#mediocre young adult

[hellishjoel]

cherry 

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh? 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.  You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.  “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone.  While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude. 

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool. 

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse. 

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone. 

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day. 

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults. 

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date. 

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away. 

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it. 

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all. 

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about? 

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.  

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable. 

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold. 

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell. 

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip. 

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so. 

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon. 

“You want somethin’ to drink?” 

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes. 

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him. 

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying. 

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.” 

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.” 

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you. 

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now. 

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned. 

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine. 

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter. 

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory. 

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room. 

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away. 

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him. 

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot. 

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.” 

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point. 

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion. 

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief. 

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really? 

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?” 

You rolled your eyes and huffed. 

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?” 

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.” 

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint. 

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him. 

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.” 

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie. 

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying. 

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap. 

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold. 

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television. 

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?” 

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side. 

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.” 

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches. 

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette. 

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind. 

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline. 

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned. 

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you. 

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life. 

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell. 

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away. 

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. 

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. 

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed. 

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night. 

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?” 

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield. 

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too. 

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline. 

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller. 

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him. 

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm. 

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible. 

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now. 

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency. 

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze. 

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go. 

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs. 

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please. 

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another. 

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap. 

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement. 

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory. 

 A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass. 

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours. 

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice. 

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs. 

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling. 

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper. 

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting. 

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away.  “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good. 

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss. 

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again. 

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that. 

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.” 

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom. 

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets. 

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box. 

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly. 

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face. 

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him. 

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur. 

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso. 

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?” 

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core. 

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game. 

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry. 

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.  

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made. 

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips. 

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front. 

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust. 

Fuck it. 

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s. 

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before. 

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine. 

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone. 

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you. 

“Get on your knees.” 

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees. 

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you. 

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him. 

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch. 

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back. 

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach. 

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts. 

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy. 

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs. 

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup. 

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again. 

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs. 

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim. 

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now. 

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor. 

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug. 

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen. 

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off. 

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue. 

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off. 

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone. 

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone. 

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive. 

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight. 

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror. 

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy. 

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with. 

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on. 

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best. 

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm. 

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white. 

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him. 

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror. 

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds. 

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet. 

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half. 

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles. 

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts. 

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new. 

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips. 

“You said the best.” 

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you. 

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone. 

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair. 

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers. 

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave. 

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.” 

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation. 

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over. 

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.” 

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength. 

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.  

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well. 

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously. 

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.” 

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.” 

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water. 

“t’s dark.” 

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one. 

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it. 

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out. 

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road. 

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed. 

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents. 

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping. 

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door. 

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.” 

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.” 

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you. 

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse. 

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.” 

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there. 

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder. 

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.” 

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.” 

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger. 

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone. 

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel. 

---

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[johannestevans]

I came out as trans at about fifteen or sixteen, changed my name, and I’ve lived as a man since. As a young man doing my A-Levels, going to university, and working afterwards, I was out as a man, using he/him pronouns, using my actual name —

Two pictures of me, one at age 16, the other at age 19.

To people who had no idea what a trans man looked like, it was pretty easy to give people a funny look and say, “I’m a man,” in a tone that made them suddenly flustered and nervous, because cis people feel extremely guilty about misgendering another cisgender person in a way they don’t when they know you’re trans.

I was thin, had a lower-toned but still not masculine voice, didn’t have much of a chest — I got gendered correctly automatically maybe 30 or 40% of the time, and maybe up to 50% if I employed shame in the right way, implied I was cis with a hormonal imbalance, or if people assumed I was still a teenage boy rather than an adult.

To people who did know what a trans man looked like but weren’t trans themselves, talking to them was fucking excruciating.

I remember once when I was selling house alarms and some hideous cis girl asked, “Are you transgender?” and I immediately told her, “Nope,” as she kept questioning the point. Another time, I was in the back of a taxi when a man asked if I was trans, although thankfully when I told him, “Nope, just low testosterone,” he seemed to immediately believe me and back the fuck off.

It’s one of the reasons I feel conflicted about trans visibility — it’s great for other trans people to see a variety of trans representation, but cis people knowing what trans people are is a double-edged sword, because cis people are entitled, invasive, and often just straight-up weird about gender, most of all when they think they’re being allies.

When I started working at a hotel, my immediate boss was a very abusive woman — she was petty, vindictive, and because she had poor organisational skills and frequently got flustered by her own workload, she would take this out on any staff around her, whether that was her juniors, other management, or sometimes guests.

Her being abusive in the workplace wasn’t that unusual. Now and then the managers would misgender me, and I’d correct them, and they’d brush it off as they apologised, that sort of thing.

Because this manager identified as an ally, she flipped her fucking lid.

She went off on a tirade for some ten minutes about what a great ally she is, and how much she knows about and cares about trans people, and how a lot of people wouldn’t hire a trans person, and she volunteers with local queer groups (she was at the time a mediocre DJ, and frequently DJed at a local gay club), and all this bluster.

Over one (apparently needed) correction.

All she needed to do was not misgender me — a quick “sorry” might have been nice. A ten-minute rant about how she was a saint for hiring me?

Not really necessary.

Cisgender people hate trans people — and I know some cis people reading this are immediately raising their hackles and about to go “well not ALL cis people — “ because they’re allies, and it’s important that I know that they’re a good one, actually, and they’re a real ally.

But the reason that cis people have a knee-jerk negative reaction to trans people, intersex people, and any person that they have decided is gender non-conforming, the reason they respond so punishingly to our existence or to mild misbehaviours on our parts — such as demanding respect or correcting their mistakes — is because our very existence is an interruption to their worldview, the ideologies and biases by which they live.

They should know what a man is just by looking at one, and if they get it wrong, that’s embarrassing for them — because to cisgender people the binary male-female divide is crucial to the way they respect or disrespect others, people that interrupt their thinking on it can trigger a lot of rage and upset. A trans person represents a frightening challenge — what if they accidentally treated a man with the casual disrespect that is rightfully allotted women? What if they sexually objectified a man thinking he was a woman, and it made them gay for a moment?

If they think you’re cisgender and heterosexual enough, any of these things are their fault, and they feel very bad about them.

But if you’re trans?

Well, it’s your fault for existing that way, right? You’re the one doing genders wrong — they’re not the one that made the error!

There’s a particular rage reserved for trans men, lesbians, and any other trans or GNC person that’s perceived as being “biologically female” — because society feels the greatest gender-based entitlement over these people’s bodies, in large part due to institutional misogyny, we’re perceived as gender traitors.

Cis men hate us because we’ve ruined what they perceived as a resource for them — a source of sexual gratification and aesthetic pleasure, a breeding vessel for birthing babies, not to mention a mother with all the domestic labour that comes with; cis women hate us because they perceive us as gaining all the privileges of being male, of gaming the system, and at the same time breaking what they sometimes feel is a sort of sacred trust of femininity.

In order to cope with institutional misogyny, some cis women effectively craft a further gender-based bioessentialism — if you have a uterus and are perceived as a woman by society, you’re not just physically capable of birthing a child. You must also innately have the traits of an ideal mother — you must be nurturing and lovely, you must be caring, you must have the correct emotions, you must be submissive in the right way. But also, a woman like this must be cleverer than a man, and if she effectively parents or cares for the men in her life, she just does that because she is so smart, and men are so stupid.

Again, trans people represent an interruption to that mode of thinking. If trans people are real, and we’re the genders we say we are, all of that ideology is nonsense.

If I, a trans man, can just “choose” to be a man, doesn’t that mean that every woman that experiences misogyny is just “choosing” misogynistic abuse?

The fact that as a trans man, I experience abuses that are linked to misogyny is irrelevant — that I’m at a higher risk of sexual abuse, that medical professionals dismiss my symptoms as soon as some of them realise I’m “really” a woman and cease my treatment or cease treating me with the respect due a man; that people dismiss me and dehumanise me, either because they think I’m transgender, and therefore a lesser being, or an ugly and not sexually available woman, and therefore a lesser being.

If I’m a trans man, I must experience male privilege — why else would I choose to be trans?

And if I don’t experience male privilege in every situation, because people don’t always consider me male or legitimately male, or if male privilege in any given situation I experience is actually complicated by other factors, such as race, disability, sexuality, and so on, then I must be lying.

Passing privilege isn’t the same as male privilege — passing privilege generally refers to the privileges a transgender person experiences because they reliably pass as cisgender.

I don’t think that it’s universal — “passing privilege” assumes that everyone passes in all situations, and while I would say that I pass very reliably in a lot of mine now that I’m several years on T and my second puberty has been very good to me, this doesn’t apply everywhere.

When I’m in the hospital, for example, or otherwise seeing a doctor, I get treated with even more hostility — partially because most cis doctors practice misogyny-based medicine and are more likely to dismiss women’s symptoms or generally give them worse medical care, especially male doctors treating women. In my experience, cis female doctors are more likely to punish me for being transgender than a cis male one is.

I’ve noticed multiple times going to see a doctor, being treated as a man with all my pain or symptoms being treated as a concern, and then abruptly there’s a sudden withdrawal of care and concern when the doctor either realises I’m transgender and/or realises I’m “really” a woman.

But the thing is?

I’m pretty sure that the reason I suddenly receive such aggressive negative response is because I pass so well. When cis people realise that I’m trans, they feel even angrier and more personally betrayed, because I’ve so thoroughly “tricked” them by being a man without their permission.

Me at 24, about a year on testosterone; me at 25, about two years on testosterone. Same blouse, same vest.

But in general, day-to-day life — yeah, I’m perceived as a cis man.

Notably, a cis gay man.

Regularly, other trans guys and some butches tell me that as they began to present in ways perceived as more masculine, they noticed that women in public responded to them differently.

If they were out at night and a woman was walking alone nearby, she might cross the street to be a bit further away from them; she might choose to sit elsewhere rather than be near them on a bench; a woman alone might not want to share a lift with them.

I thought this was interesting the first few times I heard it — I hear it all the time, and it still strikes me as curious, because I don’t experience the same thing at all.

I’ve never had a woman walk away from me, or be careful not to be alone with me. Frequently, women strike up conversation with me in public, they chat to me on buses the way they might with other women — a little while ago I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up from the airport, and a young girl of 19 or so actually came up to me to ask if she could hotspot off my phone for a second and to ask me for directions.

It’s not that women alone shouldn’t strike up conversation with men, or shouldn’t be alone with them — but just to avoid any potential discomfort or risk of being harassed, many of them understandably avoid it.

But a lot of women see me in the street or in public places, and when they perform their internal risk assessment, I don’t prompt a red flag.

Part of it is that I’m skinny and white, sure — I’m not very physically intimidating in terms of my size, and I’m not racialised in the way many Black and dark-skinned men and boys are. Sometimes, I’m using a mobility aid like a cane, and that makes a difference, too.

But as a rule, I’m pretty. I wear make-up — I often wear face stickers and have visible “tattoos”. I’m fussy about my hair, and it shows. I dress in bright prints and florals, I wear silks and satins, I wear waistcoats and high-waisted jeans, I wear block heels.

When I walk, I sashay my hips. I hold my hands in a delicate way — I gesticulate freely, and I move my fingers when I do so in an effete way. If they hear me talk, people often guess from my accent that I’m English rather than Welsh, and that I’m more educated than I am, not to mention significantly posher.

The average cishet stranger in the street absolutely sees me as a man — and they exclusively see me as a gay one. No one ever mistakes me for a straight one, and that absolutely affects the way I’m treated.

I couldn’t possibly pose a threat of sexual harassment in many women’s eyes, because I’m obviously gay, and many cis straight women feel very comfortable with — if not entitled to — gay men’s companionship, especially white gays with effete mannerisms.

When talking about gender-based privileges for trans men and mascs, we don’t tend to consider any impact that perceptions of our sexuality can have, but because of the way gay men are sorted into a different subclass of cis masculinity than straight men, there’s a noticeable impact.

Straight people sometimes roll their eyes or look amused when they think I’m being particularly dramatic or gay; occasionally straight men wolf-whistle at me or make comments about how gay I look; people strike up conversations with me about RuPaul’s Drag Race, start chattering to me about drag, because they just assume that’s the sort of thing I would be into. I get looks sometimes on the bus if I’m chatting with friends or on the phone, or sometimes if I’m just there in front of them and I look very gay.

Most of this isn’t incredibly malicious — is it homophobic? Sure, sometimes. A lot of it is just straight people trying to understand what they think is gay culture the best way they know how.

Parents with kids actually make me the most nervous — not because there’s any danger posed by the kids themselves most of the time, but because parents can be the most vicious when it comes to homophobia. They’ll accuse gay men of being paedophiles just for existing in public and seeming a bit fruity, or they’ll get nervous about how gay someone looks in case their kids ask questions about it.

And kids do find how I look interesting — all the time, I’ll be out in public, and a kid will notice that my nails are painted or that I’m wearing high heels or that they see tattoos on my face, and they’ll ask their parents about it.

It’s anxiety-inducing for any parent when their child starts acting about a stranger’s appearance where the stranger can hear them, because they get worried about the potential impoliteness — when that stranger is a faggot, some of them get angry at me, because once again, even without their knowing I’m transgender, I’m interrupting their worldview of what the correct gendered behaviours are, forcing them to think about it, forcing them to explain aberrations to their kids.

A “normal”, “real” man is straight, after all, and does straight men’s things, like dress badly and sexually harass women and get ugly haircuts. It’s confusing, if I’m out on the streets looking fuckable.

The last time I was travelling, I was sitting in a restaurant in the airport, and some boys at the next table were staring at me.

“Dad, why is that man wearing makeup?”

“I don’t know, some men wear it.”

“How come?”

“…”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that wherever a faggot goes, little boys will be asking their mildly homophobic but well-meaning and liberal parents questions about that man’s physical appearance.

A classic response, and one that I overhear often, was this man’s retort: “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

Sometimes teenagers and kids laugh at how I dress, especially if they’re in groups together — and especially, too, if there’s a bunch of us visible queers together.

One thing I’ve noticed about wearing crop-tops is that some people get het-up about how hairy I am and the hair visible on my belly, or under my arms if I’m wearing a vest — because some straight people see a white twink and want to reclassify him as being part of the woman subcategory instead of the man subcategory (based on his assumed sexual availability to men), they then apply women’s rules of physical appearance to him.

After all, if I’m wearing makeup and high heels and high-waisted jeans and a crop-top, that’s like how a woman dresses — and if I’m going to dress like a woman even though I’m obviously a man, I should be held to the standards a woman would be too. I should be hairless and odourless, like a sexy child, because “sexy child” is the ideal for an attractive woman, right?

Some cishet women also hate how I dress and instead of laughing or grumbling about it in the way that cishet men do, they wrinkle their noses and get really quite scornful about it.

Some of those women’s husbands are secretly on Grindr (I know because I have sex with them), and I believe this is the closest they get to facing their suspicions as to their husbands’ bisexuality.

A photo of me from earlier this month, age 26.

I started taking testosterone some months before the pandemic started, but experienced the bulk of my second puberty’s physical effects over the course of the following years.

Subsequently, when I went to a queer event being run after about two years on testosterone, many people there hadn’t seen me out in some time. I got a lot of looks and a lot of interest, especially from other queer men, in a way I never had before — I always got a lot of engagement and looks, but many cis gay men would take a little while to warm up to the idea of me as a man if they knew or suspected I was trans.

Maybe it’s just because I’m hotter, though, right? I’m hardly the only person to go through a glow-up on HRT, and I certainly feel more attractive.

Except that several of the older men looking at me were men I’d known casually for years — and a bunch of them came up and introduced themselves. Said hi, what’s your name, I’m x, it’s nice to meet you, are you new to the city?

Because up ’til then, they really hadn’t much looked at me in much detail. Many of these men had heard me give talks, had talked to me in queer bars, had met me at one event or another, and I just hadn’t stuck in their minds — they certainly hadn’t come up and spoken to me before, let alone with such enthusiasm.

And I do want to say, like —

None of these men would call themselves anti-trans — they’d try to use the right pronouns, they’d say that there should be trans events on, and so on. But there’s still going to be unconscious biases there — whether up ’til now they saw me as a woman (and therefore just looked past me) or saw me as trans (and therefore just looked past me), suddenly I was a fully realised human being. Maybe I was attractive and fuckable to some of them — but crucially, I was also another gay man, and therefore real and worth talking to.

And I will say that this isn’t all older gay men in my community or even like, a massive majority of them — but it was enough older gay men to be noticeable.

Even entering into new gay spaces, queer men tend to be friendlier to me than they used to, more outgoing in conversation, chattier, etc.

That’s obviously not necessarily because I’m trans — like I said, I’m also hotter than I used to be, I’m older, more educated, I dress better and more confidently, etc. There’s other factors at play, and I’m not comparing friendliness to cruelty or coldness — I’m comparing it to polite apathy, which was often mild enough that I wasn’t hugely affected by it pre-T.

Some men do treat me a little coldly, but from what I can tell it’s not usually because they suspect or know I’m trans — a lot of the time it’s actually because I’m so faggy and effeminate, or they just don’t trust that I’m gonna be cool because I’m so young.

Mixed queer spaces can be another story.

Other queer people my age have often found me intimidating — I’m a pretty outspoken person, my politics are more aggressive leftwing than many people’s, and as a autistic, I speak plainly and directly in a way that a lot of people don’t care for, or can find scary and overwhelming.

Now, though?

The response to my perceived aggression is a lot more dramatic and avoidant — because now they assume I’m a cisgender man.

People often interpret me as angry or aggressive when I’m not — I can sometimes be somewhat flat in my affect, I can be a very blunt communicator, I don’t tend to beat around the bush when it comes to my opinions. All of these are pretty standard as an autistic guy, and a lot of other people have experienced the same thing I have — the interpretation of those personality traits as aggressive or argumentative.

But it’s been interesting experiencing the negative response ramp up so much as soon as I’m perceived as “really” male, even by other transmascs, queer people, and trans men.

It can be strange at times navigating broader trans spaces as someone who doesn’t look trans in the way even other trans people expect you to, where they just assume that you’re cisgender, or that as someone who already passes and has therefore “finished” your journey as a trans person, there’s less reason for you to be in community with other trans people.

Especially when it comes to trauma like…

There is an assumption by many young queer people that cis gay people are just fine now, that homophobia doesn’t impact them in the traumatic way it did older generations, or that homophobia is no longer an active impact on people’s lives — I obviously am transgender, but to be brushed off with the assumption I haven’t experienced the same extent of bigotry or negative experience because I appear cisgender always strikes me as fucked up when of course a lot of cis men have had similar life experiences to me, or worse.

I will say that again, the negative responses are from a minority, just big enough to be noticeable, and the more people talk to me, the more they relax a little about the whole thing.

It’s still funny though, like —

I met some trans friends of a partner recently, and I came downstairs without a shirt on because I was hurriedly multitasking, and watched her do a double take at my chest.

I laughed and was like, “Did you not realise I was trans?”

And she went, “No!” and we had a giggle about it.

Most of the time meeting other queer people across the board, I’m extended care and compassion and love — it’s just weird, I think, being so aware of the gendered differences in how people speak with and apparently perceive me, and how things have and do change, especially because people assume transmasculinity means a one-way journey to Male Privilege, and all the benefits it can come with.

As with any and everything else, these matters come with nuance and layers, and nothing is as simple as A to B with no complications.

#musings #transgender #trans rights #trans man #trans mlm

[cuntess-carmilla]

Men won't benefit from a more feminist society outside of being less pressured to perform hegemonic masculinity. A more feminist society will cause a net negative for men not because a feminist society will set itself to kill them or oppress them, but because it will take away the privileges they currently hold just for being men.

Mediocre men who only get ahead in their careers because more capable women are overlooked or not even allowed to put their foot through the door? In a non-patriarchal society, they'll get stuck behind.

Similarly, men who only get the chance to achieve their ambitions by dumping all the domestic and emotional burden of their existence onto the women they live with? No more. In fact, they'll have to shoulder some of that responsibility in equal parts with the women they live with so those women, too, also can try to reach their goals. Actually, if the women they live with are undoubtedly more talented or promising than them, it will only make sense for those men to do labor similar to what's expected of women (workers or stay-at-home) so that those women can focus on perfecting their craft or career unburdened by cooking, laundry, cleaning, home-managing, etc.

Men will no longer be paid more than women of the same racial/ethnic group.

Incels have already correctly pointed out that a reason why young adult men are so lonely currently is because some of feminism's achievements; women entering the work-force (beyond extremely poor and often racialized women who never had a choice), women being allowed to have bank accounts and own... Anything. The fact that being married to a man isn't a requirement to any of those things in many societies means now women can opt out of being with a man if they don't want to (categorically, or just the man in front of us) so men who in the past would've had a guaranteed wife despite being deplorable humans, are now alone.

That's the point of "privilege". It's an undue benefit obtained directly from unfairly taking away from others. And this is why male feminist allies tend to sooner or later show their true colors, too.

It's not because men are inherently evil. It's because even if a man genuinely believes that women are – gasp – full human beings and that the treatment we get in patriarchal societies is awful and inhumane, there will come a time in which effective feminist praxis, as a feminist ally, will require him to sacrifice the benefits that patriarchy extends to him. And he won't. The same way rich people can think it's so so sad that homelessness is a reality, but they won't vote for a candidate who's a threat to their class privilege and wealth.

Feminism will not benefit men for the most part, and men who actually give a shit about fairness will be okay with that. Problem is, most won't. Most already aren't. Not necessarily because they're Evil Bastards who want women to suffer, but because it's against their self-interest.

Stop campaigning on "feminism benefits men", because 1) that it benefits women, who have been treated like dogshit in all patriarchal societies for centuries, should be enough reason to support feminism, and 2) it WON'T, and men instinctively know that.

[n0cturna1-m3]

Midnight Chatting | Bruce Wayne x Male Reader | Fluff

Fem/Minors DNI

Request; Too god damn long to put in. Here's the link.

Warnings; Bruce is a mediocre father, mention of anxiety attack, Damian Wayne and Bruce Wayne have autism (confirmed 😐🤞), insecurities, minor hurt/full comfort.

A/N; Slowly gettin through reqs... probably gonna do a few fluff/angst ones until I'm feelin up to doin a smut fic 😋

Synopsis; Some people have a knack for breaking through the hearts of cold people. Bruce is lucky enough to be in a committed relationship with one of these people.

1.9k words

It had been almost a year since Bruce had begun dating Y/N, a young man he met by coincidence. He worked at a coffee shop that Bruce frequented, and eventually, Y/N made the first move and asked him out on a date. It was likely one of the longest romantic relationships he had ever been in, and everything was moving smoothly.

Sure, the couple would bicker every once in a while, usually because of Bruce coming home bruised and battered, but they always managed to reconcile before it became heated.

Y/N started living with Bruce later in their relationship. It was a tedious process, mostly because Y/N had to be informed of Bruce’s vigilante duties. He was hesitant to believe Bruce, but his eyes gave away nothing but the truth. Y/N often worried for him, but Bruce managed to reassure him even after the most dangerous nights.

Bruce’s adopted children were cold towards him at first, save for Dick who was fond of him immediately and Jason whom he still hasn’t met. They would give him stern eyes, but eventually, they began warming up to the man.

Tim was the first to cave. He was frustrated with Bruce for leaving him out of a mission he had found a massive amount of information on, and he was angry about it. Tim sat in his room, sulking with his arms crossed over his chest in bed.

He wanted to ignore the knock on his door, telling the person to “leave him alone,” but Y/N pushed the door open anyway and sat on his bed. Tim glared at him and turned his head away.

“I know how it feels,” he said. Tim perked up, glancing at the man sitting at the end of his bed.

“How would you know?” he scoffed. But his mind was whirring with anticipation. He wanted to know how Y/N could possibly understand how he felt.

“What, you think Bruce hasn’t left me behind before? He’s a selfish little man child,” Y/N said, laughing slightly. Tim smiled but covered it up quickly. “It sucks to be left out when you work hard for something. I know it does.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not out fighting crime like you guys, but I am an adult and I have experienced this. What you’re feeling right now.”

“What am I feeling then?” Tim asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He wanted Y/N to stop patronising him. He was treating him like a child.

“You feel hurt, and left behind,” he said, looking into Tim’s eyes. “You feel abandoned.”

Tim’s throat tightened and he hung his head.

“It’s not fair that he gets to call all the shots,” Tim said, sniffling. He wiped his eyes before he could cry.

“No, it’s not.” Y/N moved up the bed to sit next to Tim and nudged his shoulder with his own. “But you can always come to me when you’re upset with him. He pisses me off too.”

Tim sniffled and looked up at Y/N with teary eyes.

“He does?”

“Of course!” Y/N laughed. “But I love him. He cares about me, and he cares about you, too. That’s what I like about him.”

Tim eyed Y/N before resting his head on Y/N’s chest and hugging him. Y/N held him close and squeezed him, stroking his hair with one hand.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered.

Damian was a more difficult task. He hated Bruce, he hated his brothers, and he hated Y/N. It seemed like he hated the world. Y/N could understand. The cards he had been dealt were unfortunate.

The straw that broke the camel's back, or Damian’s resolve for his burning hatred of Y/N, was something he hadn’t even expected.

Damian had been awake for too many hours, staring at the screen in front of him and sipping on coffee while trying to find any sort of evidence. Bruce was doing similarly beside him. Damian’s head ached, his eyes burned, and his patience was running thin.

Eventually that thinness broke. It snapped and Damien slammed his fists on the table, startling Bruce. Damian could practically feel everything around him in excruciating detail. Every sound, every smell, everything that touched his skin, it caused him pain.

He stood up and anxiously pushed his hair out of his face, desperately trying to get it off of his skin. Bruce stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what to do. Y/N rushed into the room after hearing the commotion and sighed at the sight.

“Damian,” he said softly. Damian turned to him and glared, hands still in his hair and pulling. “Come here, kid.”

Damian didn't know what to do. He felt an overwhelming emotion that he didn't understand, so he followed Y/N, who took one of his hands in his and held it.

He felt embarrassed. He felt like a toddler having a tantrum. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and his ears burned with anxiety. Y/N walked him to his room and opened the door.

“Sit down.”

Damian walked to his bed and sat on the edge, acutely aware of every step that Y/N took as he walked to the window and drew the curtains, causing the room to go black. Y/N grabbed a throw blanket that was laid messily on the floor. Damian always kicked it and the loose sheet off of his bed. He didn’t like how it rested on his body over his comforter. Y/N wrapped the blanket around him and crouched down to be eye level with him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly.

Y/N left the room, closing the door behind him quietly, and left Damian alone. The silence was pleasant, the lack of light was appreciated, and when Y/N returned with a wet cloth that he placed over his eyes, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He flopped back on the bed, Y/N readjusted the blanket and cloth again.

“I’ll come back in half an hour,” Y/N whispered before leaving Damian again.

He had never experienced this kind of treatment and care before, perhaps only from Alfred. But this was different. He felt like he had a real parent.

Sure, he had Bruce, but he wasn’t much of a father. Y/N cared for him deeply, he could tell. Maybe he was too hard on him, Damian thought as he sunk into the bed. He practically turned into goo with how limp he went.

When Y/N returned, Damian thanked him. Y/N smiled and told him that he was happy to help.

After that, both Tim and Damian would spend time with Y/N frequently. They would watch movies together, gossip about Bruce, eat together.

It was only when Damian asked Y/N to come with him to put him to bed after dinner that Bruce noticed. He followed the two and watched Y/N tuck him in and crouch by the side of his bed, speaking with him softly. It was too quiet for Bruce to hear, but from the smile on Damian’s face, he could tell that whatever it was made him happy.

Y/N stood up and turned off the light before leaving, giving Bruce a smile when he saw him.

“How the hell did you do that?” Bruce asked. Bruce rarely saw Damian smile. He was stern, like him.

“Do what?” Y/N asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me,” he said with a small grin. Y/N laughed and ignored him, instead getting ready for bed.

The couple changed into their sleepwear, or lack thereof in one of their cases, and crawled into bed. Y/N assumed his position as the big spoon, wrapping one arm around Bruce with the other under his head.

Y/N fell asleep quickly. Bruce felt his warm breath on his neck and the calm beat of his heart against his back. He was almost asleep when he thought of Damian.

He was suddenly aware of the time that Tim and Damian would spend with Y/N and how happy they were in the past few months. It was Y/N that caused it. A small gesture that went far to make his boys open up to him. He was suddenly overwhelmed with adoration for his partner. He was getting along with his family. Although he hadn’t yet met Jason, Bruce was sure that Jason would like him, despite his disdain for Bruce.

Pride filled his chest, though it suddenly washed away. Y/N was perfect. He was too perfect. He was too good of a man to be living with a man like Bruce, someone so cold and oblivious. He wasn’t a good person. Y/N was a good person. He was an amazing person.

Bruce didn’t know that he had begun crying until Y/N kissed his neck and hugged him tighter.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked groggily. Bruce could still hear the sleep in his voice.

He wiped his eyes and took a shaky breath before saying, “It’s nothing.”

Y/N scoffed and sat up, pushing Bruce onto his back and looking down at him while holding his face in his hands. He leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“You don’t have to be ashamed to cry.”

Bruce’s pupils dilated, his blue eyes turning crystal as tears streamed down his face. Y/N pulled him up into a hug and held him tightly while combing his fingers through his jet black hair and murmuring ‘It’s okay’ into his ear.

Eventually Bruce calmed enough to talk to Y/N about it. He sat back against the headboard, Y/N doing the same beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Do you wanna talk to me about it?” he asked. Bruce took a deep breath.

“I think you’re too good for me,” Bruce said, turning his head to meet Y/N’s eyes. “You’re so kind, and you’re an amazing person, and you're so good with Tim and Damian, I just-” Bruce hiccuped and covered his eyes, rubbing them with a deep frown and furrowed eyebrows. “I feel like you should be with someone better.”

Y/N said nothing. He just pulled Bruce into his chest and kissed his hair while rubbing his back and holding the back of his neck.

“I know what I want, Bruce,” he said. Bruce listened keenly. “I love you, and I want you, and there's nothing more that I could ask other than to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Bruce looked up at him and huffed. Y/N smiled.

“I would come back to you a million lifetimes over.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bruce said. Y/N kissed his forehead and then his lips before wiping Bruce’s face with his hand.

“Can you sleep?” Y/N asked. Bruce nodded.

Y/N laid down again and Bruce faced him this time. He wrapped his legs around one of Y/N’s thighs and held on to him, burying his face in his neck and breathing in deeply. Y/N gently let his fingernails scratch Bruce’s back until he fell asleep, then letting his hand rest on his lower back.

His breaths were slow, and his heartbeat matched Y/N’s as they slotted together like puzzle pieces.

#bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x male reader #batman x reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #fluff #lil bit o angst #not really tho

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — you owe me

minjeong's dorm, 12:12 am.

WARNINGS ; blood, mild violence, physical violence, god complex, slut shaming, victim blaming, victim complex (3.6k)

minjeong wasn't mediocre.

as soon as she could form thoughts, minjeong knew that she was worth something more.

yangsan was charming, in a sense. it was littered with people who knew each other, who would attend the same recitals, and talk about the same problems. soon enough, minjeong found herself walking by the same couple of faces daily, waving at the same people and thanking the same adults.

it was monotonous, and there was nothing more annoying than boredom.

minjeong had always wished that her parents had worked harder like she did. she wished that they would've put more effort into pleasing her, even if they would bend their backs to get her whatever she desired.

it wasn't so she could get rewarded for her efforts. it was because she deserved it. it was because she had always done everything right, because she was right.

she was kim minjeong. she needed the best in order to continue to be the best.

soon, she had outgrown yangsan.

minjeong had begged her parents to go to high school in seoul, despite living across the country. her brother, kim minseo, decided to stay behind, not wanting to restart the life he had built, to stay with his girlfriend.

at least, that was what minjeong had said to the girls.

she refused to show the truth, the hardships and tears that her parents went through as a young kim minjeong threatened to run away if she didn't get what she wanted. she refused to relive the berating of her younger brother as he tried to convince her that their parents would nearly go bankrupt if she kept asking for something beyond their reach, or how he decided to stay in yangsan to lessen the burden of taking care of funds (and how he dropped out to work a crappy job to help with the situation).

kim minjeong didn't care, because she always got what she deserved.

being in the capital of south korea was her right. being in one of the SKYS, being with the girl was her right.

kim minjeong would never settle for less.

y/n could hear the door rattling, the hinges shaking at every pound of yuri's fist.

her stomach churned, the thought of seeing her now ex-friend nearly making her sick. she had tagged along despite the gnawing in the back of her head, telling her that seeing minjeong was essentially a death sentence.

in her head, y/n assumed that everything would be fine. she assumed that it would hurt less than jimin, less than wonyoung.

she was wrong.

"unnie..." she clenched her eyes tightly, tugging on the back of yuri's sweater. "i changed my mind."

minjeong broke her, in a way.

it lingered like cheap, store-bought alcohol. it was a deep, unsettling feeling like her chest had been weighed down by something and she wasn't sure what. y/n didn't know what to think except why. why had minjeong - someone she loved so deeply - betrayed her like this?

kim minjeong was her best friend, her sister.

(and despite everything, she didn't want yuri to knock minjeong's tooth out.)

"minju-unnie, do something." y/n looked over to the older kim, face void of emotion. "jiwonnie?" she turned to the younger, finding her expression the exact same.

y/n couldn't help but sigh.

she had always wanted someone in her corner, especially growing up as an only child. y/n wanted someone who she loved unconditionally, and who loved her the same. sure, she had amazing parents, but she had always yearned for the connection that everyone seemed to have.

she could live without romantic love, like the winter could live without snow. but it was different when it came to friendship - to family.

everyone had someone they could call their family. wonyoung had hyunseo, her younger half-sister whom the older jang swore she would protect. yuri had minju (and jiwon by default) who, even though they weren't blood-related, had always spent her holidays with the kims. even jimin had aeri, the two more akin to sisters than friends up until recently.

y/n had minjeong. at least she thought she did.

the door creaked open, letting the warm air blow through the small crevice. minjeong popped her head out, glaring at yuri as her eyes adjusted to the corridor light.

y/n missed when minjeong's presence felt like family.

minjeong opened her mouth to speak, but as she glanced over at y/n, everything seemed to stop.

"y/n?"

jo yuri wasn't strong, not physically. but what minjeong lacked in bite, yuri compensated by tenfold.

she rammed the door wide open, using her entire body weight to send minjeong stumbling back, landing on her rear. yuri fell along with her, nearly landing beside her if it weren't for y/n suddenly holding her steady.

"that hurt like hell." yuri whined, ignoring minju rolling her eyes. the kim would have to scold her later.

"you could've just pushed the door open." jiwon scratched her cheek as the older girl rubbed her shoulder.

y/n looked at minjeong, watching as she looked between all of them. the older girl looked frightened, and it broke her heart to know that she was the cause of it.

"i didn't think about that."

she wondered if minjeong felt the same.

"y/n," the kim's eyes met hers. "she hurt me."

y/n could feel the pain bubbling in her chest. it hurt to see minjeong like this, and it hurt even more that she didn't want to help.

kim minjeong was a stranger.

"i'll do it again!" yuri tried to lunge forward, being held back by y/n as minjeong stood up.

the two were equally versed but y/n was afraid that yuri would end up biting a chunk out of minjeong given the circumstances.

y/n looked at her, hoping that her minjeong - the one she would talk to during her lowest points and the one who she ran to whenever anything happened - was still there.

she wasn't.

(or maybe, she never existed.)

"let's just go, unnie." y/n gripped yuri's shoulder lightly. the sinking in her chest was starting to get too overwhelming.

yuri didn't care, at least not right now. not when y/n seemed more torn up over minjeong than wonyoung (and it took minju convincing her for ten minutes straight to not jump the volleyball player).

minju stared at y/n, watching as tears started to form in her eyes. gently, she rested her hand on yuri's other shoulder, motioning to y/n. she could feel yuri relax.

hurting minjeong would hurt y/n more (for now. but if yuri ever got a chance...)

she turned to y/n, smiling softly. wordlessly, yuri nodded, and y/n finally felt the connection she had so desperately longed for.

y/n knew she would survive.

the girls turned to leave, and minjeong could see that her last chance was nearly out of her grasp. she couldn't let y/n go, not now, not ever.

minjeong whined like a toddler whose toy got taken away. "you're gonna leave me here?"

y/n stopped, looking down as guilt and anger began to wrack her body. jiwon looked at the older girl, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"unnie?"

"i didn't want to do it!" minjeong tried to reason, grasping at anything that would make y/n stay. "you have to believe me!"

yuri inhaled, fighting all the thoughts and urges to rip a clump of hair out of minjeong's (unfortunately) unscathed scalp. she'd find another time to jump the girl, hopefully soon.

y/n turned around, her cheeks wet from the stream of tears cascading down her face. "it didn't look like that."

"y/n." minju faced the girl, shaking her head. "don't talk to her."

"shut up, minju." minjeong snarled. this was her chance. she just needed y/n to listen. "i did it out of love. i knew if you saw how jimin would just fuck any girl then-"

y/n scoffed.

"what is it?" losing someone never got easier, but losing family seemed to hurt the worst. "did she make you fuck her? or did you do it to 'show' me?"

minjeong looked down, void of guilt as she tried to find any excuse to justify her actions. she knew she was in the right, especially since she did everything for y/n, for love.

love conquers all, even logic.

"tell me the truth." y/n could feel her voice starting to break. she could feel herself getting weighed down by the confusion. she could feel herself getting ripped to shreds. "tell me why."

minjeong couldn't help but love the way y/n looked in the dark. she loved how her cheeks flushed, and the way her voice cracked as she begged for her.

she wanted - needed - y/n, every teardrop, and every whine.

"i knew it." y/n ignored jiwon's attempts to get her out of the room, letting her emotions take the better of her. "i trusted you, minjeong. i trusted you with my life. i would've never done this to you... ever."

y/n prayed it was a lie. this couldn't be her minjeong, her best friend who she trusted fully with her life. she prayed that it was some sick joke, like all of this was a prank and a television crew would come out, shoving a camera in her face.

but it was too real. the pain felt too real.

"i don't understand." y/n let a sob slip out, and minjeong couldn't help but note the pain that was caused by her, for her. "i thought you were my best frien-"

y/n loved her. she had to.

"i love you." minjeong stood up, walking closer to y/n. "i loved you since the day i met you, since the day i knew that you were mine."

y/n looked at minjeong.

she could smell the cup noodles that lay empty on minjeong's desk. she could hear the soft hum of her laptop, churning the heat out of its system. she could feel the warm air basking around her, like a soft blanket.

but all y/n could feel was shock.

"...what?"

minjeong needed y/n. she needed to be y/n's everything - her pain, her sorrows, her love, her lust. she needed the pretty girl that you find on screen to be hers and only hers.

y/n was her reward, her trophy for being an outstanding person and and even better lover.

it was written in stone.

"i know you love me back, y/n." minjeong had never been more hopeful in her life. she knew that everything at this moment was because of everything she did right. "this hurts you because you love me back, right? because you and i are meant to be. i'm yours and you're mine."

y/n could feel her ears ringing.

"what the fuck..." yuri covered her mouth, looking at the kims, whose eyes were wide open.

"i've always treated you right. i've always done everything right." she did all the research, all the tips and tricks. she did it all for y/n. "i never said no to you, i let you be happy, i let you do whatever you want. i did everything right, right?"

y/n couldn't breathe.

she felt disgusted, almost violated. she had trusted minjeong with her life, and the entire time, the older girl had ulterior motives.

(and deep down, y/n knew that she was the reason why she had ended up with jimin in the first place.)

minjeong kept her gaze locked on the younger girl. she could feel her heart beating out of her chest.

y/n wanted to see her, despite having her heart broken by her. she chose to be near minjeong. it meant something. it had to.

"i'm sorry."

minjeong furrowed her eyebrows.

"i don't love you, minjeong."

minjeong had never been denied anything. she had gotten into all the SKYS, gotten all the scholarships, and gotten all the love from her parents.

it wasn't supposed to be like this.

"what?"

"i've never seen you that way, minjeong." minjeong shook her head furiously, refusing to believe the words coming out of y/n's mouth. "you were always just my friend, maybe a sister at most."

this wasn't right. this wasn't how it was supposed to play out.

"but i did everything you wanted!" she had sacrificed her time, her money. "i even let you fuck whoever you want!"

"she was never yours, minjeong." minju glared at minjeong.

"shut the hell up!" minjeong gritted her teeth. minju had no right to take away what was hers. "you're acting like your girlfriend doesn't fuck bitches on the side."

yuri's eyes widened, trailing over to minju. to her left, jiwon was expressionless.

"what?" chaewon had always hidden her phone until recently. even at the party, it looked like the older girl was actively avoiding someone. "chaewon wouldn't."

she trusted chaewon. minjeong had to be lying.

"ask jimin." minju could feel the air being sucked out of her lungs. "she has videos of everything chaewon does for her."

minju hated crying.

she hated getting her makeup ruined. she hated the way streaks would carve away parts of her foundation, and how her eyes would sting as her mascara mixed with her tears. she hated how weak and vulnerable she felt, like her mask had been stripped away and she was back to being that ten year old holding her sister as they both sobbed at the thought of their family being ripped apart.

minju never cried.

she never cried at her graduation, or her eighteenth birthday. she didn't cry when her grandma died. she didn't even cry when chaewon and her broke up.

but she cried when she found out her parents divorced.

"unnie?"

jiwon hadn't seen her sister cry in years.

"you fucking bitch!" y/n quickly grabbed yuri's waist, pulling her back as she tried to jump at minjeong. making one of them cry was pushing it, but two was too much.

minju couldn't stop the tears anymore. no matter how hard she tried to hold it back, all she could think of was chaewon, of how much she loved her and how much it hurt.

minju wiped her tears quickly, but nothing helped as she stared at her younger sister.

"ji" she was supposed to be stronger for her. "i'm sorry."

jiwon was at her limit.

she could forgive minjeong for leaving her at the party. in fact, she already did. jiwon forgave her, despite the fear she had when yujin and gaeul had left her and an extremely drunk rei alone. she could forgive minjeong for how she never checked up on her after, and how she pretended that jiwon didn't exist outside of the group.

she couldn't forgive this.

"it's not my fault chaewon's a whore." minjeong loved the rush of seeing someone so hurt. "minju's always liked girls she could never ge-"

jiwon was always the stronger kim.

a loud thud echoed through the room, and jiwon could feel her knuckle make contact with minjeong's cheekbone. the force of all the pent up anger (which honestly felt good to release) sent minjeong stumbling back, craddling her cheek.

yuri looked at the younger kim in shock.

"i... i didn't mean to!" jiwon panicked, looking at minjeong's now bleeding face. "i got angry. she, she left me by myself at that party. she made y/n-unnie upset. she's always looked down on me and yuri-unnie. unnie, she made you cry. i swear it was just by accident, i just-"

minju smiled, patting her younger sister's shoulder.

"jiwon. i love you, yeah?" jiwon took a deep breath, smiling awkwardly. "just calm down, okay?"

"okay." she nodded, looking at her now bruised hand. "are you gonna tell mom?"

"no, ji." minju shook her head. "i won't."

jiwon couldn't help but sigh in relief. "okay."

"y/n," minjeong whined again. the pain in her cheek was starting to spread across her face, and the cut was starting to bleed. "she hit me. aren't you gonna help me?"

"you can do it yourself." y/n sighed, not wanting to stay any longer.

she didn't know why she felt more worried about jiwon's hand than the cut on minjeong's cheek. all y/n knew was that she was tired of everything.

she just needed a break.

"that's not fair." minjeong didn't understand why y/n couldn't see it. "it's what i deserve after i treated you right."

"i didn't need you to treat me right." y/n didn't know how else to explain it. "i needed you to treat me like a friend."

"but i love you." minjeong loved the way y/n needed her. "i don't wanna be just your friend. it's not fair."

the world had always been filled with only yes's for minjeong, sakura being a fluke.

she didn't understand why it happened again.

"i don't owe you anything, minjeong."

minjeong frowned. "but you owe wonyoung something?"

maybe jimin was right. maybe the only person standing in the way of her and y/n was wonyoung. it was the girl who had everything, despite being nothing.

minjeong hated jang wonyoung.

"wonyoung has nothing to do with this." y/n said truthfully.

"you love her, don't you?" minjeong always lost to the bad guys. "even after she treated you like shit."

"wonyoung never treated me like shit." y/n countered. the argued at times, like couples always do, but wonyoung had always treated her like royalty. "we disagreed at times but-"

"but i never disagreed with you!" minjeong could feel the cut on her cheek move as she scrunched her face. "i said everything you wanted to hear!"

y/n wanted a lot of things.

"but it was never what i needed."

"you don't know what you need." minjeong reasoned, her cheek now swelling against her hand. "i'm what you need."

"jiwon," yuri looked at the younger kim, fresh cuts on her knuckle. "punch her again."

minju rolled her eyes, shaking her head as jiwon looked at her for permission. "don't."

"let's just go." y/n sighed. the longer they stayed, the more likely jiwon and yuri were gonna get arrested. "jiwon's gonna need to ice her hand."

jiwon looked at her hand and shrugged.

"it's okay! i feel great!" the younger kim smiled, flexing her hand. "i feel like i can jump from the roof right now, like superman."

"i would pay money to see that."

minju sighed. she was happy that yena didn't come, otherwise she was sure to egg yuri on and jiwon would most likely jump off the second-floor balcony.

"oh." a slurred voice entered the room as the smell of weed wafted from behind the girls. "hi?"

they turned around, coming face to face with someone unfamiliar.

her hair was bleached blonde, her body draped in expensive clothing. all of them could tell from her eyes that she was going to have no recollection of their meeting.

y/n had never seen someone so high out of their mind.

"sorry," minju bowed slightly. "we were just leaving."

they looked at each other, walking out quietly before the girl grabbed y/n's arm gently.

"wait." she squinted, y/n taking note of how bloodshot the girl's eyes were. "you're the girlfriend."

y/n looked around. "me and jimin aren't together anymore."

"jimin?" the girl didn't know jimin had a girlfriend. "i was talking about vicky?"

y/n didn't know of a vicky on campus. of course, she didn't know the majority of the people but she assumed that she would've at least heard of her.

sensing her confusion, the girl continued to speak.

"victory?" she let go of y/n's arm as the taller girl looked at her friends who all shrugged. "like vicky jang?"

"wonyoung?" y/n tilted her head.

wonyoung had never been given a title before, and a sense of pride seemed to burst through her chest and into her veins. they had talked about it frequently during first year, and how wonyoung wished she had a title like yoo 'the ace' jimin or hirai 'the machine' momo.

it had a nice ring to it. wonyoung 'vicky (victory)' jang.

the girl tapped her cheek, a blush spreading across her face. "you're saying she's single?"

y/n's face darkened at the thought of girls liking wonyoung. her stomach churned as she realized that wonyoung probably liked said girls back.

she shook her head. now wasn't the time to get jealous over someone that wasn't hers.

"it was nice to finally meet you." y/n said stiffly, frowning as she pushed the girls out. she ignored yuri's teasing stares and tried her best to disregard minjeong pleading her to stay.

the room fell quiet as y/n closed the door behind her.

"unnie? were those your friends?" slowly, the girl turned to minjeong. she gasped, nearly choking as her eyes adjusted to the sight of her face.

"what the hell happened to you?"

minjeong rolled her eyes, searching for something to stop the bleeding.

"do you need ice or something?" the girl asked.

"can you fuck off, yizhuo?"

"whatever." minjeong was in one of her moods again (and not the fun ones).

she placed herself in bed as minjeong rummaged for vaseline. if minjeong was gonna act snarky, then yizhuo could find a different way to entertain herself.

she was glad jimin stayed up so late.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

[panicpixieplaygirl]

PRIVATE PORTFOLIO (indiana jones)

synopsis: dr. jones gets the wrong portfolio from a soon to graduate pupil. PART 2

word count: 2k warnings: smut-ish?, age gap, teacher-student

MINORS DNI! 18+

You were giddy, giggling and chatting to your friend, Marjorie. The end of spring semester was here, the weather was nice, and you were finally graduating. You had planned an exciting summer, ready to break loose and embrace the wide, open, adult world, and had already begun as you finalized the last of your exams, projects, and duties. You had crossed the very last task off your list, turning in your final portfolio to Dr. Jones, and were ready to share the daring first step of your liberation with your dear friend.

"They're really tasteful, not even as racy as I wanted them to be. I didn't even get nude. But the lingerie, Marge, oh, it's gorgeous." You spoke to her at your side as you slipped the thin, black, monogrammed portfolio from your bag.

"I always thought only brides did those sorts of portfolios. Do you think I should get some done? I mean, what if someone finds them?" Marjorie was no more a prude than you were, but they were valid questions for young women. But you were women; grown, adult women, about to embark on a new chapter of your lives. There wasn't a more perfect time.

"Just wait 'til you see them. They're artistic. You'd look amazing, when you see what they did for me, you won't be able to resist. Besides, this sort of thing is about us. Better fit for graduation than a wedding anyway. Oh, just wait until you see!" You both squeal and knock into each other excitedly as you close the gap between your shoulders, shielding the portfolio from any lingering eyes that may appear, despite your backs to the wall in the university library.

But when you finally opened the portfolio, the heat from the thrill drained from your cheeks, replaced with a quick, anxious pattering of your heart.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed loudly, enough to echo and get a few glares from others nearby finishing their studies. You turn to Marjorie, whose eyes are as wide as yours, and let out a panicked whisper.

"I put the wrong goddamn portfolio in Dr. Jones' office!"

You rush out of the library as quickly as you can without causing a scene, and head straight for Dr. Jones' office, praying he wouldn't be there. It had been less than 15 minutes since you dropped it off. Hopefully he was busy enough around this time that he wouldn't have seen it yet, you could just switch them. Hopefully.

Unfortunately for you, your signature monogrammed folder at the top of his stack was a delight for Dr. Jones. You were a star student all throughout your time in the program, and a competent, thorough display of knowledge and skill would be a perfect break in the half-assed mediocrity he'd been trudging through. He wasted no time opening the portfolio.

And of course, the display he stumbled upon was far from what he expected.

Initially, Dr. Jones’ stomach and mouth twisted at the prospect that this was some audacious attempt to seduce him in turn for a passing final grade, but it just seemed too out of character, and unnecessary for you. He couldn't piece it together.

Worse, he couldn't bring it upon himself to close the folder, or tear his eyes from it. He scanned the first photo, your hair, your eyes, your figure, felt his heart leap at the chance to view you in a new light.

When he gained the confidence to flip through the next images, he was amazed at how artistically they were done, capturing every curve of your body in a way that made his chest and his pants grow tight. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't help himself. The photographs were captivating, and he couldn't look away.

He was ashamed of his reaction, but he couldn't help the way his body was responding to the images before him. He tried to rationalize it, to convince himself that it was just a temporary lapse in judgment, but the more he looked, the more he was convinced that it wasn't just the images that were getting to him. It was the idea of you, his unusually reserved, star student, exploring her sexuality in a way he never could've predicted.

Dr. Jones had never felt such an intense attraction towards a student before. He felt a warmth spreading throughout his body, his blood pulsing, heart racing, thoughts consumed with the images before him. He felt guilty for looking, but he couldn't resist the temptation.

Your knock on his door breaks him from his condemnable indulgence with a start. He clumsily shuffles the photos quickly back together and shuts the slim black folder, clearing his throat before calling out.

"Yeah, come in."

Your heart rate and shame mirrored his when you entered his office, and only worsened at the sight of your portfolio in his large hands.

He saw the alternative folder in your hands, and his earlier conclusions were confirmed. A mistake, not even meant for his eyes. To think, what he would have missed, the sensuality you hid behind that sweet act. He wouldn't miss any more. This could be the last meeting between you. There wasn't a more perfect time.

His silence only stressed your anxiety, your throat dry as you went to speak.

"Have you... opened it?" You ask in a hushed tone. It sends shivers up Indiana's spine, but he hides them too well.

"I have." He says, coming off dismissively to you, and you feel your stomach drop with his words.

It occurrs to you that he probably assumed you did it on purpose- one of many students desperate for the attention of their stunning, charming professor, and somehow you were filled with even more dread.

You were no different than the others; although you wouldn't ever make a move, especially one as bold as this, no one could deny he was magnetically attractive.

And now he was likely to humiliate you. Or worse.

What a way to start the summer.

“Close the door." His voice was stern, pulling you out of your spiraling. You worried your knees may just give out below you with his tone.

Dr. Jones was never especially strict, but he certainly wasn’t forgiving. You could only hope that he would spare you some mercy, understanding, discretion, enough to let you seize your freedom.

You turned to shut the door, taking your time, working up the courage to face him again. When you did he was standing, gazing down at the portfolio he’d opened once again.

"Dr. Jones," you started, doing your best to keep your voice steady. "I really didn't mean for you to see... that portfolio. I was hoping you wouldn’t be here actually."

He glanced up at you only for a brief moment, eyes slowly and deliberately scanning your figure, before returning his eyes back to the photos.

"I see that.” He replied almost humorously, referring to your obvious fright and the identical folder in your hand. “Doesn't change that I have, though."

For a brief moment, you worried about your health more than anything. Your heart pounded with an alarming force, your breath was short and ragged. As proud as you were, it was never your intention for these images to grace the eyes of anyone other than your girlfriends, really. Especially your professor. Dr. Jones, of them all; that was the worst part.

With those dreamy eyes observing your portraits so closely, your embarrassment was accompanied by a creeping arousal, dull but developing. He was studying them, ingesting them, grading them. And Dr. Jones always gave you good marks. You found delight in your dread, being on display for his judgement, wondering what he might think, say, do. The fleeting thought that he may be enjoying them. But you were nearly hyperventilating, and his silence was too biting for you to keep your mouth shut.

"Really, I'm sorry, they're..." Private? Deviant? Pornographic? You couldn't even find the words to express your humiliation.

"They're remarkable."

Your stomach drops with his admission, heat blossoming in your cheeks.

"What?"

He laughs then, deep and slow, like he should’ve expected it all along, sliding his glasses off and setting them aside. He’s still looking at the portraits, and it’s killing you, even after his unforeseen compliment. You can’t believe your ears.

And then he’s coming around his desk and slowly striding toward you, and you can’t believe your eyes either. His beauty was distracting before, but now it was plain intimidating. You rarely considered the man that existed under his professional attire, he was flawless enough, but his bare face compelled you to let your mind run. Even just the tiny, non-obstructing layer being shed has you thirsting for more.

“You’re too humble, doll. Always have been.” His voice is softer now, the pet name makes your heart skip and your cunt flutter.

He closes the gap between you quickly in his small office, now closer to you than he ever had been. Your back meets the door as he towers over you, trapping you in his imposing frame. His cologne is woodsy & sweet, like cedar, strong with the paper-thin distance between you. You’re already beyond words, nearly convinced that you had passed out from the stress and were now stuck in a dream, but the reaction from your body feels too real.

“Everything you’ve ever brought across my desk has been impressive. So don’t tell me you’re sorry.” He speaks lowly and seductively, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. “You didn’t look very sorry in those pictures.”

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut and your chest heaves as you try to ignore the electric shocks dancing through your body at the feel of his hand on you. Already you’re putty in his hands, melting further into the puddle steadily forming in your panties. He’s not even punishing you, much the opposite, but still he’s managed to disastrously humiliate you with how easily you’re crumbling for him.

Indiana almost didn’t expect you to reflect his attraction. You were smarter than the rest, smart enough not to chase after a man twice to your age. But he could practically smell your arousal, sweetening your already honeyed scent. Maybe he was a fool, but he could only believe your want for him was well-informed, reasoned, real. Your reaction satisfies some unknown, haunting yearning deep within him, emboldening him to go on further, finally admit the truth to each of you.

“I’m not sorry for lookin’ at ‘em.”

Your eyes fly back open and meet his mystical ones. He sees it then, before you even know it’s there, the filth you were nearly ready to unleash on him, the new, lustful look in your eye, making him twitch. But it’s nothing compared to your next words.

“You really liked my photos, Dr. Jones?”

Indiana huffs out a breath through his nose like the question is comical. What was a genuine inquiry for you was received by him as a coy act that he was growing tired of. He’d seen the girl in the photos, he knew how wanton you could be. He lifts your chin so he can speak against your ear.

“Don’t play innocent.” His free hand reaches for yours and brings it to the front of his slacks, and you gasp in surprise to find him nearly fully hard under your palm. He lets out a soft, groaning sigh at your feather-light touch, relishes in your broken “oh” as he presses himself harder against your hand.

For all his experience, you were innocent; a virgin relative to him. What he saw in you was the potential he could bring out of you. But you were ripe and primed to learn, especially from the beautiful, brawny professor pressing you into his office door.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His hand leaves yours and pins your full hand to your hips, reaching to your side to lock the door.

#dr. jonesing #indiana jones x reader smut #indiana jones x reader

[fillejondrette]

the very common practice of girls and young women being married to adult/older men has imo played an underacknowledged role in reinforcing patriarchy. for one thing, if a girl is married off at 14, she has little opportunity to develop an identity or interests separate from her husband. secondly, it makes male domination within marriage seem "natural." a teenage girl with little to no education or experience of the outside world will naturally feel intellectually inferior to a 30 year old man, no matter how mediocre he may be. he can therefore control her more easily, and mold her to his tastes.

#i was thinking about this in the context of ancient greek/rome where marriage of teenage girls to men twice their age was considered ideal #but it's also applicable to contemporary societies #like in the US child marriage exists but is generally considered distasteful #but men are still typically a bit older than their female partners

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

Billy Batson the homeless kid from Fawcett City first, and Captain Marvel second (my take)

Unpopular, and probably a bad take but as someone who read Alex Dogboy as a child and wants to re-read it asap, I like the interpretations of Captain Marvel in which Billy Batson is homeless for a good while before falling back into care. I even got a whole image in my head for why he doesn’t want to return to cps and try to get a foster family.

Let’s say his parents die, and it’s a horrible trauma and Billy is NOT okay, he’s 13 when it happens and then jumps from home to home for a while, his experiences being mediocre until he gets ONE parent that tries doing something unspeakable to him (insert social commentary on how unsafe the foster system is) and he runs away. From that point on, he lives on the streets.

And he has it BAD.

I’m not a fan of angst, and suffering of characters, especially young doesn’t bring me any kind of joy but I like seeing a character survive. Fight against the cruel environment they live in, against horrible odds, and celebrate small victoires like there is no tomorrow. Holding onto those victories to not loose yourself.

A successful shoplifting mission, something useful found while dumpster diving, nimbly avoiding criminal gangs, both big and small on his way "home" (which is an abandoned building apartment in a bad part of town).

I don’t want Billy to have it bad per ce, but I want the comics to really EXPLORE how difficult it gets, living in the streets as a child that needs love and care, but has to stay vigilant because in this world, any adult could hurt you. I want an entire comics issue just about Billy surviving in that world, getting by day by as autumn slowly changes to winter and it gets progressively colder. I want the comics to delve into his struggles before he get a a power that will make his life easier, because it’ll amplify the magic of seeing him get powers of the gods.

I want to see him be crude and swear like he so often does in the modern versions of the character, and then deliberately steal food to feed cats. He might see a flower shop owner getting harassed while she’s bringing her newly arrived plants inside and then walk behind the guy who bugs her to punch him square in the jaw. He’s not perfect, he has put up walls to protect himself, but it’s these instinctive acts of kindness (though rough around the edges) make the wizard choose him. He’s desperate and Billy is, again, NOT perfect, but he has potential, and it’s all that matters.

I want to see all of what I’ve written above play a big role and impact Captain Marvel’s every decision as a hero. Not just his childhood naivety and teenage brashness, but his trauma and bad experiences. I want to see him interact with the league in line with his background.

And I want him to fall in love with Rosa. I want to see him warm up to the idea of having a parent again, of having a family once more. I want her to be a small business owner, maybe if that’s that same flower shop and maybe it’s not going very well but she’s happy and she has her foster kids, until one day she gets harassed by a creepy stranger in front of her shop and a boy from the streets delivers him a clean left hook for it.

They see each other around, Billy is clearly homeless, and she buys him takeout. After that, he, akin to a cat, slowly eases into a friendship with her and eventually falls into this inner crisis because he’s afraid of loosing a parent again and adults have hurt him before, he’s scared but Rosa’s smile is so genuine and he feels so incredibly safe around her he just can’t resist showing up at her shop, eventually helping her out and then getting a part-time job there, which helps him get bare necessities without stealing.

I want Billy to choose to make that terrifying leap because he trusts that Rosa will catch him, and then he can have the new plot with being introduced into her family, his new siblings and dad (Victor).

Adventures of Captain Marvel, all the insane stuff he can do is absolutely cool and I totally want to read that, but I’m just saying that his adventures would feel so much more magical and amazing if the writers leaned into the darker aspects of his story more often.

That’s just my take tho idk, might delete later 🤷

(Anyway if you got any questions — feel free to drop them in my as box✨)

#dc #dc comics #dc fandom #dc au #dc captain marvel #dc shazam #Shazam #captain marvel #billy batson #Shazam Billy Batson #tawky tawny #dc billy Batson #dc comics Billy batson #dc justice league #justice league #dc fanfiction #found family

[anglercrit]

Honeslty I have no idea why H.H and H.B fans are like that.

In all of my years in the internet I have never seen a fandom so toxic a protective of a piece of media since the days of Steven Universe and this fandom is wayyyy worse.

If I have to do a comparison, the strongest stans act like Karen parents who think their little darling baby is perfect and can do no wrong.

When reality almost everyone and their mothers can see that the kid is faaaar from perfect can even be an asshole. But God forbid to mention that to them! Even you say in the nicest way possible, they'll make an scandal and accuse of being a horrible human being that is abusing their little darling

The most surprinsing thing off all is that the majority of this stans are ADULTS, and not even young adults like 18-19 but late twenties, early thirties.

Shouldn't they know better?

Shouldn't they know that is very inmature to start fights over a show?

Are their adults lives so boring and lack of meaning that their only hope to live another day is this mediocre sexy demon show?

It has to be! If they can go as far as harrass, bully and silence everyone that even has something negative to say about their show.

I am someone who considers hersefl a more passive fan, downgrade from the rabid fangirl I was when H.H pilot dropped and worse when H.B ep 1 arrived.

I don't like H.H but I still find H.B enjoyable to a degree (think about it like fast food). I like watching it and seeing fan art but I am by no means blind to its flaws.

Honestly I don't have much to say- I think your write up was pretty damn solid. I think it has to come from (at least partially) how Viv reacts to criticism. ANY critique and she starts publicly throwing a fit, even if it's harmless or from a fan. Then all of her rabid stans show up to defend her because GOD FORBID anyone critique the QUEEN OF INDIE ANIMATION

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #helluva critique #helluva boss critique #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin critical #hazbin critique #🐟

[snowandglasslabyrinth]

Damn, the Velma show really sucks. All the characters seem wrong and one-dimensional. There’s nothing funny, I genuinely laughed once and it’s because sarcasm gets me always. Also, specifically it was Velma’s line after climbing the wall to perform a break and enter into Fred’s family’s mansion.

Velma is painfully mediocre as a character, she is contradictory and evidently treats people poorly, laughs in Norville’s face when he says he has a crush on her, and just seemed really mean and poorly written. I also really hate the fat phobic jokes. That’s not right, it’s not funny, it’s just in poor taste and mean. Having it so that she eats french fries out of the garbage is insulting and just pointless. She’s got some massive crush on Fred cause he’s ‘hot’, she’s fairly shallow as a character but loves to point out (see ep. 2) that all the other characters are shallow. People in her school think she’s ugly until she wears revealing clothing, then everyone pays attention to her - in my humble but angry opinion that is a bad message to spread to young adults and teens.

Norville is a whole case, the drug references and jokes are neither funny nor entertaining and after his ridiculous and clunky line about being anti-drugs early in the first episode he pauses as if the audience needs a moment to laugh. It was awful. I get that it’s meant to be a play on the idea that Shaggy was a stoned character but that doesn’t mean it’s funny.

Daphne is vapid, and she’s always been a little bit vain (the stereotypical girl character to an extent because in the original series she was a round character full of depth) but in the show she has become a high schooler obsessed with sex who treats everyone horrifically. The obsession with sex is a thing for all of the highschool girls in the show, I don’t know who had that kind of experience in highschool but I certainly didn’t so it feels uncomfortable and inappropriate (also feels like that because they anime bubble censor a bunch of naked teenage highschool girls as they talk about sex in tv, that shouldn’t have been allowed.)

Fred is just a douche. I mean I know that’s a choice that the writers made but I strongly hate who he’s become (and yes I know I’m supposed to hate him but I think it’s supposed to be because he’s a jerk not just because he’s poorly written uninteresting and a man child that acts like a stereotypical ‘macho’ man). And the amount of times he calls himself a ‘puss’ is annoying and, unfortunately for the show, still not funny, so only sarcasm points for comedy right now.

Some side character notes: Velma’s dad’s girlfriend is an awful and boring stereotype. The show leans on cliches and stereotypes heavily I.e. any character in that show practically. The other students are boring and not memorable. There’s a moment where Fred stands up for Velma and accidentally cuts a student’s foot off, reminiscent of the comedy in those bad adult cartoons that are overpopulating Netflix right now (Paradise PD, Hoops (is that what it’s called?) and others). If I didn’t mention other characters it’s because I don’t remember they exist.

Okay tl;dr the show sucks, it’s not funny, I loved Scooby Doo as a kid so this hurts me, I hate what they’ve done with the characters.

So, I know I usually don’t make my own posts or write reviews but I literally got 10 minutes into the second episode and had to stop because it was bad, very bad. The first episode was bad enough but I thought I would torture myself and then I gave up because I just couldn’t anymore. Thanks for reading all of this if you have, and don’t watch Velma.

:)

#scooby doo #velma show #Velma #hbo max

[mrsnancywheeler]

Currently sobbing because I’m thinking about how Finnick and his sweet girl were so YOUNG when they met. (I assume she was 14 because she won the games at 17 and you said they were broken up for 2 years and they dated for a year) which makes everything more sad and tragic.

Young love is so innocent. It adds a layer to hurt when you re-read the part of Finnick bringing her flowers that he nervously picked out, he’s a 15 year old kid!

Also at that age- omg is everything so insane. emotions are just- no- they’re so much

-🌾anon

they're literally so tiny and adorable

being a young teenage girl is so interesting and adds such an interesting layer. I like to think that she's the type of girl to remind people shes technically 14 and half of 14 and 7 months or whatever because she feels like it's all happening so fast. I also think it adds an extra layer to her relationship with her family because she's 14, she's young and working at the markets all the time, she's spending her free time with a whole other family or at partying, drinking with no one looking out for her. and I think it adds a whole other layer of the idea that suddenly, the finnick odair likes her. she views herself as a lot more grown up when she is because of all of that, but like finnick is really like a fairytale. the savior from the life of mediocrity. true love is real. and he's making her feel important in ways she never has and it's sad to think about how her 15 birthday is probably the best she's ever had because it's with him, and he dedicates it to loving her. of course conway and his family loved her, but not he way finnick does because he's enticing and like a prince. maybe she thinks she's grown up, but she's not nearly as grown up as she imagines.

and finnick is just a kid with a crush on a pretty girl who went to the same school as him and partakes in the same scenes, he just wants to be perfect. going to mags to find out what a girl wants, trying to make everything 110% right. getting everything he can because he doesn't want to mess this up. and of course he approached her right away, he's an impulsive teenager. I answered an ask earlier about finnick taking his sweet girl on a date to the capitol and I think it fits perfectly with this idea of him wanting to show off to her. months into their relationship, she's going to turn 15, and he's so young with unrestricted money and influence so he's pulling all his strings to take her to dinner there.

it's so sad to think of this 15 and nearly 16 year old being the talk of the media all because he was forced to participate and happened to win the hunger games at 14 and that no one is there to step in and say that might be the most appropriate place for two teenagers to be doing. but as far as they're concerned they're basically adults, even if they're really not, so they do as they please and get caught up in it all.

oh my god and teenage emotions so insane, but like adds on to finnick post breakup saying random things about his breakup with reader to try and cover. of course he says dumb, hurtful things, he's a teenage boy. but then reader, a 15 year old girl, hearing that stuff. absolutely heart wrenching. when you're a teenage girl that's literally like a rock bottom feeling to have the person you love say stuff like that.

I can't I can't I can't

I think about them all the time (yes I'm plotting the next chapter of the river, sorry it's taking so long, but these help sm y'all have no idea lmao)

❤️❤️❤️❤️

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #the lakes #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #the river #🌾 anon

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for hiding my identity?

By the time this gets posted, the event will already be over, but I think this'll be entertaining enough for the tumble.

Okay, context, I work in a music producing studio with a LOT of very extroverted/ambitious young people. I'm also a young adult in my mid 20's, but I've been working at this studio since I was an intern in my teens. However, because of my close age to our newer hires, it's easy to assume that I work in the same positions as them instead of being their manager/superior.

Recently, our senior staff decided that they wanted to train and promote a new manager. However, this specific job will have a lot of responsibilities. I'm currently the only person in this studio who does this job and I'm so excited to have someone to help me with managing so many different things including but not limited to: organizing physical records, managing customer relations, using different computer programs for various tasks, etc. The pay makes it worth it, but my stress could use some help lol

Unfortunately, our senior staff is referred to by a literal title. Majority of my bosses can't use the programs I use and they don't want to learn. More often than not, I'm the one training THEM. I love my bosses, though, I've spent more time with them than my own family, but that's a tangent for another day. SO, the problem! They can't train the new promotion, they don't know who to pick for the new promotion, and only few people actually can.

My immediate supervisor (the only other person at our location who can do my job) proposed a joke solution. She said that she could take over my duties while I go through the training process with a handful of candidates and select who I think would be best for the job. She said she got the idea from a webtoon she read and I started laughing. To this day, she still won't tell me which one it is, so I'm gonna assume it's some yaoi.

A couple days went by and I realized that it would be a really funny idea to do, and that even if we don't promote the whole group, they'd still be trained in case me and/or the person I do select leaves the job. I went back to my supervisor, she reminded me that it was a joke suggestion, but that she also hadn't thought of anything else. So, we've screened five candidates and I've inserted myself discreetly into this group, making it six. Next week, we begin the training. I'm gonna purposefully be mediocre and middle-of-the-herd like Saiki K. and observe from the inside.

But I know that this is lying to my coworkers and manipulative. Honestly, it looks like my life is turning into an episode of Undercover Boss. So, tumblr, Would I Be The Asshole for lying about my identity?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[thefandomdirtymind]

I love your sanji fics so much it’s crazy, I was wondering if you could make an angsty sanji fic!!

A/N IMPORTANT:  Hi anon ! Damn this one have make me doubts myself. Angst wasn't my strong suit but I had this idea about those mistake you made when your young and the result push me to ask myself what I would do in those kind of situation and how much a person can grow from his mistake. I also enjoy write more of Zeff, even adding a little Bonus scene. Thank you for your request !

Shout out again for : @alienstardustwrites !

Oregano and others things

Soundtrack : Mine by Kelly Clarkson

OPLA - Sanji

Warning: Angst, Cheating theme, young mistake, redemption

Sanji / OPLA Masterlist and Coming Soon

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

----

The water was agitated, making your little marchand boat tang a little more than to your liking. Taking a deep breath, watching the floating restaurant in front of you, you know what you have to do. You have to put your feet on that dock, wear the waiter uniform waiting for you, help Zeff with his understaffed problem and come back home. Simple, truly a walk in the park. All that and…avoid Sanji.

You came from a respectable family of fishermen and herborists selling their catch on the local market. Little girl, you were in charge of carrying the ice for the cold table and wrapping the customers' fish. You will always remember the day your parents had started making business with Zeff. The tall man, even sitting at the little table in the back of the stall, was imposing enough to at the same time scare you and make you curious. But, the little blond boy, only a few years older than you, following him like his shadow, intrigues you even more. 

As you grow up, gaining new responsibility in the shop, you soon regularly help your dad doing the delivery to the Barratie, having the chance to pass some time with Sanji. Their pretext being that you would both benefit from having somebody your own age around, even if it’s for a few hours when it was in reality, for them, a moment to share a drink and talk supplies. The young cook would usually profit from this occasion to make you taste his cooking and ask you many questions about your knowledge on fish. 

Adolescent, you had at many occasions,succeeded to sneak out of the not so watching eyes of the adult to respond to some question like only puberty could ask. Partner in crime for many first in your life, it was now hurting you like a knife in the wound to see him, an hour, a minute, a second.

Pushing the side door of the restaurant, many fabulous smells filling your nose, you quickly make your way to the changing room. Place which had welcomed many child games like Hide and Seeks and other less childish things like : what’s hiding under those clothes.    

It wasn't the first time that you were serving tables for the Baratie. Your loyalty was, of course, going to your family,putting them first. But often, in occasional need like this, you had accepted to cover some shift to help. However, it's been a few years since you came back here for more than an exchange of ingredients and money. But, like riding a bike, you could remember the important stuff and Zeff had assured your dad that nothing had changed. You wish you could have liked to say the same. 

Freshly changed, taking a nervous deep breath but confident,  you exited the room, not noticing the tall blond getting out of the kitchen, angrily putting back his suit jacket.

Sanji couldn’t believe it, it was the second time this week that Zeff was rejecting one of his creative plates, sending him to play the waiter. Didn’t the old man see that his mediocre menu was killing him, and making him serve tables was the ultimate insult. He was, after all, the best cook of all this shitty restaurant.     

A vision pushes him, half-way in a move to pick a fresh tray of rolled bread, to stop ruminating his dark cloud to instead freeze in place.  

A little writing pad in hand, you hair styled into a practical but elegant way, your old uniforme clinging to your curve, you were standing in front of a table of happy imbeciles ( ready to all order medium well prime ribs for sure he presume) who’s was devouring you with their eyes. But the worst, for Sanji, was your smile, a generic one but a rare sign he hadn’t had the joy to see for way too long. 

Seeing you like that, moving like a fish in the water around the tables, was bringing back the best and the worst moment of his life all at once,twisting his guts. And he knew exactly who to blame for that. 

Turning on his heels, returning in the busy kitchen, his footstep quick and stiff, he easily spotted his mentor. 

“ Zeff, why the hell is she here ?” Sanji asked, not feeling the need to clarify who ‘she’ could be. The old pirate already knew, of course, only him could have made her come to help as a waiter.

“ We’re under staff, little eggplant, she knows the job. Deal with it.” Zeff replied, his focus on inspection of the plates ready to go. 

“ Really, even after you know our history ? Let me bring back your ex here and tell you the same. Would you deal with it ? “ 

“ Ex and History” The old man crackle” Is that what you call your little pathetic teenage adventure ? Anyway,you’re welcome to try to bring my Ex here, but I encourage you to prepare yourself to freeze your arse off. The bottom of the sea is pretty cold, just like that fucking witch. “ 

“ We don’t need her. We can absolutely run the restaurant like we have always do “ 

“ Sure we can,little eggplant, but we run way better now that she is with us. Anyway for what you did to the poor girl you deserve to feel some guilt. Now stop whining and get out of my kitchen ! “ The chef cut the discussion crossing his arms, his expression dissuading any replies. 

His lips pressed in a thigh line, facing his second defeat of the day against the old man, Sanji makes his way to the double door, before stopping at only a few each of the exit, his breath stuck in his throat. 

Entering the overheated place, ready to ask for the order of your customers, you briefly meet his gaze, momentarily losing your smile, regaining it as you face Zeff. 

“ Four prime ribs…” You begin to say. 

“ Let me guess, medium well ?” Sanji sarcastically said from the doors.

“Medium well for table five “ You still finished trying to ignore his chuckles or the caress of his gaze on you after so long. 

“ Ignore him, little peach. Four prime rib mediums-well for table five !” Zeff advises you, before shouting the order. 

“ I do my best uncle…Chef “ You smile, remembering your kitchen manners.  

“ This table seems like a bunch of idiots, let me serve them for you “ The blond offered, his voice softened. 

“ I can handle them myself, thank you “ You coldly replied,leaving him behind, trying to regain control of your emotions. Even after all those years, your traitorous heart was responding to his presence.  

Making a stop at a few of your tables, seeing on the side Sanji do the same on his own. You gave table five their drink. It was obvious that those four weren't the best sailor sailing on the east blue. It was in fact, almost a miracle that people around them hadn’t complained since they were one of the most noisy tables around. But, you didn’t need his help, you will follow the plan even if the avoid part was now near impossible. 

“ two old fashioned, a whisky net, a beer and a long Island “ You enumerate, placing the drink in front of the right person, putting the last one in the middle. “ You’re order is place in the kitchen I will come back soon to give you your food” 

“ Wait pretty ! “The taller one exclaimed, pushing gently the long island in front of you “ This one's for you “

“ I’m sorry, I can’t accept it or drink on the job.” You declined,plastering a polite smile on your lips. 

“ Oh come on pretty, only a sip, we will not tell ! “ Another with greasy hair laughs. 

“ No thank you, Gentleman, I will come back with your order soon “ You firmly answer suddenly feeling the hand of the tall one grab you arm. 

“ It’s not polite, we had brought you something, you could at least drink a little of it with us.” 

Opening your mouth to put them back at their place, you hear Sanji behind you, his voice cold as ice. 

“ First of all, a gentleman should never force a lady or touch her without consent “ The blond tells, removing finger by finger the hand of the man on your arm. “ Second, the lady say no, drink yourself your poisonous gift and let her work in peace.”

“ Sanji, it’s okay, those gentlemen were about to lower their tone and let me go” You explain embarrassedly, looking around to see many side eyes enjoying the drama. Pirates, as well as most of people,were always fond of dramas.

“ Calm down, we are only trying to know her better “ The third protest, throwing to your Ex a dark gaze. 

“ Trying to know her,while she is stuck at serving you and already told you no.”

“ Sanji…” You tried. 

“ It isn’t a way to treat a lady forcing her to endure your deplorable attempt. Just face it, she’s too good for all of you” Sanji finished.

“ Oh, that’s it, you want her for you lover boy “ The taller laugh” Sorry to say it to you but at the gaze she give you, you seem to have less chance that’s us” 

“ Oh no, not at all. I already have the pleasure to kiss her sweet lips, even if she annoy by me, I could never be lower than you.” The blond smirked. 

“ That’s enough ! Gentlemen, I came back with your plate. Please lower your tone, you disturb the dining room and you,come with me !” You said,taking Sanji's hand, forcing his taller stature than yours to follow you in one of the storage rooms. 

The room, lit by a solitary lightbulb, was one you didn’t come to really often, only once in fact and it was that fatidical day. Surrounded by the many shelfs full of goods, you take three deep breaths before facing the only one you wanted to not face today. 

“This was ridiculous” You abruptly said“ Everything was under control and they didn’t have to know our past history.” 

“ Under control ? “ Sanji laughed,closing his eyes before tilting his head. “ Ma chérie, he gripped your arm. I know you hate that I was right about those idiot but I truly had help you there” 

“ I’m not your chérie, not anymore” You remind him, the old wound reopening slowly.

You could perfectly remember that day. You turned seventeen in two days and, as your birthday was approaching, your dad had promised you that you would be the one doing the delivery alone to the Baratie for now on. Excited about the news, you had sailed to tell Sanji the good news. But, as you had searched the kitchen, the dinner room and even climbed to his room, you couldn’t find him. It’s only when a cook told you he had seen him near the storage that you regain hope. However, as you were approaching the room, you didn’t have the force to go further.

His hands, who had so gently touched you, were locked around another girl's waist, his lips you loved so much pressed against hers. Only his gaze, enlarged in shock, was fixed on you. Tears were rolling on your cheeks without you even noticing that you were crying. The only thing you noticed was a piercing pain in your chest and your body reacting by himself, stepping away as Sanji was trying to reach you, calling your name, telling you that he was sorry. 

You hadn’t answered, running as fast as you can. This year, you didn’t make the delivery at the Baratie. It was only when your father felt sick that you finally take your place in the delivery bargain, only dealing with Zeff and no one else.  

“ You had broken my heart, Sanji, remember ? “ You painfully said, angry about yourself to hear a point of sadness in your voice.

“ Y/N I was young…” He sighs, guilt painting his trait.

But, as you were trying to calm your heart,years of anger filling your veins.

“ You were young…that's your excuse ?!” You spit, your hand turning into fist. “ After all those years, I was waiting for an explanation who’s never come, crying every night. I finally thought I was able to get over it but it was it...you were young ?…I was too ! “

“  I know I am the one at fault here but you weren't the only one to suffer” Sanji muttered, his gaze darken, refusing to meet yours “ I didn’t know why I did it, and would you have accepted to see me, talk to me ? Your father was looking at me like he wanted to gutter me like his fish and Zeff wasn’t better, kicking me everytime he heard you were crying, whether it was my fault or not ! “ 

“And for today ? If it should have one who doesn't want to see the other it should be me. So what’s your problem !?” You abruptly asked. 

“ My problems…My problems is that I hate having to fight everyday with Zeff about his shitty menu and I hate he put fucking oregano everywhere ! I hate that he has asked you to help knowing how it will make me feel, I hate how sexy you look in that uniform and the way that throws me back. I hate those guys who hit on you without knowing how a fucking brat you can be. “ 

Sanji answered, passing angrily his hand on his hair,planting his gaze in yours. 

“But I hate even more that I was scared of my feelings back then ! I was a coward okay, you were amazing I freak out ! I used to think about how to impress Zeff every day and night, new recipes or new knowledge to become the best chef but the only thing I was about to think about was you. If you would come with your dad the next day, would you enjoy my Risotto or hate it? Should I make you something sweet ? Did you enjoy our kisses as much as me? How can your skin be so soft under my hands or did my hand feel too rough? Did you think of me as much as I did of you? I was falling in love so fast with you but I knew I didn’t deserve you.”

Letting a sigh escape his lips as his voice takes a more annoyed or that is an embarrassed tone as he continues his confession. You couldn’t turn your gaze of his, mute by his raw feeling finally exposed. 

“Yet, the worst of all is that I hate the fact that I still do it after all those years. Every night I ask myself if you will be the one doing the delivery tomorrow, will I be able to have a glance of you or will you finally meet my gaze, will you stay mute like everytime or finally say hello and forgive me, that’s is my problems Y/N” 

You didn’t know at first what to say, anger having left his place to sadness. As you were standing both still. You could clearly tell by some details in his features and physics how much he had grown since the last time you had stood like that face to face. But being scared wasn’t a reason, neither erased his act or the pain you had endured. Worst, how could you trust him after all this. 

“ Well, at least after all this time, I have answers. Yes, I think about you everyday. But it also hurts me everyday,how could I trust you, I don’t know you anymore. The last time I was here we were young and you made the choice to hurt me. It’s too late for us,maybe we could try again someday, in another life. “

Leaving him behind, heading back to the restaurant level, trying to catch the tears from falling out of your eyes, you distantly heard Zeff asking you if everything was okay. Nodding of the head, putting back a smile on your lips, you take your orders and come back to the dining area. 

As the sun was pursuing its course, coloring the sky with a vibrant shade of orange, pink and purple. You gave a hug to Zeff, his smell, a mix of leather, sea salt and spice recomforting you.

“ Thank you for your help Little Peach. I know it wasn’t easy with…all this…but you truly help us today “ He tells, freeing you of his bear hug. 

“ I was glad to be able to help Uncle Zeff” 

Lifting his gaze to the restaurant, the old man seems to shortly struggle to find his words, playing nonchalantly with one of his braids.

“ Sanji isn’t a bad kid, a brat who made some terrible mistake, yes, but I think he really regretted what he had done. I made him regret it too for your sake of course, little Peach…But I saw how his mistake had made him grow. Sometimes you have to lose a treasure you thought was already yours to realize how important it was for you. “ 

“ I know Zeff “ You smiled, letting so many things go unsaid,trying not to cry again. After all, how do you explain to the old man that feeling of not knowing that man in a suit when you had only known him with a cook uniform or unable to knot a necktie.Or knowing perfectly why his loyalty to the pirate chef will forever prevent him from leaving the restaurant.“ Same hour tomorrow ? “ 

“ Like always” The old chef smiles, helping you step in your small boat, watching you leave his dock. “ Keep your feet dry “

—

A week later. 

The fresh air of the morning was filling your lungs. On the water, the fishing boat was immobile, painting a peaceful image succeeding alway to put you at ease. 

As you were preparing the stall, for your opening of the day, careful adjusting the spice jars on their little shelfs, waiting for the fisherman to bring your fresh fish, you heard a small cough. 

“ So it was you who sold all that oregano to the old man, “ Sanji's voice gently said, as if he was trying to not scare you away. 

Standing at only a few steps of you, a duffel bag on his shoulder, his suit and tie impeccable in the sleepy dock market, you take a full minute to process his presence. 

“ You had left The Baratie…” You shockingly said, more a realization of a thing you thought would never happen than a question. “ I mean, what are you doing here ?” You finally asked, still unsure if it wasn’t a trick of your brain. Young Sanji would never leave the restaurant or miss an opportunity to learn kitchen tricks, other than for necessary utility.

“ Yes, Zeff had sent me as a return of favor for the help you gave us and I didn’t protest” He replied, taking a few precautionary steps, the idea that you still could decide to attack him by throwing one of the jars at his face, not far in his brain. “His precise words were to work my ass off or be ready to have my butt kicked. Look, I know that I mess up everything and I will regret it all my life. But I’m well intended to work right today and prove to you that we can maybe have a…fresh start ? “ 

“ A fresh start “ You repeat, considering the idea. Even if nothing could change the past, you had, in the last week, known that climbing to it now that you had your answers wouldn’t help you in any aspect of your life. And, now that miracle seems to happen, it was maybe all you need. “ You will not say to the clients that oregano is for savages, is that clear ? “ 

“ Even if it’s the truth ? “ He asked, an amused smile playing on his lips. “ We will have to review the quantity you send to the restaurant it’s way too high “ 

“ You really have a problem with it are you “ You let yourself joke. 

"Hadn’t hated another herbs as much as this one, “ Sanji replied, putting aside his bag.

“ Maybe your taste is just too fancy” You laugh, feeling your heart seem to regain its pace for the first time in a long time.

“ Maybe that’s why your lips always look to me like a one of a kind delicacy “ Sanji flirted. 

“ Sanji, fresh start !” You laugh, returning to your opening preparation. “ Just for that you will refill the oregano jar ! “ 

“ Yes Madam “ The blond cook responded, a smile on his lips, a spark you thought long gone freshly back in his eyes. “ Fresh start “ 

—-

Bonus : 

His old back against one of the piles supporting the platform surrounding the restaurant, his wooden leg removed, Zeff was smiling. 

“ They aren’t bad kids, mistakes have been made, kicks have been given. But it’s the good things in life. Errors make you grow and paths who’s we thought never crossed come back. Often it doesn't work, but I hope for them it will.” 

“ I hope Zeff, you have grown too, you had more lines in your face than the last time”  The timeless woman said, his head resting on his crossed arms, the lower half of his body undulating in the dark water.  

“ It’s not everybody who’s an immortal sea witch, “ Zeff replied. 

“ I had offered you to share my ageless life, you had decline it “ She remind him. 

“ The little eggplant needed me, he was only a child. But I never thought you would forget us on that rock. “ He argued, still bitter of the memory. 

“ Time is an abstract notion for us, but you survive, don't you ? “ The sea witch smiles, having the decency to look embarrassed of his own mistake.

“ Will you forget me when I die” Zeff asked. 

“ Probably, but the water will remind me of Red boots Zeff and his sacrifice to save a little human.” She simply said, returning into the deep of the sea.

Turning his gaze to the stars, Zeff smiled.

---

@alienstardust@phantasmagoricalzenith@downforsanji@faefanatic@strongindependenttrash@hi3431@sunnanse@neko-loogi@theluckyplaces@simbaaas-stuff@ofherscarlettwitchyways @juskonutoh @buffkirby2020 @miomao-ehe 

Join my TAG LIST : HERE

#one piece netflix #opla #opla sanji #opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n

[apathetic-graffiti]

Scott Pilgrimfied

I think the Dancestors fit right in Scott Pilgrim's universe a lot and I've been considering writing/creating more content regarding it.

Their story would revolve a lot more young adult drama, each and every one of them have some sort of issue that they fail to resolve and eventually gets a lot worse. Will there be any healing within it? Unlikely but not impossible. They suck at getting better.

Cronus in this AU is a mediocre musician and the group-titled douchebag.

He frequently invites people (primarily the friend group) to his shows which nobody really bothers coming to besides Kankri.

Kankri in this AU is a head-up-his-ass progressive guy, oblivious to the damage he's causing around him as he talks over the issues of others.

Cronus and Kankri feed into each other's egos and enable one another's behaviors in some way in this AU, basically their canonical relationship in the og, I guess!

Only the both of them can tolerate each other. (Totally wouldn't lead to some juicy drama between either of them, lol)

I think of expanding this eventually? Maybe, but don't take my word on it

Let me know if anyone wants to see more of this though

#cain art #my art #doodles #homestuck #cronus ampora #kankri vantas #beforus trolls #scott pilgrim

[conceptofjoy]

strider your radiocuntivity is melting the slaynobel reactor please stop!! youre pussifying the land for generations to come!!

ranked popular social medias mediocre to worst.

reddit: the ads are annoying as fuck but the sbahj community aight. users are kind of awkward interacting with each other though, app full of [BEEEEEEEP]. its the most functional out of the others. ok taking that back, its the most functional DEPENDING on who the moderators are. that being said, r/sbahj is a little too functional and im thinking of hiring someone to grab a cheese grater shred that shit up.

twitter (not X): the popularity was the best thing about it. easy way to interact with fans, couldnt send death threats though. plus the character limit was a drag, i couldnt get a single thought out without having to make a thread. the other option is to take a screenshot of your notes app and fuck no was i not doing that. on one hand you look lame as fuck, the other you look dorky as fuck. you cant win.

4chan: they're all freaks since its all anonymous but they're funny ones. sometimes you cant find good shit though and its all just thread after thread of a guy posting an img of a horse cock not getting it wasnt funny the first time. this is what X wanted to be with the "free speech" musk said he has. if i cant tell someone their mom sucks me good and hard through my jorts then whats the POINT.

instagram: basic, does its job. used to be catered towards hippies and it still is, but through the influx of immigration from X its semi-tolerable. instagram REELS though? i should release a sbahj movie like that.

tiktok: people my age dont use it unless youre tucker carlson licking the boots of young adult conservative college men. its just fucking sad.

X: after that dick measuring contest with musk i had a few years ago, its unsurprising im still banned. so what i fucked your girlfriend get over it dude.

tumblr: [deleted due to over abundance of homophobic slur usage]

honorable mention:

jeremy renner app: jeremy renner app.

#ds talks #ask

[ikarakie]

You writing Wallace as seeing the world like a visual novel where Scott sees it as a game has got me going fucking crazy so I made some more Headcannons about the visual style in which other characters see the world

Scott: classic 8-bit video game (obviously)

Wallace: visual novel

Kim: mediocre webcomic

Stephen: music video

Young Neil: documentary (about someone else)

Knives: Wattpad fanfiction

Ramona: western, Japanese influenced, animated series (stuff like Teen Titans and Avatar Last Airbender)

Roxie: Samurai manga (stuff like Lone Wolf and Cub)

Julie: Adult Swim cartoon

Gideon: Shonen anime

Gordon Goose: Slice of life anime

Matthew Patel: broadway musical with an absurdly large budget

Stacy Pilgrim: Reality TV show

Sorry for dumping this all in your ask box I just NEEDED to get it out

young neil seeing life as a documentary is so real HAHA!!! i love all of these. stacey as a reality show as well?!?!? YES!!!

i’d love to see more interpretations of how the characters would view the world. i think it’s an underdiscussed (??is that a word) concept in the fandom. of course, i also like the idea that the 8-bit video game way of life is just What The World Is, but the idea that everyone could view it a little differently is really fun to play with :>

#THANK U FOR SHARING these concepts are so cool #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim takes off #rue answers