#That One Mutual i am waving to you specifically

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

hi qsmp fans ive got a curiosity

[weasleykisses]

You’re So Pretty I (Remus Lupin x Reader)

(GIF not mine)

A/N: Remus and you very clearly like each other, however, hes convinced you have a crush on a mutual best friend. Friend-to-lovers, fem!oblivious!reader, jealous!Remus, mutual pining

Loosely influenced by the song “ur so pretty” by Wasia Project.

word count: 3.9k

________

“Going on another study date, Y/N?” Marlene asked as she watched her dorm mate gather up her books and a couple scrolls into her bag. Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t lie to yourself. You aren’t just going to study.”

“As a matter of fact, I am going to just study.”

The blonde haired girl wasn’t the only one that pestered Y/N about her crush. Despite never admitting to it directly, her friends ganged up on her and joked about it fairly often. “You won’t learn anything from drooling over Lupin the whole time,” Marlene laughed.

“I do not drool over Remus. He’s just a good study partner.”

“Whatever you say.”

She finished packing her bag and making sure her uniform was straight. Her hands slid down her skirt to smooth it out and through her hair as she looked into the standing mirror. Wanting to look presentable did not mean she was trying to impress him. Definitely not. She just didn’t want to look unkempt, is all.

When she was confident she didn’t look like she just rolled out of bed, she turned to leave her dorm and head to the library. She waved to Marlene who made a heart shape with her hands jokingly. After so long, she’d gotten used to the teasing though, just dismissing her with a ‘tsk’.

She left the common room without another confrontation by one of her friends, walking leisurely to the library where her transfiguration textbook waited. She was never the best in transfiguration, or charms, or defense against the dark arts; truthfully she wasn’t very good at anything most people would would consider important. Her saving grace was care for magical creatures.

Sometimes she felt herself grow so embarrassed by her lack of skill, but Remus never made fun of her for it. He helped her fix the issue, and she was grateful to him for that. He was probably the only reason she passed her classes the past few years.

Kids bustled around the halls and the stairways as she walked through the castle. The sound of her feet clicking on the marble floors kept her occupied as she walked through the familiar walkways. She listened in on some conversations as she passed by, eavesdropping when she shouldn’t.

The only other thing on her mind was her study partner, who she found herself growing awfully attached to over their years at Hogwarts. Now that they were in their seventh year, she occasionally felt herself completely consumed by her crush on him, which she quickly tried to correct by thinking of something else.

It wasn’t that she wanted to smother down her crush on the boy, she just didn’t want it to take over her life. It would never happen, and the inevitable rejection would destroy her. It was normal for her to not get her hopes up, terrified of being disappointed in the end.

Sometimes, she just wanted to forget about him and fancy someone actually obtainable. Someone like the hoard of boys that confessed to her over the years, bringing her flowers and candy and sweet love notes. Only she didn’t like them and couldn’t bring herself to pretend. Her friends asked why she never accepted any of the propositions, to which she would just say she was waiting for someone specific.

Eventually some of her friends figured out who she liked. At first it was Lily, and then the rest of the girls followed suit after seeing her interact with the tall boy enough times. She suspected that Sirius knew as well, knowing how perceptive he was. He would send her some suggestive looks now and again when Remus wasn’t looking, which she just ignored for the most part.

Still, no matter how hard she fought it, she fell deeper and deeper into her infatuation with Remus Lupin. She thought he was the most handsome, smart, kind boy she’d ever met. He was just perfect in her eyes. He could do no wrong.

And so, she found herself drowning in her feelings for the boy. Honestly, it was difficult to keep afloat. To be around him and pretend she just wanted to be a friend. To pretend she didn’t want to cuddle him when they sat on the couch together. To pretend she didn’t want to kiss him every time he smiled her way.

Before entering the library, she took a deep breath and smoothed down her hair once more. Confident in her ability to socialize with him without completely falling apart, she pushed open the heavy wood door and into the large room filled with whispering voices and floating textbooks.

Remus sat in their normal spot towards the corner where not a lot of people crowded around. It was quieter, and he preferred that. For Y/N, she was just happy to get more one on one time with him. The other marauders wouldn’t step foot in the library so she didn’t worry about them. Lily maintained her distance when she was studying. She wanted to give the pair some “private time”, as she had said once when teasing her friend.

“Hey, Rem,” she quietly greeted him, giving him a small wave. He peered up from the novel he was reading, giving her a warm smile back. It was adorable. Everything he did was adorable, really.

She took a seat beside him, setting her bag to the side. She pulled out her transfiguration textbook. He was particularly good in this subject, so this would be easier than something like Charms.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m fine. How was your day?”

“It was okay. The guys are planning a new prank for tomorrow so they’ve been pestering me about that,” he told her, and she nodded. He loved their pranks secretly, not wanting to come across as immature. Not to mention, James could be a little overwhelming. Especially when he spent the nights with Sirius planning, keeping the other two boys awake.

She grinned brightly. “Oh really? What are they gonna do?” She loved pranks, as long as they weren’t directed towards her. They were an escape from the strictness of the school, not to mention a relief when certain Slytherin were involved.

“Stink bombs in the Slytherin locker room. Nothing fancy.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I suppose.”

Her eyes trailed down the book that was sitting in his lap now. To get a better look, she leaned closer to him and tried to read the upside text. “What are you reading today?” It was normal that they exchanged books after reading it, that way they could discuss the novels together once they were both done.

“Shakespeare.”

Her eyes widened and she urged him on, “What play?”

“Midsummer’s Night Dream.”

“That’s my favorite! I'm so glad you’re reading it,” she told him happily, clapping her hands together from excitement. As a muggle born witch, she loved when her friends experienced a bit of her world. Shakespeare was just a taste. He’d read a couple other muggle books before, but mainly it was novels by famous wizards and witches.

He smiled, tucking the book into his own bag. “I know. That’s why I picked it.”

“You remembered! I’m excited to talk to you about it when you’re done.” He had to look away from her face. She was so beautiful when she got excited, it made him want to swoop in and give her a thousand little kisses. Of course, he wasn’t insane, so he wasn’t going to do that. He was always looking at her, catching glimpses of her captivating smile and her sparkling eyes. When she looked away, he peered over at her and just watched, regardless of where they were. In class, while studying, in the common rooms. He couldn’t help but stare.

It wasn’t a coincidence he picked her favorite play. He wanted to see her get all giddy because of their two person book club. Anything to see her happy. It seemed he had successfully achieved that, too.

“So what did you need help with?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure. I’m doing well in all my classes right now. Probably because of you, but still,” she told him. Honestly, she never really wanted to study, it was just her way of hanging out with Remus for a while. “Do you want to do something else other than sit in here?” Y/N asked, a bit nervous he might say no.

He leaned on his elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. “Depends. What do you have in mind?” He asked, even though he knew he’d say yes to basically anything she could ask. She could ask him to join her in the broom closet for a snog and he would agree.

She thought for a moment, tapping a finger on her lips as she pondered what they could do. There wasn’t anything she desperately needed done, and it wasn’t close to dinner yet.

“Do you want to come with me to feed the nifflers and diricawls?” It was the only class she excelled in. Hagrid allowed her to come and visit the animals as often as she wished, knowing her to be quite talented at the subject. It was rare to be so compatible with the beasts, but she’d done it.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the class, and had not taken it for a couple years. Still, he was willing to do just about anything for her. “Let’s go then.” He nodded, gathering up his belongings and tucking them down into his bag. She did the same with her textbook which she never actually opened anyway.

He took her bag from her without her asking. He always carried her books if they were walking somewhere together. She figured it was just him being polite. James would do the same, bragging about his impressive strength. She was grateful though, and walked beside him with her hands in her cardigan pockets.

As they turned the corner, entering the main corridor, she caught the eye of a familiar face, one that Remus thought was busy with Quidditch practice for the time being. “Sirius!” she called, waving over at him with a newfound grin on her face, teeth showing and eyes bright. He looked up from Mary and Alice, who also waved in the pair’s direction.

“Fancy seeing you here, Angel,” he hummed, but opened his arms as he usually did for a hug. She threw herself into his arms and he squeezed her tight, maybe even too tight in Remus’ opinion. She pulled back, peering up at him before nodding to the other two Gryffindor girls.

“Hi, Mary, Alice,” she hummed sweetly. They happily greeted their friend with warm smiles.

Remus almost felt himself move past his surge of jealousy, if he hadn’t seen Sirius rest the palm of his hand on her lower back when he stepped to the side to face the rest of the group. He never understood why the two of them were so close, and why Sirius practically hung off her shoulder when the two were together. The two were just best friends, from all he could tell, but it sure felt like more. Sirius wasn’t known for settling for one girl, he preferred to leave his options open. Surely, he didn’t have a crush on her.

Remus could only hope.

“Moony, where are you two off to?” Mary asked. While Remus looked at the brunette, answering her question, he missed the look that Alice sent Y/N. She raised her brows, her eyes flicking between the pair. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at the notion that her and Remus were hanging out as anything other than friends. The girls loved to taunt her, probably because they consistently got a rise out of her.

“The creature pens outside,” he replied, gloomier than he wanted to sound. “I thought you guys had practice today?”

Sirius shrugged, “It was postponed for an hour. Something about the weather. I thought you two normally studied on Thursday afternoons.”

“I’ve been doing well enough in my classes that I figured I deserved a well earned break,” she told the three of her quidditch-playing friends.

“Well, I guess we should leave you to it, right, ladies?” the raven-haired boy asked. Bidding the two study partners a goodbye before trailing off with Alice and Mary in tow. Y/N waved while Remus just watched with a defeated look on his face. He always felt defeated when seeing Sirius and Y/N together.

For the rest of the trek out to the animal pens, they walked beside each other silently, just navigating the halls in thought. She could only think about how close he stood beside her, and how attractive it was that he carried her bag for her. A dazed smile was left on her lips and she stared at her feet to avoid him seeing how happy he made her. She was such a lovestruck fool. It was obvious.

It was cold outside but not quite snowy yet. She cuddled into her thick cardigan, wondering if he was cold in just his sweater and uniform shirt. The leaves had fallen from all the trees, crinkling under their footsteps. The sky was white, indicating a storm was brewing, potentially snow considering it was December. A few other students hung out in the courtyard, playing games with each other or sitting by the gardens talking. Not a single person was hanging around the animal pens.

She stopped when they neared the small building beside the care for magical creatures classroom. The diricawls and nifflers were inside this time of year so she pushed open the door to the shelter. Inside, they were met with a dozen or so diricawls walking around on some freshly laid hay.

She turned to Remus and grinned, pointing to a diricawl with three black spots on its head. “This one is my favorite. His name is Cookie. Isn’t he just the cutest?” She asked.

He shut the door behind them so none of the creatures escaped. “You named him Cookie?”

“Yeah, because he’s so sweet.”

She walked over to the food barrel and scooped out two handfuls of food. She tossed onto the ground beside the animals, but kept a few pieces in her hand. With her free hand she urged Remus to come closer.

He did as she asked. “Here, you can feed Cookie this time,” she told him, handing him the pieces of kibble. It was exciting to share her passions with him. He was happy she just included him in the first place. He wanted her to invite him into all aspects of her life. What classes she liked, her favorite books, favorite songs, her favorite holiday, and favorite food. It was like a collection he wanted so badly to complete. To complete her and all her quirks.

He took the kibble from her hand. “How do I feed him?” He asked.

“Didn’t you pay any attention in class?” She joked, but patted his shoulder nonetheless. “By hand, if you want. He doesn’t bite,” she laughed. He knelt down closer to the creature and extended his hand, looking to her for guidance. She gave him a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Soon enough, the little bird was taking food from his palm and munching on his snack.

When he was finished and stood back up, she couldn’t help herself but hug him from the side, pressing her face to his arm. “Y/N?” His heart was skipping a beat. He patted her on the head gently, feeling a bit too awkward to hug her back. Even if he loved her being pressed so close to him, he couldn’t function when the real thing happened.

She answered with so much glee in her voice, “I’m just so happy you came with me. No one ever comes with me to feed these little guys. Always too busy with quidditch or hanging out in the common rooms.”

“It’s no big deal. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy too.”

Her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart raced at his kind words. She took a step back and straightened herself out again. “Thanks, Rem. You’re such a sweetheart.”

If his face wasn’t red already, it certainly was now. She looked like an angel standing there, the diricawls gathered at her legs like her own little army of birds. He loved the way her Gryffindor cardigan swallowed her up. He loved the way some stray hairs fell into her face as she glanced down at the ground. He thought it was adorable how she fiddled with her fingers when she was nervous.

It was admirable how she treated the animals, the things she loved. Even if she wasn’t the smartest book-wise, she was friendly and kind, to animals and humans alike.

Most importantly, there wasn’t any judgment from her when she found he was a werewolf. She caught the boys carrying him up the common room stairs one day in the early hours of the morning, and from then on she doted on him. She gathered ingredients from her furry or scaly companions, persistent in making healing potions for him, different creams and salves for his wounds. She worked long hours in the Potions room with Slughorn’s permission, desperate to make something that would ease his suffering.

She’d come up to their dorm after the full moon and take care of him each time, cleaning his wounds and doing the best she could with her limited knowledge of healing spells. Over time, she got better, nearly perfecting her spell casting, all for him.

That was when he started to fall for her. No one had ever cared for him like she did. As Sirius liked to call her, Y/N truly was an angel, he was sure of it. Sirius might have meant it as a joke, but Remus came to find the nickname truer than any other. True like he was Moony and their friend was Padfoot.

She pointed over to a few cages to their right, where the nifflers lived. The cage was decorated with shiny things, silver necklaces and some gold coins, probably the result of a thieving niffler.

“Do you want to feed the nifflers now?”

“Anything you want, love.”

———

While James was chasing after Lily Evans, and Sirius was busy romancing Marlene McKinnon, Y/N sat back on the couch beside Remus Lupin. Peter sat on the floor by her feet, resting his head against the sofa cushions. She’d grabbed three cups and a pot of hot tea for her and her couple of friends as they watched the flickering of the fire before them.

While the more outgoing of the friend group were always off doing something, this left just the quieter three hanging around amongst themselves. It was peaceful. Remus read his book silently while Y/N and Peter talked about the newest gossip from that day. Peter was great to talk to. He always listened intently, and could discuss basically anything she could think of. She supposed he was just happy that the cooler marauders let him hang around.

She took a sip of her drink and sighed, the warmth of a nice cup of tea soothing her otherwise freezing cold frame. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped herself up. It was nearing Christmas, which meant many things.

It meant that she would have to sit outside in the freezing cold during every quidditch match. It meant going to Hogsmeade every weekend and filling up on butterbeer and goodies from Honeydukes. It meant spending more time huddled up on the couch with her friends sitting around the fire, laughing all night long.

She drifted off into her own thoughts for a moment, completely missing the question that Peter had just asked. She felt a tap on her knee and blinked away that dazed look in her eye.

“What was that, Peter?”

“I asked, do you have any plans for Hogsmeade this weekend?” he said once again. She tapped the side of her teacup in thought. She originally planned on staying inside over the weekend to finish up some homework due the next week, but she couldn’t resist the urge to go out and visit the little town, get some candy, and drink in the Three Broomsticks. She couldn’t miss out on a fun outing with friends.

Y/N shook her head ‘no’.

“Wanna come with?”

“Of course.”

She stirred her cup of tea, her eyes scanning the room. “Any specific plans you all have this weekend? Zonko’s, Honeydukes, Spintwich’s?” she asked. Usually they followed some sort of routine. Visit the Three Broomsticks for drinks, head to Honeydukes to stock up on sweets for the rest of the week, and either stop at Zonko’s for the newest gadget or Spintwich’s so James could see if there were any upgrades for his broom.

Her personal favorite was Brood and Peck. Sometimes they had special creatures that you could only find in the forbidden forest. She was still waiting for a unicorn, but in the meantime there were always mooncalves, nifflers, and diricawls to play with. She also liked spending her time in the bookstore too.

Not that she wanted books, she just liked going there with Remus so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye. He furrowed his brows as he scanned the books for one that he was interested in. She would pretend to do the same thing, but really she just went for him. To watch him get excited by a new book that was just released, or half priced older novels he’d been meaning to buy, books they would read together. Seeing him happy made her feel soft inside, and that’s all that mattered to her.

“Well, I heard that Lily and the rest of the girls are going to Honeydukes around noon and I plan to be there,” James said confidently. He was obsessed with that girl, but Y/N couldn’t judge. She was just as obsessed with Remus as James was with Lily. She was infatuated, and had been for years.

“Speaking of which, why aren’t you going with the rest of the girls, Y/N?” Peter asked the girl sitting beside him.

Originally, she declined going to Hogsmeade that weekend altogether. She was far too preoccupied with her schoolwork to even think about taking the day off to fool around, but she couldn’t say no to spending the day with Remus. She had to say yes to the boys, on the off chance she might get some quality time with the boy she fancied.

She shrugged, “They offered, but had to say no. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to finish my potions essay in time. Gladly, I got it done this morning, so I should be fine to go with you guys.” She wasn’t exactly lying, but she certainly wasn’t telling the entire truth. She wasn’t doing well in her Herbology class either…

Remus found himself tense up at the mention of Hogsmeade. He always found himself nervous when she was around, and somehow, they always ended up singled out by the group when they went places. It was always Sirius and James goofing off with Peter following closely after, leaving Remus standing in the dust with Y/N at his side. He was never prepared and felt like he made a fool of himself every time just trying to strike up conversation. He could be so terribly awkward.

He just hoped that on the day of the actual visit to Hogsmeade, he would be normal. That all his friends would stick together instead of separating and leaving him to be his embarrassing self in front of the girl he so desperately fancied.

Part Two out.

[cheriden]

「 double extra large 」 。。。

"You grab his right hand without delay when he raises it to the cashier, and the item he’s been trying to conceal drops flat on the floor. The box shines in gold, the letters ‘XXL’ embossed in bold, large letters.  He quickly bends down to grab it. At the time that his head is level to yours and your eyes meet his, both widen with yours in shock, his in embarrassment"

── synopsis 。You’re at the grocery with your roommate, and as you empty the cart at checkout, you see a purchase that snuck itself onto the shopping list.

inexperienced!kai x (slightly)experienced afab!reader

.ᐟ genre 。fluff kinda, smut, mdni!

.ᐟ tags 。lotus-style so i can look at you and confess, ab-riding & frotting, praise kink, taunting, sex (the p-in-v kind), unprotected sex (don't do it!), mutual masturbation, creampie, sub!top kai, overstimulation

.ᐟ status & word count 。oneshot | 3.34k

.ᐟ warnings/notes 。sorry folks we mentioned the condom but we will NOT be using it! reader is afab but is not referred with any gender specific pronouns/nicknames. as always my ass is to lazy to proofread

The supermart is busy and fast-paced, but not too crowded to the point that it brings you fatigue. In your hand is your notes app full of groceries, and as you call out each product, Kai brings it up within your range of vision, prior to moving it on one side. “Oh shit, I missed the toothpaste. Be right back” You mumble. The other nods at hollering, “'Kay. I’ll just meet you at the counter.”

Rushing to the hygiene section, you nearly trip over yourself trying to recall the type you use. You have no idea what difference the toothpaste with cooling crystals has over the one with cooling menthol chips, opting to grab both and just asking Kai instead.

Over at the checkout, the ash-haired boy isn’t hard to spot. Tall and broad all around, he sticks out like a sore thumb in his gray sweats and large beige sweater. He waved over at you, and you see that you came just in time to help him clear out the pushcart. You squeeze your way past the others in line, settling on his left and bringing up both types of toothpastes up to his face. He smiles, grabbing the other, to which you toss the other on one of the go-back shelves filled with toys and candies from children who didn’t have their way.

Kai is nice and considerate, knows which item to place on the conveyor belt first for the bagger’s convenience; separates frozens and hygiene, poultry from other produce.

About three-fourths through the basket, you notice Kai favoring his left hand over his right. His right hand stays unmoving by his side, though his face shows he’s unbothered. Still concerned, you inquire, “Everything okay?” He’s evidently surprised that you notice, shaking his head as he continues hauling the products. 

You’re aware that Kai has a tendency to keep things to himself, fear of becoming a burden or hassle. You always tell him the opposite, and this instance is no exception. “Are you hurt? Let me see your arm.” He jolts back dramatically when you lean toward him, and with a skeptical look, you back down. 

For one second.

You grab his right hand without delay when he raises it to the cashier, and the item he’s been trying to conceal drops flat on the floor.

The box shines in gold, the letters ‘XXL’ embossed in bold, large letters. 

He quickly bends down to grab it. At the time that his head is level to yours and your eyes meet his, both widen with yours in shock, his in embarrassment.

The cashier taps the register with an impatient look, “Um… Am I going to ring that up for you?”

The commute home is silent and awkward; all you can think about is the box of condoms stored in the pockets of Kai’s bottoms. 

“It’s right next to his extra-extra large dick.”

You smack your head against the doors, and the other, maybe even the entire train, looks at you like you’re stupid. You mentally scream at yourself to shut up, to stop pondering over it. Though it’s hard not to when a seat clears up, and you’re sat head-to-head with his nether region. The more you tell yourself not to think about it, the more you torment yourself by doing the exact reverse subconsciously. You turn your entire body away from him and onto the window, your legs to your chest, truly cementing yourself as the crazy lunatic on the transit.

Walking uphill to your apartment at the peak of the sun’s presence—a whole workout in itself, isn’t even enough to take your mind off it. Though now you were speculating about why he didn’t just bring it onto the belt like a normal person. “Kai’s a healthy adult man,” reason with yourself, “of course he’d be active.” You’re no virgin either. Maybe you overreacted earlier, clutching your pearls like chastity was something you practiced. 

So why didn’t he just tell you? Were you not close enough to know stuff like that?

Kai knows the ins and outs of your love life, and upon retrospection, you’ve realized he doesn’t really share anything about himself. Not unless you see it unfold in real time, questioning follow-ups then and there. 

The front door unlocks, and you hurriedly drop the bags onto the counter, taking a seat on one of the high stools. 

You observe the other, taking his time to lock the door and organize the shoes by the door before rolling his sleeves to put the groceries away. 

You think about how good a partner he’d be, if he was anything like how you see him around the house—around you. He’s fun and lighthearted, careful and honest. He’s let your faults slide over a thousand occurrences before, never failing to say sorry for his own shortcomings no matter how inconsequential they are. Quite literally the perfect boyfriend. You apologize for only appreciating him like this because of the box of condoms.

You wonder if he has a girlfriend and what his type would be. He doesn’t really bring anyone over, besides a few shared friends to rot on the couch with. “Maybe he’s gay?” You consider, “Or bi?”  If he was, wouldn’t he tell you? 

Maybe you’re a shit friend.

Determined to get to know the other better, you peer over at him as he places fruit into the fridge. “Hyuka?” 

He turns his head with an inquisitive look. “What’s up?” Clearing your throat, you prepare yourself for the corny words that come next. “I want you to know that, I would never judge you or whoever you have sex with. You can trust me with that crap.” Your words of friendship render him speechless, mouth parting and closing without any sound leaving it. He shuts the refrigerator, taking up a seat directly across from you. “I appreciate it.” He returns, the corners of his lips curving up slightly as it purses into a line. “It’s just,” he whispers, looking around and leaning in as if there were other people present, “I’m a virgin.” 

You nod, leaning in to match his stance. Proud of this bonding moment, it’s like the two of you have a little secret. Though you suppose it’s a bit mean-spirited to celebrate over Kai’s clear insecurities, watching him nibble at the bottom of his lips, bouncing his leg in his seat. “That’s totally normal.” You tell him, placing a hand over his, to stop him from picking the skin of his index fingers. “So you’re a virgin too?” He beams, and you’re almost sorry that you have to correct him that you’re not. When you do, his face portrays a red hue, apologizing for assuming almost immediately. You shake your head and say it’s fine. “So who’s the lucky recipient of your…” Regretting it almost immediately, you can't stop yourself, pointing at his crotch. You feign confidence and nonchalance, resting your chin on your palm.

You think it was impossible for him to turn darker, but he flushes to a bright cherry red with his face in his hands, voice muffled as he speaks through it. “I’m… Just going to practice. With a friend.” “Practice?” You press further, and he tells you the name of the person who offered to help him. You’ve heard about them before, one of the friends he used to work part-time with. 

You shouldn't be thinking this, but you’re jealous. You’ve been roommates since legality! How could he trust some rando over you?

“Not the point, this isn’t about you!” You mentally note once again.

Kai presses his cheek on the cool marble, avoiding your  gaze. “In case I do get… Intimate with someone I have feelings for. I don’t want them leaving me over my mediocrity.” In opposition to your better judgment, you nod along instead of hyping him up, knowing it would’ve done nothing to console him in all of his anxious glory.  

As a great friend—you know one surefire way to instill confidence in him.

“Your partner,” you start, throwing caution to the wind as you mentally prepare for the words you’ve scripted haphazardly, “They’re receiving?” 

Kai answers yes hastily, and you’re in awe of the unimaginable scene you’ve concocted as he hides behind his sweater paws. Maybe you’re just really horny, or ovulating.

With one last breath, your voice a tad too loud and fast, as you tell him: “I can do it.”

“Do what?” He asks, though he’s ninety-percent sure on what you mean. Regardless, you clarify, “I’ll be your first. I’ll help you practice and stuff.” 

Truthfully, you can count all of your sexual encounters on one hand, subtracting further when you take away over-the-shirt makeouts.

Kai’s brain goes into overdrive, half-paying attention as you list all of the pros and cons of you being his partner instead. “Plus, we can stop or go anytime. I won’t take it personally, ‘cause I know you.” 

His breathing is wobbly as he whispers, “Okay.” 

With a grin, you take his hand and tug him to his room. “Sorry Hyuka, but since I’m helping you out, it’s your sheets that will have to suffer the consequences.”

It’s a bit unfair, you know. Unorthodox? Absolutely; however you pay little to no mind as you kneel in the center of the mattress, patting your side giddily to call him over.

He’s hesitant and timid when he rounds the bed frame, and you wonder if he’s uncomfortable with you, if you’re forcing him to do this and he’s too nice to do anything about it. Your brazenness falters a bit. “Hey, don’t think like that,” As if he can read your mind, Kai sits next to you and caresses your cheeks, “It’s just my first time is all. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.” 

Even in his own worry, he’s there to soothe you. You straighten your posture and ask: “How can I make it more comfortable for you?” He purses his lips in thought, eyeing your body. 

You get the signal, taking your top off, him mirroring your movements. “So I guess we can just start—”

Cut off by the force of his lips against your own, you lurch at the sudden contact. He pauses when you don’t kiss back, but when you do, it causes him to fall onto his back.

His kisses are open-mouthed and pliant, as if he was waiting for your actions before mimicking them. You move to straddle him, asking if he’s kissed before. He has. You ask if he’s made out with anyone before, and he shakes his head. “You’re a great learner.” You praise, and he smiles, tilting his head to kiss you again. 

Kai keeps his hand above your hips, slightly urging them to grind against his abdomen. You take him up on the offer, completely malleable to his wanting. As time passes, you can’t help but get curious at the hardening mass beneath you, brows furrowed as you detach your lips from his. You trace the garter of his jeans, mute signal to make sure if you can take it off.

He nods, and the action is slow and painful for him. You giggle as he whimpers at the view of the wet spot over his boxers, taking your time to register every facial expression he makes. He moans your name to get you to stop, hands over his face upon seeing you sneak a finger into the waistband, trailing along the sharp end of his pelvic bone. He chants your name some more, and you think it’s an angel’s calling, so heavenly and gasping for air that you can’t help but ramp him up further. 

You make it a point to pave marks leading up to his jaw, mouth working harsher while you slide the undergarment to the lower end of his thighs. 

You do nothing but wince at his length, eyes flickering between him and his dick. Kai’s gone red again, clearing his throat as he says, “Is something wrong?” 

Frankly, you’re a bit petrified, shaking your head regardless. “So you’re XXL for real?” He’s confused, watching you remove your bottoms. “Yeah?”

“I thought that was just you overestimating.” He grabs your hand to stop you from removing your underwear, a sheepish smile from him as he comments, “Keep it on, wanna see it later—and why would I lie? That just defeats the purpose of buying a condom.” You take your hands off the tight band, and it ricochets onto your skin with a prominent smack. “You’re so kinky.” Kai avoids your feedback, rambling about the hassle of having to google condom brands and their sizes. “It’s so humiliating, I think I’m on some freak watchlist—” He interrupts himself with a moan, focusing on you as your hand swipes at his tip. He grumbles with his head against the wall, breathing unsteady as you bring his fingers near  the inners of your thighs. His demeanor says he’s more than eager to give you satisfaction, watching you rub yourself onto the knuckles of his fingers. His fingers are long and elegant—thin and precise. You revert your attention to his cock, working on the upper shaft as you pout at your own hand. Kai asks you what’s wrong, and note that your hands aren’t as pretty. They’re shorter and stout, nails carelessly cut with a few nicks and scratches here and there. On the contrary, he’s enthralled by the scene. The other responds by taking the hand that rests above his, kissing each finger as he remarks how lovely they are. He carefully encircles your entrance with his middle finger, silently asking for permission. 

With an exasperated sigh, you tell him he can do whatever he wants. “You’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable right?” You nod, informing him to do the same. He slowly inserts a finger, moving it in and out, grazing your clit each time. He watches as your mouth hangs open, and he takes it as his cue to insert another. You bid yourself not to get distracted, spreading the pre-cum from his tip on the sides of his member. 

He’s too wet, and so are you. At this point, you’re humping his hand, jerking his dick erratically with you calling out each other's names. You come on his hands and pursue balance on his arm as he flexes, coming down from his own high when you squeeze his dick tighter. It paints his stomach like a canvas, stare lingering  as you recollect yourself. 

Suddenly you’re pulled back down to Earth, watching his chest heave while you inquire about lube. He nudges over to his nightstand, and you bring out the box of condoms from earlier. “Do you know how to put on a condom?” Kai says he learned how in high school. You laugh, throwing the box somewhere onto the floor. “I’m clean, and on birth control. You’ll be fine. And besides,” you move, dragging your soaking clothed pussy over his dick, “Don’t you want to feel all of me for your first time? I know I want you to come inside me.”

You’ve gone insane, cock-drunk as you watch the lust sparkle in his eyes when he nods.

No time is wasted; ridding yourself of the heavy fabric and messily empty the bottle of liquid onto the both of you, the other making an even bigger mess as he spreads it across your cunt, his other on himself. His back shoots up when you sink lower halfway, sitting up to tangle his hands in your hair. You reassure him you can take it; he pulls you in for a kiss, long and deep to preoccupy you from the pain as he slowly forces you to drop further. You bite at his lower lip, and he comforts you by caressing the curve of your waist. 

Kai waits for you to stop hurting, and when you start grinding on him, he can’t help the sharp thrust that meets your form. “More!” You yelp, detaching your lips from his. Your command is fulfilled as he pummels into you at an unrelenting speed, head resting below your chin as he kisses the sides of your breasts. He makes sure no area is left blank, leaving dark violet patches littered on your curves. He’s bouncing you up and down his cock, mesmerized by the vision and sound of you malfunctioning over his dick in you. It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, playful behavior back as you tease, “Can’t believe you were gonna fuck your old co-worker instead.” Your legs wrap around his waist, nails digging the plush of his thighs. The other looks genuinely sorry, eyes glossy as he mutters his apologies. “Can’t—not you, only you.” Your pace stammers, “Only me? What—”

“I like you,” He gasps, rolling his hips slowly, “Had—shit, have for a long time now.” He lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes soulful and seeking approval. “So you were practicing for… me?” “If you’d give me the chance!” He rushes to say, “Wanted to make sure I did well.” You free a hand to forcefully grab his face, grinning down at him. “Pervert,” His cock twitches in you, causing you to wince in return, “but it’s fine. You make me feel good.” Throwing his head back at your statement, he spreads you  flat on the mattress, palms holding your wrists down. “Shit—no, wait,” He whines—watching you writhe underneath him, unable to stop his hips as they hammer into you. “It’s okay,” barely managing your words, “I’m close too.” He versus your name over and over, drool forming on the corner of his lips as you clamp down on him, Kai fucking you through your orgasm. He moans at the applied pressure, rolling his hips when yours arch off the bed, thick cum spurting inside you.

Breathing is a luxury that he denies you, flipping you over and pounding within you mercilessly. “‘M sorry,” he inhales, making no effort to stop, “so tight and warm, ‘cunt’s sucking me in.” Your figure jolts violently beneath him, moans caught in your throat while you beg for him. “Too big—too much!” You shriek, flinching at the sounds of him slapping against your ass. “S—slow down.” Kai’s brain is too shrouded in ecstasy, ignoring your pleas as you come on him again, his own cum mixing as it overflows and drips onto the sheets.

He finishes with one more passionate kiss, followed by a series of chaste ones as he entraps your body in his arms and lays you down on top of him.

“What the hell was that all about?” Kai’s confused, Peering at you with a curious gleam in his eyes. You gesticulate between the two of you. “Sex. Where did that come from?” He hums, lying back down onto the bed. “Porn? I just did whatever felt right.” Scoffing, you lie closer to him. “Yeah right, nobody learns from porn.” The other scrambles to get a pack of wet wipes, calling himself “naturally gifted” while patting the both of you down. 

He fakes composure, hands giving him away as they tremble out of nervousness. “So are we, like, a thing now?” 

He looks adorable when he’s unsure of himself. Like he would implode if he assumed incorrectly. “I don’t know, did I ever say I liked you back?” The other halts almost immediately, face ready to plead when you reply: “Kidding,” Laughing at his animated reactions, he shares a large exhale of relief when you reply. “Take me out on a date first, then we'll see.”

“We’ll see,” He mocks, bunching the wipes into a ball, tossing it in the bin. “Like we didn’t just have sex. I’m really hurt.” Kissing the pout off his lips and littering his face with tiny pecks, you can feel his cheek tense with his wide smile, eyes forming crescents as he basks in your affection.

Somehow, out of all the kisses he’s received in the past hour, this one set his heart racing the most.

think i've gone insane because ever since the start of the year my kai brainrot has been so bad. also his full name is a tick word for me, it's ust so fun to sayy

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags appreciated♡

[mybl--dyvalentine]

Beaches જ⁀➴ Sunghoon

✮ bff! sunghoon x oblivious male! reader

✮ Summary: A mysterious letter was on your doorstep one day. Afterwards, letters kept appearing and telling you to go to specific beaches. Now, you're on a mission to find the culprit of these letters.

✮ Genre: Fluff

✮ Word Count: 627

✮ Author's Note: this is so doo doo omg

A knock at your door took your attention off of the show you were watching.

"Hello?" You say.

You were met with silence. There weren't many things that scared you, but randomly receiving letters for a couple days is starting to get you anxious. You open the door to find a letter on your doormat.

You pick up the letter and say, "Who's sending these..."

After opening the letter you're met with many words, more than you've seen from this secret messenger.

Hi, Y/n I know it's getting weird now with me sending you letters and you don't even know who I am. Well, that's not entirely true. Anyways, I'm ready to let you in on the secret. Please meet me at Huntington beach, 9 p.m. Love, S

This was weird. It was usually just a destination leading to a random beach. Every time you went there would always be something waiting for you. A flower, a gift, food, a drink. It was strange how they were all your favorites as well. You take your phone out to text your best friend.

Y/n: hiiii Hoon: what's up? Y/n: the mysterious person with the letters is back at it again. this time, they included a bunch of other stuff with the usual destination Hoon: oh really?? Y/n: yeahh Y/n: it's like creeping me out idk.. Hoon: i think you should go Hoon: i mean you've been to the other locations and nothing bad happened right? Y/n: i guess i'll go then.. Y/n: but if anything happens i'll blame you. Hoon: haha, i doubt that

While pocketing your phone you think to yourself, "How bad could this really be?"

---

You arrive at the beach right on time. As you step onto the sand, a cold breeze makes you put your arms to your sides. While slowly walking around, you spot some candle lights in the distance.

"Is that where I'm supposed to be?" You say while staring that the candles.

Making your way over to the source of the lights made you start to rethink your decisions. Although, it was too late to back out now. Once you reach the candles, you're met with a heart made out of rose petals. There was also a letter in the middle under a candle. You pick it up and open it revealing a piece of paper that only had two words on it.

"Turn around."

You swiftly turn around to check if someone was really behind you.

"Surprise!" Sunghoon waves his hands in the air while smiling.

"Wait what..?" You say appalled.

"It's me, your secret admirer."

"All these letters were from you?"

"Yeah, it was all for this."

He moves his hands from behind him to in front, revealing a bouquet.

"Y/n, I really like you. Since like... forever. So I wanted to confess after many years on the same beach we first met."

You were at a loss for words. There was no doubt that you've had a crush on him for a while, but to find out the feeling was mutual left you stunned.

"Y/n, will you be my boyfriend?" He smiles while handing the bouquet to you.

You felt tears well up in the corners of your eyes, "Yes! A thousand times yes!"

You take the bouquet and jump to Sunghoon, engulfing him in your arms for a hug. He smiles and hugs you back tighter. The two of you spun around and when you guys stopped, Sunghoon was staring at you intensely.

"I know this is fast but... can I kiss you?" He says.

You grab his face and pull him closer, closing the distance in an instant.

"You can kiss me anytime you'd like," you say.

[yarasdead]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 THERE SHE GOES.

bomens m.list matt dierkes x fem!plus size!reader

summary. a collection of headcanon of matty with his plus size girlfriend and their journey through friendship and their relationship.

―︎ warnings. pure fluff. friends to lovers. mean!matt but also matt being a softy who's whipped for his gf. reader is depicted to be feminine and wear dress and makeup. slight sexual innuendos. talks of body insecurities.

𐙚 ‧₊ ⋅ a message from yara. this is a request from a sweet anon. this request just ignited something in me and i got a little carried away (but what's new), i just love writing a man who's so deeply in love with his significant other 🥰 i also did not include any nsfw headcanons in this, but if you'd like to see any i am more than happy to deliver! anywho happy reading loves <3

BEFORE GETTING INTO A RELATIONSHIP

You and Matt would meet through mutual friends at a hangout. Exchanging phone numbers by the end of the night out of bonding over similar interests.

Matt’s sense of humor is one to digest, so he likes how you're able to keep up with him and his banter. But, there are times when his humor is just bullying (affectionate) and it gets you pouty.

"C’mon you know I'm playing. I don't mean any of it.”

The two of you definitely have dinners over at each other's places a few times a month and just do a movie marathon afterwards. and that includes the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Matt would not shut up about making you watch the movies if you've never seen them before. He definitely is the type of fan to be like “did you know…” throughout all of the movies just spewing facts.

Boo and Zeus adore you very much, makes Matt grumbly when they parade around you and only want your attention.

When his vegetables are ready to harvest for the season he gives you some from his garden!

You house sit and dog sit for him whenever he's on tour with Bad Omens. Sending him dog, plant, and garden check ins regularly.

On the front lines for protecting you always! If some asshole dares to put their hands on you or makes comments about your weight matt is there ready to fight back with words and his fist. And it's not because he doesn't think you can't defend yourself, he knows a lot of what you've gone through when it comes to your appearance, he just cares deeply about you and won't tolerate any disrespect towards you.

He's mean. If you're shorter than him he likes to steal an item from you and wave it above your head, making “encouraging” comments about how you can get the item back by lowering it just to yank it back up before you can snag it from his hand. If your taller he'll just take really random but specific items you'll eventually need and hide them and act innocent when you're looking for them. Like if you come over to his house and leave your keys out he'll hide them at the start and by the time you leave he'll just watch you search for them. Very much a dick move on his part but he likes to see you get frustrated, he thinks it's cute.

His list of things he's soft for is very short, but you happen to be on that list. The first time matt ever tells you how much you mean to him, as a friend, you fake being super shocked because he's so annoying and mean at times. But over the course of your friendship he softens up to you and pushes it down, like when the two of you are watching a movie and you keep sneaking closer to him, eventually pressed up against his side with your cheek pressed up against his shoulder. You end up falling asleep like that while the movie is still playing, and when it ends and Matt calls your name without an answer he looks to see your precious face slumped against him fast asleep with soft snores coming from your mouth and he just looks back to the movie title cards with a smile. He stays as still as possible to let you sleep, and that's the moment that it would all click in place for him.

When Matt confesses his feelings for you it was very spontaneous, for him and you. You had gone over to his place after work since it's on the way home and matt wanted to show you some new flowers he planted in his backyard.

“They’re really pretty, Matty.” You compliment the flowers, caressing on of the petals between your fingers.

“I think you're really pretty.” Matt blurts out.

You whip your head around to stare at him, thinking you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I really like you. I have for awhile and it's taken me awhile to accept that, not because of anything pertaining to you, you're fucking flawless. I just don't want to fuck anything up between us by confessing my feelings,” you stare intently at him, waiting for him to continue. “You're a beautiful person, inside and out. And it makes me feel selfish that I want you all to myself, but I can't live with regret for not telling you how I feel.” He looks pale from his ramble, and you almost reach your hand out to touch his forehead to see if he's gone cold too.

“Please, say something.” He begs.

“I just- you've never been that sweet before and now you're begging me.” You joke, trying to make light of his confession to make it easier on you and him.

He groans your name. “Now's not the time for jokes, I just confessed and it's not looking too bright for me.”

You smile at worry, finding it cute. “I like you too Matt. You're so worried about me, but you don't realize that you're also charming. In you're own way, I might add, but it was pretty hard to not fall for you."

The two of you just stay staring at each other, mirroring each other with huge dorky smiles until you slowly inch closer. matt's hand find its way on your cheek.

"Can I?"

"Just kiss me already." You urge.

The kiss is soft and it makes you feel giddy when you two pull apart. Still embracing each other with your foreheads touching. Boo and Zeus erupt into the zoomies quickly after around the backyard, barking after each other.

Matt turns his head to them. "Yeah, I know. I got the girl, bubs." He gushes, looking back to you to leave another small kiss on your lips.

DURING RELATIONSHIP

Matt really isn't one to do super showy dates. But he's finally asking you to officially be his girlfriend and he wants it to be memorable, something the two of you can recount on when you tell your kids and grandkids about the official moment he made you his. All that Matt would tell you is to be ready by 7 for your dinner reservations at 7:30 and to be your cute self for him to pick you up, keeping the full date a mystery to you. And when you swing the door open to reveal yourself, he has the air taken from his lungs and fully considering cancelling plans.

"These are for you pretty." Handing you the bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You smile, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "Thank you, Matty." Thanking him while your lips are still barely touching each others.

He looks down between your bodies, wanting to fully see you. "Give me a spin. Want to see you, Baby." He ask, the taste of your sweet lipgloss still on his lips.

You back up, giving him a spin with the flowers in your hand, complimenting the dress you're wearing.

"You like? Haven't gotten a chance to wear this dress yet."

"You know I love everything you wear with your sexy self."

He ends up taking you to a nice dinner at a nice restaurant to start out with. And now you two walk hand in hand, bellies full and content through the botanical garden. You gaze at everything in awe. It being nighttime the garden has light fixtures throughout to accentuate the florals and plants in the dark. The wander and enjoyment in your face is enough to keep Matt happy while the two of you walk, sometimes stopping when you want to take a pretty picture of a plant or Matt to show off his knowledge on certain plants. You stop by a fountain to stop for a moment.

"We should through a penny in." You say, reaching for your purse.

"A penny?"

"Yeah, like wish on a penny and then throw it in a fountain," explaining it to Matt. "It may come true." You tease.

Both of you wish on a penny and threw it into the fountain to meet with all the other coins at the bottom.

"What did you wish for?" He ask.

"That's the one thing you're not supposed to say. You of all people should know this."

"Yeah." He agrees, looking around to see if anyone else was near by, turning back to you when he spotted no one. "Well, I wished that you'd be my girlfriend."

He's not overtly into PDA, but he does love to have his hands on you at all times. Wether it's his arm that's slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh, an arm gripping tight on your plush hip, his knee pressed into yours as your sit next to each other, hands interlaced, or a hand on the small of your back. He's just always going to have to be touching you in some way.

It's amplified when the two of you are alone, he's coming up behind you at all times, hands sneaking around your waist and his head pushed into the crook of your neck, pressed up against each other on the couch with your legs on his lap, you pressed against his chest listening to his heart beat, or his secret personal favorite his head in your lap while you play with his hair.

Matt's nicknames for you are Baby, Babe, and Bubby, he uses them pretty interchangeably and they just roll off his tongue easily.

Matt loves cooking for you, and also with you if you enjoy cooking! He indulges in your cravings with you so you never fall into the guilt of simply having a craving for a certain food or snack.

Insecurities are normal, he knows this, and tries his best to help you through those moments whenever you're feeling down about yourself. Reminding you that your are far more than you appearance and that people who dare judge you are assholes who will never get to experience of knowing such a smart, driven, resilient, and gorgeous person you are. He truly sees you as the most flawless person and loves gushing about you to whoever will or won't listen because he just adores you so much and finds you so beautiful, sexy, and hot. He won't take a lot of shit from the guys, but he will take their teasing about how whipped he is for you because he really is and he is not afraid to admit it. But, as much as he loves boasting about you and helping you when you're feeling insecure he also knows the importance and self worth, so he loves to see you gain and be your confidence self day to day.

His bullying and meanness does not go away! As stated before it's all affectionate and just a part of him, so the little slight hair pulling, pokes, hiding of items, and teasing doesn't stop throughout the relationship, but it'll definitely take a much more affectionate turn when he sees you get pouty and upset from it and he'll turn mushy immediately and start to baby you.

Call you Boo's and Zeus's Mom! Whenever you spend the night with him on certain days and you unlock the door with a key Matt copied for you ages ago before the two of you started dating you always hear, "Who's that? Is Mama home?" and it always makes you fill up with so much love.

Just like when Matt confessed his feelings for you, the first time he says I Love You was also out of the blue. He wasn't having a very good week, and was pretty stressed from an upcoming tour, he now's he can console in you but you had recently expressed how you're also feeling stressed from your job and he just didn't want you to become even more overwhelmed. But, he had spent the entire day away from the house and when he came home to the dogs at his feet and a now, clean home and the smell of food cooking he was at a loss of words.

"In the kitchen." He hears you yell out.

Taking off his hat and shoes, giving Boo and Zeus their scratches, he stumbled his way to the kitchen where you're cooking.

"I had a half day today, so I decided to stop by because I know, we'll figured, you've been pretty stressed lately with the tour coming up. Cleaned up and I'm finishing up dinner."

When you don't hear a reply you turn your head over your shoulder, thinking maybe Matt wasn't in the kitchen yet, but he was.

"You okay?" Fully turning around to look at him, watching as he makes his way towards you and takes you into his arms.

"I love you." It's said with such adoration behind his eyes.

Is more than happy to teach you the drums when you shyly ask him if he can.

Special privileges for being a tour managers girlfriend! You get flown out to shows and festivals when your schedule works out with all of the perks too!

He's one to remember and write down important dates! An anniversary is not going to be missed by this man!

Could not be more happier than when you finally moved in with him and the dogs. There's nothing he loves more than waking up next to you still deep in slumber in the morning, waking you up by tracing over your body with the tips of his finger tips and leaving gentle kisses over your face.

Talk of marriage and kids definitely happen early so the two of you are on the same page and agree on huge life changing decisions like that. Fully knows you're the one, and pulled a Jim Halpert and bought a ring pretty early on in your relationship. He's not proposing any time soon, but you never know when he thinks the perfect moment is because you'll be surprised.

[artemish]

Sous chef | opla!Sanji x fem!Reader

word count: 2.1k

genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers

warnings: mild ptsd; mild trauma

summary: A restless night at sea turns into one of revelations, as the reader finds that the depths of the ocean are much like a certain chef’s heart…

a/n: Hello opla girlies! First time fanfic writer here!!

I am ever the lurker on this website, but something inside me changed when I started watching One Piece, and now I’m down bad for this crew (specifically for the hot cook)

So I thought I’d give it a shot, write a bit of fanfic and see where it goes! I’ve finished the live action and currently watching the anime, so my interpretation of Sanji is quite mixed, however I tried to stay closer to opla!Sanji. I’ve also left this open ended cos I might write more (who knows hehehe)

Shoutout to @honnelander for inspiring me to write again ☺️ (please read her go fish! series if you haven’t!! It’s great!!)

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Sanji often stayed up late during those long nights at sea, prepping for the next day's meals, making notes of what had been used and taking stock of the ingredients that were left.

It was almost obsessive at times, desperate even.

He ignored everyone’s concern for him to just take it easy and go to sleep, even Nami’s, and refused to give us an explanation.

He would count every last bean, every last grain of rice or drop of water that he could, and he had tried many times but failed to make an accurate record (mostly because Luffy would lessen the supplies significantly).

I hadn’t really understood his habit, until one night, when the waves were particularly rough and I was disturbed from my sleep.

Usually, rough waters didn’t bother me too much, but I was already quite restless that night and had only truly been half asleep.

My mind was a blazing mess from all the thoughts that had been looping endlessly through it.

Thoughts of him.

I sat up on the futon. My hair draped in a tangled mess around my face and over my shoulders.

I looked across at Nami, her back facing towards me, breathing deeply as she slept.

I envied her ease.

I hauled myself out of the bed and straightened the silk nightgown I was wearing. I slipped on the woven shawl I had laid out over my blanket and made my way down the corridor, towards the kitchen.

The waves had picked up their brutality and began to batter the ship quite hard, so that it swayed violently from side to side.

Gripping the sides of the walls and trying to match the sway, I wondered how everyone could sleep so peacefully.

The ship moaned and croaked as it continued to sway.

I stumbled into the kitchen just as it crashed against the starboard side hard, pushing the ship port.

The force took me by surprise, causing me to lose my grip of the wall and my footing.

I tumbled through the doorway, and slammed hard against the stack of barrels in the corner.

The momentum of the ship turned once more. Lurching towards the right again, I slid off the barrel and slammed face first onto the ground.

“Ah shit!” I yelped. All traces of sleep had officially left me.

“Luffy, that better not be you,” came a brash voice from the darkness, “and if it is, you best be walking out that door right now.”

“Ack, Sanji?”

In the dull light, I saw the concerned face of the cook instantly pop around the counter.

“Y/n! Gods, are you alright?”

He moved swiftly to where I was laying and gently lifted me up.

“You're alright now, love. C’mon up. That’s it, easy”

He swung my arm around his neck and held my waist tightly as he led me to the bench seating on the other side of the kitchen counter.

Despite the daze I was in, I still felt my heart quicken, at his firm grip on my waist and at the ease with which he picked me up.

“Sanji, what are you doing up?” I whispered, not because I was trying to be quiet, but because the knock had left me completely winded.

He sat me down and wrapped my shawl around me tightly, rubbing my shoulders as he did, and kneeled down in front of me.

“Are you okay? Look at my fingers, how many do you see? Are you cut anywhere, y/n? Do you have a concussion? Do you want some water, tea? What do you need, I’ll get it for you, anything you nee-”

“Sanji,” I said, holding my hand firmly on his mouth to keep him quiet, “I’m alright.”

I squeezed his shoulder, as I saw a sigh of relief wash over his face. “You really got to stop treating me like some princess you know.”

“Madam, you are the loveliest person to ever grace this ship. I would hate it if I couldn’t bask in your beauty everyday.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” But I could feel my stomach fluttering at his words.

He grinned, “madam, someone as lovely as you deserves to hear it said often.”

I shoved his shoulder. “Shut up!”

He laughed. He looked so soft in the light of the lantern.

“You didn’t answer my question by the way.”

“What question?” he asked, as he got up to sit next to me.

“Why are you awake?”

He turned his face away from me and shifted uneasily on the bench. “Why does it matter?”

“Sanji, why are you awake, really? What is it that you’re not telling us? You know I’ve lost track of how many times Luffy’s found you asleep in here because you’ve been up doing… well, whatever you do. What’s going on?”

He let out a deep sigh as he turned back around to face me, looking at me through the flop of blonde hair that covered half his face. He bit his lip hard and dropped his head, defeated it would seem.

The ship continued to sway and croak and groan, as the silence between us grew.

He looked small, afraid. I reached out to hold his hands and he took them eagerly, squeezing them tightly as he did.

“You all know about what happened to me and Zeff,” he said finally, “and I appreciate the kind words and empathy you’ve all given me, but you could never really understand what that was like, being out there. Waiting to die. The scorching, unrelenting sun in the day that made my skin flake off. The icy air of night that felt like daggers, prodding at my burnt flesh. Being hollowed out from the inside, from the hunger, until the numbness set in and I thought I’d melt into that shitty rock. Even being as careful as I was, as precise, I still didn’t have nearly enough food to survive, and it really was only by fate or luck, a real miracle actually, that we were rescued.

I guess I haven’t shook that feeling yet, that fear. It was easier to distract myself in the restaurant, you know, being surrounded by food and all, but here it’s different here. I-I just want be sure, I want to know that we’re good, at all times, because I don’t want any of you to go through what I did. It’s shit, yeah I know, but I’d rather not sleep then let any of you go through that.”

Again, the silence between us was palpable.

I felt like I’d been punched.

He breathed heavily, as if trying to catch his breath and I knew then that this was something he had kept buried deep within himself because the true nature of his fear was so horrific, so raw, who could ever understand it?

None of us had been out there with him, even though we would all do the same for each other.

But our sentiments were just words.

He had lived it.

The silence grew stifling.

I knew he would do anything to protect us from that fate.

“Sanji”

“You-you can’t tell the others. They don’t need to know, yeah? I’m happy as long as they’re fed with no complaints.”

“But Sanji-”

“Y/n, please don’t tell them.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

The mess of thoughts in my mind was growing.

He held my hands tighter and used them to pull himself towards me. His thumbs made circular motions on my palms.

I heard my heart pounding in my ears and I stupidly hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Darling, I am a ball of dough in your hands. You can knead me and form me any way you’d like, and I’ll give you no resistance.”

“Pfft” I giggled and so did he.

At this, I felt like we were both at ease again.

I always admired his way of keeping things light.

“No, but, if you’d allow me, madam, to be serious,” he straightened up a bit then, “I suppose I was hoping that you’d find me in here. I was hoping that I could tell just you. You’ve got a way about you that everyone just finds trustworthy. I don’t know but there’s, there’s something about you...” He trailed off and laughed before he could finish, and I could see a faint blush of pink on his cheeks. “Sorry I-I ugh, I’m a bit sleep deprived. I’m just glad you’re here.”

I had never seen this side of him (or any side of him for that matter) though I knew it existed. Somewhere under the flirtatious, playboy persona he put out, I knew there was a genuine sweetness. I just wished I was more awake to really enjoy it.

Once the pain I was in wore off, my whole body felt heavy, like it was being pulled down with the full force of gravity, and the sway of the ship was less violent and more like the gentle rock of a cradle.

“You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.” I swept his bangs out of his eyes and kept my hand cupped around the side of his face. I hadn’t realised how blue his eyes were until now.

Even in the dull light, I could see every shade of blue there was swirling in them, like the ocean’s raging swell on a moonlit night. I saw the sleep in his eyes weighing him down too.

“You know this is the most words I’ve heard out of your mouth since I got here.”

He grinned sleepily, “well I’ve just been trying to find the right time to talk to you, my swan.”

I could feel my cheeks burn and I hoped he didn’t see the blush come over them.

“I didn’t think the right time would be 3am, me face planted and bruised in the kitchen, but here we are.”

“You are alright now, yeah?”

“Of course,” I scoffed, “I’m just sleepy. You look sleepy too.”

As if on cue, he yawned and leaned back on the bench.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s super late. And Luffy wanted everyone to have a big breakfast tomorrow, you know with eggs, bacon, croissants, etc. Breakfast service is always the most important. But I just…” his voice trailed off again, but there was a hint of frustration this time.

“You just can’t sleep, like you cannot.”

“Yeah.”

“I get it,” I said, and I did, “the memories, they come back; more vividly, more real at night. It’s like it’s better to be awake than asleep. Like sleep causes you to relive the pain. Every moment, everything.”

“Y/n,” he said with concern in his voice, “what caused you pain, my love?”

My love.

Those words rang in my ears for some time, even now. Did he mean it?, I thought, maybe he feels the same?

Was all that flirting genuine or was he just being nice?

Was he just being Sanji?

It had been such a long, revealing night, but that stuck out to me and I couldn’t shake it.

He had been so open about his fears, not even the captain knew what he was telling me, I was sure of it.

So then, I kept thinking, why me?

If I didn’t mean something more, then why me?

While I was mulling all this over, I hadn’t noticed that I was leaning on his shoulder until he pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly, so that my face rested on his chest.

The slit in his poet shirt revealed his tanned skin underneath.

I boldly moved my hand up his chest and traced his freckles with my fingers.

He played with my hair.

Friends definitely didn’t do this.

“Let’s not talk about that now,” I whispered, “just close your eyes, okay? And Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“If you need a sous chef tomorrow morning, I’ll be there.”

I felt his soft laugh hum in his chest.

“Thank you, y/n. I’ll take you up on that.”

He buried his face in my hair as he continued to hug me and I felt his whole body relax.

In one night, the chef had shown me that there were more layers to this cake of a personality he had than I had fully anticipated, and all of them were deliciously sweet.

Delectable even.

And confusing.

As we slipped further into sleep, we had also unknowingly laid ourselves out on the bench, still tangled in each other's embrace, and sharing my shawl for warmth.

An embrace that was a little too close for friends.

— — — — —

“We’re just friends, Nami,” I hissed, trying to restrain myself from yelling in her ear, “there’s nothing there! He-we- we’re just friends! There are no feelings, we are JUST friends.”

She found us in the morning and woke me up, leaving Sanji still asleep.

I flapped around our room, growling out my protests as I did, but it was no use.

She just sat there.

Just sat there.

Arms folded and tapping her toes.

With a huge smirk plastered across her face.

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

[mousy-nona]

First — I love your work and your account! Your characterization is incredible and I really enjoy your style. Second — Radioapple prompt! I know its a common one in the fandom, but I love the concept of them dancing/getting to know each other through mutual love of music. Not too specific, but I think it definitely has room to be cute! <3

A major sacrifice

But clueless at the time

Enter, Caroline

Just trust me, you'll be fine

“What is that noise?”

Lucifer turned around warily. It was always good to be wary around Alastor. “Music.”

Alastor gave him a Look. It was his “Don’t Be An Obtuse Idiot” look, the one he saved just for Lucifer. 

He sighed. “It’s a song. The humans come up with some interesting stuff when left to their own devices.” He waved to the radio sitting on his desk. “It took a bit of work, but I managed to figure out how to connect this old thing to some of Earth’s music stations.” 

Alastor’s ears twitched, a surefire sign he was interested and trying not to show it. He lowered himself down onto the other side of the sofa, and they listened in silence together. 

And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it

Another version of me, I was in it

I wave goodbye to the end of beginning.

“I’ve never heard of these instruments,” Alastor mused. 

“Synth? It’s a pretty new invention. I believe it was heavily popular around the 1980s, and it’s gone in and out of style since then. What do you think?”

“It doesn’t have as much soul as a good saxophone or a piano riff, but it’s not horrible.” Alastor admitted. “I don’t suppose humans on Earth still listen to singers like Ella Fitzgerald?”

“Hard to match a once-in-a-lifetime artist like Ella,” Lucifer remarked. Alastor snapped his fingers, his eyes gleaming with pure, genuine delight. It was rare to see him so excited about anything that didn’t have anything to do with blood or death, and Lucifer drank it in like a man dying of thirst. 

“Exactly,” Alastor grinned. “I see you don’t have completely irredeemable taste in music.”

“She’s fantastic, but you will not believe some of the stuff they have up there now.”

Alastor glanced at him with poorly disguised interest. “You don’t say? Do you happen to listen to these stations quite often?”

“Every night.” 

Alastor paused, as if weighing his next words. “Would you mind a little company?”

The smile that exploded from Lucifer was unexpected – but not unwanted. And that was how the king of Hell and the Radio Demon declared a truce every night, between the hours of 12 AM to 1 AM.

—------------------------

“Boy, you’re in for a treat today,” Lucifer said as soon as Alastor walked in. “They’re playing electro swing on 58.3 The Breeze.” 

Alastor furrowed his brow. “Electro…swing?” He shuddered. “Sounds positively horrid. Why ruin a perfectly good thing with extra noises?” 

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” Lucifer scowled. “Sit down, shut up, and give it a chance, will you?”

To his credit, Alastor did sit and shut up – for approximately ten seconds. Then he groaned. “This is a travesty. They’re calling this garbage swing?” 

“Electro swing,” Lucifer corrected. 

“No, no, enough of this swill.” Alastor snapped his fingers, and the song immediately cut off. “Let me show what true swing sounds like.” 

A moment’s pause, then a new song came on the speakers.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…

Lucifer perked up. “This is…Louis Armstrong?” Just the sound of his voice brought back whispers of slower times, of smoky jazz clubs and whiskey in crystal glasses, of dreams laid out on silver screens. Suddenly, it was the 1950s again.

Alastor bowed and held out his hand, every move so darkly dashing it would make Fred Astaire weep with envy. But his eyes gleamed with challenge.

Dance with me? Asked Louis and Ella.

Spellbound, Lucifer took the devil’s hand. He placed the other on his shoulder hesitantly, but Alastor’s grip was strong and sure as he slowly led him around the room. 

“I want my arms about you, the charms about you will carry me through,” Alastor hummed along. The old-fashioned words were perfect in his radio static, as if the song was made for the two of them, for this very moment. 

Relax, you silly goose. He’s just singing the song. He’s not talking about you, Lucifer tried to reason with himself, but it was exceedingly difficult to think straight with Alastor’s face so very close. His voice – oddly lovely for a man who specialized in conducting screams – cast a spell over them. Time stopped. And Lucifer relaxed, letting Alastor’s song chase his worries away. 

“Heaven, I’m in heaven!” 

—------------------------

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

“You’re listening to this again?” 

Lucifer blushed and scrambled to change it to another station, but Alastor materialized in front of the radio and covered the fast forward button with his hand before he could get to it. Damn those tricksy shadows of his.  

“I…I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yes, that is one of the benefits of teleportation,” he said, as effortlessly smug as always.

“It’s not our usual time,” Lucifer frowned, peeking at the clock. 10 PM. Far too early for what was quickly becoming his favorite hour of the day, although he’d never admit it out loud. 

“Well, I heard a cry for help coming from this room, so I thought I’d be a good neighbor and pop my head in,” Alastor said.

“Cry for help–” Lucifer started indignantly, but Alastor put a finger to his lips. 

And the damn song was still playing. 

So when everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive…

Lucifer turned so red his entire face resembled a tomato on fire. “I can listen to whatever I want during my private time,” he spluttered.

“That would be true, but I can hear your ‘private time’ from the other end of the hotel.” Alastor sighed, as if no one else in the history of the world had ever experienced the pain of a noisy neighbor. “So I decided to check on you, just to make sure you hadn’t fully devolved into an angsty child.”

“It’s silly, I know, but sometimes listening to this stuff makes me feel…like I’m not so alone,” Lucifer admitted, not quite able to look the demon in the eye. “It’s been a tough couple of years.” Tough couple of hundred years, but who’s counting? 

Alastor didn’t say anything, but he didn’t leave either. Eventually, they turned the radio to another station – Billboard Top 100s, this time – and Alastor’s horrified face at “Think U The Shit (Fart)” made Lucifer laugh so hard water came out of his nose. 

He completely forgot about his depression. At least for the rest of the night. And that was enough. That was more than Lucifer had had in a long time. 

—------------------------

The next day, Lucifer came back to his room to find an old-fashioned ‘30s vinyl record player perched on his desk. A vinyl had already been set up, its arm perched delicately halfway through a song, ready for Lucifer to hit Play. 

Attached to it was a note.

As a thank you for all the new music. -A.

So Lucifer hit Play.

Immediately, the swing of the sax and Ella’s clear, dulcet tones filtered through the speakers. 

Blue days

All of them gone

Nothing but blue skies

From now on

I never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going oh-so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

The record stopped there, as abruptly as if the entire track had been magically wiped. No matter how many times he tried to reset it and play it again, that was the only verse on the record. 

It didn’t matter. Had Alastor forgotten how ancient he truly was? Lucifer had been around for the dinosaurs, the age of ice, man’s first cities, and the launch to the moon. He remembered the greats, because that was his job. He was to live, and he was to bear witness.

He knew the rest of the song, even if Alastor had gone to such great lengths to erase it. 

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly…

He smiled. And he sang along, letting the vinyl spin and spin until the words themselves were nothing but senseless sounds and only Alastor’s promise remained. 

“Blue days, all of them gone. Nothing but blue skies, from now on…”

[feinjamjam]

basic info about me cuz i figured it would make sense to have a post like this

firstly, if you're here to softblock me/remove me as a follower please just outright block me. i will get confused and refollow you if you don't. i do not intend to harass you i just genuinely cannot trust my own memory.

my name is caribert (pronounced car-ee-bear), you can also call me cari for short. my pronouns are he/him only. they/them is misgendering. i'm 18 years old.

anyone regardless of age is free to follow my blog, but i ask that only people from 15 to 21 years old dm me. mutuals in this age range feel free to dm for my discord!

i'm plural, but i do not disclose my origin publicly. i'm autistic, as well as having ADHD, STPD, BPD, DPD, and HPD. i consider myself medium support needs overall, rather than using specific support needs labels for individual disabilities. this is because it is difficult if not impossible for me to pick apart which symptom is caused by which disability. i'm also physically disabled and uncomfortable specifying my physical disabilities.

i'm a part time AAC user and a high school dropout.

my gender is best described with the labels ftm, transsexual, transman, multigender, maverique, tboy/tguy, genderqueer, and genderfluid. i am also a crossdresser. my orientation is best described as aroallo queer.

my interests include minecraft speedrunning, wuthering waves, genshin impact, minecraft in general, roller skating, writing, drawing, stardew valley, gardening, politics, activism, and reading. talk to me about any of these!

info on my stances is under the cut!

my "syscourse stance" is that i am against misinformation and for the right to self-define and determine one's own lived experiences. i am against harassment no matter who it is or what they are claiming. if you promote, post, or share misinformation, if you harass others, or if you fakeclaim publicly you are not welcome on my blog and i reserve the right to block you.

i believe that plurality can have causes other than childhood trauma. endogenic plurals are safe on my blog. those who participate in harassment or fakeclaiming towards endogenic plurals are not safe or welcome on my blog. endogenic plurals who harass or fakeclaim traumagenic plurals (yes, even the exclusionary traumagenic plurals) are equally unwelcome on my blog.

alongside my belief in one's right to self-define and determine their own lived experiences, i believe that labels are simply shorthand used to roughly approximate the vast, complex, and beautiful assortment of experiences one could have with their gender and orientation. i welcome all queer experiences with open arms including queer experiences that seem strange or that are best described using labels that seem to conflict. what does this mean? this means mspec lesbians/gays and lesboys/turigirls are welcome on my blog, as well as other folks who use diverse or "contradictory" labels. those who participate in harassment of queer individuals on the basis of not understanding their labels are unwelcome and never will be welcome.

[ramblingoak]

Hey friendo 💜 drunk (mutually / accidental) kisses with Papa II if you feel like it???

Indeed my friend, I do feel like it 💙

A Single Kiss

Secondo x GN Reader (gender neutral reader, fluff, nsfw but there's just some tipsy kissing, 1k words)

~ You need a very specific type of kiss from your Papa ~

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Your eyes are meaty.”

The look on Secondo’s face was priceless, just pure bewilderment at what had come out of your mouth.  He grunted when you nearly toppled over again, letting out a string of Italian that you had no hope of understanding while sober let alone in your current state.  You did recognize the word for shoe and you obediently held each foot up so he could remove the tall heels you had chosen for the night.  When he chucked them down the hall you pouted, turning to go back and get them, but a quick tug on your hand had you spinning back towards him and pressed against his chest.

“We’ll get them later.”  You poked your bottom lip out more and plucked at one of the buttons on his waistcoat.  “You’ll break an ankle teetering around in those in your current state.”

“Someone will take them.”

Secondo snorted and shook his head.  He had forgone the facepaint tonight, opting for just a black upper lip like in his cardinal days.  Without the full paint it was easier to see his expressions, easier to see how he felt about you.  Things were a little fuzzy around the edges of your vision, but you were pretty sure he was wearing that fond look he got whenever you two were alone together.    

“Piccolina, who would take your shoes?”

“Terzo.”

Lucifer, you loved seeing him laugh.  He turned and wandered back down the hall to grab your shoes.  You let out a little sigh of appreciation watching him bend over to pick them up.  His perfectly tailored pants stretching across his ass and thighs.  

You loved seeing that too.

With your shoes in hand he returned to your side, slipping an arm back around your waist to keep you steady.  The walk back to his room went quietly.  He only had to rearrange your wandering hands a few times, quietly tutting at you when you whined.  How could he expect you to keep your hands to yourself when he looked like he did?  When he smelled like he did?  The urge to kiss him was always there, but right now it felt like if you didn’t you’d die.

“I think Terzo is too busy at his party to care about your shoes.”

“Secondo, come here.”

“I already am here, piccolina.”

You huffed and planted your feet as hard as you could trying to stop him, turning around to place your hands on his chest.  A single eyebrow rose up as he tried to figure out what you were doing.  Well, it should be obvious.  

“Silly Papa, I want to kiss you.”

“Oh really?  What’s the occasion?”

Ugh, why was his face so far away?  You gripped the lapels of his jacket in your hands and pulled yourself up on your tiptoes.  

“Your handsome face is the oc-occas…um,”  You squinted at his face, trying to remember the damn word when a wave of dizziness hit you.  Groaning, you leaned harder against him, your forehead falling to rest on his tie.  His chest vibrated as he chuckled and you hummed when he rubbed his free hand up and down your back.  The dizziness passed quickly so you leaned your head back to look at him again.  “I like your eyes.”

“Because they’re meaty?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”  When he tried to gently nudge you forward you growled, planting your feet again.  “Papa no, we can’t move until you kiss me.”

“Ah, is that the price?  A single kiss?”

“Yup.”  Your lips popped on the ‘p’ and you grinned smugly at him.  “A good one, too.”

He moved the hand on your back to your cheek, lightly brushing his thumb across your cheek bone.  

“Aren’t all my kisses good, piccolina?”

“Yes, but I want a really good one.  Like…firm.  A firm kiss, Papa.”  

Secondo nodded solemnly, the look on his face making your heart do funny things in your chest.    

“A really good, firm kiss.  I think I can do this.”

“Sloppy, too.” 

“So demanding tonight.  Is there anything else?”

You scrunched your nose up as you thought about what else the kiss should have.  Your thoughts were so fuzzy it was hard to think about all the things that went into a kiss from your Papa.  

“Oh!  Tongue too.  Please.”

“Alright, I think I can manage that.  But after you’re going straight to bed, ok?”

“Yes, Papa.”

The sound of your shoes dropping back onto the floor echoed down the hall, but before you could protest their treatment Secondo was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.  You had to cling to his jacket harder to stay upright, the force and passion behind his kiss tough to handle after all the colorful drinks you had at his brother’s party.  Secondo’s lips tasted like the bright pink concoction you’d foisted on him before he’d insisted you both leave.

You opened your mouth under his when his now free hand moved to your ass and his fingers dug into your flesh.  Secondo began to nip and suck at your lips before slipping his tongue inside your mouth.  Both of you groaned as the kiss deepened, your tongues flicking and rubbing against each other’s.  Secondo’s mouth dominated yours, his movements practiced but still full of passion.  When the kiss finally slowed and he began to pull away you whined, trying and failing to follow his mouth as he leaned back.  He shushed you, making you pout up at him.  

“Now, now.  I think I did everything you asked, si?”  You reluctantly nodded, but continued to pout.  He rubbed a thumb along your swollen bottom lip and clicked his tongue.  “It’s time for bed now, that was the deal.”

“Can there be more kisses?”

Secondo smiled gently and nodded, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.  

“I will always have kisses for you, piccolina.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

[malicious-compliance-esq]

Why the World Needs Black Jack Randall: Queer Representation at Its Worst and Best

On March 29 my amazing mutual and fellow Evil Redcoat Pipeline traveler @meerawrites tagged me in a reblog of this video essay from @rowanellis about media literacy and queer villains that mentions both Lestat de Lioncourt from Interview with the Vampire and Black Jack Randall from Outlander. Double bisexual representation from an openly ace creator? Be still my heart!

I’d seen a few of Rowan’s other videos on YouTube—not ever having looked for her on Tumblr before Meera sent me that video—and often enjoyed both the content and the nuance. Certainly true for many aspects of this one as well. I want to make it very clear before going into detail here that I ardently support Rowan as a creator and appreciate that advocacy for diverse queer representation tremendously. I’m tagging her blog here primarily to promote her work and to encourage folks to explore for themselves. Her video essays are excellent in general and this one certainly has its fair share of wonderful content just the same.

I love the analysis here of why queer villains often get embraced as folk heroes by the LGBTQIA+ community, and many of the specific commentaries on beloved characters from iconic films and shows I grew up on like The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Lion King. Of course, I’m no expert on any of those canons despite many viewings. I don’t consider myself an expert on Interview with the Vampire by any means either, but I’ve read all the books and seen the film and the available season of the new television adaptation. I found a lot of the commentary here insightful and resonant as a more casual consumer of media in that universe. I fully expect that folks who truly do have that depth of expertise would have much to say about the specifics of Rowan’s analysis of Lestat.

If y’all are on my blog, you know why I’m here and you know where my expertise lies. I am here to sustain the collective derangement of the few and the proud who take a deeper interest in Black Jack. Who see him for the complex and complicated person he is rather than writing him off as a Complete Monster or hand waving the things he does that truly are monstrous. And oftentimes who take that deeper look at him from the informed perspective of lived experience with sexual abuse. Many of the folks I’ve met who find Black Jack uniquely resonant and compelling do so from the firsthand perspective of submissiveness and masochism—of finding him alluring because of what he could do for them.

Well then. You could fix him. You could make him worse. I could rail him.

I’m going to out myself in no uncertain terms here because I need to make my authorial standpoint painstakingly clear. Hi, my name is Malicious Compliance. In addition to being quite openly bisexual in every possible area of my life, I am Dominant and sadistic. Are those the only things I enjoy sexually? Not at all. Although I’m not switchy in the slightest when it comes to D/s and S&M activities, I absolutely enjoy sex that does not involve BDSM elements as well. I’ve also had intensely kinky sexual relationships that involved no physical practice of sadism whatsoever. This will come back later—just like Black Jack does at Versailles in S2E05 “Untimely Resurrection” after supposedly being dead from a cattle stampede at Wentworth Prison. Awesome, right? Like me, our favorite randy Redcoat is tough to kill.

Given all this and my general level of immersion in all forms of Outlander canon, once I finally could make the time to give Rowan’s video essay my full attention (more on that below) I found myself going from pumping my fist to shaking my head. I knew I’d have to say something in response. That I would need to address the Republic and set the record accurate if certainly not straight.

Initially I thought about doing a brief reblog commentary noting that although the analysis in the video gets several things quite twisted about Randall, these are understandable omissions considering Rowan does not position herself as having intensive expertise on Outlander canon. But then I started thinking about Rowan’s stated purpose in making the video. The sorts of deeper analysis and nuances that, as Rowan herself points out in her own ways, often get missed with intent in considering the actions of queer villains who are specifically bisexual and sadistic.

And as a bisexual sadist who has frequently encountered the framing of my own sexuality as an automatic threat even by other queer people who otherwise support kink practice I knew it could enhance the positive impact of the original video essay to provide some detailed commentary. Broader systemic issues that Rowan references herself can make it altogether too easy to reproduce the same harms one looks to dismantle. Black Jack Randall is a fictional guy in a fictional world. Yet how the non-fictional world views people like Black Jack—and especially people brought to those dark places in their own minds and actions by their familiar cycles of abuse—matters tremendously to me. Not because I’ve gone down his path myself, but because I understand the stakes of not going down his path.

One thing about me is I would rather pull out what remains of my natural dentition with pliers than take no action when I know I can do something uniquely impactful in addressing that passive reproduction of harm to our community, which very much is our community as both bisexual and asexual creators. In the interest of directly unpacking harmful stereotypes about bisexual sadists, building on the video essay’s overall spotlighting of queer villains and some of the specific ways biphobia factors into those characterizations and storylines, I’m taking this deepest of dives. Doing more. Because it’s my brand, certainly. But moreover because it’s my duty.

As blazingly gay Will Tavington so eloquently stated in The Patriot amid some premium sinister flirting with his enemy Ben Martin: It’s an ugly business doing one’s duty. But just occasionally, it’s a real pleasure.

So here, point by point from my own manual transcription of Rowan’s comments—using both the audio and captions for the video to ensure full accuracy, y’all know both my style and my propensity for em dashes—I give you a detailed analysis of the analysis. If you’re envisioning me gesturing wildly at a tangled yarn map like the Pepe Silvia conspiracy theory one from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia then you’ve got the measure of things entirely. Much more this energy here than the XKCD angle of Someone is wrong on the Internet. Indeed, I’d say Rowan is very right on the Internet to open this dialogue and provide folks who’ve made this depth of engagement with various characters referenced in this video the opportunity to build on her own insights.

But “duty calls” nonetheless! Happy Culloden Day to all ye Randallites near and far. Have fun and try not to get disemboweled too much.

Across the seven seasons of Outlander, a drama about a World War II nurse who travels back to 1740s Scotland—I know, don’t question it—perhaps the most loathed character amongst the show’s many villains is Captain Jonathan Randall.

The phrasing here made me reflect with sorrow on how that same premise of time travel elements automatically making something not worthwhile for reasons of implausibility—and thus perceived frivolity—has often made others pass on exploring Outlander at all. It also made me wonder, as many other things in the video essay continue to do, if perhaps the commentary draws on familiarity with only the first season of the show despite Black Jack’s storyline extending into the third season in live action and beyond that in impact. That would seem a lost opportunity considering the depth of analysis of other canons like Interview with the Vampire and Hazbin Hotel here. Both of which I highly recommend for folks who’ve not yet had the pleasure!

I also noted how the video essay makes no mention whatsoever of Randall’s canonical nickname of “Black Jack” anywhere, which seems strange given what a major plot point this becomes right from the start in S1E01 “Sassenach”. I see this as a missed opportunity to get into some of the basic nuances here about his sadism, which itself only gets mentioned minimally despite the surrounding context. The video essay sets Randall up as a sadist with the framing of this segment but then doesn’t really connect those dots. I’ve done that for y’all before with my “Red Black and Shades of Gray” meta comparing sadism themes in Outlander and The Patriot canons, which contrasts the former’s frequent depiction of sexual interest in actions causing intentional pain in Black Jack Randall’s actions with the latter’s depiction of strategic interest in actions producing incidental pain in Will Tavington’s.

Speaking of the Outlander and The Patriot contrast between the canons’ respective evil Redcoat characters, I had some notes jotted down in the background of my various in-progress BJR fics that explores canonical nicknames for Randall and Tavington and what these monikers lampshade about their respective characterizations. I also had another meta in much more primal stages of development exploring rape themes in both canons and the nuances of how sexual violence gets invoked in storylines featuring Randall and Tavington. That phrasing is very deliberate for good reason; Will Tavington doesn’t rape anyone. And Randall’s own sexual violence doesn’t play out remotely the way one might think from watching this video. Apropos of this, I had another meta envisioned about homosociality in Outlander and how Randall’s bisexuality makes him an outcast among straight and queer characters alike—inspired of course by a dear mutual exploring similar themes with Tavington in The Patriot canon.

In the first of what became many drafts of this Very Long Essay, I said “it will probably be quite some time until I get any of these finished” and then spent a few days turning that over in my head. Indeed, the process of drafting this piece to encourage readers to peek behind the curtain of Black Jack Randall’s life has necessarily involved some deeper reflection on things behind the curtain of my own life. Including how I still—at 40 unlikely years old and counting—often do things out of feelings of obligation rather than genuine desire.

Did I mention I’m a rape survivor? And that I couldn’t possibly count how many times I’ve let someone take dozens of “no” signals as a “yes” because of what it would cost me to refuse? It’s okay to enjoy certain aspects of fandom casually. Even if one isn’t already doing tons of other activity that’s anything but casual. Let yourself enjoy things. This world robs us of so much joy even when we try with all our might to protect it, to hold onto it. I am begging all of you to let yourself enjoy things before it’s too late. To do what Randall didn’t in canon—to live, and to stop willfully breaking his own heart.

If you read my blog, you know that this year has been an absolute hellscape on many fronts and that I am constantly slammed with even more of a professional overload than usual while dealing with A Lot in both the mental and physical health domains. And I generally publish at least one novella-length transformative work for Outlander each month on top of that. As a good friend put it: If I had a full-time job and had the energy to volunteer on top of that, I don’t think I’d ever write. I do what I do not because it is good for me, but because I am certifiably insane. This is not hyperbole or satire. I easily qualify for the designation per the DSM. Which has faults in spades and I’m not endorsing in the slightest, mind. My point is that I write not because I have the time or the energy to spare, but rather because if I do not write I will feel as if I cannot breathe. Why? Asked and answered.

So, a note for the good of the order: I can wait a long, long time before I write another fandom essay. This is a Sisters of Mercy reference, because of course it is. I’m writing this response to the video essay instead of finishing development on the fic I otherwise could probably have released for the Battle of Culloden anniversary on April 16. Ideally I would have done both, wouldn’t I? In addition to already releasing the prior installment of that continuity on April 13 no less! Perhaps if I’d just tried harder I could’ve given you two different lengthy writings in honor of the specific day. Or at least released something else on AO3 for April without waiting until the last minute like a slacker.

That’s the kind of thinking that made me stop sleeping entirely and wind up having a complete breakdown both mentally and physically. For those who are new around here, this is an even worse idea for me than it is for most humans because of a progressive genetic disease that kills people on the regular even when they do sleep and eat adequately and generally show compassion for themselves.

Accordingly, that sort of thinking about my own self-worth as anything other than an ATM for other people’s consumption of output is also what made me complete a PhD in literally two years while working full-time and being actively in the process of dying from my disease. I got on a medication that saved my lungs and my life just over a year after defending my dissertation. It’s taken another decade to learn the lesson I should have learned back then. How did Annie Lennox put it? Dying is easy; it's living that scares me. Paging Black Jack Randall—because if that isn’t the absolute biggest Culloden energy I don’t know what is.

It is amazing and terrible what sadism can do when turned inward on a person. The original video essay I’m responding to here never quite got around to how masterfully Randall’s character spotlights this pattern in several ways. Because the video is much broader by design than it is deep, and thus does not allow for more thorough engagement of the source material in commenting on Black Jack’s character, a lot of the same tropes the video essay aims to unpack could get repackaged with new hats instead without these additional details. So in the interest of not sending people who aren’t bisexual sadists to do bisexual sadists’ jobs, I’m giving y’all the goods.

As a British captain in an occupied Scotland, Randall radiates pure villainy.

Does he? I’m not so sure at all. First, see here for details focused closely on Outlander itself. Second, see here for use of Black Jack’s storylines in Outlander as examples of a larger trope. Search both of those pages for “Even Evil Has Loved Ones” using your browser’s Find function and you’ll get some telling material. Catch that reference to the Duke of Sandringham and Mary Hawkins in the second link, did you? We’ll get to those in time. Oh, how we will get to those.

The complete lack of mention of Season 2 and especially the iconic BJR episode near the end makes this oversight unsurprising. I think touching on that content just briefly would have supported Rowan’s overall purpose in making the initial video. At the same time, I’m guessing that stimulating nuanced and enduring dialogue about queer villains is the most important aim of the original essay! Indeed, S2E12 “The Hail Mary” represents the absolute pinnacle of my plunge into permanent derangement about Randall for reasons likely obvious considering everything I’ve already shared about my own backstory in the process of waxing loquacious to fill in additional canonical details that didn’t feature in the referenced video essay here.

I promised that the notes about my own sexual proclivities would come back, did I not? As BJR is canonically known for doing, I always keep my word. Not hyperbole in the slightest for either of us. On Black Jack’s end this gets referenced explicitly by Claire in Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber when she is helping Randall care for his dying brother Alex. It also gets demonstrated consistently by other characters and Randall himself throughout his storylines in both Season 1 and Season 2 of the show.

So indeed, one of the things I find most resonant about Black Jack is that he leans into whatever the other person in an encounter is giving him and bases his own behavior on that. This is made quite clear on the show in numerous ways—and arguably even clearer in the source novels by Diana Gabaldon, wherein we learn from Book 1 / Outlander that Black Jack frequently has trysts with domestic employees in the Scottish countryside.

Many people find Black Jack charming and handsome, to the point that he has a drawer full of perfume-scented love letters in his office at Fort William. Hilarious comic relief because he’d clearly have no reason for keeping those around other than masturbation fodder. Those of you who’ve circulated that meme about jerking off face down on the bed with the #black jack randall tag applied are entirely understanding the assignment.

For all the times he’s sexually assaulted someone—which seems to be countable on one hand for any person who isn’t Jamie himself, and near zero for anyone who isn’t associated with Jamie Fraser in some way—Randall has clearly had plenty of consensual sex with people who are not only willing but also entirely enthusiastic to get in his breeches. In the books we also learn about some rumors surrounding another prisoner named Alex MacGregor. These are never confirmed and it’s unclear even from the rumors themselves what the exact nature of Black Jack’s relationship with MacGregor was.

Why is this so important to highlight in analysis of queer villains? Here I go again quoting Carmen Maria Machado as I have before in both fic and commentary and surely will again: The world is full of hurt people who hurt people. Even if the dominant culture considers you an anomaly, that doesn’t mean you can’t be common, common as fucking dirt. This, friends, is the thesis of Black Jack Randall.

He shows little to no redeeming qualities, offers no sympathetic backstory to why he acts the way he does, and appears purely to have been driven by rage and violent pleasure.

Oh my. I’m going to leave S2E05 “Untimely Resurrection” and S2E12 “The Hail Mary” alone for the moment. But even in S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” and S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” we start to get some light shed on what Randall is really doing in Scotland. We learn by degrees later just how much his reasons for being there belie what we see on the surface. This gets expanded on in the books where the reveal on Randall’s benefactor the Duke of Sandringham being a secret Jacobite is much more detailed. But even on the show, we learn by S2E11 “Vengeance Is Mine” that Sandringham got outed as a suspected traitor to the Crown.

Goodness knows he's been outed as gay from the start to everyone but Claire, who didn’t learn this until much later after making the initial blunder of falling for Black Jack’s gambit about Sandringham having a wife. Not that this would have stopped him from being gay, of course. So-called “lavender marriage” was indeed relatively commonplace—and remains so now in some communities—both generally and in Outlander specifically. I’ll cover that in detail when we get to the points about Lord John Grey below. Notably for now, Sandringham rather than Randall himself is much more centered in a villain role in Season 2. And apropos of other content here, he absolutely doesn’t qualify for tropes about redeeming qualities. The extent of his monstrosity gets revealed in that same episode near the end of Season 2 when it comes to light that he ordered his valet Albert Danton to attack and rape his own goddaughter Mary Hawkins in an alleyway in Paris.

Even early in the series it thus seems difficult to consider Black Jack the most loathsome villain in Outlander. We’ll get to Mary in earnest—and the extreme tenderness with which Black Jack always treats her from their first meeting until his death at Culloden Moore—as we go along. For now, remember what Claire learned about Black Jack’s fate all the way back in S1E01 “Sassenach” where she and her husband Frank Randall were looking into his family genealogy in the Reverend Reginald Wakefield’s office at Inverness during their long-belated honeymoon. Some details missing there certainly, which only get revealed by degrees in Season 2. Black Jack really is Frank’s 5x great-grandfather though; he’s just not his only 5x great-grandfather.

I should probably mention here that I’m donor conceived and that I wasn’t told the truth… No, that’s putting it too kindly. I did note that I’ve always been quite dedicated to seeing the good in people who do bad deeds, and to working tirelessly to bring it out. But enough is enough. My parents lied to my face for 18 years about my ancestry. I asked them point-blank about it several times and they still told me lies. I finally got the truth out of my mother on a balcony overlooking an olive grove halfway around the world. The bus ride to get back to the nearest city and the airport were the longest four hours of my life. I never traveled with them again. And the hole inside of me never fully closed, and never will.

This too will resurface when I get to the content about Mary Hawkins and her marriage to Black Jack. I’m getting there, I promise. As my spouse once put it: I knew you were going to land the plane.

Getting back to early portions of Outlander canon and what we learn about Black Jack in Season 1 though, there’s also the iconic S1E08 “Both Sides Now” extended scene in which Black Jack gives Claire his own perspective on what he’s doing in Scotland in the first place and how distasteful he finds his work. How badly he wishes he could just go home and be warm and take a bath. How little he cares about the outcome of the conflict and how futile he feels it all is. We already know from a couple episodes prior that he loathes both the British aristocracy and his own superiors in the Army, who treat him like he’s lower than the dirt he then passive-aggressively shakes out all over their wardroom at Brockton. Including and especially his commanding officer Lord Thomas, a general who’s about as flamingly gay-coded as Will Tavington in The Patriot.

Oh, and speaking of being driven only by violent pleasure that is entirely incorrect—S2E02 “Not in Scotland Anymore” alone makes this perfectly clear. I’ve previously covered the finer details about Black Jack bottoming enthusiastically, and also enjoying gentler sexual experiences as well as rougher ones.

Black Jack’s interactions with Jenny in her flashbacks from S1E12 “Lallybroch” also shed light on this; once she goes inside the house with him, he only touches her with gentle curiosity until she bashes him over the head with a heavy object. Even then, he responds by…tossing her onto to the bed and getting partially undressed. When she starts laughing at him because he can’t get an erection (a telling piece of evidence of how Black Jack ultimately loses interest in sex if the other person doesn’t want it to at least some degree, or feel strong emotions about it that they’re willing to show) he panics and conks her head against the bedpost so he can flee without it being obvious that she chased him off.

Then there’s also the prior content from Book 1 / Outlander about the scented letters and the maids, some of which also comes back in Book 8 / Written in My Own Heart’s Blood when Roger Wakefield goes looking for Black Jack at Fort William after time traveling to 1739 a couple of weeks after Randall’s installation as commander there. I’ll come back to that a bit later given how much that scene reveals about Randall’s character and his reasons for being in Scotland.

And most of all, his villainy is compounded by the fact that he will rape, torture, and murder men and women alike—an equal opportunity monster.

Correct in essentials on the first two items as I cover elsewhere. Not so much on the third, though! In fact, the TV adaptation clarifies this beyond the information we get in the books. Whereas Book 1 / Outlander features murky rumors about Randall possibly killing one of his own soldiers at Fort William so he can pin the murder on Jamie, show canon makes little of this and indeed offers several opportunities to see Black Jack deliberately not killing people who attack him.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the final episode where he appears, S3E01 “The Battle Joined”. In that Culloden-centric episode, we watch Randall get fully pulled from his horse by a group of Scots warriors who then proceed to attack him. Up to that point Black Jack has just been shooing people away from his horse by swinging his cavalry saber in the air. Once on the ground, he basically just elbows his way out of the cluster of Jacobite soldiers and makes a beeline for Jamie instead.

Then of course there’s also Black Jack’s aggrieved, hesitant behavior at Wentworth Prison in S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” right before the cows show up to give him the business. Although Randall is well known for keeping his word, even by people who despise him absolutely, he looks defeated and anxious when Jamie reminds him that he owes him the debt of taking his life ahead of the gallows in exchange for finally “[making] free of [his] body” (see S2E02 “Castle Leoch”) in the night. Jack takes out a dagger and sort of swings it around idly—with a look on his face that can only be described as “Really?” Any playfulness remaining there seems to come from Black Jack eyeing Jamie’s nude body and thinking about what else he might do with the blade besides killing him.

Randall has a zero kill count onscreen in the television show. I’d be remiss not to note here how this places him behind even his own eventual wife Mary Hawkins, often heralded quite accurately as one of the characters in Outlander who comes closest to embodying pure goodness. But of course, the trauma of sexual violence can twist a person’s mind horribly. I might know just a little about this myself. And it only takes one experience, more so given the horrifying context outlined in S2E11 “Vengeance Is Mine”. Like anyone else, Mary has the capacity for brutal violence herself if pushed sufficiently far. I consider it something of a miracle I never went that route myself considering my own experiences can scarcely even be counted in any meaningful way. I can only think in terms of years. Seven of them whose shadows will never fully retract. When I say Black Jack and Mary were a perfectly arranged marriage, it isn’t for nothing.

We’ll get to her in earnest, I promise! Of course, I’ve already covered that ground in fiction before.

Randall makes his monstrous mark on Season 1 by sexually assaulting both of the show’s protagonists, Claire and Jamie.

Correct in essentials, but potentially a false equivalence. I’m not sure how much the video essay was intended to set the assaults on Jamie and Claire up as direct mirrors of one another. There is however a common thread here worth pulling out: How in Season 1 Black Jack only goes through with assaulting people who show at least some sexual interest in him.

Randall assaults three people in Season 1 overall: Claire in S1E01 “Sassenach” and S1E08 “Both Sides Now”; Jenny in flashbacks from S1E02 “Castle Leoch” and S1E12 “Lallybroch”; and Jamie in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” and S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul”. He also propositions Claire and Jamie together in S1E09 “The Reckoning” in an echo of propositioning Jamie individually in the S1E02 “Castle Leoch” flashback. But of the three people he assaults, only two respond with any sustained evidence of interest amid their anger and indignation.

The hateful attraction Jamie feels for Black Jack has been flogged—to borrow Frank’s phrasing about press coverage of Claire’s mysterious disappearance and return from S2E01 “Through a Glass, Darkly”—almost as badly as the man’s own back by this point. So I won’t belabor that here except to say it’s entirely nonrandom that Jamie keeps enticing Black Jack into further conflict after recovering from the brutal assaults at Wentworth and discovering Randall alive in Paris. He’s still having horny nightmares over two decades later about everything from weird group therapy scenarios with shamans on misty mountains (not hyperbole, see Book 6 / A Breath of Snow and Ashes for the goods) to fighting a totally naked Black Jack at Culloden and winding up covered in his “hot, hot blood” while they lie on the ground in a clinch (see Book 9 / Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone for that especially choice sequence) and exhausting Claire’s patience so badly in rehashing these that he eventually resorts to rambling about the dreams to Jenny instead.

What doesn’t tend to come out as much in analysis of the TV series is the key plot point from Book 1 / Outlander that Claire feels attracted to Black Jack because of his resemblance to Frank. Not just in appearance, but also in certain mannerisms and pleasures—see the shaving scene from S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” and Claire’s flashbacks to shaving Frank thusly with the very same razor, for example. Little surprise then how in Book 1 / Outlander she specifically mentions feeling “compelled to open [her] legs for him” when he ties her hands behind her back at Fort William in the equivalent sequence to later portions of S1E08 “Both Sides Now”.

By her own admission this latent attraction-by-association does not wane entirely until after she and her friends rescue Jamie from Wentworth Prison at the end of Season 1. After that point, things go the other way. Although Claire spends Season 2 in an odd state of détente with Black Jack himself, even after the events of S2E07 “Faith” for which neither she nor Jamie explicitly blame Jack, she initially feels afraid of Frank when she reconnects with him back in the 20th Century as seen in S2E01 “Through a Glass, Darkly”. Why mention this here? That fear only subsides when Claire sees how much Frank treasures being a father to Brianna, the child she conceived with Jamie before going back through the stones to her own time. Indeed, later installments of the book series also show Claire deliberately striving for accuracy in her remembrances of both Frank and Black Jack as complicated men who were capable of deep love.

Scuffling is also arousing for Black Jack. Although the shaving scene demonstrates that this isn’t the only sort of physical pleasure he enjoys, he certainly gets a kick out of it regardless. So Claire’s willingness to scrap with him—including when she literally gives him a kick to the testicles with her knee in S1E01 “Sassenach” after he pins her to the ground in the forest—heightens the arousal and feels like play to him. Contrast this with Jenny’s incredulous laughter and complete unwillingness to take the fight further after hitting him over the head with a blunt object to get him to back off.

Does this take any of Randall’s actions out of the territory of assault? Nope. But it does provide a context to his motivations. Although his means of seeking affection are entirely warped, at the end of the day Black Jack really is after human connection. I’m entirely in agreement with other Outlander fans who’ve mentioned wanting a companion series about the Randall family. I have my own ideas about that history that I’ve referenced in transformative works. I would also love to see Gabaldon’s own perspective on what damaged Black Jack’s psyche so badly.

Finally, Randall’s treatment of women often differs from his treatment of men just in general. By his own admission in S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” he is “not a casual person with women” usually. He says this while expressing regret for how he treated Claire in the woods outside Craigh Na Dun. Which is very genuine per his actor’s own comments about playing the character; Tobias Menzies has mentioned in interviews that Black Jack always believes whatever he’s saying fully in the moment.

Something to note about Black Jack in general is that he will express regret and then claim he doesn’t feel it. This is probably quite accurate considering Jack shows a lot of signs of dissociation and may not feel much of anything most of the time. We see an example of this simultaneous expression and negation of regret in S2E12 “The Hail Mary” during the sequence at the tavern. And although the meaning of Randall’s comment about not being casual initially seems ambiguous, we get the reveal on it entirely in that same episode via the dynamic between Black Jack and Mary Hawkins. He takes her well-being and her safety so seriously that he’d rather die than risk any chance of hurting her.

Of course, his brandy-soaked mind isn’t realizing that she’ll get hurt far worse if he does die. We see enough in both book and show canon to understand how Black Jack treated Mary in life. Even that single moment where he enters the room at the boarding house says a lot; his entire face lights in a genuine smile that reaches his eyes as soon as she looks at him. The interactions between the two of them are some of the most delicate and tender moments of the entire season.

These sequences also provide some context for the different handling of the moments after Alex’s death. In the Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber version of this sequence Black Jack is crying and so drunk he can barely stand, whereas in episode S2E12 “The Hail Mary” he’s more lucid and vacillates between catatonic silence and a harrowing moment of punching his brother’s cadaver. Calls back to Claire’s comment in S1E02 “Castle Leoch” about how “there’s no joy in flogging a dead man” because of course this wasn’t about joy. Black Jack is entirely devastated, both for himself and for Mary. And although Mary herself looks pained at seeing this unfold, and clings to Claire in response, she looks more heartbroken than afraid. Her depth of emotion in that moment contrasts clearly with her apathy at gazing upon Danton’s dead body and Sandringham’s decapitated corpse back at his Bellhurst Manor estate (or Belmont House depending on which version of canon one consults) in the previous episode.

Finally and perhaps relatedly, I should spotlight Black Jack’s “I choose the whore” comment from S1E01 “Sassenach” about his own taste in women. Although part of an ironic commentary on the juxtaposition of Claire’s accent and vocabulary with her ample use of profanity, this also tells us a fair amount about Randall’s overall attitudes toward class. We learn in other portions of canon such as S2E06 “Best Laid Schemes” and various sequences in the first two books that Randall visits sex workers and that there aren’t lurid rumors swirling around about his treatment of feminine prostitutes. Black Jack’s sexual antagonism toward other men is more intense by design.

Randall’s queerness is a weapon that he wields indiscriminately.

Not really. That would be his dick. Randall generally doesn’t go through with assaulting people who don’t show any sexual interest during the initial scuffle. In fact, he can’t even get aroused physically when the other person isn’t fighting him in a horny way. Even when the person is somewhat horny it still doesn’t work for Randall unless their level of arousal is high. We see this with the assault on Claire during S1E08 “Both Sides Now” and especially in the equivalent scene from Book 1 / Outlander.

The only exception to this is an assault that happens during Season 2—which definitely seems like a missed opportunity to mention in direct parallel to the reference to preying on children in Rowan’s analysis of Lestat from Interview with the Vampire. During the S2E06 “Best Laid Schemes” chronology later revealed in full during S2E07 “Faith” Randall assaults Claudel, a boy who either pickpockets or works (depending on whether one goes with the show or book version of the canon backstory) at the Maison Élise brothel in Paris.

On the show it’s clear that he does this specifically to get Jamie to fight him; he knows Jamie is on the premises collecting debts and that Claudel has been walking around with him. Sure enough, upon hearing Claudel scream Jamie comes bursting into the room, hauls Black Jack into the hallway, and proceeds to beat the daylights out of him. The look of delight on Randall’s face at seeing him appear and subsequently getting pummeled by him leaves little doubt as to his objective in assaulting Claudel.

In Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber the timing and particulars of this storyline differ substantially. But as in the show, Randall is canonically an alcoholic and gets progressively deeper into his cups throughout the Paris storyline and his brother’s subsequent health decline. At the brothel he’s so drunk he doesn’t know where he is, what is going on around him, or even seem to remember who he is. Given the greater development of intrigue in the books surrounding whether Randall had a sexual relationship with his younger brother Alex, it seems likely that the angle here is Black Jack somehow seeking Alex in a person who reminds him of his brother during his early adolescent years.

No one is safe.

Aren’t they? Here we go, then. Time for some detailed Mary Hawkins content at long last.

The basics: We learn all the way back in S1E01 “Sassenach” and equivalent sequences from Book 1 / Outlander that before dying at the Battle of Culloden, Black Jack Randall married someone named Mary Hawkins and that she later gave birth to a son named Denys. Claire encounters Mary Hawkins for the first time in France in S2E02 “Not in Scotland Anymore” and grows closer to her while having the vague sense that she knows that name from somewhere. It isn’t until learning in S2E03 “Useful Occupations and Deceptions” that Black Jack himself is still alive that Claire realizes where she’s seen Mary’s name before: Frank’s family bible during a meeting with the Reverend Wakefield.

At first glance, Mary is everything one wouldn’t expect in someone who’d eventually marry Black Jack—or at least Claire thinks so. She feels completely befuddled by how someone who seems so meek and timid could possibly end up with someone like Black Jack. This becomes all the more confusing for Claire in S2E04 “La Dame Blanche” when Mary is getting involved with Jack’s younger brother Alex, a curate who has accompanied his employer the Duke of Sandringham to Paris. After Claire and Mary are attacked in an alleyway at Sandringham’s behest, resulting in Mary getting raped by a mysterious assailant later revealed to be the Duke’s own valet Albert Danton, Alex cares for her—and then gets locked in the Bastille for his trouble. Claire wrestles with her conscience about whether to get Alex freed given her own knowledge of how Black Jack and Mary are supposed to wind up together if Frank is ever to be born at all.

Leave it to having half the information resulting in getting things half right, as often happens in Outlander and in life alike.

Mary has been leveling up her confidence throughout Season 2 and corresponding portions of Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber while growing closer to both Claire and Alex. We don’t see onscreen how her social relationship with Black Jack himself evolves once he arrives in Paris—but in the TV series the two clearly know one another well already when Jack shows up at the boarding house in S2E12 “The Hail Mary”. In book canon the different pacing of events puts Black Jack’s wedding to Mary and Alex’s death earlier in the year, leaving a couple months until the Battle of Culloden. On the show Black Jack and Mary are only married for three days but have substantially more history with one another prior to their wedding. Blending the canons offers a portrait of two people uniquely poised to understand each other, united through their shared love of Alex but also oddly well matched on several other fronts.

Have I freeze-framed those sequences of S2E12 “The Hail Mary” that feature Mary and Black Jack interacting? Yes. Several times. Highly recommended for anyone who wants to plummet into that sort of derangement.

For the rest of you fine folk, the cocktail napkin summary here is that Mary represents both the shining gentleness that Black Jack so prizes in his younger brother—and I’d encourage anyone who still thinks of him as a Complete Monster to consider how Alex turned out so well in the first place given Jack is documented as the only member of their family who’s taken responsibility for his well-being—and the capacity for ruthless violence that Black Jack repeatedly points out in himself.

Here I should mention though that Black Jack remains as dedicated to veracity in this as in anything else. When he says “I dwell in darkness, madam—and darkness is where I belong” to Claire at Brockton in S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” he’s saying this as much to convince himself as to convince her. Ditto his comments to her at the tavern, most of all the haunting question: “Do you really want Mary in my bed?” Where exactly would she be safer than with someone who has consistently treated her like gold, who looks at her as if the sun shines directly from her face, and who would move mountains to honor his beloved brother’s wishes? And wouldn’t Captain Zero Kill Count also understand well from Mary’s own history what would happen to him if he were to lay so much as an unwanted finger on her? She killed a practical stranger in all but cold blood with a triumphant hiss of satisfaction!

Badass, by the way. Judging by his responses to Claire throughout the series—see his comments in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” describing Claire as “no coward” and “a fit match for [her] husband” for example—I suspect Black Jack agreed. He even said explicitly in the same episode that he “cannot give [Claire] a better compliment than that” regarding her bravery and nerve mirroring Jamie’s own. I imagine quite a bit is happening behind those hazel eyes (described by Claire oftentimes as cold but noted distinctly by Roger in Book 8 / Written in My Own Heart’s Blood as being warm) whenever Black Jack looks at Mary.

Especially because Mary herself got Randall’s own abuser offed via Murtagh Fraser keeping a promise of his own in S2E11 “Vengeance Is Mine” by following up Mary’s own dagger-assisted disposal of Danton with an axe swing to Sandringham’s neck. Consider one of the only things Black Jack tells us verbatim about his life offscreen: In S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” a visibly shaken Randall tells Claire about finding Private McGreevey beheaded a couple weeks prior. By contrast, Mary regards her own godfather’s headless corpse with a shrug and says “I think we’d better go” in a matter-of-fact tone. Mary, all of 16 years old at the time, has no combat experience whatsoever and keeps her cool about this absolutely. Quite an evolution even from earlier in the same episode when she questions her ability to assist Claire in communicating with Hugh Munro just outside to help Murtagh and Jamie sneak into the Duke’s house.

Our girl comes through in the end—right before we watch the steel in her spine break through in earnest as she picks up a dagger from a table full of food and ends her rapist’s life after the reveal of this being the same man who attacked her in Paris. And she doesn’t lose her nerve after the immediate danger has passed, either. When we next encounter her at Inverness in S2E12 “The Hail Mary” she’s bullying a pharmacist into giving her more laudanum to ease Alex’s coughing and pain as his illness progresses. Then when Claire recognizes her and says hello, Mary immediately lights into her for conspiring to keep her and Alex apart.

I’ll note that as a person with progressive lung disease myself, I really appreciated Mary’s ire here. However strategic and born of understandable fears that Frank would never get to live, Claire’s invocation earlier in Season 2 of the tired old idea that chronically ill people make undesirable partners—that we can only take from the world and never give—rings both hollow and sour. After all, I’ve been there before. And in many ways I’m still scrambling frantically to escape the shadow of those ideas. To quote my spouse again: You never stop running until long after the demons finally stop chasing you.

I admire Mary Hawkins because she knew when to run—and moreover, because she knew when to stop running and bring the man who chased her in the first place down in sniveling puddle with a knife through his kidney. “It’s messy,” Black Jack said back in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” of killing people with daggers. But the visceral impact there—exact words and no mistake—never fails to feel any less relatable for me, considering my own experiences.

Here’s the other thing: People came to save Mary Hawkins. When she needed help, people showed up. She killed her own rapist but she had an audience and she had backup. Murtagh demonstrated how seriously he took the promise to avenge Mary if he ever found out who was responsible for the attacks on her and Claire. Black Jack took showing up in Paris to help Alex earlier in Season 2 with similar gravity. In Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber Claire specifically reflects on how “Jack Randall was a gentleman” with all his promises, and has never given anyone reason to doubt his word despite being awful in many other ways. The fact that Black Jack chose to keep his vows to Mary by caving to the self-loathing fear of being able to love her better by dying and leaving her and Denys his pension than by living and showing her the same fierce devotion he showed Alex doesn’t negate the seriousness of those promises in his mind.

Again exact words there regarding love as action. I’m certain from her own subsequent sharing about Black Jack to their son that Mary would have appreciated both the devotion and the ferocity. And likewise, that Jack himself already appreciated Mary’s own variety of darkness and the specifics of how it manifested after first taking root.

In that spirit I highly recommend visiting the Outlander Wiki page about Mary for additional specifics on her background and character arc. Don’t sleep on the pictures if you do venture over there, especially the ones featuring her looking deep in thought while wearing an elaborate silk gown. That’s not the face of an innocent little lamb with no capacity for brutality of her own. And even prior to her rape, Mary often manipulates people to get what she wants by pouting and playing coy. Which of course tracks—Siri, play “Rich Girl” by Hall and Oates! See also my reblog commentary on a dear mutual’s wonderful art envisioning Black Jack and Mary in a happier timeline.

TL;DR: Mary has a lot of steel in her spine. But it doesn’t save her from additional tribulations. Indeed, those further struggles wind up serving as evidence of Black Jack’s own character and how he treated her himself during their brief marriage prior to his death.

I don’t tend to cry over media. But I absolutely teared up reading Denys Randall’s words about Black Jack in Book 9 / Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone. Denys is Black Jack’s son who—true to the expanded version in Book 1 / Outlander of the prophecy Claire whispers into Randall’s ear in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison”—never got to meet him because he died in battle. I won’t go into this in detail just here, but that book resoundingly refutes the idea that Black Jack ever treated his family like anything other than gold.

Even in Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber he speaks with grace and understanding about his older brother Edward, the family heir who is stingy and neglectful and married to a person who clearly and openly hates Black Jack for being queer. In that later book though, we learn how Black Jack actually treated Mary and how carefully he made sure that Denys would always be taken care of financially even if something happened to Mary later on and the income from her widow’s pension was lost. He specifically set aside money for Denys to buy a commission in the Army—or to get an education if he had been considered female, so that he wouldn’t wind up trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of survival.

The contrast Denys then draws with how Mary’s second husband Robert Isaacs—who was very materially wealthy and very kind to Denys but not a loving spouse—gave me chills. Yeah, Mary Hawkins did get abused by one of her husbands. Just not Black Jack Randall. The clarity with which Book 9 / Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone shows how much better off Mary would have been socially and emotionally if Black Jack had survived to raise Denys with her wrecked me and still does.

I was and am lucky to have an amazing dad. The lies he and my mother told are wholly understandable stains on the records of two people who have always done their best in an absolutely garbage world that thinks very little of fathers who do not sire their children. And I know some of the members of the sperm donor’s family as well, though not my biological father himself. They’re pretty cool people too. One of my great-cousins on that side said he’d be proud to have been my biological father if he too had chosen to donate to that research study. I did cry then. I’ll never forget opening that letter with my hands shaking while I sat on the stoop of my old house. I can’t impress enough on those of you who are direct genetic descendants of both your parents what that meant to me. I can’t tell you how it feels to look in the mirror and always see a huge question mark. To miss a person you’ve never met, to feel them there like the phantom sensation from an amputated body part.

Denys Randall understands that entirely. And as much as Alex clearly loved his son in life and death alike, we come away from that storyline knowing just how thoroughly Black Jack was a real father to Denys. We also learn how Mary keeps his memory alive and still carries a torch for him as she also continues to mourn Alex. Knowing how much she withdrew into herself haunts me. I keep fixing it in my fics. There will never be a story of mine where Mary isn’t loved and cherished—no matter how much trauma she goes through.

Which also seems to have been Black Jack’s philosophy about both her and Denys. Tragically if quite understandably, he deluded himself into thinking he could love them better in death than in life. The reveal in Book 9 / Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone on just how tragic a choice this wound up being still crushes me. Because it’s such a hopeless lesson, isn’t it? The idea that cycles of abuse and violence can only be broken by meeting a gruesome end oneself. That humanity has no hope for redemption. That rapists can only ever be rapists, nothing else. Even if they were clearly many other things all along.

This is, incidentally, why as much as I enjoy exploring continuities in which the specific canonical unfolding of events from Wentworth Prison gets averted to at least some degree, I have more active continuities in which this does not happen. I even retconned one of my older stories somewhat because I realized that for the rest of the continuity to play out as I envisioned it, and fully develop the ideas I wanted to develop, straying more than a hair from the exact canonical take in the initial arc didn’t make sense. The results from that deeper thinking are what I just dropped this past Saturday in observance of Alex Randall’s death anniversary. Among my published stories, I presently have three continuities that feature some aversion of the canonical Wentworth sexual assaults and three others that feature no aversion whatsoever.

Someone once asked me if I thought Black Jack and Jamie could ever have a healthy relationship after what happened at the prison in canon. It certainly seems unlikely. But fiction isn’t exclusively about showing healthy relationships. To me, it’s about showing relationships that make sense for the story being told. And in that regard, I do explore the strange intimacy that sometimes grows between trauma bonded people. After all, it’s a tale I’ve come to know well. One I’ve written in my own life. One I’m arguably still writing.

I cannot bring myself to swallow whatever poisonous purity philosophy would lead me to believe that people who have sexually assaulted others in the past cannot have consensual sexual relationships as well. I also can’t ignore the considerable data I’ve amassed on this from direct personal experience.

If people cannot change, what are any of us even doing here? Why not just give up the ghost of life on a burning planet—leave the indignities and hurts of corporeality behind forever? That sort of thinking seems more bleak than anything Black Jack Randall could possibly say or do. Indeed, him winding up looking at his own choices that way in the end broke two hearts irrevocably. And that’s a charitable estimate. Jamie’s own haunting memories, vivid dreams, and enduring obsessions about Black Jack throughout Book 4 / Drums of Autumn and beyond make clear that killing Randall didn’t solve anything, or diminish the formidable pull Jamie feels toward him. Even in show canon, when Claire reveals in S2E03 “Useful Occupations and Deceptions” that Jack is still alive Jamie breathes a sigh of relief and expresses joy at having his will to live restored.

Sure, he frames this around a specific interest in getting revenge against Randall. What’s that saying about digging two graves? There’s no exact source for this in any documented Confucius writings, but the idea certainly holds up. Jamie almost heads to his own grave for the sake of tangling with Randall one last time. For his trouble he winds up nearly dying on the battlefield, then doing the same from a severe infection secondary to his wounds, then goes on the lam for several years and lives in a cave, and then winds up incarcerated under especially deplorable conditions before getting paroled to indentured servitude and winding up coerced into sex again. All while still having relentless horny dreams about Black Jack—which only get hornier after Claire returns to him nearly two decades later. Amazing.

It perfectly correlates that he’s not just a sadistic person, but also holds a powerful position as a member of a colonizing military force.

This came so close to full accuracy. Like frostbitten Edward Little gasping his last with chains in his face levels of close.

Sadistic person? Yes. Powerful position? Kind of. We’ll get to that in a minute. Colonizing military force? Yes. However, is Black Jack himself a colonizer? Only if one discounts what gets revealed in Season 2 and the equivalent portions of Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber about the Duke of Sandringham having Jacobite sympathies and pulling the strings of Randall’s posting to Fort William.

The Reverend Wakefield and Black Jack’s fifth great-grandson Frank Randall unpack this to some extent in S1E01 “Sassenach” when discussing what Jack was doing in Scotland in the first place and the kind of reputation he built. We don’t get the full goods until close to the end of Season 2 with those scenes in S2E11 “Vengeance Is Mine” where the British Army has Sandringham’s estate surrounded with a massive encampment.

To lay things out quite clearly for those less familiar with Outlander canon: Sandringham was deliberately and strategically trying to incite the Jacobite rebellion. He got Black Jack posted to Fort William specifically because he knew Randall could stir up sentiment against the Crown if given the proper conditions. What’s a better weapon of mass agitation than a terrible guy already maligned by his superiors for being bisexual and kinky and having “unnatural tastes” as Randall himself puts it in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” while rambling to Claire? If he didn’t give direct orders for Black Jack to lean into his worst impulses when presented with worthy adversaries, the Duke certainly gamed the system as much as possible by marooning Randall in a cold and isolated place where most of the civilians thought he was weird and most of the soldiers thought he was creepy.

Jack doesn’t connect all these dots directly during the scenes at the prison. But in S1E08 “Both Sides Now” during the Fort William sequences—in the broadcast version but even more so in this extended cut—we get Black Jack’s own perspectives on his posting in Scotland and how thoroughly he isn’t invested in the conflict there. All he wants is to go back home and be warm again. Which of course he can’t do, because it would spell serious harm for his younger brother per everything we learn throughout Season 2 and Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber.

Is Randall powerful in the Army? More so than the soldiers under his command, certainly. But as a Captain—per both what we see in the Brockton sequences of S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” and historical information on British Army ranks—he’s subordinate to many others. Who very much enjoy putting him in his place, at that. So in terms of power relative to other English soldiers, he’s somewhere in the middle of the structure. To those now busily envisioning Office Space type corporate middle management AUs: I salute you! And I’m gonna need you to come in on Saturday.

So what about with respect to other people and contexts? Black Jack definitely isn’t powerful relative to the Duke of Sandringham, per other content here. Indeed, he spends at least the last decade or so of his adult life quite firmly under Sandringham’s thumb. Probably other body parts too—see Randall’s hedging comments in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” about the Duke liking to talk “especially when he drinks” for example. Book 1 / Outlander and Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber provide additional context about Black Jack’s positionality relative to others in his world—especially via the Duke telling Claire how much Randall craves punishment.

Finally, let’s talk about Black Jack’s status relative to his self-made enemy Jamie Fraser. By which I mean not at all that Jamie is self-made, because of course he isn’t. As a Laird in charge of his own family estate on which tenant farmers pay taxes, Jamie comes from a more powerful family in the Scottish Highlands than Black Jack’s own back in southern England. We learn more from meeting characters like Mary Hawkins later in canon about how “not all baronetcies are created equal” as I once phrased it. Randall’s own father Sir Denys being a baronet didn’t mean much, as evidenced by Black Jack’s own comments to Claire during S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” and equivalent portions of Book 1 / Outlander about his parents paying for tutors to help their son disguise any hint of a Sussex accent.

Ironically the most power Black Jack could’ve had over Jamie in any structural sense would have come from serving as his commander when the younger man fought in the British Army himself. Which would absolutely make for a splendid fic premise, but never happened in canon. Jamie and Black Jack don’t meet until the former is already back from France and settling in anew on his family’s Lallybroch estate in October of 1740.

We certainly meet other people connected to Jamie’s own family who would qualify as colonizers though. Given I already discuss Lord John Grey elsewhere, here I’ll mention Jamie’s aunt Jocasta Cameron as a prime example. Storylines set at her River Run plantation—yikes—beginning in Season 4 of the TV series and corresponding portions of the novels reveal her as not merely a colonizer but an enslaver. One who has the means—and indeed the implements ready at hand—to liberate her slaves but declines to do so. Even after pressure from people close to her. Double yikes.

I don’t want to set Jocasta up as somehow being more villainous than Black Jack; the two characters show us different aspects of the human capacity for knowing harm. However, I do find it telling that a bisexual person whose worst behavior focuses almost entirely on one guy—and otherwise gets directed at people somehow in his orbit—often gets held up as this shining paragon of evil by viewers outside the queer community, a point Rowan makes herself in the original video essay. What I’m specifically unpacking here is the colonialism angle. The bleak side of humanity shows up in many forms in Outlander with respect to colonialism as well as other forms of violence.

The queer figure is not just a danger to the individual, the men or women who might be their victims, but also a danger to society at large—because their existence contradicts oppose truths about what is natural and right.

This tracks. Randall would say so himself—and indeed he does, in almost those same exact words. “I may have what are called unnatural tastes,” he muses to Claire in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” while letting her hair down around her shoulders and then giving her a big old sniff and shivering with delight, “but I do have some aesthetic principles.” You know, just in case anyone was still wondering if Black Jack’s interest in women was genuine. Whether in the show or the books, we get plenty of evidence that Randall is in the mood for cunt as often as not, to borrow his own phrasing.

Incidentally, I need to point out how “me myself, I’m not in the mood for cunt today” is probably the most bisexual line ever uttered on television. Today. Mercy.

And so here we see this twisting of a homophobic rhetoric of queer danger to create a monstrous rapist colonial figurehead.

First, a clarification: The relevant phobia here is biphobia rather than homophobia. Rowan’s video essay covers this overall topic and the distinction between the two phenomena with substantial detail and insight. What doesn’t come through clearly in the video is how gay people are treated with much more respect in the story world of Outlander than their bisexual peers. Nowhere do we see this more clearly than with Lord John Grey, another queer Redcoat whose path intertwines with Jamie’s in numerous ways over the years.

After first encountering Grey as a scared teenager whose life Jamie spares in S2E09 “Je Suis Prest” we encounter him anew years later starting in S3E03 “All Debts Paid” as the incoming warden of Ardsmuir Prison where Jamie is incarcerated. Swiftly mortified by conditions at the prison, Lord John enlists Jamie’s help in working with prisoners and eventually forges a tenuous friendship with him. Much chess is also played. However, a wedge also gets driven between the two men when Lord John places his hand over Jamie’s one evening during a chess game, unaware of his history with Black Jack or how it would make him react to any expression of affection by another man.

But over time, Lord John secures Jamie’s parole to the Helwater estate where each of them respectively wind up entangled with one of the Dunsany sisters. The younger Geneva, a feisty and cantankerous person who develops quite a fondness for Jamie, coerces the Highlander into sleeping with her when she reveals that she knows his true identity and could get him in a lot of trouble. To get Jamie employment and ensure that he could stay out of prison, Lord John had to pass him off as a run-of-the-mill parolee instead of the fabled “Red Jamie” who helped to lead the Jacobite rebellion. Rather ironic considering Jamie killed one of the actual leaders of the rebellion and could likely have gotten significantly better treatment from the Crown based on that—but that’s beyond the scope of this analysis.

Throughout his storylines, whether serving as warden at Ardsmuir or Governor of Jamaica or any of the other roles he occupies over the years, Lord John is shown to be empathetic and kind. Not without fault certainly. Amongst other things there’s an intriguing storyline later in canon involving him and Claire that serves as a reminder of how sexuality is often not black and white. But he does get set up consistently as a foil to Randall, perhaps most effectively in his choice to marry Geneva’s older sister Isobel and care for the child she conceived with Jamie prior to dying while giving birth. Lord John presents a different take on fatherhood, choosing to give of his presence to William Ransom rather than feeling he can love him best in absentia.

The books offer some fascinating scenes in which Lord John’s son William and Black Jack’s son Denys encounter each other while both serving in the British Army in the American Colonies. That’s how we learn some of the information referenced elsewhere about what Mary Hawkins has passed on to her son about his father, and how she feels herself. I resonated a lot with both men’s sense of having a hole inside them. At this point William has lost two mothers and two fathers—Jamie having had quite a hand in the boy’s upbringing until age six. By 1778 when he encounters Denys again, he has learned the truth about who sired him.

I could write a whole other essay about that considering how relatable the entire storyline surrounding William’s parentage is. Folks who read my work likely know by this point that I got into Outlander because the interconnected storylines surrounding the Randall and Fraser families resonate with my own trauma in a way nothing else ever has. For purposes of this essay though, I’ll point out that even after lying to his kid for many years and dealing him a psychic wound that will never heal as a result, Lord John gets hailed as a good dad and a good person.

John Grey absolutely isn’t a rapist. In fact, in S3E04 “Of Lost Things” he reacts with horror at the idea of Jamie giving him sexual favors in exchange for raising his son. It turns out that Grey is already marrying Geneva’s older sister Isobel—another fascinating subject for deeper analysis that I’m planning to incorporate into my “Dispatches from Fort Laggan” continuity.

Brief sidebar apropos of general queer representation themes: The relationship between Lord John and Isobel offers an undersung illustration in Outlander canon of the diverse dynamics in queer marriages. I think there’s ample ground for reading the union between Lord John and Isobel as either a “lavender marriage” between a homosexual and homoromantic man with a heteroromantic or biromantic woman who’s asexual or a purely romantic marriage that doesn’t involve any sexual activity because one person isn’t interested at all and the other person is only interested with members of their own sex.

What’s more relevant here is how Lord John and Isobel clearly share a deep affection for one another that engages their shared love for other family members—quite similar to the dynamic between Black Jack and Mary. In serving as a foil for Black Jack on some fronts, Grey serves as a mirror in others. Unsurprising then how by the time he encounters William again, Denys Randall has dropped “Isaacs” from his surname entirely after the death of his stepfather Robert.

On the colonialism front, it would be difficult to frame Black Jack as being somehow the worse offender. Although not a Jacobite himself because he doesn’t care about the outcome of the English-Scottish conflict one way or another, he serves as an agent for the Jacobite cause de facto by agitating unrest at Sandringham’s behest. Ironically an example of punch-clock villainy in that regard. Although I wouldn’t ordinarily associate that trope with Black Jack for his zeal in antagonistic behavior towards Jamie and anyone in his orbit, it certainly seems to reflect how he approaches his career. Randall has no less antipathy for his fellow English people than he does for Scottish Highlanders, and indeed awkwardly hopes for acceptance by the local people while new at Fort William per his exchange with Roger in Book 8 / Written in My Own Heart’s Blood.

Meanwhile, Lord John’s storyline sees him become Governor of Jamaica. Governor of Jamaica. If that isn’t the epitome of white settler colonialism I don’t know what is.

Here’s a monster against which are two culturally opposed heroes; English Claire and Scottish Jamie can feel equally threatened.

I think I covered most of the relevant contrasts here in my musings on the sexual assaults against Jamie and Claire during Season 1. Here I’ll add that indeed a major plot point for Claire is how she often does not feel threatened by Randall—and how readily he comes to consider her an ally deserving of his deepest respect. This seems especially interesting in the context of Claire’s own ambiguous sexuality, which I touch on directly in some brief discussion of Geillis Duncan. And from their encounter in the gardens at Versailles from S2E05 onward, Claire by her own admission doesn’t consider Black Jack any sort of threat. She wants Jamie to leave him alone and let him help his brother out without the two of them getting into trouble for having horny fights. Dueling was illegal in Paris at the time, and indeed Jamie gets arrested for fighting Black Jack at the Bois de Boulogne a couple episodes later.

Prior to that though, Claire frantically ruins Jamie’s original plans for dueling Black Jack by getting Randall locked in the Bastille overnight on suspicion of raping Mary Hawkins. The irony to end all ironies, surely! Randall himself doesn’t even seem that aggravated about it given Claire did this in an effort to spare his life. He does however feel aggravated about Jamie apparently deciding he’s not worth the trouble to fight, not knowing all the history surrounding Frank Randall or why exactly Claire seems certain that he’ll die in April of 1746.

Both Black Jack and Claire wind up badly injured following the duel—her with a complicated stillbirth that leaves the placenta inside her body and nearly causes death from sepsis, and him from a significant stab wound to the groin. In show canon per S2E07 “Faith” this appears to be mainly a soft tissue injury to the pubic mound and possibly a cut to the side of the base of the penis; in the novel version it’s more extensive and involves some maiming of the penis and one testicle. I mention this now because in Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber Claire reflects specifically on Randall being even less of a threat because of his injuries. He’s also very ill in the novel version, likely from a recent bout of cholera, whereas in the show his physical impairments are caused by the cattle stampede from the rescue sequence at the beginning of S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul”.

So it seems unsurprising that when Black Jack reconnects with Claire at Inverness (Edinburgh in book canon) and begs her to use her skills in healing to save his brother Alex’s life, the two characters find themselves on remarkably even footing. Claire lampshades this herself in repeating Randall’s “I am not the man I once was” line from S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” back to him. Randall also acknowledges this amid strong praise for her medical acumen. He has long since gotten direct perspective on those competencies himself considering the aid she rendered to a badly injured British soldier at Brockton in the same episode, along with her clear success in rehabilitating Jamie’s hand following the extensive injuries Black Jack inflicted to it in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison”.

In both the show and book versions of canon, Claire shows Randall as much compassion as she can, and also expresses respect in her narrations for how he has shouldered the financial and instrumental costs of caring for his brother largely alone. When she urges him to wed Mary in their interactions at the tavern in S2E12 “The Hail Mary” she echoes many of Alex’s own sentiments about Black Jack’s capacity for tenderness and how seriously he takes caring for his family.

Given she already knows how Randall will die, and continues caring for him as best she can even after it gets revealed that Frank’s family line descends genetically from Alex rather than Black Jack himself, her “I’ll help you bleed him myself” comment to Jamie in S2E05 “Untimely Resurrection” seems more for his benefit than her own. Indeed, in book canon Claire feels threatened by Jamie’s lingering obsession with Randall and his repeated rambling about the strange erotic dreams he has about Black Jack. She wants him to have closure on that part of his life, thinking that Randall dying will put a stop to that fixation. Unfortunately for Claire it’s not that simple.

Even Jamie himself doesn’t consider Randall much of a threat in the end. In the book version of canon, he even attends Black Jack’s wedding and serves as a witness for him, whereas Murtagh does this on the show. Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber details how Jamie escorts a drunk and crying Black Jack back to his own quarters, holding him up because he can’t walk on his own. We never find out what exactly happened between the two of them in that room, though goodness knows a couple of enterprising fan authors have done heroic work in envisioning potentialities.

Show canon does deliver entirely on the erotic tenor of the final encounter between the two men just as Book 3 / Voyager does, with much of S3E01 “The Battle Joined” getting devoted to Black Jack and Jamie grappling with each other while moaning against each other’s ears and looking as if they’re about to have orgasms. Makes sense considering the showrunners reportedly instructed Tobias Menzies and Sam Heughan to go for a combination of the final battle sequence from The Patriot and the sex scene from Cold Mountain in their choreography. They definitely nailed it on the filming. Very much the same energy in the books from all of Jamie’s flashbacks to those moments and the time he spent lying under Black Jack’s body.

An irony that seems worth mentioning itself for how Randall’s last act was to protect Jamie from getting finished off himself during the British Army’s death sweeps of Culloden Moore. In light of this and all the other history between the two of them, it seems less surprising that Jamie left his wedding present—which Claire had returned to him for safekeeping before going back through the stones to her own time—of a dragonfly preserved in amber on the battlefield with Black Jack’s body.

And it’s by standing up to his reign of terror that the two come together, eventually falling in love.

Reign of terror? Not so much, for reasons I’ve already gone into elsewhere. What precisely is Randall “reigning” over in the first place? He’s an exiled soldier who got given a remote fort on a bunch of barren rocks surrounded by water in a freezing cold place that he hates. He has no power over anyone except his own soldiers.

In terms of more overt antagonism, Black Jack focuses the vast majority of his awful behavior on someone who even while chained to a dungeon floor could still kill him with his bare hands. Jamie does kill Black Jack’s much larger and stronger bodyguard Marley in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” while restrained thusly. If Randall is keeping the Highlands in any kind of iron grip, it’s so weak that he can’t even keep his own bodyguard alive with a chained-up prisoner. Who isn’t even there by his own doing, mind—Jamie gets picked up by a random Redcoat patrol after getting coerced in S1E13 “The Watch” into joining the Watch with Taran MacQuarrie, a suspected Jacobite accused of treason. More details on this get revealed in S1E14 “The Search” as Claire, Jenny, and Murtagh all strive to locate Jamie.

Much of that falls beyond the scope of this analysis. Directly within that scope though is how whether or not anyone likes it, Jamie survives his incarceration at Wentworth Prison because Black Jack raced down there just in time to get him brought down from the gallows. Given canonical knowledge of how Randall does nothing without sincerity—however twisted that sincerity may be—this paints a complicated picture of his impact.

Indeed, one of the things that makes the dynamic between Black Jack and Jamie so interesting and satisfying is how in many ways they’re equals. I covered that extensively in my Ask response about foil dynamics in Outlander canon, so I won’t rehash it in this analysis. But TL;DR: Black Jack assaulting Jamie, and Jamie assaulting Black Jack in kind, was never an exercise in one person punching up and the other punching down. Rather, it is very much an exercise in two people punching sideways. Which a dear mutual illustrated masterfully in their “Killer” sketch previously shared here on Tumblr.

Claire and Jamie do fall in love though. That process is fairly telling on its own—as Rowan points out herself with the very next insight in the video essay. But a few additional details can further unpack sexuality in the context of that relationship, especially in the context of both characters’ interactions with Black Jack.

By opposing Randall’s villainy, they are essentially fighting to maintain the political and social beliefs of the 1740s Scotland, while also solidifying their own relationship and sexual identities—which are heterosexual and monogamous even across time and space.

Okay, folks. I’m flicking on my megaphone here to remind everyone reading this that Jamie is bisexual and that the omission of this key canonical detail could inadvertently reproduce some of the stigmas against bisexuality the video aims to dismantle. I absolutely do not think Rowan did this intentionally. It may stem from limited engagement with the source material in general. I wouldn’t expect a video essay covering a wide scope of media to go into 16K+ words of detail about a single character! That’s what I’m here for. In that spirit, I highly recommend folks interested in going deeper with Outlander canon revisit Jamie’s own narration of his experiences in S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” and the many things he says and does in later episodes regarding Black Jack. The books go into even more detail about how much Jamie still lusts after Randall even after the assault at Wentworth, I’ll note.

The more important point here though is how erasure of Jamie’s bisexuality via inattention to his own words can inadvertently reflect Claire’s own behavior at the abbey in that episode: refusing to listen to Jamie unless he tells her what she wants to hear, and specifically shutting him down every time he tries to make her understand that Black Jack made him face things he already wanted beneath the surface.

Even regarding Claire, nuances abound that seem especially important to explore given the above. Specifically concerning the ambiguity of Claire’s own sexuality—how although she never narrates herself clearly in bisexual context, she certainly gets into some telling situations with Geillis Duncan. Claire may not be explicitly bisexual per her own words as Jamie reveals himself to be from S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” and equivalent portions of Book 1 / Outlander onward. But we can certainly spot multiple bi-coded elements of her character before even getting to the whole Malva Christie business in Season 6 and Book 6 / A Breath of Snow and Ashes.

Geillis herself is another bi-coded villain who could put Randall to shame for the extent of her agenda and advance planning. Indeed, Geillis’s deeper intent and systemic aims qualify her much more classically for the villain designation than Randall himself, who behaves much more opportunistically. Let’s not forget that he leaves Jamie entirely alone for three years until the Highlander turns up in his office window at Fort William with an empty pistol! Likewise, Black Jack’s own service as an instigator of Jacobite rebellion only comes in exchange for the Duke of Sandringham protecting his beloved brother Alex—including not raping him, which gets further lampshaded by Jamie’s comments about how the Duke has treated him over the years.

It also seems worth noting how Claire offers a good example of how people who might be capable of polyamory through their capacity to love two different men at once don’t necessarily want polyamory. That’s why I abandoned a storyline in one of my early fic series development efforts—my first actually, which never saw the light of day in its original form because it morphed into “Dispatches from Fort Laggan” with a much greater depth of attention to the relationship between Black Jack and Jamie in parallel to his evolving relationship with Mary. Which winds up catapulting Jamie headlong into a raging attraction to Geneva Dunsany, someone much better equipped to meet his needs as a bisexual and kinky guy who’s perfectly capable of sustaining unspeakable horniness about an absurdly complicated man while also being a loving and devoted life partner to a woman.

But by making Lestat the only bi vampire in the show, his moral depravity can be seen as in some way linked to an assumed sexual depravity too—specifically of voracious appetite that separates his bisexual nature from either straight or gay counterparts.

This would be pretty accurate for Randall too. Kind of a missed opportunity to get things close to spot-on. With Randall though there’s even some Zig-Zagging of this aspect, which is part of what makes his character great. Although Black Jack has a voracious sexual appetite and is pretty much always DTF, he is also very much a Regular Guy with Regular Dick Function. He can’t just constantly get it up over and over. Between his alcoholism and his constant pursuit of sexual pleasure, he sometimes can’t get hard at all. He even has concerns about this with Jamie at Wentworth, gloating in delight when he does get an erection. The “can you feel that” scene in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” wherein Black Jack pulls Jamie’s hand against his crotch and expresses jubilation at having a boner is one of the funniest moments in the entire series to those of us who enjoy Randall’s character.

This is perhaps a good time to note that one thing queer villain representation often does beautifully is imbuing characters with hilarious and often bizarre senses of humor. When I’ve seen other writers frame Randall as humorless or “harrowingly joyless” I’ve wondered again if we watched the same show. The Brockton sequences from S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” alone ought to debunk this, from Randall’s passive aggressive dust party right down to his impish little wink at Claire while he dumps out the prized claret the senior officers were drinking before getting called out on some kind of wild goose chase.

Then there’s also his sardonic monologuing in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” about possible methods of killing Jamie in the morning, which is entirely tongue-in-cheek and intended solely to make Jamie get annoyed enough to tussle with him. I also consider the weirdly earnest threesome proposition from S1E09 “The Reckoning” when Jamie appears in the window of his office holding an empty pistol. It’s quite clear here that regardless of whether Jamie takes him up on it or just gets irritated enough to fight him fisticuffs and thus give him some nice opportunities to rub up against him, Randall is delighting in the offering.

Finally, we can’t forget his overjoyed little smiles whenever he sees either Jamie or Mary Hawkins. I covered much of this previously via in-depth discussion of Mary’s storylines. So here I’ll note that for all his own efforts to convince Claire that he’d be terrible for Mary, she doesn’t believe Black Jack in the slightest—because she’s already seen how he behaves with her, and likewise both seen and heard directly from Alex how kind and tender Randall has always been with his younger brother. Whom he basically raised, which is a whole other yarn.

Here’s the thing though: One doesn’t need to watch Outlander in any great depth to see that for Black Jack, much of the point of sadism lies in the aftercare. I haven’t belabored that point here overmuch because I don’t want to suggest that caretaking afterwards in any way negates harm done beforehand. However, Randall does consistently show genuine pleasure in taking care of another person. We see this in some ways with Jamie at Wentworth Prison in S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” but then get a whole different context on it in Season 2, especially with S2E12 “The Hail Mary” when the curtain finally pulls back fully on Black Jack’s family life. The only moments where he seems to relax at all is when he’s helping someone feel better after a horrible privation—either by his own hand or from the ravages of illness. And in those moments, we see plenty of vulnerability. Which brings us to…

Unlike Randall, there is a vulnerability in and understanding of Lestat’s backstory that contextualizes his behavior.

I’m not so sure about this. Even midway through Season 1 starting with S1E06 “The Garrison Commander” this understanding of Randall’s character begins to fray at the edges. More details on that below. Likewise, we learn a good bit in Season 2 about Randall’s family and what has been going on behind the curtain of his own life as a result. But even beforehand, the scene in S1E15 “Wentworth Prison” where Black Jack forlornly talks to Jamie in the dungeon cell while seated and looking at him with sad eyes says quite a bit. He finds Jamie’s rejection in the face of a clear attraction painful; this is no less important for his own vicious response to that pain after Jamie taunts him about having no self-control. Subsequently we see in S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” the lengths Black Jack will go to for the sake of affectionate treatment.

Not all love is constructive or good, but Randall leaves little doubt in his own behavior that his actions are very much in pursuit of love. This gets lampshaded a final time in Book 6 / A Breath of Snow and Ashes with the reveal of what Randall mouthed to Jamie in that one sequence of S3E01 “The Battle Joined” just before collapsing on top of him and dying from his wounds. During the abbey sequences in Book 1 / Outlander Jamie also recalls Black Jack lying beside him on the dungeon floor, crying profusely and begging him to speak words of love. Adding in the murky context missing from the show—about Jack having some sort of sexual history with either the deceased prisoner Alex MacGregor and/or his own younger brother Alex Randall—paints a telling portrait of a man desperate for affection and connection.

Though he doesn’t excuse it, we see his traumatic past, and feel how much he yearns for family and love.

Very true about Lestat, certainly. But I’d say this could also have easily been written about Black Jack.

In other portions of this essay I cover Randall’s behavior at Wentworth Prison in Season 1 and the Inverness storyline at the end of Season 2. To rehash here in brief, the only things that matter to Black Jack are (A) someone loving him back in a way he understands and (B) doing whatever he can to take care of his family. Black Jack doesn’t say as much directly to this effect, but he certainly shows us through action that yearning for family and love motivate a lot of his behavior. The fact that his pursuit of these things often happens through twisted means scarcely means he doesn’t want them. Quite the opposite.

As for the traumatic past, Black Jack and other characters alike (especially the Duke of Sandringham) drop hints throughout the Season 1 and Season 2 storylines—and even more so in corresponding portions of Book 1 / Outlander and Book 2 / Dragonfly in Amber—that Randall grew up in an abusive home and imprinted on that. It’s also clear from his interactions with Alex that he’s been protecting his brother from a lot over the years. The Duke himself certainly, but also other things. And in the corresponding sequences from the novels Jack goes into some detail about how little support he and Alex have ever gotten from their family back in Sussex, including from their older brother Edward even now that Alex is dying.

Then of course Black Jack himself talks aloud to Claire at Brockton about his traumatic present and how the armed conflict in Scotland has further warped his mind. He’s clearly shaken about finding one of his own men brutally beheaded and speaks in more general terms about being “not the man [he] once was” as a result of his military service. No surprise either that he looks like a fish out of water the one time we see him in non-military dress during S2E12 “The Hail Mary”. Black Jack may not like what serving in the Army has done to further damage his psyche, but at this point it’s all he understands and the only place he feels he belongs at all. On that front…

It’s not difficult to see the parallels between his existence as a vampire, and the isolation and threat many members of the queer community feel.

Here I should also include my response to the aforementioned excellent meta on homosociality in The Patriot canon. As noted previously I’m hoping to release a similarly focused reflection of my own in time addressing Outlander canon directly. For now I’ll applaud Rowan’s general attention in the video to how bisexual people often become isolated within the queer community as well as in the world at large.

Double marginalization is a lonely experience in the utmost—and one that can breed tremendous resentment. That anger has to go somewhere more often than not. Even without the added burden of silent rage from sexual violence and the constant “insult to injury” experience of having our own trauma collide with that of others walking a similar path, things are tough. And the data on experiences of rape and abuse in the bisexual community remain incredibly damning.

So again, I think Lestat and Black Jack would find plenty of common ground in one another’s histories. Although Lestat himself doesn’t really meet the criteria for sexual sadism, he certainly enjoys bloodplay and the general aesthetic of violence as part of intimate congress. This isn’t surprising in the slightest considering how the capacity to enjoy such pleasures often grows and sharpens in response to abuse of any form, including rape and domestic violence.

My own life has certainly been an exercise in this. If that seems confusing, consider: For people who are well accustomed to people bleeding on us when we didn’t cut them, it can feel immensely satisfying to have someone bleed on us because we did cut them.

Whereas the initial seasons of Outlander have no sympathetic or heroic queer heroes at all, Interview with the Vampire does give us another lead who fulfills this protagonist role in Louis.

I’m glad this was the last content in the video that mentioned Outlander directly. I think there’s enough context from the rest of this segment for viewers to understand the intended contrast here. Prior to Season 3 we don’t encounter characters in Outlander who are fully immersed in their queerness other than Black Jack, whereas Interview with the Vampire centers characters who show more of that immersion from the beginning on both the protagonist and antagonist sides.

Given the centrality of Jamie’s character arc to Randall’s though, the omission of his own bisexuality from this video essay seems quite the lost opportunity. To reiterate, in both versions of canon beginning with S1E16 “To Ransom a Man’s Soul” and equivalent sequences from the novels we get verbatim documentation directly from the source that Jamie is bisexual himself. This is in addition to his earlier comments about considering the prospect of sleeping with Randall at Fort William and only turning him down because he thought his dad would be disappointed in him. Not for having same-sex relations, but rather for capitulating to another man. That’s a lot to unpack, folks.

Indeed, Jamie’s storylines throughout the TV and book series alike are often demonstrations of how the ideation of heterosexuality and the pressure to live a heterosexual life do deep harm to bisexual men. This gets lampshaded further by the anvilicious contrasts constantly drawn between Black Jack and the decidedly gay Lord John Grey. The latter is set up as a perennial foil for Randall, getting into similar scenarios with Jamie—starting with his time as warden at Ardsmuir Prison in Season 3 and Book 3 / Voyager—but taking them in entirely different directions. Which I appreciate in essentials for the spinning of a superb narrative about complex post-traumatic stress. More so for living with that particular set of issues myself.

Once again for the good of the Republic: If you don’t heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you.

Apropos of this, I want to express particular appreciation for the video’s exploration of the “puriteens” phenomenon—and incorporate a caution for those slightly elder members of fandom. It can be very easy for people to fall into the trap of assuming that bisexual people are always hypersexual. And even easier to assume that those bisexual folk who truly are hypersexual are automatically threats because of this. More so if said individuals also happen to be kinky, and especially if they are specifically sadistic.

I mention this now because as queer people marginalized from within the queer community as well as without, bisexual and asexual folk stand on common ground. I have seen the transformative power in allyship between bi and ace people in fighting our shared oppressions. Sadly I have also seen many successful efforts to tear that natural solidarity asunder by making ace people fear us as predators. And the first against the wall, same as always, are the hypersexual and kinky among us.

So I’m happy beyond words to see openly ace creators like Rowan Ellis standing up for bisexual people. Making sure that our struggles and our humanity alike are always seen and valued. In kind, I strongly encourage everyone reading this to take this analysis of Rowan’s commentary on Outlander in the spirit in which I intend it. To say that I strongly support both the general content and overall standpoint of this video would understate the case.

Indeed, I offer this detailed analysis now because I know the depth of Rowan’s commitment to diverse queer representation. I want to build on the dialogue sparked by the video and to bring that depth on Randall’s character to the impressive breadth of focus in Rowan’s overview of queer villains. The fact that doing so amplifies the labor, effort, and insight of an asexual creator made me even more inclined to give this my full effort. I hope Rowan will keep putting her voice and perspective into the world for many years to come.

For now, I’m grateful for this opportunity to once again bring Black Jack Randall to my little corner of the Internet in dizzying detail. And moreover, to do so in amplifying the work of a fellow creator explicitly naming the harm done by respectability politics surrounding queerness.

Randall may not be the bisexual representation everyone wants, but he’s absolutely the bisexual representation the world needs. Because if he isn’t a resounding comeback to respectability politics that attempt to deny “problematic” bisexual people their basic human rights—and indeed an effective illustration of the deep harms those kinds of approaches to queerness not only do directly but also reproduce in cyclical patterns—I don’t know what character possibly could be.

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me

chapter three coming 11/13, read on for preview…

——

The Hideout is bustling with customers. Endless rows of children constructing and decorating gingerbread houses at one table, while parents and family members alike mill about at the other tables, conversations about the upcoming holidays filtering through your ears as you pass by, handing off drinks and food.

Steve’s not here yet. A fact you notice as you watch the table of your friends grow, the group bent low together, beaming at what the other is saying, caught up in their company as day turns into night.

You’re finishing up handing off water to a table of teenagers when you notice Abi waving you over, a weary look in her eyes. It’s when your gaze travels southward you notice the shaggy blonde curls that you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Nor the pristine suit and tailored pants, the too expensive watch, that tie cinched around his neck. Green eyes drift your way from the bar, arms crossing over a toned chest. Chiseled cheekbones give way to blonde stubble, a messier look than you’re used to on Clark’s conventionally attractive features.

His eyes narrow at your appearance. To him, you’re wearing no more than a pair of jeans you bought off of a clearance rack, and a black sweater with a hole in one sleeve after you’d gotten it caught on Steve’s truck handle. He’s seen you in designer gowns, shoes, decked to the nines with jewelry, looking like the ever dutiful daughter. And now — now his eyes roam your form with distaste, the curl of his lip making your stomach drop.

“I can ask him to leave,” Abi murmurs low against your ear as you slip behind the bar to join her, “just say the word, and he’s gone. Eddie wouldn’t mind if I toss him out. He’s kind of an asshole anyway. Asked me if I had a specific bottle of wine, and scoffed when I said we didn’t. I almost told him he could shove the credit card he slapped against the bar up his ass.”

“Sounds about right,” you grumble, giving her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be okay. And if not, and you catch me ready to throw a glass and lose my job —”

“I’ll turn the other way and pretend I didn’t see it.”

Offering her a smile, you slip back out and round the bar, grabbing Clark’s sleeve and tugging him to a smaller table positioned away from everyone else. From here, you can see Steve when he arrives and escape if need be. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head up, staring into that blank stare.

“So this is where you ran off to,” he tuts, snickering, “it’s…charming.”

“It’s where I grew up,” you tell him flatly, “it’s home.”

“Home is in the city,” he says, leaning up onto his elbows, hand coming to curl over your own. Your eyes narrow at the contact, at the feeling of his finger cradling the back of your palm. “Come home. Stop this, please? Your family misses you, your friends miss you — believe it or not, I miss you.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Darling…” The hand around yours tightens, and you know he’s trying to narrow your window of escape, to ensure you stay rooted in place. “We had fun together, didn’t we?”

“At events, sure.”

He was kind enough. Was willing to laugh with you, to joke and tease, to talk. But there was nothing of any sort of romantic nature beneath the surface. Your marriage was intended for monetary purposes and those alone.

“You hardly even gave us a chance.”

“Clark, we were in an arrangement,” you remind him. “A mutually beneficial agreement for both of us.”

“Which has since fallen through.”

“And I am sorry about that —”

“Then come home,” he says again, eyes intent on your face. “Come. Home.”

“This is my home,” you whisper, catching the sight of Steve walking by in the window. His eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Clark across from you.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Clark lets out a bitter laugh as Steve appears in the doorway, approaching your table cautiously. “This is the guy you ran out on me with. Him? You’re choosing him. What can he offer you that I cannot?”

——

i don’t know, what can steve offer that clark can’t? you’ll find out monday. hehe 😉

[alliluyevas]

If AG gave you full creative control over the Girl of the Year for 2025 what direction would you choose for her? Can be general or specific.

oooh good question. I honestly am not a huge follower of GOTY dolls and wasn't during my first wave of AG interest as a child either. I looked back at the roster on the AG wiki to refresh my memory, though.

First of all, I'd like to ditch the very trendy mini-teenager style of clothing that the last several GOTY dolls have had. GOTY 2025 might be a bit tomboyish, but I'm not wedded to that. Either way, I'd just like to see her wearing clothing that is a bit more childlike. Also, I think in general I'm sick of the bright-pinks and pastels that seem to dominate AG's color palates nowadays. Put her in a red shirt and blue jeans or something.

A lot of the GOTY stories center around the doll's hobbies or activities, as well as sometimes Relatable Struggles the character is going through like parental divorce, moving, sibling rivalry, or some similar theme. I feel like performing arts hobbies and extreme/outdoor sports are overrepresented in GOTY storylines. We have a lot of dolls who are dancers, and we've had skiing dolls, surfing dolls, dolls who are really into animal rescue and conservation etc. These are definitely cool hobbies but especially the latter ones aren't necessarily super accessible to most little girls. (There are lots of girls who do cheer or dance or theater or music, but I think they've been represented and I also think those are very conventionally feminine pursuits and I would like to see something else.) In terms of hobbies, I think it would be nice to see a GOTY who plays a more traditional team sport like soccer or softball, or maybe a runner. On the other hand, I don't think we've seen a visual artist for a while, so maybe painting or drawing. (I also think pottery would be a really cool idea, because I think it would be super cute for her to have a tiny little pottery wheel and maybe 3 little pots of different stages of completion you could switch in and out. But pottery is also maybe not as accessible as drawing would be). Actually, sports and art aren't mutually exclusive and that might be a fun message. Maybe a little girl who is really into both softball and painting?

I'm not expecting one doll to fulfill all these things in terms of representation, but given what I talked about yesterday about different groups or family configurations that haven't been represented in an AG doll yet, I think it would be nice to do a GOTY who is Muslim or who has same-sex parents.

Also, I think 2020 GOTY Joss, who is hard of hearing and comes with little hearing aids, was a really cool step in the right direction for AG with disability representation. (As a side note, I think they dropped the ball with 1950s historical doll Maryellen, who is written in her stories as a polio survivor who walks with a limp but this is not visible at all in her doll and girls might not know about it if they don't read the books. I think they should have made a little leg brace for the doll or something.) 2025 GOTY could highlight a different aspect of disability experience. Maybe her story could talk about ADHD because that is so common but girls with ADHD are still underrepresented, or a chronic illness like Type One Diabetes?

Anyway, just a sort of grab bag of what I would like to see :)

[angelbambisworld]

Alcohol-Induced Buffoonery

A Gene Simmons(Specifically current Gene because yall know i love that silly old man) x Reader fic

Summary: Y/N returns home to Gene from a party, having gotten a little drunker than intended. Shenanigans ensue. Gets very crackfic-y at times.

Tagging some of my mutuals here: @elrohare @eatinaborgerwitnohoneymustard @starry-eyed-never-satisfied @namelessbutters-doodles

I'm sorry if I forgot anybody. It's hard to keep track of all yall

You wave goodbye to your friend, who was nice enough to drop you off at your house after she noticed you had had one too many drinks at the party you both had attended.

After her car has driven from your line of sight, you make your way up the steps to the front door. You dig around in your coat pockets for your house key and when you do eventually find it, the front door already opens. Standing in the doorway was your boyfriend, Gene.

You give him a big dopey smile and squeal out "GENE!" at the top of your lungs as you wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tightly. Gene immediately shushes you and covers his ears. "Don't yell so loud, I can hear you just fine!"

You stop smiling and look down at your shoes, apologetically. "Shit, my bad."

Gene returns the hug and then asks "So, did you have fun at the party?"

Your wide smile returned again. "Yeah, I had fun." The wind picks up and blows in your general direction as you shudder from the cold. Gene takes you by the hand and leads you into the house.

The world around you is spinning a little as you and Gene sit down on the couch in the living room together. Kinda like clothes in a washing machine. You laugh out loud at the thought of it. Gene raises an eyebrow. "What's funny?"

You shake your head. "Nothing!"

Then you let out a hiccup. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Your face turns red as you cover your face with your hands, utterly embarrassed. Gene can't help but chuckle at your cuteness, which only made your face go redder. "D- *hic* Don't laugh at *hic* me! I *hic* can't help it!"

*I know, sweetheart, I know." Gene says as he cards his fingers through your hair. "Do you want me to get you some water?"

You shake your head and try to get up to go get yourself some water. Only to bang your leg on the coffee table and fall back on the couch, thanks to your shitty balance. " *hic* Ow! *hic* ".

You try to get up again but Gene stops you. "Let me get you something to drink."

"I'm *hic* fine!" you protest. "It didn't even *hic* hurt that bad!"

"It sure looked like it did." Gene said as he walked into the kitchen.

Pouting, you stumble into the kitchen where Gene has finished pouring you a glass of water. He handed it to you and said"Go sit back down on the couch."

"No!" you whined, stomping your foot a little for emphasis. Gene rolled his eyes, slightly amused by your childish behavior. "Do you want me to fix you (Favorite Food) while I'm in the kitchen?"

You paused at the mention of (Favorite Food). A small little smile crept up on your lips as you said "Maaaaaybeeeee."

Gene nodded. "Go sit down on the couch and I'll bring it to you."

You shook your head. "No, I wanna stay *hic* here with you."

Gene didn't feel like arguing with you, so he pulled a chair for you to sit in while you watched him cook. You looked at your leg on where you banged it on the coffee table. There was a dark blue splotchy bruise there, which you stupidly poked. "OW!"

Gene turned to look at you, startled by your sudden yelp. He noticed the bruise on your leg and bent down to your level to inspect it. ((LOL Dr Love to the rescue!))

"Hmmmm...I think we're gonna have to amputate your leg."

You let out a horrified wail that was quickly broken up by more drunken hiccups. Gene immediately burst out laughing at your reaction. "I'm just messing with you, you're fine!"

"You can't cut off my *hic* leg, how am I gonna walk?!"

"Y/N, I was joking."

"How *hic* am I gonna live?!"

"It was a joke!"

"How are we gonna *hic* fuck?!"

That last sentence sent Gene into another fit of laughter. "Y/N, you are gonna be just fine. Don't worry about it."

Gene went back to cooking (Your favorite food) as you shook your head. How dare your beloved boyfriend fool you like that!

At least your hiccups were slowly coming to an end. Anyways, now that you had mentioned fucking, you were starting to feel a little...naughty, to say the very least.

Your eyes wandered all the way down to Gene's backside. You always joked that out of all the members of KISS, Gene's ass was definitely the fattest(and it was). That's when you got an idea.

You got up from your chair and raised your hand as high in the air as you get it and-

SMACK!

Gene immediately flinched once your hand made contact with his bottom. He turned around to look at you, blushing and eyes wide with surprise. "Did you just hit me?"

"It jiggled when I hit it."

You gave Gene's asscheek a squeeze and then another smack, this time a little softer. You look up at the stove top. "Is the (favorite food) done yet?"

Gene turned his attention back to the food. "Almost."

"Why do they call it oven when you of in the cold food of out hot eat the food?"

Gene looked at you and pondered if perhaps he was having a stroke. "What did you just say?"

You laughed. "It's a meme, you wouldn't get it."

"I guess not."

You wrapped your arms around Gene and slipped a hand under his shirt as he continued cooking. You started groping his plump man tits™️ .

"Goddamn, grandpa," you said out loud. "You got a nice pair of tits for an old man."

At this point, Gene was getting rather fed up with your shenanigans. "Go sit down on the couch and I'll bring you your food."

"Why are your boobs so big anyway?"

"They're not boobs!"

"Do you have to wear a bra when you go on stage?"

"Y/N, go sit the fuck down!"

Annoyed, you sat back down in your chair. "No, I meant in the living room."

You looked at the distance between where you sat and the couch in the living room. You decided that it wasn't worth the energy. "Noooo, I don't really feel like it."

You tried to scoot yourself into the living room while you were still sitting in your chair but you didn't get very far. "Get off your lazy ass and go sit in the living room."

You let out an overdramatic groan and stood up. "FIIIIIIIINE!"

You set up a tray in front of yourself as you waited for Gene to come back. Gene walked in with (Your favorite food) which you immediately devoured.

After that, you decided to take a shower. Gene insisted on taking one with you. "God only knows what would happen if I left you unattended in the bathroom."

In fact,Gene had to help you wash yourself since you were too busy staring at his glorious man tits™️ again

"Did you think I took you to a doctor and asked them to give you bigger boobs, they'd do it?" you pondered as Gene washed your hair.

Gene stuck you under the shower head as the shampoo ran down your hair, body, and into the drain. "I think they would lock you up in an insane asylum and leave you there."

You laughed. "That's fair."

After you both showered, you got dressed for bed and turned in for the night. Gene kissed you on the forehead. "Goodnight, Y/N. You're clearly insane and a pain in the ass, but you're my pain in the ass. I love you."

You tried to kiss him on the forehead back but missed and ended up kissing him on his left eyeball. "I love you, pookie bear."

The next day you woke up with the mother of all hangovers. But luckily Dr Love was there to tend to you until you were well again.

[batrogers]

My AO3 Contents Masterpost

So I've been having some frustrations finding old fiction on my AO3, so after cleaning up my That Broken Promise masterpost I thought... I could do one for all my Zelda stuff, right?

Right.

......

This is really long (like, ~100 things) I'm so sorry.

Fics below are organized into: Long fics General Zelda Short fics PWP Art Other Zelda AUs

See the above That Broken Promise masterpost for my own AU fics.

Some notes on my writing:

I am a multi-shipper, and I write for multiple AUs, multiple games, and sometimes write mutually exclusive pieces to explores different ways the same scenario can go.

Unless things specifically say they're related to each other (and sometimes even when they do) there may be obvious or not-so-obvious contradictions in things like age, gender, body types, race, and relationships. While the broad strokes of world-building are usually the same or similar, and if not specified you can pick your favourite, I do not hold continuity to be the most important feature in what is, at the end of the day, a long-running series of one-shots.

While I will aim to make broad statements on content warnings and rating per fic below, please know that my works will run the gamut from G-rated fluff to E-rated graphic sex, death, and violence. Sometimes all in the same story.

While there is a PWP category, stories that have more plot than sex will be filed elsewhere.

MY LONG FICS:BLUE GEM EARRINGS, (unfinished) novelization of Ocarina of Time adult era, after answering how does seven years lost make one ready to wield a sword? What if it was seven years lived in another time? Rated M, 38K. Complete up to the end of Water Temple.

THE PRINCE OF HYRULE, a “first Calamity” fic, mostly written pre-TOTK coming out with some minor trailer/game details. MCD/Graphic violence tragedy. Zelda does not know she's Zelda (trans), and Link does not know he's Link (human Zonai.) M-rated, 38K words.

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH, a standalone Link’s Meet horror fic set in Breath of the Wild. (Temporary) Major Character Death and Graphic violence, and did I mention this was horror? E-rated, 55K words.

A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS, Ravio’s POV of Link Between Worlds, why he left and how he took care of Link. Graphic violence, and brief references to past dubcon Ravio/Yuga. Rated M, 18K words.

JUST BREATHE, a (very old) novelization of Breath of the Wild, based off my second playthrough of the game. CW for graphic violence, temporary character death and implied/referenced past sexual abuse. Rated M, 148K words.

Related to Just Breathe, are two works:

FIVE THINGS NEVER REMEMBERED, rated M for mature themes, implied non-con, and death aftercare.

TO THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, rated M for graphic violence and implied MCD: the story of the last four pictures of the memories.

GENERAL ZELDA: (in roughly timeline order)

[Note: some of these are listed elsewhere as That Broken Promise backstory fics, but the ones included here do not require familiarity with the AU to understand.]

MY DAUGHTER WILL NEED A SWORD, pre-Skyward Sword era. Fierce Deity/Hylia, human!Fierce Deity fic. Rated M for sex, graphic violence, and MCD.

WHERE DEMONS HAVE GONE BEFORE, post-Skyward Sword ZeLink, rated M for graphic injury and fade-to-black sex.

RAGE AGAINST THAT DYING LIGHT, post-Ocarina of Time. Implied past GanLink, renewed Civil War. Rated E for war crimes, graphic violence and MCD.

SECOND CHANCES, crackship Wind Waker Ganondorf/Fierce Deity. Rated M for near-drowning, discussion of past trauma, and consensual sex.

THOUGH THERE BE FURY ON THE WAVES, post-Phantom Hourglass/post-Wind Waker fic with CD-i Easter Eggs. Rated E for graphic violence towards a minor, among other things.

IN THE HAND OF FATE, Twilight Princess puppet Zelda fight. Rated E for graphic violence (including mouth trauma) and temporary character death.

FIVE TIMES LINK HURT HIMSELF (AND WHEN HE STOPPED) Four Swords Adventures. Rated M for interpersonal violence and mature themes.

REFLECTIONS OF AN UNFAMILIAR FACE, Hyrule Warriors, Link finds Ravio. Rated T for mature themes, and implied dubcon/noncon.

CIGAR, Hyrule Warriors, Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link, Link shipping. First kiss fic, rated M for making out and smoking.

IN ACCORDANCE WITH ORDERS, Hyrule Warriors, abusive Lana and Spirit-Tracks-as-Toon Link, Linkshipping. Rated M for abusive relationship dynamics, discussion of dubious consent, and attempted murder.

MINE. Hyrule Warriors Link was given a “gift” by Lana early in the war, to make him more of the Hero everyone expected him to be but now that it’s over he wants things back the way they were. Rated M for discussion of past abuse, flashbacks, and body/gender dysphoria.

TWO PATHS DIVERGE, Post-Link to the Past, pre-Oracles, Link finished his adventure and never wanted to hold a sword again. He married, and had children, and then the Gods laid down another blow. Rated T for dark, mature themes.

A NEW AGE, post-Zelda I/pre-Zelda II. Link discovers the blood curse, and finally reaches out to Zelda for help. Rated M for graphic violence and mature themes.

THE LOST LITTLE BIRD, Age of Calamity sword pull, rewritten to answer why Link didn't have the sword already. Rated T for mature themes and moderate violence.

DESERVED, post-BOTW Link confronts Zelda about things she won’t tell him about his past. Who decides what he deserves to know or not?

WANTS AND NEEDS, post-TOTK. Link loses his arm to complications after rescuing Zelda and has to cope. Rated M for graphic injury and PTSD. Technically incomplete but works for now as standalone.

TAXATION IN HYRULE, Exactly what it says on the tin kind of meta analysis. Rated G.

SHORT FICTION: (in roughly timeline order)

SHE OFFERED A CHOICE (about Farore & the Fierce Deity)

SHEPHERD'S PIE (OoT MaLink)

SCOLD'S BRIDLE (FSA Vio Link)

YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET HURT (FSA, Shadow/Vio)

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS (HW Link & Sheik)

WHO HURT YOU (HW Toon Link & Link)

FLINCH (BOTW Zelda & Link)

WATCHFUL NIGHTS (LU Time & Legend)

GORE SNIPS (Collected M & E rated short violence)

FLUFF DUMP (Collected G-M rated short fiction)

PWP & NON-CON: (in roughly timeline order)

THE DEMON KING, Skyward Sword era Fierce Deity. Demise/Fierce Deity, sensual graphic violence.

A DRINK OF THE FORBIDDEN CUP, Twilight Princess ZeLink, graphic consensual BDSM violence and sex.

ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, Hyrule Warriors. Cia/Link & Lana/Link non-con, restraint and coercion.

SILENT GUARDIANS, Hyrule Warriors. Volga/Link bad idea sex, with a hurt/comfort ending.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST, Hyrule Warriors. Zelda/Link consensual sex

MOUTHFUL OF FLESH, Hyrule Warriors era Yuga gets his hands on Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link and has some fun. Non-con, gags, paralysis, and blood play.

DEFY AND DEFINE THE DARKNESS, Yuga/Ravio, dubcon turned noncon, torture.

LOCK PICKS, mid-Link Between Worlds. Ravio & Link, and implied dubcon Ravio/Yuga, non-con body modification and chastity play.

TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME, Bozai/Link non-con/graphic violence, implied temporary character death.

WAIT FOR ME TO COME AROUND AGAIN, Calamity/Zelda MCD non-con. BOTW bad ending.

SAW THE GOLD RETURN TO RUST, Zelda/Link & Calamity horrors, non-con/graphic violence and temporary character death. Post-BOTW, pre-TOTK.

MURDER WITH BENEFITS, bad ending post-TOTK, Demon King Ganondorf/Fierce Deity, graphic violence and dubcon sex.

SON OF THE DESERT WINDS, TOTK Ganondorf/Rauru, political dubcon turned noncon with eye scream body horror.

PRIVATE COMFORTS, Serial Numbers Filed Off Link/Link porn. Consensual sex.

ART:

WAGES OF WAR, rated E for violence, post-Ocarina of Time torture

BUT NOT LIKE THIS, rated E, comic of “Rage Against That Dying Light”

LAST NIGHT, rated E for non-con, Yuga/Ravio

OBEDIENCE, rated M for BDSM, Hilda/Ravio

JUST A GAME, rated E for violence, artwork for “Having Fun Yet?” by @triforce-of-mischief

WELCOME HOME, rated E for sex, BOTW GanLink

LINKED UNIVERSE FICS: @linkeduniverse

SHINING EYES, in which Time is possessed and the Chain must get him freed and hope the cure for what ails them isn’t worse than the illness. Rated T for moderate violence.

BREAKING THE FAITH: Time handles being back among the Gerudo, even in someone else’s world, poorly. Rated M for attempted murder and mature themes.

RAVIOLI INTERRUPTED, in which Ravio sends the Chain on to the city so he can have some alone time with his lover. Rated M for sensuality.

THE DOLLMAKER: What kind of person makes the dolls that so often saved Hyrule’s life? What would she be like? Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death. Leads into a series all its own, ALL THE LITTLE DOLLS.

YOU'RE NOT ALONE, Wind wakes up bleeding and has to ask Hyrule what’s wrong. Rated G, talk of menstruation.

SKIN & GOLD, in which Time must save Legend from Gerudo slavers and try not to lose his composure in the face of Twinrova being... kind? Rated T for mature themes.

BROWSING AMONG THE LILIES, Time returns home and Malon does her best to comfort him. Rated E for consensual sex.

MAKE IT STOP, Ravio comes to see his lover after Warriors writes to tell him he is very unwell. Rated G.

DON'T TOUCH MY BROTHER, In Wild’s era, Hyrule catches someone talking to his brother in an unpleasant way. Rated T for brief violence and sexual harassment.

KNOWING ONLY MAKES IT HARDER, Warriors pushed himself to exhaustion until Sky drugged him to spare him further injury, but he does not take being tricked well at all. Time talks him down. Rated G

THROUGH THE VALLEY, in which the Chain winds up somewhere nearly pitch black where Wild’s Slate says they’re in the Gerudo Desert but they very much are NOT. Rated E for graphic violence and temporary character death.

IN THE DARK, POV swap of Through the Valley into Warriors POV. Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death.

DO YOU TRUST ME, in which Legend gets pollen in his mouth from a strange plant in a strange, dark realm in Wild’s world and has a bad trip. Rated G. This fic got art from @kikker-oma during Fan Joy July!

CARMELIZE. Twilight never really wondered why Warriors watched him cook before. He honestly barely noticed he did it at all, until suddenly he moved to leave. Rated G.

SEARED AND TURNED, Warriors has a nightmare, but he doesn’t want to bother anyone with the details. Rated T, for graphic nightmare imagery.

UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, Malon writes Time with a question about how her beloved husband, who most definitely cannot get her pregnant, did so anyways. She has her suspicions. Rated M for sensual descriptions in epistolary fic.

TOO MANY QUESTIONS, Wind is curious and Hyrule’s happy to answer his questions, but some things are too specific to brush off as unimportant how he came to that conclusion. Rated M for frank discussion of sex acts.

LINK HEART-EATER. Hyrule got a nickname long before he was in the Chain, and before he ever killed Ganon in fact. It’s the kind that can come back to bite you. Rated E for graphic violence.

THINGS BEST LEFT UNSAID, in which Time, Warriors & Twilight get drunk and complain about politics and home and things some of the others never thought they’d hear. Rated T for mature themes.

LANGUAGE BARRIERS, AND OTHER THINGS. Warriors finally notices something odd about how Twilight’s Zelda speaks of him. Rated G.

MERMAID LAKE, Ravio comes to visit the Chain, and Warriors tells him Legend went off to the lake to blow off steam. Ravio knows exactly what that means. Rated M for sex.

FIRST, YOU MUST FORGIVE YOURSELF, Sky is having a hard time after being kidnapped and tortured, and Time tries to talk him down. Rated M for discussion of sexual violence.

LINKED UNIVERSE x THAT BROKEN PROMISE FICS: @thatbrokenpromise

LARKS STILL BRAVELY SINGING, aka LU Time meets TBP Kokiri and things explode. Rated T for attempted murder.

GOLDEN BROTHERS, aka TBP Kokiri has to gree LU Legend from Gerudo slavers, then reaches out to LU Time for even a chance at revence. Rated T for mature themes.

NEAR MISS, aka Cia tries to fuck with the Chain & the TBP Gang at the same time, and TBP Prince is having none of her shit. Rated T for moderate violence; sequel to "I Know What Will Happen" and prequel to "At What Cost?" by @triforce-of-mischief

WIND GETS "THE TALK," where TBP Far and LU Hyrule discover the boy has questions and they are both very sure he needs to know these answers. Rated M for frank discussion of sexual topics.

RECALLED AU FICS: @recalled11

SEE SKY RUN, Creatures in the sky knock him off his loftwing and keep him down, on unsafe ground that has no mercy for old injuries or new. Rated M for near-death, graphic violence.

IF IT CAN DIE, I CAN KILL IT, Legend hates lightning, and if there’s a monster setting it off he’s going to make it pay for that. Rated T for moderate violence.

MANGLED WILD, Down in the Depths, Wild, Captain, and Sky come across a Frox and Wild forgot just how fast they can move. Rated E for graphic violence and near-death. @l3ominor did a comic of this as well!

SNAKE BITE, Legend comes up from a cave with a dead snake, and nobody’s sure if its poisonous or not. Rated T for near-death.

NOT MY PROBLEM. Legend wanders the Great Plateau, to be anywhere but near the damn gloom hands the others are handling, and finds a cave. He’s not the first of their group in there. Rated G.

AGELESS SOUL AU: @ageless-soul-au

INTO THE DEEP, The Chain is in their distant past, before First was ever even alive to find answers. Unfortunately, someone else is already there too. Rated M for graphic injury and temporary character death.

TWO OF SIX, Hyrule, Warriors, and Legend meet the Dollmaker. She’s very happy to see them, even though she’s already got company – but Hyrule is always her favourite guest. Rated M for off-screen temporary character death and coercion.

[runningupthatvecna]

night drive | part 1

joseph quinn x fem!reader

masterlist

story summary: you're just out there working your job when you encounter a special (and very familiar) client that is going to change your life. for the better, obviously. but should you really entertain personal relations with a client of yours?

general tags/warnings: rpf (don't like, don't read), strangers to lovers, mutual pining, fluff and eventual spice, slow burn, this will be just a small fluffy happy story tbh :)

chapter summary: it's just another day at work. at least that's what you think to yourself when you leave your flat in berlin one morning, yet unknowing that this day – or more like the client you have to drive to his destination – is being surprisingly gentle and kind to you, his personal driver. and the best part about it? he doesn't seem too scared of you wanting to get your daily dose of adrenaline.

cw/tw: fluff! just the overwhelming smol bean sweetness that is joseph quinn really, mentions of driving at high speeds on a highway, very brief mention of throwing up and usage of drugs, y/n mentioned once (1) at the end

word count: 3,9k

a/n: this idea has been engraved in my brain for literal months and i'm being reminded of it every goddamn time i am at work. so i had to get it out, right? jesus, yeah this is gonna be incredibly self-indulgent since i am german (stereotypes apply), but i tried to keep this as non-german as possible so more of you can relate in some way. hope that's alright and not too underwhelming in general. also, please leave me feedback/reblogs if you've enjoyed this so far! thank you and i love you :)

-----

Let's see who's gonna be flying in today, you thought to yourself as you shoved the last bite of your toasted bread slice into your mouth. Always have to have some form of breakfast at least.

Early signs of sunrise were making an entrance across the sky as you downed the last sips of your orange juice, leaving a tickling sour-sweet taste on your tongue.

Thankfully, your work uniform could easily be changed into something lighter and more casual during the summer months, which is why you only had to throw on a linen blouse and a pair of pants of the same fabric, supporting the flow of air around your skin to help keep your body at a reasonable temperature.

Berlin summers could be brutal, mainly regarding temperature, which is why the air conditioned environment you found yourself working in was the main reason for you to feel grateful these days.

Earning the bread while driving people around? And not in a oh god this guy is so drunk he's going to spill the insides of his stomach in my uber kind of way, but being the exclusive chauffeur for important people? Yeah, it could definitely be worse.

Especially in Berlin, where you can be anything you want.

Most people here get lost in the consumption of intoxicating substances while spending their entire weekends at Sisyphos; they have epiphanies about starting a career in dj-ing, before abandoning that idea again two weeks later just to start a food blog or become a yoga teacher. Long forgotten be the actual reason they once moved here in the first place. For studying or something.

There was a time when you used to think that this specific culture was cool, the same thought a lot of countryside kids think before they wave goodbye to their boring stuck-in-1982 German village life, trying to escape the impending doom of getting tied down to the soils of their direct ancestors, and decide to move here.

But the years of seeing what you had seen here had changed your mindset. A lot.

You loved the morning. The peaceful silence and quietness, empty streets when you could still hear the chirping of the birds, before the rush and heat of the hectic city would cast its overlay over East and West, before most people would start their day, trying to make it to everlasting work, meetings, important business corporate tralala on time.

It was something you had learned to appreciate early on after moving here.

Lighter shades of blue creeped upon the sky now, a sign for you to get ready to leave for your first client of the day.

Airport runs, all day long.

The morning shift, yeah.

You wondered how many people with sticks up their ass you would encounter today, since Germans were usually more of the awkward silence type. Some proved themselves to be quite bearable though, engaging in friendly small talk you would always try to initiate, just to break the tension in the air which sitting in close proximity to total strangers could evoke.

Plus, you never knew who else you would have to transfer. Could it be some important sheikh from Dubai today? A South African basketball player? Maybe the ambassador of Canada, though that would require a police escort.

Ever since you got your license, you had always enjoyed driving. You kinda have to get one if you grow up in small town Germany, where there is a bus service going, but only once per decade or so. Driving had to essentially be part of your DNA at this point.

Grabbing your keys and handbag filled with a water bottle, tissues, really good smelling deodorant, some chocolate you hoped wouldn't melt in the heat of late-ish May, and other small and useful things, you headed outside.

A shiny pearly white Audi A6 was sitting in your street elegantly, a bit further down from your building. Not your own, sadly. It was owned by the agency you worked for; however, with the frequency you found yourself driving it, it could be considered your property anyway.

You really couldn't complain. It was the latest model, seat and steering wheel heating, Apple carplay, a grade A sound system, cruise control, lane assist and all sorts of other nice features a modern car had these days.

From time to time the astonishment about being trusted enough to steer this four-wheeled beast in Berlin traffic was getting to your head.

The click of the lock was like music to your ears and you threw your bag on the passenger seat, since the clients you were supposed to transfer usually sat in the back.

Like a cab, but more personal and exclusive.

The warmth of the previous day had stayed inside the car overnight, which made you lightly turn up the A/C.

You had driven the route to the airport enough times to have figured out alternatives when the main roads would be too full with traffic during rush hours, so you were never really late for work. A true German virtue.

The first client of the day was some journalist working for the German broadcasting service ARD and it was your job to deliver them to the headquarters.

As per usual you asked them a few questions, from where they were flying in, how long they'd be staying, if they'd been to the city or even the country before, etc.

Right after drop off in the center, waving the journalist goodbye and wishing them a great time, your work phone received the message with further info for your next commission.

It was always like this. You'd receive a text message with pick up and drop off address, name of the client and their time of arrival at the airport. Sometimes additional instructions.

And yes, you needed to hurry.

You needed to hurry so much in fact, that your brain completely overlooked the name of the client next on your agenda. Your sole focus was on the time, and it became clear to you that you only had thirty minutes to make the distance.

The time aspect was always but thankfully the only stressful part of your job, still you loved it nonetheless.

You could be on the road twentyfour-seven, if one would let you.

Exceeding the speed limit on the A113 only slightly by 19km/h, you made your way back out to the airport before sliding out of the driver's seat. And yes, you had to get into the building with one of those cringy signs that spelled out the name of the person you'd be awaiting.

As you locked the car out front, parked between two cabs not too far away from the huge sliding doors of the immense window front underneath the massive concrete roof of terminal 1, your entire system flooded with the tingling sensation of nervousness.

You felt your heart make five million jumps, heat rising to your cheeks, and it wasn't because the early morning sun was already casting its heat down onto earth.

It was because of the name next to the arrival time info that you only now had to pay attention to.

It was half past seven, ten minutes after his estimated landing time, and you wondered how long it would take for him to make his way through the maze that BER could be and waltz through those sliding doors in the arrival hall.

The thoughts in your head went faster than what you'd just been going on the highway to get here.

You were about to pick up Joseph Quinn.

British actor, one of your absolute favourites. You knew about all the roles he had been working on, before his international breakthrough on Stranger Things' latest season, which is exactly why now, internally, you were screaming.

Your nervousness only got worse with every opening slide of the doors, built into the wall that kept the arrival hall and baggage claim separate, revealing behind it another random person that wasn't him.

The feeling of impatience grew with each passing second, mixing into the blood you felt getting pumped through you at increasing intensity, mingling with the rushes of euphoria and thrill caused by the thoughts of meeting someone you had so much admiration for.

And yet, a yawn escaped you just in the right moment, just when the doors opened for what felt like the millionth time within the fifteen minutes of you waiting behind the little gate.

He was wearing a dark blue cap, flattening down his light brown curls and making them stick to his (fore)head, brown sunglasses sitting on the brim, a white button down with chest pockets paired with light blue jeans and two rather thin silver chains around his neck. The sleeves of the button down folded right below the elbows. A black leather jacket hung over his forearm, his phone in the hand. A small dark blue suitcase on wheels was following behind him pulled by his free hand, alongside a middle-aged woman you guessed was his manager, because she stuck by his side, holding onto her own phone and own suitcase for dear life.

Didn't seem too fond of airports, you guessed.

With the way he was dressing it almost looked like he was here for much more casual reasons, but you were mostly to never driving people around just for leisure.

You could see him scanning the gathering of people awaiting someone, in search for a sign with an all too familiar name on it.

When his eyes fell on you, he smiled, warmly. Approached you, in fact, and with the way this man maintained eye contact, you felt your knees go weaker with each step he took in your direction.

You now understood what everyone that had met him was going on about.

Your breath hitched in your throat, forcing you to clear it to avoid your voice coming out as a squeak.

While dragging in one long inhale, you tried to gather every last ounce of your confidence, praying to whatever higher power there was that neither of them would catch a whiff of your tense nerves.

Okay, okay. Oh god. Okay, be professional.

He's just another client.

"Good morning, welcome to Berlin!" A smile appeared on your lips as you were met with Joe's warm reaction before you went on with your usual routine as your brain defaulted to that, telling them your name, mentioning that you'd be here to drive them to their destination.

"Hey darling, pleasure to meet you", he shot you another warm smile, lightly touching your upper arm right above your elbow to emphasize what he had just said. You just couldn't help but chuckle lightly at his Britishness and his subtle yet intentional touch made your arm almost twitch. And the skin underneath your linen blouse warm up.

Darling.

You knew well enough that it was more of a casual thing for a British person to say and that there wasn't anything to read into, buuuuuut you just couldn't help the way you found yourself attracted to him. It was melting you. You felt warmth spread on your cheeks at his words.

All of a sudden, it became so much clearer as to why everyone's brain chemistry seemed to be altered in a good way after an encounter of this kind.

And to your surprise, your nervousness was slowly vanishing into thin air. His presence, the way he was looking at you all soft and gentle, his entire aura was calming you in a way you just didn't expect to happen at all while being around him for the first time.

The realisation that he was indeed real and just a human being was doing its part, you guessed.

As you lead them out of the building, straight to your car as discreetly as possible, trying not to evoke the attention of any potential fan, you felt his eyes on you.

Okay, let's stay professional.

Sure you had met all sorts of interesting people through your job, and yes, there also had been moments you had gotten a bit starstruck before. For example when you'd met Dave Grohl while driving him to an appointment at Universal the other day.

However, nothing you had experienced at your job had you feeling quite like Mr Joseph Quinn was making you feel.

You were internally dying to ask him a million questions. And you were going to be surprised at how many he was going to direct towards you.

"So, what brings you to Berlin?", you asked after the carry-on's got safely tucked away in the trunk and all of you had settled into your seats. His manager behind you, him behind the seat your handbag was still occupying.

From the address that was given to you, you could already tell what his answer was going to be, yet you wanted to hear it from him and avoid making assumptions.

You set the car into motion, leaving the parking bay to make your way towards the highway, and while you asked your question number one, you briefly stole a few glances at him through the rear view mirror, awaiting his response.

And yes, he noticed.

His smile appeared back on his face, before he started explaining how this trip was going to be the start of him being on the move back and forth between London and Berlin for the coming weeks since he got cast in something and was now set to film said something here.

"I am quite excited to be part of it, actually. It's gonna be directed by one of my favourite directors and I honestly have had my eyes on working with him ever since I went to drama school years ago", he explained further with a nod, another look at him through the rear revealing the small spark in his eye.

You were getting excited for him.

"You must be quite nervous then, meeting him and the cast and all for the first time?"

You were also almost stunned at yourself for how many words you were able to put into a cohesive sentence in his presence.

A light chuckle escaped his chest, "oh yeah definitely. It's always a bit nerve-wrecking meeting everyone. But the excitement about being somewhere new and being surrounded by new people and getting to experience new things kind of balances it out quite bearably."

His deep brown eyes found yours again through the mirror. The eye contact this man was able to hold, even without being face to face with his person opposite, was honestly impressive.

You wanted to tell him. About how you'd seen all of his previous work, how all of his performances always left you completely stunned out of your mind since you were unable to wrap your head around how anyone could be this good at acting and portraying characters the way he always managed to. About how proud you were of him, seeing him succeed and receive things he'd been dreaming of, getting the things in life he'd always seemed to want and work towards. About how you had nothing but utter admiration for him. But you couldn't, because that would mean overstepping your boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe you would say that at the end of the week, when you were scheduled to shuttle him back to the airport.

"That sounds .. bearable", you quipped before continuing on a more serious note, "is this your first time here then?"

"Yes and no, I think I was here one time with school, but that was ages ago. We went and saw a few places, as part of history class, but I didn't pay enough attention back then to remember details, if I'm honest."

He let out another one of his deep chuckles.

Delightful how he was elaborating on his answers instead of keeping them one or two-worded.

"Oh, that doesn't count then", you answered while putting the car in cruise control as you switched back onto the A113. Speed limit was at 120km/h and you intended to stay there this time.

"Yeah, I definitely need a refresher I think, maybe I'll have some time on my days off during the next weeks. What about you, are you from here?"

Why, need a tour guide, Mr Quinn?

Just now, the A/C brought a whiff of his scent around to you, which you hadn't really taken note of before when he had stood close enough while greeting you at the terminal. Sandalwood, bergamot, a slight note of lingering cigarette smoke.

Once again you shot him a little glance through the mirror, which is when you noticed that his manager had passed out with her head resting against the window.

Sleep deprived, aren't we all?

"Yes and no", you mirrored him, "I grew up the South, in an insignificantly small town somewhere between Stuttgart and Munich, if you happen to know where that is?"

Joseph nodded, still with a curious expression decorating his facial features.

A bit impressed at his geography knowledge, you continued.

"I was born in the West, my family's from there originally. But I've been living in Berlin for a solid five years now, so I do consider myself somewhat of a local."

"That sounds sweet. So you know all the good spots then, hm?"

"Oh, for sure", you replied quirking up an eyebrow and then paused when you took the exit onto the A10, just to ask him, "ever been on a German highway before?"

"Not that I can recall", his voice changed into one of a slightly worried tone and you had a feeling that he was raising an eyebrow at you, "um, why?"

"You're about to see, just let me know in case the speed is making you uncomfortable or anything, I can go slower."

You could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn't sure if he should laugh or be terrified about what you just said to him, but he ended up giving you the green light anyway.

You thanked him mentally for the trust he was instilling in you.

No speed limit for at least 12km, aka getting paid to play Formula 1 in real life. Unfortunately, morning traffic crossed your plans of mildly and humbly impressing him (and his still asleep manager), so the top speed for today stayed at a cozy 173km/h. And maybe it was a good thing, getting speedblocked by traffic and keeping you from exposing yourself as a douchey sucker for speeds above two hundred kilometers per hour.

"You must really enjoy driving", you heard him almost mumble, a smile playing on his plush pink lips, almost making the colour in them disappear as it grew wider. He looked as if something in his head just clicked into place and he had come to a realization.

"Oh, what gave me away?"

"I think it's the way you stay so calm and collected while switching lanes at light speed."

His conclusion made you snort a little, the way he said it with such British seriousness.

"It's actually my German genes, you know?", you quipped back at him, without taking your eyes off what was happening in front of you.

You figured Joe would be appreciative of that.

Throughout the whole rest of the thirty minute ride to Babelsberg, a part of the town of Potsdam, with Babelsberg itself being a prestigious area with all sorts of different film sets and a bunch of production companies located at, there was not a single second in which you felt uncomfortable. No awkward silence whatsoever. And you hadn't even have to be the one breaking the ice this time.

Because there wasn't any to break in the first place. It was almost like the two of you had met before.

However, you kept the topics of your conversation on a strict small talk level. Your own level of professionalism was nagging at your brain in the back of your head continuously. You shouldn't be engaging in sharing personal info. You weren't supposed to make and entertain any sort of deep(er) connection with clients.

They were just clients and you were just their designated driver.

So you kept the convo at a strictly friendly brief small talk level.

Eventually you reached the hotel your two passengers were going to be staying at for the time being, and after you had gotten their suitcases out of the trunk for them in the hotel entry way, you actually worked up the courage to ask Joseph for a picture.

You knew yourself well enough that if you didn't, you'd regret it for the rest of your time on earth. And surely this was a once in a time-on-earth encounter, right?

-----

Another few airport calls were awaiting you silently through single respective vibrations of your work phone.

The outlook on the rest of the day was making a rather dull impression on you, not surprising after the morning you just had.

Pick up a medium known German actress and transfer her to the set of a talk show. Some athlete needing to get to the olympic stadium for some training camp. Another journalist scheduled to attend a convention. Another random rich person able to afford private shuttle service asking you to drive them to some hotel in the center.

Your thoughts kept drifting to your (by far) favourite encounter of the day. Over and over and over again.

During your lonely lunch break on the parking lot of the airport's closest gas station, you couldn't stop yourself from grinning at your private phone screen, the few selfies Joseph had taken of the both of you being reproduced on the display and being swiped back and forth by your thumb.

He had swung an arm around your half a head smaller figure, pulled you surprisingly tight into his white button up covering his side, cap still forcing this light brown curls to stick to his forehead, the arm not surrounding you stretched out, holding your phone into the warm early summer air, spinning the both of you around to find the best angle and background with one of his silly little giggles filling your ears.

In one of the photos, a toothy smile spread across both of your faces; another was slightly blurred because his focus was lying on taking you in instead of bothering to hold the phone steady.

Yeah, just a client.

The rest of the shift went the utmost ordinary and usual way. Time flew, which you were thankful for, since the only thing you wanted to do at this point was go home, refresh yourself through showering your warmed up skin in cool water, and keep staring at those photos juuust a little more.

For what would be the last time today your work phone vibrated once more, and the reason appeared entirely clueless to you as you were already on your way home.

A direct message from your boss.

Hey y/n, special commission for you this coming week. You're going to be assigned to Mr Quinn exclusively for the entirety of his stay. He will need transfer between hotel and film set twice daily until his ADT on May 27. I know I can count on you. Cheers and enjoy the rest of your evening.

– Laurenz

The letters of the words became a blur in your periphery.

Oh dear lord.

-----

taglist is empty and open

[waltwhitmansbeard]

"hugging the other from behind to see what they're doing"

9. hugging the other from behind to see what they're doing

Shaun's been at it for hours, this damned potion. Sweat trickles horribly down the back of his neck, but he can't move away from the bubbling pot on his stove, not when he's so close to getting it right. He's gone through four iterations of this concoction, each with a different variation of the main ingredient, and based on the smell, it seems walnuts are the way to go. The brew isn't as clear as he would like, but hey, if it works, it works.

He lifts his ladle to stir before all of the components settle to the bottom, but before the wood can touch the surface, something grabs onto his sides. He lets out a startled yelp and whips around, brandishing the ladle like a weapon. "Who in the Hells—"

"Gil, Gil, it's me." Vax has the nerve to be laughing as he says it, as if he didn't just give Shaun a heart attack.

Shaun brings one hand up to press against his racing heart, and the other grips the ladle even harder. "You...menace. I ought to beat your brains in for scaring me like that."

Vax eyes the ladle skeptically. "Please just tell me that cookware isn't the security system you employ around here."

"I'll set up a new ward for annoying rogues specifically."

"Well, now I'm hurt." He pouts. "I just wanted to know what you were doing."

Right, the potion. With a sigh, Shaun turns around to stare back down into his pot. "It's supposed to be a potion of confusion, but I'm not convinced I've got it right."

The arms that nearly scared him into an early grave wrap around his waist, and a chin comes to hook onto his shoulder. "Hmm. Is the only way to know to test it?"

"Why, you offering?"

Vax squeezes his middle. "I've been your guinea pig before, to some...mutually satisfying results."

Shaun snorts. "Yes, well, if I'm satisfied with these results, it means that you've likely attacked me or something here in my office, so I think I'll pass."

"Fair enough." Vax buries his face into the crook of Shaun's neck, and he finds himself increasingly disinterested by the potion he's working on. "How much longer do you have to be...stirring or whatever?"

Oh, Shaun's stirring, alright. "You're trying to distract me."

"How successful am I?"

Devil man, he is. Shaun tosses the ladle onto the stove, which he extinguishes with a wave of his hand. He reaches up to pull Vax's face away from his neck so he can look him in the eyes. "Very."