#and I told y’all it was going to be long—

[aziraphales-library]

Hello y’all!!

I want to start with saying I appreciate all the work you do.

Is there a fic that you love but have not gotten the chance to recommend yet?

Sincerely,

A very tipsy aziracrow shipper

Hi! These are all fics I have read and loved recently, and have not recommended yet. A few post-series two amnesia fics (I went on a mini memory loss binge, so sue me) and a couple of lovely human aus....

Pure of Heart by syrupfactory (M)

Aziraphale had watched Crowley walk away, watched the door close behind him. All that remained was the peculiar tingle lingering on Aziraphale’s lips. But then, Crowley came back inside. What had changed his mind? Aziraphale never got the chance to ask. Moments later, the two of them were on the elevator with the Metatron. Aziraphale remembered it clearly as the last time he was truly happy. Canon divergence where Crowley agreed to return to Heaven with Aziraphale, only for Crowley's memory to be wiped immediately as part of his "second chance" at being an angel.

Light the Corners of my Mind by cyankelpie (G)

Aziraphale, thirty-eighth order scrivener—at least, that's who they told him he was—wakes up from some perfectly normal memory loss to find a cryptic note written on his hand. The further he goes in his search for answers, the more questions he has. Will he ever learn why he was demoted to a desk job? Or how he'd managed to collect enough books to open a bookshop? Or why that familiar red-haired demon on Earth seems to be avoiding him?

Among the Stacks by MeinirRhos (NR)

Nearly a year after Aziraphale returns to Heaven, he vanishes from existence, leaving Crowley bereft on Earth. Just when the demon has finally started to heal and move on with his life, he finds his angel by chance in a library. But Aziraphale has no memory of his life as an angel, or of Crowley. How will our hero cope?

1 corinthians 13:1-13 by ffonippop (M)

Restless traveler, Aziraphale Fell, meets settled-down Anthony Crowley in middle-of-nowhere, Texas. Aziraphale goes through life flitting from place to place, never staying long. He runs on the belief that if he’s not going, he’s missing out on something better. Crowley’s life is stationary. He keeps himself rooted with the belief that his life is the best it’s ever going to get, and to go would be to risk that. Aziraphale has to go. Crowley has to stay. They have to take what they can get from each other, and that needs to be enough.

Big Name Feelings by ghostrat (E)

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

- Mod D

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Eight

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of vomiting, mentions of suicide, basically summarizing the trial from the movie, allusions to abortion, foul language, sexual content.

A/N: y’all wanted the drama, you’re getting the drama. this chapter was weird for me to write, ngl. thanks to @melancholicmelanin for beta’ing for me last minute. as always, I love your comments and all the anons- they seriously make this worth it. I didn’t intend on taking this fic in this direction at all, but here we go. (And, as always, thanks to @luxlisbons for being on the receiving end of my neuroses)

In the quiet of Vincent’s room, Leah remained in bed for an entire day, shifting only when discomfort set in or when Vincent appeared at the doorway to check on her. At one point, she stirred as the mattress dipped, catching a glimpse of Vincent holding a plate of orange slices and a cup of water. A pang of guilt washed over her, realizing the burden her melancholy was placing on him, invading his space and life. She wondered if he was growing tired of her current state.

"Eat something," Vincent urged, nudging the plate towards her. Reluctantly, she sat up and popped an orange slice into her mouth.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, displaying numerous missed calls from her father and her therapist, but he decided against mentioning it.

"What happened in New York?" he inquired softly.

"Nothing important," she replied, swallowing the orange and taking a sip of water. "I think my friend's kid got me sick."

"Right," he nodded, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes despite his understanding nod.

He observed in silence as she finished the last orange slice and drained the remaining water.

"We go to trial on Monday," he informed her, to which she nodded.

"I'll be better by then," Leah assured him. "I promise."

Throughout the rest of the week, Leah avoided Vincent, mastering the art of vomiting quietly or simply moving food around on her plate to create the illusion that she had eaten. Frequently dozing off on the couch, she felt anxious around him, harboring a fear that he might possess the same keen perception or foresight that his eccentric mother had displayed. The fear lingered in Leah's mind that Vincent could touch her and instantly know the truth, as if he possessed some uncanny ability to see through her facade with a mere contact.

"You're cold," he observed as he entered the living room where she was engrossed in reading Sandra's case files.

"No, it's actually quite warm in here," she replied as he shook his head.

"No, you're cold, distant," he insisted.

"I've been sick, and the exhausting flight and difficult mediation have left me drained," Leah explained, hoping to deflect his suspicions.

Unconvinced, Vincent pressed on, "Why haven't you been sleeping in bed with me?"

Rather than making up an excuse, She sighed and confronted the underlying issue, "What are we, Vincent? Are we friends, a fling? Where is this relationship headed?"

Vincent looked puzzled, "Where is all this coming from?"

"You once said we have all the time in the world, but do we really?" She questioned.

"That was when you told me I made you whole," He countered.

"Context matters," She pointed out.

"What's the context of this argument, then?" He challenged.

Leah, stubborn as the day is long, shook her head.

“What happened in New York that changed you?” He asked softly.

"How long have we known each other, Vincent?" She asked, already aware of the answer.

"I think just over a month," He replied honestly, “Maybe closer to two?”

"Then how can you say I've changed when you barely know me?" She snapped, looking at him intently, her entire body engaged for a fight she hadn't planned on having.

"How do you know this isn't the real me?" She added, sounding frustrated. "You can't presume to understand who I am."

"All I see is your missed calls, lack of appetite…you won’t let me touch you.” He admitted nervously.

"Do you just want to fuck me, Vincent?" She stood up, hands on her hips, challenging him.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," He replied, standing his ground.

"Let me work in peace and stop analyzing me," She said firmly, returning to her seat on the couch.

Vincent, feeling sheepish, sat on the chaise opposite her, trying to figure out what had gone wrong between them.

______________________________________

"I’m pregnant," Leah spoke quietly into the phone as she poured a cup of tea.

Kate emitted a sound that was a mix of a scream and a gasp on the other end of the call. "I fucking knew it," she said.

"Yeah, well, I don’t know what to do," Leah admitted as she sat at the table with her teacup.

"His mom knows because apparently she’s fucking psychic," Leah continued. "I walked in, and she took one look at me, and she fucking knew."

Kate sighed heavily on the other end. "Does he know?"

"No," Leah said. "I can’t tell him right before the trial and mess with his headspace. I think I've already shaken up his life enough."

"Come home and take care of it," Kate advised. "Quick and simple."

Leah sighed, rubbing her temples. "It’s not that easy. I can’t leave during the case without raising his suspicion. Besides, I barely let him touch me now. I let him eat me out and fuck me yesterday because he cornered me against the kitchen counter, and he said I tasted different. The whole vibe was off after."

"Well, yeah," Kate agreed. "Your whole-body changes when you’re pregnant."

"Now I think he’s convinced I slept with someone else or have someone at home waiting for me, and I’m just bamboozling him," Leah said with a saddened tone.

"I finally climbed into bed with him last night after sleeping on the couch for close to a week, and he immediately rolled over and scooted close to me. His hand found its way to my belly, and it took everything in me not to blurt it out then and there," Leah admitted.

"What?" Kate asked. "That you’re pregnant?"

"No," Leah laughed sardonically. "That I’m in love with him."

Somehow, that revelation shocked Kate more than the news of the pregnancy.

________________________________________

"Are you going to answer that?" Vincent gestured towards Leah's vibrating phone, but she shook her head. They sat together at the kitchen table, poking at bits of scrambled eggs and fresh strawberries on their plates.

"He wants me to come home and join his firm," Leah stated firmly. "I have no desire to work with him or anyone in his firm."

"Your dad is a lawyer?" Vincent inquired, sipping his tea.

"You really don’t know much about me, do you?" Leah asked seriously. "That’s the only thing I inherited from him," she added with a hint of bitterness. "I come from a long line of deceitful, conniving, bald-faced lying lawyers. All on his side."

"And your therapist," Vincent tapped the back of her phone, "You’re not going to answer their calls either?"

"Why would I?" Leah chuckled. "She's just going to tell me to stop messing around with you and go home. Besides, why are you worried about this?" she asked. "I’ve had a therapist since I was sixteen; I'm not going to throw myself from the balcony or anything. I’m just in a slump.”

"I don’t want you to isolate yourself while you're here," Vincent said, offering her a kind smile.

"Well, ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?" Leah half-joked.

Vincent laughed and nodded in agreement.

"You know this trial is going to be tough, right?" he questioned.

"I know," Leah replied, taking a sip of her tea and nodding at him. "This isn't my first rodeo. I'm built for war."

_______________________________________

Leah found the trial fascinating and bizarre, a stark contrast to the sterile courtrooms she was used to back home. The architectural setup, with the judges raised above the room and Sandra seated far away from her own counsel, spoke volumes. The trial itself felt like a free-for-all, and when Vincent walked out in his robes with the frilly collar, Leah had to stifle visible awe and a wave of humor. The awkward moment of listening to Zoë and Sandra’s recorded conversation made Leah's skin crawl. It felt like an invasion of privacy, adding to the overall invasion already present. The recording painted Sandra as a sexual deviant, merely a bisexual woman ready to prey on Zoë. The avocat general, or ‘the bald bastard’ as Leah later dubbed him, tore poor Zoë apart. She held her ground, but he exuded an accusatory nature that even Leah, seated among the gallery, felt.

By some stroke of luck, Vincent had arranged for a translator to feed a translation into an earpiece for Leah. This delayed her reactions, but she noticed Vincent checking on her every few minutes. When Vincent spoke without any objection thrown out, Leah was taken aback. That kind of behavior wouldn’t be tolerated in America, she thought.

“That’s beside the point,” the translator's voice came in Leah’s ear, half a second after Vincent's words, “and sexist.”

Leah felt her stomach drop in the best way as she looked at him. A reality dawned on her—one she had ignored for long over a week, only showing itself in random bouts of nausea and aversion to her longtime perfume—that she was carrying his child. The realization nearly drove her crazy as she watched him lean against the banister, witnessing the same awkward interview she had seen with Daniel unfold in court. The Présidente du tribunal interrogated Daniel, questioning his change of heart regarding the gaffer tape, and Vincent was quick to mention a psychiatrist's observation of shock as a possible reason for his altered memories.

Sandra watched like a hawk as her son was interrogated, and Leah sensed her strong desire to shield him, to envelop him in grace, even from her spot in the vacant spectator’s section. She was permitted to stay there because she was privy to the case's confidential details—a fact that even surprised her. Vincent swiftly intervened, coming to the boy's defense and engaging in a heated argument with the avocat.

From then on, everything blurred. The splatter analyst presented their testimony, offering a hypothesis that faced multiple challenges. The reenactment of the incident, the whole shebang, unfolded before the entire court.

The switch to English at Sandra's request was a welcomed relief for Leah. The speculation about Samuel's suicide attempt and his argument with the therapist felt all too familiar to her. A woman being blamed and scorned for a man's failings— a tale as old as time. Vincent intervened, arguing that the burden was shared by both Samuel and Sandra. However, Leah couldn't focus on his words. All she could see were his eyes, his emotions, the way he expressed himself, his beautiful and unique features.

After court adjourned, Leah joined Sandra and Vincent in the main lobby. The trio walked out together in silence, each grappling with the intensity of the morning. When Vincent suggested driving Sandra home, Leah declined the offer to join, deciding to walk the short distance to Vincent’s apartment to clear her head, feeling too exhausted and overwhelmed by the emotional dynamics at play. In the ensuing hours, she found herself entwined both emotionally and physically in Vincent's bed sheets, until sleep mercifully claimed her.

_________________________________________

In the quiet hours of the morning, Vincent slipped into bed, wrapping his arms around her, drawing comfort from her warmth. She sighed softly from his embrace as he molded himself around her form.

"What did you guys talk about tonight?" her sleepy voice inquired, though her mind had conjured numerous scenarios before she drifted off.

"We talked," Vincent whispered by her ear, "about life, about you, about everything."

"Mhm," Leah mumbled drowsily, "I wanted to punch that bald prosecutor in the throat."

"We didn't discuss the case," Vincent said, planting a kiss on her shoulder blade.

"You talked about me," Leah rolled over, opening her eyes. "Gossipers."

Vincent smiled, his eyes crinkling. "No gossip. I reserve that for my mother."

"You're not being honest," Leah stated matter-of-factly. "You didn't hear her call me a black cat weeks ago, yet you use the same term now. That's not a coincidence. You're a gossip."

"No," he shook his head. "The night you accused me of being with her, I was trying to understand why I feel the way I do about you. I was hoping she would have some advice to make sense of all this.”

"And?" Leah inquired. "What did you conclude?"

"Witchcraft," Vincent chuckled, making Leah laugh. "We didn't reach a conclusion. I just came back to you, and it all fell into place."

"And then you returned home," Vincent began, his words measured, "and you're closed off.”

"This isn't my home, Vincent," Leah corrected him, observing the sadness in his eyes.

"But it could be," he suggested. "You're here, in my bed, in my thoughts, in my heart."

"It's not that easy," Leah replied. "Let's get some rest, okay?"

Vincent's tired eyes silently agreed as she turned away, shutting her eyes tightly to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

_________________________________________

Seated in the gallery, Leah pressed her palms firmly under her thighs, a wave of sickness washing over her. The sound of Samuel's voice, engaged in a heated argument with Sandra, stirred a deep-seated rage within Leah, aimed at her manipulative and despicable father. The echoes of the fights from her childhood amplified her anger, intensifying it twofold. Glancing at Vincent, his arms crossed and gaze fixed ahead, Leah finally understood why he had kept the file from her until now. The conversation, particularly about language and speaking English as a middle ground, painted a picture of confusion and struggles for their potential future children, such as the one Leah secretly carried, under the shadow of their distinctly American mother.

Resentment. Manipulation.

Those were the only words Leah registered.

The realization terrified her, sending shivers down her spine. As she and Vincent locked eyes, she sensed that he comprehended the turmoil swirling in her mind. With a trembling hand, she reached to her right and clasped Daniel's hand, feeling his tremors mirroring her own. From that moment on, Leah tuned out everything else, focusing solely on the boy beside her, a reflection of her own struggles and fears.

_______________________________________

In the days that followed, social media buzzed with chatter about Sandra, while Leah and Vincent lingered in Paris, Sandra and Daniel retreated to their chalet.

As the court session resumed two days later, Daniel's testimony was set to unfold in an empty gallery, and Leah opted to wait outside the chamber, avoiding the potentially twisted details that Samuel Maleski might have implanted in the young boy's mind. While Sandra was far from perfect, Samuel's darker side seemed doubly sinister and oblivious. Sandra, on the other hand, acknowledged her imperfections as a mother, a woman, and a human being—a trait that Leah found admirable.

As the chamber doors finally swung open, Vincent's reassuring smile conveyed all Leah needed to know. They hailed a car and squeezed in, with Sandra phoning to check on Daniel, who graciously approved of her belated dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant. In the back seat, Vincent kept a watchful eye on Leah, who observed their surroundings as the car navigated the streets, eventually arriving at the restaurant.

“That’s the first fucking time in our life we win!” Vincent proclaimed amidst laughter at the table, responding to Sandra's inquiry about their celebratory customs. A waitress arrived with more sushi and a round of sake, which Leah politely declined, opting for a simple bowl of rice and water.

When Leah's phone rang, she excused herself and stepped outside, where she found Nour and a few other colleagues enjoying a smoke break.

"Evan proposed," Kate's voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Congratulations... I think?" Leah chuckled.

"I turned him down, as I always do," Kate replied matter-of-factly.

"Maybe next time," Leah teased.

However, as she glanced back through the window, her stomach churned at the scene unfolding inside—Vincent's hand lightly tracing Sandra's cheekbone, drawing her close into his embrace, where he ran his fingers through her hair. Sandra reciprocated, tenderly touching his face as they gazed into each other's eyes.

Leah abruptly ended the call with Kate and stood frozen, her gaze fixed through the glass. Catching Vincent's eye, he swiftly rose from his seat, Leah’s strides purposeful and swift as she made her way down the uneven sidewalk, tapping away on her phone to order an Uber. With the car mere moments away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Eventually, Vincent caught up to her just as she was about to step into the waiting car.

"Leah—," he began, but she cut him off with a dismissive hand gesture.

"Don't. You can fucking have her," she retorted sharply.

Slamming the car door shut, she drove off without a backward glance.

Taglist:

@weakling-grace

@bibistatic

[kazscrows]

Six of Crows Reread 🪶

Chapter 38: Kaz

I have been waiting to get to this chapter-

This is going to be a long one so settle in and buckle up

I’m not kidding this one goes for ages—

He’d gambled on Matthias’ feelings for Nina, but he’d always liked those odds. The real risk had been in whether or not someone as honest as Matthias could convincingly lie to his mentor’s face. Apparently the Fjerdan had hidden skills.

Kaz is a Helnik shipper you can’t change my mind

And lmao he thought Matthias wouldn’t be able to lie basically because he’s “too good”—

He reeks of decency, right?

Kaz throwing up the bombs to fell the sacred ash is… something

I made a post about this last night

He had lock picks and extra pellets of that weird knockout gas they used earlier in the cells in his gut too—

Oh he learned to do this via a fire breather magician

I guess it kind of makes sense

But then Kaz notes that the magician died due to poisoning himself accidentally—

Man (meaning Kaz Brekker) is insane

He remembered Inej standing on the embassy roof, aglow with some new fervour he didn’t understand but could still recognise – purpose. It had suffused her with light.

She was glowing to him

He’s so proud of her

I’m so proud of her

I really like that we got to see exactly where everyone was when the black protocol bells began

Gives it that heist movie feel of recapping the mission but from other points of view

Does that make sense? Do you guys know what I mean?

He’d waited, counting the minutes, but there was still no sign of Nina or Matthias. They’re in trouble, Kaz had thought. Or you were dead wrong about Matthias, and you’re about to pay for all of those talking tree jokes.

Imagine the plan failing because Kaz made fun of Matthias one too many times

That would have been tragic

He quickly tries to think of a way to get to the treasury but…

Would he be going to help Nina and Matthias or just to grab the target?

Luckily we don’t have to find out

Hopefully he’d choose to help his new friends

I like to think he would

He’d been about to call out to them when the explosion hit, and everything went to hell.

They blew up the lab, he’d thought as debris rained down around him. I definitely did not tell them to blow up the lab.

I love when Kaz thinks things like this

It happens at least once more in Crooked Kingdom

You’ll see when we get there

I’m thinking about a line from the auction

Kaz hoped the Shu boy he was holding on to was a surprisingly young Bo Yul-Bayur and not some hapless prisoner Nina and Matthias had decided to liberate.

I mean.. you never really know with Nina

The voice of god. There was always truth in legend. Kaz had spent enough time building his own myth to know.

Woah this just made me think about Kelsier from Mistborn

Has anyone here read those?

Sometimes Kaz and Kelsier are pretty similar, but also polar opposites

They both run a thieving crew so there’s the obvious similarity

Kelsier loves to smile though so there’s a difference (he smiles out of spite, but it doesn’t really matter right now)

Water had a voice. It was something every canal rat knew, anyone who had slept beneath a bridge or weathered a winter storm in an overturned boat – water could speak with the voice of a lover, a long-lost brother, even a god. That was the key, and once Kaz recognised it, it was as if someone had laid a perfect blueprint over the Ice Court and its workings.

What god do you serve? Inej had asked him. Whichever will grant me good fortune. Fortunate people didn’t end up racing ass over teakettle beneath an ice moat in hostile territory.

He’s already starting to think about Inej

Also side note: “Fortunate people didn’t end up racing ass over teakettle” is just a really funny line-

He thinks that while tumbling blindly down a freezing cold river in the dark

Survive. Survive. Survive. It was the way he’d lived his life, moment to moment, breath to breath, since that terrible morning when he’d woken to find that Jordie was still dead and he was still very much alive.

Pain

I’m gonna cry

Kaz tumbled through the dark. He was colder than he’d ever been. He thought of Inej’s hand on his cheek. His mind had gone jagged at the sensation, a riot of confusion. It had been terror and disgust and – in all of that clamour – desire, a wish that lingered still, the hope that she would touch him again.

Hope doesn’t have to be dangerous

It’s beautiful really

When he was fourteen, Kaz had put together a crew to rob the bank that had helped Hertzoon prey on him and Jordie. His crew got away with fifty thousand kruge, but he’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. The cane became a part of the myth he built. No one knew who he was. No one knew where he came from. He’d become Kaz Brekker, cripple and confidence man, bastard of the Barrel.

He really does go after Pekka brick by brick

He didn’t let his limp define him

He used it to sculpt how others saw him

They see him in the exact way he wants them to

In a way it made him stronger

I just want to copy paste this entire chapter

But the flashes of memories Kaz is getting:

Hot chocolate with Jordie and his warning to let it cool

Himself signing for the Crow Club

His first time seeing Inej, in purple silk, and with kohl around her eyes…

When he gave her her first knife, it had a bone handled hilt

She named it Petyr…

Her crying after her first kill and him ignoring the sobs…

Do you think he regrets that? What if he’d tried to comfort her instead..?

Kaz remembered her perched on the sill of his attic window, sometime during that first year after he’d brought her into the Dregs. She’d been feeding the crows that congregated on the roof.

“You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he’d told her.

“Why not?” she asked.

He’d looked up from his desk to answer, but whatever he’d been about to say had vanished on his tongue.

The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbour wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world.

“Why not?” she’d repeated, eyes still closed.

He said the first thing that popped into his head. “They don’t have any manners.”

“Neither do you, Kaz.” She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and got drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

Oh window scene my beloved

I’m stronger than this, he told himself. My will is greater. But he could hear Jordie laughing. No, little brother. No one is stronger. You’ve cheated death too many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.

The sound of water is Jordie’s voice for Kaz

A twisted tragic version of him

He’s trying to hang on and survive so he things of his revenge first

But it doesn’t work…

Only thinking of Inej saves him

He hopes she’s alive and that she escaped

He thinks about how if she’s trapped he has to live to safe her

The ache in his lungs was unbearable. He needed to tell her … what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.

I love this beautiful broken boy who’s decided to try

The water pressed at his chest, demanding that he part his lips. I won’t, he swore. But in the end, Kaz opened his mouth, and the water rushed in.

Imagine an episode of the spin-off ending like that

That ends part 5, onto the final part!

Part 6: Proper Thieves

First | Previous | Next

[hypaalicious]

Black Hair Care myths BUSTED!

Since I’m fighting off the plague and have nothing else better to do but lay here pitifully, I’ve decided to talk about hair again after my last two posts on shampoo types and curly hair care , only this time focusing on Black folks’ hair and the misinformation lots of us grew up on.

Now, because I know the gowrls like to tussle (and Mercury in Microbraids along with an eclipse is upon us), lemme just say this: if you’re absolutely happy with your hair care routine, then this post isn’t for you.

This post is only for people who are curious and want to evolve and simplify their hair care routines.

OKAY LEGGO:

The hair typing chart is garbage.

Everyone and they mama should be familiar with this chart. So many of us use it to determine what type of hair products to buy that work best for our hair type.

Unfortunately, the chart is pseudo-science.

All hair types need the same basic care (shampooing/conditioning at least every week), and products that claim to cater to a specific hair type is just a marketing tactic. This chart also promotes texturism; Oprah’s stylist literally made up the type 4 category to say that the only thing to do to tight curls is to straighten or loosen them. 🥲

Products can’t give you the kind of curls you want.

I touched on this a bit in my first hair post, but it bears repeating here: Curl “activators”, Shea butter, raw oil blends, creams, leave-in conditioners, texturizing shampoos… all of them are finessing you, beloveds. If your hair isn’t holding defined clumps of curls immediately after shampooing, then your hair is likely chronically dehydrated and needs to be detoxed.

We’re kinda raised to product chase because we’re told that the way our hair grows out of our heads is bad and needs to be fixed, and the $2.5 billion Black hair care industry is always eager to offer us placebos for our coin. We see someone with the hair texture and length we want and we immediately ask “what products do you use??” as if the answer is in a bottle when it’s really just genetics. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Greasing/oiling your scalp does not moisturize it, get rid of dandruff, or make your hair grow faster.

As a kid I remember my hairdresser using a fine toothed comb and “breaking up” the dandruff on my scalp before applying Sea Breeze to soothe it. Every single time, the dandruff came back worse. 😩 If I put oil on my scalp, it would take only a day before build up and large yellow flakes would rain out of my hair. But I thought because my scalp and my hair needed moisturizing that I couldn’t go without oils.

Well, I was right on one thing; my scalp and hair def needed moisture. But I wasn’t gonna get moisture from anything but water, and at the time I was avoiding water like the plague because I always had a fresh silk press or perm and I didn’t want my hair “reverting”.

If you have a scalp condition or chronic itchiness, you are very much making it worse by adding any of that to your head. The only solution is to wash your hair, loves. Yes, you may have to choose between looking “laid” and what’s actually good for your hair and scalp, but them’s the breaks.

The hair growth oils that line the shelves at Sally’s? Literally snake oil. Same goes for hair vitamins, biotin, MSM, rice water, JBCO, egg white/tea rinse/fruit or food products, African Black soap, rose water, etc. Nothing topical, save for specific medicated prescription drugs from a dermatologist, can make hair grow. Save ya money, hunny!

Co-washing and water-only washing doesn’t get your hair clean.

Conditioner is incapable of doing what shampoo does. You’re just gonna add layers of build up on your hair doing co-washes. Water-only cleansing is like never using soap in your laundry and expecting your clothes to be clean. 😬 Only putting shampoo on your scalp and carefully avoiding the length of your hair is the equivalent of white folks not washing their legs in the shower. Don’t do any of this.

I actually do not know where the myth started that Black folks hair is somehow too fragile to handle shampoo, a thing that is specifically formulated for hair. 😅 If shampoo is drying your hair out, you need to make sure you’re using the right kind of shampoo, not ditching shampoo altogether. If you need help, I touched on shampoo basics here!

Using a spray bottle to “refresh” your hair doesn’t do what you think it’s doing.

Tiny water droplets from a spray bottle only sit on the surface of your hair, even more so if your hair already has product in it. If your styles aren’t holding until your next wash, you may need to re-examine what you’re using, how you apply it, and how you set it. If you need to refresh a style or get moisture, nothing less than washing your hair will do.

Finger detangling or using a wide toothed comb or denman brush isn’t doing the job.

I know we’ve been raised to think that because our hair is tightly coiled, that we have to treat it with kid gloves. But we actually do more harm to our hair by not detangling correctly. Detangling is the act of getting shed hair out from your head so it doesn’t wrap up in your healthy hair and cause breakage. A wide toothed comb can’t do that, and neither can your fingers. A denman brush is ONLY supposed to be used to hold tension in the hair when blowdrying it straight. What you want is a Felicia Leatherwood brush and to use that bad boy in the shower right after putting conditioner on sopping wet hair, trust me.

Protective styles don’t exist.

Buns, braids, wigs… all of them look fantastic when done right and it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t wear them. But they are all just alternative styles; nothing is being protected. I know a lot of us love the low maintenance that having these styles provide, but I want us to examine why they are thought of as low maintenance: it’s because folks are less likely to wash their hair/detangle while having them.

Any style that discourages you from weekly hair washing cannot be protective. It instead promotes hair neglect. Yes, I know, it can cost thousands of dollars for those waist length box braids or sew in, but you paid for the labor that goes into those kinds of styles, not the ability to keep them in for as long as possible. Not touching your hair for weeks on end means you’ll have dehydrated hair with mad buildup to get rid of. And btw, that type of damage to the hair cannot be fixed in just one visit to the salon. For as many weeks as you go without washing your hair, you need that many weeks out of an alternative style with frequent washing to help it recover.

Dry hair is determined by its behavior, not how it feels.

This one has a lot of folks tripped out because logically, we should be able to just touch our strands and know that it needs moisture. Unfortunately, so many of us don’t know what our actual hair feels like without it being slathered in products, so the moment that we stop using them we think our hair is “dry” when it’s really just how our natural hair texture may feel. It’s def not easy in the beginning to let go of the familiarity a nicely oiled head of hair presents. 🥲

So, how do you know if you have dry hair? If it can’t hold a curl pattern without manipulation, is hydrophobic (if water doesn’t completely flatten hair to your scalp when you wash it, it’s not absorbing), is extremely difficult to detangle, breaks off easily, etc.

You don’t need to rinse your hair in cold water.

Only reason you should even consider it is if you have vivid color in your hair, but… lemme tell y’all sumn.

Years ago when I started dyeing my hair, it was typical for a permanent black hair dye to act like a semi-perm and wash almost completely out or turn grey in a few weeks. Now that I have a much better hair regimen that keeps my hair in the best health it can be, my semi-permanent fashion colors last for months until I decide to touch it up again. And I absolutely do not relish being cold in the shower, so I just use hot water.

The health of your hair matters more than any gimmicks or products you can use to fix a problem.

Long hair/shiny hair is not an indicator of health, it is an indicator of genetics.

I want DESPERATELY for us as a people to break the shackles of thinking that the only hair that matters is long and thick, or that someone who has long hair is an automatic authority on hair care.

If you want an idea of how long your hair can get, then look to your family. If your mom or dad don’t have hair touching their waist then it’s highly possible you were not blessed with the DNA to get your hair waist length either. And that’s okay! You aren’t any less valid. It will just save you a LOT of heartache to learn to embrace your hair the way it naturally is rather than to run around buying products and chasing haircare trends in hopes that a miracle will happen. Not to mention, I’ve seen a lot of folks with long hair but they ain’t had a trim in years and it absolutely shows. 😬

A lot of folks do not have shiny hair, that is once again due to genetics not hair health. Matte hair has a different surface texture and that’s absolutely fine! Only manufactured beauty standards glorify long and shiny hair.

Speaking of hair length…

Shrinkage is not your enemy.

A general rule is that the only hair length that matters is how you regularly wear it.

My hair stays comfortably at the nape of my neck now that I wear my curls 100% of the time. If I pull it taut, then it’ll reach mid-back. But I don’t plan on straightening my hair ever again to show that mid-back length, so… 🤷🏽‍♀️ I have short hair because that is how it lays without manipulation. And that’s fine.

Shrinkage doesn’t scare me because it’s what healthy curly hair DOES. If my hair springs like a coil and retains shape, then I’m doing something right! I have always wanted long hair, I won’t deny that. But if I have to stretch my natural hair in any way in order to GET that long hair, it’s not worth it to me. I’ll just wear a wig for a hot min if I wanna whip my hair back and forth.

Air drying your hair isn’t better than diffusing it with a hair dryer.

Another thing we’ve been told is that heat damages our hair and that air drying is best. That’s not necessarily true.

DIRECT heat can damage your hair (flat irons, blow outs, pressing combs). INDIRECT heat (hooded dryers, a diffuser attachment on a handheld dryer) does not. In fact, diffused heat sets your wash and gos/twist outs way better than air drying. It cuts down on frizz and ensures your style will last through the week.

Also, it’s better to dry your hair completely rather than wait hours for it to air dry and then maybe sleep on wet hair. Fun fact: Leaving your hair wet for too long can cause mold to grow in your hair! 😱 And if you lay a wet head on a pillow, the bacteria transfers to your pillowcase and you continue to sleep in that until you wash the pillow!

You can’t “lock moisture in” your hair.

Water evaporates. It’s what it’s gonna do. 🤷🏽‍♀️ Putting leave ins or oils on your hair in hopes that water stays in your strands longer isn’t a thing, despite what a lot of us have been told. The only thing you’re gonna be left with is greasy, dehydrated hair if you don’t wash it weekly.

Avoiding getting a hair cut will not grant you healthy or long hair.

Hair grows an average of half an inch per month, regardless of race. The belief that “Black hair doesn’t grow” is rooted in anti-Blackness. 😅 If you’re not seeing growth, then it’s most likely that your hair is simply breaking off faster than the rate of growth, or you have an underlying health issue that needs to be addressed by a doctor.

I know I used to hate hairdressers who seemed “scissor happy” because I was always chasing length, so I would often only tell them to “dust” the ends if they do anything. Now, I will grab my clippers and cut inches off my hair in a heartbeat if my hair starts looking raggedy. Clinging on to scraggly hair because it takes “so long to grow” doesn’t do you any favors, trust me. 😭 Take better care of your hair and you will retain length a lot easier, and that includes getting quarterly haircuts.

Porosity does not matter.

How many of us did this whole “put a strand of hair in a cup of water and see if it floats or sinks”? Well, what if I told you that it means absolutely nothing for everyday hair care? 😭 Porosity isn’t even a static state, so many things can change it on a dime!

The only time porosity matters is if you are getting a color service and that is only for your stylist to determine. And you will never see a stylist worth their salt putting your hair in a cup of water to figure it out. Also, a lot of “low” porosity hair is just product build up.

Using home remedies to address hair loss concerns doesn’t work.

No, it doesn’t matter that your grandma did black tea rinses regularly to stop her hair from shedding. It doesn’t matter what women in India do with their hair, either. This may be a hard pill to swallow, but it’s perfectly okay to evolve past things that aren’t truly helpful even if it’s a Black culture staple.

Please don’t be afraid to go to a dermatologist. 🥺 There’s even a Black Dermatologist Directory to reference if you don’t wanna go to just anybody. Yeah, it may seem pricey, but Dermatologists have the training to cut through the guesswork, pinpoint what the problem is and save you a LOT of time and pain. You don’t wanna fuck around and make your hair loss WORSE by doing psuedo-chemistry in your kitchen.

“Do what works for you” doesn’t have the mileage you think it does.

When people don’t want to hear that their current hair practices aren’t really helping them, they default to “Well, it works for ME!” or “Everyone’s hair is different!”

Nobody’s hair is so different that it doesn’t need a weekly wash with shampoo. Nobody’s hair is the magical unicorn that grew 4 inches in a month because they used JBCO. Your hair is not “built different”, and believing that it is will lead you to spending money on things you don’t need. Doing what works for you only comes after you have nailed the basics of healthy hair care, and it only varies in like… if you prefer to use styling foam to set your wash n go as opposed to gel. Or using one brand’s shampoo over another. Not “my hair likes butters and oils and staying in protective styles for months on end and is doing just fine, and you telling me otherwise is anti-Black”.

If you have unexamined hatred of your natural hair texture, then nothing in this long-ass post will hit for you. If a large part of your identity as a Black person is rooted in product chasing, protective styles and taking an entire business day to wash your hair, then a lot of this will offend you. I’m really sorry for that, and I am not here to argue with anybody. I’ll just tell you “if you like it, I love it” and go on about my business.

For everyone else, I really hope this post helps to shed some light on hair care and set you on a better journey that gives you more time and more confidence in your styles! 🥹

[sualne]

been looking for jobs for three years and in the past two months ish I’ve gotten for the first time my first job interview and for a different job my first job essay.

(I did have an actual job as a comic colorist for like six months but nobody around me considered it a Real Job so I feel like I just never have a job even though I very much did.)

and each time, during the interview where I know realise I was kind of being explained the whole time why I wouldn’t get the job and at the end of the essay(which might not be the right word, like a day we’re your try out the job to see if you can do it) one of the reasons given why I wouldn’t be taken it was ‘we need people who can smile’.

(there were actual argument like being ‘too introverted’ and ‘not dynamic enough’. That last one is funny because i had another ‘almost pass out for no reasons’ moment right for break time (genuinely perfect timing) during the essay and while I was cold sweating and going blind on the bathroom floor I realised, if anyone ever know I have health issues I will never get a job. So being told I wasn’t dynamic enough a fourty something minutes later was straight up comedic).

Back to the smiling, my entire life since I was a literal baby I’ve been told I wasn’t expressing the Right Way. ‘If you feel a specific way you Have to emote this specific way, act this specific way and not do anything else otherwise you’re not actually feeling what you say you’re feeling, it means you’re actually lying, faking it or don’t know what you’re actually feeling because your not showing it the Right Way’ and obviously I’ve dismissed this my entire life because I was sure it was obvious and everyone knew that everyone exist differently and people don’t act the same. I kind of assume everyone that ever bothered me about it was some flavor of 1 having a day and decided to being weird about it to me or anyone else that was also not existing the correct way. 2 just kind of an asshole and therefor they’re opinion didn’t matter. 3 just kind of strange about thing and so be it, ´not my problem tho’ I thought.

But seeing how it’s an actual argument people have use twice now to refuse me a job I’m kind of being thinking, it might actually, for real, be a thing people actually are worried about, actually. Which is wild, but also make sense because people have very much for my whole life, to me and to a ton of strangers, made comments on folks not existing the proper way. Like how in horror someone being slightly off, slightly wrong, a little bit not how it usual should be is the trope of all time. And I love this trope, someone who’s voice is in differed from how they mouth work, someone who seems to not walk directly on the floor but just slightly above it. It’s fun and interesting.

Anyway, real life stuff, being told I’m not smiling enough is wild, like yeah I don’t smile much at all that’s a fact, and both job were about interacting with people and every time you go to a restaurant you’ll ear someone saying out of nowhere mean thing about people who work there. Insane things like ‘I don’t like the way they’re standing’ and over analysing someone expression and body languages when they’re literally just doing their job.

This post is kind of a mess but I had a point which was, I don’t understand people and why are so many mean for no reasons but I wanted it to sound less like a kid complaining and be more verbose about it.

And (this isn’t over yet) I did force myself to smile, like I very much did, I tried my best to be as pleasant and polite as possible. And being told again, this isn’t enough, just suck. Like I have to mask and hide and deal with so much I kind of expected that of all thing I was allowed to keep my face. Like people have bothered me about it my entire life and I’ve dismissed it my entire life because it just did not make sense and I couldn’t make it make sense(still can’t). But I’m genuinely at lost at what to do about it, if apparently I also have to change my face to get a job, that I need to exist the correct way in order to have the damn job in order to exist at all is all so, Not Good.

[a-concert-just-for-me]

I’ve been in such a good mood the last few days I feel like I’m legitimately in the twilight zone

[peapod20001]

I actually do have very complex thoughts about many different things, it’s just a bit challenging to connect the inner voice to the outer voice sometimes </3

[over-rated-cheese]

I just got the sudden urge to cut my hair and also cut bangs.

I blame u, Finn.

[somethingexcessivelyphallic]

how to dress like an employable queer in a conservative community girl help

[modernmanblues]

really glad i ran into someone at the mall yesterday who is also going to Coachella but he said he’s going to both weekends. i was like dangg you rich bro. i mean this is my first year going so if i end up having a good experience i might go to both weekends next year.

[horsedisk]

Can’t wait until I’m no longer under contact and I can just scream into the void about the absolute insanity of the publishing industry

[sanchoyo]

maybe I don’t understand how mail works but why is the package I sent to California up in Pennsylvania rn in transit…girl that’s the opposite way ur supposed to be going. Should’ve gone sideaways not up…. Ur getting further away….😟

[bxtonpxss]

.

[atrwriting]

kisses and other sweet things — billy the kid x cowgirl!reader

ok… i couldn’t help myself lol

also side note i don’t remember what scene this gif was from but i feel like his turned on look and look of disgust/confusion is the same — like if i hadn’t watched the show i’d be like “did he just see a pretty girl walk in?? or did someone just threaten him?? both??? hopefully both???”

but like also if he looked at me like that…,,,… melting. on the spot.

as always, warnings: smuuuuut, dom!billy, brat!reader, i don’t know if you can call it non-con but just to be safe im going to put that, p in v sex, oral, spitting in mouth (yeah i went there sue me), tears, biting, cums inside of reader (they didn’t have condoms in his time but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use them!!!!)

also don’t sue me i don’t know if they had running water (sinks, baths, etc) but also the real billy the kid didn’t look this fine so we’re making it up as we go and going with the flow

ENOUGH TALK — here’s kisses and other sweet things…

you had been working with a crew for some time now, and as you all struggled to keep a cash flow — you had to turn to other things.

like joining forces with another crew.

the idea of joining a crew wasn’t what unsettled you — what unsettled you was being the only woman with a gun with even more men.

it’s just for one job, y’all, they had said. just this one.

one job turned into two. then that turned into three. four, five, six — and suddenly you knew everyone’s back story, drink of choice, and their type when it came to women of the night.

your first crew never asked how you felt, but you also never told them. they were all — including you — in it for the money. at the end of the day, it was all about what you had in your pockets. there was no time for quelling the simple worries, like they’d call the ones in your head.

at the end of the day — you had been doing this a long time. you had taken care of yourself up until this point, and you would continue to do so. didn’t matter who you were working with — you’d get it done.

after a day of success, everyone wanted to blow off steam. you all had found a boarding house for the night where the alcohol ran deep and there was two or three pretty women for each cattle rustler in your large group. you stayed behind a bit to drink with them, but once they started eyeing the women — you knew it was time to go.

sleeping with any of the men you worked with was also a bad idea. you couldn’t afford them seeing you as anything less than someone quick with a draw — and you worried a night of meaningless sex would ruin that.

you would never take the chance.

“have your fun, boys,” you chuckled. “you deserve it.”

“won’t stay a little longer, sweetheart?” your leader asked as a girl licked at his neck.

“another time — bath’s calling my name.”

a few pleasantries were thrown over shoulders, and you returned them. you made your quick escape up the stairway and into the shared washroom between three or four bedrooms. you knew your party had rented those rooms for the evening, so you were very excited to be able to have the bath to yourself for a little bit longer than usual.

you filled the tub with scalding hot water. the steam from the water and the whisky in your stomach made you hazy, but you welcomed it. who knew when you’d have until you had this sort of luxury or privacy again — you weren’t going to waste the chance.

the bath was quite large — fit for two or three people. you stayed on one edge as you washed your dirty skin. you were about to relax against the back when the doorknob began to turn.

you immediately snatched your gun and pointed it at the door.

“shit — sorry.”

it was the bonney kid.

he was holding a towel in his hand and was naked from the waist up. a scared look on his face was present as he tried to avert his eyes.

you put down the gun and raised an eyebrow, waiting for his next move.

“just came to wash up,” he spoke.

you knew he couldn’t see anything from where he stood, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to see below the water’s surface with the bubbles. you could tell him to fuck off — but being mean to some of these assholes sometimes proved to be worse than just swallowing your pride and being nice. you didn’t know billy very well — and you weren’t about to find out while you were naked if he was an asshole or not.

“i’m going to be a bit,” you spoke. “i don’t mind if you come in.”

he looked at you uneasily before nodded curtly, lips parting. you closed your eyes and leaned back against the tub, letting your eyes drift closed. you heard the water running and the sound of soap being scrubbed onto skin, and felt better. the next sound you heard was a razor being pulled out and your eye drifted open.

he was shaving.

he kept his gaze on himself in the mirror as he spoke. “surprised the kid can shave?”

you smiled. “never thought you were a kid from how you were with a gun.”

that made him smile. “never seen a women like you with a gun before.”

you hummed in response, not exactly sure how to respond.

“come up here to escape?”

that made you laugh. you couldn’t help but let your gaze fall on his reflection in the mirror. his eyes were trained on his skin as he let the blade slide down his neck and pull up loose hairs. your mind was hazy with drink and heat, which made you forget to respond.

“some people would say it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

you laughed at that — he had you there.

“and some people would say it’s rude to intrude on a woman’s bath,” you countered.

he smiled, but kept his eyes off you. you’d like to think it was out of respect. “…and would you?”

“not with you,” you offered. “you’re the only one who hasn’t tried to make a pass at me.”

“not hard to believe,” he spoke. “downstairs they’ve got a running bet to see who will be the first with you.”

you scoffed. “in their dreams.”

billy didn’t respond. he was almost done with shaving. he was washing more of his upper arms in the sink, and you suddenly felt bad. you were only taking this long because you thought everyone would be preoccupied with the downstairs activities, and because you couldn’t exactly exit with him standing there — able to see you.

“i can leave if you want to wash,” you spoke.

“water will be cold,” he responded. “‘s fine — i’ll wait the hour.”

you weren’t sure why — but that made you feel bad.

“you could join me.”

you weren’t sure what brought that on, and you knew you’d probably regret it later. however, billy’s eyes drifted up the length of the mirror to the edge where you knew he could see the tub, to your eyes. you weren’t sure how you looked — but you knew your curls were piled on top of your head and you looked sleepy. relaxed, even. peaceful.

“i don’t think you mean that, sweetheart.”

you hummed. “you don’t have to. just thought i’d offer.”

he appeared to sigh, and that’s when you thought he would leave — but he didn’t.

instead, he locked the door.

“should’ve done that in the first place,” he spoke before coming towards the tub to unlace his pants.

you turned your head away from him and let out a small giggle, shielding your gaze from his naked form. “how would we have gotten so well acquainted then, mr. bonney?”

you heard him find the other side of the tub where he sat back against. you let your eye line find in front of you and your jaw almost dropped at the sight. billy appeared to struggle to get comfortable as he sank into the warmth of the tub. the water line came up to right under his chest, showing off all of his perfect and trim muscles. with billy’s arms stretched out around the edge of the tub… you got the perfect view of the stretched muscles of his biceps.

“do i need to remind you about staring?” he asked.

you weren’t sure if he was joking — but he was right. if you wanted respect, you had to give it, too.

but you couldn’t deny just how handsome he was.

“sorry,” you said with a coy smile, and let your head fall back against the tub again.

you could hear water slightly splashing from the other side of the tub. billy had extended his legs so they were brushing yours slightly, and you shivered at the thought.

“can you…” he began. “can you get my back?”

you lifted your head and smiled. i can do all that and more if you asked, you thought.

“sure,” you said with a simple smile.

billy turned around and handed you the soap. there were a few cuts and bruises littered on his back, and you tried to be as careful with them as possible. you started on his neck, working the soap and the sponge against his muscles.

he hummed in response. you could’ve died at the thought of the big, bad billy the kid keening into your touch because you were massaging his muscles just right.

“that feels good,” he spoke. “talented fingers i suppose.”

you laughed lightly at that. you kept the sponge on his shoulders, and then worked down towards the expansion of his shoulder blades. it was scary to see such a broad man before you as you were so bare, but also the look of him was so enticing. you drew rough circles on his skin and worked your way down to the middle of his back.

“that’s good,” he replied. “thank you, darlin’.”

you went to hand the sponge back to him, but he turned around in place instead. the tops of your breasts were showing and you knew he could see the wildness in your eyes.

“how’d a sweet thing like you end up with us?” he asked, eyes searching yours for the answer.

“maybe i’m just the only one who knows how to handle you boys,” you spoke, trying to be coy. “actually… one of them i grew up with. we’ve always worked together, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone.”

“and what would he say if he knew if you were in here with me?” he asked.

you scrunched your eyebrows at him. “wouldn’t be his business. he’s also got a pretty blonde in his lap tonight. change of pace from his usual red head.”

“and he missed a chance to get to see you like this?” he asked, tucking a curl behind your ear.

“is his loss your gain, mr. bonney?” you asked, a smile drifting onto your face.

that was bold. you knew it. you could feel it.

“i think you’d have to ask the pretty miss before me,” he responded, inching his face closer. “she’d be mighty sweet if she let me kiss her.”

“she’s pretty pissed you haven’t already.”

he stared at you for a few minutes with his plump and pink lips parted in such a way where you knew thoughts were running behind his pretty eyes. he dipped his forehead towards yours as the intensity of the situation mixed with the hot steam around you and the liquor inside both of you. he dipped his chin once, and caught your waiting lips with ease.

his lips were dry and cracked against yours, but you loved it. billy was the type of man that was hard and worked even harder, and every bit of him reflected that. his dark curls were twirling around his hairline, mixing with sweat and soapy water. you wanted to brush them back, hop in his lap, and kiss him until there was more water on the floor than in the tub.

but you couldn’t — not yet.

billy’s lips folded between yours as if he was just happy to be here — with you. the feeling was intoxicating as there was nothing like sharing intimacy with a sweet man in the comfort of hot water. you couldn’t help yourself in that moment — you brought your hand up to cup the side of his face, and he sucked in a sharp breath in response.

“you can touch me, you know,” you whispered.

“the things i want to do to you, darlin’…” he spoke, shaking his head and trying to catch his breath at the same time. “shouldn’t be wasted in a tub. let me take you back to your room.”

you both left the bathtub and tried your best to dry off as quickly as possible. it was almost hard to believe you were giggling with billy like innocents as you raced back to your room — hoping not to run into any more cowboys.

you immediately pushed him to sit down on the edge of the bed before you climbed into his lap. his thighs were strong and thick — the perfect foundation for a thing like you to hold yourself up enough to grab his cock in your hands, and swallow his moans through another kiss.

“tried not to stare in the bathtub, billy… but can you blame me?” you asked, breathless.

“noticed you starin’,” he grunted, running his calloused hands all over your body. “couldn’t help but stare back. needed to see where the trigger on you was.”

you squealed in delight at his dirty mouth before he threw you off his lap and rolled you over. he immediately started kissing down your body.

“i want you inside me, billy,” you whined. “not that.”

he worked his way back up to you before he caught you in another chaste kiss. against your lips, he spoke, “i’m a gentleman, sweetheart, first and foremost.”

“and what if a dirty little thing like me didn’t want a gentleman?”

he caught your chin in between his pointer finger and thumb and extended your neck ever so slightly. he looked down his nose at your pretty, flushed face. you smiled up at him as he scanned your face. “then i’d tell you — if i’ve got you all to myself, i’m going to do anything i want with that pretty little pussy. planned on tastin’ you, sweetheart — you got a problem with that?”

a wide grin spread across your face as your cheeks became rosier. “can’t say i can argue with you, then, cowboy.”

he pressed a heavy kiss to your lips, your cheek, one on the base of your neck — and then bit down hard on the skin of your shoulder. immediately, your hands came up to lay across his biceps before he began to suck on the spot, sending shock waves throughout your body. he withdrew from you and was in between your thighs in an instant.

he spread your legs and held them down in place. his tongue was strong and thick as it explored the places between your folds. you hoisted yourself onto your elbows so you could get a better look at the angel before you.

you watched as his eyes close as his tongue drew sloppy, wet circles around your clit. your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you watched him bring a hand up to his mouth, lubricate his fingers, and prod at your entrance. billy let out a throaty groan as his two fingers slipped in with ease, exploring for that one special spot.

he watched as your pussy swallowed his fingers, hoping to trap them inside of you. you were almost vibrating at how good it felt to have his fingers inside of you and his drier thumb deliver the most delicious bouts of friction and pressure to your clit.

“yes —“ you gasped, gazing at his fingers.

his eyes immediately flicked up to yours. “still got a problem with this, doll?”

you folded your lips into each other as you shook your head slowly, holding his gaze. you were biting back the moan as he curled your fingers inside of you.

“no, that’s not how this works,” he stated. “if i’m making you feel that good, i should get to hear those pretty moans, don’t you think?”

a deep crease was forming in your brow with the perfect combination of friction, lubrication, pressure, and rhythm you had ever felt. you wanted to respond to him, of course, but how could you?

“i gotta work for it, that it?” he grunted. “oh, sweet thing…”

he shoved a third finger inside of you and you gasped. you couldn’t help it. you fisted the sheets on either side of you and threw your head back in the air. his thumb was working long, drawn out circles on your sensitive clit as your hips bucked up to meet his movements.

“that’s what you needed, baby?” he asked. “break so easily. i’d fit another, but this pussy is so sweet and tight — can’t fit.”

you were practically whining at his words. he would switch between his tongue and thumb every few seconds to show you the type of variety that had your toes curling. his groans against your pussy were the added vibration that kept your hips moving to meet his face.

“tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” he grunted, his eyes closed. “can’t wait to stuff my cock in there.”

“don’t be mean to me, billy,” you gasped. “i want to feel your cock so bad, please…”

“no, baby,” he refused. “not until i make you feel good. you want my cock? yeah, well — you know what i want.”

you whined in frustration at his words — his words, the addition of what was making the heat and pressure build, and build, and build inside you until you were a sobbing mess on the bed.

“that’s it, sweetheart — give in,” he gasped. “i wanna know how good i’m making you feel.”

his voice was so husky it was taking over all of your senses. you hung onto every word as he led you closer and closer to what was your tipping point. he was stretching you so taut — like a string, ready to snap. when he suddenly pulled his hand away, you barely noticed it — until he replaced it with his cock.

you gasped at what came next.

first it was your legs — they immediately began to shake uncontrollably. the immense pressure started at your curled toes, your stretched feet, and worked its way up all the way to your shaking calves and thighs. the warmth coaxed your hips into a soft roll as you rode out your orgasm — blinded by the ecstasy of it all.

you immediately grabbed onto billy for dear life as all of your senses fucking swam. it was wave, after wave, after wave that hit you, arched your back towards the ceiling, and left you fucking breathless. your mouth fell open instantly, parted as whines and soft moans left and filled the open air of your bedroom.

and what did billy do? he grabbed you by the chin, still rutting his hips against yours, and spit in your fucking mouth.

“swallow,” he ordered, eyes boring down into yours.

you gasped as you understood his command, and like the good girl you were — you did as you were told.

“good girl,” he whispered from above you, stroking your chin.

you sucked in a sharp breath of air as you tried to regain your senses. you hoisted yourself back into your elbows, trying to focus — but it was just so hard. your pussy was so, so sensitive and it was like billy’s cock knew exactly out how to drag out your orgasm. you glanced up at billy, and realized your vision was blurry. shattered, fucked out beyond belief — you realized there were tears, literal tears in your eyes.

“no breaks for you, sweetheart,” he spoke, leaning over and holding your hips down. “need to make sure this pussy knows who she belongs to.”

your body refused to stop shaking — but it gave into every touch, caress, pull, and push from billy. you were his to use and you fucking relished in the feeling.

through your dark, thick, damp lashes, you glanced up at him. immediately, his bright, wild eyes connected with yours. there was no stopping the animal before you — not until he got his fix. the pure and pretty girl who always surprised the group with her skill was laying beneath him like a fucked out doll and he couldn’t get enough.

“please, billy,” you whined, biting down on your lip. “use my pussy just like that…”

“my fucking pussy,” he grunted.

“all yours, baby,” you gasped, laying victim to the curling warmth inside your womb once again. it was like an itch that needed to be scratched, and only billy could fix it. the idea of a second orgasm taunted you — teased you, until it was the only thing you could think about. you were close… so close… “billy, fuck — you’re going to make me — you’re gonna —“

“that’s it, baby, yeah —“ his thrusts were getting sloppier now as a light sheen of sweat lay across his forehead. the veins in his biceps and neck were protruding and his eyes were trained on your face. “bein’ so good f’me.”

“billy —“ you cried, tears coming to your eyes again. you reached for him, and brought him down to you. he held you by the back of the head and held your jaw in place with his thumb. through gritted teeth and wet eyes, you sobbed, “driving me fucking crazy.”

“yeah, yeah?” he taunted. “good. boutta make a mess of this fuckin’ pussy.”

with one last thrust, you curled into billy’s neck and cried. actually cried. he held you close to him as he continued to thrust inside of you — pressing fat, wet kisses to the side of your face. you were shaking in his hold, trying so desperately to hold onto reality — but it was slipping. it was slipping farther and farther away with every sweet word that billy ghosted over your ear.

“say you’re mine,” he ordered, with desperation in your voice. “say you’re mine, and i’ll cum.”

“i’m yours, billy,” you sobbed. “i’m yours. only yours.”

an animalistic groan left billy’s mouth as he tugged on your hair. he pulled your neck back and taut, shoving his face into the crook of your neck and biting down on your shoulder. his body pulsed one, two, three times as his orgasm overtook him and you. you were a weeping, crying mess and took everything that billy gave you.

he rut his cock into you a few more times as you both came down for your highs. billy was so commanding in bed — but after? nothing compared to how he was after. he pulled you into his lap, cock still inside you, and began peppering kisses all over your face. sweet nothings were whispered into your ear, but all you could do was whimper quietly in response. he laughed slightly in your ear, his breath ticking your sensitive skin, and dug his nose into your hairline.

“never getting rid of me now, sweet thing.”

- - -

would love to hear your thoughts :)

-L

[dauntlessallure]

𖤐 ⸝⸝ ˚ ┊ BANDS A MAKE HER DANCE ⋆

〝 ⠀ ݁⠀𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 , 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 , 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 , & 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 ❜ ⠀݁

【 SYNOPSIS 】— giving the jjk!men a show.

【 CONTENTS 】— stripper!reader , implied smut , fem-bodied reader , dryhumping , degradation, groping , grinding , dirty talk , consensual non consent ( for context reasons lol ) , semi established relationship + sugar daddy ( w/ nanami ) , reader is a bit of a s l u t aren’t we all though ? , kissing , daddy kink ( in toji & nanami’s ) , spanking , MDNI + any other missing tags .ᐟ

【 PAIRING 】— jjk!men x stripper!reader

【 WORD COUNT 】— 1k

⠀ ̽ ⠀ ᝰ✍︎ ﹐⠀/⠀ ❝ ⠀ 𝔄𝗗𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝔑𝗢𝗧𝗘 . . .

im STILL working on boxer!toji but for now , imma let y’all EAT. :) i had this plot bunny in my brain for a while so i went ahead and finished it up. reblogs are appreciated <3. comment to join the tag list. this work is not yet proof read.

— ❥ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo is well . . gojo , if the man has an excuse to go to the local stripclub ? best believe that man is going to be there in a heartbeat. he just wants to see if you’re working tonight, satoru was your favorite client after all. he was never stingy with his money but better yet , there was something about him that just made you want to bend the rules of your own contract just a little. maybe it was all the pretty little names he’d call you everytime you’d give him a dance, or maybe it’s the way your slowly grinding your hips down onto his growing erection. fuck — you were driving him crazy. “ shiiiiiit princess , you’re making me hard and you’ve just bearly started. “ gojo wanted to just grab you & pin you to the wall of the private room you two were in. “ mmhm , i can feel it. but remember ~ “ you’d begin to move your hips in slow - rhythmic circles against his lap, the feeling of the restricted fabric pressing itself up into your barely clothed cunt was really testing your own patience. “ no touching satoru, you’ll have to pay extra for that. “ satoru whined softly, lightly pressing his hips up against your ass as he reached for his wallet. “ fuck all that , you can drain my bank account fucking dry for all i care. “ the white haired man basically threw all the cash in his wallet which was a lot to the small table to his left before digging his fingertips into the flesh of your hips , pulling you back onto his lap in one swift motion making your head spin. “ think you can handle all of me baby ? hm ? tell me. “ satoru purred against the skin of your neck. you were definitely in for it tonight.

— ❥ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

today was suguru’s birthday, and what better way to celebrate than being pulled to a strip club by his closest friends. geto had never been , though he’s heard all about it from gojo’s loud mouth. all of the other dancers were beautiful , geto wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composer until his eyes landed on you. you were relatively new to being an exotic dancer but you’d have no problem grabbing almost anyone’s attention when they stumbled into your sight. “ don’t be a wuss man , go ask her for a dance. “ gojo pushed on suguru’s shoulder which made geto shoot satoru a glare. but before geto could do anything , you’d be the one who makes a move first. grabbing onto his hand, geto’s gaze shoots down at you almost in shock. “ sorry to interrupt you , but a special someone has told me it’s your birthday. looks like you’ll be getting a private dance from me tonight. “ suguru’s expression was priceless. he looked back at gojo , gojo shrugged. “ wasn’t me man. “ that’s when shoko popped her head out from behind satoru. “ oh ! yeah , have fun geto. “ shoko did this ??!! suguru expected this type of thing from satoru but from shoko ?! , geto blinked at shoko before being pulled away by you. five minutes into the private session and suguru was hard as a rock which you couldn’t help but to chuckle at. he was attractive , long hair that you just wanted to sink your fingers into. “ someone’s getting excited. “ you chuckle out as you placed both hands onto his thighs, your tits on full display for geto to stare at. geto felt like he was gonna lose it, he couldn’t possibly take it. “ f— . . fuck me. “ was the only thing suguru could mutter out as he continued to watch you dance.

— ❥ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

unlike both suguru and the headache that is gojo , nanami doesn’t need stripclubs. even though yours and nanami’s sensual relationship did spark from a local gentlemen’s club , you’ve left that lifestyle behind long ago. you’ve established a very strong connection with nanami since then, even making more money now working for nanami privately. he’s vowed to keep you happy by spoiling you beyond oblivion. you were so grateful for kento , grateful enough to be standing in front of him wearing the brand new lingerie set he had custom made just for you. nanami kept a hard gaze on your figure as he raised his finger up and twirling it in a circular motion, signaling for you to spin for him. you slowly spun around allowing kento to get a good look, the color of the lingerie made your complexion pop while the lacy material hugged the curves of both your ass and your tits to perfection. nanami’s never seen a sight so beautiful. “ do you like it ? “ he questioned , patting his thigh. you’d nod quickly, getting a good look at yourself in the full body mirror to your left. “ i love it , thank you daddy. “ kento smiled. “ c’mere , i wanna see my perfect baby up close. “ you waltzed your way over to nanami , turning around to place yourself onto nanami’s lap , grinding yourself on his thighs. he immediately groaned followed by a small chuckle, placing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder while his large hands began to rub over the skin of your tummy “ hm , daddy thinks you look gorgeous but i’d rather see you uncovered for now. is that okay ? “ you nodded. RIIIIIIP. he’s done tore the fabric off of your body. “ nanami ! “ , “ don’t worry , i’ll get you more. “

— ❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

let’s be honest , this man spends every pretty penny he’s got at the stripclub. it’s the toji thing to do. especially spending everything he’s got just to get a private dance from you. toji quickly became one of your regular clients as he pretty much came in weekly to see you. over the course of a couple of months, you & toji began to take your private sessions up to the next level. you two just couldn’t get enough of each other, you dancing around and shaking your ass for him just wasn’t enough. toji now has you on his lap , his tongue lodging itself into your warm mouth. you were squirming under his touch , your now soaked underwear was making a wet spot on his pants while you ground on him. toji pulled back from the kiss only to laugh at how wet you’ve gotten, only making him harder. “ look at cha , makin’ a mess on me & i haven’t even got ya naked yet. “ his voice alone could make you gush all over him even more, toji let his hand smack across the plush of your ass. “ let me guess , you want more huh ? i should’ve known you were a dirty fuckin’ slut. “ you gasped as toji wrapped his arms around the small of your waist and pressed your weight down onto his throbbing length through his pants, “ t-toji ! “ a small whimper leaving your lips as more of your arousal seeped through the rough fabric. “ aht , aht , that’s not my name. . tell me whatcha want baby. “ how humiliating, but you loved everything about it. “ d—daddy .ᐟ i wanna feel you inside. “ toji chuckled before releasing his grip from around your waist, tapping your thigh as a sign for you to stand up. “ atta girl , now the panties . . lose em. “

ׂ⠀〝⠀⠀.. ⠀ ©dauntlessallure 24’ — please do not steal , publish , or post my work elsewhere or credit as your own .ᐟ

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。2:09 AM — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au!, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, alcohol consumption (gojo), mentions of his rude dad tryna break y’all up >:(

it’s test night. meaning you have a very important test that will heavily weigh on your grade coming up at 8:30 am sharp. gojo should know not to bother you—you’ve told him at least one million times (maybe one billion) that you absolutely will not be coming over.

but judging by the insistent knocking on your door, he’s failed to listen to your warnings and decided to come to you instead. so you decide you’re going to kill him as soon as you open that door—you’re going to walk up, open the door, cup his cheeks and take one last good look at that beautiful face, and then you’re going to kill him and bury him somewhere where no one will find him.

except when you open the door, ready to scold your painfully irritating boyfriend, you’re greeted by his best friend instead. geto has gojo slung over his shoulder with a tired enough look on his face that you almost feel bad for him even after he’s ruined your sleep. almost.

“it’s two am,” you say, unimpressed. gojo perks up as he hears your voice, slurring your name as he tries to take a step towards you—if not for geto’s arm around his waist, you’re pretty sure your boyfriend would face plant onto the floor.

“yes, and i’ve dealt with him until this long. it’s your turn,” geto grumbles.

“just take him home, i don’t want him,” you wrinkle your nose. gojo whines in disbelief, still too drunk to stand on his own two feet or form proper words. you raise a brow and then promptly decide to ignore him.

“well, i don’t want him either,” geto huffs, “and he doesn’t want to go home. he went at it with his father again.”

“then make him sleep in his car.”

“he’s your boyfriend,” geto insists.

“he’s your best friend. you’ve known him longer.”

“you know him just as well,” he argues, “plus, you fuck him. that’s way more than what i do.”

“suguru!” you sputter, earning a sly grin from the dark-haired jerk standing before you—maybe you should kill both of them and hide their bodies in your freezer.

but then again, your tiny freezer in your run-down apartment that you can hardly afford as a tired, overworked college student couldn’t possibly fit two oversized men with abnormally large limbs. so instead, you offer geto a not-so-appropriate hand gesture (that he graciously returns) and grab gojo from his arms.

and instantly, gojo brightens.

“baby!” he slurs, kissing your cheeks with sloppy, scattered pecks. you crinkle your nose at the smell of alcohol surrounding you as soon as he enters your personal space.

“he’s your problem now,” geto mutters, rolling his eyes at the headache he’s had to supervise for the entirety of the night. you suppose you can feel a little bad for him—but only a tiny bit.

“wanna crash on the couch?” you ask sympathetically. it earns a soft smile from geto before he shakes his head.

“nah, i’ll go home. thanks.” with an affectionate flick to your forehead, he turns and walks back to his car, leaving you with the lanky, drunken mess leaning half his body weight on you.

you really should kill gojo satoru—and you should do it before 8:30 am.

“didn’t i tell you i have a test?” you grumble, dragging him to your bedroom.

he flops unceremoniously onto your mattress, snuggling with the stuffed bear by your pillows. and you should stay strong, but before you can help it, you smile softly at the sight.

“i won this for you,” he grins, his sunglasses crooked and falling to the tip of his nose. you grab them from his face and set them on your nightstand.

“yes, i know,” you roll your eyes, “i was there.”

“you kept it,” he giggles, words still slurred and messy.

“yes, satoru,” you snort, “i kept the stuffed bear my boyfriend won me. it’s not a surprise.”

“‘s right,” he nods, “‘m your boyfriend. best one you ever had, huh?”

“sure,” you sigh, pulling him by the arm to sit up. he puckers his lips as soon as his face is close enough to yours, looking at your expectantly.

“gimme a kiss. i need a kiss,” he demands.

“satoru, you’re drunk,” you sigh, trying to work the sweaty button-up off his body, “and you smell like beer.”

gojo is well built—he doesn’t seem like it because he’s a bit lanky and has an awful sense of fashion that doesn’t do his figure any justice, but he’s well built. you try your best not to stare at the sculpted abs and the curves of his pecs—especially not the slight sweatiness of the skin that makes it almost glisten.

nope. you keep your eyes trained on him, not his shirtless torso.

except gojo satoru is nothing if not observant even in his drunken stupor—he grins that shit-eating grin of his that you hate so much but fall in love with every time, noticing the way your eyes wander back to his chest every few seconds for a fleeting glance.

“you don’t have’ta sneak a look, baby,” he slurs smoothly, chuckling, “‘m all yours. wanna feel?” and because he’s an asshole, he grabs your hand and lays it flat on his chest. “i’ve been working out with suguru. can you tell?” he winks.

“no,” you say flatly, pushing him back onto the mattress once you’ve worked his shirt off, “now sleep.”

“can’t sleep unless i’m in boxers,” he pouts, “can you take my pants off for me?”

and he even dares to bat his long, unfairly pretty eyelashes at you, putting on his best innocent face. you see past him, though—you see the smirk he tries to hide and the amusement in his clouded eyes.

you’re definitely going to hide his body in your freezer.

“you’ll live,” you huff.

“please,” he pouts deeper, “can’t sleep in these. too uncomfortable.”

“fine,” you hiss, and for a brief moment, you mourn the sleep you should be getting right before the most crucial midterm of your life.

you glare at his cheeky grin as you work his belt off, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs, grumbling curses under your breath. this time, you make careful work not to stare at his lower half—you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“are you ready for sleep now, your highness?” you ask with a raised brow. he giggles and nods, holding an arm out for you.

“c’mere.”

and….well, you can’t exactly complain once you’re nestled comfortably in his arms, cheek pressed against the bare skin of his chest. his arm wraps around your body tightly, pulling you close as he plants a wet kiss on your forehead.

“you’re a handful,” you sigh, “did you bother suguru too much?”

“nope,” he shakes his head, “i was on my best behavior.”

“you’re never on your best behavior,” you grin, rolling your eyes. and because you love him, even when he calls you as you study and crashes your apartment as you try to sleep, you lean up and kiss his jaw sweetly, making him hum happily. “goodnight, satoru.”

“you forgot to say i love you.”

“i hate you.”

“so mean,” he whines, making you giggle.

“i love you,” you murmur, “i’ll love you a whole lot more if you let me sleep for my test.”

“kay,” he yawns, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “i love you too.”

it’s silent for a bit, just the steady breaths from gojo and the loud air conditioning ringing in the distance. you’re sure he’s asleep from the way his chest seems to rise and fall under your cheek slowly—until he speaks up quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear.

“‘m never breaking up with you,” he whispers, “promise. no matter what that old man says.”

you hold your breath as his warm lips press against your forehead—you’re certain he thinks you’re asleep, and you’re also certain that you were never meant to hear those words in the first place. so you swallow, trying not to give away that you’re still very much awake and very much aware of his words.

and then it hits you—suddenly, you remember the way gojo refused to go home, the way geto mentioned he’d gotten into an argument with his father. it clicks all at once that the subject of this argument must’ve been you—gojo’s father has never been subtle about his disapproval, and it’s no secret he’d greatly prefer that the heir of his company stopped dating someone entirely out of his realm—someone like you.

“you’re it for me,” he mumbles softly. you think he sounds a bit more sober as he speaks the words against your forehead—and for a moment, you think that gojo is it for you too. 

maybe you’re not so mad about your sleep anymore. maybe, as he kisses your forehead one last time, as his breath slowly evens out and his grip loosens slightly around your body, you fall in love with gojo satoru a little harder. 

stab dadjo and stan suguru ‼️

ps here’s a little part 2