuality wise, was all the gay friends I had in the 00s telling me I was straight, and that the number of girls I'd slept with meant nothing if I'd only ever seriously dated men. At the time I thought, that's fair, they would know, right? Now, looking back, I'm a little mad about it, sometimes. No one says that anymore though.

Truth is, now that I'm older, I realize that although I'm equally attracted to all genders sexually, I am romantically attracted to no one. That's the hard part.

"Weren't you married?" Yeah, and now I'm divorced. I didn't MIND being married, it was kind of fun - like having a roommate  and sex buddy all in one. (Turns out the spouse boy saw it a little differently. Luckily, he's not mad anymore, even though we're no longer roommates or sex buddies, we are the bestiest still. I think you can't go through a divorce without coming out either enemies or comrades in arms, but maybe that's just me. Maybe people shouldn't get married because of existential ennui though, or for the vine. Me, I'm people.)

Anyway, the bisexuality was never an issue, regardless of what other people thought. Whether you're a man or a woman or both or neither, yes, I will sleep with you if I think you're hot and/or funny enough. It's what comes after that's the problem. I won't remember your birthday, I will not buy you flowers, and I won't be upset if you like someone else or someone else likes you. I won't call, I won't text, and if I buy you a present just because I was thinking of you it will probably be coffee (I will randomly buy you coffee at least once a year, especially if I've forgotten you hate coffee). I have never in my life remembered an anniversary, or usually even known when it was. Sometimes, I will randomly appear for a booty call, and you'll think it's a romantic surprise, but the only surprise is it's just a booty call. I don't like to cuddle and I hate holding hands, and this seems to offend or baffle people the most  because I'm soft and small and delicate looking. But really, I just want to be left alone.

THIS was my struggle. Coming to terms with liking women wasn't a thing for me - it was as simple as kissing a girl on a dare at age 18 and thinking "oh wow, this is also hot. I've been missing out."

The Aro thing is - no one understands it. "But you dated! A LOT! You were Married!" Yeah, well, I didn't know some people just don't fall in love. I figured I'd eventually be comfortable with romance through like, exposure therapy or whatever. And maybe some Aro people are more comfy in this disease ridden social climate being exclusive (for myself, I haven't had a closed relationship since high school, but that's a whole other can of worms).

I also get: But you read romance! Excessively! Yeah, well, some people are obsessed with murder mysteries but most of them aren't murderers or detectives or little old ladies with typewriters and a suspicious trail of death. It's fun when it's other people!

Then I get: It sounds like you're emotionally constipated, immature, and need to learn to be vulnerable. Oooooh buddy. It sounds like you need to get the fuck off my dick.

Anyway.

I wish a polycule would just adopt me, like some kind of human cat or something, where I can come and go as I please without the full burden of possibly being someone's sole romantic interest. Because I do crave touch sometimes, and I do miss a steady sex partner, but I'm never going to be fully present. Going into relationships stating I'm not going to be the ideal girlfriend always ends messy, because either I'm not believed or it's taken as a challenge. It's so frustrating.

Anyway, those are the perils of being Aro but not Ace I guess.

I just needed to scream into the void a bit.

#lgbtq #coming out #aro #screaming into the void #oh and #bisexuality #i guess #me

[redheadbigshoes]

hiii I’m also a 5’4 lesbian!! I just wanted to share my story bc I thought some ppl might relate to it (sorry for the long ask, I tried to condense it as much as possible). I used to think I was straight when I was 14 and first exploring my sexuality, bc I had previously dated one boy in middle school and one boy in high school. I didn’t totally dislike dating them either - I liked the close friendship but I HATED the hand-holding and hugging, and the first time my ex bf tried to kiss me, I punched in him the stomach (we were 12 at the time). I thought maybe it was just cos I was young and I’d get used to physical intimacy as I got older. Then I got older, and I developed a crush for one of my best friends, and she was a girl. I always wanted to get close to her, or find some ways to touch her, or get her to laugh and smile. She made me realize that I liked girls, so I settled with pansexual, bc I was just a teenager and I thought that some men were pretty to look at & since I had already dated two boys then I must be attracted to them. Throughout hs I ended up only dating girls, but I still solidly believed I was pansexual. I also kind of went thru an identity crisis when I got to my freshmen year in college - questioning my gender & sexuality, tried the transmasc label for a while, the whole 9 yards. I no longer resonate w that label, but I feel a lot more confident w my identity now (cis lesbian woman) after trying out so many different things. I met my current gf in college, and it was just like something clicked - that I was really only attracted to and wanted to be with women. While yes, I do find some men aesthetically pleasing and the thought “yeah he’s kinda cute” crosses my mind, I’ve never felt compelled to really date any men. I only did it when I was younger bc I was becoming best friends w those guys and I thought the natural progression was to start dating - plus we were kids, and I feel like kids tend to start “dating” pretty quickly even without there being true feelings towards one another. So I’ve only ended up identifying as a lesbian for the past 3 years of my life, but it’s the one I’m sticking with until I die. And my gf is actually my fiancé now ^_^ ig my life lesson is: explore yourself!! Don’t be afraid to try out things you feel like you might identify with! You never know what’s deep inside if you don’t try it out….

Oh this is so cute! I’m so happy for you and your fiancé!

I relate to a lot of the things you said. I’d try dating boys because that’s what other girls were doing, and I’ve never really questioned that. When I realized my attraction to women I used to identify as bi, because I couldn’t tell the difference between finding men attractive and being attracted to them, also because my experiences kissing boys and anything like that were not bad, so in my mind if they weren’t negative then it meant I was still attracted to them. The thing is: I wouldn’t feel anything when doing that with boys, and if you’re attracted to a person you’re supposed to feel something positive.

Growing up lesbians were showed very stereotypically as being masculine and knowing their sexuality since always. That was also one of the reasons I didn’t think I was a lesbian, because I didn’t fit any of those stereotypes.

Questioning your gender as a lesbian is very common, I did that too. But then I realized just because society has pretty wrong views of what is womanhood, that didn’t mean I wasn’t a woman. I’ve never felt uncomfortable identifying with my biological sex and the only reason why I started questioning that was because I began interacting a lot with queer people online and discovered all different non-binary identities and I began questioning if it was possible that I could be non-binary. Turns out just like you I’m not, I’m a cis woman and I’m way more comfortable being a cis woman now that I know I’m a lesbian than back when I still thought I was attracted to men.

#stephanie answers #anon #long post

[lente-ment]

Sorry if this is too personal, but I read on your AO3 that you went from being a fujo to a lesbian. I've heard of that happening before, and I just don't get how someone goes from being into media all about the attractiveness of males and males alone to realizing they are only attracted to females and females alone. Would you mind offering any insight into that process?

See, I'm a cis bi guy who started off straight, but women have remained just as attractive to me as I became more interested in men. I can't imagine being no longer attracted to women because they're hot for different reasons than men and vice versa.

I hope this doesn't come off weird! I just find gender/orientation stuff like this really interesting.

Oh hey, this isn't weird at all! Thank you for asking about a genuinely interesting topic, at least for me. (And sorry for the late reply, what little time I had last week I focused on editing ch13 and getting it ready for publishing... almost there...)

Relating to your question, I'm not even sure where to start, except by acknowledging that, yes, it probably is weird to go from being super into m/m and the whole culture that focuses on men, to being a lesbian who cares little for men (as objects of romantic or sexual desire, I didn't turn into a misandrist, just to clarify). It didn't happen over night, of course. And I do have to say that I had always been a little bit queer to begin with.

Fujoshi, or perhaps simply "readers of yaoi" (since fujoshi is a really derogatory term from what I gathered), are usually women. It is safe to assume that most of those women are straight, or at least attracted to real men in some way. However, men portrayed in yaoi works are rarely reflections of how real men look and behave. That's further supported by the fact that very little gay men read regular yaoi. Some read bara. In regular yaoi, male characters are very "sanitized" versions of men, made for women who only want the emotional side of the whole affair. They want to see the men show their feelings and be vulnerable. But not with them (they want strong men IRL), or other women (jealousy). But with other men? That's okay. Because those stories are always under their control (unlike real life is, for a lot of women). Most of these women also like real men (actors, guys in their school/workplace), and end up dating them/married. I'd like to point out that I haven't read any scientific research, or psychology papers. These are my personal observations and things I discussed with friends in the past regarding this topic.

Anyhow, to get back to my experience, I got into yaoi because these stories were fun. I gotta admit, I'm not sure how I found out about yaoi to begin with. I don't remember anyone around me being particularly vocal about it. I dug that stuff out from the depths of the late 2000s/early 2010s internet all by myself. Anyway, IRL, I was never particularly interested in men. Or anyone, until high school. Shows like Junjou Romantica or Ai no Kusabi were just interesting stories to me. And when I think back on yaoi anime and doujinshis that I consumed religiously in my teenage years, I mostly remember liking the themes they worked with, such as non-con sex, power play, bondage, humiliation etc. I cared little for the physical side of things. What little arousal I felt I connected with my own physiology, not with male genitalia. Meanwhile, yuri never had the same appeal. Those girls were always soft and gentle and shy. I think you know by now that that's not how I roll with my (vamp) lesbians.

After high school, during college, my love for m/m stuff waned. I guess my worldview expanded, and I mulled over being bi so I started considering women as well. The fact that I also never managed to have a relationship with a man longer than a week should've spoken louder volumes to me. As I grew as a person, I realized a lot of yaoi that I was reading was really immature, too. There are still a few works I'd recommend, but everything else doesn't do it for me anymore. Unfortunately, the same thing could be said about f/f stuff. Not just yuri (that is to say, works coming from Japan), but fanfics as well. There aren't really any f/f ships, even today, that I'd root for as hard as I did for some m/m ships. Because of that, I didn't know where I stood for the longest time.

At the end of college/beginning of my adult life, I finally started accepting some things about myself. One of them was that calling myself a lesbian was a completely valid thing to do. It felt a bit weird at the beginning. I come from a somewhat traditional surrounding so I didn't know too many queer people during that process. There was nobody to validate my feelings externally. That extended the self-realization process. Yet, slowly, I understood that I was finally doing myself a proper service by focusing on women.

To be honest, I still find some men attractive, but that's more of an exception than a rule. And it's pretty random. And I never act on it because I'm not interested in them sexually, and only like... 5% romantically. So, uh, maybe that's just like seeing someone outside on the street and thinking "huh, this guy looks cool, hope he has a nice day".

Uhh, okay, that's a wall of text. Hope it illuminates some things for you, anon? If you're comfortable sharing, I wouldn't mind hearing about your own self-discovery process. Thank you for checking out my fic and hopping into this inbox. Have a nice day! 💙

#og lente post #ask answer

[azvolrien]

The Home of Dragons - Chapter Six

Last chapter now, and then a short epilogue tomorrow.

In which... blood.

~~~

           The mood in the group had not exactly been cheerful before, but it grew even more sombre after leaving the ossuary behind. In silence, Ida and her map led them back along the narrow tunnel and off at a junction they had missed in the gloom. The stone floor rose gradually beneath their feet at they walked, up and around in a wide spiral still far below the ground. After the third time Asta paused to rub her still-aching head, Nova wordlessly pressed another vial of painkiller into her hand and moved on before Asta could even nod her thanks.

           “How are we still going up?” Zero eventually asked from his place as rear guard. “We must be higher than the cliff top now.”

           Leovar held the lantern closer to the map. “Ida?”

           “He’s right,” she said after studying it for a few seconds longer. “We are above cliff level. Now we’re in the lower levels of Isgard – the stronghold above the town. We should reach…” She paused again, turning her head from side to side. “Can you feel that?”

           “A breeze,” said Torvald, a new smile beginning to appear on his face. “That way.”

           As one, they broke into a run, following the breeze up spirals corridors and stairs. Asta stumbled at the jolt this sent through her head, but Hex and Quinn each grabbed an arm to steady her before she could fall and half-supported, half-carried her. At last, bright moonlight crept around a corner and they emerged into a vast hall that ended in a wide terrace open to the mountain winds.

           “Ahh, smell that fresh air,” said Wren. “Makes you want to take your helmet off.”

           “We’re on duty,” Alpha reminded her.

           “I know, I know. Still.”

           They all gathered as close to the edge of the terrace as they dared. Leovar let out a long, low whistle of unprincely awe. “Quite the view, isn’t it?”

           The landing terraces of Isgard gazed down along Myrkfjord, high above Drekaheim. A few plumes of smoke still rose from the city below, but the sky was a clear, cold blue over the sheer sides of the mountain and the rolling snow-capped hills above the deep trough of the fjord. A couple of ships bobbed at anchor just outside the harbour.

           “Beautiful,” said Torvald, securing his scarf against the wind. “But how are we going to get down?”

           Everyone looked at Ida. “I don’t know!” she said. “The map stops at the base of the mountain!”

           Asta went down on her hands and knees to peer over the edge of the terrace. “Down there to the right,” she said. “It just looks like a spur of the mountain at first, but you can see it’s been flattened out on the top. It’s some kind of ramp. Maybe it leads to a gate – those murals back in the tomb showed people coming and going on foot, so they must have had some way for people without a dragon to carry them to get in and out.” She made to stand up; Hex and Quinn again caught an arm and pulled her back from the edge before she could topple over it.

           “Although a dragon would certainly be useful right now,” said Leovar. He reluctantly turned his back on the view to inspect the hall behind them and clicked his fingers after a few seconds. “On the left there, between those two statues against the wall; there’s an archway.” He began to walk towards it without waiting for the Snowstriders; Alpha and Wren jogged to get ahead of him before he reached it. “I reason that those tunnels we came up through were so narrow and cramped, they must have been for maintenance, something like the servants’ passages in the Bastion,” he explained, looking up at the carvings surrounding the arch. “Hidden inside the walls, just a way of getting from A to B as quickly as possible without worrying about things like impressing anyone. This was meant to be seen. I’d wager it goes straight to wherever those tribute-carriers were meant to come in – perhaps that ramp Asta spotted.”

           The Snowstriders all looked at each other, then Alpha nodded. “Yes, my prince.” They formed up again without another word, their shields now forming a box around the civilians, and set off down the new tunnel. Leovar was on to something: this one was definitely meant to be seen. It spiralled downwards like some of the previous ones, but the slope was far gentler and it was wide enough that five people on horseback could have ridden abreast down it, past fine wrought-iron sconces and more carvings. No grim records of the dragons’ fate here; the sculptors had been more interested in showing the glories of their civilisation flourishing beneath the great creatures’ wings.

           “They really loved dragons, didn’t they?” said Ida with a hint of a laugh in her voice.

           “Can you blame them?” asked Torvald. He, in contrast, was openly laughing. “I know I would never shut up about it if I had a dragon.”

           “I know enough people who can never shut up about their cats, never mind a dragon,” said Zero from the back.

           A cold breeze reached them again and they rounded the last curve of the tunnel to see a tall doorway up ahead. Once it had been blocked off by heavy wooden doors as heavily-carved as the tunnel walls, but centuries of weather had taken their toll: one half of the door was gone altogether and the other lay flat and rotting on the ground. A thin covering of snow had drifted into the tunnel through the gap. Wren lengthened her stride and pulled ahead for a look outside.

           “All clear,” she said. “You were right, Asta – the tunnel opens onto that ramp you saw. It looks slippery, though. Everyone mind their footing.”

           “The fall-back is in the valley to the north, around the foot of the mountain,” Leovar told Asta as they neared the bottom of the ramp. “Will you accompany us, or would you rather head for the cliff to wait for your wife?”

           “I think I’d better come with you,” said Asta after a long, wistful look back towards Drekaheim. “This isn’t a place to be wandering alone, especially after dark. She and Redbolt will find us either way.”

           “Very well.”

           The fall-back they had spoken about turned out not to be much more than an overhang in the mountainside, certainly not deep enough to be termed a cave. A palisade of wood and earth had been constructed across it, painted to blend in with the rock and snow and further camouflaged with loose branches. Behind the barrier, a canvas awning provided a little extra shelter for weatherproofed chests filled with supplies. Torvald went to investigate one of them and, with a pleased little whoop at his discovery, handed around some small packets of dried fruit. “There’s enough to last us a couple of days if we’re thrifty with them,” he said. “And here – blankets. None of us are exactly dressed for mountaineering.”

           Prince Leovar, who looked quite comfortable with his velvet coat and bearskin mantle, took one of the blankets Torvald handed out and draped it around both Ida and Asta. “You’re both shivering,” he said bluntly when they tried to politely decline. “Tor – see at the back, right up against the rock face behind the chests. There should be a case wrapped in oilskin. Can you hand it out to me?”

           “Ah… Yes, there it is. Here.”

           Leovar nodded his thanks and unwrapped the case. Inside was half of a fist-sized crystal of perfectly clear quartz set into a curious metal framework etched with runes.

           “Is that a beacon stone?” asked Asta. “Those are hard to come by – I’ve never seen one outside Stormhaven before.”

           Leovar shot her a brief but impressed glance. “Indeed it is. My father commissioned it from the wizards there. He wanted to be sure we could send word more quickly than a messenger construct in case of emergency.” He gave the crystal a half-turn in its setting, aligning some of the runes on the framework. Immediately the crystal began to glow with a soft, pulsing golden light, but nothing else happened. “It may take a while to activate properly in this cold, though.”

           “Who has the other end?” asked Torvald.

           “Some Portallists stationed at the nearest Legion fort,” said Leovar. “They’ll be able to home in on the crystal and get us to safety once the signal gets through.”

           “You didn’t tell us any of this,” grumbled Alpha. “And we’re supposed to be guarding you!”

           “And I’ll be informing my father that you’ve done an admirable job,” said Leovar. “Look at me – not so much as a bruise.”

           They settled down to wait in the shelter, all watching the crystal. It gave off a reasonable heat as well as a glow, and before long the little overhang was almost a comfortable temperature.

           Then, outside the palisade, footsteps crunched through the snow. Asta stood up. “That might be Roan-”

           “It isn’t,” said Quinn from the entrance. “We’ve got company.”

           “Come out from there,” a commanding voice said from outside, “or we’ll burn you out.”

           “Quinn?” asked Leovar.

           She took a few more moments to observe the scene before she nodded. “Not an empty threat. They have us outnumbered more than three to one, and they have fire arrows and bottle bombs. Crossbows, not longbows.”

           “Easier for amateurs to learn,” mused Alpha. “Bodkin heads as well?”

           “Looks like.”

           “They’re ready to punch through our armour, then,” said Hex. “Shields up, everyone – and you four, stay behind us.”

           They crept out from behind the palisade. Half of the god-soldiers formed up in a shield wall, while the other half made a second rank behind them and raised their shields into a roof, ready to block any missiles coming in from above.

           Asta peered through a gap between two shields. Across the valley from the shelter, fifty or so people had emerged from hiding places among the rocks, armed as Quinn had described. One figure stood out in front of them: a tall, imposing woman in a long white robe and a wooden mask like the one they had found in the ossuary. Over the robe she wore an orange tabard embroidered with the face of a dragon, and she carried a stained-glass lantern hanging from the end of a metal staff.

           “Am I speaking with the Sons of the Sky?” Leovar shouted from behind the shield wall.

           “You are,” said the woman in the same commanding voice as before. “You may address me as the Flame Daughter. You are Prince Leovar?”

           “Crown Prince Leovar. Son of the High King and heir to the Kiraani Empire.”

           The Flame Daughter gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “We have a great honour to give you, Crown Prince. Your sacrifice will surely please the great ones.” She raised her lantern-staff, its glass panels glowing red and yellow from the candle within it. “Burn them.”

           The valley rattled with the sound of crossbow strings being cranked back; one cultist, quicker off the mark than the rest, sprang to his feet with a sling at the ready and lobbed a bottle bomb. The glass bottle soared in a high arch above the ground, trailing smoke and flames from the oily rag jammed into the neck.

           A shadow flickered across the snow. In one swift motion, Redbolt seized the bottle in his talons and flung it back the way it had come. The slinger screamed and dived out of the way a second before it shattered on the stone behind him, scattering flames across the rock face. Without stopping, Redbolt turned on a wingtip and went into a hunting stoop. Again he brought himself up short before he could hit the ground and without landing he snatched up the Flame Daughter and carried her high into the air. “Drop your weapons!” he roared, circling above the valley. “Every bow, every sling on the ground now! Or this one finds out why they call me Redbolt!”

           The Flame Daughter fumbled a knife from her belt. “Burn them!” she screamed, stabbing wildly upwards. “The great ones – will – know – our –”

           Redbolt’s talons clenched together; his great scarred beak flashed downwards. The Flame Daughter fell in three pieces and hit the ground with a wet crunch. Redbolt didn’t even pause to look, instead angling his wings and hurtling towards the slope with a flick of his tail feathers. One cultist kept her head and loosed a bolt from her crossbow, but it skimmed past without striking home and Redbolt flattened her against the rock with one claw. Others screamed and turned to flee, only to meet Roan charging on foot over the shoulder of the hill, her long knife unsheathed and her teeth bared in her berserker rictus. Three Sons of the Sky were dead by her hand before the rest even realised what had happened. The cultists’ ambush dissolved into absolute chaos. Most of them ran for it, back towards the Drekaheim cliffs as fast as their legs would carry them, but a few stayed to stand and fight.

           The Snowstriders backed towards the palisade, keeping themselves and their shields between the fight and their charges. A bottle-bomb bounced off Zero’s upraised shield without breaking. Some of the remaining cultists charged their shield wall brandishing burning torches, still trying to carry out the Flame Daughter’s last order. The god-soldiers killed them without hesitation, their swords stabbing out between the shields with mechanical precision. The same slinger from before hurled another bottle-bomb, this time aiming at the mountainside above the fall-back. He had a good arm and it struck high up on the rock face, but it failed to trigger the avalanche he had hoped for and only a few loose stones and clumps of snow fell away. Screams echoed through the valley, war cries and shrieks of pain alike.

           Then, as if someone had snuffed out the moon, the entire valley fell into shadow. Roan looked up, the battle tide ebbing, and almost dropped her knife. The cultist nearest her turned back to see what she was looking at. Redbolt’s jaw dropped, letting his latest enemy fall from his beak.

           The dragon folded its wings and landed with a crash that shook the ground. It was far bigger than the skeleton in the cavern, even bigger than the skull in the ossuary – almost as long as Narwhal from nose to tail and even longer across its vast wings, it could have swallowed Redbolt in one mouthful. A crown of horns ringed its head while long, sharp spines bristled all along its back almost to the bony spikes jutting out near the tip of its tail. It crawled forwards, leaning on its wings just as Roan had theorised back in the cliff cavern.

           Its eyes were the brilliant orange of a bonfire, and irregular grey stripes streaked across scaly hide the deep, rich red of venous blood.

           The last few Sons of the Sky ran to kneel before the dragon. “Great one!” gasped one man who seemed to have appointed himself the Flame Daughter’s successor. “We are here to serve you! The Sons of the Sky will take up the mantle of the Eyrie and… spread… the holy… fire…?” He trailed off when the dragon lowered its head on the end of its long neck and gave him a look of absolute contempt. It bared its teeth, growling. He stammered out a few more words of some ritual recitation that the cult had devised. Slowly, the dragon opened its mouth. A fiery glow ignited in the pit of its throat.

           Wisely, the cultists fled, leaving the valley to Roan, Redbolt, and the prince’s group. The dragon closed its mouth with a snort that almost sounded like a laugh, a few wisps of smoke rising from the corners of its jaws, and looked curiously down at Roan through narrowed eyes. Breathing hard, she cleaned her knife off on a fallen cultist’s cloak and sheathed it at her belt.

           “It’s you, isn’t it?” she said. “You’re… you’re the one my grandfather saw, all those years ago.”

           If the dragon could talk, it chose not to. Its nostrils quivered in a long, slow breath like a sigh and it looked over towards the fall-back, the Snowstriders still holding their shield wall. With surprising gentleness, it nudged both Roan and Redbolt over towards them with the tip of its huge muzzle and gathered the fallen bodies into a heap with sweeps of its great wings and its small, grasping forelegs. When they were piled up to its satisfaction, it reared back, opened its mouth, took a deep breath, and incinerated them with one enormous blast of fire. A cremation pyre would have taken hours; the dragon’s breath did it in seconds. Then it spared the shield wall one last glance, spread its wings, and vanished back into the mountains.

           The Snowstriders kept their shields up, keeping their eyes on Redbolt. His beak, talons and feathers were still stained with blood. He met their gaze, grunted, and lay down, crossing his front claws over each other. Roan stood beside him, wide-eyed and as tense as a bowstring. Redbolt silently folded a wing over her to stop her charging the shield wall to get to Asta.

           “Snowstriders,” said Leovar, “you may stand down.”

           They did so, sheathing their swords and lowering their shields, not without a certain reluctance. Torvald stumbled out from behind them, fell to his hands and knees, and was violently sick in the snow. Leovar knelt beside him for a moment, handing him the water canteen and rubbing his shuddering back, before straightening back up and passing that duty on to Ida with a regretful glance. She nodded and took his place at Torvald’s side, though she looked rather queasy herself.

           “Sir…?” said Alpha plaintively as Leovar walked over to stand in front of Redbolt.

           The prince stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, folding his hands behind his back. “I have read through both official reports and informal eyewitness accounts from along the Stormhaven border,” he said in a conversational tone. Only the way his fingernails dug into his hands betrayed his tension. “Largely from the Darkwald War, of course, but also from other border skirmishes before the Treaty of Harbinger Pass put a stop to them. A great many of them speak with a certain awe and, it must be said, terror of a particular gryphon they nicknamed the Red Bolt.”

           “Nice to be remembered,” said Redbolt blandly.

           “Are we in danger from you?”

           “Hrm. No fan of your Empire, me. But you and yours have been looking after a good friend of mine these last few hours. Reckon that’s earned you some goodwill for the time being.”

           “I had hoped as much. Then I will simply thank you for your assistance here, and won’t stand in the way of your reunion any longer.” He folded one arm across his stomach, gave a respectful bow, and walked back to the Snowstriders. “We tell no one of the dragon,” he declared as he walked. “Clearly, however many there may still be, they would rather be left in peace. Not to mention – a beast that size could reduce the Imperial City to ash if it wanted to. I would rather not give it cause.” Asta nodded as she passed him.

           Redbolt stood back up and lifted his wing off Roan. She bolted like a hare from a trap and dragged Asta into a desperate, crushing hug, planting one long kiss on her hair. Asta wrapped both arms around her waist and clung on with all her strength, burying her face in the side of Roan’s neck and breathing in the scent of her skin.

           “Not letting you out of my sight until we get home,” Roan mumbled into her hair.

           “Here-home or home-home?” asked Asta without letting go.

           “Either. Both!”

           Asta shook with an unvoiced giggle. “Let’s not be impractical.”

           Redbolt laughed and swept both of them in under his wing. Something shining amongst the feathers on his chest caught Asta’s eye. “Um. Redbolt?”

           “Yeah?”

           “There’s a knife in your chest.”

           “So there is.” He pulled it out and let it fall. The blade wasn’t very long. “Flight muscles,” he said by means of explanation when both Asta and Roan stared at him. “Couple feet of muscle and breastbone down there before you hit anything vital. Should still be able to glide the two of you back down to the city.”

           Asta gave another, much shakier laugh that quickly threatened to turn into sobs. Roan drew her back into her embrace, smoothing down her hair with one hand and gently inspecting the bump on the side of her head. “First thing when we get back to the city, I want a healer to have a proper look at you,” she said. Asta nodded against her neck. “Then I reckon you could do with a hot bath and a good dinner.”

           “Yes. Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

           Everyone looked over at a sudden strange noise from the palisade gate: a soft humming sound, followed by a rush of wind as a portal tore open and two people in the uniforms of Legion wizards stepped through. The more senior of the pair stood and took in the scene, his hands on his hips.

           “What,” he said, enunciating very clearly, “the Imperial fuck happened here?”

~~~

We’ve met that dragon before, as well. The last time was a good bit further along in the in-universe timeline, though, so she may be between bonded riders at this point.

“To shreds, you say?” is a pretty good summary of what tends to happen when a human tries to fight a gryphon hand-to-hand. Uh, claw. Especially if the gryphon is Redbolt. He doesn’t believe in fighting fair.

#az writes stories

[stargazing-enby]

And that's that on that.

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