#if you only talk about discomforting things that people are comfortable hearing about its not really discomforting

[thedreadvampy]

btw about Neil Gaiman I periodically agree with the 'Neil Gaiman is annoying' stuff bc I feel like both he and Amanda Palmer seem like people who I would go insane stuck in a room with bc we have very different ideas about art and suchlike. and I also do think that the career trajectory he's on lately is cynically redoing his greatest hits and pretending that was the dream all along when it clearly was not. which is at best meh.

having said which

as far as I can tell by far the most common complaint about Neil Gaiman is "Snow, Glass, Apples is problematic/gross/it's got incest and rape and frames the child as the aggressor"

which strikes me as a weird complaint to pull out of a 40 year body of work tbh when that short story is pretty clearly coming from a place of 'how far can I push this'. like you don't have to like the story. I don't really like the story. but it is. a horror story.

like and this is the thing with particularly 90s alt horror right? a lot of the interest is in transgression and sitting in the worst possible perspective and seeing what happens if you pull those strings. like I really like Clive Barker for example but there's a good chunk of his short stories that I'm like I'm not picking up what you're putting down Clive this seems Kinda Off. but that willingness to write some trite or Bad Message horror fiction that doesn't land is imo a side effect of being willing to try writing uncomfortable and unpleasant fiction at all. which is what horror is for, among other things, it's for creating discomfort as a form of catharsis or engagement.

like I am not a huge fan of the type of sex-horror that pops up in a lot of Gaiman's work and other contemporary horror writers - to me I don't find it upsetting or horny it just ends up feeling kind of edgy and tryhard - but I'm also a bit like. it does seem like a lot of people's beef with Neil Gaiman is that In The 90s He Was A Horror Writer

and this approach to Problematic Horror in Snow, Glass, Apples I find kind of microcosmic of how The Discourse often approaches art in this kind of 1:1 way. if you write a story which seems to line up with rape apologia it can only be because you agree with it. if you write a story about transphobia you're a transphobe. if you write a story that makes me genuinely uncomfortable you're attacking me.

but artwork, especially art like horror that's not necessarily trying to provoke enjoyment as its main response, is necessarily hit and miss. and if what you're shooting for is discomfort then whether it works, falls flat or goes too far incredibly depends on your audience. and making good art - as in art that makes its audience think, art that opens the audience up to discomfort and catharsis and sticks with them and changes them - requires the space to experiment and tbh the space to fuck up. like they aren't all going to be winners and they certainly aren't all going to work for you as a singular audience.

personally I don't see the appeal of Snow, Glass, Apples, less cause it's nasty and more cause it's hack. ooh an edgy monstrous version of a fairy tale where there's lots of rape and cannibalism? you're soooo original Neil. but like. that's fine. I don't really vibe with like 70% of Neil Gaiman stuff I've read but I still like Neil Gaiman because the stuff that works for me really works for me.

idk I think there's a lot of folk on this website who shouldn't interact with horror cause they clearly aren't interested in being horrified. that's not everyone who dislikes Snow, Glass, Apples, but it's a real undercurrent to a lot of the criticism and tbh this kinda vibe is shit for art. making standout art What Is Good also requires being ready to make art which stands out for the wrong reasons. sometimes they'll be the same art to different people.

#red said #not to Cancel Culture this but isabelle fall springs to mind in a lot of how folks talk about stuff like this #like she wrote a transgressive piece exploring her own negative feelings about transness and her anger around a transphobic trope #and she made something which i found really resonant and interesting #and she got torn apart for it because it Might From Some Angles Agree With Transphobia #and I'm not making a direct comparison. because i think attack helicopter is a really GOOD story and i think SGA is gratuitous and hack #but that's the thing right? transgression and discomfort and speaking about unpleasant things in an openended way are KEY #to making art that engages directly with your own pains and angers and discomforts #and that's hard to mediate tbh. but it's also very necessary. #i think as well thinking about Gaiman this is also a thought I've often had about Amanda Palmer #who over the years has written a lot of songs about things i find genuinely uncomfortable or offensive. #and i can engage with 'it's fucked up to tell your ex they transed their gender At You' or 'your partner's suicide is not about you' bc yeah #but #you can't celebrate someone for making confessional music then get mad because you don't like everything they confess #if you only take about your socially acceptable thoughts it's not really confessional is it? #if you only talk about discomforting things that people are comfortable hearing about its not really discomforting #and you can only really discern what's Good Transgressive and what's Damaging Transgressive through doing i think #so if you want challenging art you are going to have to get some art which challenges you and you go hmm no i still disagree #is what i think #so yeah you can hate the artwork but when an artist is specifically setting out to make challenging art it's weird to hate them #for making 50 pieces of art you like and 1 you hate

[sillysnack]

nothing a date can’t fix

— saiki kusuo x reader (gn, 2nd pov)

— summary: Something’s bothering you, Saiki knows that. He doesn’t know the specifics, and neither do you want to indulge him in your problems. Is a spontaneous café date going to help?

— notes: ok this is originally for my self insert 😆 #crazy and this is insanely self-indulgent....!! not beta read! none of my works are

— things: ooc saiki kusuo me thinks... fluff? semi-established relationship

“Saiki.”

At this point in your relationship, you had suspicions of Saiki having powers. You didn’t push it, though. Saiki must’ve kept it secret for a reason.

For that, his appreciation for you grows a little more every day he spends with you. He’ll tell you once you two label the relationship.

After you mentioned his name, Saiki turns to you. His expression was unreadable as ever. Yours, however, was clear as day. You were upset about... something.

“Do you... want to go stop by Café Mami? I know we’re supposed to just head straight home today and you probably aren’t in the mood to go out right now, but–”

Before you could ramble any further, Saiki replies, “Of course.” ... Your thoughts and words were going at the same speed and shared the same nervous tone, Saiki needed to press pause on at least one of them. He’s glad both stopped.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. “Thanks. I’ll buy you coffee jelly.”

A smile makes its way to Saiki’s face. Even if it was only for a short time, your heart swelled with joy at the sight.

The walk towards Café Mami was silent. Usually, Saiki wouldn’t mind the silence. Hell, he even liked the comfortable silence that accompanied you both in your walks home, but something felt off.

“Is something bothering you?”

You look at Saiki. “Mm? No. I’m fine.”

... Saiki didn’t need his telepathy to pick up on the fact that you weren’t fine. The fact you were suspicious of his powers wasn’t helping, either. Saiki would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, hearing and seeing you upset yet unable to help you.

“Stop thinking about it.” Was what Saiki heard as he peered into your thoughts. As well as, “Just need to spend time with Saiki, and it’ll all be fine. No need to talk about it.”

What was the it that seemed to bother you so much? Saiki hopes you’ll tell him once you two are at Café Mami.

...

“Saiki, Y/N! Welcome! What can I get for you two?”

You smile at Mera. “Two coffee jellies, thanks. Ah, make it three.” Mera nods as she takes note of your order.

“Three?”

You turn to Saiki before answering, “One for me, two for you.”

“Thank you, you’re godsent. Are you okay?”

You bite your inner cheek, unsure how to answer Saiki. You found no use in lying to him. He’s probably hearing your thoughts at the moment.

You’re right, I am.

You shake your head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head again.

You watch as Saiki takes out a small ring from his pocket and slips it on.

“You wear rings?”

“Sometimes.”

You look at the ring around Saiki’s finger. It was a nice silver with blue in the middle, you couldn’t tell what gem it was, but you thought it looked nice on Saiki.

Of course, you were unaware of the main purpose of the ring; to block out Saiki’s telepathy. You didn’t want to talk about your problems, but that doesn’t stop you from thinking about it. Saiki wears the ring so he doesn’t unknowingly pry into your private life.

It’s silent between you two again, but Saiki can feel the previous cloud of discomfort that loomed over you vanishing. He exhales.

You yawn. “Do you mind if I... lean on your shoulder a little bit?”

Saiki shakes his head. He didn’t mind the action; it wasn’t necessarily a display of affection. You were sleepy and Saiki isn’t just going to let you rest your head on the table, that surface is for dessert only. He isn’t going to let you strain your neck in some uncomfortable position that other people seemed to put themselves in just to catch up on sleep.

There weren’t a lot of familiar faces in Café Mami as well. Even if someone from PK were to show up, he could easily wake you up.

Lastly, Saiki likes the peaceful look on your face when you nap on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Kusuo.” You rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. “Wake me up when the coffee jelly’s here?”

Saiki nods. He’s considering taking off the ring once he’s sure he can’t read your thoughts, but that would mean hearing the thoughts of others around you two.

With the ring on, it’s silent. Peaceful. Saiki can focus his attention better to you without the unwanted thoughts he’s constantly hearing.

Perhaps I’ll wear it for a few more minutes.

Saiki looks at you and smiles. He doesn’t know (yet) what’s bothering you, but, he knows he’ll help you in any way he can. If the help you want right now is to spend time with him in a café, then be it.

Saiki fiddles with the ring on his finger. He thinks, I hope you’ll be okay soon.

A few minutes pass and from a distance, Saiki sees Mera approaching their booth with three servings of coffee jelly, his eyes light up at the sight.

Saiki gently shrugs his shoulder, waking you up.

“Coffee jelly’s here.”

You two watch as Mera places the coffee jelly in front of you; more on Saiki waiting excitedly while you’re... excited because he’s excited.

“Order’s complete! Enjoy, you two.”

You nod. “Thanks, Mera.” You slide the two cups of coffee jelly to Saiki.

“Where’s my spoon?”

You grin. “In my hand. Say “ahh”!”

Saiki frowns. “I am not going to be spoonfed. Never in a million years.”

You laugh and dip the spoon in one of Saiki’s coffee jellies. “Of course you aren’t. Here,” you slide the coffee jelly closer to Saiki. “At least let me take a photo of you?”

Good grief. “Fine.”

You take out your phone and point it towards Saiki.

“Do I pose?”

You answer him, “Do whatever you want. It’s not like I’m posting these. I’ll probably just make it my wallpaper.”

Saiki rolls his eyes. He takes a spoonful of coffee jelly and smiles, the exact moment you were hoping to capture– which you successfully do.

Saiki didn’t need to take off his ring to tell that you were feeling much, much better by then.

#i feel crazy #saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #AYOKO NA #saiki kusuo x reader

[sinnohanvulpix]

Sawyer is neurodivergent and you can't change my mind

Last year for Autism Acceptance Day, my good friend @pikatrainer99 and I did a collab post about Goh and our headcanon of being him autistic. Here's a link to that post if you'd like to check it out:

Today, we'd like to talk about Sawyer from Pokemon XY, another character who we both headcanon as autistic, and who means the world to me.

Let's start with his special interest, Pokemon battles. In all of Sawyer's appearances, we can clearly see his desire to learn as much as he can about battling and to grow stronger. He greatly admires strong trainers like Steven Stone and Ash. I mean, just look at how excited he gets when he hears that Ash had won five badges!

And that's exactly what he does for the rest of the series. He spends so much time studying and training that he manages to catch up to Ash within a just season's worth of episodes! But we'll get to that later.

Before going into detail about his most obvious traits, let's go over some of the traits that we only see for brief moments, starting with his sensory sensitivities. In episode 73, we see him getting visibly overwhelmed when the crowd around him, Ash, and Clemont suddenly starts cheering. We also see him shielding his eyes from Spritzee's Dazzling Gleam attack during his battle with Valerie. Note that he's the only one to react this way to both situations. I don't know about you, but I have yet to meet a single autistic person without some kind of hypersensitivity to noise, bright light, smell, texture, etcetera.

We also see in the following episode that he sometimes unintentionally gets too close to people when he's excited, not noticing their discomfort. We see this after Ash wins his gym battle with Valerie, and Sawyer is so beyond amazed and eager to learn from him that he momentarily forgets how to act "socially appropriately". Ash and his friends are visibly uncomfortable, but of course, because they're all so kind and supportive, they don't judge him for this 🥺

We also see in the first episode of XYZ that he's an amazing artist. And I mean, AMAZING! He can literally draw Squishy the Zygarde Core exactly how it looks in its official artwork, despite only having seen it for the first time that day! While not every autistic person has to have a talent like this, it's definitely not uncommon. Growing up, Pika and I both used to draw a lot, and our drawing skills were one of the few things we took pride in because of how much praise we got for it.

Now let's talk about one of his most adorable traits, which is his habit of saying, "I've gained some EXP!" Clearly he's into video games and enjoys feeling like he's in one, because this is definitely not something you typically hear in real life. This kind of escapism is quite common in autistic people, Pika and I included. In a world that's not built for us, sometimes imagining ourselves in a fictional world that we love can be really comforting and even inspiring in some cases.

You've probably noticed that Sawyer is holding his notebook in all of the last three screenshots, which is also something I'd like to get into. Not only is his notebook a crucial part of his character, but it's also a security item. Pika and I both have security items of our own, namely our phones and our favourite Pokemon plushies, which helps bring us a lot of much-needed comfort. In episode 75, we see just how panicked Sawyer gets when he temporarily loses his notebook, which quickly leads to him becoming depressed.

We know that he values his notebook deeply because it contains all he's learned on his journey, as well as an autograph from Steven Stone. But if you look deeper, it becomes clear that it's even more to him than that. He holds his notebook close to his heart, both metaphorically and literally. He hugs it after receiving approval from Ash (which I'll also get to later) Heck, he even attached his Key Stone to it! He cherishes this notebook like it's his baby, and we find that so adorable and relatable!

Okay, now it's time to get into what's arguably the saddest part of his character: his constant need of approval from others. Pika and I, as well as countless other autistic people, are no strangers to self-doubt, especially in a world where we can't meet a lot of people's expectations. Sawyer likely grew up feeling this way too, which would explain why he's always seeking Ash's approval, since Ash is the one he looks up to the most. Throughout the series, Sawyer's constantly trying desperately to catch up to him. What's even more heartbreaking is that even after he beats Ash, he still needs reassurance from him that he's become strong 🥺

And to make matters worse, he's constantly masking his frustration whenever he fails to beat Ash. The autistic community is definitely no stranger to masking either.

It's not until the episode after his Kalos League battle with Ash when we finally see Sawyer breaking down. All those hours of training to catch up to Ash only led to him losing again in their most important battle yet. He was devastated, but he couldn't show that in front of Ash out of fear of being judged. Once he and Sceptile were alone, however, Sawyer was finally able to let out all the built-up frustration. And oh boy, was it emotional to watch...

But being the resilient trainer he is, Sawyer quickly dried off his tears and reaffirmed his desire to become stronger.

It takes a lot of strength to bounce back from something like this. I also went through a lot of inner turmoil around the time XYZ was airing. But seeing Sawyer bounce back like this inspired me to keep going, and make it through the rest of that year with Sawyer as my main source of comfort.

Needless to say, I see a lot of myself in Sawyer, and so does Pika. Not only is he relatable, but his story is also a great reminder that no matter how bad things feel in the moment, we can always make it out the other side. This is an important message for a lot of people, especially within the autistic community.

Even after all these years, I still find lots of comfort in Sawyer, and I know that'll last for many more years to come 💚

#anipoke #pokeani #trainer sawyer #trainer shota #sawyer pokemon #shota pokemon #autism #autism acceptance #autism headcanon #autistic characters #autistic positivity #this is our headcanon and you cannot change it

[librarycards]

hi sorry i saw u rb posts on veganism & i was wondering how you reconcile that stuff re: ED's (for context i am vegetarian -which ik isn't the same thing- for eco/ethical reasons but also have loved ones with eating problems that i never never never want to shame for eating ever)

this is a good question! I've addressed it a few times before on here, but in brief: veganism is a philosophy and ethical orientation around all forms of consumption and relationality. food is, for a number of reasons (many of which also contribute to the prevalence of eds - fixations on false ideas of 'perfectable' heath; desirability politics; etc) a hypervisible component of vegan life. this is particularly true given that there is a massive imbalance in the ways that we collectively gather. a focus on food-themed events marginalizes a wide variety of disabled people and/or people with religious/ethical food restrictions, and in this case, being vegan and living with an ed are actually pretty similar re: exclusion and frustration.

given the above, more and more people these days have been delineating between "vegan" and "plant based". to be vegan, here, is to have a certain set of political commitments - toward multispecies + climate justice, via critical analysis and collective organizing regarding what we are, literally and figuratively, expected to swallow under settler colonial capitalist hegemony. to be, or eat, a plant-based diet, is no more than what it says on the tin.

with that important distinction aside, i actually want to focus on one part of your ask: the idea that to be vegan is in and of itself an act of shaming. i want you (and not specifically you, because this is something a lot of people should ask themselves) to think about why you find veganism itself to shame (verb) nonvegans. generally, there are a few reasons for this: perhaps it's just not having met a lot of vegans and only hearing internet scaremongering. perhaps it's a discomfort not unlike other unwillingness to look at the horrible shit that makes "our" lifestyles possible. it is hard to understand our own complicity in hegemonic violence, and, vegan or not, it is impossible to extricate ourselves fully from it. but we do need to look. veganism, at its best, provides a critical lens for looking, and a set of practices to minimize, as best we can, our buy-in.

truthfully, i think that people who feel shamed by the existence of a vegan in their midst should figure that problem out on their own. this includes psychiatrically disabled people, incl. disorderly eaters. this does not give any of us license to harangue vulnerable people for their eating habits, but it also doesn't morally obligate us to change our lifestyles for their comfort!

as a vegetarian, you probably don't have a whole lot of occasion to talk about your vegetarianism (outside, say, drs offices or food-based gatherings). people are often surprised when they learn that i'm vegan, because they assume all vegans must be "preachy" (i have yet to meet a vegan over the age of eighteen irl who is like this. i've met a lot of Big Mad protein bros, though, as well as MYRIAD preachy med professionals and laypeople who freak tf out that i'm a principled vegan anorexic). at the end of the day, you need to be able to live a life you can tolerate, one that best facilitates you to impart good in the world + in your relationships. one that allows you to understand the gravity and importance of your own survival, on your terms. if vegetarianism or veganism do that for you, those who love you will support it, even if it takes a while.

so, yeah. i'm not sure if you wanted explanation, advice, or both, so I gave both. sorry for the long answer (even though i promised brevity...) but i believe very strongly in bodily autonomy - this informs my veganism - anarchism - broad politic, and my answer to this ask. so you got an essay!!

#disorderly eating #mine #ed m #i'm trying desperately to retag relevant stuff as #disorderly eating to make it easier to find but it will probably be a wip for a while #vegan #autonomy

[effervescentdragon]

you get a part of redredred, the 2022 season sebchal that runs parallel to niamh's valewis. it follows the 2022 season and has flashbacks. its around 50k or more and dont think i'll ever finish it because it hurts, but who knows. 💜

Bahrain 2022

Seb wakes up on the couch and groans in discomfort. No matter how persistently he’d searched for the most comfortable couch out there, he still woke up hurting. It’s the age, not the couch, he thinks and sighs. Then he remembers yesterday.

A grin overtakes his face. Charles won.

Charles won, and Seb couldn’t help himself. He’d almost screamed when Charles was informed by Xavi that Max had engine problems, and hearing Charles scream and laugh in joy was… wonderful.

I’m not the last Ferrari GP winner, he thinks, and the thought doesn’t even hurt. Charles is, he thinks, and grabs his phone with a smile.

Two (2) new messages.

He’d congratulated only two people on the grid yesterday, because he couldn’t not. He was too tired to even contemplate picking up the call from Lance, or Lawrence, and he wanted to talk to Mick on the phone sometime today, because he knows that he would’ve taken finishing just out of the points very hard. He is still smiling as he opens the first message.

From: Charles

Please don’t hate me. Wish you were here.

His smile falls instantly.

“Fuck.”

Seb stares at the words on the screen. Please don’t hate me. Fuck. As if he would hate Charles, God. As if he could, for fucks’ sake. His head hurts. His fucking heart hurts.

“What have I done to you,” he mutters to himself, getting up to get some coffee. He knows he needs to eat, but he can’t stomach anything at the moment. He does take a glass of water and the coffee, and goes back to the couch.

One (1) new message.

“Fuck it,” he repeats. He needs to talk to someone. “Might as well.”

From: Lewis

Hey man, how are you? And thanks, I rly wasn't expecting it. It was a bouncy ride, a bit too bouncy if I'm being honest

Their chat history is open, the congratulatory message for the podium Seb had sent him the night before the last interaction they've had.

Seb hesitates for just a second, and then starts typing.

To: Lewis

Glad you made it through. I'm alright, feeling a bit better. Still tired though. How was Toto at the party? :)

From: Lewis

Susie was there, so you can imagine :) I think he wants to cut off even more parts from the car. He was pretty happy that ur home team had a bad day tho :)

Seb can't help but chuckle at that. The animosity between Christian and Toto always went deep, but it reached new heights in the last season. Seb gets it, and privately he thinks Toto is right about most things, but there is still a part of him that's probably always going to be uncomfortable about bad-mouthing Christian, even though the man has changed much throughout the years.

The fact that Lewis can tease him about Red Bull is a good sign, though. He still refuses to address them by name, which is a bit petty in Seb's opinion. Then again, Seb himself is far from being immune to pettiness.

To: Lewis

I know you don't mean Ferrari, because they wiped the floor with you :)

He regrets the message as soon as he sends it, especially when the answer comes back instantly.

From: Lewis

Yeah, Carlos was so good, man, easily one of his best drives. Your boy was on fire tho. The way he defended, damn. Did you see it?

Seb hates the way his pulse quickens. He hates the way Lewis' words make him feel. He shouldn't be feeling like this, because. Well. Because nothing and no one in Bahrain is his. Lewis' message is calculated to provoke him, but Seb doesn't mind it that much. He knows what his friend is doing - giving him a push and an out at the same time. It's on Seb to take it or leave it.

To: Lewis

Yeah, I watched the race. Wanted to see what the cars could do, and some of it was surprising. Good for Kevin and Mick :)

He pauses. He could leave it at that, and Lewis would accept it. They don't have to talk about it anymore. He can just leave it all at that.

Seb can't help himself. He never was one for avoidance; at least not with Lewis. Maybe only with Lewis.

To: Lewis

He's not my boy.

The reply is instantaneous.

From: Lewis

Not for lack of trying on his part

From: Lewis

Did you at least congratulate him?

Seb closes his eyes for a moment, covers them with his hand. He wants not to have this conversation. He wants a Jäger shot. He wants -

It doesn't matter what he wants. A lot of things don't matter, even though he wants them to. A lot of things matter, even though he tries to pretend they are as unimportant as possible.

Lewis could always see through him, though. Seb owes him honesty, and cares for him too much to try to mislead him; the only person he lies to regularly is himself, really. He appreciates Lewis too much to lie to him in any way. They’ve been through everything, and they’ve faced it all more or less together, and there was no reason anymore to keep up pretenses, when they knew one another inside and out in both the best and worst ways.

He knows why Lewis texted him, and he can't help but smile. Lewis always saw too much with those eyes of his, and he knew Seb needs the push.

To: Lewis

He asked me not to hate him.

To: Lewis

As if I ever could.

The reply is slow to come, or it just seems that way. Seb stares at his phone the whole time after sending the message, his heart in his throat. All the reasons for his avoidance of the topic come to mind, and he tries to take a deep breath to calm himself. He opens Lewis' message.

All that he manages to do is choke on air and almost cough out his lungs when Lewis' messages come in one after the other.

From: Lewis

I asked him if he wanted to be lifted in the air. He said, and I had to google this to write it right jsyk, "Nicht jetzt, danke". His pronunciation is terrible tho, worse than mine

From: Lewis

I think he missed you on the podium

From: Lewis

I think he misses you a lot

I miss him too, Seb thinks. I miss him so much, but it doesn't matter. It's better this way, Seb thinks. "Il Predestinato," he whispers to himself. He sighs and types.

To: Lewis

It's better like this.

Lewis' reply is angry, and Seb should have maybe expected it, but it still takes him aback.

From: Lewis

For fucking who, Seb?

Sebastian has committed himself to this course of action, or, well, inaction, and he will stick to it. He has to.

To: Lewis

For him. He has the car now, and his whole destiny. He is older, and more experienced, and he isn't impatient any more.

He hesitates, then adds on the phrase he's been repeating to himself for the past two years at least.

To: Lewis

He doesn't need me. Not anymore.

From: Lewis

Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep easier?

From: Lewis

You were always bad at lying, man, but this is just pathetic

Fuck, Seb thinks. Lewis always sees too much, and this time he's not backing off for some reason. "Fuck you," he says out loud to himself so he doesn't say it to Lewis in a fit of anger that's bubbling under his skin, because Lewis is right. Seb loves him and hates him for it equally.

Lewis is one of Sebastian's best friends on the grid, and the one who understands him the best in some ways. It wasn't always like that, but after 2016, many things have changed. Nico left, and Seb didn't think about that anymore, like he didn't think about many things anymore. In another life, where they weren't racing drivers and each others biggest competition for a whole decade, and where they met at a later point in life, and where there was no Nico and no Mark to shape them into who they were when the time was right, Seb would've been in love with Lewis, and vice versa. Maybe he is a bit in love with him anyways, because honestly, who isn't? Lewis is amazing, and kind, and one of the strongest people Seb knows, and he respects him too much as a person and a competitor, and loves him too much to push for something that just would not work. Not the way they are, and not with their history, and especially not in this world where both Valtteri Bottas and Charles Leclerc exist.

Because no matter how much Seb loves Lewis for pushing him, a part of him is angry, because Lewis is being such a hypocrite right now. He is right about Sebastian, but he is still being a hypocrite, and Seb is too tired and hurting a bit too much to let him get away with it.

To: Lewis

How's Valtteri?

He gets up and refills his coffee as he waits to see what Lewis will say.

From: Lewis

There's the bastard I know

From: Lewis

He's fine. Didn't ask me if i hated him, bcs I'm a normal person who still speaks to his former teammate and friend normally

To: Lewis

So you normally took him up on that normal coffee date?

From: Lewis

Fuck you

To: Lewis

Once wasn't enough for you? :)

Seb couldn't resist reminding Lewis of the one and only time they slept together in 2016 occasionally. It wasn't something either of them dwelled on needlessly, even though it was definitely some of the best sex Seb's ever had. It was fun, and amazing, and heart-breaking, and just an inch shy of too much at the same time, and neither of them ever regretted it. They did both agree the next morning not to repeat it, because the bruises they left on each other were just a bit too painful, and the way they looked at each other as they were fucking was just a bit too raw, and for the whole time their thoughts were just a bit too focused on the men who were their teammates, and they both knew it. Neither of them resented the other for it, and that fundamental understanding that it was just not the right time for them and it never would be may be the reason why they became and stayed such good friends.

From: Lewis

It was at least two times that night, and stop changing the subject :)

To: Lewis

I'm really not. It's the same thing.

From: Lewis

I know

From: Lewis

Man, where did all our bravery go?

To: Lewis

We left it on track sometime in late 2010's :)

From: Lewis

You might be right there

From: Lewis

Fuck we're old

Seb chuckles, because Lewis is both right and wrong. Being on top of the world in your early twenties screwed them both up in some fundamental way, and with both of them being overachievers and determined to win, their perception of the world and their age was impossibly skewered. Seb knows he is going to have to re-evaluate what he wants to do in his life again really soon, but that was a conversation for another time, and to be made in person. Another text from Lewis pulls him out of his thoughts.

From: Lewis

What will you do now?

Seb sighs for god-knows which time and scratches his beard. He should shave soon; he has that video-conference with Aston Martin on Wednesday, and he should look less like a hobo and more like a professional who has his life together. I should look less like a lovesick fool, he thinks and then rolls his eyes at his own propensity for dramatics.

To: Lewis

I have no idea. You?

Lewis' reply makes Seb bark out a laugh.

From: Lewis

Get a bloody muffin. Feelings are exhausting

To: Lewis

Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't talk about them then :)

Lewis doesn't reply, and Seb takes that as a sign that his friend is as tired as he is of the emotional turmoil they've both been going through. It's probably for the best. Seb needs to sleep some more, his body rebelling against even the little exertion he's had today.

He puts his phone on the table and lays on the couch. Maybe the universe will be merciful to him today, and he won't dream of heart-breaking eyes and French-accented voice speaking to him in terrible German.

#f1 rpf #trick or treat asks #effervescendragonwrites #imma tag this #sebchal #valewis #but also sewis #bcs its two of them here #naila 💜 #redredred reference

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight 15

Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (18+)

Chapter warnings/tags: injuries & injury recovery, medical stuff, bacta tanks, angst, negative self-talk/self-image, past emotional & physical abuse, graphic (?) depictions of injuries, scars, cults, supportive din, big emotional steps, also SMUT, clothed sexy times, masturbation, lil bit of dirty talk, thirsting after din (ofc)

Chapter length: 8.2k

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notes: whoooops, sorry for the short delay. life was a Lot this week. hope this chapter makes up for it ;)

and i can still see it all (in my head), back and forth from new york (sneaking in your bed)

“I only ever heard bacta tanks described as feeling like you’re being ‘swallowed alive’ by slime.” 

Doctor Garidan gives a slight wry smile. “Some people definitely feel that way when being submerged in the traditional tank that you enter from the top.” 

“That’s not what Fett has?” 

“No. His is a more comfortable model. You lie down in it, and the liquid fills up when you’re ready, just like a bath, except you’re fully submerged.” 

You chew your bottom lip. Din is sitting in the chair beside you, as always, just quietly holding your hand and letting you talk to Garidan. “So no one has to, like, hoist me out of a huge vat of slime?” 

“No,” he assures you, still smiling. “It can still be unpleasant for some people, though. I can offer you sedatives, if you have anxieties.”

You’re still pretty high on painkillers, but you’re fairly certain that you have anxieties. Don’t you always? 

“I would very much encourage you to consider the bacta as an option. We’ll know more after the dressing changes, but given the extent of the injuries as they were yesterday…” 

You nod, not needing him to elaborate any further. And, yep, there’s the anxiety, swirling around in your stomach and making a painful knot. Which is the last thing you need right now, on top of everything else. 

Gently, Din squeezes your hand. You look up at him, immediately comforted by his very presence. 

“Are you ready for the dressing change?” Garidan asks. 

Nope. You’ll never be ready. “Yes,” you say anyway, closing your eyes. You open them again straight away, though, when you feel Din stand up, hear him move. He’s getting ready to leave. As much as you wish you could tell him that it’s okay to stay, that you’d feel more comfortable if he did, you can’t. It’s silly, really, because you know how he feels about you; that the current mess that is your body won’t send him running for the hills.

But, still. It’s going to take time. And, just like how you want to see his face for the first time in very different circumstances than this, if he’s going to see your body for what it is, in all it’s scarred glory, you don’t want it to be while you’re being poked and prodded at by doctors on this hospital bed beneath harsh lighting. 

You hold his hand, look up at him. “Come back when we’re done?” 

Reaching out his spare hand, he brushes it over the top of your head, just for a second before he pulls away. “Always.” 

And that promise alone is enough to get you through the pain and discomfort that ensues. 

Bacta is looking like an attractive option by the time the doctors have removed your bandages and inspected the wounds and surgery sites. Doctor Garidan informs you that his initial assessment was correct: the chances of your skin healing over on its own are low, unless you use the tank. 

They don’t apply new bandages yet, waiting for your decision. 

By the time Din comes back in, you’re still surrounded by medical assistants, and he can probably barely see you beneath all the devices they’ve got strapped to you. 

“I’m going in,” you tell him. “The bacta.” 

He nods. “I think that’s a good call,” he says, standing above you, his cape hanging down to the floor. He’s got a new flight suit on—you make a mental note to ask him when that happened—and he’s favouring one leg, probably shouldn’t be walking around as much as he is, but you’re hardly surprised. “They gave me some bacta patches,” he explains, noticing that you’re staring at his leg. “Some spray, too.” 

“You don’t wanna dunk in the tank with me, then?” You say with a tired but teasing smile. 

“I don’t think there’d be enough room in there for both of us, Cyar’ika.” 

“Hm, probably not. Not exactly a romantic situation, either, just sitting in a vat of slimy stuff that probably smells really bad.” 

“It does.” 

“Have you been in it before?” 

“Been around it enough to know.” 

You reach out and take his hand. “They’re going to put me on even more drugs,” you tell him. “Feel free to laugh at me when I’m high as a starship.” 

His gloved thumb smoothes over yours. “I will,” he says, so playfully sincerely that it makes you giggle. It hurts, of course, but it’s worth it. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Garidan says, appearing at the foot of the bed in a gap between people. “But we’re ready to take you through.” 

You take a deep breath. The air is cold on your wounds. It stings, and reminds you every fucking second that you’re currently baring your body to literally anyone who comes in here. Including Din, although he’s only looking at your face, and the nurses are providing good cover. 

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back. 

“Are you ready?” Garidan asks. 

Staring right into Din’s visor, searching his gaze for strength, you nod.

Inside the tank, you’re so drugged up that all you can think about is how the injuries happened in the first place. You’re in a haze, somewhere in a fog where the memory keeps repeating over and over and over. Then the dream you’d had during surgery comes back to you: your family standing over you, your arms bleeding, leaking shards of glass, Din backing away in disgust. It mixes with what actually happened, with the window that broke beneath your weight, the pieces that stuck into your already-existing scars.

You only start to come back to reality once you’re back in your bed.

The droids have dried you off, but you can still smell the bacta on your skin; still taste it in your nose. It’s not pleasant, but it’s also not the worst sensation you’ve felt in the last few days.

And, kriff, you feel better.

So much fucking better.

Doctor Garidan looks pleased. He tells you that you were in there for six hours, and that the results are extremely promising. The skin has already started to regenerate, the slight damage to your shoulder bone has gone, and the flesh that was shredded deeply by the debris has already started healing. He tells you that you can have another session in the tank if you want to, but that it’s not necessary now; it’s given your body enough of a boost to heal by itself.

“It could mean that recovery takes longer if you don’t go in again,” he says, “but you will recover. I can tell you that now.” 

And, to be honest, you don’t want to see those dreams again. 

So you opt for the long road. At least now, though, you can breathe without it feeling like your entire body is on fire. 

Once you’re all bandaged up and settled on your side again, Din comes in, and brings Grogu with him. He’s overjoyed to see you, screeching in glee and practically falling from Din’s arms so he can get down to the bed, curling up beside you on the small mattress. 

“Hey, kiddo,” you laugh tiredly, head still a little fuzzy as the meds wear off. “How’s it going?” He looks up at you, looks deeply into your eyes, tilts his head. He’s asking you if you’re alright. “I’m good, kid. I promise. They’ve been taking real good care of me.” 

He reaches out a little clawed hand and places it over your bandages. You feel it in an instant, the strange pull that you’d felt all that time ago when he’d drawn poison from your wound, the ease of pain that comes from his powers. Your heart warms at the sight of him, closing his eyes and putting all his concentration into healing you. 

You also know, though, what it does to him when he uses all his strength like this.

Gently, you take hold of his arm, and pull his hand away. His eyes open, ears tilting downward. “Thank you, kid, but you don’t have to. Save your energy, okay? I promise I’m alright.” 

He gazes up at you for another long moment, blinking slowly. If you had the Force, you’d tell him, somehow, that everything is okay. That you’re alright. You’d push whatever comfort he manages to push to you through a single touch right back to him, reassure him. 

Instead, you just lean in, rest your forehead against his. 

He’s happy with that. He relaxes, letting his arm drop, and snuggles into your chest. 

Smiling, you look up to find Din sitting by your bed again, just watching you. “Hey,” you say, quiet. 

“Hi,” he says. “How do you feel?” 

You sigh. “A lot better. That bacta stuff is miracle slime, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Do I stink of it now?” 

The kid makes a noise like he’s saying Yes. You laugh, giving his head a rub. 

“The helmet filters out the smell,” Din answers, the curve of a smirk in his voice. 

“Ah, it has its uses.” 

After a moment of quiet, Din reaches out and strokes his hand down your cheek. You smile up at him, feeling warmth and softness spread in your chest, around your heart, clenching it. You tilt your head, kiss his palm. “You’re doing good, you know that, right?” he says quietly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You went in that tank, you’re…always fighting to survive.” 

You take his hand, thread your fingers together. He’s looking down at you, somehow so intense even through the visor. It’s always been like that. He’s always been able to capture the intensity and intimacy of a shared look, even through beskar. You wonder if it feels like that for other people when he looks at them. Or if it’s just you. “Garidan says I can head up to our own quarters in a couple of days,” you tell him. “But I’ll need to be on bedrest for a while.” 

Din nods. “Whatever you need.” 

“I…is it safe for us to stay here?” You ask, a hint of anxiety creeping in around the  warmth. Then, as the feeling grows, “How did they find us?” 

He sighs softly, sitting back in his chair. His hand is still in yours, arm extended across the gap between him and the bed. “I heard from Peli, just after the attack. There was a tracker hidden on the ship. It must have shown our location as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace. Apparently some people in the town were…members of your…of the…” 

“The cult,” you provide bitterly.

He nods once, like he still doesn’t want to say it. “They held Peli up.” 

“What?” You almost sit up at the shock of it, dread hitting your stomach. “Is she alright?” 

“She’s alright. A little shook up, but she said it’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with before.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “She’s dealt with crazy cult members before?” 

“She’s seen a lot,” he says, wry.

“Kriff. Did she tell them where we were?” 

“She didn’t know, so no. They asked around, though, and put together our location from different witnesses.” 

A sigh comes through your nose. That familiar feeling of guilt twists inside you. “I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying. 

Din sighs, too. Like he’s really tired of hearing that. (You’re tired of feeling it.) “It’s not your fault.” 

You just shake your head, too tired to argue. Come to think of it, you’re really fucking tired. It hits you suddenly, unexpected, though not out of nowhere. It’s been a long fucking day. You look up at Din, feel his hand in yours, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need for him. For him to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you. It feels like it’s been weeks since you last felt his skin, and you know how ridiculous it is; when you first met, you never even imagined you’d get to feel his hands, let alone the rest of him. Let alone him touching you. 

But now that you’ve had a taste of it, you can’t get enough.

And you’re still just a little high on painkillers, so of course, the realisation that he can’t hold you right now has you crying. Logically. Totally reasonably. 

“Hey,” Din says, leaning forward in his seat. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

You shake your head. It’s ridiculous. “Nothing,” you say, even though it feels like everything is wrong because he’s too far away and you’re holding the kid but you want to hold both of them, want to know that they’re both here and safe and not going anywhere—

“Are you in pain?”

“No, I—yes,” you say, “but it’s not…that’s not…” you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, impatient at yourself. “I’m just really tired.”

His fingertips brush down your cheek, wiping away the tears. “Get some sleep, Mesh’la,” he says softly. He starts to reach for the kid, to take him away. 

“He can stay,” you say before he’s gone. Grogu looks up at you with an appreciative coo. “You wanna stay, kid?” 

In answer, he snuggles back down and closes his eyes. 

Din chuckles. It’s so beautiful. You want to hear it in the dark again, where there’s nothing separating his voice from your ears. “Alright. You two get some sleep.”

“You can go and rest,” you tell him, even though the idea of Din leaving is literally making you cry again—“You’ve been here since it happened.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, so decisive and certain. It reminds you of those early days in the cave, when he refused to leave you alone and injured. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

And you just can’t. He’s so…he’s so…

“Sleep,” he tells you softly, just as the word perfect comes to your mind. It doesn’t even come close to what he is. To how he makes you feel. 

You nod, and reach for his hand again. You tuck it up against Grogu’s back, and close your eyes. 

-

By the time the doctors clear you to leave the medbay, you’re actually desperate to see somewhere other than this fucking room. 

It’s not like Tatooine is a delightful place to be. Even though this town is relatively nice, and Boba’s home is certainly the height of luxury, being constantly surrounded by all this sand and heat and dryness is not your idea of a good time. 

But, kriff, anywhere is better than the medbay. You’d sit out, bare-assed on the sand right now if you had to, just to get a change of scene.

Thankfully, though, you have your suite. 

It’s not quite like coming home, like settling into the familiarity of the ship. But it’s good enough.

You can only just walk. Din helps you through to the bedroom, lays you down on the bed. You can lie on your back for short periods of time now, the bandages providing enough padding for it to not start hurting until fifteen minutes later. Though short-lived, it’s always a welcome reprieve from constantly being on your side. 

Despite the relief at being somewhere new, being in a real bed that Din can actually be near you in, your mind is still occupied by one thing, and one thing only. 

Them. 

They’re not going to give up. Just because their first attempt at an ambush failed, doesn’t mean they won’t send someone else, follow you to the next place. Your mind has had a lot of time in the last few days to overthink, to imagine all the ways that they might try to get to you. You’re safe here, behind Boba Fett’s walls and his army. Security has been tripled. You know that they can’t get in while you’re here. 

But you can’t be here as a burden forever. It’s not where you’re supposed to be. And you’d never ask Din and Grogu to stay, but leaving with them seems just as dangerous, too.

“What’s on your mind?” Din asks, breaking you from your thoughts as he comes into the bedroom. He’s already taking off his gloves, having just put the kid to bed. 

You’re distracted for a moment by the sight of his skin, the soft tan of his fingers. “Nothing,” you lie.

He glances at you. “The truth?” He requests. 

You sigh. “I’m just…thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“What happens next.”

“Hm,” he hums, thoughtful, stripping off each plate of armour carefully and placing them on the drawers that line the wall opposite the bed. You’re watching him, admiring the way he does this, how it’s always the same practiced routine every time. “What do you want to happen next?” 

And if that isn’t a question and a half. 

Heavily, you swallow, not sure what to answer. In an ideal world, you know exactly what you want. You want Din. You want the kid. You want to live on that little ship and go wherever the wind takes you; or you’d settle on a planet somewhere in the middle of nowhere and never see another soul again, as long as it meant the three of you would be together. Safe. (Hell, you’d settle here, if that’s where Din wanted to stay.)

But this isn’t an ideal world. You’re still being hunted. You always will be. 

And maybe Din doesn’t even want all of that. Maybe he doesn’t want you like you want him. 

“Cyare,” Din’s voice is soft. The new nickname draws your attention, your eyes falling on him again. He’s just got his flight suit and helmet on now. The shape of his body is a lot. It feels like it’s been forever since you last felt him, held him. 

You reach out your hands, splaying them. “Come here,” you say, making grabbing motions with your fingers. 

He does. He steps over, comes to your side of the bed, then sits beside you on the edge of it, just next to your thighs. Your hands are on him in a second, one grabbing his arm, the other trying to pull him closer. At first, he looks like he’s going to go with it; like he’ll lean in close and let you press your forehead to his helmet, run your hands over his arms and shoulders. 

But then, he takes a gentle hold of both of your wrists, slowly draws your hands away. 

You frown. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” he replies. He stares at you, more intense than usual. It’s like he’s hesitating. “I…” 

Concerned now, you push yourself up as best you can, sitting up beside him so your head is almost at his height. You press a hand to the cheek of his helmet. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” his hand absently strokes at your cheek. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” 

“Then, what is it?” 

He pauses. Takes a breath, then swallows so hard that you hear it. Anxiety is twisting in your stomach, jumping at the excuse to flare up again. When Din speaks, though, his voice is just a whisper, and what he says breaks you from any anxiety spiral that was starting to come on, “I want to take it off.”

You freeze. 

Your breath catches. You hold it.

“You…” you stammer, lost for words all of a sudden. “You want to…take it off? Your helmet?” Your thumb smoothes over the sharp point of the helmet over his cheekbone. 

He nods once, holding your wrists. 

“Are—are you sure? You know you don’t have to, right? I’d never ask you to do that. It’s part of your Creed, part of who you are…” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I was ready to take it off in the medbay,” he says. His voice is husky, thick with emotion. 

You can’t believe it. You don’t know if you want to. This isn’t something you ever thought would happen, it’s not something you ever expected from him, from this—

“If you don’t want me to,” he says, sounding insecure now, the first time you’ve ever heard that from him, “I won’t.” 

“No, it’s not that,” you shake your head vehemently, because, kriffing hells. As if. “No, Din, I…I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m happy with how things are now, you don’t…I’d never want you to change for me…” 

He’s still looking at you. It feels different, now that the idea of his eyes actually meeting yours in the light is on the table. “I know,” he says softly, his thumb smoothing over the bare skin of your wrist. “I know, Cyar’ika.” 

You run your hand over his shoulder, gazing into his visor. “Then why?” You ask lightly. “Why now? Why…why me?” 

His grip tightens on your wrist, taking hold of it properly in his bare fingers. He’s quiet for a long moment. You wonder what’s going through his mind, whether he’s changing it, whether he’s struggling to come up with words to express what he’s feeling. He’s never seemed to do that before, but you understand. You struggle with that every time you look at him. 

“Since the day I met the kid,” he says eventually, so quiet, “things have been changing. I’ve changed. I’m not the same man I was before all of this happened.” 

You nod, content to listen. Wanting to hear everything he has to tell you about himself, his soul. 

“Things were already changing,” he says, “And then I met you.”

Heavily, you swallow down a lump of nerves. Your heart leaps in your chest. Everything changed for me, too.

He smoothes his hand over your forearm, your palm against his helmet. “You and the kid are my life now,” he says softly. “I want to see you, and I want you to see me.” 

The warmth in your chest is so strong it almost hurts. You’re not sure if it’s hit you yet, the fact that he’s saying this. Your eyes sting with tears, but you hold them back, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by making this such a huge deal.

It is a huge deal, though.

He’s looking at you, so sincere and intense even though you can’t see him, his hand running over your skin so comfortingly, like the reassurance is for both of you. And, Maker, do you want to see him. You’ve always wanted to. But despite that, you never expected him, and certainly never planned on asking him, to remove his helmet in the light. Even removing it in the dark was something you never thought you’d get.

“Din,” you say gently, ignoring your reflection in his helmet, just staring right into his visor, “if this is something you want to do, then I’m all for it. But I need you to know that you don’t have to.” 

“I know,” he says. “I want to. Kriff, Cyar’ika, I want to.” 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“I’m sure. I don’t know when I’ll do it again, but…” 

You shake your head. “I’m not asking you to make me promises,” you whisper. 

He takes a deep breath. His hand moves up your arm, comes to take a gentle hold of your hand on his helmet. He lifts it away, squeezing your fingers before moving down to his lap, letting your palm settle against the fabric on his thigh. Then, his hands are on his helmet. Another deep breath draws in through it, then out. You realise as you wait with bated breath that your back is actually killing you, and you can only really see the side of his face from here. 

“Wait,” you say softly, and he stops, looks at you. “Can I…I’m not comfortable like this, can I…?” You shuffle forward, gesture vaguely to his lap.

He relaxes like he’d been hoping you’d ask. One of his hands taps his leg, his other taking a gentle hold of your waist where he knows there are no wounds. He helps you out of bed, and soon you’re settled in his lap—your favourite place in the entire Galaxy—and instead of bracing your feet on the floor, you wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles on the mattress behind him. Your hips are flush together, his face just inches from yours. “This okay?” You ask quietly, stroking his helmet like it’s second nature. 

He nods, looking up at you, a hand still on your waist. “It’s perfect,” he tells you. 

So you smile, and you wait. 

You’d wait forever. 

His hands move again, back to his helmet. The soft hiss that follows as it releases from his head makes you want to close your eyes, already so used to doing that. But you resist, keeping them open, not daring to look away from him for even a second, barely even blinking. 

From the second you see just his chin as his helmet lifts, you’re already falling apart at the seams. 

Kriff.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he lowers his helmet to the bed, brings his hands back to your waist. Then he’s there. 

Din. Right here in front of you, beneath you, his face a collage of emotions, of a life, of stories. 

His eyes. They’re brown, deep and delicious, with wrinkles around the corners and beneath them, just little lines in his skin that you want to trace with your fingers, make up a story for each one. His skin is golden, fucking glowing, despite the fact it never sees the sun. His eyelashes are dark and long, like they’re painted there. 

Your hands are exploring him like you’re in the dark. Your eyes guide them, and they follow each part of him that you can see. The hair on his jaw, his chin, above his lip. His hair, short but wavy, cut shorter at the sides but getting a little long. You’ve felt it so many times, run your hands through it and clutched it like it’s a lifeline. 

He’s looking up at you, and he looks hesitant. Nervous. There’s a wrinkle in his forehead, deeper than the ones that surround it. You run your finger through it, smoothing it out.

His breath brushes against your lips. Warm, sweet. Him. Your eyes come to his lips at the feeling, and, fuck. You’ve been kissing those lips all this time, and you knew how perfect they felt, but you could never have imagined they’d look just as wonderful. Your thumb catches his bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as it slips down to his chin, brushes through the sparse hair. 

He looks nervous still. He’s watching your face, trying to gage your reaction. 

Your reaction is that you don’t think you’re ever going to be able to look away. You’re never going to be able to take your hands off him, to stop looking at his skin, finding new wrinkles and scars and parts of his face that you want to kiss and stroke and commit to memory. 

He’s so kriffing beautiful. Hot as all hell, the most handsome fucking man you’ve ever had the privilege to see, but above all else, there is beauty in every inch of him. His eyes hold a lifetime, memories, his soul. The look on his face is so easy to read, and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to having to hide it. 

There are tears in your eyes. Your chest feels tight, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of this moment, of the trust in his face, the apprehension. Like he’s worried you’d think he was anything other than…

“Mesh’la,” you find yourself saying, breathing it out. 

His eyebrow twitches up. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts underneath you, keeping his eyes—his fucking eyes!—locked on you. His gaze still feels the same as always, and that amazes you. That all this time, you’ve been able to see him, feel him, even with the beskar separating you. 

Now, you see all of him. Not literally. But it feels like you do.

“Kriff,” you curse, laughing just a little through the thick lump of tears in your throat. You want to kiss him, but the idea of looking away, of closing your eyes, is not an option right now. “Din, it’s you.” 

He swallows, and you see it in his throat. Fuck. You want to catch the drop of his Adam’s apple in your mouth. You want to watch it forever. “It’s me, Cyar’ika.” 

And, fuck.

This feels like the final piece of the puzzle. Hearing his voice, unmodulated, was already enough to send you over the edge that he created the day he walked into your life. But to hear it and see it, the movement of his lips, while his breath brushes against your face…

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. Your hands find the back of his head, forearms resting on his shoulders. Your eyes are twinkling, glistening with tears. So are his. Like he’s a mirror. Like he feels exactly the same about this moment as you do; and that is a fucking miracle. “Kriff, Din, you’re…” you can’t help it. Your forehead falls into his. Because he’s here. All of him is right fucking here, the heat of his face, the softness of his cheeks. You can open your eyes. You can close them. He’s letting you see him, hold him, letting you into parts of him that he’s never let anyone else before—

You push yourself closer to him, though it’s not really possible. Suddenly out of breath, you tangle your hands in his hair, cross your legs tighter around his hips. 

His tongue darts out, wets his lips. “Sweetheart,” he says softly, desperately.

“I need you,” you find yourself breathing, whining against his lips. You’re getting greedy now, and you know it. You’ve got his face right here in front of you, his body below you, and yet all you want is more. All of him. Always. “I need you, Din. Please? Can I?” 

“You can always have me,” he promises, just an inch from your lips, “but I don’t want to hurt you. You need to rest.” 

You whine. Despite the irresistible throbbing between your legs, he’s right. Because your wounds are throbbing, too. This is the longest you’ve sat up in days. “You show me your face, and then expect me to not want you to take me right here, right now?” 

It’s his turn to whine, and it’s absolutely gorgeous, just like the rest of him. “Mesh’la…” 

You shake your head. “I get to call you that, now. That’s your nickname.” 

His lips turn up at the corners; you feel it against your own. 

You pull back in an instant, desperate to see him smile. It’s only small, but kriffing hell, it’s so fond, a warmth in his deep brown eyes that you’ve never seen on anyone before. His face is so expressive, even with such a small smile just about tugging at his lips; you can see his joy, his nerves; you can see how he feels about you. 

You don’t know what he looks like when he looks up at the night sky, at a beautiful view, at a glowing sunset. You’ve never seen the look in his eyes when something beautiful, something he adores, is in front of him. So, really, you shouldn’t be able to recognise it now.

And yet, you do.

And that is a fucking lot.

“No one’s ever—” you find yourself saying, and it’s too late to turn back now—“looked at me like this.” 

“Like what?” He lifts his hand and strokes it over your cheekbone. 

You shake your head. You can’t put it into words; you didn’t even mean to say it aloud in the first place. Instead of answering, you bring your hand out of his hair so you can stroke it down his face, down his jaw. You watch as your fingers catch in his facial hair. 

“No one has looked at me like this before, either,” Din confesses. He’s looking right into your eyes. You could drown in this. In this shared gaze. 

You manage a wry smile, and tease softly, “I mean, you’re a pretty intimidating Mandalorian when you want to be; I think people try to avoid looking at you.” 

He smiles, too, laughs, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen into beautiful smile lines. Your heart clenches, realising that he must smile more than you realise. It’s soft, tentative, and beautiful. He licks his lips again, and it’s only because of the way he takes a hesitant breath that you know he’s not doing it just to make you want him even more. “When I had to take it off in front of the Imps,” he says huskily, “it was…torture. And I knew that after I took it off, I should never have been allowed to put it back on. I don’t know why I was surprised when they told me I wasn’t Mandalorian anymore; I already knew it.” 

“Din…” you stroke the back of his head. 

He shakes his head, softly cutting you off. He tilts and kisses the inside of your arm, keeping his eyes on yours, “It felt like torture. And it was, really. But this…with you, Cyar’ika, I…” 

Your breath hitches, and you hold it there. 

“This feels…right,” he admits. Then, on a shaky breath, “Kriff, baby, it feels so fucking right.” 

And, well, if you weren’t already desperate for him before, you absolutely are now. Baby. 

Tears are trying their absolute hardest to squeeze past your defences as everything just overwhelms you at once. There are three words on the edge of your tongue, three that you’ve never said to anyone before, that you’ve never felt for anyone before.

“Are you okay?” He asks, a soft frown creasing his forehead. 

Your fingertips rush to it right away, smoothing out the lines. Just because you can. You find yourself laughing, albeit a little weakly. “Am I okay? Kriff, Din, I’ve never been fucking better.” 

He laughs. It can’t possibly get any better than that.

You stroke your hands over his cheeks, splaying your fingers out. For the first time, he closes his eyes, lets himself relax into your touch. His lashes are like pen strokes over his under-eyes. You lean in and press a kiss to each of his eyelids. “This means so much to me,” you whisper against the bridge of his nose. 

He nods. His hands are back on your waist. You know that if he could, he’d have them all over you; if you weren’t aching in a not-so-fun way across your entire back and arm. “You mean so much to me,” he says. Then, not giving you a chance to fumble for an answer that could possibly sum anything up, he tilts his head and captures your lips with his. 

You all but whimper against his mouth. Your legs tighten around him again, pushing your hips together. There’s the slight twitch of his cock between your legs, perking up with a little interest at the friction. And, realistically, you know you can’t have sex right now. Even this is hurting you a little. But it’s still such a good feeling that you can’t help but slide along the length of him that you can feel through his suit.

“Mm, shit, Mesh’la,” he groans, breaking away, “you can’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle. Then, because you can, you pull away and look at him again. “How do you feel?” 

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved. His eyes are so sincere as they look up into yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of looking at him like this. “I feel good,” he smiles a little. 

You smile, too. There are no words, so you kiss him again, just once. 

“Are you in pain?” He asks, stroking his thumb over your chin. 

“Yeah,” you can’t help but admit. “But it’s okay. We can stay like this for a while.” Honestly, as much as you won’t pressure him to keep his helmet off, you don’t want to move from this spot. You don’t want to let go of the sight of him just yet. 

Where his other hand still sits on your waist, his thumb smoothes over the fabric of your shirt. “We should get you comfortable,” he protests gently. 

“I want to stay like this,” you hold tighter to him on instinct, “just for a little longer.” 

He searches your eyes, his own darting back and forth between them. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, taking you by surprise.

He has to be doing it on purpose. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him this badly, ever had such a rush of arousal go through you so fast. “Din,” you grind lightly down on him, “please. I need you. I need you to—kriff, please, Din…” 

“Alright,” he says soothingly, “it’s alright. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

“Need you. Touch me, please, fuck me, I—”

“I won’t hurt you. You need to rest.” 

You shake your head, still grinding your hips down in long circles against his, and honestly, he has the restraint of a fucking saint, because you are already falling apart on top of him and all you have is the vaguest feeling of pressure between several layers of clothes—

“Please,” you let your head fall down into his neck, the warmth of him pressing against your face. “Din, please. Whatever you can give me, I’ll take it. I just—need to feel you.” 

He sighs softly. “Cyar’ika,” he breathes, “you’re killing me.” 

You laugh, glad he’s finally showing it. “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual, Mando.” 

“I can’t…sweetheart, if I fuck you right now, I just can’t…I’ll worry too much about hurting you…” 

“Your hands,” you tell him, beg him, “your mouth. Anything. Please. If you say no, I’ll stop asking, I just—please.” 

He’s never turned you down. Not when it really counted. 

And, it seems, he’s not about to start now. His hand comes to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair, and he kisses you hard and urgent, mouth open, tongue already finding its way to yours—

He pulls away too quickly though, and says against your lips, “I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t feel it if I am. So touch yourself for me, Mesh’la,” he whispers, breath hot in your mouth, “and let me hold you.” 

“Kriff,” you curse without thinking, a hard pulse of arousal shooting through you. Maybe if you weren’t so embarrassingly desperate you’d protest, tell him that you need his hands on you, his fingers inside you; but he’s holding you so carefully and yet intensely, one hand on the back of your neck, the other finding its way to your thigh, holding you down against him, and you’re so fucking turned on that your own hands will do. 

Keeping one in his hair, you move your other down to between your legs, pushing back the waistband of the not-so-sexy hospital pants they gave you. They’re comfortable and stretchy but just in the way right now, so you push them down as best you can, and a sigh escapes your lips at the welcome pressure on your clit.

You start to work in circles around it, and it’s been a while since you touched yourself, and you’ve certainly never done it like this before—

Din underneath you, so hot and warm and there, his face right there for you to look at and his breath on your face. It feels so different to be intimate in the light. You’re even more exposed like this, even though you’re not naked. 

Your fingers dip down to your entrance, gather wetness before moving back to your clit. Circling your hips down against your own pleasure, the back of your hand brushes against the bulge of Din’s cock through the several layers of fabric that separate you, and you don’t know how he’s holding it together because fuck, you are absolutely not. 

His lips would usually be on your neck right now; especially when your head tips back in pleasure, your other hand moving to squeeze one of your tits through your clothes. You’re stretched out on top of him, back arching as far as it can without it hurting as you coax pleasure from yourself and from his hand in your hair, the way he’s grabbing a fistful of it and tugging lightly, his thumb squeezing the inside of your thigh, so close to your heat—

When you look down, you realise why his lips aren’t on you. 

He’s just staring up at you, his pupils blown so wide you can barely see his irises. His mouth is open slightly and his breath is delicious as it pants against your mouth. You can see his body automatically rocking up into your grinding, and then you feel it, the tighter squeeze on your thigh as his hand moves dangerously close to yours where it rubs at your clit. You gasp, and hold his eyes, revelling in the ecstasy upon his gorgeous face, the way he looks like he’s about to come just from the sight of you.

You’ve never seen his face before when you do this—but he’s never seen yours, either. And he’s making the most of every second. 

“Kriffing hells,” you curse. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, and you want something—him, you want him—inside of you so badly that it makes you ache. You know you can’t, the pain of your injuries already starting to get a bit much, rising with every curl of your hips. You’ve got to come soon or you’re going to have to stop. 

“Fuck,” Din curses, then he dives in like he can’t help it, captures your lips in his. “You look so fucking good like this, Mesh’la. You look this good when it’s me inside you?” 

“Better,” you breathe out, your eyelids fluttering closed as he moves the hand on the back of your head to your breast, replacing your hand’s place there so you can hold the nape of his neck again. “Want you inside me, Din. Baby, I need you so bad, I wish I could—”

“I know,” he reassures you, squeezing your nipple. “I know, sweetheart, me too. But this is enough; kriff, you’re so perfect. I know you need me. I need you, too.” 

You feel open above him, totally exposed to him despite the fact that only your face is showing, the expanse of your neck. It’s never been like this, you can feel his eyes burning into you, you’re too exposed…

“Please,” Din says suddenly, his voice so strained that it brings your eyes back to him, “don’t cover your face.” 

You hadn’t even realised that one of your hands was over your eyes and forehead. You drop it onto his shoulder, forcing yourself to look down at him. “It’s just—” your finger on your clit stutters as a particularly strong wave of tightness starts to coil in your stomach at the mere sight of him, all wet-lipped and wide-eyed, grinding up into you—“I’ve never been seen like this.” 

He nods like he understands. And you know he does. “You’re perfect,” he promises you, squeezing your tit again for good measure, like he’s making a point. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Look at you, sweetheart, you’re so perfect, fucking yourself on me like this—”

“Din…” 

“I know. I wish I could fuck you, too. Come on, Cyar’ika, come for me. Let me see that pretty face. Please.” 

All you can do is rub your clit, grind down against him as best you can. He can barely touch you; not running his hands over you like he usually does, and you can’t get anything inside you despite the fact that you want it more than anything. But somehow all of that is making this hotter, feeling your need burning brighter than ever, knowing how much you need him and that if he could he’d give you exactly what you want. What you crave. And you’re just so weak for him that even the thought of having him inside you is enough. 

With just a little too much pressure on your clit, knowing that you’ve got to come soon or it’s going to be too much, that’s what does it. 

Your high tumbles over you from the top down, clenches in your pussy around nothing, and it’s the desperation inside you to have him in there that keeps you going, keeps you up at that high for as long as possible before you’re dropping—

A gasping moan escapes your lips, and you just about hear one escape his too as he holds you through it, whispers words of praise right to your face as you ride out the waves of pleasure. 

“Kriff, baby, Mesh’la…you’re so perfect, I can’t…fuck…” 

You nod, because it’s all you can do as the aftershocks start to set in. You’re holding the back of his head, grasping his hair so tight like it’s a lifeline. His hand on your breast moves down, skirts over your stomach then moves down to your thigh. His other is still in your hair, not grasping tightly anymore, just gently smoothing his fingers through your locks. 

“Kriff,” you curse, finding your eyes closed and making an effort to open them. It’s worth it. Because he’s just there, looking up at you, all of him. His eyes, so full of adoration. His lips, his perfect lips; you lean in and kiss them, just once, just because you can. “Din…” you feel empty but complete. Your back is hurting, along with your arm. The doctor was very specific about No physical activity. But, you’re only human. And Din took his helmet off. What were you supposed to do?

Gently, one of his thumbs rubs over your cheekbone. “You okay?” 

You nod, then shake your head. “That was perfect, but now I hurt.” 

His forehead wrinkles just a little. You think he might look a bit guilty, and your suspicions are confirmed when he says, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what? I fucked myself.” 

He chuckles a little. “I encouraged it.” 

“Only after I begged for it.” 

He shrugs a shoulder, and one side of his lips quirks up into a smirk. “I didn’t mind that part.” 

You laugh, too, and shake your head. Your hand sits on his cheek, and the other is still in your panties, feeling the pulsing of your clit and pussy beneath your fingertips. 

Lightly, he taps at your hip. “You should get comfortable now,” he says softly, tilting his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “You need your meds, too. Let me get them for you?” 

“Alright. I just—” You lick your lips, nervous. Glance between both of his eyes. “I don’t want you to let me go,” you confess, quiet. 

His entire body softens along with his expression. So gently, and so chaste, he leans in and kisses you once. “Never,” he swears. “I’ll come right back. Do you need to use the ’fresher?” He asks, and you nod in response. “I’ll get you some water, too.” He starts to shift like he’s going to get up, moving to help you get off him. 

You stop him, legs briefly tightening around his hips. His eyes find yours with a curious frown. You bite your bottom lip, hesitate, then bring your hand out from your pants, your fingertips soaked in your slick. He glances down at your hand, and his eyebrow twitches up a little as he looks back at you. Then, you put your fingers in front of his mouth, and raise your own eyebrow in offering. 

He keeps his eyes on yours. Locked there, like he knows it’ll drive you crazy to be looking right into his eyes as he leans forward, closes his lips around your fingers, licks your wetness right off them—

A moan is coming from your throat right when his eyes flutter closed like he can’t help it. It’s a shame to not be looking into them anymore, but you can’t help the smile that comes onto your lips, seeing the ecstasy on his face. 

You pull your fingers out with a pop. His tongue chases them to the edge of his lips. 

“Cyar’ika,” he breathes out, opening his eyes again, “are you trying to kill me?” 

“Never,” you smile, then taste your fingers yourself, and your grin only widens when the look on his face goes from lustful to downright filthy. 

“That’s not fair,” he says darkly, watching as your fingers pull out from your mouth so slowly, now wet with your spit, your eyes on his face. “You know I can’t fuck you right now. You’re teasing me.” 

Proud, you nod. He shakes his head in disbelief, then dives in and kisses you again.

He sighs as he pulls away. Presses his forehead to yours. “I’m going to get your meds,” he tells you softly. “Do you need help to the ’fresher?” 

And, after that against-the-doctor’s-orders escapade, the answer is very much yes. 

It was worth it.

notes: cannot pOSSIBLY thank y'all enough for your comments on the last chapter (and the entire fic ofc). i've had a really tough week and it's been a little source of joy to hear your thoughts/get your messages!! hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much, i'm loving writing and posting this fic so much ❤️

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust

@lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday-blog @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504 @dindjarindude @prentissluvr @hotchie360

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian imagine

[arc-misadventures]

New Friends, Awkward Introductions

Coco Adel, Beacons fashion icon walked down the halls of Beacon academy with a strut in her step, and style in her soul. But as she was walked bast this handsome blond hair teen, she could help but be overwhelmed by a song that he sang. And the broken, bit she was picking up was starting to drive her mad.

(How long… Have I… Away? Oh it feels… only days…)

Coco: Hey!

( The truth is… Dreams.)

Coco: Hey, blondie!

: (Hmm? A-Are you talking to me?)

Coco: Do you know of any other blonds?

: (Well… At least two here, so…?)

Coco: Forget that… What’s you name?

: (Oh, allow me to introduce myself; My name is, Jaune, Jaune Arc. And, who are you, Ms…?)

Coco: Adel, Coco Adel.

Jaune: (It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Adel.)

Coco: Hold on…? Why the hell can I hear your voice in my head, but your lips aren’t moving at all? Is this some sort of semblance?

Jaune: (Impressive. Seldom does anyone notice such things unless I point them out. And, you are correct it is my semblance; I am a empath. I can project my thoughts, more often my voice into the heads of others.)

Coco: So that’s why I could hear a singing in my head!

Jaune’s eyes flared in shock as he embarrassedly scratched the back of his head.

Jaune: (My apologies… I was trying to get some emotions I picked up out of my head. Singing songs is by far the most effective way to clear my head. I forgot to keep it contained. Once again, I offer my sincerest apologies.)

Coco: What were you trying to block out?

Jaune: (I’m not sure you want to know.)

Coco: Oh please, I’m a big girl, I can take it. Spill it, Handsome.

A slight blush spread across his face, Coco dropped her glasses down a bit to stare down the boy, despite the fact the fact she was shorter than him. Jaune finally relented as he pointed to a supply closet in the middle of the hallway.

Jaune: (See that door over there?)

Coco: The supply closet; What about it?

Jaune: (Well as I was walking by it, I accidentally picked up on the emotions of the duo of inside of there.)

Coco: Oh, so what’s making you blush then, did you read the minds of two people getting it on?

Coco made a wide smug smile as she saw, Jaune’s reddening face as he all, but confirmed her suspicions. She let out a short laugh as she slap his side in shock.

Coco: Oh damn! Those lucky bastards!

Jaune: (Ehh… Well, lucky for guy at least…)

Jaune grimaced as, Coco stared him down, clearly wanting an answer. Jaune looked about stuggling to find an answer, till relenting, and deciding to go with the most direct of answers.

Jaune: (Okay, I’ll explain what I mean… Just… Just brace yourself.)

Coco: Brace myself! For whaaa…?!

Pleasure, joy, and satisfaction; sensations, Coco knew all too well but never before felt this way before. She could feel a wealth of emotion flood her body, warming her core outward. A breathless moan left her lips, and then is suddenly vanished, casing her to pitch forward, nearly falling over if, Jaune hadn’t been there to catch her.

Jaune: (You okay?)

Coco: Whoa… That’s intense…?!

Jaune: (Sorry; intense emotions tend to be overwhelming upon the senses.)

Coco: Hence why you were singing?

Jaune: (Hence the singing.)

Coco: That felt good… Does it always feel good?

Jaune: (No.)

Coco: Oh come on, if you can feel stuff that good, then it must…?!

Discomfort, disappointment, and a desire to be finished, and fakery flooded her mind, a feeling that sent her recoiling. Even in her high heel boots it make, Coco feel flatfooted. It was such an uncomfortable unnerving feeling, that she started to shake as if trying to shake the vile feeling off of her. And then, it was gone.

Coco: Oh gods that was disgusting?!

Jaune: (Welcome to my personal hell…)

Coco: Is it always like that?

Jaune: (Sometimes its vile, and sometimes its pleasant. It just depends on who I’m around.)

Coco: Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

Jaune just smiled, and Coco could feel a wave of comfort, and ease within that smile. And, she found out, that she rather enjoyed his smile.

Jaune: (Now then, I think it best we leave before anything happens.)

Coco: Are you kidding! I want to know who’s in there!

Jaune’s eyes widened in shock as he stared down at the girl as if she was crazy.

Jaune: (Why do you want to know who’s in there?!)

Coco: Just think about it, Handsome~! Two people, hiding in a closet, having some fun… Well, at least one of them is. But, imagine the look on their faces when they come out, and us, giving them an all knowing smirk as they walk away… Ha! Oh this will be fun~!

Jaune just facepalmed as he ran he hand down his face, a tired groan escaping his lips as his head fell in exhaustion.

Jaune: (Good gods, you remind me of my sisters, once they found out about my semblance, I was force to do this crap all the time. Until they learned the lesson of knowing what they don’t want to be known…)

Jaune glared down at the fashionista as she smugly stared back at him.

Coco: So is that a no…?

Jaune: (Oh, I’ll stay. But, rest assured you’ll regret it.)

Coco: We’ll see about that~!

The duo then lent against a near by wall waiting for the couple to show themselves to be judged, Jaune grew tired of accidentally picking up on their emotions decided to break the mood.

Jaune: (So… That’s quite the extravagant outfit you have on, the glasses in particular really sell the whole look of yours. It is quite fetching.)

A smug, and confident smile spread across, Coco’s face as she playfully jabbed his side with her elbow.

Coco: Oh, checking out my gorgeous looks now aren’t you~! Well I must say, I do dress to impress. You ain’t looking too bad yourself tiger~! That uniform was tailored perfectly, fitting across those board shoulders perfectly. MmHmm~! I’d love to meet your tailor.

Jaune blushed lightly as his fingers ran over the off-black uniform he wore. Admiring its silver buttons, and the dashes of orange throughout it.

Jaune: (My older sister, Thiriana made it for me. She said it is one of her finest works to date. It may look like regular, every day fabric, but this is Hunter grade fabric. It can take an absolute beating, but still come out like I took it from the dry cleaners, but a scare few moments ago. Saved my life countless times because of her.)

Coco: Functional, and stylish. I like it~! You’re sister…? Hmm… You said your last name was, Arc right?

Jaune: (Correct.)

Coco’s brow furrowed deep in thought, the name rang a bell, but from where, and to what she knew, yet didn’t. Suddenly her eyes shot wide open as it dawned on her. She quickly snapped her fingers, and point an accusatory finger at, Jaune.

Coco: Thiriana Arc?! The Golden Seamstress! The owner of Heavenly Arch fashion industries! That’s your sister?!!

Jaune: (Ahh-hahaha~! You know of my older sister. Then again, that shouldn’t be so much of an unexpected surprise that someone so fashionable as yourself has not heard of my sisters work.)

Coco: You’re kidding! I practically buy out most of her seasonal fashion… that fits someone of my build that is.

Jaune couldn’t help, but give her the once over as he inspected her rather petite, yet alluring form. His overall thought was to simply shrug his shoulders dismissively at her words.

Jaune: (It can’t be helped; my sister, along with the rest of my sisters are rather well endowed. Such a choice in her clothing is only natural. Besides it’s not like it matters, you know expertly what to wear that helps accentuate your bodies natural proportions. Flawlessly I might add.)

Coco smug smile grew as she clapped his back in appreciation.

Coco: Look at you trying to charm your way into my pants now aren’t you~?

Jaune: (I merely speak the truth. And, if I did get in, I can assure you that I can easily make sure you would enjoy is greatly~!)

Coco: Is that one of advantages of being an empath~?

Jaune: (Would you prefer a written report, or a hands on demonstration?)

Coco could help but loose a low whistle at his smooth talking. As she returned his smug smile with one of her own.

Coco: You’re good, oh you’re really good~!

Jaune: (So are you my dear. Alas, I strive to be a proper gentleman, I am not the first date kind of man. The third however~?)

Coco: Hohoho~!

Coco licked her lips in desire as a thirst played about them. She wasn’t the kind of girl who just tumble in the hay for the hell of it, but this cocky bastard. Oh he knew how to get her motor going. Semblance, or not he knew what the ladies liked.

Coco: In that case why don’t we…?!

Before, Coco could explore on how proficient of a lover her new friend was, the door to the supply closet finally opened, and out came a man with an overconfident, smug smile as he walked away the opposite way they were. Whistling some annoying show tune as he went.

Coco: Ugh… Not that fucker…

Jaune: (Friend of yours?)

Jaune cheekily remarked as, Coco turned on him, and made a retching motion as she punched him in the arm hard.

Coco: Fuck no! I hate that bastard! Think he’s all hot shit, and a true ladies man! Like hell he is! Wait… you ‘told’ me how the lady he was with felt… Oh, oh I am so going to use this against him~!

Jaune: (So he is as one of my sisters would say: “Can walk the walk, but can’t work the cock.” If you’ll pardon the language.)

Coco: PFFT! Hahaha! Oh gods that is good! You’ve got to introduce me to your sisters, they sound like a riot!

Jaune: (I bet you would get along famously. No doubt, Thiriana would grab you as a model for her clothing in a moment.)

Coco: You sir, are now my new best male friend!

Jaune: (The pleasure is all mine then, Coco.)

Coco: Now lets silently judge whoever it os that comes out of that room~!

Jaune: (You can judge them if you want, I like to think myself above such actions. Whomever they are they are an adult, and responsible for their own actions.)

Coco laughed at his comment as she looked at him like he was the biggest idiot there ever was.

Coco: Like hell! Whoever is in there decided to get it on with that bastard! So who ever they are, they have to be the biggest of sl…?! VELVET?!!

Velvet: COCO?! W-W-What are you doing here?!

Jaune: (Friend of yours?)

Jaune calm retorted as she grabbed a hold of her teammate, shaking her about as she checked her over.

Coco: What were you doing in there with him?!

Velvet: H-Him…? Oh him, we were just asked to take innovatory. That’s all.

Coco: Innovatory of what: Your underwear?! Don’t lie to me young lady! My new friend is an empath, he can read your thoughts, and told me you two were having sex!

Velvet: You can?!

Jaune simply smiled as he waved at the bunny girl.

Jaune: (Hello, my name is, Jaune, Jaune Arc. And, I’m an empath, I can feel your emotions, not read your mind.)

Velvet: Oh that’s good… I guess…

Coco: Fuck your emotions! Did he blackmail you, bribe you, converse you?! Why did you try, I know you didn’t enjoy it, I felt you lack of enthusiasm being with him…

Velvet: You did?! How?!!

Jaune: (Empath: I can share emotions of others.)

Velvet: You can?!

Coco: Fuck his cool, and really useful semblance! WHY DID YOU FUCK HIM!!!

Velvet: I-I’m going through that… time… A-And, I need an outlet, so…

Coco: Couldn’t you have found someone better than him?!

Velvet: I couldn’t think of anyone else. And, we used protection! So relax, I’m fine!

Coco: That’s it! I’m going to march over to that fucker! And rip off his… his…?

Coco stopped shaking her friend as she slowly turned to face, Jaune. As she could feel a blanket filled with a calming aura cover her in its embrace. All the while, Jaune calmly smiled at her.

Jaune: (Feeling better?)

Coco: A bit… Was that your influence?

Jaune: (There’s a universe of emotions out there! I do apologize though. I don’t like doing that to people without warning them, but I felt like it was the right thing to do in this circumstance.)

Coco: You right… Thank you, Jaune. Look, Velvet… You’re an adult and you can do what you like, I just wish it was with someone better. And, I’m your friend I worry about you! So… I’m sorry for freaking out like that.

Velvet smiled softly as she gave her friend a tight hug before pulling away gently patting her arms as she stared at her.

Velvet: I know you do, Coco. That’s part of the reason I like you so much. And, your right I shouldn’t have done it with him… That was so disappointing…

Coco laughed as she hugged her friend again before point her thumb over her shoulder at, Jaune.

Coco: You should do it with this guy next time, he’s got the, Adel Approval! And, based on how his semblance works; He knows what the ladies like~!

Velvet: Coco?!

Jaune just rolled his eyes as he shot, Coco an all knowing smile.

Jaune: (Do it yourself you coward. Half of the reason you’re so angry was because it wasn’t you in there hopping your little bunny.)

Coco spun on the dime, her face flush with embarrassment as she stared down the empath.

Coco: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW THAT?!!!

Jaune: (Empath~!)

Coco: This better be a one way communication because of it isn’t, I will kill you!

Velvet could only stare on is utter bewilderment as she saw what clearly was a one side conversation between her furious team leader, and the chuckling empath against the wall.

Velvet had no idea what was going on, but she at least knew this:

This year at Beacon was going to be a wild one.

#rwby #jaune arc #coco adel #velvet scarlatina #coco x velvet #velvet x coco #coco x jaune #jaune x coco #rwby crosshares #empath au

[beaisdifferent]

ADHD: How Did I know?

About a year ago now, I was in my kitchen with my then boyfriend.  I don’t remember what we were talking about as I cooked dinner, just that we were talking as we always did, with me jumping between points of conversation that were very obviously connected for me, but that he needed a roadmap to follow. 

Eventually he stopped me.  “Have you ever considered you have ADHD?”

I laughed and brushed him off.  Obviously I didn’t have ADHD.  I could sometimes sit still doing the same thing for hours.  In fact sometimes it was like I couldn’t do anything else!  And I got good grades in school.  So obviously I didn’t have ADHD.

Those two factors were literally my only defense against the idea.  If anything, it was probably just my probably-autism.  Later that week I brought the conversation up with my therapist, probably rolling my eyes like I knew what I was talking about.  She frowned thoughtfully, and I watched her think back on all our sessions.  Pshh, come on.  I could hear my father in the back of my mind, everyone has ADHD these days, nobody had it when I was a kid, maybe they need a good spanking to sit still, its just a way to make money by drugging up kids.  Then her voice cut overtop my dad’s.  “We should look into this.”  She sent me a few forms, pre-assessment questionnaires to determine if getting officially tested would be worth it.

I read the questions for ADHD.

Uh oh.

Uh oh.

UH OH.

It’s all very me.

It had already figured I had autism spectrum disorder for a while, did I actually have ADHD?  Did I have both?  Was that even possible?

It had me nervous and curious, so I went deep diving.  I read on the experiences of people with ADHD, particularly adult women, and found discomforting relatability.  Then it became comforting relatability.  Could it be that all these things I hate about myself are actually symptoms of some funky wiring in my brain rather than personality flaws?  I also learned that while the topic is still being researched (thank goodness, don’t ever let the research stop), it is very possible to have both ADHD and autism.  It’s not even that uncommon.

So, I went and officially got tested, and received Autism and ADHD stamp of authenticity.

I was a month away from turning twenty-four, finally given an answer an answer to a lifetime of questions.  Questions I had stopped asking.  Questions like, why is it so hard to make friends?  Why can’t I remember to do simple things?  Why does life seem so overwhelming for me when everyone else seems to manage it just fine?  Why do my emotions feel so overwhelming and uncontrollable.  Why do I feel paralyzed in the face of things I know I can do?  I had accepted the answer I was given by people who didn’t know any better than I did.  I was lazy, clearly didn’t care, was just anxious, etc., etc., bullshit.

I’ve spent a lot of time this year looking back on my life, reframing things with this new understanding.  I had a label, I had an answer, I had a community.  I was neurodivergent.  I connected with a friend with ADHD and found we had even more in common than I thought we did.  So many things that had been a target of self-loathing for me were now a target of understanding, things that could be helped with the right supports in place.

It changed everything.  And it has continued to change everything.  And that super smart boyfriend became my super smart husband a few weeks ago, so the changes have been for the better.

Visit my blog at beaisdifferent.wordpress.com for a neurodivergent perspective every Tuesday at 9:00 am EST.

#adhd #adult adhd #adhd women

[thenightdayblogger]

WIP Not-Wednesday

Tagged by @silvery-bluish, thank you bookish! literally fourth time ive tried to post this so lets hope tumblr gives me a goddamned break!

This was the latest writing i did, where i tried very to push out of my comfort zone with explicit romance (not like rated E romance, but corny romance LMAO) With a heavy dose of clownery, of course, nothings actually romantic without that! Unedited.

A Thread of Fate and Fire—my original work, feat. Elenah and Theoren. Mentions of throwing up previously but nothing in-scene.

It does not surprise Elenah that Theoren's room is a good deal nicer then her own—perks of princehood, she'd wager. His addition to the delegation had been much less slapdash then hers. Three times the size, a simple but comfortable bed heaped with pillows and gauzy blankets. It even had the extraordinary luxury of a small window, gauzy curtain half-drawn along its edge. He ushers her to it now, his hand warm between her shoulder-blades.

“You should sit.” Elenah thinks to tell him that's not a good idea, but refrains. The one positive of hurling her guts off the side of the ship was that her ill feeling had somewhat lessened. “I've got some candies you could chew on. Do you need more water?“

”I'm fine.“ She says, sitting—or sinking, rather—into the plush give of the mattress. Theoren, once satisfied she is not going to be sick again, disappears behind the screen divider to fetch the aforementioned candies. In the scant moonlight there are traces of his shadow rummaging.

”Found them.“ Theoren pops up again, bearing a little cloth bag. He hands it to her before taking one himself, sitting on the edge of the bed much more gracefully then she had. It's honey sweet, with a gingery edge to it that blunts the edges of Elenah's nausea.

“They help.” She says, with an experimental crunch. It splinters between her teeth in a way that will certainly stick, but rewards her with a more intense flavor. “Do you get—seasick?” She wouldn't have guessed, he seemed as natural on the ship as off it. He only shakes his head.

“Plenty of people do, though.” He says, anxious to reassure. “Especially on your first trip.” She acknowledges it with a grunt, letting the last of the candy dissolve on her tongue. True, she was embarrassed—she was twenty-five years old. To be stricken by her own discomfort was enough humiliation, but to have Theoren see her in such a state? Elenah might have prayed to the gods to strike her down, if it didn't feel like it'd be the one time they'd actually deign to listen to her.

But he was trying so hard to be kind to her. And she was trying too, not that it was as easy as he made it out to be. So she pushes aside the embarrassment and tries to focus on the goodness instead—the softness of the bed. The warm, sugary scent melting on her tongue, and the gilt edge to Theoren's hair, loose to his waist. He was still dressed in his day-clothes, bright sash tucked into the elaborate tunic that fastened high on his neck.

“Why are you still dressed?” Elenah says. Most of the ship was asleep, she herself was only in her under-clothes. She must have surprised him by talking, he startles to hear her voice, opening his mouth and closing it again multiple times. His look is hard to decipher in the darkness. “Surely embassy outfits aren't made with comfort in mind.”

“Oh.” He says, louder. He clears his throat, then does it again for some reason. “Oh. Yes, of course. The captain wanted to speak with me, after dinner. After that, I—“ He hesitates again. ”Got lost in thought. They're not that comfortable, no, but not the worst thing I've worn. What I could tell you about some of those holy day robes…” There's more to it then that, from the forced lightness to his voice, the way he quietly tries to divert her to a no-doubt elaborate and amusing anecdote about his feast robes. She has no desire to pry his secrets from him, however, and instead digs another candy out from the bag before nudging it his way.

“You should change” She tells him. “No need to stand on ceremony.” She certainly hadn't so far. She felt warm just looking at him—or maybe that was the seasickness. In any case, he acquiesces, ducking back behind the divider while Elenah settles into the pillows and rolls around the candy on her tongue. The bed is softer then anything she had ever laid on, almost alarmingly plush. His choice, or standard? Theoren had his weakness for sumptuous delights, but over time she had found what she considered excessive was baseline to many. The Temple was no band of ascetics, but Talkair was another level.

The sound of fabric rustling draws Elenah's eye again, back to the other side of the room. The shadow had gotten more solid in the strengthening moonlight, enough that she could make it out as he put his overcoat aside and lifted his hands to his throat. She looks away instinctively, cheeks stinging with heat.

For the love of—get a grip, she chides herself sternly, annoyed by her own reaction. She wasn't that solitary, to be flustered at such a normal gesture. And she refused to be pathetic about it. Theoren was beautiful, not a new revelation. She was cursed, not blind. Plenty of people were lovely, even if few reached his splendor. And he had been kind to her—consistently, determined, when she had deserved it little or less. He cared about her, fine, but she would not falsify amorous intentions out of it. So there was nothing to act the fool over.

Satisfied with her logic, she glances back just in time to see what must be the last of his over-shirts slip from his shoulder, revealing the outer tracings of his frame.

Elenah inhales, chokes on the shard of ginger candy still in her mouth, and promptly sends herself into a coughing fit.

Thank you for the tag again, bookish! Tagging @emeraldgreaves @fangmich @euelios and @bi-stander if you have anything you wanna share—no pressure at all though!

Note: Ashar (Elenah and Theoren's country) nudity does not have sexual connotations by default—bathhouses and mixed-gender bathing are standard, and while you're not going to run around the streets in your underwear it's not at all uncommon to see people you know in it, especially in the summertime. they're just being weird about it because they have crushes LMAO

#elenah kaltri #a thread of fate and fire #theoren #my writing #ask game #ish

[selective-yellow]

been chewing over why "my identity is not a slur" discourse feels off to me and I think I've come to the conclusion that it's some white privilege bullshit

I'm going to openly talk about a specific slur with only minor censoring, but note this is directed specifically towards white queer people who throw a fit over a filter tag, rather than those who are directly asked not to use it.

like. I'm gay and I'm black. There's an extremely well known slur tied to my identity as a black american that is also reclaimed in many black social circles - in fact its probably the most well known reclaimed slur there is. I'm comfortable saying the n word in my private life - though if I had to count how many times I use it in a year i'd only need one hand - but if I'm singing or quoting something with it in it, I'll say it. I'm comfortable being called "my n*gga!" by other black folks. For some black people it literally just means black person! Some people use it as often as they say "brother" It's a word that for many black communities is part of their culture. I'm a n*gga!

And it's still a fucking slur.

there are black people who may grow up in a community where they only hear n*gga as another word for friend or homie or dude, a word they're comfortable being called and calling other people. equally, there are black people who will grow up hearing the n word hurled at them, hard r and all, as a slur, as a demeaning word for their entire personhood.

there are white people who want to say the n word because they want to join in on the camaraderie - ignorant as it may be, it's well intentioned. and there are white people - many, many white people - who want to say the word because they want it to be socially acceptable to undermine and ridicule black people for daring to exist. there will always be white people who will use the n word as a slur and that is true regardless of how many black people reclaim it.

It is a word that still, to this day, can and will be used to harm black people. If I called another black person a n*gga and they told me to please don't use that slur around them, I fucking wouldn't. I would have the common decency to keep my mouth shut, remember this reclaimed word's complicated history, and the last thing I would do is fucking shame them for their discomfort. the n word exists as a word that is both harmless and harmful and that is something all black people understand.

Queer is a reclaimed slur. I get that. when all other labels fail, queer is always there for you. queer is comfortable, queer is beautiful and powerful, it's community, it means we're here and always will be.

equally. there will always be a queer kid who grew up hearing the word hurled at them in disgust. there still are and will be homophobic people who spit the word out like venom. there are queer kids who will only hear that word as a weapon. there are queer kids who will hear the word and recoil like you slapped me with the hard r.

if you're white, and you get offended at someone who does not know you tagged your post "q slur" consider why that is. consider for a moment why you think your experiences superceed others - consider why you think no one has trauma associated with the word you cling to, and consider why the reminder that your word has been and is still used to harm otherwise regardless of what it means to you makes you lash out rather than return that hurt with understanding. Queer is not the only reclaimed slur out there - and I've never seen a black person throw a fit at the n word being censored.

Sometimes the words we built our communities on will still be used to hurt others; knowledging that with sympathy will do scores more work for the queer community than lumping people in with terfs for their discomfort.

I'm a queer n*gga and sometimes my identity is a slur. Both of them.

I think if you're white and never have to live with the hyper awareness and fear of knowing you could be called a n*gger at any moment, while also living with the joy and feeling of community at being called my n*gga, I think you're just never going to understand that for some people the word queer is their hard r even if its your safe place.

black people know this. black people live this. what makes you so special that you can't do the same?

[kairos-polaris]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Laurell hell, suku/ita & go/yuu fic.

Kenjaku & Yuuji parent child bonding below the cut, 1.2k words

Yuuji woke up in a strange place. Pitch black, there was nothing but two stools. He was sitting on one and the other was left unoccupied. The weight of the place itself was heavy on his chest, pulling him under; it felt as if he was underwater and couldn’t resurface.

A presence, more familiar than it should have been, made itself known.

“Hello, Yuuji, it’s been a while,” the thing parading in Getou Suguru’s body said before sitting down on the stool. It sighed. “So rude, you know my previous names, you know my actual name, yet you still think of me as a ‘thing’ and ‘it’. So rude to your poor mother,” it pouted. “And yes, I can hear your thoughts, Yuuji.”

What was this place? Why was Yuuji there? How could he even get out of there?

“This is a realm between curses and living. You may have heard of it already, from the people who were allowed to refuse participation in the games. It is a realm of dreams and I can control this particular part of it,” the thing, Kenjaku, explained. “Can a mother not miss her child? I sought to offer you comfort after you lost your soulmate but I can see you don’t want it,” they sighed. “No matter, I still wish to sate my curiosity, after that I will let you leave.”

How could he even get out of there?

The thing tsk-ed. “Patience, my boy. I answered your questions, now it’s your turn,” they smiled sharply, their indulgent and almost bored.

“I don’t want to,” Yuuji replied out loud for the first time. “I am not interested in answering your questions, just let me out.”

Kenjaku, sighed once again, daring to look disappointed with him, when it was Yuuji who had any right to feel upset.

“I am just worried for you, my boy,” they said with false concern. “It must feel so terrible to be separated from your soulmate like that. The emptiness where once Sukuna’s soul resided, intertwined with yours. No pair of soulmates have ever reached this level of connection, completion. No one came as close to becoming one as you and Sukuna did. It must feel terrible to lose it,” they cooed, their sympathy just as fake as their concern. “I do feel sorry for you, Yuuji. Everyone would, for a loss like that.”

Yuuji froze. He had refused to confront the gaping emptiness in his mind and soul. Pretend he didn’t miss something, someone, that he didn’t mindlessly reach out to Sukuna’s soul only to find it missing. Pretend he wasn’t disappointed each time. Pretend he didn’t crave the weight of Sukuna’s being. Ever since his death sentence was announced Yuuji couldn’t help but dream there was a way to separate him and Sukuna, to kill the king of curses without dying himself. A terrible selfish desire that Yuuji suppressed each time (his resolve to accept his death had to remain unwavering, he couldn’t entertain silly wishes like that) that left him full of aching and longing when it was fulfilled. Oh, his whole soul was a blistering wound, hurting from the separation with its second half.

Kenjaku smiled, no doubt listening to Yuuji's thoughts. “My poor baby, suffering like that,” they cooed. “You have entertained me enough. Now I can let you leave or I can tell you something about Sukuna first. You will have to answer another question for it, of course.”

Yuuji hesitated. He wanted to leave immediately, he didn’t care about Sukuna. But… Whatever Kenjaku had to say could be useful in their future fight against him and Yuuji couldn’t risk it, even if it meant staying in their presence for longer. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if they missed gaining an advantage because of his discomfort.

“Mommy is hurt Yuuji hates talking to her this much,” they sighed, fake pout on their lips. It looked ridiculous on Getou’s face, especially combined with the stitches on their forehead. “But I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” not that Yuuji cared, “and tell you about Sukuna.

“He doesn’t feel the same gaping emptiness you do, it was, after all, your body that had to adjust to the weight of two souls. Doesn’t it upset you that he was the one who left yet you alone have to bear the consequences? So unfair. I can assure you, however, Sukuna still feels your absence, even if not to the extent you do. I see the frustration in his eyes as he reaches out for your soul to find Fushiguro Megumi’s instead. His irritation is an entertaining sight,” they laughed. “I am certain he himself doesn’t realize his soul seeks out yours, blind to its true desires no matter how well he understands the shape of it.”

Yuuji did not expect for Sukuna to feel his absence, even if it wasn’t as acutely as he did. Unwillingly, he was filled with bitter triumph, an undeniable proof that his soulmate missed him, if Kenjaku’s words were to be trusted and they had no reason to lie about it.

“I have no reason to lie about it,” they echoed Yuuji’s thoughts, an uncomfortable reminder of their omniscience in this space. “It hurts me that Yuuji is so distrustful of his poor mother’s good intentions. I just want to take care of my son’s well-being, is it so wrong of me?”

Anger boiled under his skin, the audacity to pretend to be a caring parent when they’ve done nothing but hurt him. When they had hurt Choso’s mother, when they had allowed him to kill his brothers. How dare they fake concern when they were the one to send curses at him, the one who orchestrated his suffering?

“And you grew stronger from it, did you not?” they asked, finally dropping the mask of parental worry. “All I desire is to see humanity evolve and evolution requires hardships to overcome and grow from. I can’t create something greater than myself as evident by your failures of brothers so I facilitated the growth of something new. You have grown so much in such a short time and soon I will witness the results of the merger,” they said with a proud smile. Kenjaku continued, pride replaced by indulgence: “I do care for you, Yuuji. I wish to see you succeed and grow and there is no growth without suffering.”

“It is not care if you want me to suffer,” Yuuji found himself saying. Why was he even entreating them?

“Coddling isn’t care either. And I do not wish you to suffer, I am simply acknowledging the necessity of experiencing hardships to grow stronger,” Kenjaku countered. They shook their head. “No matter. It is my turn to ask questions.”

Yuuji’s blood turned into ice. “What do you want to know?” he asked, desperately trying to keep his voice even.

Kenjaku smiled at that, their face and head slowly morphing into someone different. A woman with short black hair, unfamiliar familiar features in contrast with Getou’s body. With horror and shock came recognition. This was how his mother looked like

“Did you miss me, Yuuji?” Kenjaku asked, voice different too, grinning widely.

Yuuji did not get to respond, waking up with a gasp in his room. Heart beating wildly, the twisted features of his mother’s face combined with the body of Getou Suguru engraved on his eyelids.

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real,” Yuuji repeated the words like a chant. “Not real.” But the memories of the conversation remained a heavy weight on his mind

#jjk #my fic #itadori yuuji #kenjaku

[6irlpet]

As a sub, your posts have helped me so muuch to be more comfortable and gently exposed to some hardcore kinks. Ive become much more open and less judgemental to them, even accepting im into some of them. A loooot of the harcore kink blogs on here are mysoginistic (as a kink), mainly for men or BY men, so this blog is rlly nice to have a space that doesnt gross me out. So far ive been inspired by you to explore my stockholm syndrome kink and also my ponyplay kink (even tho you dont have posts about it, you post a lot of petplay and that helped). Love u take care <3

ok serious non horny talk for a moment!!

first im sorry for sitting on this ask so long, i wanted to give it a good answer and then i uhhh forgot because i’m awful.

but this made me very very happy and glad and idk kink is something im really passionate about, i think there is so much harmful puritan socially regressive rhetoric out there even among proclaimed leftists saying porn and harder kinks is bad and like…. its not cool! its not feminist! ur not doing activism by shaming people for stuff u dont like! sexuality is normal and natural and there is nothing wrong with exploring these things safely, and i actually think doing so can be such a good healthy self exploratory experience of intimacy and bonding. especially kink and d/s, getting to explore sensation and psychological/emotional side instead of like, ‘sex is for procreation anything outside the accepted mainstream norm is deviant this mindset totally hasn’t caused harm historically’

it’s very hard sometimes to have these hardcore kinks, i spent years trying to deny i was into them, believing that things like cnc/cgl/porn in general were harmful, and its just not true. it’s always existed and it’s always going to exist and if we try to shame things and sweep them into the dark, ppl dont stop being into them, they just end up losing community and practicing unsafely. no one has to be into harder stuff, but the nastiness about it (sooo many times ppl will reblog a post of mine and i go to their blog to see like, ‘ddlg is abusive and ur a freak dni’ like Ok. dni with me first?) and saying that being into these things means ur into rape/csa irl is just untrue and so harmful (again, just forcing ppl to feel ashamed, practice unsafely, and lack community to come forward when theyve been harmed by a play partner) like if people can understand why violent video games doesnt make you a violent person, the only thing stopping them from understanding the same about harder kinks and porn is internalized reactionary christian bullshit lol. 

i spent years thinking these kink were gross and “problematic” and im so much happier accepting that actually…. u can just let people do things! u dont have to like things!! u can blacklist it u dont have to make an excuse why its inherently bad!!!!! i used to have such bad sub drop even solo masturbating bc of guilt/shame for my hardcore fantasies, i’ve had to learn how to give myself good aftercare and tell myself its normal and fine and ppl who matter dont care (and its true! i have a v supportive group of friends, some that i play with, who know what im into and dont care even tho theyre not into it!!!) so hearing that ive helped you feel more comfortable exploring these things has made me v happy :’)

and that being said, like u said, theres definitely an overwhelming amount of hardcore kink on here that cis men run that just, feels gross to me. they reek of Fake Dom™️, they don’t care about kink and consent, they just wanna use u to get off and neglect the emotional side of the connection. and for a looong while i put up with it thinking it’s just what these kinks were like. that i had to have a degree of discomfort forcing interactions with men and misogyny play. but it’s not! i ended up remaking from my old blog and making this one because there were so many of those types of men following me and sending me asks/msgs and it was getting so bad for my mental health.

and fine, whatever, but i wanted to have a space that was exploring these kinks for femmes, for trans people, like im writing for me and ppl like me, who like the things i do. and im much happier for it (and i still have to block like 50-100 blogs every time i log in here, and had to turn DMs off bc i was getting so many from the 40M Greg Ohio Sadistic Daddy blogs full of stolen content despite my pinned. demonstrating some real great understanding of consent there huh guys /s)

anyway. im very very happy to get this message and im glad that my lil horny ramblings can be appreciated in such a way. not only are we okay for liking extreme stuff but we’re also extremely fucking cool and sexy. have a good night 😘

#ask #sorry for longpost but ahhhhgghh my Thoughts about kink #and my fuckin past with having to remake blogs bc there was no recovering it #THIS blog is a party babyyyy we are beating gender’s ass and indulging gross kinks #a lot of my posts r purposely gender neutral for this reason! #Thoughts #that will be a tag for if i ever get serious again. hopefully i do not

[unsleepingtales]

Episode seven live reactions! This is long and largely nonsensical but we press on. 

Rereading as I’m about to post and it’s really funny how I went from mostly lighthearted to scared out of my mind over the course of two hours.

Does anyone else remember that parcel that Cinderella gave Rosamund? What was that about? Did we ever find out???

Murph posing as a frog will never not be funny

Emily goading murph into using the sword only to immediately be thrown into a wisdom save…

I fully forgot her head was a spider.

Emily and Murph are so lovely. I’m so glad they’re sitting next to each other this season. The way that they show their care for each other within the game. Retiring each others dice. Giving each other ideas. Lovelies. Also the AxMurph dice pool consists of four dice.

So EACH story that goes into the book gives Mother Goose new spells??? Incredible. Challenge accepted Ally.

AxMurph pool down to three.

Oh my god that is HORRIFYING. Sleeping people packed into the rafters????? Ugh ugh ugh hate that. Reminds me of a book I was way too young to read when I read it called the girl in the wall about getting trapped in secret passages in the walls of a creepy old house. Hate this so fucking much. Brennan what are you doing. Please stop.

DROSSELMEYER??? I heard monocle. Is it drosselmeyer.

Roll for gaslight 🤪

Brennan why are you doing the effect screams again. Stop it.

Pinnochio’s spell save dc is 14???

So not drosselmeyer ok :(

NO SNUGGLING!

Gerard trying to comfort Red 💔 Red saying they’re the same in their discomfort right as Gerard is becoming okish with his frogness 💔 Gerard would have loved Elody even if she wasn’t beautiful 💔 Gerard using his story to make them both feel better 💔

Maybe these are the people we need to be to survive in this world.

Red and Gerard bonding is something that is actually SO important to me.

Give it a good noodle

A doorway??

We’re having comfort and crises and dancing. Shrimp party memories <3

Doorway to Scheherazade’s world could find elody!!!

Pinnochio learned to strip on toy island ok

A NEW pinnochio story what the fuck are you doing Ally I love this but what

Spindle in the book oh boy

Oh god not the fucking fairies again also what’s with the wet thing

They might seem dry but they are wet in some way

German Shepard mode is back!

Mid episode initiative oh god oh fuck

Stop! Rolling! Your! Dice!

God battlemaster is so fucking cool some people are talking about it being overplayed and I hear that but also it is so good for Gerard specifically and also so good for Pib.

Ally’s quiet ‘Zac…’ so right king

DEATH BLOW?!?!?!

Hi hello what the fuck is this twig skeleton that melts with water that closely resembles brambles??? Horrifying. Horrifying! [Referred to as ‘Twig Demon’ for future ref]

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Why do they melt with water is this some wicked witch of the west shit or have I just been listening to wicked too much

Making good combat decisions we love to see it!

Oh god the mirror themes are gonna be the death of me

Great thematic stuff, dude. Great thematic stuff.

NO do not talk to your mom??? BAD idea??? This feels so bad. Hate this. Hate this so much.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT I HATE THAT OH GOOD GOD THAT IS AWFUL THAT IS SO FUCKING SCARY OH MY GOD I PAUSED IT SO I COULD PROCESS AND TYPE BUT ITS STARING INTO MY SOUL FROM MY SCREEN OH MY FUCKING GOD NO HATE THAT HATE THAT SO FUCKING MUCH STOP

Oh my god do you think the players have seen that character art

I have to rewatch that bit to properly hear it oh god.

The SMILE of a DEVIL you NEVER BELIEVED IN what the fuck Brennan that’s so fucking cursed

Thank you Lou for the tiny bit of levity in this terrifying time now back to WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

Ok wicked fairy is terrified of the stepmother and fucking kills herself I guess me too bestie

Red gems in a pellet gun 😭 are we gonna find out what they are finally???? Ylfa’s finally gonna get a gem I guess- THREE? SHE GOT THREE?

To some degree there is the face of a person in there Brennan my guy that is bone chilling good lord

Hate this!

SHE HAS EATEN WORLDS AND STORIES BEYOND COUNTING

Is red about to be eaten NOPE NEVER MIND

Brennan’s letting them give the help action so freely it’s terrifying

Every single thing that happens is terrifying

JESUS CHRIST

REALITY SHATTERS???????

Oh my god kill me please I don’t want to be here oh dear god

Oh Jesus fuck what just happened. I’m gonna need to rewatch that. What the fuck was that. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.

Trailer reactions:

Alphonse is back, the sword talks, bandlebridge is back, if something happens to pib I’m gonna cry.

#anyway #we're really going through it tonight huh gang #neverafter #verbal component #neverafter spoilers #dropout art team <3 #reactions

[teacherintransition]

Ideals, Reality, Compromise?

“You can’t always get what you want…”

“…but you get what you need…”.* Sometimes

Ya got your high minded ideals; ya got your personal expectations and standards; ya got what you want(demand?) life to be like…then, you got what really happens. To quote the venerable Mick Jagger again you cry, “I says, "hey, you, get off of my cloud,”** when the unplanned happens. You realize that no man is an island, nor can you build walls high enough to keep out those events of reality that make you say, “oh shit!” Yes boys and girls for all of the high minded expectations and philosophies that you can crank out, you can’t fight city hall (i. e. the real world).

Case in point, Brent, moi, has the commandment: THOU SHALT NOT ENGAGE IN OLD MAN TALK. Old man talk is defined as: old man talk

/ˌōld ˈman/ /tāwk/

noun

1. 1. 
an elderly(MIDDLE AGED) male person’s self defeating dialogue that deals with aches and pains of his or any other acquaintance; illnesses or the keeping up with who has passed away

Oh it’s a reoccurring topic in these articles man, it just detracts from the harmonic vibrations dude. I avoid it. Unless it’s concerning immediate family, I don’t want to hear about who died, who is in the hospital, who contracted this disease or that one. It kills the chill. To be able keep such alerts at bay forever? No way, man…the world goes on in ways that pop your high ideals in the jaw. This occasional reminder hit me twice in one day Saturday. One of my friends of the Great Triumvirate alerted me via text that one of our friends from high school, a fellow member of a clandestine fraternal group to which we belonged, had passed away in his sleep. This particular person who had just left us, I had not literally spoken with since high school. It was a clear breech of the NO OLD MAN TALK PROTOCOLS! I lamented to my wife that I wish he hadn’t told me, because now I’d be down the rest of the day. I’m certain that by now you’ve picked up that my NO OLD MAN TALK standards border a bit on being somewhat of a selfish p***k at times. I can’t deny that. Later that evening, I’d be made aware of why maintaining strict adherence to that rule is not totally a good thing.

That night, my wife and I had gone to see a jammin’ blues band at the Granbury Live Theater. It was an awesome night. As we were leaving, my heart stopped and I froze in my tracks. Memories hit randomly and provide lessons to learn. As I’d mentioned were having a huge time at the show when my heart did it’s thing. A gentleman sitting in front of us looked like what my best friend, Fant Smart, I imagine would look like today if he hadn’t been stolen from us violently twenty years ago. He was gracious enough to take a picture and listen to my heartfelt tale. I thanked him and said, ”if you knew Fant you’d consider my compliment to be high praise indeed!”

It hit me as to why a complete keeping of the Old Man Talk Standard can do more harm than good. My spirit traveled instantly through the ethereal void and brought my good friend back, if only for a moment. The moment was magnificent and made me happy and …sad, again. I realized that the compromising of a standard or “ideal” needs to happen perhaps not for you, but for people around you who need momentary comfort and reassurance that loved ones are remembered and are valued. Taking a moment to let your guard down needn’t be just an exercise in self defeating melancholy. At its best, such remembrances, are a universal bonding of our need to belong and to be remembered. “What are the pains of this brief mortal life, but for legacy?”*** My friend who texted me earlier that day, simply wanted a token acknowledgment that though our mutual friend was gone, his place was not going to be soon forgotten. What’s the value of that? The emotional and spiritual magic that came my way took me back to my best friend now twenty years gone. Surely, I can allow myself a little discomfort to give some heartfelt reassurance that we were here and people care and remember that we were. I will live my days around positive thoughts and pleasant states of mind as often as possible, but a toast to fallen comrades can be indulged from time to time to grant to others what I seek myself.

This is a gift that I have, simple; a foolish

extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes,

objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions,

revolutions; these are begot in the ventricle of

memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater,

and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

William Shakespeare

*Jagger, Mick, Richards, Keith; Let It Bleed; Decca Recording UK.; 4 July, 1969

**Jagger Mick, Richards, Keith; December’s Children (and Everybody’s); Decca Recording UK; 25 October 1965

***Martin, George R.R.; Fire and Blood; Bantam Books; 20 November, 2018

#open mind #retirement #coffetime #stress #change #teacher #i need friends #health #writing #education #europe #self actualization #self discovery #self improvement #socialmedia #self healing #social circle #social anxiety #writer #social media #death #death mention #down the memory lane #memory #in memoriam

[sketchdeath]

I’m comfortable in my body like I’ve never had gender dysphoria about being born a women. But I don’t really get jealous of other women and sometimes when I’m looking at pictures of men I just feel really sad bc I wish I looked like that. Like I really wish I was born with a dick and masculine features. But also I love my femininity. I guess I never really let myself think about my gender so now idk what the fuck is going on.

well. im not really sure what you wanted me to say in response to this ask, but i can try and give some advice.

trans experience is different for everyone. not everyone (and truly, most do not) fit along the neat lines of what is supposed to be a trans childhood/teenhood/internal knowledge/timeline/etc. i do and dont fit some of those. i always "knew." but at the same time i was always very much a little queen. (and i still am!) and i transitioned into an ~effeminate man~ (that's an option!)

gender dysphoria doesn't always manifest itself in bodily discomfort. in the beginning stages of my coming out process, a large part of my gender dysphoria was grief, longing, and homesickness for the life i was "supposed to" be living. of course, there were bodily things as well... (a lot of which i don't feel comfortable talking about it publically.) but body isn't all there is, not for everyone at least. and, importantly, gender dysphoria is not hating your body. in my experience... it's a lot more innate. instinctual. like a phantom limb (sometimes literally lol) you don't have to have a set bullet checklist of things you do/feel to be trans. it just is what it is.

i wanted to share my personal experiences to give you a wider picture of what trans people experience, of course, i have a biased opinion because i only know what i know/have experienced. i know what wishing to be born with a dick/masculine features feels like, so... of course im going to want to say i relate to you in *that way,* but…that still doesn't mean anything for you.

…for my REAL real advice, and maybe this isnt what you wanted to hear: but only you know what you are. no one can tell you otherwise how you "really" feel. there is no (in my worldview) higher power or universe controlling the narrative of your life. no path leading you to an ultimate happiness destiny. you are at the steering wheel of your own life. (repeat that last sentence like 10 times in your own head.) if you are looking for permission, you already have it. you have that power, and more power than you know. you are allowed to be whatever you think will be best for yourself long-term. (or short-term. or whatever. its your life.) if you want to be a guy, be a guy. try thinking about yourself as both, or neither, or "sometimes" for a while. its okay to say nah, im a chick whos more masc than i allowed myself to be before. think about misogyny, transphobia, homophobia, and all that. seek out a varied amount of experiences. throw some spaghetti at the wall. it's okay to think long and hard about these things. you're literally switching around the entire idea you have about yourself in your head and all by yourself, its a difficult thing. it takes time, there's no rush.

if you have any big takeaways from reading this just know that you, and only you, have the power to drive your own life trajectory and that you, and only you, have the power of knowing who you are. even if no one in the whole wide world knows but you. and no one else has the power to tell you otherwise.

this is just my personal philosophy/spiritually (or i guess, lack of.)

#ask

[topguncortez]

It's so encouraging to see open healthy discussions about sex going on, even just commiserating about bad sex lol. But truly I think one of the most helpful things is hearing about other people's experiences and perspectives. I'm almost 30 and I spent so many of my younger adult years dealing with bad experiences and trauma because I tried to minimize my discomfort and tell myself that certain things were probably just normal things that everyone dealt with. But then when I started talking with other people, I realized the stuff I experienced wasn't just normal sex stuff and that it is not only okay to set boundaries, but it is absolutely necessary always. And it's okay if your boundaries change and you have to reevaluate them. Having these types of discussions about sexual experiences, boundaries, and consent really makes a difference and I appreciate you facilitating that!

I have realized not just from the these conversations tonight but in others that young people aren’t being taught what is normal when it comes to sex. Part of that is because good sex ed isn’t being taught and the porn industry is booming.

it’s okay to not orgasm every time. it’s okay to need more than penetration to get off. it’s okay to want to stop during sex. it’s okay to be into darker kinkier stuff. it’s okay to be a virgin. ITS ALL OKAY

i can not stress enough how important conversations like these are to have. I once had a person tell me if i can’t comfortably talk about sex with my partner than i shouldn’t be having sex with them and I stand by that 100%

if i can’t have a full comfortable, respectful conversation with my partner about sex, consent, kinks, boundaries, all that then i should not being have sex with them.

#topguncortez #sex talk with g