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jazzthatonewriterchick · 8 months

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Comfortable With You (Inexperienced!Painter!Choso x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

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"I feel so comfortable with you."

Pairing: Choso x Black!Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Synopsis: Choso has never been anyone like you before: so confident and sure of yourself yet so sweet and compassionate. He can’t stop thinking about you. So to make this Valentine’s Day one you’ll never forget, he’ll show you just how comfortable he is with you and how desperately he wants to make you feel the same…even though you’re his first everything. [Based on the song “Comfortable” by H.E.R.]

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Inexperienced!Choso; Experienced!Reader; First Time PIV Sex; msub Switch!Choso; FDom Switch!Reader; First Time Blowjob; First Time Eating Pussy; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Girl on Top/Cowgirl; Fucking From the Bottom; Creampie; After Sex Snuggles

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Something romantic & nasty for my baby Choso & for V-Day. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!! 🥰🥰❤️❤️ -Jazz

**********

Choso has never met anyone like you before.

You’re just so confident in the way you speak; the way you move; the way you carry yourself. You know exactly who you are and you aren’t going to let anyone tell you differently. You’re so sure of yourself, something he has never been about himself. You’ve inspired him to be more like you, gently encouraging him just because of who you are.

And you’re so sweet. So compassionate. You care so much about others, even a stray cat that happens across your apartment whom you feed every day. You understand Choso and all of his quirks which he more than appreciates. And you’re so damn beautiful. Even now, months after meeting and going on your first date, months after your first kiss, he still can’t even over how breathtaking you are. From your glowing skin to your pretty, brown eyes to your luscious body he can’t get out of his mind.

He still can’t understand for the life of him why you would want him. He isn’t like his younger twin brothers. Yuji is more of a golden retriever out of the three of them with how bubbly and adorably clueless he is, but he’s also excellent at sports and loves to have fun which any girl loves. And then there is Sukuna who is all tattoos, piercings, and a bad attitude that gets panties wet. He can sweet-talk any girl into his bed.

And then there’s Choso. Although older than his twin brothers, he is the awkward one. The shy one. The artsy one. He is the one you’ll usually find with his nose stuck in his guitar or up painting in the apartment that he shares with his brothers, staining his fingers with oil paints. He has his own tattoos and usually, the artsy guys are adored, but his tired, bored look usually makes women steer clear of him.

Choso had gotten used to it. He told himself he was happy to not be romantically involved with someone as it makes life too complicated and messy…until he met you.

He was working a Friday night shift at a bar which he usually does to make extra cash, strumming along on his guitar and singing covers. Your eyes met when he looked out into the audience and that was it. He still can’t describe what happened. It was like the world stopped and he very nearly forgot the words to the Summer Walker song he was crooning in the mic.

You sat in the middle at the table with a couple of friends, your smooth, shapely legs crossed over one another, manicured hands folded in your lap. He could just see the space where your thigh met your ass under the mini dress you had on that hugged your body the way he wanted to. Your braids, black and perfectly twisted at the bottom like coiled snakes, were pulled back to show off your gorgeous face and plump, glossy lips parted slightly as you intently watched him sing. You never took your eyes off of him and he didn’t want you to. In his mind, he sang to you, but to the audience, he sang to everyone else.

He didn’t expect you to come up to him during his break, body absolutely all over the place. He could barely focus on setting his guitar up next to the stage when he turned and saw you. “Hi,” you greeted him, giving him a beaming smile that made his brain stop working. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you how good you were up there. You can really sing.”

Choso didn’t say anything at first, not sure how. You were the first girl to ever talk to him first, especially about him and not about his brothers. “Uh…thanks,” he finally said, swallowing harshly. He did his best to not look down at your delectable cleavage that sat invitingly in front of him.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, holding your hand out for a shake. He noticed how long and pretty your acrylics were and envisioned them gripping his shoulders or snaking down his muscular back. “I’m a regular here, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Hesitantly, he took your hand, noticing how small it was compared to his. “Choso,” he replied. “I don’t work here full-time. I take shifts now and again.”

You nodded understandably. “I was about to say,” you giggled, “I would’ve definitely remembered a voice like yours…and a face like yours too.” There wasn’t anything funny about the way you said it. You were dead serious, your tone soft and flirtatious. Choso swore he nearly combusted. You were flirting with him. Him! All he could was blush, but you pretended not to notice.

You stood there talking for the majority of his twenty-minute break and he didn’t mind one bit. He loved getting to know you, placing and storing all of your features into his memory for later. When you asked for his number, he flipped it and asked for yours, smiling fondly at the cute emoji you put next to your name. He left that night feeling like he was floating on cloud nine, prompting Sukuna to ask him what pussy he got when he came into the apartment that night.

That was six months ago and you’re still here. Despite his flaws and his quirks, you have stayed. He has never been happier than with you…or more comfortable. There are things he’s told you that he hasn’t even told his brothers or closest friends. He feels like he can tell you anything and you won’t run, from how stressful it is to be a parental figure since his parents died when the twins were toddlers or how sometimes he’s afraid that he’ll lose interest in his art or how he doesn’t feel good enough.

He feels like himself when he’s with you. He feels free. Relaxed. You bring him peace. He wants to give you something to show you that. Though he isn’t familiar with the “rules” of Valentine’s Day because he’s never celebrated the holiday, he knows he wants to make the day one you will never forget.

So the week before February 14th, a Wednesday, Choso spends his time making his gift for you, closed up in his room with his equipment, and forcing his brothers to bring him meals.

That weekend, he invites you over to his place on Friday. When he calls and asks you if you’re free after work tonight, he feels his pulse jump and his body grow warm. What’s the big deal? You’ve been over his place so many times before, playing video games and shooting the shit with his brothers.

‘But this is different,’ he thinks. This is for Valentine’s Day. This is to spend the night, with no one around for once. This is for more. “You want me to sleep over?” you ask, sounding surprised yourself. “Are the boys gonna be there?”

“No,” he replies, smiling at the slight intake of breath he hears you make. So you’re just as excited as he is. “They won’t be here. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” you giggle softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Can you give me a hint?” He hums a no, earning a groan of disappointment. “You’ll just have to wait and see, but I think you’ll like it.”

On Saturday, he kicks his brothers out, telling them to bunk with Megumi for the night. Yuji and Sukuna are more than happy to do so, wanting to see Megumi’s dogs (though Sukuna acts like he isn’t). Then Choso spends the whole night cleaning, wiping down the entirety of the apartment until it sparkles. Before he starts cooking the V-Day dinner, he jumps in the shower and lathers himself in the vanilla and lavender-scented soap you love so much, making sure every part of him smells like the soap.

Once finished, he picks out a casual yet presentable outfit––a black tee that sticks to his toned body, jeans, and the Armani boxers Sukuna got him for his birthday telling him he has “no taste in nothing”––and lets his black locks fall into a mullet over his head rather than applying gel to put them into his usual ponytails. He usually doesn’t put too much effort into his looks but for you? He’ll do anything to turn you on with his appearance.

You get off from work at 5 PM and he already ordered an Uber for you to arrive on time to pick you up, telling you to not worry about paying him back. “I don’t want your money, baby,” he tells you, hopping right off of texts when you start to argue to call your phone. “I’ve got money. People love my shit, remember?”

He remembers you telling him that at his winter art exhibit in December. He took you as his plus one and you took it upon yourself to wear his favorite color on your sinfully tight dress. All he could think about was bending you over as you walked around admiring his work of the city in the wintertime––white snow on the roofs of houses; the park glinting in white; schoolchildren in their colorful coats; citizens with red noses and steams billowing from their takeout cups of coffee. Many of his paintings were sold that night, including one of himself, Yuji, and Sukuna decorating their Christmas tree. “You capture things so well!” an art critic has gushed to him. “I feel as if you’ll do so many amazing things, young man.”

Choso had squeezed your hand, trying to not blush. That was only the tip of the iceberg of praise he received that night. He felt that he had achieved what he went to art school for at that moment. And he was so happy to spend it with you, his number one supporter, who also purchased a painting of a little schoolgirl in a red coat smiling at the person behind the photo. He made bank off of that exhibit and, after doing commissions on his IG page, he is able to save up enough for the next month.

After taking out the ingredients for miso ramen and spending the next hour preparing it, you arrive in your Uber. After bringing the broth to a simmer, Choso wipes his hands off on a dish towel and guns to the door to answer it. You stand behind it in a red sweater and hip-hugging jeans that he’d like to replace with his hands. In one hand, you have your work bag while in the other, you have your overnight duffle. “Hey, you,” you greet him, looking oh-so happy to see him.

You inch closer to him and he wraps an arm around you as you lean into him. “Hey yourself,” he greets, feeling relaxed the minute he has you in his arms. He stands aside, letting you step into his apartment. He eyes your swaying ass as you do, unable to stop his cock from hardening at the sight of your cheeks. “Nice outfit. You have a date with your boss too today?”

You look back at him and smirk. “Oh, yeah, and he loved these jeans on me.” You slide a hand down your behind to which he shamelessly follows, blushing. God, how he wants to see that ass without anything over it. He wants you naked. But in time. You close your eyes at the scent of spices and herbs wafting in from the kitchen. “Mmm, somethin’ smells good,” you hum.

You put down your bags and follow him into the kitchen, grinning at the broth and noodles. “You’ve been sayin’ how much you wanted me to cook with you,” he chuckles. “It’s almost done. You go relax and I’ll take your bags upstairs.” You nod and stand up on your toes to peck him on the cheek before doing as he says, leaving him rock hard and blushing a bright red.

After the broth is finally done and the noodles are soft, he sets the two bowls of ramen aside before taking your bags upstairs to his bedroom. There, on the bed, is your gift, wrapped in a gold wrapping paper. He feels nervous butterflies flap around in his stomach. Will you like your gift? Will you accept it? Will you think he’s too cheap to have gotten you something better or more expensive?

He puts these thoughts on the back burner as he walks back downstairs to see you sitting upright on the couch, shoes off and looking relaxed. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he walks past you to fetch your dinner. When he returns, you’re wearing a giddy smile. “So where’s my surprise?” you ask, pretending to be impatient.

“Damn, baby, you just got here!” he laughs as he sits down next to you on the couch. “You can’t wait till we eat?” You bounce on the couch, making your breasts jiggle and Choso hard enough to fuck a hole into the wall. Why are you so fucking hot? “I’m too excited to eat!” you groan. “You know how much I love surprises, Chosi!”

He blushes at the nickname only you’re allowed to call him. “Relax, mama,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You’ll get it soon. For now, just enjoy the lovely ramen I made you. I even added extra ham.” You look up at him with big, wobbly lips, touched. “You love me,” you coo.

‘Yes,’ he thinks. ‘I really do.’ But he’s never said it. He figured it was still too early in your relationship to do so. Not to mention that one elephant in the room: you haven’t had sex yet. You’ve been dating since September and it hasn’t happened yet, mostly because it would be Choso’s first time doing so.

He has kissed a girl before and has touched some titties here and there, but he’s never slept with anyone before. He never thought it was a big deal until he met you and fell so deeply for you that he wants to give all of himself to you. He has never told you and hasn’t tried to push things any farther during makeout sessions or heavy petting, but he’s hoping tonight that all of that will change.

He sits and watches you eat, asking you about how your work week went and what you did today. He watches your glossy mouth as it moves, transfixed and wishing his cock was between them. It takes everything in him to finish dinner like a normal person though his body is itching to get this thing going. It is a peaceful dinner regardless, a comfortable silence settling between you both that neither one of you fills. His knee brushes against yours and sometimes, you reach over to wipe broth from his lip. Little touches like that drive him insane.

By the time you finish and he forces you to wait until he loads up the dishwasher, you’re dying of impatience and anticipation. “Chosiiii,” you whine, lying on the couch. “I can’t wait any longer. Please can we exchange gifts now?” He pauses from turning on the dishwasher, slowly turning to you. “You got me a gift?” he asks, shocked.

“Well, of course!” you giggle, sitting up. “It is Valentine’s Day after all and last time I checked, you are my boyfriend.” Your boyfriend. Choso has never been more proud of that in his life. As quick as lightning, he finishes up in the kitchen and hurries to fetch your gift, doing his best to not seem nervous when he returns.

You both sit on the couch, face to face, knee to knee, both shy yet excited. You pass him a small box wrapped with a bow. “It’s something small,” you shyly say, “but I hope you like it.” With shaky hands, he unties it, revealing two gold chains, one with a C hanging from it and the other with the first letter of your name.

You pick the chain with your initial, handing it to me. “So I’m always close to you, even when I’m not there. I bought one for myself too.” Gawking at the chain, Choso nearly bursts. He’s never gotten a gift so thoughtful before. “Why are you this fucking cute?” he sighs dreamily, earning a cute giggle from your luscious lips. “This is perfect, baby. Thank you.”

Now it’s his turn. He smiles at you, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes first. No peeking.” You pout but do as he says, closing your eyes. He then takes the gift from behind him and places it into your hands. “Now open.” You do so and tear open the wrapping paper to see what lies inside. When you finally do, your smile fades and you are speechless as you stare at your face on the small canvas.

He copied it from a picture he took of you one day in the park, the autumn sun on your sleeping face, the sunlight in your lashes. You looked like a Goddess slumbering for the day. He chose the colors carefully, wanting to capture the right tone of your skin in the sunlight and the way your braids lit up from the sun’s rays. He used more defined strokes for smaller details like the coils of your braids, your eyelashes, and the blades of grass beneath you. He used larger strokes for the background, blurring it together so only you stood out. He truly believes that this is the best piece he’s ever painted. You gape at the painting before looking up at him. “Did you paint this?” you squeak.

He nods, smiling proudly. “This was when we were at the park on one of our dates. You fell asleep in the sun and I couldn’t resist not taking a photo.” He gently runs a thumb over the canvas, admiring your painted face. “I love seeing you like this: so at peace. So comfortable. That’s how you make me feel every time I’m with you.”

You continue to stare at him, mouth parted and eyes wide. In the silence, he finds his confidence and the will to speak. “Y/N,” he begins, nervously so, “you make me feel something I’ve never felt with anyone. I feel so comfortable with you, like nothing and no one can hurt me when we’re together. You’re like my personal diary—I can tell you anything and can trust that it won’t ever leave you. I wanna be that for you too, baby. I just hope this painting says it more than I could.”

Now you finally crack and your eyes well up with tears. You lower the painting onto the coffee table beside your gift before leaning into Choso’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. “It does,” you sob. “And you are. You’re that and more. I love you, Choso.” As soon as he hears those three little words, Choso is aglow, nearly jumping for joy at the fact that you feel the same way.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I love you too,” he whispers, pressing a hand to the back of your head. All is right with the world. All is even better when you lean up and press your lips to his. He falls into your sweet, soft lips immediately, pressing a hand to your face to caress your cheek. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow more passionate and heated, leading you to slip into his lap and straddle him.

Choso groans when he feels the heat in between your legs rub up against his crotch where he can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, especially when his hands find your ass. You wrap your arms around him and bring yourself closer to him, pushing your delectable breasts up against his chest as you slowly grind your hips into his hard-on. He moans at the same time you do, the act of moaning into each other’s mouths making him even harder. You pull away, looking dazed. “Is this okay?” you ask, breathless. He nods, speechless. “I only ask ‘cause you’re so hard.”

He blushes scarlet, realizing he’s been caught, but then again, it isn’t like you haven’t felt it before. You’ve made out dozens of times before and he sprouted a hard-on but never did anything. You both agreed to give it some time and move slowly. “I mean…you feel really good,” he sheepishly chuckles, earning a proud, beaming, pretty ass smile from you. “But if this is as far as you wanna go, we can.”

You’re thinking differently though. You hold his face between his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Choso, I’ve been wanting you to fuck my brains out for months,” you boldly say. “I’ve just waited because I thought it was still too early for us.” Choso swears he nearly busts a nut hearing that. “But are you okay with this?” you ask, looking worried.

He pauses, thinking to himself. Is he okay with this? As fast as the question appears in his head, the answer is there: Yes. He knows he wants this with you and no one else. But he also knows he’ll have to tell you the truth. “I-I am,” he stutters.

You look at him sideways, your brows knitted. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” you ask worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?” Fear and guilt strike within him. No, no, this isn’t what he wants! He doesn’t want to make––his baby––you feel bad. “No,” he instantly replies, taking your face in his hands. “No, Y/N, you’re doin’ amazing. This is me just bein’ a fucking coward.”

He looks down, ashamed. What will you ever think of him if he tells you? “Cho,” you coax him with your sweet voice. Seeing the worry in those pretty, brown eyes, he gains the confidence to tell you. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he sighs. “I do want you, Y/N. I want you so fucking bad, but there’s something I need to tell you.” At the sight of slight fear in those perfect, big eyes, he feels himself wither. He doesn’t want to scare you, but he can’t lie to you either. “I want us to have sex, but…I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses.

You pause, the new information processing in your pretty head. Then your lips part in realization. “Choso, you’ve never had sex before?” you ask, sounding just as surprised as you look. Though blushing red, he slowly shakes his head. “With any type of sex, right?” you continue. “No oral? Nothing?” Once again, he shakes his head, feeling like he will die of embarrassment.

You exhale softly, stroking up his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You sound oh-so disappointed by that, making him feel even more guilty. “I was afraid you’d laugh or think I was a loser or somethin’,” he admits. “I’ve just never gotten to doing any of that stuff. You’d be the first.”

At that moment, something in you shifts. He sees a fire flicker behind your eyes which excites him. “So I’d be the first woman to see you naked?” you ask in a soft, sultry voice. “And wrap my lips around this?” Your hand snakes down between you and him to cup his bulge, making him tense and softly moan at the foreign yet pleasurable feeling of someone else’s hand on his cock besides his own. “Y-Yeah,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “The first. I want to give myself to you tonight, Y/N, if you’ll have me.”

Though there is a part of him that feels afraid of being so vulnerable, he knows deep down he can trust you. You practically melt at his sweet words. “Chosi,” you coo, stroking his cheek, “of course, I’ll have you. I want us to have each other tonight.” You lean in to kiss him, coaxing him to open his mouth and swirl your tongue with his. His eyes roll back into his head at the taste of you. “Just relax and let me show you what you’re missing,” you moan into his mouth. “Let me take care of you tonight, baby.”

As you continue to kiss him, you begin to palm him through his pants. “Will you let me do that?” you teasingly ask. He gasps into your mouth, your touch so magical. He can’t imagine how it will feel on his naked cock. He can’t take much more and begins to grind into your hands, desperate for relief. “Yes,” he groans. “Yes, baby, please, just touch me!”

You giggle against his lips, giving him a peck on the chin before doing what he wants and needs of you. You stand up and begin to strip for him as he lays back against the couch, legs spread and cock twitching in his pants. His eyes drink in every part of you as you take off your clothes: your soft, brown skin; your slender back; your legs, calves, and thighs; your breasts that jiggle in your bra; your ass in your pink, lace panties. You’re beautiful.

You put your hands on your hips, pursing your lips at him playfully. “Well?” you ask. “You gonna join me, stud?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He stands before you and strips with your insisted help. You take off his shirt while he works off his pants, pulling them down his muscled thighs and legs. Finally, he is in his briefs, the rest of his clothes left on the floor. You begin to feel him up, your hands and eyes greedily indulging in his body. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. “You’re so sexy, Cho.”

He shivers in delight at your reaction to his body. “Not as sexy as you,” he hums. He wants to squeeze your ass or play with those gorgeous titties, but his hands don’t seem to want to move. Noticing, you giggle and coax him back onto the couch. “You can touch me too, you know,” you purr. “Or are you just gonna stare and leave me aching like this?”

You take off your bra to show him just what you mean, exposing your hard, brown nipples to him. Choso has never seen such beauties in his life and he can’t resist wrapping his lips around one of the hardened peaks. The sounds you make only encourage you to continue sucking and lapping on your nipples, switching between each like a hungered man in need of milk. He fondles your breasts two, gently pulling at a nipple that isn’t between his lips. He pays close attention to your reactions, each one sending tingles into his dick.

“Fuck, Choso, just like that,” you moan, gripping his shoulders and arching your back, pushing your tits farther into his face. “That feels so good!” He looks up at you from your chest, loving how your lips part and your eyelids flutter from the pleasure that he’s giving you. “Yeah?” he asks. “That feels good?” You hum in enjoyment as he nipples on your tight nipples, using his hand to fondle your other breast that his mouth isn’t occupying.

He continues to indulge your delectable, wonderful, heavenly titties until you’ve finally had enough. You pull his mouth away from your nipple, a string of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. “I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Can I do that for you?”

Choso’s eyes widen in both shock and excitement. Oh, ho he’s wanted to feel those plump, soft lips around his cock for so long! “Yes,” he agrees. “Just be gentle…please.” You give him a warm smile and kiss him softly before moving off of him. You get on your knees between his thighs and slowly take down his boxers, freeing his cock from its trap.

“Fuck, Choso,” you gasp. “You’re so big…and you have a dick piercing! That’s so hot!” He flushes at your reaction. “It was a dare by Yuji and Todo,” he admits. You grin up at him and lick your palm before wrapping a hand around him. “Just tell me if it’s too much or if you need me to slow down,” you instruct. He nods and leans back, urging you to continue.

You first begin to stroke him, coating his dick in your spit in the process. He can’t explain how good yet different your hand feels. Yours is soft and much smaller compared to his, your brown skin and bright-colored nails contrasting with his paler skin. Not to mention the tight grip you have on him. It feels better than all of the times he’s fucked his hand or his trusty fleshlight. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans. “Your hand feels so good.”

“You’ll like my mouth even more, I think,” you giggle. “And you can fuck my throat if you want to. I love it rough.” You give him a wink to which he blushes a ruby red. “R-Really?” he stutters. “Are you– oh, shit!” His questions are halted when you wrap your lips around him and begin to gently suck on him, getting him used to your mouth. His mouth forms a pleasurable O as he watches you take his cock on your knees, sucking on it like it’s your own personal lollipop.

Your warm mouth and wet tongue feel so good against his cock, caressing every sensitive part of his shaft. You even take your hand and fondle his balls while your other strokes him in time with your mouth, twisting this way and that as if you’re trying to drain the cum out of him.

“Oh, my God, baby,” he moans, gripping the couch for dear life. “Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good!” He’s never felt anything so wonderful in his life.

You briefly pull away to breathe, your mouth coated in spit. It only makes him harder seeing you––his pretty girlfriend––look so slutty for him. Then you put that mouth on him again, swallowing him whole. “Yeah?” you ask, your voice muffled by his cock stuffed deep inside your mouth. “You like my mouth, baby boy?” You go deeper, taking him into your throat with ease despite his girth, and he nearly jumps off of the couch from the sensations. “Fuck yes!” he whines. “P-Please don’t stop!”

He can feel his hips moving on their own beneath you, gently bucking into your mouth the more you gag and flex that throat around him. Your plump lips look so good stretched around him, dripping in your spit as lewd sounds of you gagging all over him fill the air. You then pull away to take a breath and recover, but not for long. “Fuck my face,” you say, your eyes pleading. “Give me that dick, Choso. I can take all of it.”

He blinks at you, not sure if he’s just hallucinating from the pleasure, but the eager strokes of your hand around his cock make it very clear that this is real. You plan that throat on him again and, after ensuring that you’re okay, begins to fuck your face the way you pleaded him to. He grabs your hair and thrusts up into your mouth like it’s his own personal fucktoy. He starts to see it as such, not wanting any cock in your throat but his. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, fuck, baby, fuck!” He can’t keep quiet, too overcome with lust and the pleasure he feels as he pistons into your throat again and again.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel that familiar tightening in his balls, signaling his end. “Shit, Y/N, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns. “I-I can’t stop! You need to get off of me if you don’t want me to–”

You shake your head and he loosens his grip on you so you can breathe. “Cum for me,” you plead. “Cum deep down my throat, Daddy, please.” Choso nearly busts right there. Again, he grabs you and thrusts into your throat, focusing on the way your tight, wet walls flex around him until he can hardly take it. “Oh, shit!” he groans loudly. “I’m gonna fucking cum, baby! Don’t stop, please! Fuck, I’m…I’m…”

He can’t finish his sentence because his orgasm erupts inside of him, spilling out into your throat. You moan around his cock as he cums, his sexy groans of release echoing throughout the apartment. He spurts rope after rope of warm, creamy cum into your mouth which you eagerly, your mouth sliding off of his cock. You sit back and swallow it all, some of it dripping down your chin. Once the fog of his orgasm finally fades, Choso looks down at you and feels embarrassed. “Sorry,” he shyly apologizes. “That was…a lot.”

You giggle, wiping at your chin and the corner of your mouth. “Yes, it was,” you agree. “Mmm, you gave me such a big load, baby. You must’ve needed that.” He blushes again though you seem like you enjoyed it. You then look up at him with those big eyes and a warm smile. “So how was your first blowjob?”

He doesn’t even have all of the words to describe such a feeling. “Incredible,” he sighs happily. “But now you need your turn, don’t you?” At the mention of this, your smile grows wider and you stand up so you can lie down on the couch beside him. He faces you and gently moves your thighs apart to reveal your panties. “You may have to guide me though. It’s my first time eating pussy.” He gives you a sheepish smile, staring into your pretty eyes between your thighs. “Can you show me where you like to be touched? And how?”

He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly drags your panties down your legs that he stops to coat in wet kisses. You moan and run your hands through his black locks of hair, gripping them when he begins to gently run his finger up and down your slit, feeling how hot and wet you are. “C’mon, mama, show me,” he coos. “Guide me. Guide my face.”

And so you do. You lift your hips as he slides down your panties, whimpering softly as he stares at your pussy. He’s never seen anything so soft and beautiful. As he encouraged you to do, you guide his face to where your clit is and instruct him to gently suck on it while using the flat of his tongue to slowly lick up and down your slit. He does so, enjoying your taste and the sounds you make.

“That’s it, baby,” you softly moan. “Lick that pussy. Lap up all of me…it’s all for you.” Something inside of Choso bursts at those nasty words falling from your pretty mouth. Something like a wildfire blooms inside of him with no way to put it out until you’ve cum too.

He goes slow, letting you get used to him and himself used to you. After a few minutes, he’s got it down and knows just how to make you squirm under his hands that stay planted on your ass, angling your hips so he can reach that spot that makes you let out that voice even more. “Oh, my God, Choso!” you gasp, gripping his locks of hair. “Fuck, that’s so good! Please keep going!”

“You taste so good,” he moans into your pussy. “So fuckin’ wet…so tight…I need all of you.” He’s so pent up that he begins to fist his cock that has begun to harden again at the feeling of your wetness dripping down his chin. He loves eating your pussy. He could get drunk off of you.

Before he realizes it, he has started to move his tongue faster, his jaw beginning to ache. But he keeps going, encouraged by your loud whines and sobs that bounce off the walls and caress his ears. “Fuck, Choso!” you whine. “You’re gonna make cum!”

Like a dog reacting to Pavlov’s bell, Choso continues to eagerly lap at your cunt, encouraging you to cum. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums, lips still wrapped around your perfect little clit. “Cum for me, pretty girl. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His words become pleas and begs, needing you to cum for him. Needing you to soak his face. “Cum for me, please! I need it! I fucking need it!”

And you do. “Fuck, Choso!” you moan at the top of your lungs, arching your back and gripping his hair as you finally cum in his mouth. All over his chin. All over the couch. It’s the hottest thing he has ever experienced. Hearing you sob in pleasure and watching your body contort like you’re being exercised is better than any porn. He nearly cums watching you, still pumping his cock as he laps up every bit of your cum along your sensitive pussy and twitching thighs.

Finally, he sits back and takes a breath while you lay there, eyes closed and chest rapidly rising and falling. “Oh, my God,” you sigh. And then, again, laughingly this time, “Oh, my God!”. He smiles at the little breathless, delirious giggles that leave your lips. “I guess I did a good job?” he asks, giddy at the fact that he made you feel that good. You open your eyes and smile up at him, noting but sedated lust and adoration there. “That was amazing, baby,” you happily sigh. “You sure that was your first time eating pussy?” He laughs at this, his stomach flipping with joy. “I don’t think my dreams count, so, yes.”

Noticing your eyes have fallen to his hard cock, he begins to soothingly stroke your thigh, not wanting you to feel obligated to continue. “You need to relax for a minute?” Silently, you shake your head and sit up to straddle him, forcing him onto his back. “You sure?” he asks, concerned. “What about your–”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. “I’ll be even better when I get you inside of me.” His eyes widen as he stares up at you, not used to such impatience. The same fire inside of him has grown inside of you too. “Hold onto my hips, okay? I’m gonna guide you in.” Wordlessly, he nods, swallowing hard as your hand wraps around the base of his cock and guides him down to your entrance. He feels himself getting harder as the anticipation and the sight of you on top overtakes him.

Finally, after running his cock up against your slit, emitting soft moans from both of you, he finally slips inside of you. “Fuck!” he gasps at the same time as you release a moan of pure pleasure. “B-Baby, you’re so tight!” Your soft, wet walls flutter around him and squeeze him at the same time, making him feel like he is being tightly embraced.

You slide up halfway, grasping his shoulders for leverage. He keeps his hands on your hips to help guide you though he trembles as he does. “Too much?” you breathlessly ask. He shakes his head, nearly groaning when you move black strands of his hair out of his face. “I’ll move slow, okay? Just feel me, Choso. Don’t fight it.”

Choso doesn’t. He couldn’t even if he tried. The way your wet, spongy walls squeeze around him so tight, slowly stroking his cock the same way your mouth did but way more intense, is driving him further toward the edge of insanity. You begin to alternate between rolling your hips and bouncing on him by balancing on your knees, making him plunge his cock into you again and again. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your tits flush against his chest. “That feel good, baby?” you coo into his ear. “You like this pussy?”

Choso can’t take any it—the wetness of your pussy; the slow rocking of your hips; your soft body moving up and down against him as you slowly bounce on his dick. He holds you closer to him, needing more. “Fuck, Y/N!” he groans. “N-Need it…need it faster!”

He feels you grin against his ear as you nibble on his earlobe and kiss down his neck. “Faster?” you chuckle. “Is that what you said?” He frantically nods as you pull away to stare into his eyes. “Then grab my hips and make me go faster,” you purr. “Take what you want. I’m yours, Daddy.”

That fire inside of Choso damn near explodes. You just gave him confirmation to fuck you up completely. So he grabs your hips and begins to fuck up into you, driving himself deeper and deeper into you. Your walls begin to flutter around him more intensely as lewd, squelching sounds begin to emit from your wet pussy the more his cock fucks up into it like it’s his personal fleshlight.

You’re loving it, your arms tightening around his neck and thighs tightening from the pleasure he is giving you. “O-Oh my G-God!” you moan, each word shaky from being bounced so much on his cock. “F-Fuck, Choso! Sh-Sh-Shit!”

He grins, proud to be making you feel this good and act this slutty for him. “Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly. He grabs your ass and gives into a smack as he drives his cock into you, his slamming up against yours. “That dick feel good? Tell me, mama. Tell me how good I feel fucking you.” You grip him close, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Yes, like that!” you sob. “You feel so good, Chosi! You make me feel so fucking good!”

He can’t explain the way that makes him feel. He is overwhelmed and flooded with waves of lust, love, and everything in between as he feels you; hears you; tastes you. He wants to make this count. He needs to make sure you understand how you make him feel.

“Come here,” he demands. “Down here, right against me.” He pauses and lays back against the couch, pulling you against him. There, he begins to thrust up into you again, gripping your ass as you slide a hand between your thighs to frantically rub your clit.

“You deserve this,” he groans. “You deserve every minute, every second of this. I wanna give this to you all the time. Can I do that for you, baby? Please?” He holds your face between his hands, staring into your pleasure-stricken expression and lust-blown eyes. “Can I give you my cum?” he whispers.

Biting on your bottom lip from the pleasure, you nod your head, gripping one of his hands and pressing it closer to your cheek. “Yes,” you whimper. You begin to push yourself down against him, slamming your pussy down onto his cock again and again to bring you both closer to the edge. “Yes, baby, give it all to me! Please make me cum with you!”

Choso then presses a rough, passionate kiss to your lips as he slams into you, gripping you closer to him. “I love you!” he growls. “I love you so fucking much! Let me show you how fucking much.” The more he thrusts in and out of you, the more it feels like your cunt is trying to suck him in. You soon begin to move against one another, swallowing your shallow breaths and desperate moans as the couch squeaks beneath your bodies. He can feel himself edging closer to his end, his balls swelling and that fire growing.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands. “Tell me right now.” You sink your nails into his pecs, giving him a bite of pain that sends his cock into a frenzy. “I love you!” you damn near scream. “I love you so, so much, Choso!” You stare into his eyes, pleading for him to give you what you crave. “Please cum with me,” you beg. “Please, please, baby, fill me up!”

Your sobbing wet pussy does the same, begging for his cum the more he pistons into you. Finally, he feels it building and can feel your walls tightening, signaling that your end is near too. “Cum on that cock,” he moans. “Do it for me, baby, c’mon, please!”

Your jaw falls slack as does his and a small lull of silence swells around you as the pleasure builds. When that damn finally breaks, neither one of you can hold back. Moans, cries, and gasps fill the air as you both cum against each other, you gushing around his cock and him filling you up.

“Fuck!” he groans, sloppily thrusting his slick cock into you again and again as he rides out the last of his orgasm with you. You fall slack against him, your moans dying down to soft gasps and tiny whimpers as your pussy twitches around him.

Finally exhausted, Choso’s thrusts grow sloppier and slower until he finally stops and lets your mingled cum drip down his balls, not even caring if it stains the couch. He feels you twitch slightly against him, but he holds you close to him. “No, don’t move,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on you. “Just stay here for a minute with me.”

Silence falls upon you as you lay in your afterglow, you on top of him. He stays inside of you, his cock growing soft, but he feels so at home there. So…comfortable. He breathes in your scent, stroking your clammy skin, back, and ass. He can feel his eyes fluttering closed from the sedation of the sex and that amazing second orgasm. “Babe?” you ask.

He lifts his head to look down at you. “Hm?”

You peel your head off of his chest, smiling up at him. “I have to pee,” you giggle. Blushing, Choso quickly releases you. “R-Right, sorry! You need me to walk you?” He watches as you carefully slide off of him, his flaccid cock flapping against his lower stomach. You slowly plant one foot on the floor and then try to stand. “Uh, I think I’m–oh, shit!” you gasp as your leg wobbles. You slide the rest of the way off of Choso and nearly fall to the ground, but he catches you.

He wraps one arm around your waist and sits you back down on the couch. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m not too tired to carry you.” Slowly, he stands, butt naked, and scoops you, also butt naked, up against him bridal style.

“What a gentleman,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as your feet dangle off the ground. “You paint and cook for me, make me cum my brains out, and carry me to the bathroom.” He softly laughs at your compliment, blushing mad hard and secretly beaming with pride. He is so happy you feel this way about him.

After taking you to the bathroom, he waits for you on the couch with some water. When you return, you both lay on the couch face to face, front to front. “So how was your first time?” you gently ask, stroking his chest.

He takes a moment to think about this, wondering which words will satisfy you. “It was amazing,” he sighs, earning a pleased smile from you. That was obviously the right answer. “You were amazing.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“So were you,” you sigh, mirroring his actions. It causes him to lean in to kiss you which only makes his cock twitch against your thigh. Noticing, you giggle against his mouth. “Again?” you whisper.

“Y’know, we’ve got plenty of time before my idiot brothers come back,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’ve always wanted to have shower sex with you…if you’re up for it.” He adds this sheepishly, not wanting to see like a sex fiend when you just got done one round. After all, you need the rest.

But you seem to be on the same time as your hooded eyes stare into his and your hand gently caresses his cock pressed against you. “Lead the way then, stud,” you purr.

Choso has never moved so fast in his life.

THE END.

#smutty smut #black fanfic writer #my works #black writers #black coded reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #choso x black!reader #choso smut #jjk choso #choso x reader

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tobiasdrake · 8 months

Text

I've been asked about my gender a couple of times. Once today, even. And I always freeze up when asked about that because. Like.

The reality is that I have a long and complicated relationship with gender. For years, I've just said "cis-male" because that's the easy answer. It felt like a noncommittal default answer. It's only recently that I've become less comfortable with that because. Well. Identifying as cis is still identifying, still committing to something.

But it's hard to commit because my situation is... messy.

I don't know if anyone is interested to hear me ramble about gender so I'm going to put this all after a jump. But since I'm having a mid-life crisis introspection day, here is my long, convoluted history with my gender identity.

If you saw my "characters who raised me" post, you might have noticed that an overwhelming majority of them were women. I have always felt more comfortable in the spaces that femininity creates than masculinity.

When I picture myself, when I close my eyes and see myself as the person I want to be, as the image I want to project out into the world, I see a young woman in her 20's with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Like Sailor Moon's Makoto Kino, a decade older.

My parents weren't around very much, so these women were my earliest teachers. They taught me how to walk. How to sit. Where to put my hands when I'm moving. And then adults made me unlearn all of that because you're not supposed to carry yourself like that or walk like that or sit like that if you're a boy. Learn to cross your legs in a masculine way!

To this day, I still often walk on the balls of my feet by habit, simply because my legs naturally imitate the posture of wearing heels. But I tell people it's because I watched a lot of Gargoyles as a kid and also really liked the X-Man Nightcrawler. (Which I did and do, and they're great.)

My favorite color is red. The reason my favorite color is red is because it's actually pink, but you're not allowed to like pink if you're a boy. My parents made that clear when they made me stop wearing my big pink winter coat that I loved so very much.

I spent the rest of my childhood and much of my adulthood dressing in black instead. Nobody cares if you're a boy or a girl if you're wearing black. (It also color-coordinates well with pink. That is a fire combination.)

I didn't really know what I was doing as a kid. I just knew that I was doing it wrong. Because people kept telling me I was doing it wrong. Gotta be a man. Gotta man up. Gotta like the things that boys like. Gotta put away the girly things because real men don't like girly things; In fact, "real men" aggressively hate girly things!

Gotta get money. Gotta get women. Gotta be aggressive and violent and not take no for an answer. That's how you be a real man. These are the things I started to internalize as the way I'm supposed to behave, as the space I'm meant to be in.

And I should note that this is not a fair reflection of masculinity. This is toxic masculinity. But it's what I was learning and it's the person I started becoming. Because I stopped listening to women, stopped respecting women, reframed my relationship to femininity as one of desire and power and control.

And I was miserable. I became a mediocre boy with pent-up aggression, prone to lashing out at the slightest indignity or disrespect because gotta assert my manhood. And I was tremendously unsuccessful at getting money and women. Women didn't like being around me very much. Can you possibly guess why? Probably because I was visibly unsafe to be around.

I hated it. I hated doing it. I hated the consequences of it. I was miserable.

Then I discovered that there were LGBT spaces. And I felt saved. My school's Gay-Straight Alliance became my sanctuary, where I could escape into a new world that nobody ever told me about. Where I could let it all of those pressures go and just say, "I am a trans woman."

This was not the end of my journey, though. You might not see the problem there. The thing that undermined my coming out. But for me, looking back, it's clear as day.

I was not coming out because I was more comfortable in the spaces that femininity built than masculinity. Even though I am. My mind was too poisoned by that point for a reason that good.

I was coming out because I was uncomfortable in the spaces that patriarchy built. And I thought being a transwoman would free me from that.

It did not. We are not, any of us, free from the pressures that patriarchy built. I had just traded one set of manacles for a different set. One that I hadn't been socialized in, one that is deeper and more complicated than I knew and that I didn't have the patience to learn because I was just trying to escape.

I wasn't trying to be a woman. I was trying to be what toxic masculinity thinks women are. The grass looked greener on the other side. It looked easier (and holy shit is it not). By that point in my life, I no longer respected women enough to be one.

It was two years before I gave up. Because I was still miserable. Being a woman (or my toxic impression of one) hadn't cured my soul-sickness. I was still angry. I was still lonely. So I went back to full-throated raging masculinity. I wrote those two years off as "experimenting" and I doubled down on toxic masculinity because now I was compensating for something.

I got a career because I'd dropped out of high school and wasn't going to college so I needed to have something. I moved out at 18 and got my own shitty apartment because a real man's gotta have his man pad. I refocused myself: Get rich, get women, be successful as a man. I spent the next years of my life as an angry libertarian incel issuing social darwinist screeds and ranting about how women are all bitches 'cause they won't sleep with me.

Then I started to meet people who were worse off than I was. Who showed me entire facets of the world I never knew existed. And I started to soften. Then I started to learn. And then I started to heal. To find acceptance for the parts of me I'd buried a decade ago.

People I can sit around and watch a TV show with, and see a snooty rich woman on the screen and go, "That one! That one's me. My character is Tahani. ^_^" and they won't judge me or tell me I'm wrong and I need to pick a different one.

Well, they'll judge me a little but only because my characters are always the fucking worst. Not because they're women. In my heart of hearts, I am an egotistic, entitled, prissy bitch and I own it.

I'm happier now than I ever was before, either as a man or a toxic man's perception of what a woman is supposed to be. And maybe my pronouns should be she/her. I don't know. Looking back over my journey, it's hard to feel like any set of pronouns really fits me - but I feel weird being they/them. Nothing feels right to me at all anymore.

I feel more comfortable in the spaces that femininity creates than the ones that masculinity does. Even healthy masculinity just doesn't call out to me the way femininity does, because femininity defined so much of my formative years. Most of the things in my childhood that were good are gendered female.

But I also don't know why they have to be. Why you have to be a woman to like pink, or to wear a pretty dress, or to enjoy cooking, or to cross your legs in a particular way. I don't want to believe that I can't be male but enjoy the things that I enjoy. That I'm not allowed to just decide for myself what masculinity means for me.

And yet, whenever I close my eyes and picture myself, I see a woman in her twenties with brown hair tied back in a ponytail. If I could start it all over again and be that woman from the very beginning, I would.

I don't know.

What I do know is that during my time as a libertarian incel, I started a career. That career has become my family's lifeline. I'm a high school dropout whose main skillset is knowing how computers work and being proficient at Microsoft Office, and I make more money than the rest of my family combined.

I feel like anyone in my age bracket can do my job. But they pay me to do it. Because I'm white, male, and clean-cut. We're forced to live under capitalism, and my family's future depends on the money my privilege earns. Because I'm aesthetically hirable.

So I go to work in the spaces that masculinity built. Then I come home to my LGBT family where it simply doesn't matter because everyone is accepted for who they are individually, no matter what box they fit in.

#feeling nostalgic #gender #lgbt #masculinity #femininity

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dotuindex · 3 years

Text

Merla HCs for the soul

General Culture HCs ⭐ Her home planet is called Orulla ⭐ Ever seen that part where Zarkon says “no one knows where she’s from”? That’s because her and her people are from a place akin to VLD’s quantum abyss in terms of how the place functions. Trying to get in is a death wish so the place has yet to be discovered. ⭐ Her race is all one sex, and their secondary sex characteristics are more inline with that of a human female ⭐ But if you went there you might not notice bc gender expression is all over the place ⭐ Gendered pronouns are a wild concept to her bc “why is the gender of the person in question at all relevant, that’s like having a different pronoun for each hair color” ⭐ They do, however, use different pronouns depending on what they’re talking about. They have pronouns used for people, a word similar to “it” for inanimate objects, and another pronoun used for animals. ⭐ Like in Spanish, their language has formal and informal versions of the word “you” ⭐ The only reason they design their armor to overly highlight their bodies is because they realized it freaks other people out to fight an “all female” army and they get embarrassed as fuck when they get their asses beat by a bunch of ladies ⭐ Way more lax about nudity than a lot of other planets. The idea of modesty is more applied to one’s behavior, like their humility, rather than their clothes. ⭐ The most popular colors/materials for clothing is dark green and purple, red, silver, and gold. ⭐ Most of her people have darker hair, ranging from a black or purple color through magenta and dark pink to red. Eyes are typically the same color as the hair, and skin ranges from gray to a desaturated dark blue color. Most have a gray-blue complexion ⭐ Popular makeup trends are lipstick a similar shade to the skin, but darker or more vibrant, and killer eyeliner. ⭐ Her species is actually incapable of blushing, but after discovering it in other species they found it absolutely adorable and now blush is a popular makeup product. ⭐ Body mods are also very much A Thing in her culture. Piercings, tattoos, scarification, tongue splitting, all sorts of things, and they’re very popular. It’s sort of a right of passage, if an unofficial one. Once someone becomes an adult it’s sort of expected to get something done. ⭐ On that note, getting body mods are also seen as highly inappropriate if the individual who has them isn’t an adult. Something as simple as piercing your ears is jaw dropping to them if you’re a kid. ⭐ On her home planet, people aren’t considered adults until age 20 ⭐ Her people’s life expectancy is around 100-110 ⭐ Her people are also known for doing some funky fun hair stuff. Lots of elaborate braids, curling, and such. Shaving down parts of the head and even the whole head used to be really popular, and is now making a comeback in their mainstream culture. Shaving the entire head is seen as a sign of rebellion or mourning, depending on the context. ⭐ Animal motifs are The Thing in their fashion, particularly birds atm, as they are associated with power and royalty thanks to Merla’s affinity for them. So feathers, things shaped like wings, things with wing patterns on them, etc, are in. ⭐ The average adult of their species is about 6′1.5

Merla HCs ⭐ Age 23 at debut ⭐ 6′0 ⭐ Call her vulture ugly and she will fight you ⭐ Her bird is named Onyx ⭐ She raised that bird from the minute he hatched ⭐ Her telepathic abilities only extend to making people want to do things and getting a vague idea of what someone is thinking about at any given moment. She can’t truly force someone to do something and if she uses too much power she gets migraines. ⭐ She gets along better with animals than with people ⭐ Big Lesbian ⭐ Kala from Voltron Force is her older sister but Merla thinks she died a long time ago ⭐ Merla also has a sister 8 years younger than her named Dyla ⭐ Merla herself actually has a rare pigmentation issue. Her whole color palette is much paler than normal. She’s like an albino of her species in a way. ⭐ Merla has multiple piercings, including several in either ear, a septum piercing, and snake bites. She used to have a tongue piercing but then she got her tongue split and it’s kinda hard to have both ⭐ As for tattoos, she also has more than one, but some are more important than others. On her chest she has vulture wings around an “angel eater,” a flower that, in her culture, means “don’t get too cocky, ya lil shit, you’re still mortal.” On the inside of her right bicep she has an old proverb, “the river goes, and with it the stones.” It means that, yeah, people can make you promises, but ultimately as life goes on things could change and the only person you can really count on is yourself. ⭐ Heart breaker. She doesn’t like getting into actual relationships, she finds them... messy. So when she finds someone she actually likes she dips. And as a Queen needing to one day provide an heir, this is troublesome. ⭐ Merla had a good relationship with one mother and a bad relationship with the other. One, Arella, was a kind hearted woman, who died due to complications having her 3rd child. Merla calls her “mother.” Her other parent was a cold woman who was only interested in herself. Merla simply refers to her as “that woman” or by her first name, Zenaran. ⭐ Dyla was born prematurely, but even if she was carried to term she still would have been a sickly child. To this day she is a very delicate girl, who Merla will protect at all costs. She stands at 5′5, four inches shorter than what’s average for her age. ⭐ Merla herself had complications relating to her birth, but Dyla got everything she had, then some, and dialed up. ⭐ Unlike Dyla and Merla, Kala had no issues in regards to her health and birth. Not only that, but she hardly resembles her other two sisters. This has led to rumors that perhaps the three sisters don’t all share the same two parents, but that Kala is actually a half sibling to Dyla and Merla. ⭐ For several reasons, Merla refuses to acknowledge these rumors and has made no effort to look into them. ⭐ Dyla has not left the safety of their home palace in many years, and hasn’t been off-planet since her toddler years. ⭐ Kala and Merla were close. Kala expected the very best of her little sister, and always pushed her to succeed. ⭐ Mama Arella was a usually kind woman who lacked a backbone, but it’s rumored that she slept around outside her marriage and Merla, despite not really wanting to think about it, also has suspicions in regards to her mother’s faithfulness. ⭐ Arella was monochromatic, having black hair and grey skin. She looked like an old school cartoon character come to life. ⭐ Zenaran, much like her wife, wasn’t very faithful. However, she didn’t bother to hide it. As the one of royal blood, she was the one of higher status and could pretty much get away with whatever she wanted. Plus being an execution happy tyrant also helped. ⭐ Zenaran had long, dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Kala is 2 years older than Merla and bore a striking resemblance to Zenaran, with dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Dyla, age 15, is a bright and kind girl, despite her rough start to life. She has white hair and dark grey skin. ⭐ Dyla and Merla have an odd relationship. Merla is, on one hand, very much devoted to her little sister, but on the other, dismissive of the younger girl’s thoughts and wishes. She sees Dyla as fragile and incapable of taking care of herself, thus needing constant supervision and someone to make decisions for her. Dyla, though she understands where her sister is coming from, grows increasingly frustrated. ⭐ There is only one person alive who knows the origin of Merla’s powers, and it’s the woman who Arella had an affair with. ⭐ Dyla also has powers like Merla’s, but aside from the Muses teaching her how to rein them in, she doesn’t really know how to use them.

Muses HCs ⭐ The Muses of Norn weren’t kidnapped, they came with Merla willingly ⭐ She sought them out in hopes of learning to control her telepathy ⭐ Now it’s just. Merla and her squad of pretty girls. Sappho and her gal pals. ⭐ The Muses of Norn are named Thetis, Sura, Ceralean, Penelope, Era, Josephine, and Melody. ⭐ Thetis is 22 and the leader of the muses. She stands at 5′5 with blue hair and eyes, and a light brown complexion. She is associated with leadership and honorable conduct. ⭐ Sura is Thetis’s younger sister, age 21. She has redish-pink hair and blue eyes and is 5′6. Her complexion, like her sister’s, is light brown but dotted with freckles. She’s the muscle in their team. She is associated with sportsmanship, combat, and strength. ⭐ Ceralean, age 21, functions as second in command. She’s the analytical type. She’s ghostly pale, with dark blue eyes and hair, standing at 5′4. She is associated with academia. ⭐ Penelope is the oldest at 25 and is the mother hen of the team. Blonde, brown eyes, stands at 5′11, and has a lightly tanned complexion. She is associated with domestically, crops, and the changing of seasons. ⭐ Era, age 23. She has red-brown hair, dark pink eyes, dark brown skin, and stands at 5′7. She is associated with liberation, freewill, and is considered the protector of young women. ⭐ Josephine is the youngest at 17. She’s a little bratty, but they love her anyway. She has black hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, and stands at 5′2. She is associated with childhood, rebirth, joy, and is considered the protector of children. ⭐ Melody, age 19, is the quiet, soft one. Stands at 5′5 with blonde hair and green eyes, and a fair complexion. She is associated with the fine arts and humility. ⭐ Note that they haven’t aged since the became muses, so they’re all technically much older than their physical age. ⭐ The Muses were once mortal women, who ascended to a sort of deity-type status. ⭐ Although the Muses cannot age or die of old age, they can still be killed. ⭐ Thetis, Sura, and Ceralean have a strong, familial type bond, despite the fact that the 3rd isn’t actually blood related to the first two. Sura and Ceralean butt heads often, and Thetis has to play mediator. ⭐ Sura and Era tend to be a bit more loose canon than the other muses. They get into all kinds of trouble together. ⭐ Ceralean is rather protective of Melody and in turn, Melody has a bit of a crush on her.

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream II

Paring: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 097

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool; Summary: His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

It's Cool

My escape from everything

Please say you'll be my nothing

And I will give you everything

Man, you are really something else

On Friday nights, Iris spends time alone. She lives in a relatively small apartment near Central City U’s campus where she makes peanuts as a teaching assistant while she completes her journalism master’s. Her weeks are long and arduous, what with attending her own classes and all but teaching the ones she assists. Her evenings are often spent eating turkey sandwiches with one hand and completing assignments with the other. And when those are done, she logs into her blog, What a Life You’ve Lived, and types up the stories people send to her. That part doesn’t make her tired; no, she likes being able to tell others’ stories, likes that they trust a woman they’ve never seen to tell their lives in a way that they might not ever see.

But it’s still why, on Friday nights, she pours herself an overfull glass of wine, fills a pipe bowl with some of the marijuana she gets from the dispensary by Linda’s place, and orders Thai food while she watches something from her Netflix or Hulu queue or sometimes she listens to music. She’s already showered, wearing a pair of green silk shorts and a matching tank top, pretty cream piping along the top of the tank and the hem of the shorts—she doesn't always dress like this when she’s home alone; she just likes the feeling of the silk on her skin when she’s high—and her hair is already wrapped and tied with her scarf when the doorbell rings. She frowns at the door because she’s only just ordered her pad Thai noodles and those spring rolls she likes, and there’s no way the delivery is there yet because she always sets the order for when she’s sufficiently intoxicated.

She figures that it could be her brother Wally or even Linda because they’ve both been known to drop by without calling. A touch annoyed, she goes to the door and swings it open, ready to go off for interrupting what they know is her self-care night. But then she’s stopped short, the music still playing in the background—you caught me at an awful time; see i just lost my smile—because it’s him.

Iris’s liquor-soaked memories don’t do him much justice because there he is, live and solid. He is tall, even taller than she’d thought as she stands in her bare feet. He’s lean, the dark jeans hanging off his hips and his plain gray shirt showing off the corded muscles in his arms. There’s a tattoo sleeve on his right forearm, a complicated bouquet of flowers that doesn't take away from the masculine energy he exudes standing at her door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She can tell now that his hair is brown and a little bit messy, as if he constantly runs his hands through it. She does a quick scan of the rest of him: dark moles dotting the skin of his throat, thin pink mouth, the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow covering the cut of his jaw. It’s still his eyes, though, that gets her. It’s not only the color of them—somehow blue with hints of moss and gold or maybe they’re like moss with hints of gold and gray—but it’s the way he’s looking at her too. Like they're always searching, and that is what you helped me find; hadn't seen it in a while, looking for what she won't reveal.

She knows that her night set only just covers the swell of her ass and dips down in her cleavage. She knows that she’s scrubbed head to toe in her rosewater body butter. But he, he looks at her like he knows it too. Like he sees all of the tawny brown skin she’s not showing, like he’s seeing something, something more than the wide set of her full mouth and the whiskey chocolate of her eyes.

“Hey,” he speaks, and there’s nothing particularly memorable about his voice, but the tone of it is low, and it sends an involuntary shiver through her.

“I know this is weird,” he continues, “and you can definitely tell me to leave. But I didn’t have your number or even your name, and I’ve been thinking about you all week and…” He tapers off, and Iris lets her eyes travel up the length of him once more.

“Wanna come in?”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to ask—okay, maybe that bit about thinking of her all week helped—but when he nods, a smile easing on his face, her heart starts doing that seizing thing again.

She steps aside to let him in.

He sees the shoes she’d worn to work sitting by the door so he toes off his own sneakers beside them and Iris has to stop herself from acknowledging what they look like next to hers. Instead, she watches as he takes a look around. She’s proud of what she’s been able to do with a consignment shop and limited funds. The focal point is an overstuffed sofa in a light gray and its matching armchair; a multicolored rug with bold hints of sage and orange lies under the dark circular coffee table which is the same color as the bookshelf against her wall, the six shelves teeming with books, as well as the TV stand. She’s got some early artwork by a few Black local artists on her wall, a couple of her favorite quotes printed and framed next to them.

The room feels smaller with him in it. While Iris is no nun, it’s been months since a man other than her brother or dad has been in her home and it feels...strange. The air seems denser somehow, heavy—heavy with the cloud of tension that hovers around them, heavy with the knowledge that the print of this man is still one that she can feel in her body when she falls asleep at night.

She notes that his eyes track the grinder and pipe in plain view on her coffee table and when she faces him again, his eyebrow is lifted.

“Do you partake?” she wonders.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Will you tonight?”

His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more.

He licks his lips. “Yes.”

He tells her his name is Bartholomew Allen.

First, she goes into the kitchen to grab another of the long-stemmed wine glass that the professor she works for had given her as a housewarming gift. Then she eases down onto the sofa before she spreads her arm in an invitation for him to sit too. She pours from the bottle of wine and hands him the glass; he takes it from her, fingers grazing hers where they’re cupped around the bowl.

“My name is Bartholomew Allen,” he says, sort of abruptly.

She blinks over at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Your parents named you Bartholomew?”

“It’s a family name,” he adds, and though there’s no hint of embarrassment in his voice when he says it, Iris sees the way his cheeks flush red.

It makes her smile. All she has are the hazy images of him in her head: the way he’d boldly walked up to ask her to dance, how the kisses he’d pressed into her skin had been sure and all-encompassing. There had been no blush to his cheeks that first night when he’d been whispering into her ear; though Iris does recall how the rest of him had turned this same lovely shade of red, like a tinge of wine under his skin, when she had grabbed his ass to push him deeper into her.

In any case, Iris hadn’t thought of him like this, blushing at something as simple as his name and this dichotomy endears him to her.

“But you can call me Barry,” he says after taking a sip of his wine, almost like an afterthought.

“Well, Barry,” she says, “I’m Iris West.”

He looks at her over the rim of his glass. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iris.”

It’s atypical of her, she knows, inviting this man back into her house like this. Her police captain father would warn her that this is the way that women die. Wally would tsk at her with only slight disapproval, more specifically concerned with the fact that she hadn’t bothered to learn his name before she’d let him climb into her bed. It isn’t a habit of hers, one-night stands (or two nights, she supposes, after tonight) with pale-skinned men from clubs she rarely frequents. But that day, last Saturday, she had gotten an email from the professor of her Feature Writing course with harsh feedback on one of her assignments, and Wally, only in his junior year of undergrad, had canceled their dinner, and she hadn’t updated her blog in what felt like weeks and…

And she’s been in such a space of discontent lately, with the rigid monotony of her days, the school and work and school and work, and she has spent more time than she realizes alone. Her best (and really, her only) friend is in the stages of a building relationship and her dad is too. She’s got people, she does, but they seem so tangential these days. So on Saturday, she’d put on a dress that had shown too much of her brown skin and shoes that had given her more legs than most men know what to do with. And she’d walked down along the aptly named Bar Street, past the uh, I won't love a ho, after we fuck she can't get near me, only bitch I give a conversation to is Siri and the so when are you gonna tell her, that we did that too? until she’d come to the door of something sultrier calling out to her, as seductive and enticing as a siren, and she had answered.

Then, somewhere between her third tequila and her ninth or tenth song, hope that's cool; ‘cause i'm really not trying to, impose but I suppose that, i'm supposed to be here, with you, Barry had come to dance with her, with the long line of his body following her rhythm and the pleasing smell of the lemongrass on his clothes and—for the first time in longer than she cares to admit—Iris had begun to feel.

It explains why she let him come home with her a week ago. It explains why he’s in her apartment now.

“Iris?” She hears Barry call her name, and by the look on his face, she knows it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Sorry about that. I space out sometimes.” She points towards her table. “Shall we?”

He looks at her a little unsure, as if he wants to say more, but he eventually just nods in agreement. “Sure.”

She leans forward and grabs the grinder. The first time she smoked weed, she’d been a freshman in college. As cliche as it sounds, she’d had a roommate from Colorado who’d brought a stash with her and had offered a hit to Iris once at a house party. She’d liked it immediately, had liked how her brain had cleared, as if someone had wiped away all the writing on a chalkboard, erasing the mounting pressure of being the first university college kid in her family, of being the example for her brother who was ten times smarter and twice as reckless; had liked how much lighter her body had felt, as if she was floating, lying upon a cloud or somewhere even lighter, even higher.

She’s not a heavy smoker, the practice delegated to her Friday night routine and only in the couple years since it’s become legal recreationally in Central City. Still, she can’t help but feel a little nervous right now as Barry watches her pull the small canister towards her and open it. She makes quick work of pinching out a couple nuggets of the blue city diesel she prefers and grinding it up before packing the bowl of the pipe. It’s a pretty thing, made of glass in a dark green with blue and orange swirls. There is the flick of the lighter, and Iris brings the pipe to her lips and inhales.

She can all but feel the smoke flowing through her body, unbending her spine and relaxing her legs, curling in her lungs and moving to her head, making the thoughts there—the stress of classes, the constant sting of loneliness, and even the simmering tension she feels with Barry next to her—start to scatter until they’re no longer noticeable.

She passes the pipe over to Barry, who takes it from her gingerly, the tips of his long fingers brushing her again. She shivers, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, instead leaning back onto the couch, her legs crossed in the seat, as she watches him. He flicks the lighter a couple of times before it lights, and then he fires at the weed and takes a hit. His skin shades the faintest hint of pink and then he pulls the pipe away from his mouth and coughs, a deep cough that waters his eyes.

“You okay?” she questions. He nods as he passes it back. They do this, back and forth, until Barry breathes the smoke in easier and Iris falls even deeper into the couch. That’s when the doorbell rings.

“It’s the food,” she says and Barry is on his feet before she can even make sense of it. “Wait, I have money,” she tries, standing, because this is a mom-and-pop sort of pace and they still do their own delivery instead of going through the more expensive, albeit convenient, routes.

By the time Iris has grabbed her wallet from her purse, Barry is grabbing food and saying “Thanks, man” to Tony, the tall bearded college student who normally delivers it to her.

“Oh what’s up, Iris?” he says to her when she peeks around Barry’s shoulder.

“Hi, Tony. Do I owe you the same?”

“Oh, your boy already got it.” He smiles, a dimple winking at her in his bronze skin. “Y’all have a good night,” he adds and then he winks at her for real before disappearing back downstairs. She backs up to let Barry in the door.

“Barry, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I’m crashing your night and I’m smoking your weed. It’s the least I can do.”

Iris hums, looking up at him. He’s sort of pretty, she thinks absently, with his eyes like gems and his pink mouth, his expression soft and earnest.

“Come on.”

Iris always orders way too much food, usually with the intent to eat off the leftovers for a couple of meals. It’s a spread, with walnut shrimp, a green/ginger salad, pad thai, Bangkok chicken, and several Thai spring rolls, so it's definitely enough to share. She inhales several forkfuls of noodles while Barry attacks the Bangkok chicken. They eat in relative silence, the music still playing in the background, with eyes are sad, i smile, i think you'll find, you need me just like i need you, yeah; but it's cool, we ain't gotta be nothing, it's true, i'd actually prefer it, yeah; it's on you, it's on you, it's on you.

It’s when they’re done eating, when Iris has placed the containers in the refrigerator and they’re both snuggled deeper into the couch, wine glasses close by, that their night really begins. Iris has packed another bowl and takes another hit. And with a lungful of smoke, she asks,

“What sort of music do you like to listen to when you smoke?”

“I don’t think that I smoke enough to know.”

She hands him the bowl and grabs the remote to the smart tv, pulling up the playlist she’d made for nights like this. It gets longer every couple of days, songs that catch her fancy, songs with beats that sing as much as the artists, songs that seep in like the weed does, running through her like the blood in her vein does. The song plays—and i'm not even gonna front, at first i was just tryna fuck, but you have got me so in love, so deep in love, so please be love—and Iris closes her eyes, savoring the mellow sound of the music.

She takes pulls from her wine glass as Barry smokes and then the actions reverse. They take turns, back and forth, until Iris feels her lids drop, sees the slight haze that covers everything in her sight. Barry is sitting at the other end of the chair, but Iris swears that she can feel him, feel the solid heat of him, feel the touch of him like prickles on her skin. When she gazes over at him, positioning herself so that her back is against the arm of the chair and her painted toes just miss Barry’s thighs, she finds that he’s looking at her again.

“What?” she asks.

He shakes his head, indicating nothing, and the movement is slow, stilted. But then he asks,

“How do you feel, about my showing up here?”

She shrugs. “Surprised,” she tells him. “That you wanted to come; that you remembered where I lived.”

Barry chuckles, a low, gentle sound. “I only remembered because of the wreath, the sunflowers.”

She doesn’t add this, though a surprise, is not one she dislikes. She likes his company, even if she can’t name why.

“Barry,” she calls, to grab his attention again, and the way he tilts his head in acknowledgment makes her think more intently on the words of this song—and I'm not even gonna lie, i wouldn't mind if we just lie, together 'til the end of time, if that is fine with you, it's fine with me—and she shakes her head at the thought.

“Hmm?” he hums, eyes never wavering.

“What made you come here tonight?”

She’s sufficiently high now. She’d been careful not to overstuff herself with food and both the wine and diesel have done their job. She feels both languid and like she’s soaring, all at once. The music helps and she’s waiting in anticipation as she waits for his answer.

It’s slow coming, his answer. Before he responds, he touches gingerly at her bare ankles, fingers skimming along the bones of one and then the other. His fingers are warm and Iris feels the light callouses there, shocked at the sensation of the roughened skin on hers, how the touch sends sparks up the lines of her legs. He brings one of her feet up on his lap, and it seems so small in his hands. He presses his thumb into her instep, glides it down to the heel, and back up. Iris lets out a moan, the sound inaudible over the music—definitely love, definitive love—but the tiny uplift of the corner of his mouth suggests he’d heard it, and he grabs her other foot and repeats the action. Then he says,

“I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory.”

He trails his fingers up her left calf, still kneading her right foot. “I kept thinking of you,” he tells her, “about the taste of your mouth and the grip of your slick, and I had to know if I was only drunk and making it up.”

It’s the sensations that make her respond the way she does. It’s the easy purr of keyboards she hears behind Jhene’s dulcet voice; it’s his touch, how it seems to reverberate through her entire body; it the smell of him, of the room: the fainting smell of the smoke and the rosewater butter on her own skin and what she imagines it’ll smell like mixed with the scent of him that she remembers, the notes citrusy and bright.

“Me too,” she tells him. “I woke up on Sunday and I could still feel you. You were gone and much of you was a memory, but the feel of you was still there and…”

(and I wanted you to still be here, wanted to make a lasting memory, a real one, that would keep me warm when school and wavering friendships couldn’t)

But she doesn’t say any of that. Barry has all but mentioned he’s come over to sleep with her again and she can admit that the thought does have immense appeal, even if it’s not the only thing she thinks she wants from him.

She leans up and moves her ankle out of his grasp; he raises an eyebrow at the loss of contact, but then she widens her legs and reaches for him, grabbing at his shirt to pull him on top of her. He comes willingly, hovering above her, holding himself up with one arm on the top of the couch. All Iris can think about is the weight of him on top of her, how guarded it makes her feel, how secure.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice quiet against the strain of the music from the television set, though she’d been the one to pull him in. He presses his body down, and her legs part automatically, craving him there again. She can tell that he’s high, in the red of his eyes and in the slow ways he’s talking, weighing every word before he lets it out.

“Yes,” she responds, just as quietly.

This seems like a moment here, one Iris can’t make sense of, not knowing what he’s here for. But he’s looking at her like she’s something, like he sees her, and it’s, it’s electrifying.

So when he leans down and kisses her, she leans up and gives it back, letting his mouth work her over. Barry is a good kisser. He starts out easy, slow, just his mouth moving against hers. His lips are soft and he tastes like wine and, somehow, the sex she knows they’re about to have, and the thought makes her close her eyes as she gives herself over to him. He licks at the seam of her lips, bites down her bottom one, and then licks at her again, demanding entry. She opens for him, eyes fluttering closed as he takes full control of her mouth. He sucks on her tongue, and then her lip again, and then he’s back to working her over with his mouth, the kiss wet and sloppy, increasingly erotic.

He is hard between her warm thighs, the solid long length of him, and she has to touch him. She rubs her hands down his back, over his cotton t-shirt, and then up under, along his spine. He shivers on top of her but doesn’t stop kissing her. She keeps one hand running up and down his back, loving the feel of him beneath her palm, and she fingers along his torso with the other, light touches that make his belly clench, that make his hips flex into her. He hums into her mouth, a sound more like a low growl, and it vibrates through her body, moving until it pulses between her legs. She moans in response, and it is that that breaks the kiss. Barry pulls back to look at her, and she likes that he looks a little bit wrecked. He stares down at her, drinking her in, and she knows what he must see: her thighs parted, with the hem of her silk shorts riding high; one strap of her top hanging off her shoulder, her breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath; her full lips puffy and likely red from his bites; her eyes wide and blown, the dark of her pupils slowly overtaking the brown of her irises. Even her scarf has half-fallen off, and she should care that her hair will be unmanageable tomorrow. But when Barry tilts his head with a question, she lets him take it off and toss it onto her coffee table, and then he leans up, eyes never straying from hers.

“Barry?” she calls but pauses at the look in his eyes.

He fingers at the bottom of her top. “Take it off,” he tells her.

She responds to the slight command in his tone, clenching her stomach muscles as she leans up just enough to pull her tank over her head. He’s kneeling between her legs now, looking down at her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples puckered under his gaze. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and she’s ready. It doesn’t make sense, how responsive she is to him, but she is, even when he’s just there staring.

“Barry?” she calls again, and she thrusts her hips, infinitesimally. It makes him look away from where he’s trying to memorize the weight of her breasts, the smooth tawny brown color of them, the darker areolas, and even darker nipples.

“What are you doing?” she asks, when he doesn’t respond to her.

“Looking at you,” is his too calm answer.

She nods, but huffs out a little breath in annoyance. “Okay, but can you…” fuck me, is the obvious response, but it doesn’t come out as that; instead, it’s another thrust of her hips, her constantly swelling sex rubbing his hard thigh. Barry licks his lips and looks down at her.

“Can I what, Iris?”

“You know,” she says, and squeezes him with her thighs.

“Hmmm,” Barry murmurs. “I don’t know that I do.”

This time, she catches his gaze, noting the glassy look of his eyes, the color grayer in this light. Iris wants to moan at the sight of him.

“Don’t play with me, Barry,” she grumbles, hoping that if she imbues a touch of menace to her words, he’d go ahead and put her out of her misery.

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to play with you, Iris?”

She can’t answer, because then he’s reaching down and parting her thighs wider, enough that Barry can slide the wide leg of one side of her shorts over and expose her pussy to him. She clenches when the air hits her, and then again when Barry slides the tip of his middle finger down the middle of her slit.

She moans, her breath catching at the end of it when she looks down to watch his pale digit disappear inside of her. He dips in and out and in again, and Iris can’t stop watching it. She’s already wet, and his finger is glistening.

“You sure you don’t want me to play with you, Iris?” he asks her, dipping his finger all the way to the knuckle. He brings it back out, and then begins to rub her own wet over her lips. Down the side of her vulva, up the other side. Parting her lips with just that one finger. Sliding in again to gather more of her slick and start his trek over again.

Beneath him, Iris is...a mess. The one finger isn’t enough; she’s too wet for it and she keeps closing around nothing. But her breathing is only growing more labored and she can't. stop. watching. It should be embarrassing; her shorts are soaked through and Barry is still fully clothed, but she can’t be. The look of his long, rough-tipped fingers playing in the pink of her pussy so wholly arousing that she literally thinks that she can come like this.

“No, I,” she tells him, panting. She licks her lips, tries again. “This is…”

“This is what, Iris?” he asks, his cadence still heavy, and honestly, how the fuck does him just saying her name get her off like this. “Use your words, baby.”

“Fuck,” Iris moans.

Barry has the gall to smile. “That’s one.”

“Fuck you,” she moans again.

“Yeah?” Barry questions and he leans down, pulling his dirty little finger out of her and wrapping that same wet hand—wait, how is his whole hand wet—around her waist. He hovers over her, lips just a breath away from hers. “You ready for me to fuck you now?”

She huffs out a surprised laugh. “God, you’re a little bit of a dick.”

“And you’re ready for it now, aren’t you?”

She gives up on trying to be coy. “Yes,” she nods.

Barry has to stand to get out of his clothes, and Iris tries not to whimper at the loss. He pulls his shirt over his head, and Iris sees that his sleeve of flowers extends to his shoulders. He pulls his pants and boxers down, slipping out of his socks too, grabbing his wallet to pull a condom out before tossing it back down on top of his clothes. She watches as he rips open the wrapper and pulls the latex out, pinching its tip and sliding the condom down his length. He’s long and swollen, thicker, maybe, than she remembers, and she finds herself enamored as she watches him touch himself, fingers caressing the thick head and down his shaft.

“Take those off,” he tells her and she didn’t even realize she still has her shorts on. She peels them off, tossing them to the side, and then Barry is between her legs again. He grips her thighs and spreads them, one knee digging into the sofa close to her chest, the other planted high up on his hip.

He rubs himself along her once, making sure she’s still ready for him, and with a hand gripping her waist, he slides into her. She can feel herself opening for him, stretching to make room for him. He pulls out, just to the tip, and then he pushes back in, deeper, harder, and Iris gasps out a long “oohhh.” He rocks up into her, long strokes, slow strokes, like he’s got all the time in the world. She hears herself, she hears them, the wet sound of her pussy taking him in.

“Listen to you,” Barry whispers as he reaches down and thumbs at her clit. “You’re so wet, baby. God,” he groans. “Do you always get like this?” He fucks into her harder, still maddeningly slow, but fuck if it doesn’t make her swell a little more, gush a little more. “Or is it us? Is it me that gets you like this? Dripping out of that pretty little pussy like this?”

“Fuck, Barry, shit.”

He leans down again, until his chest is brushing her. The action plants him deeper, and he fucks into her, steady, persistent. He’s so close that Iris doesn’t know what to do with herself. He’s holding on to her waist, pinning her down on the sofa, and his pelvis brushes her clit with every downward stroke.

“Bar-Barryyyyyy.” Iris throws her head back, eyes clenched tight as she comes with a low, drawn-out moan, her hips bucking frantically as she squeezes wetly around Barry.

He pulls out of her and starts to move the sofa cushions from the back of the chair. It gives them more room and Barry sits down until he’s half laid out, back against the arm of the chair and legs spread on either side of her, one bracing on the floor.

“Lay on your stomach,” he tells her, “and then push your legs under mine.”

She does as he says, still a little sluggish from her unexpected orgasm. This move puts her ass in the air, and Barry grabs at her hips to bring her back to him. She looks back as he’s lining himself up with her again, and then he’s bringing her down on him, opening her up for him again. They both moan at the contact this time, Iris still sensitive from moments before. But he seems even harder now, even deeper when Iris leans forward to grab onto the other end of the couch. He guides her for a stroke, two, three, until she catches onto his rhythm, and begins to fuck herself back on him. He’s so deep she figures she could feel him hitting the bottom of his stomach if she focused hard enough. She bounces on him, keeping up his slow pace, and he gives her a hard squeeze around the waist for her efforts.

“That’s it, Iris,” he murmurs. “Ride me slow just like that.”

She’s always liked dirty talk; there’s something fully stimulating about a man making it known that he’s enjoying being with you. But this, this is different, and Iris can barely stand how much she’s turned on by him talking to her like this.

“You feel so good, Barry,” she tells him.

“Yeah?” He juts up into her, faltering a rhythm, making her fall even deeper into the sofa, making him fall even deeper into her. “Tell me what it feels like.”

She licks her lips, swallows. She’s never…

“It’s just me and you,” he says, sensing her hesitation. He stills her hips and straightens his torso, bringing her up as much as she can. He turns her head so that he can see her eyes. He moves away the hair that’s fallen into her face and gives her a quick peck on the mouth. “It’s just us, okay?”

She nods, and moves back into the comfortable position, back to grinding down on his dick, squeezing around his dick.

“Shit, Iris, that’s it.”

“You feel good,” she tells him again, firmly. “You’re so thick, so hard, I can’t even…” She falls forward again, and Barry gives her one hard slap down her ass cheek. “Barry!”

He soothes the sting with the palm of his hand, rubbing in small circles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet in my life,” she confesses, softly, truthfully. And that must have been what Barry was waiting for. He takes over, holding her hips in a death grip and he pounds into her. The slap-slap of his skin on hers is loud, the squelch of her wet, profane. She can feel her belly tighten again, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is imminent. Barry’s is too, she can tell. His movements are more erratic, slow and then fast and then slow again until reaches out and presses a thumb to her puckered hole peeking back at him. That’s the end for them both. Iris screams out, her back arching deeply, just as Barry stills and empties into the condom, his dick throbbing against her walls as he does. She falls face forward into the sofa, still sitting on Barry, trying to catch her breath. It’s only then that she notices the music still playing from the television—infinite love, yeah; i've been wrong before, but this time I am for sure; it's you; something you did made me feel it deep in my core—and she asks for Alexa to turn the television off.

That throws the room into stark silence, except for the sound of their heavy breathing. She doesn’t know how long they lie there, but Iris thinks she could be almost asleep when Barry shifts up and out of her. She knows that she’s likely gonna have to deep clean the sofa tomorrow.

“Iris,” Barry calls moments later, and she turns her head to the side to see him standing beside her, his soft sex sitting on his thigh. He must have thrown the condom away already.

“Hmmm.”

He chuckles. “Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and we can go to sleep.”

She nods slowly, and sits up, letting him take her hand to lead her into the bathroom. She tries, though she can’t say how much she succeeds, at telling herself that this, that this is nothing.

And it's cool

Think that we're up to something

But it's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, 'cause I'm cool with nothing, yeah

'Cause even nothing is something

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olivecianciolo · 4 years

Text

Project #2 Pre-Project Writing

Reading Response:

I never thought of language as something inherent to humanity. I’ve always considered language to be a construct, and while individual languages are, the act of communicating is obviously not. The reading points out our ingrained ability to pick up language as children and attributes that to our need for it, but I always assumed it was due to our need to communicate. I’m not sure that my mind has been changed on the subject (and I have no real knowledge of linguistics so I can’t make a claim either way), but I hadn’t thought to consider nonverbal forms of communication as their own form of language. I do think, however, that the reason I found this idea interesting was my preconceived notion of language. I thought of verbal language as a rigid, limiting sort of way of communicating while visual language can mean different things to different people. Visuals, I thought to myself, can only communicate ideas or feelings (messy, complicated things), while words have definitions most people generally agree on. The reading got me to stop thinking of verbal and visual languages as strictly separate things; they can be combined and they can both be as straightforward or abstract as the other.

Another idea I found interesting was the physicality of words and letters themselves when incorporated into artwork. When these symbols are made into art they not only have their culturally imposed meaning, but the visual meaning of the shapes that make them up. I suppose I knew on an objective level to consider the aesthetic qualities of text when using it in visual media, but I had never consciously thought about it until now.

Research Journal:

1). https://www.sfmoma.org/artwork/72-23/

Jasper Johns, Land's End, 1963

This painting is made mostly of greys and browns. The composition is broken up into thirds, each with the words “Red,” “Yellow,” and “Blue” in each, respectively. By listing out the primary colors Johns is giving the viewer an insight into his process. He used red, yellow, and blue (as well as black and white) to create all the colors in the painting and we would not have that context without the text in the painting.

2). https://www.artsy.net/artwork/roy-lichtenstein-whaam

Roy Lichtenstein, Whaam!, 1963

This is an acrylic painting depicting a dogfight between two military planes, one being shot (as is illustrated by the onomatopoeia, ‘whaam’). Lichtenstein contrasts the tragedy and horror of war with the childlike, almost celebratory nature of its depictions in american comics. The onomatopoeia plays a central role in the painting as it brings your attention to the falling plane while physically communicating its sound.

3). http://elainereichek.com/Project_Pages/6_AsShelikesIt/AsSheLikesIt.htm

Elaine Richek, As She Likes It, 2001

This is a series of five embroideries, each with a passage from one of Shakespeare’s works spoken by women. Through the use of Shakespeare (a very famous man) and English (a very patriarchal language), she celebrates womanhood by giving physical form to the words of strong fictional women. This celebration is further emphasized through the medium of embroidery, which is very rarely considered a fine art as it is a ‘female’ craft.

4). https://mcachicago.org/Collection/Items/1992/Lorna-Simpson-She-1992

Lorna Simpson, She, 1992

This is a series of four photographs in a row depicting a faceless figure in a suit under the word “female” in script. The script provides context for the photographs by implying that the figure is ‘female,’ despite presenting traditionally masculine. The photos also give the script a new meaning by illustrating that a ‘female’ does not have to be traditionally feminine. This piece also calls attention to the figures race (by making hands a focal point) and asking challenging viewers to consider their conceptions about black women and masculinity. Visual and verbal language work together in this piece to challenge our preconceived notions about both gender and language.

5). https://www.moma.org/collection/works/202867?sov_referrer=artist&artist_id=7066&page=1

Faith Ringgold, People's Flag Show, 1971

This is a print of black text over a red background. The black box in the upper left and the stripes of text throughout the piece create an american flag. The text calls viewers to reconsider their relationship to the american flag (and therefore America itself). This is only achieved since the image looks like the american flag itself. It is combining written language and the visual language of patriotism to make viewers question their own relationship to it.

Three Ideas:

1). My first idea was to write a comic about gender, labels, and the restrictive nature of language. I would lay out my experience with gendered language sentence by sentence on each 7.5”x5” page, ultimately concluding that language and labels (as they are used now) are ineffective at describing the nuance or complexity of identity. I would keep illustrations and text to a minimum to visually communicate a sense of isolation. I would use a combination of charcoal, ink, block printing, and collage. Most of the text itself would come from found materials (like books, magazines, newspapers), which would make it frustrating to read and mirror the frustration I have with communicating feelings there are no words for.

2). My second idea was to make a series of collages of comic style onomatopoeic texts describing mundane ideas/objects. I’d try to make 5-10 small collages out of brightly colored materials. I would take a lot of inspiration from Jack Kirby and Will Eisner and try to imitate as much of the original newspaper texture as possible. My goal is to play with the contrast of presentation and content of a text. I want to focus on how to make mostly meaningless text communicate a conflicting mood while being aesthetically pleasing. This is the simplest of my ideas but I think it would be the most aesthetically pleasing.

3). My third idea was to find a short clip (2-4 minutes) of people speaking in French and letter it in a way that reflects their tone and therefore the emotion of the clip. I would use ink and collage on an 11”x14” sheet of watercolor paper and exaggerate the volume, timbre, duration as much as I can while keeping it readable. My goal for this would be to illustrate the universality of language and emotion, that even when we don’t understand the specifics of what people are saying we can still get an idea. I would want to communicate as much emotion as possible using (essentially) only visual language.

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composereggwrites · 5 years

Text

The Shibuya Chronicles: TWEWYtober, Day 5 - Sweet

TWEWYtober prompt list

AO3

For all that the proposal had been public, the wedding is a much more private affair.

Warnings: None!

For all that the proposal had been public, the wedding is a much more private affair.

Oh, there would be an event later, of course. A party where all the biggest names in the fashion industry, a party anyone whose name the couple even remotely knew would be invited to. Everything filmed and uploaded for adoring fans to see.

But the wedding itself is small. Shiki and Eri want it that way. Want it to be them and the four other people closest to them. Their family.

In the Room of Reckoning, in front of the throne, Joshua stands tall, wings stretched wide. He wears a sleek, royal purple dress, with silver feather outlines embroidered on the fabric. Eri’s own is a pastel rainbow dress, the colors in stripes around the skirt, with varied lace flowers flowing from the corset to hem, just above the floor.

An array of shining orbs float high above, casting a shimmering rainbow of light throughout the space as she stands to the right of Joshua. Beat is to the right of the aisle, dressed in a dark maroon suit, with the rings atop a pillow.

(And if she hears him sniffling already, she won’t tell a soul.)

On cue, Rhyme walks down the makeshift aisle in their soft yellow suit, tossing flower petals. Once they reach the center, they move to Eri’s right.

Music swells in the air, the tune carried by Shibuya swirls around them, as Shiki steps into sight, with Neku walking her down the aisle. She spares a quick glance at Neku, admiring the burnt orange suit she and Shiki had managed to get him into, before turning her attention to Shiki.

They’d both insisted on waiting until this moment to see each other in their wedding dresses, after all.

Shiki is dressed in a ballgown, like Eri’s, but where Eri’s is sleeveless, Shiki has light blue chiffon covering her arms and the corset. The chiffon continues down to the skirt, each tier alternating between pink and blue layers. To top it off, there are white lace butterflies trailing from the shoulders and down to the waist. Knowing Shiki, they were handmade.

There’s a grin on Shiki’s face as she takes her place (with Neku to her left), and Eri knows her own face must match. Right down to the watery eyes.

Josh takes a step closer with a smile on his face, and guides them, until Shiki and Eri are holding hands, right crossed over left.

“We are gathered here today, in the heart of Shibuya, to witness the union of two talented women,” Joshua begins. “Shiki and Eri, the two of you have built a relationship together. In many ways, as business partners and part of our family, you are already united. This is another layer of commitment to each other.”

One silver cord of light materializes around their hands as he speaks.

“Life is complicated, life is messy. On some days you soar through the clouds, overlooking the world. On others, you may find yourself buried deep beneath the concrete earth. Love is similar. No two moments are ever the same. Days may be spent cuddled together, basking in the presence of each other, while others may be spent with what may feel like an uncrossable rift separating you.” His voice echoes through the room, gravity weighing on it, but as he speaks, she can hear the love, the warmth he has for them in the tone.

“What’s important is your response, how you handle the good and the bad. Love is not a feeling; it is a constant choice. A decision to remain together. It is the promise to cherish each other. Love is effort. Love is seeing the other for who they are, all the ways they shine like stars, and all the faults. Love is a bond, it is standing together, and striving to always improve, to help bring out the best in each other. No matter what the universe may throw at you, love means you will be united. Love is the history you share. Love means you will enjoy the present, and face the uncertain future together.”

A shimmering golden cord of light joins the first.

Eri has to take several breaths. She knows her part is next, knows her words by heart, but there’s so much, and she has to work past the clog in her throat first.

Once she manages, though, she starts her speech.

“Shiki,” she says, “I love you. I have loved you every day of my life, ever since we met. Through all the ups and downs. You are my best friend; you are already part of my family. I am so lucky to have you in my life. I am thankful that we have this chance, that our story has not been cut short by an argument or unfortunate happenstance. I did not fall in love, I took each step down this path knowing that if there were anyone I wanted to spend my life with, it would be you.”

She takes a breath, before continuing. “I promise to love you, to keep making the choice to love you until the ends of our existence. I promise to stand by your side, as we face the world together. Your problems are mine, just as your joys are mine. I promise to share my world with you, and seek to understand your world too. I promise that my love for you knows no bounds, and that I love all of you.”

“That’s so gay,” Shiki says, before she can stop herself.

One second of silence hangs in the air, before everyone laughs.

“We’re so gay, babe,” is all Eri can think to say back as a red cord of light binds their hands together.

Shiki manages to calm down, and Eri’s heart pounds in the moments between her words and Shiki’s speech.

“Eri, I love you,” she says. “I trust you. I could entrust my heart to you, to hold, and know that you would never break it. Even in the darkest times, your words have offered me comfort, and lifted my soul. Together we are family, all of us in this room, and I consider myself blessed to have that include you. I am lucky we can have each other, that we want our relationship to develop in the same ways. I love you, and every choice that has led us here is a choice I cannot regret. Nor will I regret the steps we take forward, united as we greet what the future has to give.”

Eri sees now why Shiki couldn’t resist the impulse to say what she did, because Shiki’s not even through and Eri is overwhelmed.

“I promise to love you,” Shiki continues. “I promise to be your partner, to work with you in all aspects of life. A burden shared is a burden halved, and a joy shared is a joy doubled. We are equals, and shall continue to be two linked parts of this greater machine. I promise that like my stitching, our relationship is a thread that will not cease, even if we do not know how the picture will look when complete.”

Green joins the cords threaded around their hand, as a tear rolls down Eri’s cheek, cool against her skin. She’s comforted by the fact that Shiki has a matching tear, glistening in the light.

Joshua places his hand on top of theirs, and runs them through the vows.

With each set of I dos, a flash of light goes off, and another color joins the bindings. Pink, and blue, and purple. Yellow, and orange, and brown. Manifestations of the bonds between them. Proof of the commitment they give to each other.

And then:

“Shiki, do you take Eri as your wife, in sickness and in health, through good times and poor, as equals, in this life and the next?”

“I do.”

White.

Josh turns to Eri.

“Eri, do you take Shiki as your wife, in sickness and in health, through good times and poor, as equals, in this life and the next?”

The Music in the air swells, as does Eri’s heart, as she nods, and says: “I do.”

Black.

Fire runs across Eri’s skin, warmth spreading outward from her joined hands. Not hot enough to burn, flames licking across her body, and Shiki’s, in all the colors. It shifts to static. It shifts to waves.

It finds a home inside her chest, feet rooted to the ground and eyes locked with Shiki’s, unable to move as Shibuya crashes down around them. As the Composer at her core weaves their threads together. Interlocking songs, notes made to complement each other.

The electric burn rushes through her, through them both, in a way she’s never sensed before. An entire new form of perception opened so she can fall.

But her grip on Shiki’s hands keeps her steady, keeps her from slipping too far.

They do not fall apart, they fall together.

Into each other.

Shiki’s lips meet hers, as Joshua’s voice rings out in the background, saying, “You may now kiss, brides.”

She’s soft, and sweet, just like she’s always been, as their hearts beat together.

The same pulse echoes in both their chests, and Shibuya sings along.

#twewy #the world ends with you #subarashiki kono sekai #twewytober #twewytober 2019 #shiki misaki #shikieri #erishiki #eri #twewy eri #eri (twewy)#Neku Sakuraba #Joshua Kiryu #rhyme bito #beat bito #fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #fluff

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famous-aces · 5 years

Text

Morrissey

Who: Steven Patrick Morrissey

What: Musician

Where: English (Active, internationally)

When: May 22, 1959 - Present

(Image Description: a black and white photo of Morrissey from 1992. He is a young white man in his early thirties with dark hair and eyes. His hair is short and messy. He has thick eyebrows and a strong jawline. He is smiling very slightly. He is wearing a pale knit sweater. End ID)

Morrisey is one of those world-famous single named singers: Cher, Sting, Prince, Madonna, Morrissey. Perhaps a little Bono as, while he is more ironic and droll than the U2 frontman, he also has a reputation for douche-baggery. Morrissey is famous for his music's bleak drama blended with bleak humor, sexually ambiguousness, themes of the past and self-reflection, and being an all around "anti-pop idol".

Morrissey made a name for himself as the frontman for The Smiths in the 1980s (1982-87), but has a successful solo career since 1988 with only a brief hiatus from '98-'03. His most beloved albums include The Queen is Dead (1986), Strangeways, Here We Come (1987), Viva Hate (1988), Your Arsenal (1992), Vauxhall and I (1994), You are the Quarry (2004), Years of Refusal (2009). His most recey album (California Son) came out in February of this year (2019).

He is outspoken politically on, for example, vegetarianism and animal rights and against the monarchy and Americanization. In 2006 a BBC poll voted him the second greatest living British cultural icon.

I admit that while I like the Smiths well enough I had never liked them enough to really follow Morrissey's career, which is odd as I do like the whole punk/new wave/post punk scene very much. But I started listening to him a bit for this and a bit depressing but quite good.

(Image description: a photo of the Smiths backstage in 1984 by Tom Sheehan. From left to right Andy Rourke [a white man with brown hair and a leather jacket. Below that he has on a shirt with what I think is a crow on it. He has his bass slung around his neck and his hands behind his back. He has his head slightly cocked], Morrissey [wearing a striped shirt with a low neck, long necklaces, and square glasses. He has his arms crossed], Mike Joyce [pale with black hair spiked up and his bangs falling into his face. He has on a Smiths t-shirt and is mostly hidden behind the others], and Johnny Marr [pale with a black mop top with long bangs, he is thin with an angular face, he is wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He has his guitar slung around his neck and fingers on the frets.] End ID)

Orientation: Humasexual (A word of Morrissey's own creation meaning "attracted to humans" but I will go into why, in Morrissey's case, it seems to fit under the asexual umbrella.)

I'm breaking my own rule here. Morrissey does not call himself "asexual," but uses his own term: humasexual. But as he defines the term and the nature of his sexual/romantic orientation it fits under the aspec umbrella. At one point Morrissey identifed as a bisexual who "hates sex" and later a "non-practicing bisexual," but be later abandoned that terminology. By the 2010s he was very open on the exact nature of his orientation.

While I would not go up to him and demand he identify as aspec the experience he describes does fit in fairly neatly into our letter of the Alphabet Soup. Again, I would not demand anything of him. He is a human person. Sexual orientation is, in the end, highly personal and individual. Do not be The Guy/Gal/Person. In the end everyone is entitled to name and define their own experience.

It may seem odd that a man who writes a lot about sex/sexual desire in his music could be asexual, but I don't think writing is necessarily indicative of the writer's true feelings. Morrissey agrees, saying time and time again from his earliest fame that he is writing a general story, not a biography. He says of his lyrics that "It was very important for me to try and write for everybody...nothing is ever open and shut.". Remember, while the artist always leaves a trace of themself in their art it is not always in the most obvious way.

I believe his humasexual might be closer to demi (or perhaps gray) than it is to utterly asexual. Aspec, but not at the zero/zero point, when we get to the quotes section I will explain further. Morrissey is definitely not aromantic. But he was intentionally celibate until his mid-thirties. It was then he had his first serious relationship, all by his own admission, not being interested in sex much before that. He still seems to have stints of celibacy. Sex as a "maybe" or a shrug rather than a necessity. And again it took a deep personal connection to his partner for him to even feel the urge to have sex. Indeed, he claimed to "hate" sex before that.

I hope to clear things up in the quotes section when I let Morrissey speak for himself, which he has done, extensively. I included quotes from his most recent public discussion on the matter from 2013.

(Image Description: a more recent photo of Morrissey performing on stage this one in color. He has graying hair now and is slightly larger than he was as a younger man, though he is not overweight. He is just less trim. He is wearing a dark suit. His face is wracked with emotion, eyes closed, mouth open. He has one hand in front of him, open palmed. The other holds the mic to his mouth. End ID)

“Unfortunately, I am not homosexual. In technical fact, I am humasexual. I am attracted to humans. But, of course . . . not many.”

-Morrissey in a statement from October 2013 (quoted by Time Magazine. Emphasis in original as it is the same in multiple sources) (I think this should be obvious. Again, labels are entirely up to the person using them and thus I am not applying one to Morrissey, but clearly he could stand under the ace umbrella mspec romantically and aspec sexually)

"[F]or the first time in my life the eternal ‘I’ becomes ‘we’, as, finally, I can get on with someone, Jake [Owen Walters] and I neither sought not needed company other than our own for the whirlwind stretch to come.”

-Morrissey in his 2013 memoir Autobiography. (Walters was his first serious relationship. The relationship began in 1994 and ended in 1996. It describes sentiment echoed by many demisexuals "'I' becomes 'we'" and "finally I can get on with someone". Also the idea of solitude may reflect an aspec relationship.)

"Girls remained mysteriously attracted to me, and I had no idea why, since although each fumbling foray hit the target, nothing electrifying took place, and I turned a thousand corners without caring … Far more exciting were the array of stylish racing bikes that my father would bring home.”

-Morrissey on being a teenager in that same memoir

"I don't recognise such terms as heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, and I think it's important that there's someone in pop music who's like that. These words do great damage, they confuse people and they make people feel unhappy so I want to do away with them."

-Morrissey in a 1985 interview. (I don't agree with him in the least, my label makes me very happy and I know it makes many other people happy [although I did feel like this before I had my asexual label.] I think he might have been projecting. I think his not quite fitting into anything made him uncomfortable and it shows why he might not be inclined to stick to a traditional label and instead invent his own.)

[Nick] Kent: …[Y]out write a lot about homosexual longing.

Morrissey: I've always said that I leave things very open and that I sing about people. Without limitation. And I don't think that automatically makes me homosexual.

Kent: What about...sexual relationships?

Morrissey: I don't have relationships at all. It's out of the question.

Kent: Why?

Morrissey: Partly because I have always been attracted to men or women who were never attracted to me. And I was never attracted to men or women who were attracted to me. So that's the problem. I've never met the right person.

-A 1985 interview with Nick Kent, quoted by David Brent in Morrissey: Scandal and Passion (2004) (not finding "the right person" seems quite demi to me. He also says that is "part" of the reason. So there is probably a more complicated reason too. Also of note, Morrissey doesn't like Kent [or at least didn't at the time] so odds are he was disinclined to further articulate his most personal life to him. But that is purely speculation and it is dicey waters even speculating that much.)

(Image Description: the album cover of You are the Quarry. It shows Morrissey on a red background holding an old fashioned Tommy gun and wearing an old fashioned pin stripe suit. He takes up most of the left side of the image. Beside him on the right it says "Morrissey, You are the Quarry." End ID)

#lgbtq #queer #asexual #ace #20th century #europe #bi #21st century #modern #english #british #entertainers #musicians #bio #Morrissey

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artfighterblog · 7 years

Note

1-ALLL I wanna know all about the Mun!!!

OwO lol ok ^w^ *gives diedrie a big hug

1. What is the middle name? *leaves it n/a* owo

2. How old are you? OwO 27 wishing i was younger

3. What is your birthday? september 7

4. What is your zodiac sign? virgo owo

5. what is your favorite color? all the colors of purple >=3

6. What’s your lucky number? would it suprise you if i said 7? cause thats my lucky number x3

7. Do you have any pets? Yes but its my sister’s dog though that is a goldendoodle they are lovely dogs that loves playing with kids. but also good guard dogs.

8. Where are you from? USA kansas xP

9. How tall are you? i am 5′8 owo

10. What shoe size are you? oh gawd shoe sizes are evil if its in womens i gotta get size 12 if its in mens i gotta grab 13, But i happen to lose weight over the 2 years from before so i had to go slightly smaller size shoes. So i am unsure the size right now.

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? I would say about 5 i think all for different occasion *has lost count cause she kept some old shoes for outside yard work.*

12. What was your last dream about? Hmmm the last thing i remember was that I was talking to black shadows and sparring supposingly it was supposed to be a nightmare but i manage to turn it around i guess *shrugs*

13. What talents do you have? hmmm well i am good at writing some stuff cause i can write a short one and leave a good cliff hanger. But love to draw alot x3. and messing with yarn still learning all of the basics when it comes to crochet.

14. Are you psychic in any way? Now i wouldn’t really call it physic but I often do see ghosts from time to time that would give you guys the chills x3. But the problem having that ability growing up was hard cause i kept it a secret only cause i was scared to be called crazy or insane. But i was taught alot of things thanks to some ghosts i have met but i also learn not all of them are safe to talk to as well. So be careful if you have this ability or if your child happens to have this. Cause some ghosts are not safe and tend to try to lure you away.

15. favorite song? omg this is hard can i just say imagine dragons is the favorite band please? love too many of their songs but if i was to choose it would be raidioactive

16. Favorite movie? spirit away =D

17. Who would be your ideal partner? owo that would be someone who i can chill to hang out with and that we just be ourselfs to be honest. I rather place no judgement if i can between the partner and me only cause i rather have us have fun and be able to relax.

18. Do you want children? x3 me and my hubby has talked about this since ours is a distant relationship we did decide if we ever got to move together to be in the same house its a definate yes.

19. Do you want a church wedding? That i don’t know actually to be honest that would be somthing down later in the future road i rather think of the present than worry about later in the future.

20. Are you religious? now this kind of topic i rather stay away if i can but i am most comfortable talking to my hubby with. Only because i seen alot of wars between people who are religious and some who are not. I rather respect both sides if i can to be honest. even though to being religious i would say i am a little cause i am a wiccan gonna be honest here. But i still respect all religions if i possibly can and i even have respect for the preists as well.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Yes i have alot of good and bad memories i have out of going there the last thing i been there for though was worrying about my grandpa which i am still worrying about him even now. Which I am hoping he can live a bit longer. Cause he is a great man to be honest.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Not really like the last thing i got trouble for was accidently speeding and I had apologize to the officer which he did gave me a ticket but i didn’t have to pay for it just take the ticket in and was warned to be more careful next time. Which i am more careful and try my best to stay out of trouble.

23. Have you ever met any celebrities? nope i haven’t =/ but i probly would freak out just a little but try to stay calm as well.

24. Baths or showers? Can i say both? please =3

25. What color of socks are you wearing? Was wearing black grayesh socks last night but took them off lol =3

26. Have you ever been famous? nope =3

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Hmmm i would say yes but i rather work for it.

28. What type of music do you like? to be honest i love all kinds of music but i love the most is country rock

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? um no I haven’t owo

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? uhhh....*counts* about 5 big pillows and 2 small little ones owo

31. What position do you sleep in? which ever is the most comfortable but mostly sleep on my side.

32. How big is your house? owo....idk.....*shrugs*

33. what do you typically have for breakfast? which ever sounds good but love susage sandwiches the most. but somtimes i would make myself a really fluffy egg omelette =3

34. Have you ever fired a gun? Yes but only because my uncle was teaching me how to use one properly to get over my fear. Cause i rather be able to move if i get stuck a situation one day instead of being frozen in fear. I rather help those in need to get out of the dangerous situation if i can.

35. Have you ever tried archery? Yes when i was little i went to church camp and tried archery there it was actually alot of fun learning how to use the bow.

36. favorite clean word? meep

37. favorite swear word? uhhh.....welp i know some of you will laugh real hard cause i said this a few times and left my hubby laughing alot hearing this. quote “What the flying fuck?!” x3

38.Whats the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? only one day i went without sleep.

39. Do you have any scars? uhhh.....*hides her scars.* sorry leaving that n/a? owo

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? hmmm nope owo

41. Are you a good liar? hmm i don’t really like lieing to be honest i only do this only if there is a good reason cause alot of drama does happen quiet often in the family and i only do this to avoid it. so i am somewhat a good one but i rather not do it it if i can.

42. Are you a good judge of character? umm idk?

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? um no not really although i have a few people in irl who keeps saying i have some sort of accent and idk where it comes from.

44. Do you have a strong accent? um idk again owo

45. What is your favorite accent? owo uhh.....*shrugs*

46. what is your personality type? i would say just a fun loving type of personality with a slight dark humor once a while even though we don’t mean to have the dark humor to happen.

47. what is your most expensive piece of clothing? uhh....i would say a dress?

48. Can you curl your tougue? heck yea x3

49. Are you an innie or an outie? I am both =3 but mostly an innie

50. Left or right handed? i am right handed

51. Are you scared of spiders? uh... I am but spiders and me go to war actually cause i had got bit all the time by them spiders.

52. favorite food? Anything Pasta related! =D

53. Favorite foreign food? Chinese food

54. are you a clean or a messy person? a little of both owo

55. most used phrased? idk owo

56. Most used word? merp =P

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? about 1 hour. to 30 min.s if i rush like mad almost about 10 min. flat.

58. Do you have much of an ego? ego? what ego? *has no ego*

59.Do you suck or bite lollipops? I only suck unless there’s somthing in the middle then i bite it.

60. Do you talk to yourself? I often do only when i am thinking or trying to decide on things to make a right choice. and yes this actually helps me think of a better choice.

61. Do you sing to yourself? owo yes i do when i am by myself.

62. Are you a good singer? ehh? idk?

63. biggest fear? I think i have a slight fear of abandonment i think but i think the worst one is snakes even though i found them cute on the net. the old biggest fear used to be guns.

64. Are you a gossip? I rather not gossip if i can actually.

65. best dramatic movie you’ve seen? can i say the best scary movie please? if i can i would say resident evil.

66. Do you like long or short hair? I like both actually owo but long hairs are harder to maintain.

67. Can you name all 50 states of america? I think if i can i would name all of them but its been a while so i might forget a couple actually.

68. Favorite school subject? owo Art class!

69. Extrovert or introvert? mostly introvert but i still like going outside once a while.

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? nope but would love to one day

71. what makes you nervous? Um not knowing whats gonna happen next if things do get complicated

72. Are you scared of the dark? Yes V w V but mostly if i am outside at night is where its worse but i am fine inside the building.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? only if i can somtimes i am not able to all the time.

74. Are you ticklish? yes sadly lol.

75. Have you ever started a rumor? no and actually i don’t like dealing with rumors.

76. have you ever been in a position of authority? nope but it would be interesting to try i guess.

77. Have you ever drank underage? nope actually i never gone drinking dispite my age.

78. Have you ever done drugs? noppity nope never done them and never will.

79. Who was your first real crush? sorry keepin that a secret owo

80. How many piecrings do you have? one for each ear owo so only 2

81. can you roll your rs? uhh....idk? *has no clue what rs is*

82. How fast can you type? last i checked it was about 60 on the speed scale on that mavis bacon typing program.

83. How fast can you run? uhh idk....

84. What color is your hair? dark brown

85. What color is your eyes? hazel so a bit of blue and green

86. What are you allergic to? eh feathers (sorry bird friends i can’t touch birds owo) house dust might and mold. which i find this silly.

87. Do you keep a journal? nope

88. What do your parents do? eh....sorry leaving that n/a guys

89. Do you like your age? to be honest i wish i am younger but its ok really cause i at least can help my family by having a job and help pay the bills. which allows me to spoil my mom once a while. Why cause she deserves it ^^.

90. What makes you angry? oh well i really don’t get angry really easy mostly if it comes to family members starting drama and start shit up that they shouldn’t be doing and lie and steal yea i can get angry really easy then. And i had people get scared of me before cause i was like angry but looked calm at the same time. I try my best not to get angry cause i rather think clearly if i can to find out whats actually going on to help fix the situation.

91. Do you like your own name?.....*leaves it n/a*

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? um owo.....sadly nope.. i am not good with names to be honest. I try my best to come up with good ones if i do get stuck picking one though.

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? Eh?...idk i just rather leave it up to fate of what comes first in the future.

94. What are your strengths? I think my biggest strength i have is helping on calming a person down really and somtimes letting them lean on me to cry if they needed it.

95. What are your weaknesses? owo hmm not sure i think seeing cute things is my weakness lol.

96. how did you get your name? eh? i came up with this name a long time ago when i was younger i loved to draw and do alot of art related stuff but I also love playing fighting games as well. and actually had 1 year of karate as well.

97. were y our ancestors royalty? umm idk? it would be cool to find out owo.

98. Do you have any scars? owo uhh.. *hides her scars once again* why did this question come up the second time?

99. Color of your bedspread? white with a few other colors on it mostly green. been thinking about getting a new different one.

100. Color of your room? white if i had the choice i would paint it purple not only cause purple is my favorite color but also its a calm color to have in the bedroom.

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mischievousmarvelousmagical-blog · 7 years

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oh, tall is the tale of the mischievous one / who fished out all the islands and captured the sun / his deeds and tasks i will unmask / so that you'll understand / that before there was a clark kent / there was a hawaiian superman

Archetype — The Hero Birthday — February 14, 1997 Zodiac Sign — Aquarius MBTI — ENFP Enneagram — Type 2: The Helper Temperament — Sanguine Hogwarts House — Hufflelin Moral Alignment — Chaotic Good Primary Vice — Pride Primary Virtue — Patience Element — Water

[tw brief mention of abuse]

Overview:

Mother — Kai Akalana (nee Hale) Father — Lani Akalana Mother’s Occupation — Waitress/singer-entertainer Father’s Occupation — Fisherman Family Finances — Poor Birth Order — Youngest Brothers — Malo (28) the Serious One, Mana (26) the Sporty One, Moke (24) the Smart One, Mele (22) the Soft One Sisters — sisters-in-law Other Close Family — Alani (27, sister-in-law, Malo’s wife), Gabrielle (10, niece, Malo and Alani’s daughter), Sailor (7, nephew, Malo and Alani’s son); Hayley (25, sister-in-law, Mana’s wife), Jasper (4, nephew, Mana and Hayley’s son); Odelia (23, sister-in-law, Moke’s wife); Fawn (2, niece, Moke and Odelia’s daughter). Best Friend — Celia Gorgon Other Friends — Lymantria Khan, Periwinkle Frostbrittle, Annette Grant why are all of these women? Dipper Pines and Kovu Sauda his roomiesss -- also a lot of OCs tbh Enemies — uhh bad guys Pets — None D: but he totally wants one Home Life During Childhood — Hard and busy; Maui usually got up at the crack of dawn to go out on the fishing boat for a few hours before school. His father was a very stern man and he and his father had a lot of conflict. His mother is a delicate lil lady and his father was often mean to her and Maui hated it. Also all his brothers picked on him for being scrawny. Town or City Name(s) — Hana, Maui; Hawa’ii What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like — He shared with Mele, it was always messy. Painted blue but very sparse because they couldn’t afford lots. They had bunkbeds. Maui had the top. Rotated sleeping on the couch tho bc there were only four beds. Any Sports or Clubs — He reallyyyy wanted to be on the soccer team, but he was too busy with fishing and helping out at the restaurant and his father wouldn’t let him. Favorite Toy or Game — He like to play pranks on people. (I’m terrible at coming up w pranks so pretend I listed a few good ones). Schooling — His father didn’t hold school in very high regard so Maui dropped out when he was sixteen to work on the fishing boats. Favorite Subject — uhhh none of them tbh Popular or Loner — Kind of in the middle. Everyone knew who he was and he could flit from friend group to friend group but he never had any close friends Important Experiences or Events — Becoming Maui, when his father told him that he had to quit school in order to help out, one time his dad hit his mom that was p traumatizing Nationality — Hawaiian (American, he guesses.) Culture — Polynesian Religion and beliefs — pretty agnostic, but likes the old legends

Physical Appearance

Face Claim — Bob Morley Complexion — He still gets the stray pimple every now and then but all that salt water was A+ for his skin. He’s got lotsa freckles on his nose and cheeks. Nice tanned skin. Hair Colour — Black Eye Colour — Brown Height — 5’10 Build — broad shoulders, def more upper body strength than lower but all around rather fit, on the shorter side but holds himself well Tattoos — MAUI written on the inside of his right forearm. One that completely covers his shoulder with an intricate combination of music notes, fish hooks, shark’s teeth, and enata (or people). He also had artistic representation of waves and wind as a band around his left ankle. He also has a little cat that moves around his body, but generally likes to curl up in the crook of one of his collar bones. Piercings — none Common Hairstyle — Floppy and messy. Maui never brushes his hair so it’s just a tangled curly mess and tbh Celia probably has to trim it so it stays outta his eyes otherwise he never would. Clothing Style — jeans + t-shirt + sneakers bam Mannerisms — talks with his hands a lot, is literally always smiling, gets fidgety when he’s thinking a lot or is nervous Usual Expression —

Health

Overall (do they get sick easily)? — he’s pretty healthy, tho he gets colds in the winter bc he’s not used to the cold Physical Ailments — fit as a fiddle Neurological Conditions — tbh maui is probably one of my most mentally healthy (don’t mean he’s right in the head tho hehe) Allergies — none! Grooming Habits — he’s a typical boy. He showers...sometimes. Like every other day, maybe every day ehhh. Does laundry when Absolutely Necessary. Sleeping Habits — sleeps like a goddamn rock. Goes to bed late, wakes up early, but he can go back to sleep sometimes and then he’ll like sleep all day Eating Habits — will eat anything and everything in sight. I don’t think there is a food he doesn’t like Exercise Habits — Maui swims--a lot. If it is cold he goes to the pool at the gym. He also jogs, lifts weights, tries to stay generally fit, but he’s also pretty naturally fit. Emotional Stability — honestly?? Maui is so stable?? Emotionally? He has a lot of growing to do, but he doesn’t fight it really, and though he isn’t always true to the emotions he’s feeling, he can recognize them. He’s got a lot of toxic masculinity but that is really the only thing super holding him back. Oh, and his narcissism probably (which is kinda fake anyway) Body Temperature — He runs pretty warm but when it is cold outside, so is he. Sociability — Maui is really extroverted, and he can also adapt to almost any situation. His ultimate goal is for people to like him, which means he always does his best to get people to like him. Addictions — none tbh Drug Use — he actually doesn’t do drugs (used to smoke pot on the rare occasion but lowkey he was too afraid of if his dad found out.) He will smoke a lil weed on a v rare occasion. Alcohol Use — He drinks at parties and he can get pretty drunk, but he rarely drinks otherwise and is pretty responsible tbh

Your Character’s Character:

Bad Habits — the fact he’s narcissistic. Also he puts a lot of pressure on himself. Can sometimes not think before he speaks and tease people who shouldn’t be teased and then hurt their feelings. He can be a bit brash, but endearingly so, for the most part. Good Habits — tries to take care of people, takes good care of his body. Best Characteristic — his friendliness! Worst Characteristic — his #fakeness Worst Memory — honestly?? Winning the maui competition, he carries a lot of guilt. Best Memory — ...winning the maui competition. Look it is complicated. Proud of — being Maui Embarrassed by — the fact he literally is the worst Maui ever Driving Style — actually Maui is a really good driver, if not a bit of a speed demon. Strong Points — the fact he is able to manipulate himself to suit people’s needs Temperament — the chillest. It is really hard to rile him up and make him mad. Almost too chill Attitude — friendly! Weakness — his secrets and crippling self doubt lol Fears — that people will know he’s fake and he can’t help them Phobias — doesn’t have any Secrets — that he cheated to win the Maui competition Regrets — cheating to win the Maui competition lol Feels Vulnerable When — he actually emotionally connects w someone lol Pet Peeves — people who aren’t willing to help themselves/people that give up Conflicts — wanting to be the Best Maui Ever while also knowing he cheated and is the Worst Maui Ever Motivation — to live up to the name of Maui; for people to like him Short Term Goals and Hopes — to help people! Long Term Goals and Hopes — to be the Best Maui Ever Sexuality — why is this here??? He is straight lmao Day or Night Person — day tbh Introvert or Extrovert — extrovert Optimist or Pessimist — uhhhh an optimistic pessimist? idk

Likes and Styles:

Music — he likes lots of stuff, kind of alt rock--but also lots of hawaiian music. Some oldies. Everyone likes the beach boys. Also loves stuff he can dance to! Books — maui lowkey does not have great reading comprehension so he doesn’t read for fun really Magazines — ones that he’s in Foods — all foods but he lovesss fresh fruit Drinks — anything really tbh but he’s gotten real turned onto hot chocolate in the winter Animals — anything aquatic really but his fave is probably iguanas. Sports — all sports! Soccer is his fave tho Social Issues — maui is...learning. I would love for him to like become a feminist but he’s a long way away. Though he is p aware of like--POC issues, since he comes from a marginalized community that is like used for their culture to up tourism and is considered ~~exotic Favorite Saying — “A ship is safe at harbor, but that’s not what it was built for.” Color — Blue! Clothing — typical boy, normally just a t-shirt/jeans Jewelry — none really tho he has some wooden bracelets he wears Games — maui doesn’t game a lot Websites — or surf the web unless it is to google himself lmao TV Shows — eh, he doesn’t watch tv a whole lot Movies — again, doesn’t watch a lot but prolly likes action films Greatest Want — to be needed; to help people Greatest Need — to realize he’s fine just the way he is /pets

Where and How Does Your Character Live Now:

Home — Room 421 on PrideU’s campus. Roommate: Dipper Pines. Flatmates: Kovu Sauda and Declan Craig. Household furnishings — typical dorm stuff Favorite Possession — his hook! Most Cherished Possession — also his hook lol Neighborhood — lives on campus Town or City Name — Swynlake Details of Town or City — small town; magick-friendly etc Married Before — nope Significant Other Before — has never rly dated Children — lol no Relationship with Family — despite the fact his brothers and him fight all the time, he really loves his brothers and is pretty close to them. Is definitely a mama’s boy as the baby of the family. Has a tense relationship with his dad. He also loves his nieces and nephews. SO. MUCH. Car — he had a jeep back home that he shared with Mele and his mom. He misses his car Career — ...a demigod? Dream Career — a demigod. Dream Life — being the Best Maui Ever Love Life — has lots of hook ups, he is satisfied with this Talents or Skills — is a great swimmer Intelligence Level — he’s actually really smart despite not being book savvy Finances — he’s got a stipend for being Maui, but he still has to be careful in order to make ends meet. His family is very poor, but is now being taken care of

Your Character’s Life Before Your Story:

Past Careers — worked on fishing boats/sometimes as a busboy at the restaurant his mom works at Past Lovers — a couple girls, but not that many, no serious relationships Biggest Mistakes — cheating and being a general shit Biggest Achievements — becoming Maui!

#about #character sheet #inspiration #im so satisfied w this #i love my maui

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aiqc · 7 years

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TV MEME: Day 11 - A show that disappointed you

TV MEME: Day 11 – A show that disappointed you

Gotta love the easy ones. I could go with the go to easy ones: The 100, Stargate: Atlantis, The Originals, Battlestar Galactica, Lost Girl, Arrow, How I Met Your Mother, The Last Ship. There are so many to choose, it’s almost unfair, but I’m gonna go with a recent disappointment. Keep it topical. Supergirl. Oh, this show. It could have given me everything I’ve wanted for so long. It could’ve been…

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Gotta love the easy ones. I could go with the go to easy ones: The 100, Stargate: Atlantis, The Originals, Battlestar Galactica, Lost Girl, Arrow, How I Met Your Mother, The Last Ship. There are so many to choose, it's almost unfair, but I'm gonna go with a recent disappointment. Keep it topical.

Supergirl.

Oh, this show. It could have given me everything I've wanted for so long. It could've been a contender. Here's the thing I love Supergirl. Kara Zor-El was the first superhero I ever encountered in that terrible-amazing 80s movie. I've loved her for so long and like a lot of members of the Superfamily, she gets overshadowed by Clark. That's fair, he's Superman, he's a DC staple and icon, but unlike the Batfamily, the Superfamily and Wonderfamily get less traction. So for me, a Supergirl stan~ I was so so happy about a show about my favourite girl. And for a while it looked like it was doing okay. It wasn't going to be ground breaking tv, it's a comic book show, and while it started off doing a lot of great things, as soon as it moved to The CW things started to implode.

I'm not saying the first season was without fault, because no show is. It could have had more POC actors and characters. James and J'onn were the only ones, both black men in key positions for the story, but it had no others. There were no women of colour at all and there was no LBGT+ characters. It also opened with a "no homo" joke that there really wasn't a need for, the writing of the James/Lucy relationship really did nothing for James' character(isation). The writing was standard with key moments of greatness in which it used the themes presented by the narrative of the show to highlight things like:

illegal alien immigration, get it? Because they're actual aliens! Ha ha!

refugees (the Syrian refugee crisis was at a high point in the news during season one)

the way black people, black men especially (because there were no black women on the show at the time), have to act in public/professionally to get respect and acknowledgement

the way women have to act in public/professionally to get respect and acknowledgement

the socio-economic differences a black man has to deal with in comparison to a white woman

the layers of complexities within a blended family

various moments about sisterhood and how complicated that relationship can be

All of this was discussed under the overall theme of the show, which was: girl power. Not a surprise since the show is called Supergirl and it was about Supergirl and Kara Danvers. It was about her heroic arc and trying to find her own way outside her cousin's shadow. It was about her trying to balance her everyday life and her superhero self. It was about the bonds of sisterhoods and how they're not always easy to traverse. It was about being an outsider, an immigrant, a refugee, with passing privilege in a world that's xenophobic and racist. It had a romance! Our romantic lead was a black man, who was struggling with his own growth and identity. James "Jimmy" Olsen is a staple in the Superman mythos and the show did the same The Flash did with the West family and cast a black actor in a previously white dominated role making it near impossible to write him aside. It had another black man in a position of power and mentorship with his own complicated backstory. It brought in the Lanes, in the shape of Lucy and Gen. Lane! I love the Super-Lane relationships! Our main, and frankly forgettable antagonist was Lex Luthor Lite, but at least they tried. Cat Grant, our other mentor, was a guide post in terms of (white) feminism and confidence. The main conflict towards the end of the season was why does the world need Supergirl when it has Superman and it did a commendable job answering that question.

And then season two came. Look, I don't want to blame it all on the change of network from CBS to The CW, but wow, you can't really look at it, see the changes that happened almost immediately and not go: well shit, The CW strikes again.

First thing first, Calista Flockhart left the show, because she made it clear in season that if the show moved to Vancouver from L.A. she wouldn't go with it. Fine, bye Cat. I liked her fine, but I wasn't going to miss her. Cat was a good mentor Kara in season one, as she helped Kara find her confidence, but I found people put more importance on Cat's influence on Kara than say other more influential and equally important people in Kara's life. Also they introduced Snapper Carr as Kara's work mentor and made him a Latinx man. I found that to be a great change, because hey! more representation, and Snapper was a bit better in terms of the kind of mentor Kara needed as a journalist. Cat was the person telling Kara: don't apologise for being a girl, which is a great message, but Cat was also the person telling Kara to sabotage another relationship to get what she wanted. (White Feminism TM.) Snapper is the person telling Kara: you gotta work had to be good journalist. This, in my honest opinion, was a good change.

It also brought in Superman. A tricky choice, the thing everyone was worried about and hilariously this was what worked out fine. Tyler Hoechlin did a great job with Clark and they even mildly explained the hilarious non-age difference. Clark is meant to be like 20 years older than Kara in this universe, Tyler Hoechlin is definitely not 20 years older than Melissa Benoist, he looks like he's barely even five years older, but a throwaway line about Kryptonian ageing on Earth and cute enough chemistry can handwave a lot of tiny nitpicks. (Though I don't know why they didn't just get Tom Welling back ;) ) And it brought in the Luthor family in the shape of Lena and Lillian Luthor, which it was excellent choice to have Supergirl's Luthor ally (and maybe future antagonist; Lena's a Luthor they're gonna play this angle and if they don't they should. Remember Tess Mercer? What a great arc.) and current villain be both women. It included Miss Martian as a minor character, played by Sharon Leal, a black actress, finally bringing in a WOC into the show, whose own story about identity and choice and morality was great, if quickly shoved aside.

One last thing it did that well before we start the quick downward spiral on how this show broke my heart. Maggie Sawyer. Maggie is a cop. Maggie is also a lesbian and in a relationship with Alex. Now, I have no problem with Maggie herself, or her character, or her relationship with Alex. I love the show went this route with Alex and Maggie. This is some of the LGBT+ representation the audience wanted. I will agree with the criticism that the relationship felt a little rushed but hey, tv, ya know. My problem lies in the casting. Floriana Lima is a beautiful woman. She lights up the screen. She's what some people call spicy white. A white person who can pass for brown, partially in part because she's Italian and hey, Hollywood has absolutely loved casting Italians as Latinx or other brown minorities. Lima could even be mixed, and she doesn't need to tell us if she is, but as it stand just saying she has Italian heritage means she's white. I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. This would have been fine, except Maggie was also said to be a Latinx woman (from Nebraska).

As a Latinx woman this burns. It burned more when I kept seeing people defend this because they were okay with the LGBT+ inclusion, so who cares if the WOC in the WLW relationship was being played by an ambiguously tan white woman? Well, I care! They should have cared too, but hey, racism and shitty production choices doesn't matter until it affects the white parts of fandom. I'll get to that in a second, but first. Being Latinx is an incredibly messy and complicated thing. It's not a race, we come in all different colours, but the majority of Latinx who get to break into Hollywood are either white latinx, pass for white, or harness the latinx stereotype Hollywood likes and make bank on it. I would have been way happier had they cast a white latinx instead of an actress who had the "right" stereotypically conceived look what they think a Latinx person is. I would also told them to do better, because there's a whole world out there of non-white latinx who deserved a shot.

But the Maggie/Alex relationship because huge in fandom and it carried a lot of people through in season two even after the erasure a WOC and of a black man's storyline, because Supergirl fandom is incredibly transparent.

Now, let's get to the show's other main problem that was foreshadow and yelled about since the season two premiere by, you guessed it, POC, namely black, fans of the show. The "slow" erasure of James Olsen as the show's main male romantic lead. Ah, let's go back to the beginning... well, end of season one. Where after a season of immediate mutual attraction, some childish jealousy, a few breakup, a couple makeup, some very cute flirting, James and Kara get to have it. Their moment. The moment that's been building up since Kara walked into James' office at Catco and went: oh shit he's hot. They kiss! And because of the drama of television, the kiss get interrupted and Kara has to go save the world. Classic superhero stuff! But hey, we had season two coming! And the show was moving was to The CW, where they were/are doing a pretty great job with the interracial relationship between Barry Allen and Iris West! Things were looking good! So what if they had brought in Mon-El to create intergalactic drama?! Intergalactic drama is good for a show with aliens! James and Kara were gonna be the Lois and Clark of National City! Magic was in the air!!!! Crops were growing! Skin was clear! etc etc

And then they broke them up in the first episode of season two a mere 12 hours after their Big Moment in canon having them state: oh it felt forced.

Can you say WTF? Because I can and I did.

Did you see what happened? Do you see it above? Where I'm going with this?

I bet you do, you guys are smart.

The CW's strikes again. The CW's habit of listen to a fandom when it shouldn't and it's preference for anti-hero angsty white male leads strikes again.

Let's hit the fandom point first because it's easy and fastest to explain: racism. It really is as simple as that. From the get go, for however much people talk about diversity, representation, equality, a lot fandom is incredibly racist, internalised or not, and usually they're very loud. In season one you could tell, you ignored it because the show seemed committed to telling the love story of James/Kara but you could tell. Maybe some people had no legitimate interest in their romance or felt their chemistry was off, but it was interesting to watch as throughout season one a lot of fandom would happily ship Kara with every other white person on the show and not with James. Shortlist: Cat (SuperCat was an incredibly transparent ship for all it's WLW activist. White lgbt+ feminism strikes again. Strike Two.), SuperLane (a ship I would be all for, and was all for, but again incredibly transparent for same reasons as before), Winn (who Kara from the first episode showcased she had no interest in romantically), that random character Melissa's IRL husband played. And while James/Kara had a strong following, it was a following that kept being drowned out by the other loud voices in fandom who had no interest in a black man being the main romantic lead of the darling white girl superhero fave. And I say this as someone who LOVES Kara Zor-El/Danvers/Kent.

So The CW, a network well know for listening to it's fandom and pandering to it (see Arrow, see The Vampire Diaries, see Supernatural) did what it did best. Now, because of James Olsen, played charmingly on the show by Mechad Brooks, is part the Superman mythos it was pretty hard to completely erase him in one go. He's Superman/Clark Kent's BFF, he's an aspiring and award winning photojournalist, he's a good guy. So they gave him a heroic arc as The Guardian to appease fans. Could have been great if outside a short 3-5 episode run we actually saw that arc develop throughout the season. You may ask why all this happened? Why didn't we see this arc for James really develop, who would now be put in position as Kara's romantic lead?

We've arrived at point two: it's preference for anti-hero angsty white male leads strikes again. Mon-El. Oh, a name I never thought I'd hate so much.

I'm not going to go into his entire story arc in season, because I don't care about the character, what's important to know is that his entrance into the show effectively turns season two into: Mon-El's journey as someone who tries to be a hero to impress a girl so she likes him more. Bonus: he's an ex-slave owning prince of a misogynist planet, who lied about who he was until his mom and dad showed back. So yes, the show changed Kara's romantic lead from a black man who struggles with his identity and wants to help people because he's inspired by the heroes around him to: a white man who lies to get the girl until he can't anymore, but it's okay, he's a better person now because she made him better. I cannot. And then it gets worse, because it's not bad enough that Mon-El surplants James' position in the show. He steals what should have the last arc of the show about Kara vs Lillian Luthor vendetta against aliens on Earth, something that was set up in the early half of season two, and is also a big overall theme of the show into Mon-El's mom wants to take over Earth and hates his new girlfriend. This isn't like in season one where it's militant Kryptonians who Kara cared about as members of family and she has to make a choice between her new and old world, an internal conflict within her. It's about her boyfriend's mom being an evil dictator who thinks slavery is a good idea an thinks Kara is not good enough because she's Kyprotian. And sure this could have worked, if it hadn't been framed around Mon-El's struggle and choices and if the overall insult and dismissing of the POC and LGBT+ characters of the show hadn't been victims to this storyline. As Mon-El gains more and more screen time, James loses screentime, Maggie loses screentime, Alex and Kara's relationship loses its central position in the narrative.

The thing is, though, a lot of this could have been avoided if the writers and producers of the show had stepped and protected their characters. If they had stuck to their guns with James as their romantic lead, if they had stuck with Kara's journey being more important another white man who's struggling with his faux heroism. The Flash has done with the Iris West and the rest of the West family, as well as Cisco. They have protected their POC characters and actors. It can be done on The CW. I've seen it. But they didn't with Supergirl and essentially made the same mistake Arrow did when it listened to a certain sector of its fandom and ended up sacrificing story and character for quick praise. Something that ended up backfiring on them big time, because fandom is mercurial and when they realised that the show had essentially become about Mon-El they kept Maggie/Alex on the backburner and made Kara's story all about her feelings towards Mon-El.

I'm not going to get into the Kara/Lena debate too deeply because the show was never going to go there, and as much as fandom loved the idea of it, it also used it the "possibility" and white women loving white women "activism" as a way to excuse James' erasure from the narrative. It certainly didn't help when at Comic-Con the cast insulted that subsect of fandom, but the fact that it wasn't until then that people called the show "bad about representation", um. Well, let's just say some people stopped watching the show once they realised they didn't care about non-white actors or characters.

Supergirl's season two honestly slowly dismantled everything that could have been truly great about the show. It took a show about one my absolute favourite superheroes, who struggles with being an immigrant, who is surrounded by people who struggle with their identity, who want to be and do good, who are minorities and made it into a show about another white man who's looking for redemption in someone else's heroism. All this while actively dismissing their LGBT+ and POC audiences and characters. It stopped being a show about inclusion and started excluding all the minorities that used to feel represented by the show. What a disappointment.

I really hope the show redeems itself somehow, but I just don't see it happening. But if the DCMU could give me Superman/Batman: Apocalypse I'd really really appreciate.

#supergirl #tv meme #tv talk

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gravitys-empire · 5 years

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Not that anyone asked

1. Middle name - Aquino

2. Age - 25

3. Birthday - june 15th

4. Zodiac - gemini

5. Color - burgundy

6. Lucky number - i like to believe it's 3

7. Pets - none but i want 2 cats and a rottweiler or a black shepherd

8. Where are you from - philippines

9. Height - 5'5"

10. Shoe size - 8.5 i think

11. sexuality/identification - cisfemale. i've often thought about this but it doesn't feel as if i've any inclination towards anybody else other than cismales. i'm often aesthetically attracted to women and effeminate males but never romantically.

12. What was your last dream about - couldn't explain it if i tried. it was strange as usual, involving my workplace crush...who is taken, and who i don't really think of as often as you'd think for a crush so i'm at a loss for his frequent presence in my dreams

13. Talents - i can dance and draw well i suppose. i can stay up for however long if need be, if that's a talent

14. Are you psychic in any way - probably for the rain or for bad things at work? Hahaha

15. Favorite song - you only get what you give by the new radicals

16. Favorite movie - never could choose, but among them would be Mirrormask, Kill Your Darlings, and Dead Poets Society

17. Do you want children - not at the moment, no. perhaps it'll change as i get older but i've never seen myself rearing children

18. Do you want a church wedding - don't really care for it, but if my future husband wants it, i won't oppose

19. Are you religious - furthest from it and i grew up in a catholic school. i have issues with organized religion.

20. Have you ever been to the hospital - more often than i prefer

21. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law - almost but not quite

22. Have you ever met any celebrities - never actually met one, no, but i was in the same plane as my favorite local celebrity once

23. Baths or showers - we don't have a tub but if we did it'd be baths for me. i only recently discovered the joy of them.

24. What color socks are you wearing - i hate wearing socks at home! but normally they'd be striped so can't say

25. Have you ever been famous - hell no

26. Would you like to be a big celebrity - hell no. perhaps as a ghost writer or a faceless researcher or an anonymous artist

27. What type of music do you like - it varies from blackpink to tchaikovsky but i'm currently in a classical mood

28. Have you ever been skinny dipping - no and i don't think i ever will, unless it's in a clean private pool

29. How many pillows do you sleep with - 3-4, inluding a body pilow

30. What position do you usually sleep in - on my side but i often wake up on my back

31. How big is your house - bigger than i would like as my family seems to want to fill every inch of space with stuff. my room is half empty and i love it.

32. What do you typically have for breakfast - some pastry or eggs, nothing big as i hate big breakfasts

33. Have you ever fired a gun - no but my uncle taught me how

34. Have you ever tried archery - yes but only in a studio

35. Favorite clean word - circumlocution

36. Favorite dirty word - crap

37. What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep - 3 days for my thesis

38. Do you have any scars - plenty but all of them by accident and nothing big

39. Have you ever had a secret admirer - yes

40. Are you a good liar - yes to people who don't know me very well

41. Are you a good judge of character - i like to think so

42. Can you do any other accents other than your own - nope

43. Do you have a strong accent - i've been told that i don't have an accent when i speak english. i'm better at it than my mother-tongue, which is quite sad, really.

44. What is your favorite accent - italian, old american (like in movies), irish, and rich british (i don't know how to explain it, the posh kind but not nasal or royal)

45. What is your personality type - intj? enneagram type 5? unconventional? uncertain? too rational?

46. What is your most expensive piece of clothing - my docs

47. Can you curl your tongue - limitedly yes

48. Are you an innie or an outie - innie

49. Left or right handed - right

50. Are you scared of spiders - yes

51. Favorite food - honey butter chips

52. Favorite foreign food - sashimi

53. Are you a clean or messy person - clean but not anal

54. Most used phrase - well i mean

55. Most used word - well and really

56. How long does it take for you to get ready - 1.5 hours if leisurely, 30 minutes if not

57. Do you have much of an ego - more than i care to admit

58. Do you suck or bite lollipops - suck until they're small enough to bite

59. Do you talk to yourself - only in my head and in my notes

60. Do you sing to yourself - no never

61. Are you a good singer - no, hence.

62. Biggest fear - earthquakes. the complete and utter lack of control unhinges me

63. Are you a gossip - i hope not

64. Best dramatic movie you've seen - kill your darlings

65. Do you like long or short hair - on me i like medium hair bordering on long, on others i like long whether male or female

66. Can you name all 50 states of America - no i never had to

67. Favorite school subject - english, both lamguage and literature

68. Extro or introvert - intro. by 98% according to a popular yet unreliable test

69. Have you ever been scuba diving - no but i would love to

70. What makes you nervous - uncertainty and people speaking about me

71. Are you scared of the dark - no i prefer it actually

72. Do you correct people when they make mistakes - only if it's of consequence and i'm sure of my correction

73. Are you ticklish - in certain places

74. Have you ever started a rumor - only once and i still regret it

75. Have you ever been in a position of authority - yes and i miss it

76. Have you ever drank underage - yes and we thought we got drunk from half a thermos of light beer

77. Have you ever done drugs - yes but disappointingly inconsequentially

78. Who was your first real crush - his name was miguel

79. How many piercings do you have - 2 and they're nothing extraordinary

80. Can you roll your r's - yes

81. Mountains or beaches - mountains. i'm scared of underwater creatures and plants and rocks and sand, but you'd find me swimming like a fish with no lifevest when in deep waters. too many interesting things to pass on, but i can never get close to any of them.

82. How fast can you run - average i'm sure. i go by endurance rather than speed.

83. What color is your hair - 4 shades of brown and ash. i should dye it soon.

84. What color are your eyes - dark brown but i wish they were hazel

85. What are you allergic to - nothing i think

86. Do you keep a journal - intermittently and usually only if i have something to cdomplain about

87. What do your parents do - several things i don't find at all interesting

88. Do you like your age - in relation to my level of success, no. generally, yes as it's bang on a quarter of a century

89. What makes you angry - intolerance and condescension

90. Do you like your own name - i have a complicated relationship with it

91. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they - despite #17, i am enchanted with the names luna, ezra, lucien, and kai

92. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child - again, despite #17, probably a girl only or first and a boy after

93. What are your strengths - VIA test told me judgment and open-mindedness, i like to think so too; i like to think my anxiety makes me think some things thoroughly

94. What are your weaknesses - same test told me spirituality, and i completely agree; carelessness and lack of societal awareness as well

95. How did you get your name - my nickname my mom got from my two immediately older cousins, with a strange spelling from my father's boyhood interest in the german language, my full name i think they plucked out of nowhere honestly

96. Were your ancestors royalty - i think my maternal great grandparents were chinese turned don and doña in my country but i can't be sure as they allegedly changed their last names to avoid discrimination

97. Color of your bedspread - white

98. Color of your room - off-white

99. Style aesthetic - formal grunge, perhaps unintentionally dark academia. i wear a lot of leather shoes and collared oversized shirts, with one blazer too many in my closet that defies all practically given the weather here

100. Reason for your tumblr name - not sure, i didn't get it from anywhere but nor do i remember why i went with it. i like that the phrase hints at this omnipotent imperialist controlling everything, when really it's purely gravity, the most prosaic but as yet irreproducible thing you can think of. it fascinated me. it would have been cognitive miser as in my twitter description but i found it describes me too much and sets the wrong tone.

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elegantdonutinternet · 6 years

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Was leaving the right choice?

Now that is a question I have asked myself so many times. Would it not have been better if I would’ve stayed and just kept on sucking up the abuse.

The year was 2017 and my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. Having always been a heavy drinker and smoker and as brown as walnut, I did used to wonder which cancer would get him first. Clearly the added early years of working in an asbestos filled garage had won over his whiskey filled pancreas or his many jet black moles.

My relationship with my father had been a complicated one between the ages of 9 until around 21. I was an ‘accident’ (my mother 19, father 21) but clearly their love at that time was strong enough and he had felt it right to take up his responsibility. What he didn’t see the point of was curbing his going out, getting drunk and some serious womanising. As you can imagine did this not lead to a happy home environment. Anyway becoming of age yourself you do understand things from their point of view. So for many years we had enjoyed a good relationship and he couldn’t do enough for me.

I had never really had a long term relationship until I was 21. Plenty of action before then but usually only for 1 night. I didn’t (and in fact still don’t) know why that was. Sure I was overweight (my relationship with my body would very much require another blog!) but I was also 6ft and pretty so I had no shortage of admirers.

I was 19 when I moved to London and after a few false starts decided to settle there when I was 20. How ridiculous that at that age I feared growing up an old spinster. I mean this was the 90’s not 1890! Anyway a short while after my 21st birthday I met the man I spent my life with until January 31st 2018. It was always a tempestuous relationship where physical violence was a regular occurrence. I always blamed myself and to be fair that’s how I thought relationships were.

My father was violent to my mother and me, my uncles to my aunties, etc. If you’d done something which they deemed wrong you would receive a physical punishment. Also my mother had forever warned me that I would be on the receiving end of plenty a fist due to my feistiness in standing up for myself and talking back instead of just doing what I was told.

So yes I sort of knew the physical violence was wrong I did accept it because I’d done something wrong. Having a compulsive cleaning mother (coming back from school but having to wait until the daily mopped kitchen floor was dry) had turned me into a quite slovenly housekeeper. Actually I always think it was because of my mother but the way my daughter has the ability to make something messy before you’ve had a chance to blink, I think I’m probably just lazy and messy.

So yes being lazy and messy and not cleaning the house weekly was definitely worthy of a bit of physical violence. It didn’t matter that I worked full time (he was training to be a doctor so needed lots of study time), as a woman it was my duty to keep a tidy house. What man wants to put up with someone like that? I actually felt lucky he stuck by me. The psychological violence like gaslighting etc. was also happening but that went straight over my head. I’d been told plenty of times by different people what a waste of space I was and told about all the things I lacked so yes, when he was verbally very critical of me I totally agreed with him.

He did many despicable, unforgivable things I won’t go into as I’m sure this blog is long enough already! During all these years I thought plenty of times of leaving. Even left a few times but always went back as I felt worthless without him and was convinced I’d never find anyone again. Who’d want me?

All this time the biological clock is ticking making you more unsure of it was better to stay and have children or leave him for that lonely spinster life I was so sure awaited me on the other side. The grass was dead and brown on both sides. Plus I actually thought he’d be a good dad. His quite large family would forever say how good he was with children. And it was true but I didn’t realise it was a performance. One that he’d be unable to keep up every day. So I was delighted when I fell pregnant in 2004 and gave birth to a ginormous (11.4l & 62 cm) baby boy. He had the baby blues for about 3 days after where I had to keep reassuring him it’d be ok

He would help out but not much and at times physically hurt our son. I particularly remember a donkey kick which my little 2 year old received after playing up in a queue. I was unsure of having another baby. Of course I had always wanted more but I didn’t feel any security in his role as father. For him going to work was his sole contribution to the family. When I pointed out that he’d be doing the same work with or without having a children it was just ignored. Also our relationship was going from bad to worse as my son was a terrible sleeper, I co-slept with him which was easiest as I was breastfeeding too. Because he had a job he took himself off to the spare room as he didn’t want to be woken up in the night.

So despite reservations I had a baby girl (only 10lb & 57 cm so no stitches needed this time!). His involvement remained the same. Virtually non existent. I even took my son to his weekly football club and my daughter came with me. I would take them on days out only for then to come home and see he’d been watching porn all afternoon.

And I just kept staying but wanting to desperately leave. Particularly after a bad argument. I thought it wasn’t fair on the children as I knew what he was like (not about the shit dad bit mind) before I had them and thought it unfair to put them through a divorce. Actually I also wasn’t strong enough myself to do it. At least the grass on my side was still brown. The one on the other had been burned black.

Life as we knew it continued. Not all times were bad of course but the bad far outweighed the good ones. You’d get tense when you heard him coming through the front door as you didn’t know what mood he’d be in. He had very much a Jekyll & Hyde personality.

Only after I left did I recognise myself completely when I came across gaslighting and found all his traits under narcissistic sociopath. No wonder that when every time I wanted to talk I’d come away feeling guilty for being such a bad mother and wife. Asking him to take them out to the park for a couple of hours so I could have a little break would result in me being accused of not being able to cope.

I always knew leaving would be incredibly difficult. I could give you many examples of his twisted mind and terrible psychological games he played. He did this to the children too and was at physically abusive too.

Now we come to December 2017 and it’s gone beyond liveable. I’ll happily describe it to anyone interested but where do you stop? He was having an affair but I didn’t give a jot about that. My hope was that he’d leave me. Sure when he’d cheated on me years ago it was incredibly painful but now with no love left from my end I really didn’t care.

So with the children fully aware, and who’d actually asked me on plenty of occasions to leave him (I did explained each time that things like that are just not that easy), we left on 31st January 2018.

I wanted a quick divorce in the hope of making it the least nasty. Well you can probably imagine how well that went! He was as nasty as he could be. I accepted the financial settlement he offered me and didn’t fight him on anything. There’d have been no point as we’d still be fighting now. He saw the children every week which perhaps wasn’t a good idea considering his psychological mind games.

From October my son started struggling with anxiety and depression. Getting him to school became a terrible daily struggle with bad arguments every day. I assume I didn’t handle things very well due to my own state of mind. On occasion I’d phone his dad but all he’d do was record everything. When we finally received help from Early Help in January I found out he’d created a whole file on me with recordings, emails, photos of the flat looking messy while I was at my dying father’s bedside.

Eventually my son stopped going to school completely and also never went out anymore. He was completely flattened by his depression and anxiety. My father died on the night of 27th & 28th December. My ex was ghastly to me throughout this whole period. He was really hoping this one would push over the edge he’d been dragging me to for years.

After my ex did something horrible to my son 2 days after I returned from my dad’s funeral all contact was stopped. My ex never ever says sorry and is never in the wrong so he just didn’t contact him. My daughter would still go over (his parents were heavily involved) but he didn’t start speaking again to my son until about September, October and he even had to make the contact.

So my son has been out of education for a year. He has recently started to go back slowly so fingers crossed. It’s a stress and struggle every time but I try to remain calm. He’s 14 and not the easiest or maybe normal teenager but it’s tough. He’s seeing his dad every week again and I’m being friendly and pleasant as being any different wouldn’t benefit anyone.

It’s been an incredibly painful, stressful time for us. I have no family nor close friends so I struggle through alone. I can’t afford counselling and as I missed (or never received) my NHS one was cancelled. This was after already waiting more than 6 months.

I took the children away as I didn’t want to expose them to his behaviour anymore. I didn’t want my daughter thinking that that was how a woman was treated, nor wanted my son thinking that this is how you treat women. The sad part is that if he’d been a good dad I never would’ve left and I’d have just kept sucking up his abuse.

But when I think that my son wouldn’t be having these struggles now and would’ve continued a normal life with school and friends. My daughter would be less anxious too. Yes they’d have had continued having an at times sad/depressed mum but I’ve felt more like that in the last 1,5 years then before.

I will never know if I made the wrong choice or not but it felt like the right one at the time. Staying would’ve meant putting up with it. Well actually you just get used to that sort of living. I’m feeling generally very low at the moment. He still blames for everything that goes wrong. Look, here’s a text I just received from him now:

Yes it is certainly the bed you made & the complete deterioration in all aspects of ‘son’s name’ life since you fractured his life over 2 years ago. No friends, no contact with family & a gaming addition he never had.

‘Daughter’s name’ will in time have problems with the complete fracture in her you caused. It's a heavy burden for you to have but you reap what you sow but it should only stiffen your resolve to help ‘son’s name’.

I feel so alone and barely want to live. I have an existence rather than a life and I live for others. So yes, how frightful that life would’ve been better if I had stayed. Yet another burden to add to the load on my back. I am so so fed up!

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helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog · 7 years

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EXCLUSIVE: Jill Soloway on Patriarchy, Privilege and Flipping the Male Gaze

In 2014, Jill Soloway burst onto the digital TV landscape with Transparent on Amazon and quickly became an Emmy darling for its portrayal of a complicated Pfferman clan in transition. Now Soloway, who identifies as gender nonbinary and uses the pronoun “they,” is serving up a second helping of their particular brand of art house matriarchy in the messy, cerebral, hilarious series I Love Dick.

Based on the 1997 book of the same name by Chris Kraus, the story follows a married couple, Sylvere and Chris (played by Griffin Dune and Kathryn Hahn), as they move to Marfa, Texas, where the husband attends an art institute run by a cowboy named Dick. On its face, the show is about Chris falling in love with the idea of Dick (Kevin Bacon) and using that stolen sexual excitement to reinvigorate her marriage and artistic direction, swapping filmmaking for the performance art of writing lusty love letters to Dick, which she pastes all over town. In reality, I Love Dick depicts Dick himself as a muse and explores how that designation unravels him and sends him and the rest of the characters down a rabbit hole of feminism, the male gaze, sexuality and gender norms.

Unsurprisingly, the show was able to plumb those depths courtesy of an all-female writers’ room. “It’s about wanting to keep pure that rage [of growing up other] and not feel like it had to be softened to keep the peace of the room,” Soloway says of the show’s writing staff.

MORE: Kathryn Hahn on Her Most Important Working Relationship

Soloway was born and raised in Chicago and got their start on shows like The Steve Harvey Show, United States of Tara and Six Feet Under. At home, they say they were “lucky enough” to have one parent come out as transgender. That experience became the basis for their understanding of that community, the foundation for Transparent and the inspiration for their own nonbinary identification. Soloway says they spent years as a femme lesbian but eventually identified as butch; however, the weight of that box’s trappings was crushing. Now, they’ve carved out a new path as nonbinary.

“For me, I still have all the rage [of growing up other], but identifying as nonbinary really calms me because I don’t have to go, ‘This is my lot as a woman. F**k, this is what’s expected of me,’” Soloway explains while stressing that they’re not abandoning women.

If I Love Dick, another Emmy frontrunner, is any indication of Soloway’s feminist dedication and furthering their goal of toppling the patriarchy (also referenced in the name of their production company, Topple Productions), the plan is working. On the heels of the release of their newest Amazon hit, Soloway spoke to ET about flipping the male gaze, female empowerment and that pesky patriarchy.

EMMYS 2017: The Standout Performances of the Season

ET: At first, I Love Dick seems to be about unrequited love. Then I realized it’s about turning the male gaze on its ear, and how most men can’t handle that constant attention. It’s also about the male act of looking at women together, whether it’s in porn or just in the everyday.

Jill Soloway: In the pilot, when they’re at dinner and Dick and Sylvere are looking at Chris together and ask each other whether or not she’s a good filmmaker, this is the moment where Sylvere leaves her and joins Dick in this corroboration of male gaze. It is the inciting incident of the whole series, where she’s like, “I will not be the object of the male gaze. I am going to try to find my own way of seeing the world.” The truth is women are used as the conduit for men to be able to enjoy sexuality together.

How has your own identity played out in your work?

One of the things that’s been so enlightening has been moving from femme to butch. When I was more femme, it was my job to hold the beauty. Now that I’m butch and am dating more femme women, I’ve noticed that both men and other butch women want to see a picture of [the woman I’m dating]. They want us to talk about her together because images of hot girls are conduits for men to get together and talk about their desires and their worship of beauty. That’s one of the hardest things about the male gaze as you try to understand it, the ways you’re asked to participate without your consent.

I love when Sylvere asks Dick, “You don’t like being the muse?” and Dick replies, “It’s humiliating.” It reminded me of my high school dream to have a video where I’m fully clothed, wearing a turtleneck and fur coat, surrounded by nearly nude men -- as a reaction to music videos featuring nearly nude women dancing around fully clothed men.

You could see that male gaze back then; you could watch and feel that.

Do you think women can objectify themselves for monetary purposes instead of the male gaze?

If you monetize it, you own it -- and that could be anyone from a stripper to a Kardashian. These are people who are incredibly empowered, who recognize their body is a tool for empowerment. My problem is that empowerment comes one degree away from the male gaze, because you’re trying to get a man to do something by engaging their gaze. For me, the dream of being in the center of the video in the turtleneck is that you aren’t actually being looked at, you’re doing the looking. The fantasy for women, for me, is to be invisible and have my work investigated.

I can’t outrun the problem of people talking about my looks, but I do suffer from having spent years working on how I look as a way to feel powerful. Now I feel this tragic sense of “Oh, my God, I missed so many years of having a full mind.” I could’ve been becoming smarter and creating.

In I Love Dick, the women are speaking from positions of power, regardless of how they identify, their jobs or how much clothing they’re wearing. Did that come from the years you wasted on beauty, like, “Let me allow these women to be their full selves?”

Power is the word of the moment for me. It’s shorter than intersectionality or solidarity, and both words create questions about who stands for whom. We all want power; women want it, people of color want it, queer people want it, gender nonconforming people want it. We all want the power that comes with being the default subject, that’s why we’re full of rage. No man will ever understand what it feels like to grow up other, no white person will ever understand growing up as a person of color. There’s so much rage over not only wanting to be recognized as we are, but also who we would be had we been the original subject, and not been born into this other.

You hired an all-female writers’ room. What was the purpose of that, aside from creating an authentic female experience?

You’re always silently clocking your allies in whatever room you’re in, and the idea of what is “good story” or whether a story is “working” is the kind of thing that people who’ve had more time in the business might say. Like, “Alright, it’s all well and good that we’re just having fun here, but as a person with experience/the guy -- and I’m not criticizing what’s going on -- I just want to make sure you guys are getting this right.” In doing so, cisgender men might be unconsciously advocating for what makes them feel comfortable, and that would be versions of the male gaze. That could damage a blossoming possibility when you have a group of people in a room together who’ve never had the opportunity to do that before. It’s exactly the same thing with people of color. I’m sure if Donald Glover had an all-black writers’ room…

He did for Atlanta; I was just going to say the same thing.

What if someone would’ve said to him, “You need to have just one white person in there. It’s their job to rein you in because you’re going be too black!” Or, for a women’s writers’ room, there was a guy in there like, “Too much period blood!” You don’t even want that physics, so that choice was to create a room without the male gaze.

I think that space made deeper women-centered scenes possible. Like when the lesbian character, Devon, calls out the woman she’s dating, Toby, while the latter is completely naked for a performance piece that Devon thinks is exploitive. It was a rabbit hole of white feminism versus brown feminism, art for art’s sake versus creating something purposeful and a conversation between lovers.

Thank you for seeing that! I think women viewers do go down a rabbit hole with our show. One woman’s empowerment is another people’s disempowerment, and how does that get talked about in a story between two people who are falling in or out of love? So much fun for a feminist intellectual to think about!

Circling back to the man as muse, what kind of direction did you give Kevin Bacon in playing Dick?

I don’t really get too micro when it comes to a scene, I’m more creating a space for everybody to let loose. I’ll talk to Kevin about a larger emotion he’s playing and he takes care of the pain and sorrow. I do think that who Kevin Bacon is, the six degrees of separation, means something. In looking for real connections, he probably felt a little about Hollywood the way Dick feels about Marfa.

How does being nonbinary affect your work and topple the patriarchy, your goal and the name of your production company?

Luckily, I have the privilege to try being femme, butch or nonbinary. I don’t want to be frivolous about that.

You don’t want to be privileged about your privilege?

No, I don’t want to be privileged about my privilege, because there are so many people who would like to walk into another experience and for whatever reason, they can’t. I’ve been able to create space in my life to experiment, and my parent coming out was a big deal because it allowed me to notice, besides my age and where I am in life, “Where and how do I want to be today?” It’s a very strange thought experiment that feels like a little bit like your turtleneck: I’m not what you see. I’m not even the other thing, like, “Oh, Jill’s a guy now and she’s failing at that!” I don’t want to be failing at my butchness either! I just want to be. The nonbinary thing is great because I just step out of all of the questions of what I am.

I don’t hassle people about pronouns because I know how hard it is. But when people get my pronoun right, it’s such a lovely feeling to not say, “Women are this” or “She is this” or even “Butch is this, masculine is this.” I’m neither, I’m both, I’m constantly changing. It really removes me from my own self-talk of failure, a lot of which was gender.

So, the nonbinary identity itself is fighting the patriarchy by not subscribing to a label.

Yeah, it is all off my table.

What does toppling the patriarchy look like for you?

If Donald Trump could dream of being president, we can dream of anything. Things are happening so quickly; I couldn’t have even imagined I Love Dick five years ago, let alone that it would be on television. I have to believe that there could be a world where the shared values that are currently thought of as religious values, like God, actually become shared values like love and justice. I think most people prefer peace, but because of capitalism, colonialism, imperialism or any of the -isms, we’re where we are right now.

A toppled world means that the kind of masculine, war-mongering, dominance-obsessed men that have their hold on our planet would evolve in a positive way. To me, believing that I can change the world through culture, television, books or movies, that’s how I get out of bed. I don’t see it happening in my lifetime, but I have an 8-year-old, and this could be his future.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog · 7 years

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EXCLUSIVE: Jill Soloway on Patriarchy, Privilege and Flipping the Male Gaze

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How has your own identity played out in your work?

You could see that male gaze back then; you could watch and feel that.

Do you think women can objectify themselves for monetary purposes instead of the male gaze?

You hired an all-female writers’ room. What was the purpose of that, aside from creating an authentic female experience?

He did for Atlanta; I was just going to say the same thing.

Circling back to the man as muse, what kind of direction did you give Kevin Bacon in playing Dick?

How does being nonbinary affect your work and topple the patriarchy, your goal and the name of your production company?

Luckily, I have the privilege to try being femme, butch or nonbinary. I don’t want to be frivolous about that.

You don’t want to be privileged about your privilege?

So, the nonbinary identity itself is fighting the patriarchy by not subscribing to a label.

Yeah, it is all off my table.

What does toppling the patriarchy look like for you?

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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