#but man that response on reddit was worse than i could have imagined

[gofancyninjaworld]

Call this the anti-Scooby gang plot

Wait, what?

So, the latest manga chapter of One-Punch Man (update 231, online: chapter 184, fan-translation: chapter 186) may be similar to chapter 108 of the webcomic, but it's Not The Same. And one of those differences is very important:

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa. Scheduled? SCHEDULED? Leaks scheduled by who? Why?

Yes, I know it's the Neo-Hero scouts. I'm shocked that they're that confident that Genos will choose to jump ship rather than go to the HA and tell them that there's an organized smear campaign planned against them. Yes, they're right that Genos has no loyalty to the HA. Still, that takes some balls: that could go so badly wrong.

So, these scouts must have approached, what, at least a dozen of the most powerful heroes on the planet and told them about plans to undermine the Hero Association.

We know that the S-Class heroes in the manga are an astute bunch and that they're not too proud to talk to each other and take joint action. If they wanted to foil the Neo Heroes, they could. Seriously, imagine Genos thought the HA needed protecting. Imagine that Child Emperor thought the same. Imagine that Fubuki saw the curiously insecure back end of the HA's servers and thought 'damn, I need to warn them and see to it that something is done' rather than think how she might extract advantage from it.

Why aren't they? Because no one loves the Hero Association.

How do you misuse me? Let me count the ways

And why would they? The Hero Association was founded specifically so that the individuals who feel themselves moved to do good in the world wouldn't have to choose between doing good deeds and making rent, but in a hundred little (and not so little) ways, they've shown heroes that they're not at the centre of the organisation.

Shit pay

The shit pay is a frequent plot point. I've spoken already about Tatsumaki apparently unable to afford a good home. When the number two hero lives in a shitty old house, think how bad it has to be for everyone else. If they were coining it in, Metal Bat would have a nanny for Zenko so he could afford to work full-time as a hero rather than only during school hours. He's one of their longest-serving and most loyal heroes.

Terrible benefits

Instead of helping, the HA reads it as his being uncommitted and punishes him with low ranking (and corresponding worse pay). Just like IRL organizations treat working mothers. Hell, the HA has been positively vindictive in how slow they've been to raise Metal Bat's rank. Despite spotting his talent early, when the other low-ranking heroes were swept up into the newly-created Class S six months after founding the HA, do you know when they put him in Class S? A year ago.

You put it together and go 'wait, so for a year and a half, Metal Bat's had to watch heroes far weaker and less capable than he is be promoted over his head while he barely makes ends meet?' You start to understand why hero relationships are so often fraught.

It's a burning indictment of the Hero Association that Metal Bat jumped ship on being offered child care. If the Hero Association's standards of care were any lower, they'd be subterranean. They didn't deserve his loyalty.

The Hero Association pays its heroes the bare minimum they can get away with, despite collecting billions on their behalves. It's interesting to note that almost every hero on their roster is a young, single man. I remarked on this demographic seven years ago on Reddit. I know, what was I thinking? That the membership there had eyes and brains -- so foolish. As the story has progressed, I'm vindicated on this.

Yes, a lot of hero work is hard and physical, but that's not the whole story. Anyone with a family to support or caring responsibilities will find themselves pushed out -- god forbid your parents grow old. Add to it that they don't encourage teamwork or cooperation and the isolation of it will repulse a lot of women. Good, strong, capable ones. And as the story shows, there are a lot of them out there:

in a big population, even a small proportion of people is a sizeable demographic -- the HA has put off a lot of people who could have helped

Not to mention that as soon as you start thinking of marrying, you'll leave, even if you're the sort of loser dude who hates the idea of a man doing 'women's work'. Because you know that the HA is not going to be there for you or your family if you get hurt, and while you're okay taking risks for your own sake, subjecting your family to the same... no thank you. Sekingar's then-fiance making him choose between being a hero and marrying her really comes to mind.

Leaving aside poor pay and benefits, let's talk more broadly about the industrial relations disaster that exists between HA management and the heroes.

Disrespectful names

Shitty disrespectful hero names that leave their recipients feeling bullied, and no good way to change that name.

Inadequate, inconsistent support

The total lack of an effective mentoring program, not to mention the unreasonable and even unethical demands on them:

Not to mention an excessively harsh disciplinary regime

A lack of anyone actually looking out for heroes

We watch Busho, a junior official, try to get better conditions for the heroes on the ground and see his appeal go nowhere.

Disastrous leadership

The fact that most of the executives appear to be just... wet. People who have position but nothing behind it to inspire respect:

The fact that heroes are hurting with the desire to see actual competent leadership:

Sleazy practices that offend heroes:

It all adds up to not what heroes signed up for

Anyway, the important thing is that heroes, ALL HEROES, are working to make the world a better place. They aren't there to be loyal employees. If someplace else will let them work as heroes with less nonsense, they'll move.

No love lost

And that's why the heroes who could stop this Neo Hero plot right here, right now, aren't lifting a finger. It's like watching the Scooby Gang get told who's behind the creepy funfair at the outset, shrug, and go, 'eh, let him get away with it.'

Probably the only hero who actually cares about the Hero Association is Metal Knight, as he literally built a lot of it. But he's fucking furious at the top brass right now, for good reason. He probably thinks they deserve to suffer a little.

The heroes have no idea what kind of evil they're letting into the world. But then again, none of them are Madame Shiwababwa.

#OPM #meta #heroes #Hero Association #Neo Heroes #the heroes who could stop it are letting the Hero Association be attacked #because they're just that disgusted with the HA #True the HA doesn't deserve its heroes #However the new angel is much less than angelic

[that-green-haired-swordsman]

I really don’t know why I had this specific headcanon. Maybe bc I was rereading the relationship between Sanji and his family. Plus on reddit I’ve seen an old post with someone saying „Apparently Oda said that if Sanji should die, Zoro would pick up his smoking habit to remember him“, dunno if this is true but now I’m imagining Zoro and Sanji sharing a cigarette. This story is canon-divergent and it’s also been quite some time since I read the WCI arc and my memory is shit, so bear with me. Also Zoro and Sanji are most likely slightly ooc lol. Anyway, this happened in my brain...

Sanji knows it was a bad idea to go after his so-called family on his own, but he’d rather die while trying to stop them than seeing his friends get in danger. He can’t stand the presence of the man who fathered him, his stench makes him sick to his stomach. Judge has told him all kinds of fairytales about his future power and influence in the world, once Sanji got married to that daughter of Big Mom, and Sanji wishes he could settle things with his family once and for all, but he knows the time isn’t the best, so all he can do for now is listen to his father’s ridiculous fantasies and hope that his friends would be alright.

Of course, Judge tried to ask Sanji about his connection to the Strawhat pirates, which Sanji tried to dodge and give the least possible information about, stating he was only the ship’s chef and nothing else, and his father eyed him suspiciously. „We’ll see about that“, he said and left it at that for the moment, but not without gifting his son with an icy smile that let chills run down over Sanji’s spine.

The door to the throne room opens and Sanji watches his older brothers Ichiji and Niji drag a figure along with them.

„Look at the rat we’ve got here“, Ichiji announces proudly, throwing the man on the floor like a shopping bag. Sanji gulps. Those clothes, short green hair, arms tied behind his back. Goddammit, how could that happen?

„He fell off a tiny ship or whatever that was when we attacked it. These idiots were dumb enough to think they could cross our territorial waters without our permission. Thought he’d look familiar.“

„Does he?“ Judge asks, and Niji grabs the man by the scalp and lifts his head up. A soft sound, metal jingling against metal, from his left ear that was covered in blood, so was his temple, and of course – Sanji already knew who he was when the men entered the room. A figure impossible to mistake for someone else, once you met him, eyeing his opponents with a dark glare like an angered tiger in a cage.

Niji approaches Sanji and Judge with a stack of papers in his hand, briefly says „this one“ and hands the paper on top to his dad. Sanji stares in disbelief at the face that stares at his father’s, full of hatred.

„Ah, Roronoa Zoro“, Judge loudly announces. „The Pirate Hunter. Quite a bounty. I guess you know this guy?“ Judge nugdes Sanji with a grin, but the only response he gets is a frown that’s reserved for Zoro. How could you let yourself get captured?

„What are you doing here?“ Sanji asks his comrade without any emotions in his voice, although there are many of them he feels. The timing of this couldn’t be any worse, Sanji thinks darkly. Shitty marimo is gonna ruin everything. An eerie thought crawls into Sanji’s mind, but he manages to pause it for the moment.

„Guess I could ask you the same thing“, Zoro gives back, husky voice, almost growling, with a suggestive undertone Sanji doesn’t like at all. Zoro is mad. But not solemnly at the Vinsmoke family - first and foremost at Sanji. „Quite a mess you put me in, you dumb cook.“

Sanji bites back the remark that lingers on his tongue, while Judge openly laughs.

„Seems like you boys have something to discuss. I’m afraid there won’t be time for that. But I have quite a few things to talk about with you.“ Judge slowly walks towards Zoro who’s still forced to kneel on the ground.

„Do you?“, Zoro replies, sly grin on his face. „Why would I waste my time talking to a bastard like you?“

„Guess we have to introduce ourselves, father“, Ichiji says, and swings his leg to kick Zoro in the face and the swordsman‘s head jerks to the side and he roars in pain. Sanji flinches and is about to lunge forward to attack Ichiji, but Niji holds him firmly in place. Zoro grunts, blood runs from his nose, and he stares at Ichiji, his brows sunken dangerously low.

„You’re gonna pay for this“, Zoro growls with a deep voice, „for that hit and also for taking away my swords earlier. You don’t seem to know who’s in front of you either….!“

Ichiji grins disdainfully. „You are scum. You’re not worth the ground I’m walking on. You made the mistake of challenging the Vinsmoke family. You might have earned yourself a reputation, but it’s not even close to ours. And you will learn about our power.“

Zoro scans Ichiji’s face, then knits his brows, then looks over to Judge and lastly to Sanji. He grins. And then, he laughs.

„You’re the stupidest looking idiots I’ve ever come across, I don’t know how to take you seriously“, Zoro chuckles, and Sanji shakes his head, both as to acknowledge Zoro’s idiocy and as a warning sign he hopes Zoro sees, in order to tell him to keep his damn big mouth shut.

„You’re not afraid of anything, aren’t you?“, Judge asks Zoro quietly as he crouches down in front of him, and Zoro recovers from his laughing fit and looks directly into Judge’s eyes.

„No.“

„That’s your first mistake“, Judge says, „but based on my work experience I can tell that the inability to detect danger usually is one result of a general lack of intelligence, and you really don’t appear to be smart. Just loud and boisterous.“ Judge watches Zoro from the corner of his eyes, and it’s a bait Zoro all too easily swallows.

„Oh yeah? You guys really think you’re a match for me? And you claim to be the smart one between the two of us.“ Zoro ends with another arrogant, lopsided grin, one of his many trademarks, and Sanji exhales audibly, shaking his head because he damn well knows where this is gonna lead to. He knows that crazy bastard in front of his father inside and out, but the same applies to his father, and he witnesses two men who won’t back down and bow down to anyone standing face-to-face, and that strange feeling he can’t quite grasp crawls back into his head, and Sanji feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He’s gonna ruin everything.

Judge eyes him with a cold stare. „You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know about your crew. Where they are, why you are here, everything.“

„What if I don’t?“

Judge looks into Zoro’s face for a moment longer before he stands up again, and he doesn’t move a single muscle in his face as he kicks Zoro in the stomach, enhancing the boot of his raid suit with electricity, and Zoro screams, and Sanji forces himself to watch his comrade go through the agony his own father put him in. Zoro doubles over, groans repeatedly, and Sanji’s whole body shakes and trembles. Niji eyes him suspiciously, and Sanji reminds himself that he has to keep his composure - he told Judge that he doesn’t care about the Straw Hats, none of them.

Zoro coughs as Judge watches him, addressing him one last time with a cold, vicious voice that freezes the blood in Sanji’s veins.

„I’ll put you through hell.“

Zoro remains silent for once, but his dark, if not murderous expression tells Sanji what’s on the swordman’s mind.

Judge crosses his arms behind his back. „Your decision. You can be a traitor and live, or you can be a moron and die.“ He turns around now and locks eyes with Sanji as he walks back to him and Niji. Sanji returns his gaze, and he doesn’t hide the hatred and abhorrence in his eyes.

Just as Zoro inhales and opens his mouth for a retort, Sanji beats him to it. „You’re right, father“, he says loudly, and Judge comes to a halt right in front of him. „He is a stupid idiot. He’s proven to be an idiot time and time again. Never uses his brain, always excited to get in a fight. The only things he cares about are his swords and booze. You can’t expect much from a guy like that.“ Judge eyes Sanji closely, but Sanji holds his gaze. „He’s as illiterate and crude as you expect him to be. We never got along with each other from the day we’ve met. And I don’t intend to change that. He’s the dumb musclehead he looks like. He doesn’t know jack shit. So whatever it is you expect him to know, you can be sure he doesn’t have a clue about it. He’s useless.“

Sanji’s putting much at stake, he knows it. But he’s not gonna let Zoro grant preference to destroy his father, if the odds turned out to be in Zoro’s favor, absolutely fucking not… however, and Sanji’s sure of it, Zoro would be no match to Judge. Not only because Zoro lacks some vital information about the Vinsmokes in general, but also…

The blonde cook feels his heart beating in his chest, and he hopes he actually didn’t manoeuvre himself into a corner like he suspects he did.

If Vinsmoke Judge wasn’t such a large and impressive figure, Sanji would have been able to see Zoro steaming now, but Judge blocks his view on the swordsman. But he can very well hear Zoro yell „You son of a bitch!“, for which he earns a punch from Ichiji. Sanji tries to be calm and collected, and to emphasise his demeanor, he pulls out a cigarette and his lighter and starts to smoke. Niji lets go off him, and Sanji tries to calm down his shaking hands.

„Well, that brings me in some kind of inconvenience“, Judge muses. „I was hoping that my sons would bring me some big enough fish who could enlighten me, but you say otherwise. I guess I have to change my plans then.“ Judge turns around again, and Sanji exhales the breath he’s been holding.

His father walks over to Zoro again.

Fear. That’s what it is. Not uneasiness, not insecurity, not that anxious feeling you experience when you know something bad is likely going to happen. It’s fear. It’s a primal instinct, and Sanji grew to learn it, grew up with living with it, a long time ago.

Judge suddenly speaks up, and he startles Sanji.

„Pardon me, son, but I’m right to assume that, if you despise this man as much as you claim to, you don’t mind if we‘re going to torture him a little bit – just for the hell of it?“ Judge flashes Sanji a vicious grin, one of those that causes the chef’s blood to boil in his veins. „And it’s your decision if you tell me what I want to know instead, and then we’ll stop, or you just leave this roach to his demise and join us, we’re going to destroy the Strawhat pirates anyway. But be informed that, should you comply and sing, in order to stop the torturing, I’ll just count this as another sign of your weakness, as another proof that you’re a failure and an miserable excuse of a man. Because a real man doesn’t care about those who stand in his way, and a real man doesn’t back down. In some way-„ Judge grabs Zoro’s head now and forces him to look into the tyrants‘ face „-it’s a shame that we’re going to kill you piece by piece. A fierce brute like you would’ve fit in my army just fine. But, like I said, you’re not nearly smart enough for that.“

„You’re gonna regret the day we’ve met“, Zoro growls, before Judge gives him a hard push that shoves Zoro over the floor and Sanji watches Ichji and Niji taking a hold of Zoro again, dragging him out of the room while his crewmate throws insult after insult at them.

Sanji feels nauseous. Everything would have been under control, if Zoro wouldn’t have lost against his brothers. A knot forms in his stomach as he thinks about the rest of the crew, the ones who were travelling with Zoro and whose fate he doesn’t know about, as well as the others who stayed on Tottoland Island with Luffy. Sanji damn well knows how much his older brothers love to torture people who they think little of, and parts of his own childhood force their way back into his mind, and he smokes his cigarette quicker. His father’s laughter echoes in his head, a sound he hasn’t heard in such a long time, but which still feels horribly familiar.

Zoro‘s going to tell him a thing or two, once they’ve been able to escape the place, that’s for sure. Sanji feels that crippling fear again, that imminent sense of danger, as he thinks about the swordsman, the image of him after they’ve met Bartholomew Kuma on the Thriller Bark creeps back into his mind, how Zoro was standing there in his own blood only being alive by sheer willpower. Sanji wondered how Zoro was even standing on his own feet, and he wondered what it would take for him to collapse. He survived shit he should have died on for so many times. He is throws himself into life-threatening, suicidal situations without so much as batting an eye, reckless, careless, senseless, batshit crazy. The cook wipes a strand of his blonde hair out of his face, wondering if he’s gonna be present on the day when Zoro will finally meet his maker. But today’s not the day, and the place is not the place, and Vinsmoke Judge won’t be the last man in whose face Zoro would look and smile before he goes down.

„This is a waste of time“, Sanji murmurs, taking another drag from his cigarette. „I can’t believe y’all are dumb enough to fall for that moron‘s mockery. Guess you’re even dumber than him.“ Judge turns around to look at him. „It’s true“, Sanji shrugs. „That dumbass always wants to get in a fight. Whatever he gains from it, I don’t even wanna know. Shit probably turns him on or something.“ Judge chuckles while Sanji puts out the cigarette he’s been smoking down to its butt.

„You’re too soft“, Judge remarks with a voice that reminds Sanji of a meat grinder. „You don’t stand behind what you’re saying. You’re weak and pathetic and you obviously think I’m dumb. You didn’t really think I’d let go of that jerk because of your little act, did you?“ Judge bends down to get closer to his son’s face, and the latter presses his lips together in anger. „I know he won’t say anything“, Judge continues. „And you know that I just love to see him suffer. I want to see if you suffer then as well. Let’s say, seven days.“

„What?“

„Seven days. I’ll keep him tied up and torture him for seven days without food and water. If he survives and you don’t do anything to free him and really remain unimpressed by his treatment, I shall set him free. Not you, of course. You will have to stay here and marry Charlotte Pudding.“ Judge cups his hands behind his back and saunters in a circle around Sanji. „You get to see him once a day. And you will tell him to sing. You will tell him that if he gives us information, his suffering will end. If he refuses, he’ll have to wait until those seven days are over to be executed. Not that he’s going to make it that far.“

„But you said that you want me to-„

„Boy, boy, boy.“ Judge shakes his head slowly. „I can torture this guy all day long if I want. But you? You have to stay all pretty of course for the wedding! I’m curious, I have to say, what he thinks of you. He’s going to think you’re a traitor, and that you will talk, right? If he doesn’t think you’re rat already, for crawling back to your father on your knees.“

Sanji’s body shakes on its own account again, he’s fueled with rage. He wishes he could end his father’s life right here and now, and he seriously contemplates doing it. If that shitty marimo wouldn’t be held captive in the catacombs, he wouldn’t hesitate. But as things are now, it’s too risky. He needs more time. He needs a plan. As if he already hadn’t enough shit on his hands.

„I don’t think it’ll work, but I try“, Sanji says then. „But do I have your word that you’ll set him free when he talks?“

„Of course“, Judge grins, and he doesn’t even try to hide that he’s lying.

~~~

Sanji waits until Ichiji and Niji return from the catacombs. He grinds his teeth upon seeing their gloves and boots bloodied, upon them laughing and shouting, bragging about what they did.

„Did he say anything?“ Judge wants to know.

„Nah“, Niji replies. „Aside from a few insults and threats here and there. Took my right hook like a champ, though.“ He laughs. Sanji wants to rip his stupid laugh right off his fucking face.

„Give us two more days, three at most. He’ll beg uns on his knees to spare his life. If he’ll have remaining knee caps to kneel down on then, that is.“ Sanji hears the men roar with laughter, and he grinds his teeth harder to remind himself to stay in place, play along, and not to run downstairs immediately. He knows he’s still alive, and they want to have something to do for the remaining days. However, it gets harder to ignore the growing knot in his stomach and the dryness in his throat and the boiling blood in his veins. He waits for the brothers to calm down and find something else they can keep themselves occupied with, and then, with a growing sense of dread, he descends the stairs.

~~~

The hallway is dark and cold and humid. A few torches here and there prevent Sanji from wandering around in complete darkness. He walks until he sees a silhouette in one of the cells, sitting at the bars.

„Mosshead“, he greets the figure. „How stupid of you to let yourself get captured.“

Sanji sits down at the bars as well.

„You traveled into that bastard's territory alone and you have the audacity to call me stupid?“, the silhouette rasps, followed by a wheezy, weak laugh.

Sanji exhales. He’s not able to see Zoro properly due to how dark it is. „They roughed you up quite a bit, haven‘t they?“, he asks the swordsman.

A bit of silence, then: „Shut up. It’s nothing.“

Sanji reaches into the pocket of his vest to get his cigarettes. He uses the lighter and in the glim of light, he sees Zoro’s face: the swelling above his remaining eye, the bruises, the dried blood under his nose, how he sits there cross-legged in front of him, arms on his knees, back hunched. Sanji knows he’s worse than he claims to be. Yet, he says nothing, swallows the sudden feeling of anger, closes his eyes and lights the cigarette. When he closes the lid of his lighter, Zoro disappears into the shadows again.

Sanji takes a drag and inhales deeply. He needs a clear mind, for the both of them.

„Care to share with me?“

Zoro’s question startles Sanji a bit. He opens his eyes and tries to perceive Zoro’s face. After his eyesight adjusts to the darkness, he recognises Zoro staring at him.

„You mean… this?“ Sanji holds the cigarette higher and when he doesn’t get an answer, hesitatingly brings his hand closer to Zoro between two of the prison cell bars. He feels Zoro’s fingertips brush against his own as the sturdily built man takes the cigarette from Sanji’s lean fingers. Sanji watches in curiosity how Zoro brings the butt of the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, and he fails to suppress the cough that fights its way up his throat. Sanji snickers.

„Damn it. That was embarrassing. I’m not used to this anymore“, Zoro croaks, his deep voice sounding even more husky than usual.

„You used to smoke?“ Sanji asks incredulously.

„Back then when I was growing up. Thought I’d be cool, but I actually hated it.“

Sanji was surprised to hear himself laughing softly with a hint of affection. Zoro hands the cigarette back to him.

„Turns out my old sensei hated it too, when he caught us one day.“

„Bushido is all about discipline, isn’t it? Did he kick you out?“

„Me? Nah.“

Sanji takes another drag and shakes his head slightly at how offended Zoro just sounded. That arrogant sack of shit. There’s no chance he’ll ever meet a man more full of himself than Roronoa Zoro, he thought.

„Typical Scorpio right there, aren’t we?“ Sanji mumbles.

„You believe in that bullshit?“

„So far much of it has proven to be true.“

Zoro snorts. „Whatever, curly brows.“

Sanji fumbles with the cigarette a bit before he reaches it back to Zoro. „Quite a welcome my family provided to you“, Sanji says while doing so. „They’re pretty shitty hosts. They should’ve lived on the Baratie. Zeff would’ve taught them some manners.“

Sanji looks down on the floor, ashamed, angry. He sees the cigarette glimmer from the corner of his eyes and hears Zoro exhale a moment later, a wave of smoke washing over his face.

„So what’s your plan, cook? You’re gonna let me rot here and marry your dumb little princess?“, Zoro asks with a crooked grin.

Sanji puffs. „Oh no no, that shit’s not working on me. You can stop being a provocative asshole. I’m gonna tell you everything you want to know.“

„I don’t give two shits about your family or that girl“, Zoro rumbles. „If you think you can earn my sympathy with a sob story of your upbringing, you should know me better.“

„I don’t want your sympathy“, Sanji snarls. „I just want this to be over with and help you escape, if not for you, then for the sake of the others.“

„And what is it you‘re going to do? With them?“

„They laid hands on one of my nakama, they gonna pay for this.“

Zoro sneers. „We’ll see about that. I don’t think you’d stand a chance. Those armours they wear seem to give them great power. They were holding back.“ Zoro takes another drag and Sanji tries to scan Zoro’s body for any more damage.

„What did they do to you?“ he asks then as he fails to see anything.

„Doesn’t matter“, Zoro simply replies as he gives back the cigarette.

„To me, it does. These absolute shitheads are my brothers. They‘ll reap what they sowed.“

„Revenge is a fool’s game“, Zoro calmly states. „If you get invested in revenge, you’re gonna lose your focus.“

„Yeah, I’m sorry I’m not a cold, unemotional bastard like you.“

Zoro watches Sanji taking another drag, but remains silent, and his blank expression makes Sanji indescribably angry.

„What the hell is going on with you?!“, he shouts. „You just sit there and don’t talk back to me. You just sit there and practically wait for them to come back and beat the living shit outta you! How‘s that supposed to help anyone?! You wanna die a hero? Go ahead then, just do it! I don’t even give a fuck! I can just go back upstairs then and tell them to rip you apart, if that’s what you want! You’re begging for it! I came here to see if you’re alright and to make plans how to get you outta here, but if that’s not what you’re interested in, I might as well not give a fuck about you then either!“ Sanji angrily takes another drag and waits impatiently until the nicotine kicks in.

„You’re so fucking stupid“, Zoro blares, and Sanji feels the sudden urge to punch him and under other circumstances, he would. With his fist, and that means something.

„I don’t think so“, Sanji growls through gritted teeth.

„You are. And also, you talk too much.“ Zoro reaches through the bars to snatch the cigarette from Sanji’s fingers. Sanji lets him do it, Zoro looks away and Sanji feels another emotion washing over him suddenly. He gulps, feeling the after-effects of what he just yelled into Zoro’s face, and maybe for the first time ever, asks himself if they still have to be this way, after every thing. He realises that Ichiji, Niji and Yonji aren’t the ones he should call his brothers.

Maybe, one day….

Sanji fumbles with the buttons of his sleeves. He needs to stop that spiral of violence before it’s too late, no matter for whom.

„I’m going to beg him to stop. I can’t just sit here and watch you getting hurt“, Sanji then says. „I’ll tell him what he wants to know.“

Zoro’s head snaps around to look at Sanji. „If you’re gonna do that, I’ll kick your ass the minute i get the chance to do it. You won’t say a single thing. We’re not going to put the others in danger.“

„They’re going to seriously hurt you. You don’t know my bro… these guys.“

Zoro doesn‘t miss the pained expression that slips through Sanji’s masquerade for a short moment.

He shrugs. „I don’t care. I can take it.“ He ponders for a moment to tell Sanji about what happened at Thriller Bark, but decides against it. „The longer I’m here, the longer I’ll drag the attention off the others who are still on the boat. These idiots won’t go after them as long as they got me to play with. If it helps to grant them enough time to reach Wano - fine by me. You worry about your own business. I can take care of myself just fine.“

Zoro takes a long pull before he returns the cigarette that’s almost finished. „Here. You can have the rest.“

Sanji shakes his head, thinking about Zoro willingly act as a distraction. „That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.“, he then says, accepting the cigarette. He watches it, rather than looking at his nakama, who always had a unique way of showing that he cares.

And so, Zoro smiles, almost genuinely this time. „Hey, if the both of us would be going to beat their asses, that would be unfair.“

That took Sanji by surprise, but he recovers quickly and agrees. „We’d stomp them into the ground, big time“, he laughs, until he notices that he let his guard down and he stares at Zoro to check if he noticed as well. Sanji can’t tell. He’s caught off guard by the intense gaze of his crewmate that comes along with a mismatching neutral expression which most likely actually carries more emotions than Zoro lets on. It’s his gaze, the way he looks at Sanji, for a moment. They usually don’t get the time to talk to each other like that, and if they do, they rather spend it on physical fights, bickering and hurling insults at each other. But there it is again, that inner voice inside of Sanji telling him that maybe it’s time to move on from their immature act. Maybe not ultimately, but on occasion. At this moment, he doesn’t feel like bickering. He feels the need to avenge his comrade, not because he was hurt, he apparently doesn’t even care – but because his so-called brothers and father laid their hands on him. Sanji suppresses the range of emotions, the absurd moments of his past, the multiple flashbacks that threaten their way back into his mind, memories he thought he’d forgotten about years ago, but he knows he’s been lying to himself all the time. There is no way he could ever forget what they have done to him, he can only continue to live in the best way possible. Their abusive behaviour damaged him permanently and he thought he knew how to avoid the triggers. Then, he watches Zoro, the prime example of an alpha male, and he wonders.

„You know, I really hated you, when he first met. And for quite a while after that“, Sanji confesses. „And now, I finally know why. Thing is, some people change and some don’t.“

„I have absolutely no idea what the fuck you’re talking about“, a confused Zoro gives back.

Sanji smiles to himself, kills the cigarette and stands up, wiping the dust off his pants.

„Do me a favor and refrain from dying, I can imagine they’d force me to clean up the mess and I really don’t wanna get rid of your stinking corpse.“ Sanji shoves his hands into his pockets, turns around and starts leaving.

„Oi, cook.“

Sanji stops, but doesn’t turn around.

„These guys. They hurt you back then, didn’t they.“

A ruthless, cold bastard, but not as cold and unemotional as he told him he was.

And the only thing Zoro hears from Sanji is the sound of his shoes on the ground, getting quieter with each step, and the swordsman lays down, with his hands behind his head, wondering if he could take the time for a little bit of revenge after all.

#Repost bc this bitch just won't appear in the tags #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #One piece #Not ZoSan sorry #But as close as they could get #I love their dynamic so much

[mirrorforevers]

the wrong side of the bed • damon albarn/reader

smut with feelings, i guess. sorry if is this is too long – this prompt excited me too much. i hope you guys like daft punk - though this is not a songfic, but you’ll get why - and i promise i’ll write something not involving sadness and alcohol someday. this is unbeta’ed, and english is not my first language, so have mercy

thank you so much for the music teacher prompt, anon! hope you enjoy it x also, just in case you haven’t read my graham/reader fic yet, here it is too.

tw: unprotected drunk sex

word count: 4.477

Music has been a very important escape mechanism for you recently. Your job has been hellish, and getting your degree has also been a chore - in the midst of so many deadlines and professional disappointments what has been a light for you is Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your dad.

You detail these little “buts” as a mantra whenever the subject is him, whether in internal monologues or when you talk about him with your close friends. You never really believed in relationships between two people of very different ages, and you felt like you needed to remember those details whenever you could to keep that completely carefree crush from becoming something you couldn't control.

You started taking classes with him every Saturday after you were cast on your city’s production of a musical. You knew it was a very small step for a career in the industry, but it was very significant for you. You were exhausted from any activity that involved learning given how tired you were from college, but learning music with Damon was definitely something that you didn't even place in the same mental category. It was with him that you vented about how your week was, how you missed your parents who lived absurdly far away from you, it was with him that you shared the small victories of the day-to-day that were too insignificant even to share with your longtime friends. Which is funny, since this symbolic relationship was built in a matter of 2 months. Damon, in the beginning, was very reserved and “gray”, and it was amazing how in a matter of such a short time he shown himself to be someone so energetic, observant and empathetic; although a little bit of a control freak sometimes. When the wild waves of life seemed to take you everywhere at the same time and left you lost, despite so little time in your life, Damon became a constant.

And it worries you.

What are you going to do when the money to pay for his classes runs out? Certainly, although significant, what you had seemed to be was, above all, a friendship of convenience. You were very different people, with very different aspirations, and especially at very different points in life. As much as you liked each other *as friends* and considered yourselves people you wanted close by, Damon had a well-lived life to sustain. He would not have time much less willpower to listen to your complaints and insecurities in a context that did not involve an exchange relationship. At least, that's what you thought.

Saturday was also one of the two days you could wake up late, so in addition to having a rare time for your leisure, you were able to rest at least a little more than normal. That particular morning, you noticed that there were two missed calls from Maggie on your cell phone. Maggie was one of the producers of the musical. She used to bring you very decisive and very good news. If she called you, you did whatever it took to answer her right away. An unbelievable wave of anxiety takes over you. “Hello, Mags, you called?” You say, excited, but very nervous. Dealing with people who have your dreams constantly in their hands is somewhat stressful. You bite your nails.

“Hey, Y/N, yes. Um. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. What happened?” You notice that Maggie's tone is different. The funny thing is that everyone is always so apathetic in the artistic world, and Maggie was the only person you knew so far that showed any kind emotion.

“So… you were dropped.”

Ah.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“You… were dropped. We made some changes here and there and you won’t be on our show anymore. If anything changes again, we’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Um.

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you feel like you've been punched. Maybe you've been wrong all along.

My God. My God. My God.

You feel like your entire world has collapsed around you. There aren't even reasons for you to keep going to class. All that effort and money spent... are now in the trash.

Artists spend a lot of time investing in themselves. You always have to become better. Faster. Learn techniques. Reinvent yourself. Stay beautiful. And you don't believe that in your first real experience in this world... that happened. Most likely a friend of the director took your place.

My God.

You swallow the tears, after all, you told everyone you knew that you knew how this world worked and you wouldn't be shaken if something like this happened. No one is watching you right now - but you still feel that you would disappoint them if you cried.

But you couldn’t smile anymore. Nothing could take away your expression of shock and uncertainty.

Not even funny posts on Reddit. Not even funny memes sent by your friends in the morning.

Nor the message from Damon confirming the class of the day.

I won't be able to go today ☹, you type, and you erase it.

Hey, I got dropped from the musical. you type, and you erase it.

How are you doing? Definitely not.

I’ll be there! 😅 You hit send.

Hope we finally figure out that bloody solo, he replies.

You do not answer.

You change your clothes, without your motivational playlist playing in the background this time. The beginning of a great plan going on in your life was no longer there. You didn't even pick up your headphones and the subway ride was completely silent, except for the ambient sound.

You arrive at school, and Damon welcomes you with the usual tight hug, and wide smile. You give a yellow smile in response, and he immediately realizes that something is out of place. “Is everything okay?” His expression quickly changes to one of concern. Your stomach drops even lower. Maybe it hit the ground by now.

“I…”

You don't want it to end. Your dream ended, but not this, too. This cannot end. “Can we try another song today? One not from the musical?” You ask, exasperated.

“Uh… I mean-”

“Please?”

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" He laughs nervously. “But... the musical’s why you’re here. I’m confused--”

“I know, but pretty please?” You insist, cringing by now to keep from crying.

“Um. Sure – but did something happen? Tell me. I’m-I’m here to help.”

“I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Please.” You feel your voice weaken more and more. You don’t wanna cry, though your eyes are already burning. “Please, Damon.”

“Right. Okay.” He says, raising his hands in defeat. He starts collecting his material.

“What are you doing?”

“No class today. Something clearly happened and we need to talk it out.”

“I-I got sacked. But there’s no need to…”

“I got it. C’mon. I’m not a monster, I won’t charge you for talking it out. All we’ve worked for… fucking cunts.” There’s the visceral side of him. “You gotta tell me how it happened.”

“Okay.”

He only leaves your two chairs in place.

After you two sit, he starts. “This happens quite a lot in this world. And every student reacts the same.” Though this sounds a little too insensitive, you imagine it’s the truth, and his tone does the job of conveying his compassion. “Did they call you? Or did you find out through somewhere else, like Patti LuPone?”

“Huh. At least they called me. They just straight up told me I’m no longer in the cast.” You say, totally not comforted by that. But it would be even worse if you found out by other means. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Don’t let your spirit be broken by that – you’re really talented, and I don’t like paying compliments. You know that.”

“Talent is not enough sometimes. That’s also something you’ve said to me before.”

He goes silent, and you start apologizing in the same instant.

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings.” He interrupts you. “That’s true. But you’re really young, I shouldn’t have said that to you. Shit like that happens all the time. We learn a lot from it and you have your entire life ahead of you. That was… limited of me.”

“I know I’m almost getting my degree, and there’s other things for me to do… but fuck. I-- I really wanted that. You know how much.”

“I do. I also know exactly how you’re feeling now. We’re always so excited when this kind of thing happens. We plan our entire lives based on that one fragile and uncertain plan, and then boom, it’s gone. We always count on the fact that we’ll eventually have to decide between our career and something else when the choice comes, but what do we do when it doesn’t come? I know how that feels. Also--”

He grabs his guitar. You roll your eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a song for that.”

“I don’t.” he answers. “But I do have a story to tell you.”

For the next two hours, he tells you all about a very ambitious audiovisual plan that he tried to engage in his early 30s. Among countless questions and answers, Damon Albarn showed you through his history how very determined he really was. He goes into the most minute details about the ideas he had for a film and several concept albums for a virtual band that, in your opinion, sounds like something very innovative and, at the same time, incredibly palatable to the mainstream. You thought that the band he was part of when he was even younger was already very wronged because, from what you heard from the demos, they were really incredible, but the fact that such a project didn't go ahead ... just proved to you more and more that talent sometimes really wasn’t enough. Just when you thought you couldn't admire that man more.

“So, believe me when I say I know how that feels.” Goddamn. He looks at his clock, and almost jumps at how the time flied. “Bloody hell, I have another student in like, 5 minutes.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is a tale very few people know about. I’m glad I shared it with you.”

“…That had potential. Don’t give up on it.”

“Don’t give up on your plans either. I really mean it when I say you’re talented as fuck.”

You couldn’t help but smile through the dried tears and puffy eyes. You say your rushed goodbyes. But before can you leave the room, he holds your arm. “Wait. I know it’s hard, but don’t spend the rest of the day thinking about it. Do you want to do something tonight?”

“Uhhh—what you have in mind?” You can’t believe your ears.

“I don’t know. Do you drink?”

“More than I should.”

“Perfect. So I know a place we can go. Any preference of hours?”

“After 7 pm, I guess?”

“Works for me. I’ll send you the address soon then.” He says. You stand still, frozen, still processing what just happened. He’s blinking as if he just told you how’s the weather outside. “Now you can go.”

“O-kay. See you in a few hours then, Damon.”

“See you in a few hours, Y/N.”

You tried to hide your excitement, in vain. You smiled like an idiot.

This was one of the scenarios of your daydreams when you were walking around, talking quietly to yourself. Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your father, just asked you out. You don't care if it was pity. After such disappointment, you allow yourself to create a little more of that stupid, inconsequential hope that your life would take an exciting turn for the first time.

He sends you the address a few hours after your class/conversation, when you were starting to get ready to meet him. It was a pub that you already knew well, and had visited with some friends in the past. You choose a dress that has become your “uniform” recently, for valuing your body type well and for translating your style in a way that is both stylish and very comfortable. When you finish getting ready, you take a deep breath. There is a world of difference between what you wanted to happen and what you think will happen. But you do not care.

The tragic call you received in the morning barely crosses your mind on your way to the pub.

Upon arriving, you find Damon - always so punctual - sitting in the corner of the lounge fiddling with his cell phone while he takes a few sips of a drink that you have no idea what it is made of. You never took him for a complex drink guy. He is really full of surprises. You feel slightly self-conscious out of a sudden, stomach churning in anticipation. He raises his eyes, and his gaze meets yours. His usual welcoming smile makes all your worries go away. You couldn’t help but smile wide too.

“Hello there. A stark contrast to this morning’s Y/N.” He notes, looking you up and down after you two share a tight hug, that smile still there.

“My plan tonight is to forget everything that happened before we talked, okay? Just let me forget about the call!” You answer, playfully, trying to pretend you weren't in the least ... affected ... by the way he received you.

And the time you spend together goes as usual. It’s amazing how there’s no space for awkward silences between you two. To one thing you tell him, he brings you three more things to tell, and vice-versa. You two just… click. You make each other laugh, and even if things don’t go the way you daydream about, which is totally okay, given that he’s twice your age and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications that age difference has, you’re glad to call him a good friend. He’s amazing, and you’re having a great time with him.

By your fourth beer and his fifth fancy drink, your conversation enters a territory that hasn’t been truly explored by you two yet. His romantic past. You only knew he was divorced because he mentioned it very vaguely one day, nothing else. You didn’t know why, who was her, or when. But apparently, he was about to tell you.

“We were both really… young… and didn’t have a clue of what we were doing with our lives. She was a musician too, Justine. Not anymore.”

“Because of what happened between you two?” You ask, the beers gradually taking the indiscretion filters out of you.

“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed tired of everything. She wanted a life I’m not sure I would be able to live. I also pressured her a lot, I tried to create a version of her that somehow fitted all my expectations and, long story short, we weren’t right for each other. But I still think she’s incredible. I still admire her a lot. Not sure how she feels about me though.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Oh, no. There’s a big difference in admiring someone and being in love with them, kid.”

After that sentence of his, for the first time that night, an uncomfortable silence hangs between you - Instant Crush, by Daft Punk, almost ironically, starts playing on the pub's speakers. You feel like you're in a movie.

You're still a kid, aren't you?

“Definitely.” You finally answer him, finishing 70% of the bottle in a few gulps. You become a bit more lightheaded after that, and your eyes start to struggle to focus. You try to hide how slurred your voice wants to sound. “I confess I still don’t know how to really differentiate between the two.”

“Oh yeah?” His wistful tone gives place to one of amusement. “You never told me about your exes. Feel free to.”

“This is not about them.”

He turns to you, after a one-sided staring competition with his own cup. His voice is calm, and somehow even deeper, when he asks you: “Then who is this about?”

You gulp. The cramped space you were sitting on somehow feels even smaller. And hotter. You feel drops of sweat sliding on your belly. You’re sitting by his side, not in front of him, and that interaction feels almost… primal. You two are trapped by a huge table in a corner very few people can see.

“I think I need to go to the loo.”

He lets you, and you feel his eyes following you to the restroom.

My God. My God. My God.

You take a much longer time to do everything than you really need while reflecting on the dialogue you just had. You feel the ground is starting to spin, and the desire to sleep on literally any place grow. You’re drunk. And confused. And anxious.

You spend some good minutes staring at your own face in the mirror before you return to your table. He’s still in the moment, judging by the contemplative look on his face. This is the point of no return.

This is no movie – this is a fucking RPG.

“It was full,” you justify.

“Yeah, it’s always pretty crowded in there.”

That goddamn awkward silence again. You try to talk at the same time, but he wins.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “It’s… about a guy. He’s a…current… thing. Not from the past.”

“Right.” His tone is serious, more teacher-like than he has even acted while actually teaching you.

“I met him through an ad. I was looking for music teachers in my area and I found him. He had a fair price.” He was now smiling in disbelief, shaking his head. You’re both tipsy and you don’t care if your words are slurred anymore.

“And?”

“I have classes with him every Saturday. It’s the event of the bloody week for me. I can’t believe I’m saying that now because at first he seemed quite intimidating and not open to any meaningful interaction. Like, all frowns and monosyllabic answers and all.” You steal his drink, and he’s not even bothered. “We talk a lot, and even though we talk every day I somehow always thought he didn’t give a fuck about me when we were out of class. That he only saw me as a student, not as a friend, you know? I think about that chap every single day too. He’s handsome--like. Fuck. And he pays attention to everything I say. He’s always so nice to me, he makes me feel welcome. A part of… something.” You take a few more sips, and he gently takes the drink out of your hand, mouthing an ‘enough’. “He’s old enough to be my dad and I feel guilty for thinking of him that way. He invited me for drinks when my world fell so I could get my mind out of the shambles my life’s in and I almost died because I’m madly in love with him for a while now, but I don’t want to ruin everything. I don’t know what to do now. People shouldn’t start things thinking of how they’re going to end, but, you know?”

“They should, though. He’s indeed too old for you. And your life isn’t in shambles.”

“But…”

“Everything sounds pretty lovely in theory, but, he’s probably thinking that he’s going to slow you down in a way. You’ve got too much life to live. He’s probably really tired of everything he’s already lived.”

“But I love him. He makes me laugh! I don’t wanna have children.” You whine.

He muffles a laugh. “It’s not that-“

”Please take me home tonight.” You plead; your tone more serious now. “I know what I’m doing, I know where I am. Just please take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, Damon. If you don’t feel the same then fine, call me an Uber and I’ll get over it.”

That triggers something in him, apparently, and he kisses you deeply and intensely. His hands caress your back and the whole kiss, though a little disjointed because of the state you’re both in, is full of affection and love. His lips taste of strawberry vodka, and your mind is spinning.

When your lips part, you stare at each other for a while, thousands upon thousands of thoughts per second, unsaid. “Are you sure you wanna come with me?” He asks, kissing your hand.

“Yes. I am.”

-

After he fumbles with his keys, you’re finally in his apartment – it’s surprisingly nice and tidy. Judging by how carefree he’s with his looks, you imagined that characteristic would overflow to other aspects of his life.

From the Uber drive home to his door, his hand never left yours.

He locks the door, and you stand staring intently at each other, sizing each other up like men before a fight. This time, you start the kiss, with a little less hurry than before. But the desire is still burning hot on both of you.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re doing to me?”, he murmurs, discarding his jacket while he does his best to not break the kiss. You take this as a signal to start taking off your clothes too, starting by kicking off your shoes. It has become a choreography of sorts - his hands grasp your buttocks and pulls you closer after you’re done with them, drawing a gasp from you.

“I wanted you for so long.” You reply, your hands exploring his body below the fine fabric of his shirt. You motion to take it away from him, and he lets you, completely entranced by how red your lips look from everything it went through. He guides you to his sofa, quickly adjusting it so it’s comfortable enough and serves as a bed for both of you.

He lies down first, eagerly waiting for you to stay on top of him. You finally do, and you feel like a goddess from the way he looks at your body. You take off your dress, and now you’re almost fully exposed to him. You have no bra on, and his hands immediately travel to your breasts, fingers running tantalizingly over your nipples to get them stiff and erect before he pinches them between his fingers, smiling at the whimper his actions elicit. You start bucking your hips on the rough fabric of his trousers, and you feel him harden below you. “God, you’re… something else.” he whispers, and you respond with another whimper, biting back a full on moan when your clit hits the perfect spot. You separate your legs a little further so you can feel him better, drawing a groan from him. He takes this a signal to take his jeans off, eyes not leaving your hips.

Now that a distance of an entire layer is shortened between you, the contact is even more intimate, and the bulge of his cock straining against his underwear is driving you mad. You’re aching for him. He brushes against you and your moan is higher than you expected, and you immediately cover your mouth in order not to wake up his neighbors. As he feels the wet heat of you around his painfully hard cock, he takes your hand out of your lips, grip then tightening on your hips as he pushes you down right on to him. Your moan is even louder. “Let them hear.”

“Fuck-Damon-I’m getting so close--” As if you just gave him a command, his hands now grab the flesh of your inner thighs, massaging them further and further up until he reaches the center of your arousal, and the sound you make when he pulls your panties to the side and runs his finger between your folds while still grinding against you is somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice rough from how excruciatingly aroused he is. “Come for me, baby.” Your clit was more exposed now, pressed more tightly against him and you whine in relief when your orgasm finally floods through your body.  

Before you could fully recover, he finally frees himself from his underwear and, with your help, effortlessly aligns himself with your (quite ready) entrance. You bury your head in his neck the moment he enters you in one swift motion and your moans are almost like cries by now - the overstimulation is driving you insane. You take his face on your hands and give him a passionate kiss while he gradually picks up a merciless pace inside of you, the more heated the kiss becomes the more shamelessly you ride his cock. “Shit,” he mutters, massaging your breasts in an almost desperate way. It’s too much - you’re almost becoming one.

You could tell by how frantically he fucked you now that he wasn’t going to last much longer. His thrusts were becoming irregular and you were so close once again. His head falls forward, buried in between your neck and shoulder - his cock twitches inside of you and his movements become staccato, his mouth curving into a beautiful ‘o’ shape as he comes inside of you. His movements stop before you could reach your second one, but the entire situation you were on was so arousing to you that just by touching yourself while still feeling him inside was enough. Not letting you alone in this, one of his hands focus on one of your nipples while the other one is below yours, providing pressure above your clit. And like that, you come undone a second time, head above his shoulders.

For a few minutes, your panting was the only thing that could be heard inside of the apartment.

“Thank you. You were amazing. ’s been quite a long time.” He notes with a tender kiss on your forehead. After a while, and with much reluctance, he slides out of you, and gets up to fetch a warm, wet cloth and carefully clean you both, finally collapsing next to you with a groan.

“It was everything I expected.” You confess, smiling.

“Did you… think about me like that when you…?”

“Of course. But let’s save this talk for another Saturday.”

#damon albarn #graham coxon #alex james #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #fic #prompt #au #smut #damon x reader #damon albarn x reader

[sohin-ace]

Jojo Drabble - Jotaro (Pride Month Special)

It's the end of Pride Month, and I haven't seen a single, not a single post about Aro/Aces...

I'm not really surprised. At all.

I'm linking some interesting videos and websites to help you understand this sexual orientation.

Asexuality: The invisible Orientation by Hippie Calico

I spent a day with Asexuals by Anthony Padilla

Asexuality by David Jay

Asexuality.org (available in 16 languages)

R/aaaacccccce on Reddit

R/asexuality on Reddit

(Both subreddits are very cute and full of funny memes and good positivity 💜🖤)

In regards to the visibility of this marginal and forgotten sexuality, I'll be making a drabble about it. With the only openly Aro/Ace character of Jojo that I know of.

※ Jojo Scenario • Jotaro - Ace to Ace

You opened the heavy metallic door leading to the rooftop, the loud clank and dry screech making you cringe. Hopefully the sound wouldn't alert the teachers or the class reps. After all, nobody was allowed on the roof. Especially during class hours.

You walked around, searching for a certain someone and, surely enough, the boy in question was there, just where you expected him to be.

"Man, you sure love to ditch, don't you?"

You chuckled and the male didn't even spare you a glance, his hat effectively shielding his face from the Spring sun as he laid leisurely on the floor, his arms pillowing his head.

"I could say the same to you."

Well, he wasn't wrong, you thought to yourself, but you would never admit it out loud and possibly give this smug man reason.

You slowly and carefully sat down next to him, groaning slightly at the painful difficulty of the usually simple task.

Jotaro perked up slightly at your discomfort, making sure you were alright. Thankfully you seemed alright and he relaxed.

"Yare yare daze, you shouldn't have come. You're still recovering, why are you walking flights of stairs now?"

That's right. You were still under medication and strict medical supervision for your quite severe stomach wounds. And you still weren't used to your prosthetic leg just yet.

It was purely a miracle that you managed to survive that fight against Dio, and you never ever took a second of your life for granted after that, thinking of the friends who didn't have the same chance as you, lost forever during that battle.

You looked down at your uniform skirt. You couldn't think about that now. You had to lift up the mood for Jotaro, and for them.

"Hey, I'm fine." You dismissed with a smile, "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore, it's been a while now." You reassured and he only mumbled his catchphrase again, laying back down.

You two kept each other company in comfortable silence. Despite everything, Jotaro was still taciturn and you were much calmer after all that happened the past few months.

It was already the end of the school year and your thoughts drifted to the future that awaited you, and what it had to possibly offer.

"Say, Jotaro..." You softly grasped his attention and he only hummed in response. "What do you think will happen next? After we graduate, I mean..."

"Hmm?" He opened a curious blue eye at you." ...Go to college or get a job. Or both. What else do you want to do?"

"Ah well..." You paused and thought of your next words. "I don't want to but... Guess I'll have to get married and stuff eventually... Have kids, cook for my husband, things like that you know..."

Jotaro clicked his tongue and scoffed at the disgusting idea. "...Bullshit."

"I know..." You sighed and looked back down at the male, only to see him stare at the now more covered sky, his usual glare softer on his face. You knew what he was thinking.

"Jotaro..." You called and he looked at you. "You're the same as me... Right?"

He didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke answers for him. You may not have known him for very long, but the adventures and experiences you lived with him were worth much more than years of friendship.

He huffed and closed his eyes. "Yare yare daze... Why are you talking about depressing things, now?"

"I mean... Can you blame me for being worried? I know you feel the exact same, Jotaro." You brought your knees up to your chest and stared ahead. "You'll have to get through the same thing at one point too... That's... What we're expected to do, after all... Whether we like it or not."

He hated to admit it, but you were right. What was the place in society for two outsiders with not interests in romantic or sexual relationships?

What were Aromantics and Asexuals besides loners, straight people craving attention and finding poor excuses for their lack of charisma?

Especially when everybody well knew that the only way to succeed in life, was to share it with a significant other and keep the bloodline going forever.

...Or was it really?

All these thoughts, your obligations as members of the patriarchal modern society, the implications behind all of it, the consequences, the fate you two would be doomed in. All of these were so painful. A lifelong struggle.

He was aware that he'd have to complete his other half of his life, achieve the ultimate life goals of getting married to a beautiful little wife and have cute little children running around the house and all that jazz.

But that's not how Jotaro Kujo had ever imagined his life would be like.

He had his own dreams, his own comforts. Being alone was good. So good. But he had no choice, he'd have to satisfy society's expectations. He'd have to make his mother proud and granting her the little grandchildren she always wished to have.

Jotaro looked back at your metallic leg. After all you've been through, after all he's lost to save his mother, pleasing her and making her happy was the least he could do to honor your sacrifices and the deaths of his loved ones.

But what could he do? Force himself? A man couldnt force himself to develop feelings, he could only pretend. But what good would that do him?

He'd have to, eventually. He couldn't help but think back at you. You were all the same. And you two would be judged for life for not following suit and do like everyone else, like little sheeps.

Was it so wrong to not want to be with a special someone? To not get attached or attracted? Why was it so weird? Why was it unacceptable? Who deemed it necessary, to get stuck into marriage just for the sake of being married?

And man, his thoughts rathered to drift to sex either, that's really the last straw and if possible, he'd love to shut everybody up about it. Shut up everybody who only validated a man's worth by his primal urge to knock a woman up.

You seemed to be the only one he could actually talk about this with, since people would just tell you the usual 'You're gay!' or 'You haven't found the one yet!'.

Just like telling a depressed person to 'cheer up'. Bullshit excuses of people who couldn't accept that mindsets and sexualities differ with each human being.

What were the two of you supposed to do? You were stuck, cornered.

He was a stone that knew nothing about affection, and he already pitied the unlucky woman who'd get to him.

And you were just as bad of a stone. He felt bad for you, for having to have to lay down and take it without batting an eye just to satisfy the needs of the greedy bastard that'd snatch you away.

"... We'll figure it out, Y/N. We've dealt with much worse to worry about things like that."

"That's true but... I don't know. It's hard to imagine a family life. I like chilling on my own. And I'm still too sad about them to be lovey-dovey."

He scoffed, hitting your back playfully. "So what? Let two hopeless rocks with crippling depression be themselves. Sounds like a plan."

"Now, hear yourself talking about depressing things!" You chuckled and pointed out accusingly at him, stealing his precious hat and putting it on your own head.

He sat up with an exhausted sigh and roughly pulled his hat down your eyes, as his own little revenge, gratified by a small 'Ow!' of response from your end.

He let out a ghost of a smile as you were blinded by his hat, thankful that you couldn't see him even though he knew you'd never tease him for being more expressive.

"Ow, that actually hurt, Jojo, you bastard!"

"Let's go." He stood up before stretching his huge hand out to you, making sure to be careful with your injuries as he pulled you up to your feet with surprising gentleness.

Before you could reach your classroom, you grabbed your friend's arm, prompting him to stop walking in the empty hallways.

"But really, Jojo... Wherever you are, and if you have been pushed into a life that unsatisfies you in the future... think about me, okay? You know that somewhere, I'll be the exact same... You're not alone."

He couldn't help but soften his gaze just slightly. You were a thoughtful person, that wasn't a secret. You already had proven yourself to be compassionate multiple times during your crusade, and you kept on.

You made him realise that he was normal and it was okay to not feel anything. You two could only rely on each other now, and it sure didn't matter to him what people say.

Oh of course he'd heard his classmates gush about how cute you two were and how uncharacteristically sweet he was towards you ever since you came back from your trip.

Because the infamous Jotaro Kujo wouldn't just have a soft spot for just anyone, right? Nobody would believe that he became so gentle just because you were injured, there must be something more, right?

No. Absolutely not. And screw society for fogging people' small brains into thinking that there's an afterthought or innuendo behind every male-female, or even same sex platonic relationships.

He knew well that it made you as uncomfortable as him, but you always brushed it off and let the people talk. Let them believe whatever they wanted.

He never wanted to think too much about it, but he couldn't help but worry as well sometimes. That was the kind of things that pissed him off.

It pissed him off so bad. If it wasn't for you he would have crushed so many skulls already. That would teach some people to shut the fuck up.

"What are you thinking about, Jotaro?"

He blinked, humming questioningly at you as you had taken him out of his transe.

"You just called Star Platinum." You said as you grabbed the Stand's big hand, shaking it around as if to greet him, to which he responded with a whispery 'Ora'.

He sighed heavily, calling his Stand back. "Nothing... Nothing at all."

You chuckled a bit. You've learned to read him quite well overtime. A skill only his mother and Kakyoin had mastered. "I'm worried too, Jojo. Hopefully it will be okay... For us."

You patted his back reassuringly and he smiled.

Wasn't that kind of love enough? Love without obligation, without commitment. Without the consequences. Without gender norms, without standards. Just people caring for each other. Wasn't friendship, camaraderie, sisterhood and brotherhood beautiful enough?

Platonic, unromantic love was much stronger than any other type of relationship. He was satisfied with this form of social contact. He didn't need anything more.

Jotaro Kujo was never a greedy man, after all.

The male was suddenly brought back to his sense when he felt a tiny hand tug insistently at his sleeve, hoping to wake him up from his rêverie.

"Papa, you fell asleep on your desk again..."

Jotaro inhaled tiredly, scratching his head and taking in his surroundings, his study back in his home in Florida. He patted his daughter's head, making her scrunch her face a little.

Was it that late already? He was so used to dozing off after working on his thesis, reflecting on his life and his choices. He had been overworking himself lately. He knew he shouldn't overthink, but he couldn't help it.

"Thank you Jolyne. Go back to sleep now, alright?"

The little girl nodded and trutted out, leaving her father alone to his thoughts.

Jotaro let out another breath, eyeing a certain picture frame, taken in the desert. Hopefully you were living a fulfilling life of your own.

And hopefully you two would get to meet again, and maybe talk again.

Ace to ace.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #writing #x reader #reader insert #stardust crusaders #jotaro #jotaro kujo #unromantic #non romantic #jotaro says ace rights #ace visibility #ace pride #asexual visibility #aromantic #aromantic visibility #pride month #jojo scenarios #jjba #jojo part 3

[ehstarwar]

flesh stays no farther reason (2/6)

It takes three weeks for him to contact her again.

A one word text after only one night of fucking (albeit, glorious, life-altering, religion-defying fucking) shouldn’t make her heart flutter the way it does now.

-

Five times Ben looks for Rey and the one time she finds him.

-

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.7K

Read on AO3

2

rank sweat of an enseamed bed

It takes three weeks for him to contact her again.

She’s just gotten home from what is, quite possibly, the most draining shift she’s had this year, when the notification brightens her phone, and subsequently, her day.

From u/KyL0_R3N

Hi.

A one word text after only one night of fucking (albeit, glorious, life-altering, religion-defying fucking) shouldn’t make her heart flutter the way it does now. 

From u/R3yoflight

hey

From u/KyL0_R3N

How have you been?

From u/R3yoflight

good, for the most part

work sucks, but thats just the way it goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

hbu?

meeting go well??

From u/KyL0_R3N

I’m glad you’re doing good. Sorry about work. 

I know how that can be, unfortunately.

The meeting did go well. Thank you for asking.

I’m sorry I didn’t call you after our night together.

Rey stares down at her phone, not knowing how to respond. 

The morning after their night together was a point of contention in Rey’s mind. On one hand, it was a hook-up. An old-fashioned, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am hook-up that just so happened to be between two thoroughly compatible people. They had barely even talked to one another. She hadn’t made fun of his stupid, clearly made-up name, hadn’t teased him for his large ears that she found too endearing, she hadn’t even gotten his actual phone number. 

But… it was so, so sweet.

The way he had handled her was not that of an impassive man looking to get off and get going. It was of someone who knew how to take care of another, who wanted to take care of her. The gentleness of his lips from the last time they kiss will forever be burned into her brain.

Part of her had expect get a call the next day, with Kylo confessing that he had the same butterfly feeling she did. After a few days past and she hadn’t received so much as a new post alert on reddit from him, she decided to push back the feelings into a tight corner of her mind that was slowly filling up with emotions she wasn’t ready to unpack. 

From u/R3yoflight

it’s nbd, i know how hook-ups go

don’t feel bad

From u/KyL0_R3N

I think it is a big deal, but I know what you mean.

I would like to see you again.

Would you like to see me?

Would she? Would she even survive being with Kylo Ren again?

Rey decides its all comes down to attitude, and she’ll go in with a better one this time.

From u/R3yoflight

yeah, i would

u have another big meeting u need to prep 4?

It takes him a whole 10 minutes to respond, a first for him.

From u/KyL0_R3N

Sure.

What about the 8th? 

Does that work for you?

From u/R3yoflight

i work the 7th and the 8th, but the hotel we 

were at last time is p close to my job

i could meet you there and just pack stuff

for work

From u/KyL0_R3N

We can do another date so you don’t have to do that.

From u/R3yoflight

nah 

i don’t want u to have to move ur meeting

so im good if ur good

From u/KyL0_R3N

Of course.

I’m good, too.

From u/R3yoflight

🤗🤗🤗

-

Rey bounces the ball of her foot on the hard concrete beneath her, watching the clock with rapt attention. The minutes seem to slow the further she got into the day, making the last hour and a half feel like an eon. Plutt had already barked at her to make herself useful somewhere, but there’s only so much to do when they’re down cars for the day. 

The moment the clock strikes 5:30, Rey is out of the shop like a bat out of hell. She thinks about stopping in some bathroom and changing into a skirt or dress or at least some clean underwear, but she can’t bring herself to waste that much time.

She want’s to see Kylo. Desperately. 

The wall she’d constructed around all her curiosities from their last meeting had come crumbling down with the promise of a second one, and this time, she was determined to know a little bit more about the man in question.

He’d sent her the room number a few hours ago, letting her know to meet him there whenever she got off work. Her mind had already begun reeling in the possibilities of tonight by that point, and it only added gas to the flame.

There’s a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead when she walks into the lobby, and a few things become apparent at once.

One, the hotel is full to the brim with people who look like they make in an hour what she makes in 5 years.

Two, she absolutely should have taken the time to change into something that wasn’t the grease-stained overalls that had seen much better days, probably long before she’s fished them out of a bin at the goodwill.

Three, the doorman (with white gloves) looked moments away from calling the cops on her. 

“Excuse me, miss,” the doorman says, walking up to Rey. She gulps and prays with every fibre in her being that he’ll just inform her she dropped something and let her go on her merry way. “May I ask if you’re staying at this establishment?” His tone isn’t accusatory… yet.

“Um… sort of? I’m meeting someone,” She explains. A few of the posh guest are trying to remain inconspicuous as they attempt to hear what’s going on. It makes her cheeks burn red.

“Ah, well, the bar is downstairs and… there is a dress code.”

Rey has felt small plenty of times before in her life. This is nothing new.

“He’s in his- our room, already,” She tells him, keeping her eyes on the doorman and actively ignoring the now-open stares of the lobby. The doorman’s eyes narrow.

“Why don’t you check in with the front desk to make sure you have the correct room number, shall we?” Without waiting for her response, the man moves his arm and begins walking her to the far end of the lobby, where beautiful women in black blazers stare on at her.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll just call Kylo and tell him I can’t-“”

“I beg your pardon?” The blood runs out of the face of the doorman. “What did you say your friend’s name was?”

“Kylo. He’s upstairs but I don’t want to bug-”

“My apologies, Miss. I had no idea that Mr. Ren was expecting guest. Allow me to escort me to your suite-”

“That’s really not necessary. I’ll just go now-” 

“Rey?”

Her whole body freezes as his voice cuts across the lobby. She doesn’t turn to look at him, instead still focusing on the now queezy-looking doorman. She feels his presence come up beside her, and the warm, large hand come to rest on her lower back.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

The doorman looks at her with wide eyes and a pleading stare.

“Everything was fine, I was just coming upstairs.” The lie rolls off her tongue and she hopes she sounds convincing. Rey finally glances upwards to look at Kylo, maybe to flash him an ill-advised smile and silently say ‘lets go please.’

It is striking just how beautiful he is, especially after so long without seeing him. His hair looks even more perfect now than she was remembering it, but Rey assumes that her imagination will never quite compete with the real thing. 

“You we’re taking a while and I got nervous. I’m glad I came down when I did.” His eyes shoot over to the doorman who looks moments away from passing out, so she acts quickly.

“Well, I’m here. Let’s get going, please.” Rey takes both her hands and pushes against the solid bark that is his chest, and Kylo eventually complies, but still sending a death glare the the rest of the hotel staff.

When she’s finally pushed them into the elevator and they’re blessedly alone, Rey takes a deep breath of relief. For as poorly as that interaction went, it could’ve gone much worse.

“What did he say to you?”

Kylo’s voice is low and sends the wrong kind of nervousness to her gut. 

“He was just making sure I was in the right place. He had every right to ask what I was doing here. I mean, I know how I’m dressed and how I look, so if we could just move on-“”

“No one should speak down to you, no matter how you’re dressed, Rey. It isn’t okay.”

“But it is!” She snaps. “Because I know people in the service industry are just doing what their told and that guy is probably underpaid as is and his boss would have reprimanded him if he’d said nothing, so it’s fine!”

Kylo stays silent beside her and she can’t bring herself to look at him. The elevator takes it’s time, crawling to their floor, but blessedly does not stop to board anyone else.

“You were going to leave, weren’t you?” He asks, voice suddenly much smaller than it was a moment ago.

“I just don’t want to be a problem for anybody. For you, for the doorman, for… I probably should leave, even now,” Rey admits. For an evening she was so looking forward to, it really is going sour.

Rey feels a hand come around her cheek and gently guide her to look up at him. His expression is softer now and his lips have that delicious pout that she should absolutely not be thinking about kissing right now.

“You’re not a problem.”

Kylo stares down at her with such intensity, she thinks she’ll melt right then and there.

The elevator chime breaks them from their reverie and Kylo steps out into the hallway. He holds his hand out for her, looking at her with a question. Giving her an option. You can go back down and leave right now and just remember Kylo Ren fondly for the rest of your life or you can go with him right now and see whatever else this bizarre experience will give to you, her mind says. 

Rey makes up her mind and takes his hand.

-

She’s on him the moment he closes the door behind them. No warning, no hesitation; just Rey pouncing on Kylo. She kisses him so deeply, the way she’s thought about for the last 3 and a half weeks, that she can feel it in her toes. For his part, Kylo doesn’t seem all that surprised. He scoops her up in his arms the moment she’s between them, making Rey’s heart flutter.

He holds her up, not pinned to anything and just lets her make out with him. Suspended in air, only holding onto him, hands touching any part of him she can reach; it’s delicious. 

“We should… go to… the bed…” He says between kisses. Rey whines into his mouth (why, she’ll never know).

“No… here…” She breaths against his lips. 

Kylo immediately lowers them to the floor, and holds himself above her. The carpet is plush against her back and is almost softer than the old futon she’s been using as a bed for the last few years.

“You… deserve a bed…” He says, while quickly undoing the buttons to her overalls. She’s trying to help him, but her hands get distracted by the growing hardness between his legs. 

“What this… here is good…” She tries to say. She’s not sure if this would make sense to anyone outside of the two of them, but she’s can’t care at the moment. 

The second the last button comes undone, Kylo focuses on getting her completely bare. He practically rips off every piece of clothing on her body, until she’s left only in her tube socks. When her hands go to take them off, he stops her.

“Leave it,” Kylo orders. Rey feels herself gush. 

Once she’s in the perfect state of undress, Kylo doesn’t even bother taking off the rest of his clothes. He just opens his belt and fly, taking out his beet-red cock and pumping it a few times. 

“… Missed your cunt…” He says against her lips as he slides the head of his cock over her core. She’s squirming under him, trying to force him to put it inside of her. “… so tight and wet for me…and you’ll just… let me make a mess of it, huh? Let me fuck it ‘till it’s… molded to me… full of my come…”

She arches her back, pressing her chest into the coarse fibers of his shirt. His hands go to hold down her abdomen as he slides himself into her, stretching her out every bit of the way.

The drag of him makes Rey delirious; like Kylo is reaching a part of her that hasn’t existed until he came into her life. If she thought that her body would be more accepting of him since last time, she would be wrong. 

“… take me so fucking well, baby…” Kylo breaths, making Rey clench. He whimpers at the sensation. Her hands go up to his neck, one holding him there and the other rubbing the shell of his ear. His whole body trembles beneath her touch. He grips the underside of her thigh, as a warning almost, before pounding into her. 

Full force, no hold-backs, pounding her right into the floor. She’s sure he’ll have to tip housekeeping very well this time around. 

With every stroke, Kylo make Rey feel split in two. He bumps her cervix more often than not, and her clit rubs deliciously on the metal of his belt buckle. The hard, cold metal feels so good and so rough that Rey is reduced to muffled cries and moans agains his skin. 

He bites more hickeys into her chest and shoulders, deeper and harder than the ones last time. Her chest will be covered in purple marks of Kylo for a long time to come and she loves it. Her legs wrap around to his back, squeezing him. His movements become messy and uncoordinated and she knows he’s close, just from the sounds he’s making above her. Rey does nothing to stop her oncoming orgasm, just letting the feeling wash over her as she convulses beneath Kylo.

He with her the next moment, come spilling out of him like the grunts spilling from his mouth. His hips still thrust, harder and more infrequent, like he’s making his final claim on her body. She lets him manhandle her as she feels a warm, sloshing heat in her core. 

Kylo rest on top of her as their breathing slows. Rey feels a twinge of carpet burn on her back and her ass but ignores it. Kylo’s hands have found their way to her sides, nearly engulfing her waist. They slide up her arms until they find her hands, and interlocks their fingers together. 

He plants warm, wet kisses on her sternum, up her throat, and eventually her lips. Rey smiles into the kiss. 

Then, as if called, her stomach growls so loud, Kylo stills. He pulls back to look down at her with a quirked eyebrow. She bites her lip and her cheeks would be red from embarrassment if they weren’t already red from their fucking.

“… would you like dinner?” He asks. She nods. 

-

The wet ends of her hair tickle the back of neck, so she pushes it out of the robe. The water pressure in the massive shower was enough for Rey to sell her soul, but the burger she’s currently devouring is coming in at a close second. 

After their entryway tryst, Rey had happily jumped into the shower while Kylo had ordered them dinner, assuring her that she could order both the Tomato Bisque and french fries as her side.

When she’d gotten out and into the plush robe, Rey had found Kylo on one side of the bed, some nascar race on the TV, and him biting into his too-raw-for-her-taste steak. 

It was a beautiful sight. 

She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, Kylo on the other side and a few feet away from her, both watching the television. It’s too quiet for how loud her head is right now, so she can’t help the word vomit that forms.

“What do you mean when you say you’re in tech?” She asks, eyes still on the television screen.

“I work in research and development for a technology company,” he tells her, unhelpfully.

“What does that even mean?” She can’t help but sound exasperated. 

“My job is to come up with the next best gadget or update and figure out a way to make it work,” he says as he shifts on the bed. Rey still hasn’t looked at him.

“Must be hard to be successful in that field right now… I mean, First Order pretty much has a monopoly on any techie thing out there.”

Kylo chuckles.

“I wouldn’t exactly say monopoly… but yeah. But I still make do.”

Rey hums while chewing.

“Do you like working at an auto shop?” He asks, after a few moments of silence between them. She shrugs.

“I like fixing things, so that parts nice, but… my boss sucks.”

“Why don’t you go work somewhere else?” Rey can’t stop the sharp ‘ha!’ that escapes her.

“I’m a young, female mechanic, with no higher education degree, who’s immigration status is tenuous at best, who can barely afford her half of a shithole of an apartment. I’m not the bright, shining pupil that most places would want to take on.”

She finally looks back over at Kylo, who seems to be in thought while polishing off the rest of his food. 

“If you’re struggling financially, I could-”

She cuts him off. “No. That’s not what this is about.” The burger suddenly taste like ash in her mouth, so she sets the rest of it down. “I make due on my own. I don’t need a… benefactor.” This makes him chuckle, causing Rey to give him an incredulous look. 

“Sorry, sorry…” He chuckles, “It’s just… benefactor? I at least think I would be deserving the title of sugar daddy.” Rey rolls her eyes and throws a soggy french fry at him. He catches it and eats it right away.

“I don’t need a benefactor or sugar daddy. But… thank you.”

They fall silent for a while before Kylo gets up and removes the trays from their room. Rey scoots back, laying herself in the middle of the bed between the mountain of pillows. When Kylo returns, he stays at the foot of the bed, watching Rey. They say nothing, just keep heavy eye contact with one another. 

Her eyes rake down his form, shirtless with some joggers on. She doesn’t see a band of underwear so she hopes that means he’s going without. 

Feeling bold, she pushes herself up and craws her way across the bed to him. When she’s finally in front of him, she goes on her knees so that they’re eye level. Her hands trace the muscles in his arms and chest, dipping down to his toned abdomen. Rey feels his eyes on her face the entire time, but looks down to wherever her hands go to next. 

“I didn’t get the opportunity to ride you, last time,” her eyes flick up to his, “I think we should rectify that.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at her with that intense gaze that could kill a lesser woman. His hands come up to push the robe off her shoulders, pooling around her calves and revealing her naked body. 

His hands brush up her sides as they make their way to her jaw, and when he’s finally got a hold of her, he kisses her. It’s slower than any of the ones they shared earlier, and reminds her of that goodbye kiss from last time; the sweetest nectar that she’ll never be able to perfectly replicate with anyone else.

The kiss deepens and Kylo crawls into bed with her. They move until she’s situated over him, straddling his stomach. His hands kneed her ass, pushing the flesh until she’s sure it’ll bruise. She allows herself to grind on him, making his abs slick with her want. His hands suddenly let go of her, and she feels him go to push off his joggers. 

Rey kisses his neck, remembering what he said in all those earlier messages about liking both giving and receiving hickeys. So she bites. He gasps. 

When he’s finally naked, Rey reaches around to pull at him. He’s already so hard and dripping that Rey gets a little swell of pride. She takes him in hand once she scoots back, and holds him center with her. She glides down on him, slick enough to take him in one go.

His whole body is flushed, his lips even poutier than normal, his breath coming out in spurts. 

“Why… do I aways feel… like you’re holding back… whenever you… get your cock… in me,” She asks between shallow thrust. Kylo tips his head back as his hands go to hold her hips.

“Rey… your cunt… I could fucking come right now. I don’t care if we have sex every day for the next year… your cunt is like a vice. I could come in you right now… fuck…” Rey smiles down at him, proud to see this big man reduced to the puddle he’s currently in. It’s as endearing as it is hot.

She starts to move in earnest, riding him with her whole body. She eats up the sounds he makes, his praises of ‘good girl’ and ‘riding daddy’s cock so well.’

Without her asking, Kylo brings a thumb to her clit, moving in time with her thrust, making her yelp. “Need you… to come… with me…” He breaths. Rey nods as she adjust her angle, making him hit the spot in her that’s guaranteed to get her there in no time. 

Her hips can’t keep up with his thrust, so their movement become sloppy, until Kylo takes charge and starts guiding her and slamming up into her.

“… So perfect… riding my cock like a good girl… you’re so fucking hot… like this…” He says, but his praises are lost on her as she’s thrown over the edge. Rey complies into him and Kylo catches her, still pistoling his hips into her. He comes after a few more thrust, biting into her skin like last time.

Rey rides out the last of her orgasm while he’s still pulsing inside of her. Her hands still grip at his shoulders and Kylo wraps his arms around her back and hold her there. She feels the warm rush of fluids dribbling out of her, and Rey knows he can feel his own come dripping back down his cock, but he makes no indication that they need to move. 

They stay like this so long, Rey cradled against Kylo’s chest, feeling so safe and warm and wanted, that she falls into the deepest sleep.

-

She’s groggy when she wakes. Kylo has maneuvered them so that she’s tucked under his arm, halfway covering his torso. He’s snoring lightly and the rise and fall of his chest is oddly soothing. She lays there for a while, hours maybe, but isn’t able to fall back asleep. 

Rey busies herself by looking at him unashamedly. Kylo is built, to say the very least. His arms are thick with muscle, and even relaxed, his stomach looks well toned. 

Why did he need to post that on reddit? She thinks. He’s beautiful. He could get anyone just off his looks, let alone his wallet. 

Eventually he stirs, hands instantly seeking her out, and head going into the crook of her neck and nuzzling there. His hair tickles her, making her giggle lightly against him as he holds her even closer.

“What time is it?” He asks, voice muffled by her skin. She glances at the clock across from her.

“6:27… I’ll need to leave in an hour,” she says. Her voice is quiet and she feels a slight, almost imperceptible shift in his body language. She brings her hands up, running her fingers through his hair, hoping he’ll relax back again. 

Neither of them say anything for a while, and it’s becoming very clear that their form of intimacy is best experienced in silence. It should concern her how quickly they’re forming habits. It’s probably one of the first things he wanted to avoid when making that post.

But the sound of soft rain hitting the window, the warmth of the expensive sheets, the feel of Kylo’s body pressed against hers, makes it very hard for Rey to feel sorry for anything. 

They shower together, after she came up with some half-hearted excuse that it would save time and water, but he makes no sexual advances on her, so she doesn’t try and pester him. Would it be nice to end their tryst with some wet shower sex or even mutual oral? Sure, but Rey didn’t want to push her luck. She was glad enough to spend this time with him, even if neither of them were getting off.

When they’re both dry and dressed, him in a perfectly tailored suit and her in the same greasy overalls from yesterday, he takes her hand. She had been reaching for her bag, but lost momentum halfway through when he touched her.

“I… don’t want to go another three weeks without seeing or hearing from you again,” he tells her. 

“You can call me? I’ll give you my number. I work usually six days a week, but sometimes I’ll have a few days off in a row, so… we can meet up then, if you’re… up for it?” She tells him. Something in his face falls, but she doesn’t quite know where to place it.

“…That would be… yeah. We should exchange numbers.” 

He passes him her phone as she does the same, putting in her number with the little purple devil emoji beside it because he probably doesn’t have any emojis in his contacts and she wasn’t him to remember her. Not that she’s overly concerned with that happening, but, it’s always better to be safe.

When they exchange phones again, she looks down to see the contact he’s placed, but looks back up at him, confused.

“Ben Solo… what’s that?”

“Me… well, my real name. I haven’t gone by it in a while but… I just wanted you to know it,” he tells her. Rey’s lips tremble. You are not going to cry because he told you his real name, she chides herself. It is the absolute bare minimum to do, so you will not read into it more than you should.  

“Well…” She begins, looking down at the phone again because looking in his eyes is too much right now, “It is a very nice name. Certainly more realistic than Kylo Ren.”

Ben has the wherewithal to look a little sheepish at her teasing. He brings a hand through his hair and smiles at the floor.

“It was something I liked when I was a teenager and became too rebellious for my own good. It was my first aol email,” He says. Rey laughs as she imagines a gangly 13-year-old Ben running home to his computer every day after school and changing his AIM status to some moody-angst ridden lyric of a bad he thought was too cool for mainstream.

When the laughter dies down and Rey is able to look at him without bursting into giggles, she thanks him.

“Thank you for last night. And for… telling me your name.” He smiles at her, and puts a hand on her jaw, tilting her head further up. Before he can bring her into another soul-melting kiss, she speaks again.

“Ben is a very nice name but… I think I prefer calling you daddy.”

His grin is wolfish. 

#reylo #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #daisy ridley #adam driver #sw #starwars #fanfiction #fan fic #smut #fluff #fsnfr #chapter 2 #my work

[formulatrash]

This may seem a strange and intrusive question but I’ve wondered it since Spa. Obviously it is rare to lose a driver nowadays, so Anthoine’s death must have sent shockwaves through the whole paddock. How does a tragedy like that affect the paddock for the various people in it?

I’m going to put this under a ‘read more’ because it is a sensitive topic, obviously and has distressing themes. 

So I wasn’t actually in that paddock the day it happened, I was at Silverstone for WEC. We were watching the F2 in the media centre during the ...qualifying session or ELMS race, I forget which and we saw it happen on the live feed and you just know.

My immediate instinct was that I had to go find JEV, who was driving ELMS there but that was before we even knew what had happened. Watching it live, you knew it was a big, bad one before the cameras had even cut - if you’re used to seeing motorsport crashes then you know what a ‘safe’ one looks like and what’s going to be a terrible one. It was the second one I’d seen at Spa (I was there when Pietro Fittipaldi crashed at WEC) and there’s this blood-running-cold moment when you know it’s bad. 

The longer it goes on, the worse it is. When the race was black flagged, we knew it was going to be at absolute best life-changing but you don’t imagine there’ll be a death on track, these days.

Everyone in a paddock understands the danger. Motorsport is incredibly dangerous - although there haven’t been regular deaths during Grand Prix weekends for a few decades, there have been horrible maulings and injuries in other categories. I love Le Mans but I am always scared, there because it is a dangerous track (it’s not a Grade A course and can’t be) and they go so fast, even faster during the night when it’s cool. 

It is, undeniably, a part of what makes it thrilling. What makes it so impressive, the chances that they can take and make work - it’s part of the skill, that separates me being technically able to drive round a circuit without anything going wrong and the kind of technical poetry that’s a perfect qualifying lap.

But you don’t think about it most of the time. Unless you’re keen for the blood lust - in which case, get out of paddocks and indeed society - you trust the safety systems, you trust the way the circuits are built, you trust the drivers’ skills. 

I think about it sometimes like this: I do really dangerous things, which other people would not - the art of getting into an out of trouble is pretty key if you’re going to do any documentary journalism, which is my favourite bit, outside of paddocks. A lot of people think I must be oblivious to the risks and just lucky but I’m not, I’m fully aware of the risks and often just lucky. Sometimes you have a close thing and have to spend awhile thinking ‘god, but by a few millimetres or seconds or whatever, that was it’ and then you move on and don’t think about it because you can’t calculate risk on that micro level, only on whether you feel able to handle whatever you’re undertaking.

It’s kind of the same for the drivers, for the people sending the cars out of the garage - you’re aware a freak accident can happen. You know that fires and major crashes and disasters do occur and you hope there won’t be one, each time. It’s not necessarily reassurance that, usually, nothing does happen because that doesn’t alter the risks for next time, just means they’ve been mitigated for that instance but it is always reassuring to see the cars come home - and deeply unnerving for them to not. 

I texted my friends in F2 and the F1 paddock, just to say I was thinking of them. It’s not the time to dig and any journalist who tries to beat the official announcement, to eagerly become the bearer of grim news as though it isn’t a terrible burden, has something deeply wrong with them. 

Afterwards, it was shellshock. I was glad I was around motorsport people - I felt like we shouldn’t race the next day, even in Silverstone. I felt like we shouldn’t be running - I was incredibly worried about JEV, on his way to Spa to do the Canal+ F1 coverage because I knew even two years ago this would have been something he just could not deal with. 

It was a sombre race day. WEC is generally quite chill but there was a real sadness over the paddock, even from such a distance - everyone knows each other. In the industry, everyone still talks about it because it’s a chilling moment, especially in a junior category. Is it right that we do this? Is it possible to reconcile that risk? Is this something you want on your conscience?

Like I say, I wasn’t there. But the way it works is that you collectively grieve - emotions run high, people who might not normally comfort each other will. It’s frustrating that it’s tragedy that brings people together more than triumph but in that moment it’s easy to see petty rivalry as what it is.

People in motorsport aren’t used to being afraid of the sport. Sometimes it makes me nervous or angry - Paris Season 5, in Formula E, I was really upset with cars being left on track while others were sliding on hailstones. You do question the safety, sometimes. But seeing it just... fail is a shock. 

There’s both the love for the person injured - Anthoine Hubert was very, very highly thought of and everyone liked him - and the outrage, the confusion at what just occurred, the desire to demand it’s looked into and examined, no matter how painful the truth might turn out to be. 

(no one in motorsport does this by rewatching accidents; it’s by scrutinising the governing body’s response - whatever Reddit thinks)

Idk, I hope that answers your question or gives some insight or something.

#work asks

[aire101]

Ferrum Intro

My brain absolutely, positively refuses to focus on romance atm, which means I have made no progress on my WIP and instead my brain ended up producing this concept which I will probably continue at least until I get it out of my system.  So here’s the beginning of a post-Endgame MCU/SAO Irondad fic that I went online to read, discovered it didn’t exist yet, and so could NOT GET OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD.

-------

It had been a long day.

Then again, every day seemed like a long one lately.

It had been a relatively beautiful November day for New York City, and with the approaching holidays Peter was starting to see the usual uptick in petty crime begin this season. Within his five hour patrol he had helped eight lost tourists, found one lost pet, caught two armed burglars and tied up a ridiculous number of petty thieves. Nothing too problematic, just another day in the life of our friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Peter sat crouched on a roof looking over the newest Iron Man mural to pop up, this time right on the edge between Queens and Brooklyn. There were several around town already, but this one was especially heart-wrenching. Most were either of the armor mid-action or of Mr. Stark in his trademark press look. But this one was different in the best and worst way.

In this art, Mr. Stark was still in his armor, but the helmet was retracted, allowing the viewer to see the blood crusted on his face, the lines of worry even deeper than they were before everything had gone to hell. There weren’t many pictures of Mr. Stark from the five year period now known as the Blip, but in the ones there were Peter knew he had looked like this— tired and worn in a way Peter had never seen, but could well understand. All in all, it looked uncannily similar to the last time Peter had seen him. When—

Anyway—

And on the shoulders of this mural’s Tony Stark rested an enormous orb holding dozens of galaxies spiraling around a central point— a tiny arc reactor in the shape of a heart.

There was still a little while before he would be expected at Ned’s tonight, but the more he tried to convince himself to hit the streets again, the heavier his limbs felt.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this. Experience told him it was a recipe for disaster, likely to get himself or someone else badly hurt. Himself he could handle, someone else… his conscience couldn’t take another body added to its count right now. Besides, he had promised Ned he’d be there tonight.

Peter sighed and swung away from his rooftop perch to head back towards Ned’s, not sparing the art a backwards glance.

No matter how good it was, no reproduction could ever duplicate what he had lost.

----------

“Whoa, you’re early,” said Ned with a mild tone of shock. Which honestly… was probably fair. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, I decided to call it a night early. It was actually pretty quiet tonight anyway. Didn’t want to get too wrung out on the web considering we have plans tonight,” said Peter as he stepped into the Leeds’ apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the rack. “Where is everyone?”

“Dad has to work tonight, and mom and Angelica went to Laser Bounce earlier, but they should be back before too long. I stayed home to finish some stuff up before the launch tonight. Plus, I wasn’t sure when you’d be getting here, so…”

“Sorry, I should have messaged earlier.”

“You’re alright man. Like I said, I had some stuff to wrap up. I plan to be in-game as much as possible tomorrow,” said Ned as they moved into his bedroom.

“You sure you don’t mind me getting the first run tonight? They might have some secret opening event planned for the first few hours…” asked Peter.

“I am absolutely positive. I am going to have plenty of opportunities to lose unhealthy amounts of sleep to this game. Besides, between the two of us I think you need the break more than me.  On a related note— you look terrible man. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I sleep,” said Peter defensively. “I don’t really need much though, you know?”

“Physically, sure. Mentally? You’re still just as human as the rest of us Peter. Have you talked to May about it? Or Happy?”

“Can we please drop this? It’s just been a long day, alright?”

“What happened? I thought you said it was mostly quiet?” asked Ned, confused.

“I meant it was quiet for New York, I was still busy pretty much all evening,” said Peter, falling backwards onto Ned’s bed.

Ned sat down at his computer, spinning around to face Peter. “Fine, but I’m definitely going to harass you later, and you better actually sleep after we trade off in a few hours. Anyway, I am SO PSYCHED or this! God I hope its worth all the hype.”

“I can’t imagine it being a flop. The tech behind it is revolutionary, and the head developer has been working on the game for like a decade,” said Peter, as he scrolled through the GameSpot special coverage from that day.

“Wasn’t SI contracted to consult on it, too?” asked Ned.

Peter felt his throat begin to constrict. The nails of his right hand bit into the flesh of his palm as he forced himself to take a slow breath—hold—and release…

“Yeah, Mr. Stark consulted on it himself. Some of the engineering on the headset is similar to the BARF technology. I think he might have worked on a couple system AI’s as well.”

“That is so cool man. So this is almost like his last tech contribution? Last gift to the world…”

“I doubt that. It was just a consult job, most of the work was done by Argus. Plus, Mr. Stark had years worth of projects and updates on file. We’ll probably see things he had a hand in being released for the next ten years at the least,” said Peter.

“Still pretty cool though,” said Ned with a shrug.

At that moment, Peter heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the front door.

“Looks like they’re back,” he said, continuing to scroll, this time through discussions on Reddit.

“Have you had dinner yet? You know if you haven’t she’s going to force you to eat before you dive.”

“Nah, I didn’t get a chance to stop off earlier. What kind of leftovers do ya have?”

“I think there’s meatloaf and some chicken adobo left at the moment.”

“Yaaasss… Chicken adobo…”

Just then Ned’s bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Leeds poked her head in, a large smile on her face.

“Peter! I thought I saw your coat by the door! I’m glad you were able to make it tonight! Edward has been excited about the sleepover for weeks,” she said.

“Oh my god, mom! It’s not a sleepover! I doubt we’ll even sleep much!”

“Isn’t that what sleepovers are about?! You’re ridiculous… Anyway, have you eaten?” Mrs. Leeds asked, looking at Peter.

Peter had to bite back a smile, but shook his head.

“Hala ka, you’re going to waste away into dry bones! I don’t care how busy you are these days, you shouldn’t be skipping meals. You’ll blow away in a strong breeze. Come, I’ll heat something up. I know how bad you boys get about eating when its a normal game. A full immersion VR? You’ll forget you even have a real body that needs sustenance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, dutifully following her into the kitchen.

“You are in luck. We have some leftover chicken adobo from last night. I know you like that recipe. Did May ever give it a go?”

Peter flashed back to the gloopy, slightly charred mess that was May’s attempt at cooking the dish. “Eh… Yeah but it wasn’t quite the same. Still needs a bit of work.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Leeds said, sounding confused.

“Peter!” shouted a voice from behind him.

“Hey Angie,” said Peter, before he felt arms wrap around him from behind in a bear hug.

His heart throbbed in his chest. His breath caught and wouldn’t come.

Thanos was coming for the gauntlet he couldn’t let him have it he had to run the aliens were grabbing him he had to—

“You never come around anymore! It’s been months—!”

“Stop that Angelica. It’s been a crazy year, and Peter stays very busy between school and an internship. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? It’s already way passed bedtime.”

Angie rolled her eyes dramatically but stomped back off towards her room to do as she was asked.

“Sorry, dear. She just missed her big brothers, you know.”

Peter did his best to force out a grin, but he wasn’t sure just how well it came off because the next thing he knew Mrs. Leeds was giving him a tender kiss on the head and muttering about making some cups of cocoa.

It was moments like this that he truly felt the strange reality of the fact that he had lost five years of his life. On the surface level everything felt mostly the same— Aunt May along with the majority of his friends had also been snapped, as well as several of his teachers. But while they were gone, Ned’s little sister aged from an innocent five year old, to a ten year old girl who had grown in a world in more confusion, pain and desperation than Peter could really comprehend. Freshman he had helped tutor in school had graduated. Families he had known were irreparably torn apart, seemingly overnight.

It felt like while he was still the same, the rest of the world had tilted slight to the left, leaving him unbalanced and unsure where to step next. He’d always felt a bit out of place anyway after the spider bite, but now it was so much worse. Sometimes Peter wanted a taste of what normal used to be like, without freaky spider powers, world protecting responsibilities and the guilt of looking around him and wondering if he deserved to be here at all.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall— fifteen minutes till midnight.

“I should probably go brush my teeth too and get settled in. The server will open soon,” said Peter as he stood.

“Yeah, though there shouldn’t really be much to do other than to actually connect since we calibrated your account the other day,” said Ned.

Within ten minutes Peter had taken care of his nightly necessities and given Angie and Mrs. Leeds both a hug goodnight, settling in on the upper bunk of Ned’s bed.

“Last time I’m asking— are you sure you don’t mind me giving this the first run?” asked Peter.

Ned sighed and spun around from his computer to send Peter an exasperated look. “Do you not want to take it on its maiden voyage?”

“That’s not what I said,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Then stop worrying.  Just have a good time for once.  Also, I downloaded a couple files to the gear.  Not sure how reliable it is yet, but a few beta testers put out some first floor tips on the DL as a downloadable in game file, so check that out once you dive.  It might help out a bit.”

“Will do.  Thanks.”

“No problem.  Now get going, and be sure to take plenty of notes in your journal to send me later.”

“See you around, kid.”

“I am older than you are by two months.  Shut up and dive, loser.”

Peter smiled as he fitted the Nervegear onto his head, laid back and said, “Link Start.”

———————

In a remote, nondescript server room a certain file kicked to life.  It’s programming had been remotely accessed, a mere accident of oversight.  The digital pathways that connected it to the Argus servers, while known about, had been forgotten in the chaos of the last few years.  The file was not one created within the system, but one created to interact within it.  The Cardinal system downloaded the precious data, implementing it in the category that best described its form and function.

Program designation: Client

System ID: Ferrum Vir

Administration level: GM

. . . .

Installation Complete

————————

At 12:00 am EST on November 5th, 2023 (1:00 pm JST), Peter Parker joined 10,000 others in the world’s first full dive MMORPG— Sword Art Online.

And so did a very confused Anthony Edward Stark.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #irondad and spiderson #marvel cinematic universe #iron man #spider-man #MCU #sword art online #mcu/sao #fanfiction #crossover fanfiction #ai tony stark #post endgame #mostly canon compliant #im not even sure what to tag this #i have no idea where im going with it #aire101 writes #not ffh compliant

[pinelife3]

What Women Think Men Think

In the 2000 film What Women Want, Mel Gibson accidentally electrocutes himself with a hairdryer in the bathtub which for some reason gives him the ability to hear women’s thoughts. This comes at a great time for him personally and professionally as it allows him to perform well in his job as an advertising exec, woo the lovely Helen Hunt, and bond with his estranged daughter.

Sadly, the genius of What Women Want was not recognised by critics in its time and the film received poor reviews - however, it did perform well commercially, making it a great candidate for a gender-flip remake. Our prayers were answered earlier this year with What Men Want, in which Taraji P. Henson plays a sports agent who misses out on a promotion because she doesn’t get men. Surprising no one, What Men Want received worse reviews than the original, but managed to one-up it by also being a commercial disappointment.  I haven’t seen it (I hear it is genuinely unwatchable) but from Wikipedia I gather that she drinks some magic tea and then can hear men’s thoughts which... makes her good in bed but doesn’t lead to as much professional success as you might expect. While What Women Want, directed by the great Nancy Meyers, is about a chauvinist learning to respect women, What Men Want is about a woman learning that most men suck and that they don’t deserve respect so it’s better not to work for them. What Men Want was directed by a man which, if you ask me, seems kind of pandering: why would a man make a film about how cartoonishly awful men are?

The rough premise of both What X Want films is that when the protagonist has access to the inner thoughts of the opposite sex, what they hear is revelatory: the opposite sex is apparently unknowable, inscrutable, vastly foreign. It requires magic (or bathtub electrocution) to know what others really think. Ha! Well, I have that magic. A portal to another world. A world where men, unobserved, unfettered by social barriers, freely say whatever they really think of any idea, image or product you present to them: Reddit.

I’ve often complained to Matt that practically any post on Reddit which features a young and/or attractive female woman girl will draw comments from men saying that they’re going to jerk off to the picture. Why do you think we care that you’re going to mash your genitals while watching this gif of a girl in a bikini using a homemade water slide? Why did my eyes and mind have to be subjected to this information about your plans for the afternoon? Did that first improbable spark of life, apes descending from trees, straightened spines, the birth of technology, everything our forebears strived for across eternity, really lead up to this moment where you wrote that on the internet? Why are we pack animals?

So the shtick of this blog post is: I sneak about on Reddit to find out want men want, what they care about, and think about. But! We ladies don’t care what they think about beer and barbecues (we already know that all men are practically BBQsexual, am I right?) so let’s identify a few things where we do care about what they think. 

For our purposes, I think women only care about men’s opinions on women - and possibly also sexual politics. For sports, most political issues, food, music, etc. I think we all agree that if you ask a man what he thinks, he’ll probably give you a pretty straight answer. The fantasy of knowing what men really want is that it’s information you would not normally have access to, because you’re too shy to ask, or you’re concerned his answer would be evasive or dishonest. Most people aren’t dishonest because they’re mean liars. They’re dishonest because they doesn’t want to hurt your feelings - or perhaps because they can’t be bothered to argue. So some of the impulse to eavesdrop on someone’s thinking is an insecurity, it’s suspecting they’ve withheld or softened an opinion - and wanting to know the full truth even if it’s hurtful. 

In particular (and mostly because I want to talk to someone about these books), I’m going to pick ideas from Sally Rooney’s novels to compare romantic men as written by a woman with the actuality of men on Reddit. Rooney writes love stories (or at least love-adjacent stories) which are widely read by women and have been enormously popular: this to me suggests that her idea of romantic men has resonated with many women and therefore it may be interesting to see if the interiority of the men she’s written could exist in the real world (or, at least on Reddit).

My methodology for trawling Reddit for relevant information is simple:

1. Is the attribute mentioned in Reddit’s NSFW directory? I don’t want to solely rely on the Reddit NSFW directory as a barometer for men’s interest in things, but I believe when trying to assess what men find attractive, this is a decent tool. I would venture to say that every (legal) niche interest is addressed by a NSFW subreddit: gamer girls, women in sundresses, redheads, anime princesses, cute girls, sexy girls, skinny girls, mums, teens, big boobs (attached to women with rich interiorities, I’m sure), mascara stained tears, and so on forever. Related to this: just because a subreddit exists to address a particular niche (e.g. braces), this doesn’t mean all men find that age group, attribute, body type, piece of clothing, etc. attractive - but it at least illustrates that someone found it attractive enough to create a community dedicated to it.

2. Is the attribute mentioned in any of Ask Reddit’s 'Men, what’s one unusual thing you find really attractive about women’ type threads? Men seem to sense that these threads are always started by women, so the responses are more romantic than sexual. Dudes tend to say the ‘unusual things’ they find attractive are freckles, when women can’t reach things on high shelves, messy up-dos, etc.

Question 1: Do men like the pale, non-sexy parts of women?

In Rooney’s second book Normal People, the male protagonist spends a lot of time looking at the female protagonist and admiring her pale delicacy.

You look really well, he says.

I know. It’s classic me. I came to college and got pretty.

He starts laughing. He doesn’t even want to laugh but something about the weird dynamic between them is making him do it. ‘Classic me’ is a very Marianne thing to say, a little self-mocking, and at the same time gesturing to some mutual understanding between them, an understanding that she is special. Her dress is cut low at the front, showing her pale collarbones like two white hyphens.

Later, he admires her pale lips and wrists: 

He hasn’t seen her in person since July, when she came home for her father’s Mass. Her lips look pale now and slightly chapped, and she has dark circles under her eyes. Although he takes pleasure in seeing her look good, he feels a special sympathy with her when she looks ill or her skin is bad, like when someone who’s usually very good at sports has a poor game. It makes her seem nicer somehow. She’s wearing a very elegant black blouse, her wrists look slender and white, and her hair is twisted back loosely at her neck. 

Women hope men think of them in this way: that men closely observe us and like what they see, that they can thrill romantically at non-sexy parts of our bodies like our under eye bags or bony elbows, that they’re so devoted they like us even when we’re sickly. Lolita has this to thank for its enduring popularity. Sure, Humbert Humbert is a broken man and a pedophile but he’s so lyrical:

I looked and looked at her, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth. She was only the dead-leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago - but I loved her, this Lolita, pale and polluted and big with another man's child. She could fade and wither - I didn't care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face.

Men want to be him, women want to be adoringly described by him. 

Anyway. Let’s check Reddit to see what men really think of pale wrists and collarbones - or if they think of them at all.

There are no communities in Reddit’s NSFW directory focused on wrists or collarbones or any bony protrusion through pale skin. There is a subreddit dedicated to NSFW content featuring pale girls with ~420,000 subscribers but the focus of this content is sexy areas of the body (enormous pale breasts, perfect pale butts, etc.) and there is not much coverage of pale wrists and/or collarbones.  

I also couldn’t find any references to pale non-sexy parts of women in any AskReddit threads related to things men find attractive about women. 

Conclusion: I do not believe that men as a cohort are particularly into dark under eye bags, bony chests, etc. These are just things women wish men liked about them.  

Question 2: Do men like damaged women?

In Rooney’s first novel, Conversations with Friends, the protagonist has the following conversation with her ~lover~ in bed:

I want you to hit me. I don’t think I want to do that, he said. I knew that he was sitting up now, looking down at me, though I kept my eyes closed. Some people like it, I said. You mean during sex? I didn’t realise you were interested in that kind of thing. I opened my eyes then. He was frowning.  Wait, are you okay? he said. Why are you crying? I’m not crying. Incidentally it turned out that I was crying. It was just something my eyes were doing while we were talking. He touched the side of my face where it was wet. I’m not crying, I said. Do you think I want to hurt you? ...  I don’t know, I said. I’m just telling you that you can.

In Normal People, the protagonists have a similar exchange during sex:

Will you hit me? she says. For a few seconds she hears nothing, not even his breath. No, he says. I don’t think I want that. Sorry. She says nothing. Is that okay? he asks. She still says nothing. Do you want to stop? he says. She nods her head. She feel his weigh lift off her. She feels empty again and suddenly chill. He sits on the bed and pulls the quilt over himself. She lies there face down, not moving, unable to think of any acceptable movement. Are you okay? he says. I’m sorry I didn’t want to do that, I just think it would be weird. I mean, not weird, but... I don’t know. I don’t think it would be a good idea.

in the context of these novels, this behaviour is a form of self-harm from women who hate themselves: even those I’m closest to want to take advantage of me, will do what they want with me, will hurt me if I let them. The perfect men, confused and innocent to this self-destructive behaviour, are concerned and decline the offer. The women interpret this as a form of sexual rejection but the reader knows this rejection is actually romantic. Could we really thrill over a man who agreed to beat her? No one talks about 50 Shades of Grey anymore but Mr Darcy lingers in the minds of mothers and BBC-watching daughters the world over. Rooney’s romantic leads are very nice men for not hitting the protagonist during sex. 

Importantly, while the offer of subservience and sexual violence is not an immediate aphrodisiac, it adds to the overall appeal of our lady protagonists as women who are soft, damaged, not easily available, but also deeply vulnerable. Bob Dylan muses, basically (she’s delicate and seem’s like veneer. Sidebar on that line: I heard it when I was 17 and was jealous because it’s so good. Turns out this line is hotly contested in places where people contest Dylan lyrics. One tribe thinks it’s: she’s delicate and seems like veneer. Another tribe thinks it’s: she’s delicate and seems like the mirror. The tribe which is 100% wrong thinks it’s: she’s delicate and seems like Vermeer.). 

These books both have this thread of college-aged women who hate themselves and want to be mistreated by their lovers, and lovers who are perfect and sensitive enough to like the control they have in the relationship, but not abuse it. My read on this is that women like to think that men like to save damaged women. Damaged meaning women who are clearly dealing with one or more of the following: 

Untreated mental health problems

Self-medication dependencies 

Daddy issues

Memories of growing up with violence/abuse/Teletubbies/war crimes/poverty

Heavy baggage from previous relationships

You know what I mean. So, let’s check Reddit to see what men think of damaged women. In the NSFW directory there are a number of BDSM subs, most of which are focused on women being dominated by men: women trussed up in elaborate rigs of ropes and straps, women being used in various ways, beaten, dominated. Most of these subs have between 100,000 - 200,000+ subscribers. This would indicate that there are a decent number of Reddit users who are interested in hurting their sexual partner. 

(DISCLAIMER: I don’t mean to kinkshame. ContraPoints (I think in this video) argued that while it’s fine to be into BDSM and enjoy being hurt or hurting someone else, it does suggest some things about you. BDSM isn’t just fun. No one wants to be tied up and beaten/pissed on for no reason. You want those things because it means something to you to be treated badly or to treat others badly. Liking BDSM doesn’t mean you’re damaged, but it might mean something adjacent to that.)

Furthermore, re: Reddit’s attitude to ‘damaged’ women, any time a guy on Reddit tells a ‘crazy ex’ story, someone from the 3 brain cells club will flop out an old cliché: don’t stick your dick in crazy. Men like to warn each other about damaged women. That cliché often attracts a popular counterpoint:  

Crazy chicks are good in bed! What a treat: there are perks to dating a damaged woman. More than anything, men on Reddit love acting like they know a lot about women and wild sex. A damaged, compliant woman is great for clocking up these experiences.

I think we can say that some men do indeed like damaged women. The impression you get from Reddit is that a lot of these men would take advantage of the vulnerable Rooney protagonists, but that’s the point even within the novels: the man could have said yes, could have hit her - which the reader wouldn’t find romantic because we know that on some subcutaneous level she didn’t really want to be treated that way. A lot of romance only reads as romantic because we’re aware of the unromantic alternative: what if Richard Gere had treated Julia Roberts the way most men treat prostitutes? What if Bob Dylan compared a beautiful, mysterious woman to the 17th century Dutch painter Vermeer? 

In the final act of What Women Want, Gibson loses the ability to hear women’s thoughts. The point the film makes is that he’s been so reformed by hearing women’s perspectives and relating to them as actual human beings, that he doesn’t need magic anymore to behave like a nice person. This is also because it would not be romantic to be in a relationship with a man who was eavesdropping on your inner monologue. If the relationship is real and working, then you don’t need psychic powers to anticipate how the other person is going to feel and respond to things. You can always just ask - and you’ll have to trust that the answer is honest. 

Bonus: more of that lovable scamp Mel Gibson:

#What Women Want #Nancy Myers #Mel Gibson #Helen Hunt #What Men Want #Reddit

[xbuster]

I sing ZUN’s praises all the time and I don’t hide that he’s my favorite indie dev. I have immense respect for him and I love how he handles the creation and distribution of Touhou and the fandom its spawned. If ZUN turned out to be a terrible person who happened to be very good at masking that behind his public persona, I would absolutely give up on him because of the respect I have for him. Don’t get invested in the lives of content creators you don’t personally know if you’re not willing to change your mind about them as you learn more.

#it's my sincerest hope that zun never turns out this way and i don't think he would #but if he does i'll just have to suck it up #at least with scott this wasn't that big of surprise since he was obviously very religious from those christian animations #but man that response on reddit was worse than i could have imagined

[spanishmossshea]

So this was a response I had to a reddit post asking where "detrans" comes from and it turned into a dissertation. TW: EXTREME TRANSPHOBIA, HOMOPHOBIA, MENTION OF KILLING, MENTION OF CONVERSION THERAPY

Or, as I find is more often the case, it is specifically part of a delegitimization campaign fronted by tokenized right-wingers.

For example, the recent controversy surrounding Milo Yiannopoulos, where he "came out as ex-gay." Is he really no longer gay and once was? Is it that he never was gay in the first place? It's hard to say. He did have a husband, but in his own words that man was recently "demoted to housemate."

What is easier to say is that he is definitely surrounded by and on the side of people who see gayness (and frankly, any other minoritized quality) as an inherently bad thing. It's not hard to look to the right-wing crowd and find many examples of people being homophobic, transphobic, what have you.

So it's not hard to imagine that through either internalizing those same views of those who surround him as "gay = bad," or he's conscious of this bias and is merely conforming to his peers as part of a grift, to ingratiate himself to the bigots who pay his bills.

What's worse is that either way, it's allowing him to push an incredibly harmful, anti-LGBT message: "Conversion therapy works." It gives right-wingers an example to point to and go "See? We can fix the gays! And you already know how we feel about the 'should'!"

I'm sure I don't have to delve into just why that's a terrible and also incorrect message, but I can and will should someone need me to. But even if we know how terrible that is, many people either don't know and will be swayed by this faulty logic, or they are already actively pushing it, both of which set our community back leagues.

I personally don't know of any detransitioners, but I think I can predict one; Blaire White.

Now for those who don't know, Blaire White is a conservative transgender woman who creates YouTube content. Some of her recent videos include taking a political compass quiz and lying about the results to make herself seem further right-wing than her answers would indicate, and another going to bat for the recent super-straight movement (pronounced "Not-see bul-shit") where she spouted the rhetoric behind said movement, that trans people aren't the gender that they, for lack of a better term, identify as (I'm sure they mostly mean trans women because that's who the bigots almost always focus on).

Less recently, her channel is usually dedicated to the same sort of delegitimization of trans people in much the same vein as Milo does for gay people. She'll spout transmedicalist bullshit, point out whenever a trans person does anything bad, back up TERF talking points, etc. Basically, much the same as Milo, trying to (virtue) signal to the right that "You're right to think trans people = bad, except me that is, pick me, I'm on your side.'

And if that weren't bad enough, the most recent thing I've seen involving Blaire was a right-wing debate panel featuring herself, Karlyn Borysenko, a self-proclaimed "conservative liberal" who by her own admission is only a right-winger because she went to a Trump rally and people were nice to her, John Doyle, unabashed fascist chud who recently made a two-hour video on "why porn bad", and Lauren something-or-other (idk, her last name was probably "Braun" or something like that judging by her views), a mostly unheard of nazi and looks-wise, literally Hitler's wet dream.

Now you may be wondering; how can so much cringe exist in one place without passing critical mass, creating a black hole, and swallowing the solar system, leaving not even a memory? Scientists are still stumped to this miracle of physics, so don't feel bad if you don't know either.

Anyway, why I think Blaire is going to eventually, if not soon, be the next detransitioner to be decrying trans people as a concept, is that she already was in this debate. Several times during the panel, Lauren brought up incredibly mask-off criticisms of Blaire and trans people in general, citing the "40%" statistic, saying that Blaire was encouraging children to be trans, and at one point literally saying (SKIP TO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE EXTREME TRANSPHOBIA, also I'm paraphrasing a little at the end) "the best thing you could do [for the republican party] is to grow out your mustache and stop pretending to be something you're not."

Now, in the face of such horrid hatred, did Blaire stand up for herself, or indeed other, possibly even conservative, trans people? Nope. Capitulated to her point. Said that she was the biggest advocate for children not to transition. That she didn't want people to be like her. And it was like this for the entire gut-wrenching panel. Two fascists and a fascist-friendly moderator berating and laughing at anything that wasn't white, cis, and hetero, versus one idiot arguing (ironically pretty pragmatically) for a bigger-tent strategy, and a token trans woman buttoning her lip as she and everyone like her were being barraged with hatred.

So, it seems Blaire, and other right-wing trans people like her, are faced with a choice: Either A) Realize that these people hate her guts and will gladly take her vote and then legislate against her existence, and stop associating with them at the very least, B) Continue to air-headedly go to bat for these people while dissonantly holding onto her identity, right up until the day it's her own turn in the showers, or C) and I think you know what's coming here: Detransition to ingratiate herself to the people who hate her for existing but pay her bills. And I'd like to think it's not hard to imagine how likely option A is. And when she inevitably takes option C, those same nazis will have another example to point at and say "See! We can fix the transes!"

So to cap it off, I think that's essentially where the bulk of "detrans" comes from. Don't buy into it. If someone really does realize they weren't really trans, then good for them. But I think it would be worth it to examine whether those are genuine feelings, and where they're coming from.

Sincerely,

A Proud and Out Trans Woman

[ewelupp-blog]

43

My brother Jeremy always had a fascination for the morbid, and less for the living. He was one of those typical basement nerd types, and would sometimes binge on Reddit stories and Creepy pastas, he loved that shit. Anyway, he was actually my older brother but lacked the motivation to look for actual physical jobs our parents said ‘built character’. He always saw himself as the son they never wanted and had become more and more secluded until finally he practically disappeared into the basement never to be seen again. After a while our parents got fed up with him and asked me if I could take him in. I had two steady jobs and after almost three years paid off most of my debts, so I agreed. He arrived with his assload of computer components and shit, luckily my old roommate had recently left leaving an extra room. Moving all those parts proved to be more annoying than previously assumed and took most of the day to set up.

About a month later he called me into his room, an adventure I had began to dread as it stunk and was cluttered with old clothes and wires. It was also a little game he liked to play with me, he would casually call me in saying things like “come watch this funny video” or “read this article” and half the time it would turn out to be one of his ‘best blood’ or whatever pictures. This time I knew it was a picture of that caliber, his gasp before gave it away immediately. “Get in here, seriously ,” he yelled, “I know you don’t like this stuff but this one is fucking crazy man,” his enthusiasm barely contained. I sighed heavily enough for him to hear from where I was sitting in the living room and made my way over to his door. The smell hit me like a truck, and worse the lights were off so it would have to be a guessing game to get through. I made my way to the computer screen and caught a glance from him, his smile should have made me concerned but he was my brother and I knew he wouldn’t stoop to anything he saw on the net. The picture was of a young woman with her chest almost literally torn open, her face was oddly still and calm, serene, but her breasts were destroyed. He looked to me with excitement, “Well, do you see it yet?” he asked giddily. “See what? I don’t even know what I should be looking for,” I said turning away from the gruesome scene. “The eye man, how did they do that?” he burst out, pointing to the screen. I looked it over once again, not staying too long on her mangled chest, but nothing was wrong with her eye. “Alright, really funny haha,” I said looking away again. His face screwed up in confusion, “The eye man,” he said, his tone taking a turn for the dramatic, “The number? 41?” he said more than asked. I shook my head, “I didn’t see any number, can I go now, is your prank over?” I asked apathetically. “Whatever man,” he mumbled. That was weird, I told myself, ‘what fucking number?’ I shook it off and went to work, ridding myself of the strange distraction.

A couple days later and halfway through my day I received a call from home, it was Jeremy, but he sounded scared. “Hey man, y-you gotta come back, something… something happened,” he fumbled over the words like he hadn’t spoke English for a decade. It wasn’t like him to be scared, I knew him better than anyone else, he never got scared, what the fuck was so bad that it scared him? My boss was understanding when I told him there was a family crisis back home I would have to take care of, and gave me the rest of the day off. “I’ll make it up to you I promise,” I yelled back to him on my way out the door. He just waved me off, “You better,” he joked. The drive home was nerve wracking, I couldn’t help but wonder, what if someone broke in and stole everything. I pulled into the apartments parking lot to be greeted by the landlord, a “nice” overweight woman named Jane. She must have been walking back from another apartment and seen me pull in because she rushed over. I stepped out into a berating like I’d never had before, “What the FUCK is wrong with your brother?” she screamed, “I’ve had five, FIVE noise complaint reports in the last two hours saying they heard sounds like screaming and fighting from your apartment.” The heat was almost visible from her brow, and her greasy blonde hair flopped about with her over-dramatic-movements. “I went up to see what was going on and the door was locked. When I opened it up I found the fucking couch had been flipped up in front of the door.” She shook some more, her rolls jiggling unnaturally. “I’ll fix it, he usually isn’t like this.” I mumbled looking down. “You’re fucking lucky I like you or I would kick your ass out too.” The statement hit me like a brick, my saliva stopping mid swallow. “Oh… okay.” Was all I managed to say. Jane stormed off after a second of silence making her way to another tenant. Slowly, I walked up the door, 577, the number I had grown to know so well, worried and knowing my brother wouldn’t survive long on his own. The door was unlocked, which was an unpleasant surprise, and what’s more, nothing was blocking the door. In fact the living room looked more pristine than ever, clean enough to eat off was the phrase I believe. Jeremy was nowhere in sight, the door to his room, which was usually ajar, was closed fully. I closed the door and called out for him, but got no response. It was then that I got the sense that something was dreadfully wrong here, everything trying too hard to look normal. I knocked on his door, but got no response. “Jeremy, I’m home, what did you need to talk about?” I called out. Still no response, so I twisted the door knob and pushed in. There he lay in his bed, peacefully sleeping, his chest heaving up and down. His eyes twitched back and forth rapidly and his bed sheet barely covering his frail body. I smiled for a second, forgetting the dire situation he put me. “Jeremy!” I called flipping on the lights. He jumped up suddenly with a look of sheer terror on his face. “Jesus Christ man!” he swore, “You startled me.” My frown grew as he wrapped the sheets around himself and shivered, “What’s wrong,” he asked. “What do you mean what’s wrong, you called me. What’s wrong with you. Why did you call?” I asked folding my arms across my chest trying to appear authoritative. He gulped loudly, “Promise not to freak out?” he asked looking ashamed. “No, what happened?” He stood up, reaching for his black gym shorts. “Dude what are you doing?” I questioned, covering my face with my hand. “Just hear me out,” Jeremy pleaded, “This morning I woke up,” he started, pulling his shorts low to show his left thigh, “And I saw this.” His pale thigh was clean as a whistle. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled, “You call me from work and freak out like this over a prank?” “It’s-“ “Save it, Jane wants you out, and if you’re going so am I, but so help me god if you pull another stunt like this I WILL kick you out on your own. “But-“ he started again “Enough with the pranks! Grow up! Your twenty seven man, go get a job, stop being a lazy shit!” I screamed. He pulled up his shorts looking embarrassed, avoiding my gaze. I know he was my big brother, and bigger brothers are supposed to be the more mature ones, but he was just so infuriating sometimes. “And why did you put the couch in front of the door when Jane tried coming in?” I questioned. His face screwed up again, “What? I’ve been in here sleeping since I called you?” It felt like someone slapped me, I could see the look on his face, the genuine confusion. This wasn’t some prank, he meant it. I sat down on the edge of his bed for a second, “But, the noise complaints,” I stammered. “What, I didn’t hear anything,” he sat down next to me. “What the fuck is going on?” My head spun, I knew Jeremy was a terrible liar, no amount of training could ever fix that, he wasn’t lying.

A month later the new apartment was filled with empty boxes, the moving process was easier than unpacking, but it was finally done. Jeremy really shaped up after that day, had even got a job at a warehouse. From behind I heard him make his way to his room, the door closed almost silently like he was ashamed to hide in there anymore. I turned around and yelled out, “Hey why don’t you get out here and watch some TV with me.” “Sure,” I heard from behind me. I stopped suddenly, but shook it off, must have been my imagination. A few beers and bad TV later we both went to bed, we worked similar hours so we would be in the apartment around the same time. The morning came quickly, and the room was spinning a little more than I was ready for. I hit the head and washed up to prepare breakfast for the both of us in hopes I could sober up fully before work. “Hey, breakfast,” I called. No response. I stumbled over to his door and opened it up, “Jeremy get up, work.” The room stank again, this time worse than before. I flipped on the light, that was the first mistake. He lay in his bed with a look of sheer terror scrawled across his face, his chest was torn open, blood splattered everywhere. His hands were curled up at his side like he was clenching his fists, his back arched and his mouth curled into an eternal scream of absolute horror. Bile reached the back of my throat, and I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from throwing up. I turned away, the tears streaming down my face, falling down to his the floor making a small thumping sound.

The police arrived an hour later, took my statement and investigated. They put took me to the station as I was the only suspect. About two hours later a male officer came into the interrogation room and told me I was free to go. “What? W-why?” I asked. He turned and looked at me sternly, “Your alibi checked out,” he said. “What alibi?” He sighed, “You were at work when he died, we have video evidence of you with your boss.” I shook my head, fresh tears rolling down my face, “That’s not possible, I came home and drank with him.” I stated through tears. The officer shrugged, “According to the coroner’s report he had been dead for ten hours, putting you at work when he died.” The new evidence almost made me choke. I finally managed to speak after a moment of silence, “Can I see his body, you know, say my goodbye’s?” He led me to the coroner’s office, the doctor there was understanding. She let me have to room, and I said what I could, not really knowing what to say at all. He looked peaceful, his eyes and mouth had been closed, and the pale white sheet covered the rest of his body, like he was sleeping. Before I left I called in the doctor. “Yes, what is it?” she asked. “He, he complained about something being wrong with his left thigh, I know it’s not linked, but I just wanted to know if you found anything,” I said quietly. “No,” she said lifting up the sheet to show his thigh, “Nothing at all, why?” she asked. I laughed, “Just making sure I said,” finally finding my voice after seeing the number 42 carved into my brothers skin. I didn’t sleep that night, I never slept again.

#storytelling #creepy #scary story #43 #story #short story #numbers can be scary

[cameronsaunders95]

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