#feminization techniques

[black-star-element-23]

[timeless-clarity]

Women Making It - Photo Essay

This series of images was created in late 2017 at the Glasgow Women’s Library (GWL) in Glasgow, Scotland. GWL is the only museum in the UK dedicated entirely to the lives of women. At the time of this shoot I was studying a BA in Photography at Edinburgh Napier University. All of the work I had been producing that year was deeply feminist and asked a lot of questions about societal norms and the needs of women. I connected with GWL to see if I could learn more about their history and what they offer. And request to make a photo series. They had women’s-only art classes called ‘Women Making It’ which still run at present! See this link: https://womenslibrary.org.uk/event/women-making-it-13/2023-08-11/

All the events and classes that they run are made with the intent of being a safe space for women, both in the local community and visiting. The women who attended ‘Women Making It’ were a range of ages coming from different backgrounds. What most of these women had in common was having experienced patriarchal oppression, either at some point in their lives or still ongoing. Some through domestic abuse and others through societal pressure or witnessing the oppression of those close to them. You can see in these images, the women were preparing costumes and props and rehearsing for a play. As well as taking a look in the GWL archives for some inspiration. In this play they would act out true stories of abuse experienced by women in the local community. As a form of community catharsis and solidarity. Many of these women came from traditional Islamic backgrounds and had felt the institutional wrath of shame controlling them. Arranged marriages were common as well as unwanted pregnancies. Domestic abuse and particular cultural narratives and expectations placed on these women. The play explored the emotional wounds of these events as well as touching on coping through substance abuse and experiencing suicidal thoughts.

A few months before beginning this project I had recently got out of a domestic abuse situation with an ex-partner, who I was living with. All the courage it took me to take back life for myself lead me to use my photography, to passionately advocate for other women who have had a similar struggles. I realised that most women in my family had also been extremely oppressed by patriarchy, most to the point of Stockholm syndrome.

Some of the words I heard growing up that shaped my reality, that became my thought patterns that justified me living with domestic abuse:

“The amount of pain that I can bare shows that I am a good person. How I can control myself and put the needs of others first is proof that I’m a good person, a good partner, a good woman.”

“How much I can take is evidence that I’m a strong person”

“When he’s in a good mood he’s great, when he’s in a bad mood he’s terrible” As a certified EFT(Emotional Freedom Techniques) Practitioner, I have an active role in supporting people who have survived trauma. If you feel the call to reach out to me for support please do, you are absolutely so welcome.

All my love,

Claire

[contemptible-scoundrel]

I've developed a new martial arts technique where I strike a nerve cluster that causes your body to instantly undergo the changes of roughly four years of feminizing hormone therapy

[p3achyxdoll]

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑩𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆

Not everyone can afford the obvious immediate surgical interventions (boob jobs, lip fillers, Botox, lipo), so I've decided to focus on things that you could implement instead of injectables and surgery.

Become your best bimbo self!

𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈:

❥ Change up your outfits to be more feminine.

❥ Go thrifting for new ones if you don't own any that fit your vision. Or learn how to sew and make your own (my current dream goal.)

❥ Look for more feminine fabrics and colours – or which fit your bimbo aesthetic.

❥ Go with a silhouette that is flattering on you and makes you feel confident. Figure out your body shape to do this.

❥ Learn how to walk in heels.

❥ Accessorize: Bags. Jewellery. Piercings.

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆:

❥ Develop a skincare routine.

❥ Look after your body – moisturize, have uncalloused and soft feet that you take care of, learn lymphatic drainage techniques.

❥ Maintain your hygiene always.

❥ Look after your mental health. Perhaps journal, speak to a professional, or meditate.

❥ Use a guasha for natural face shaping and pampering.

❥ Nourish your body with foods that show you respect it.

❥ Shape your eyebrows. Pluck or wax.

❥ Shave your body hair. Or wax.

❥ Look after your teeth. Whiten them. Floss. Avoid foods and drinks that stain.

𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝑻𝒊𝒑:

𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆! 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆.

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒖𝒑:

❥ Learn how to do your makeup well and for different occasions.

❥ Putting emphasis on different elements of your face can highlight your femininity and best features. Don't try to hide them. I personally love wearing pink or even purple-toned eye shadows in a smokey look to bring out my greeny eyes.

❥ Learn your face shape and how to work with it.

❥ Femme faces tend to be smaller, softer, and more rounded. Even if you don’t have these features naturally, you can make your face look more feminine through makeup and the right hairstyle for your face. (Know your face shape and then go from there with tips.)

𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔:

❥ Maintain your hair and develop a good haircare routine – use heat protecting spray if you style it with heat, for example.

❥ Incorporate feminine hair accessories like hair bows or bands.

❥ Keep your look simple, clean, and soft.

❥ I get my nails done every three weeks or so, gel nails. But you can be just as feminine with natural or shorter nails. Just make sure they're clean, well kept, and shaped – learning to do your own is super simple.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

❥ Act like the girl you want to become until it becomes your reality. Fake it until you make it.

❥ Work on your mannerisms and inherently feminine body language.

❥ Improve your posture.

❥ Watch etiquette videos, voice and elecution lessons. Avoid cursing and shouting.

❥ Defer to the men, who you trust, when possible.

❥ Socialise and try to lean into your extroverted side. People enjoy the company of those who are at ease with themselves.

❥ Giggle more. Flirt more.

❥ Put your happiest self first when interacting with others. Feminine energy is nurturing and comforting.

❥ Find confidence in the new you. You only get to live one life, so you're already taking more steps than the average person by becoming the authentic and happy you! Take pride in that.

𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆:

❥ Join the gym or find a physical activity you enjoy to ensure you're toned – or if you need to, lose weight. This is also great for your mental health and general wellbeing.

❥ Write down mantras and repeat them every day. These can be bimbo or feminity related. Or they could simply be your goals for the day, week, or year.

❥ Surround yourself with female friendships, feminine women or bimbos like you.

[axetivev]

— Summary: Being nothing other than a servant for the Ishikawa clan, even though they treated you horribly. You took care of their heirs. Even if the king of curses came. Ryomen Sukuna's first plan was to kill everyone in the clan... But he found a bride instead!

— Warnings/Tags: Smut + Fluff + Angst, Mentioned of Violence, Blood, Reader died (I'm sorry not sorry), Feminization, Sukuna has Two Dicks, Jealous Sukuna, Nipple Play, BDSM (Shibari), Double Penetration, Degradation (?). Belly Bulge, Self-insert Reader.

— Words: 3.5k

— A/N: tbh i haven't thought of this idea but shout out to @carnalcrows for asking this to be a fic. [here's the idea if you're curious -> 🎭] there's new shits i add because why not, this in semi-rushed. i'm not really in the mood to do anything these past few days... but i promised I'll deliver the Thief x King reader idea. welp, that's it from me. i hope you enjoyed this fic !!!

— Pairing: Heain Era!Ryomen Sukuna x Male!Reader

Being a servant for the Ishikawa clan sure is a work. How couldn't be?

You work for the rest of your days. Not to mentioned, the people of the clan were assholes, morons… abandoning everything and anyone if they had power, extremely thirst for power. You often avoid handling with the older folks, so you mainly dealing with the kids—heirs. You teach them humanity, something their supposed “guardian” never gave them.

Even if you can’t use curse techniques yourself, you teach them swordsmanship. Giving them attention that they barely obtained other then told that they were just a tool. It was nice to know that they would still had a child heart even you knew when they got older—they were no different with the elders. Until, that day.

In the middle of the night, after an exhausting day of serving the elderly. You were somehow able to take a break. Even though it was a quick nap and nothing much, but it’s better then never. You slowly rosed from your sheets. Right as you about to tidy up, you heard a scream—a scream of horror and terror.

You glanced at the door that showed a glimpse of what happened, you saw a figure—210 cm tall. His eyes were four, that information alone was enough to think of one thing; Ryomen Sukuna. The kids of Ishikawa once told you about him, a blood thirsty sorcerer and his description matched.

You don’t know what’s going on inside your head. You just wanted to make sure that the kids would be alright—you didn’t care if they became a good heir or not. You just wanted them to be… save. You rushed to where the kids’ room was, holding a katana in hand. Thankfully, the king of curses was in his way—just in the right amount of time when you finally made it to the door, defending the wood with your left hand.

Sukuna looked down at you, well. He was abit too tall for an average male, he saw your right hand gripping the black tsuka. Your face somehow didn’t even show fear when your hand clearly trembled, but he doesn’t knew why. Sukuna’s four eyes were look down at you, his upper right arm slowly gripped blade of your katana—lowering it.

Confusion was written all over your face—Sukuna bore into you, with his lower arms grabbing your waist as he then throw you over his shoulder. Walking away from the door, where you saw the kids looked relieved and terrified.

“You damn—!” “Shut it, brat.” Sukuna spat, as he walk with a… white haired human?

That shut you up quickly, but you squirm. Hitting the back of the Sorcerer’s back, even if didn’t do much. You look forward to look for the kids, the adult there—you can’t see it clearly. But they seemed to have disgust written on their face, it’s not because of Sukuna.

But… you?

A frown form on your face, is it because of you just, didn’t try to fight back? Or what it because you spend too much time with the kids and they prefer you over their parents? You honestly had many questions. But thank to Sukuna’s large hand spanking your ass when you were on the gate of the Ishikawa clan.

“Stop thinking about them.” Sukuna said, as if he read your mind, you froze as you felt his hand rough fingers trying to sooth your cheeks.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes at your back, you turned your head in confusion by why did he stop moving. His lower arm grabbed your back knee, while the other on your back, trying to make you stable. Sukuna’s other lower hand was on your back, carrying you in bridal style, your arms were slowly and awkwardly wrapped around his neck.

“You’ll be my bride from now on.” Sukuna said, it’s not an ask. That’s a command.

The word “bride” was weird to you, but you were honestly too scared what would fate do to you if you didn’t agreed to what he said. So you nodded, hiding your face over the King of Curses' chest (what does this man even do to make it this big?). Sukuna, again. Look at you, making you squirm under his grasp. But he shrugged, continued to walk with the same white haired human.

Uraume.

That was their name. After your wedding with a few amounts of sorcerers which, you noted looked terrified most of the time during the ceremony. In your now home, for now, you spent most of your time with Uraume.

The minka you currently lived in is quite big, but average from an average sorcerer’s home. In the middle of the forest. But it had a small garden in the inside and in the back, it was close to a river with fishes swimming to the clear water, and some Baikamos, White lilies… it was surprising how clean the water was, Uraume would often company you when you admired the beauty of the waters in the river. They admitted; “He asked me to watch you.” Which you imagine it was Sukuna asking them to do so.

When Sukuna was home, Uraume will usually gone in the speed of light. You swore, they were beside you before the the king of curses came. Well, you don’t know if it’s normal or not. You already cleaned the house with Uraume, the sun was slowly loosed it’s shine as the moon rose. You saw him—he was in front of you, and weirdly enough. You didn’t find him scary in any sort of way. Just nervous.

“Is there… something wrong with me?” Sukuna heard your nervousness, he let out a sigh. Shaking your head, he saw you tilting your confusion. Until he finally grunted, his lower arm holding your wrist. “Let’s go out.”

His voice was sharp—but you somehow heard a softness in it, weird that someone like Ryomen Sukuna to be able to had a little softness, you sighed as you shook your head amusingly. Arguing with him seemed to lead to absolute nowhere. So, you followed along.

Your destination was lead to the same river behind the house. The flowers there were more then expected. Baikamo was blooming, white lilies looked like they’d shined the dark night. But your eyes landed on the Hasu flowers. You liked them, it’s white, pure and simply beautiful. Sukuna was watching you from a distant which you failed to realize because of your enthusiasm with flowers.

Sukuna’s four eyes looked at you, his arms crossed—the Hasu flowers and your face showed something that tugged some strings in his heart, in a good way.

The way you smiled kills him, the way you just happily looked at flowers like you never seen them in your existence, even if it's just a day after the wedding. He realizes something fast—instant. Ryomen Sukuna, a suppose special grade sorcerer, picked up a random man and decided to make him his bride, he thought you are the one falling for him hard. Instead, he was the one falling for you, harder.

“[Name]…” Sukuna muttered your name—as if he tested the waters, he saw you turning your head. Titling your head in confusion, but still, a smile played on your lips.

“…Yeah?” Fuck, your voice—sounds too good. If the Heain Era had something technological, he’d record that voice of yours and then listen to your voice and masturbate.

Sukuna stayed silent, his eyes flickered between the Hasu flowers and you. Pure, handsome, innocent… and it’s all for him. Forever.

Forever? You and me?

It had been weeks since that day, you now found Sukuna more often in the house. Therefore, making you cleaned the house while making sure it was nearly spotless. You knew Sukuna liked eating humans, once. You asked what he liked other then human’s flesh, which. His answer was straight to the point; “Figure it out yourself.”

It annoyed you with a burning passion. But you’d shrugged, leaving you asking for Uraume which they only said human flesh. Eventually, this leaving you by asking random sorcerers to hunt for random animals in the wild. Seeing their face turned to pale isn’t what you really thought of, but you often feel something—someone was watching you from a distance.

And after you asked a sorcerer to hunt form something—anything really. He never came back like how it suppose to be, it questioned you, but you can conclude that it may be caused of the harsh rain that suddenly came without a warning. Sitting on the engawa of the minka, the sound of thunder and rain echoed from the distance. The sky was covered by gray and waters already dropping from the gray clouds.

“[Name].” Uraume called, you watched as they stood in front of the door. “Sukuna is looking for you.”

You gave Uraume and polite nod as you walked your way to your room, well. Eyeballing that you thought Sukuna was in your room, and you were right. You saw a hand—Sukuna’s exact hand coming from the wooden door, you walked right in front of the door as that hand dragged you in—thr door behind you immediately closed shut without a way out.

Sukuna stood in front of you menacingly—you studied him, his very expression and movements. Sure, he looks bigger up close, but you never seen him so close before. The mouth on his stomach gritting it’s teeth, the urge to just punch his stomach was unreal—“Why did you ask those sorcerers to do those things?”

“…Those things?” You echoed, genuinely confused by Sukuna’s question. “Ah, asking those sorcerers to hunt for—”

Sukuna huffed, his expression hardened, his upper arm—its hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. “Can’t you asked for your husband’s help, at the very least!?” He snapped, his voice was loud enough to made you shut up. “I let you walk in this world still alive, I’m here now more often, can’t you just ask me for help? What? You scared?”

His face was actually showing anger. You? Ah, dumbfounded. Honestly, you motives of doing so is because of wanting to surprised Sukuna—not to get him angry, but you found out something new that’s a mixed of something laughable, stupid somewhat concerning.

The king of curses? Jealous of other sorcerers? You held back a laugh by bitting your lip, you raised your hand up to a fist. With a light force, you hit Sukuna’s head with your hand. Like those arcade games where you had to hit animals to get scores, Sukuna didn’t looked amused when you finally laughed your ass off. Crying over the fact he was jealous over humans—sorcerers he can beat without even doing much.

“[Name], it’s unacceptable,” Sukuna said firmly, his grip over your wrist tightened. “I hope it’s not considered rushing to do this.

“I hope it’s not considered rushing to do this.”

Sukuna’s voice—that exact words of his echoed in your head as you were tied by Uraume themselves. They didn’t looked surprised or in any some sort of embarrassment as red ropes circling your naked body. The texture was rough… it felt somewhat comfortable, but it didn’t really hurt your skin as much. Not for now.

When you came out from the next room, in ropes, your arms on your back, it felt fucking uncomfortable. But Uraume said earlier it was Sukuna who requested it and it’s his idea. Not theirs, your dick flopped down sadly. Sukuna, who was sitting comfortably on the bed, he uncrossed his upper arm, using his fingers. Sukuna called you forward with a simple command, you stood between the king of curses’ thighs. His fucking huge thighs.

Sukuna didn’t looked up, his fingers found their to your bare chest he soon enough called tits. He didn’t even hesitate to pulled the bud, making you gasp out of Sukuna’s boldness. His fingers then circled your areola, before gently switching your nipples.

“You humans are sensitive when it comes to this,” Sukuna spat out, he then leaned forward, his teeth catching your already hard buds. “It’s embarrassing.”

His tongue went all in to your left nipple, his slimy tongue was circling your nipple again… rougher. Sukuna left a bite over your bud, your whimpers was music to his ears. He seems to be neutral about it, but deep down. He knew he was a stupid freak under the title “King of Curses”.

His lower hand mover their way down—rubbing your ass, you looked back to then flinched feeling Sukuna’s thumb rubbing your entrance, how big was that? You don’t know neither wanting to know. Your hands grabbed his shoulder when Sukuna inserted his middle finger—soon his index. It hurts if you can be honest, does sex feel like this? Really you don’t now, but it slightly feel good. That’s a plus, right?

Two fingers fucking you wide—Sukuna’s tongue moved to your other nipple. Both sensation made your dick erect and legs trembling. Hot breaths escaped your lips that reached to Sukuna’s ears, he then brushed over your prostate which let out a loud gasp out of you, he pulled his fingers out, you whined by the lost. You finally looked back at Sukuna who didn’t seemed to look impress at your expression; a whiny bitch who just begged to be breed.

Sukuna flicked his tongue as he made you sat in his thighs, he opened up a bottle and poured something similar to a voice like oil, you about to turned your head but Sukuna smashed your face against his chest. You felt something rubbing against your hole before something huge was slammed inside of you.

Guess Sukuna’s fingers did something…

Your eyes were watery—he didn’t even moved. Not yet, but you felt so full. Sukuna ignored your whines, he simply slammed his hips up, a whimper escaped your throat. Soon, that one slam turned into many thrusted. Your hands clawed his back, Sukuna’s lower arms captured your waist. While his upper hand kept playing with your red erect nipples.

“What? Does it hurt?” Sukuna faked a cooed, your hole tightened. He laughed at your pathetic state. “It’s just one cock. You haven’t feel both of them.”

You grit your teeth, Sukuna entered his thumb, forcefully letting his second cock in. But he’s kind enough to stop his pace and letting you adjust. Yeah, you’re too full for this. One was making you full, but both? Yeah…

Sukuna gripped your waist—right as he tried to thrust his hips, cum filled your tight puffy hole. He couldn’t like, it caught him off guard to reached his climax early, but he’ll definitely deny that it’s because your hole feel good. Sukuna looked down to your stomach, the visible bulge amused him. The fact that you can still take both of his dicks cumming inside of you sure made him interested.

He studied your expression—your fucked up face, his hand gently touching the tip of your cock, making pre-cums. Sukuna dragged his upper right hand, gently taking your own hand to intertwined your fingers together, like blood and heart. Unable to be separated. Sukuna didn’t say much, but he simply leaving kisses all over your jaw as he now gently thrust his hips upwards.

He isn’t satisfied… Fuck. Poor hole.

Now Sukuna insisted of brining you everywhere…

Even if Sukuna met other sorcerers, he’ll always bring you. Leaving you often helping him while Sukuna himself tried to not go insane when you’re next to him, neither him trying to kill the other sorcerers who linger their gaze at you. Well, that’s most on your part to hold him back to do so.

And you, being his wife—husband. Usually got your payment too! Eating… asking Sukuna to do the work instead, and most importantly, the river. Sukuna was now more often beside you as you admire the waters, it’s honestly a reason for him to loved everything about you, worship you, loving you, really. Just about everything. Thanks to that too, he now barely killed clans for food, And till now. You questioned yourself neither it was a bad thing or good thing.

But everything doesn’t last forever. That, was what Sukuna always forget to remember.

Mornings was always filled by you and Sukuna walking together for a morning walk, it was calming. The birds are singing and the air was fresh, everything was perfect. Since, today. Sukuna doesn’t had anything busy going on, spending time with his husband sounds like a good idea. Isn’t it? Walking together inside of a forest side by side, your face was the only thing that kept Sukuna entertained.

“Sukuna,” the name owner turned his head directly at you. The way his name runs on your lips nearly made his heart stopped. You then pointed at a bird that was singing happily. “It looked pretty, don’t you think?”

Sukuna stared at the bird that’s in front of his very own eyes. He’d just kill the poor fellow on the spot, but the way you looked at it with those lively eyes, he nodded. “Indeed…”

“Can we… have it?” You looked at him with a grin on your lips. “Please~?”

He didn’t seemed to be amused, rather. Sukuna pinched your cheek. “[Name], there’s already many wild creatures at home.”

His answer isn’t enough, you grabbed his palm. With such innocent and… sex eyes, you begged Sukuna. It was a silent beg which usually doesn’t work, but seems like he can’t take it anymore. Sukuna rubbed his face, looking at you as a sigh of defeat escaped from his lips. Giving you an approving nod, your eyes lit up as you carelessly run to the tree where the bird still hummed.

Sukuna kept his eyes on you from a distance, as the bird laid at your finger, you brought it close to your cheek, it happily snuggled at your cheek. The bird’s ear coverts was rubbing against your cheek, it trickled but doesn’t really hurt. You looked at Sukuna, the distance isn’t far, just a few steps and he’ll able to carry you. But what he didn’t calculate is a blade coming at you with the speed of light.

It was fast—and definitely uncalled for. A blade—a katana strike perfectly through your heart, it’s almost impossible but there it was. It hurts like wild. Not to mentioned that there’s a weird feeling of something was blooming inside of you like a flower during spring, blood slowly came from your mouth like a vampire eating their first target. But they aren’t eating their target, you were the target.

“Fuck… ‘kuna—” you coughed—more blood came out, your eyes widened as you used your palm to hold the blood—the crimson from your insides. Sukuna was staring down at your, he was in front of you. You forced yourself to look up, why does he looked… blurry?

“Suku—” “Keep that mouth shut.” Sukuna’s voice was firm, you could hear the urgency within in. You wanted to tell him—wanted to cry and ask why does he look so blurry… until then, you saw black.

Black… everything was gone insight. Sukuna, who was blindingly looked around for some sort of clue, saw you on the ground—even more blood now coming from your mouth which you can’t even feel. Sukuna… lost you? He couldn’t be… right? Why… does it hurt? His heart arched with someone he can’t explain. Sukuna kneed down, using his hand to moved your body as if he was trying to see if a cat died nor not.

Fuck, he may lost you now.

Sukuna looked down at your corpse. He lost everything, his favorite smile, what makes him genuinely happy, what filled the empty useless gaps… now it’s all gone with a blink. The king of curses lost someone special to him…

Special?

He threw the katana that pearced your heart, his arms wrapped around your body, making sure you were in a comfortable position even if you can’t feel it anymore. Your head resting against his chest, Sukuna carried you like the day where you two meet. He doesn’t know what to do now, but he just walk to the now gloomy forest until he reached where… ah you know it.

The river looks more… gloomy now, everything felt empty, at least. That’s what Sukuna saw, he sat down—his hand gently touching your paled mouth, where the blood already tried out. His eyes met with the white hasu that now resembles you even more. Sukuna doesn’t know neither to be happy or sad about it, he reached out to the clear mineral to wiped the blood from your lips.

He stared at you, and for a moment. He realizes something. He loved you. He fucking loved you so much.

Sukuna knew he loved you, but he never expected to feel such lost. A human—something that’s not eternal. But here he was, grieving to his husband, his forever love life. Since you weren’t here anymore… killing that piece of shit who killed you wouldn’t end with a scolding.

“I hope we can meet again, someday [Name].”

last minute note; i legit uploaded this in my office... welp. thief oc coming up ! be a lil patient here :). curious, since both @carnalcrows and @sooniebby did a face claim for their ocs... are you guys interested for me to do it next?

[terfjawn]

acting like it’s criminal for feminism to center on female liberation is like walking into a microbiology lecture and asking why they’re not teaching English lit too. no one said other causes aren’t important, they’re just not what we’re talking about here unless it’s in the context of how they affect women and girls. “intersectionality” means the intersection of other axes of marginalization with the axis of being female. it does not mean feminism has to try to address everything everywhere all the time. maybe do some deep thinking about why you are particularly indignant towards women focusing on our own problems in our own spaces we’ve created when you don’t do that to any other movement. not only is it a distraction technique from people who either consciously or unconsciously don’t see female liberation as being an equally important cause, but also it’s subtly misogynistic to corral women back into an expectation that we should take care of everyone else (which inherently requires taking less care of ourselves)

[dabisbratz]

𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 — kento nanami x male!reader

himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare

w.c; ~ 13.8k

sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve s’is mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the reader’s size or height isn’t explicitly stated, but he’s vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.

‘ Next stop: Sekichiku ’

When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greenery— warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. It’ll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but he’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation will be comforting. It’ll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.

When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. It’s never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grass— the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface — a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.

Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, “This is the break you’ve waited twenty-seven years for.”

But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isn’t so calm. His body feels cold, like he’s been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.

It’s been so long, he’s not quite sure just how to unwind.

He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,

‘Now approaching: Sekichiku.’

It’s a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, there’s a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, there’s an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than he’d originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. It’s not like Tokyo, no, there’s no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.

In fact, the air is rather crisp— the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, it’s a bit of a culture shock— but it’s not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.

He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxury— the closest to a vacation he’ll get, even if he’s technically ‘on the clock.’ Still— he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the day— he’s sure at night they’re even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyo— there isn’t an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, it’s ripe.

He almost takes no offense to the collision against his side— nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an apple’s core against the ground.

“Woah,” Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldn’t be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. “You alright? Y’almost went flyin’!”

His brows furrow quizzically at that. First— he’s certain it’s the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadn’t expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesn’t match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straight— at an angle— that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.

Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and number— the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. There’s some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And it’s a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread that’s glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though he’d love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. “Great, thank you.” Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.

Some other time, then.

The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.

Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breeze— beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.

“—ome any minute, now,” You’ve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. You’d been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. “Said so, at least. Did you hear. . . ” Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.

“M’back, Mama,” You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. There’s a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle question— more of a suggestion— not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. How’d it go?

“No luck sellin’ today,” your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.

Farming has been your whole life, really. It’s what you’re best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grass— barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.

“But I met someone new!” That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lips—identical to your own— and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .

“He was . . hmm, pretty.” Is how you’d like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you don’t remember much about his appearance— it was more so his demeanor. He’d bumped into you— you think— and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. He’d carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stall’s banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.

“You’re so easily impressed,” The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. That’s just not true. “A good thing, too, you’ll have to like our new neighbor.”

Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.

“Neighbor?”

“Mm,” She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. You’re not entirely sure if it’s toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. “I heard he’s some fancy lawyer. You think he’s defendin’ the Hasaba girls from last year?”

That’s something to think about. Two little girls who’d been found locked away by some sort of— police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldn’t be surprised if it became legalized— you’d only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.

There’s a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phone’s coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, it’s not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the ‘ fancy ’ lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage and— what looks to be— a box of books. Documents, perhaps.

“You didn’t— how come you didn’t say nothin’ ?!” Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When you’re stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, there’s something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.

There’s a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: ‘You didn’t ask.’, but it’s filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. “I’ll be back, Ma!”

The path along your house isn’t dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feet— inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomach— bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. You’ve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are off— save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When there’s no one to inhabit the home, it’s always been comforting to look at— but now? .

Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and you’re stood at his front door— frozen. Scared is another.

Even so, you’ve always been told you’re the ‘bravest boy’ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.

The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaper— the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannister— steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look gray— green?— but as he stands before you, there’s nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, but—

Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy ears— reminiscent of a bunny.

“Oh. . . Can I help you?” You’ve heard it before, his voice, but it’s even more striking than ever. It’s easy to forget the voice of someone you’d just met, but there’s something so. . distinct about it. He’s got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacent— you’ve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.

“Mhm!” Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. “Well, no— um, actually. .” Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. “These— This is for you!”

“Ah. . .” Pink lips part, cupid’s bow prominent. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight click— right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until it’s gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them away— fat and thick and embarrassing.

“Um. . I like your sli—slippers.” Fully aware you’re speaking to an unmoving door, you can’t behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. It’s not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until they’ve dried completely and— now it’s warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, “Here.”

Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, it’s the most crisp set of yen you’ve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity you’ve never seen before, counting through each slip until he’s deemed an amount satisfactory— there’s a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.

“Oh! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know it’s rude to tip, so I left the exact change,” You blink. Once, twice— again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then he’s hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. “Next time, don’t give out things you worked for, for free,” Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, there’s a small mole— cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldn’t have noticed it. “You should wear a coat, too.” And, like a schoolboy, you can’t help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Sir,” Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. “Sorry about earlier— um, if it’s okay, I could help with your boxes?”

He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled ‘N.K.’ The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. “That?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just mail. Must’ve arrived before I did.”

It’s a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertips— you’ve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. You’ve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.

“Oh,” You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps it’s a miracle he hasn’t actually shut the door in your face, and— right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. “Sorry f’I bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?”

You haven’t known him for long, but you just can’t consider him comparable. Maybe it’s your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe it’s the blooming heat in your chest, maybe it’s the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.

“Kento Nanami,” Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kento’s slow breaths. “Did you make these yourself?”

The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if he’s finally noticed the pull of your eyes— the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until you’ve introduce yourself with watery tremors.

“It’s cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?” Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. “Come in.”

Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, “Y’don’t think we could share some of that bread, d’you?”

The best time to farm, you’ve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. That’s the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.

Then there’s Kento. You’d think he never sleeps, but you’ve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, you’ve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. It’s almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming through— what looks to be— more documents on his computer.

You can only tell he’s going to bed once there’s a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows he’ll be back in less than seven sleeping hours— which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.

And, though he can’t see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.

You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolate— piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.

“Mm!” You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. You’d assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trick— keep you warm enough — but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mug— though it contains tea— looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.

“Hold still,” all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until they’ve parted— breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if it’s a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.

“Sweet.”

Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. “It’s— huh?”

“Sweet,” he chimes, lips curling around each letter. He’s beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. “I can’t fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.”

His humor is dry— something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smile— with your whole body— eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you get— to both the blond and your truck.

“It’s good,” Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. “M’not bein’ mean about yours!”

“I'm not being mean,” He corrects, a silent apology laced in his tone— just in case — and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacation— no carry-on cases— he would’ve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.

First, he’s buckling you into your seat— it seems you’d forgotten, then he’s reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.

“You do this for a living,” is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. “You wear them.”

And, now, he’s listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.

Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautiful— valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.

He helps you out of the car as if you haven’t done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. He’s awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesn’t miss your expression twist as you whisper a small ‘oops, sorry!’ to your precious truck before unloading supplies.

Kento can’t name a thing— he’s out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you don’t yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until you’ve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.

“M’kay, ‘Nami,” He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from there— but it’s how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.

Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you don’t catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.

“‘Nami—”

“No. It’s pronounced Nanami.” He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weeds— at least, that’s what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.

“Na,”And, the smell of dirt, it’s so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . “—na,” Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment it’s silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, you’ve sounded out his name. “—mi.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and he’s giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. “Mhm?”

He doesn’t miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, “I already knew that— I just said it!”

“Mm,” He agrees, though he’s not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wrist— gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on track— picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.

Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. There’s so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. “Good. You’re a smart boy.”

“Y’think m’smart?” And, though your shoulders bunch up— a bit more bashful, you’re shaking your head. “I mean— I knew that already, too,” and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. “I tell m’self everyday!”

The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanami’s eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who’s positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, they’re visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveled— swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if he’d rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.

Cozy.

“I do,” The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locks— and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. “What were you saying?”

“Um,” You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. “. . We sell ‘em, the weeds! That won’t be for a few days, sometimes we keep ‘em for cookin’, but . . . these aren’t any good.”

“Too many?” He asks, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.

“Too many!” Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps that’s the conclusion to Kento’s sightseeing.

౨ৎ

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to.

With your black on black attire— a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threading— it’s hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Is his first question— but there’s so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?

Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passenger’s seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.

“You’re always locked up in your house,” Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. You’ve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but it’s never been enough to start any problems. “Don’t y’wanna have fun?”

That doesn’t entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mind— a vacation this is, yes. But it’s also paid, and he’s technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. He’s not even entirely sure if that’s your idea of fun— but he hopes not.

Kento doesn’t expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle ride— even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind you— “Don’t take your hands off the wheel,” “Don’t look at me, look at the road,” — but Kento would be lying if he said it weren’t endearing.

It’s almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.

“If it were warmer,” You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. “We could’ve went apple-pickin’ . . . or even oranges!”

You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneck— it bunches at his chest, and you’re sure without his trench coat it’d be just as strained around his biceps.

“What do you do when it’s cold?” He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.

“Hm?” You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. “Uh, we have this lake— it’s the first to freeze over when it’s cold. . ” So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, there’s a polite, happy bounce to everyone’s step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. “And, when it’s completely frozen, we skate on it!”

It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.

“I’m sorry—” The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. “Skating?”

“Are y’scared?” Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silence— a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

“No,” He grumbles. He’s actually done it before— his younger, studying ‘coworkers’ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hours— and he wasn’t free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.

“Don’t be scared, ‘Nami!” The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. “I can help you, m‘kay?”

Four people.

He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once you’ve found a good place to park. He’d think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. They’re in good condition, too. A small wooden bench— decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accident— keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, you’re already walking around with untied skates.

“Come here,” He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enough— “It’s not hurting you, is it?”— to fit comfortably.

“Thank you, ‘Nami,” He can hear the sincerity in your voice— as if he’d saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, “Doesn’t hurt. . .”

He offers a gentle pat to your knees once you’re fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. It’s a quick process— not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back home— a much more nice change of pace.

The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises it’s because it’s relatively untouched— if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldn’t have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the ice— so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .

You’re much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you don’t, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kento’s nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and you’ve never seen his face so. . . soft.

“Say, ‘Nami?” You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. “When’re you leavin’?”

The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than he’d originally thought it’d be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. You’re pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. “Hey,” you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. “What’re you doin’?”

You’ve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. There’s no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. It’s peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone so— hospitable.

You’re perfect.

“I've never—“ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, he’s in— close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Noone has ever done this for me. Thank you.”

“What, take you skatin’?”

“Support me unconditionally.” He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.

The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.

You like Kento’s rental— its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. It’s warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you can’t handle.

Pain au chocolat — chocolatine — and meringue cookies; they’re a pain in Kento’s ass. Not even something he’d try to attempt without you there— he’s happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A “taste-tester”, you’d called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.

You weren’t lying. You really do know how to bake— flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of x’s and o’s, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanami’s stomach.

Studying the contours of a pretty face— baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanami’s fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly you’re reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.

“Wait,” His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and you— the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, don’t entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.

“Ouch!” Your elbow smacks into Nanami’s calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numb— still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, he’d have been appalled. “‘Nami, did you see that?!”

“Silly boy,” He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. “You have to be more gentle with yourself.”

And, as if he’d declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real time— with award winning speed, really— glassy and wet and oh, you’re so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harsh— it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, “M’sorry, ‘Nami.”

“None of that,” Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. “Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course not,” The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the man’s lips. They’re entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isn’t any less exuberant— luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jaw— you can almost taste him.

His voice breaks through the thickened silence, “But it’s okay if you do.”

The next two hours should go by just fine.

౨ৎ

“What does ‘default-judgment’ mean?”

Floorboards creak beneath Kento’s feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearly— a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.

His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesn’t tense when he sees you— his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the shower— and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But you—

You’re the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearm— it’s navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you can’t quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, and— there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest.

“It’s a deduction based on a defendant’s failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.” Nanami’s eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesn’t think that’d be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting again— once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if he’s almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.

“. S. . ure!” You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your nose— sweltering and tingly.

Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. “. . . Don’t worry about all that.” And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his knee— but nothing too sudden. You’re made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the room— to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. “Silver lining is: I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesn’t cage you in— even if your chest aches at the loss.

Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume it’s stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair you’re sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kento’s lips twitch into a frown of their own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm it— he’s what’s wrong. His choice of words— wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.

“. . . Nothin’.” It’s worse. He’d expected tears— maybe even an exchange of fiery words— but instead you’ve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everything— all in between— all at once.

“Nothing?” He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume you’d conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warm— too fleeting.

“Mhm,” When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. “Nothin’.” Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. He’s never seen you so defected— nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you can’t make something out. You’ve gone as far as to create your own definition— this isn’t you.

“It’s. . . inevitable,” Kento’s voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. “But not for a while,” Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.” Grumbling, you’ve always been an open-book.

“Not forever.”

“. . . Ever,” You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. You’re a bit of a brat— Kento sees that now— behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. “When are you goin’?”

Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, “Six weeks, at least.”

“Nami…” Ignoring the deadline he’d just given you, you ask, “D’you like your job?”

You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. “I like its structure.”

“Oh.”

“I like helping people, too.” He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as it’s rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people out— you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on job— it’s rewarding. “Me too. I— I like helping too. And. . .”

His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.

Six weeks. Time is fleeting.

“I—” With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kento’s smooth knuckles against your palm. He’s just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tense— silently, asking, ‘what?’ as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.

It’s moments like these you’d wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.

Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think you’ve lost some more— he’s taken it all from you— you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.

To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag that’s been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarter— better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.

You’re sure there’s better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assets— who don’t stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsome— perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and paths— more accomplishments.

Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.

People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.

People who aren’t you.

Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents you’d ruined— of course you did— but his face hasn’t changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, and it’s times like these you really wish you could.

“I like you,‘Nami.” You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.

And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kento’s chest stills— the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, and—

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.” His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.

You’ve never felt more humiliated.

౨ৎ

Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your room— your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. You’ve counted the seconds— tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633– started over again. You’ve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.

You’ve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tight— until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. It’s a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.

You haven’t spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. You’re sure everything’s out of sorts now— weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, they’ll get over it.

And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of ‘where’d my smart boy go?’

Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejection— just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all you’ve done these days, yet it feels like your body can’t get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bed— for the bathroom, never for a drink— and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you can’t bring yourself to fix it.

You can’t bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.

You were stupid for thinking he’d feel the same, anyway. A man like ‘Nami— a man like Nanami— so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think you’d fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesn’t mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadn’t even asked if he liked men.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice — rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breath—so deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. “I think you have the wrong idea.”

A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.

“Your. . . friend was at the door,” It’s your mother’s voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth— you can’t remember the last time you’d seen her face without slamming a door in it. “Looked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .”

A bitter, disconcerting ‘so?’ nearly leaves your mouth— something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesn’t expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she can’t see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, “. . . S’it Nanami?”

Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframe— something you haven’t seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. “Between you ‘n me, you’re in much better shape.”

Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.

You don’t bother changing from your pajamas— they’ve always been so baggy to support the muscle you’ve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloads— and now you’re grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.

And— she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shoulders— they’re all wound up and tense, like they’d been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distance— but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.

It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.

“Hi,” You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. “Nanami. .”

“Hi,” He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment he’s at a loss for words— and it’s odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why he’d buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he does— and they’d all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kento’s lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps you’re just. . too much.

“I lied to you,” He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. “And, for that . . . I’m sorry,” Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. “Don’t feel obliged to accept, I just— I like y— I want to show you something.”

It’s odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrug— he can’t even distinguish if you’re being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.

“Okay.” Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippers— the same ones he’d worn when you officially met.

Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, “What were you gonna. . ?”

Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, it’s your farm. Oh, it’s much prettier than you could’ve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like you’d remembered it— but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You don’t remember the last time you’d seen them— vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothes— yet you feel light and warm.

He did all this for you?

“Are you cold?” You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kento’s hand grasps your shoulder. “You’re shivering.” He’s quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.

“M’okay. .” He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But it’s true, you don’t feel cold— not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. “. . . Thank you, ‘Nami. . . For everythin’.”

‘Why're you saying it like that?’ He wants to ask. As if it’s some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small ‘o’ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, “I don’t just like you.”

Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.

“I. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,” He sighs, quiet and cautious. “Your laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, bu—”

You’ve never been one to hide from your feelings— you laugh when you’re happy, scowl when you’re angry, mope when you’re sad. So it’s no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. It’s no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silence— hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. You’re nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.

A kiss.

"’Nami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. “I like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.”

You feel it now— the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused “I like you too.”

౨ৎ

Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell they’re imported from home— as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. It’s the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, and— he tastes of chocolate.

“Kenny—” You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something you’ve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilled— shedding you of your clothing as if he’s done it a million times before.

“Kenny,” You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. “Mm, wait,” and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.

“Use your words,” Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. “I know you can, you’re a smart boy.” You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.

Fuck.

“Mm, don’t look,” You’ve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. “That’s— oh, embarrassin’!” Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and you’re close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until you’re sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.

“I know, sugar. I know,” And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. “Feels good, hm?” His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. “Feels better than your own hand, doesn’t it?” Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.

“Uh— huh, yeah,” Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just can’t help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and— oh.

It is.

“Messy boy,” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own— damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. “Fuck your fist for me.”

“Wh- Huh?” It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buck— whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. It’s not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.

He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbones— pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.

“Good boy, that’s it,” You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. It’s all too much, thinking of what’s next, what’s happening now, what’ll happen later.

Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and long— and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.

It’d feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputter— choking on your own tears and groans.

“Wanna. . I want. . .” You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hide— nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.

“Want what?” He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indication— Kento’s patience is slowly waning.

“V’never. .” Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. “I wanna. . . feel you in my throat.”

The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. “That’s ambitious, sugar.”

You don’t register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above you— rumbly and deep, and— ah, Kento’s hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. You’re panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.

"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when you’re nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kento’s throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.

“Shit,” He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. “Slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?”

You don’t. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and fro— pretty and weeping. You bet it’ll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. He’ll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.

Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.

With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, it’s much easier— you can sink down to the base no problem— but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumbles— but it falls on deaf ears.

You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.

Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.

“‘Nami’s dick is heavy, sweetheart,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fist— careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. “And you’re taking it so well.”

Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forward— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. “That’s it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .”

Gasping on his cock, Kento’s hand holds you close, until you’re buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’ve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.

You’d rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.

“You’re perfect,” Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.

Now he’s got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, that’s good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. You’d like to imagine that’s how it’ll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“Spit,” he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just right— till you’re resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. “Good boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.”

You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but it’s not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shifts— you hear it all.

“That’s it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,” You— it must be you, there’s no one else he’s speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft there’s not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buck— up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet and— oh, that’s nice— trailing down your cock. “That’s it, stick your tongue out.”

You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanami’s gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. “Ask Sir for more, angel.”

“Mm, waitwaitwait, don’t— don’t stop,” You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “Kenny— Sir, please.”

“Good boy,” All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. “Yeah,” His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skin— the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. “You’re a good boy, asking like that.”

“You like grinding on Sir's cock don’t you? Getting me all wet. . .” Just as warm and wet as he’d thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasally— incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. It’s more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.

A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs tremble— fuck, you’re cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.

“I—” You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. “I didn’t mean to— didn’t know, m’sor—”

He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. “S’okay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, baby— perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.”

You don’t expect him to say that— that’s the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. “That okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?”

Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to ‘please’ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. “Gonna get you ready for Sir’s dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.”

“Kenny,” You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You don’t miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering ‘cunt’ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. “Can take it, pound it, Sir.”

“Look at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.” You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, you’ve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic ‘ah!’ you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.

“Give me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,” You can’t contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. He’s filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You can’t take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything that’ll keep you from screaming.

Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you out— fast and rough, steady and patient— Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boy— his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all he’s worth.

“Cummin’, Nami, s’too much— M’can’t—” Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.

“I’ve got you, c’mere, hold Sir’s hand,” He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. “So good for me,” You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. “That’s it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.”

A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think you’re going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.

౨ৎ

You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and there’s not much to adjust to. You’re clean— its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kento’s warmth.

“I’m here,” He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookies— whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plate— the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. “Hungry?” The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until he’s sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.

He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after you— an indirect kiss.

He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, “I was thinking of extending my stay.”

The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.

“I like you,” The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. “I more-than-like you, Kenny.”

And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.

“I love you too.”

[istadris]

Funniest element of world building in the entire Temeraire saga : Longwings, or "the British Empire tried to obtain the perfect acid-spitter and accidentally bio-engineered a dragon breed powered by Respect Women Juice".

Longwings, or "yes thank to the improvement of our superior breeding techniques, we have figured out how to prevent our dragons from running away after hatching" and then you learn said improvement was just Queen Elizabeth the first throwing one of her handmaids at a newborn acid-spitting dragon and learning from the experience that they prefer ladies.

Longwings, or "there are Important and Dangerous Secrets one must learn to keep when joining the Corps, you are now Part of the Mysteries" and then you learn even British patriarchy has to fold against giant acid-spitting dragons and allow women in the army.

Longwings, or the most romantic bitches you will ever meet, longing and grieving tenderly for their marvelous and beautiful ladies long after they pass.

Longwings, or "the gene for feminism is apparently linked to the same chromosome as sick as fuck deadly acid-spitting in dragons"

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello beautiful. Can I please ask you for a reader x Law? The battle between Blackbeard and Law was in full swing. Law was losing when a denden in Beppo's pocket grabbed the denden. I'll open the way for you, just for a moment. Take that idiot with you. Beppo knew who the woman was who loved his captain and gave him her heart. Blackbeard attacked, but the girl intercepted the attack. Meanwhile, several explosions on the ship alerted Blackbeard. You?!! The young woman reflected the blow, and countless lightning bolts fell on Blackbeard and his men. Beppo had taken his captain. Law recognized the lightning attack. He didn't want to leave. Days later in the New World, The girl watched over Law day and night. Law woke up from a nightmare, seeing her asleep in the chair next to his bed.

tis not much but hope u like itt><

Voltage in Veins

As the battle between Law and Blackbeard rages, a long-lost ally unleashes a storm of reckoning to save the man who once stole her heart.

Law X fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: slight angst, sfw, hurt/comfort, near-death recovery a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang surfaced amidst chaos. Under relentless assault from Blackbeard's crew, the Heart Pirates had no choice but to make landfall on Winner Island. The situation worsened when Doc Q unleashed his Sick-Sick Fruit, infecting the crew with a feminization disease. Law, drawing upon his Haki, managed to neutralize the effects, restoring himself and his crew to normal.

As they regrouped, Van Augur and Burgess teleported onto the island using the Warp-Warp Fruit. Burgess, empowered by the Strong-Strong Fruit, hurled a massive mountain towards them. Law swiftly countered, slicing the mountain into fragments with his Room and Amputate techniques.

Blackbeard descended upon the battlefield, declaring his intent to seize Law's Road Poneglyph copies. The confrontation escalated as Blackbeard utilized his Quake-Quake Fruit, causing the ground to tremble. Law retaliated with a K-Room-enhanced sword strike, piercing Blackbeard and delivering a shockwave. However, Blackbeard absorbed the attack and countered with his Dark-Dark Fruit, enveloping Law in darkness.

Amidst the turmoil, Beppo's Den Den Mushi crackled to life. "Beppo," a familiar voice resonated. "I'll open a path. Just for a moment. Take that idiot with you."

Recognizing the voice, Beppo's eyes widened. "Y/N!?"

His chest ached.

He remembered you—of course he did. The woman who’d once smiled like a sunrise when Law walked into a room. The one who wore danger like perfume and threw herself between enemies and those she loved without hesitation.

The one who had given Trafalgar Law her heart—and disappeared.

He didn’t ask how you knew where they were. Or why you’d come back now. He only nodded, eyes shining, because of course you would come. Because even after everything, you still loved him.

Beppo tucked the den-den mushi back into his pocket.

A moment was all he needed.

"Now!" you commanded.

Blackbeard loomed over Law, twisted grin slicing through his beard. Blood dripped from his arm as he raised it for the final blow.

“Zehahaha! Looks like your luck ran out, Surgeon.”

But the blow never landed.

Suddenly, the sky darkened as storm clouds gathered. A bolt of lightning struck between the combatants, momentarily blinding everyone. The sky howled. Thunder split the heavens open and slammed into the sea with a fury that shook ships and souls alike.

And then—her.

Your body collided with Blackbeard’s Haki-coated fist, intercepting it, teeth gritted, blood trickling down the corner of your mouth. The force should’ve crushed your ribs. Maybe it did.

But you didn’t stop.

You reflected it.

Blackbeard stumbled back, eyes wide.

“You?!”

The sky shattered again, this time at your command. Lightning lanced down in furious arcs, engulfing the enemy’s ship in glowing chaos. Your power was raw, electric, like nature itself bending to your rage. Bolts cracked the mast, exploded cannons, knocked men overboard.

You didn’t stop to see if it was enough.

You turned, hand outstretched.

“Go!” you shouted at Beppo.

He didn’t argue. He grabbed Law, bloodied and unconscious, and vanished into the shadows like a loyal ghost.

You stayed behind, a storm in human skin.

Channeling your powers, lightning surged from your fingertips, targeting Blackbeard and his crew. The Heart Pirates seized the opportunity, with Beppo grabbing the unconscious Law and retreating to the Polar Tang.

Blackbeard, momentarily stunned, roared in frustration as you continued your assault, ensuring the Heart Pirates' escape.

Days later, somewhere deep in the New World, Law’s eyes fluttered open.

The world was dim, bathed in flickering candlelight. Pain lanced through his side. He hissed softly, hand twitching toward his wound—but someone caught it first.

“Don’t,” you murmured.

He turned his head sharply.

You sat next to the bed, face pale, shadows under your eyes, strands of hair clinging to your face with sweat. Your arm was bandaged, blood seeping through the gauze. You looked… exhausted. Hurt.

Real.

“…You,” he rasped.

“I’m here.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

“I saw you.”

“I know.”

“I thought—”

“I know.”

The silence stretched. Tense. Fragile.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said quietly.

“I had to.”

“You could’ve died.”

“You would’ve died.”

Law swallowed hard.

There were so many things he could say. Should say. Things that had burned in his chest since the day you left.

But all he managed was: “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve had worse.”

His jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you vanish?”

You looked down at your hands. “Because I loved you too much. And I knew I was a distraction.”

Law stared at you, stormy eyes unreadable.

“I couldn’t be the reason you lost focus. Not with what you’re trying to do. Not with D’s Will. You had too much on your shoulders already.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

You flinched.

“I know,” you said.

Another silence. Softer, sadder.

“I thought I could handle it,” you admitted. “Staying away. Letting you go. But the second I heard Blackbeard had you cornered, I couldn’t breathe.”

Law closed his eyes.

“I panicked. I begged whoever was listening to let me get there in time. I knew I only had one shot. I thought… if I could just save you, it would be enough.”

He opened his eyes again. “And after?”

“I was going to disappear again.”

Law’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Tch, coward.”

You laughed once, bitter and breathless. “Yeah.”

Silence again.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you whispered.

He reached for your hand, slow but sure. Fingers curled around yours.

“I’d rather see you bleeding beside me than buried somewhere I’ll never find.”

You blinked, stunned.

Law’s grip tightened slightly. “You’re not just a part of my life. You’re the part that makes it worth living.”

You looked away quickly, eyes burning. “You’re still delirious.”

“I’m not.”

You chuckled weakly, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve.

“…I stayed,” you said. “I couldn’t make myself leave again.”

“Good.”

You glanced at him.

“Stay longer.”

You met his gaze. “How long?”

Law let out a slow breath.

“As long as it takes to make you believe I still love you.”

You laughed through your tears. “So… forever?”

He nodded once, solemn.

“Forever’s fine.”

The next morning, Beppo walked in with breakfast and paused at the doorway.

Law was asleep again, but you were curled up in the chair beside him, forehead resting against the edge of the bed, fingers still entwined with his.

He smiled softly to himself and closed the door without a word.

[edensrose]

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 sweetheart reader .ᐟ

˖ ꯴ ⌇ she's the girl ˚₊‧꒰ა you die for ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sweetest girl you’ll ever meet. almost everyone she comes across is charmed. many go around dubbing her some kind of siren. she’s got this allure to her and her heart of gold shines from beneath — even if she’s a bit of a brat.

hyperfemme aesthetic and so incredibly comfortable in her femineity. always has her hair and nails done. will be late to a meeting because her manicure was that much more important.

oh, and she’s regarded as the second strongest sorcerer. that’s right, only surpassed by the honoured one. rose to top after deciphering her technique that previously was misunderstood. she’s been pushed around enough for being ‘weak’ and she’s tired of games.

don’t get on her bad side. she's a little crazy but hey — aren’t all special grades? she’s pretty anyway.

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ pinterest ⌇ sweetheart reader x character reqs open .ᐟ

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[kragehund-est]

every dating tip for women that goes viral is like:

set aside the feminism for a night and scrub his feet clean for him (he'll love it!)

relationship expert recommends this surprising dating technique: spaghetti

when going on a first date, remind your date that you're a human being <- the author is then sent death threats for this one

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Research Process

Research is an essential process to keep yourself informed on any topic with reliable sources of information.

Research - the process by which you gather reliable information on a specific topic, typically to answer a particular question, form an opinion, or make a decision.

Academics often separate research into 2 distinct types:

primary research (in which the researcher acquires firsthand experience with the topic) and

secondary research (in which the researcher looks at research others have done on the topic).

There are many different research methods, including:

internet research (using search engines, webpages, and other online resources),

scientific research (using the scientific method to test hypotheses),

local and university library research (using books, encyclopedias, newspaper articles, peer-reviewed journal articles, catalogs, and academic databases and directories), and

interviews (using questionnaires and discussions with subjects).

How to Research

The research process can apply to everything from a scientific research paper to a personal question; each type of research has different expectations and processes. In general, here’s a step-by-step tutorial:

Start with a question. The first step of the research process is to have a question. In the case of academic research, your research question might be on a broad conversation in your field. For example, in humanities, a research question might be: “How did feminism affect American literature in the 1970s?” In the case of personal research, your question might be smaller and more specific: “How do I wake up feeling more rested?” If your research is for a high school or college paper, you might need to brainstorm to come up with a question or move on to the research phase to see what kinds of questions and broad topics interest you.

Search broadly. Your preliminary research on a topic is likely to be general—this search strategy enables you to gather as much general information surrounding the topic as possible. This helps you develop a clearer sense of the scope of your question. In the case of academic research, you might read widely (in topics like feminism, the 1970s, and American literature). In the case of personal research, you might conduct general internet searches for secondary sources that discuss related topics (like alarm clocks, pillows, and meditation techniques).

Narrow your focus. As you conduct research, pay attention to the moments that pique your interest—use them to determine where to conduct more in-depth research. Perhaps a specific novelist seems especially interesting, or you find yourself more drawn to alarm clocks than memory-foam pillows. It is at this stage you should also take time to evaluate the information sources you’ve found to make sure they’re reliable and unbiased.

Conduct specific research. Once your question begins to narrow, you might need to do additional research to hone in on your particular topic. Look around to see if other researchers have had similar questions and published or posted their findings. Alternatively, you might do some primary research and begin testing particular hypotheses. For an academic research paper, it is at this stage you likely have enough information to begin crafting your thesis statement or central claim.

Complete the project. The final stage of the research process is to complete your research project—this might mean writing a final paper, forming a particular opinion, or purchasing a specific solution for your problem. For research that involves writing and publishing a paper, the researcher must also abide by rules of plagiarism, citation information and formats—such as the Modern Language Association (MLA), American Psychological Association (APA), Chicago, and so forth. Even though this is the final step of the research process, it doesn’t mean the project is closed forever—you might find later you need or want to do follow-up research as the topic or your interests change.

Research is a vital process that increases your knowledge and understanding around a topic, rather than forcing you to rely on simply your own background information. Good research allows you to become more informed before you answer a question, to consider all angles before you form an opinion, and to use the experience of others before you make a decision.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[shukraastro]

Vedic Astrology - Future Spouse Prediction:

Name Meaning part 2

In the 1st part of this series (which I will link below) I explained how you can check for the planet that is ruling the Nakshatra in which your 7th house lord in the D1 chart is placed in and how that planet and the next chaining Nakshatra lord planet can give you clues about the theme of you spouses name meaning. To demonstrate how this technique works I have taken Brad Pitt as an example in part 1 and have given you themes of Sun and Ketu. In this part I will give you some more celebrity examples and the themes of the other planets.

Justin Bieber

He has Taurus in the 7th house in his D1 chart, therefore it is ruled by Venus, so we look in which Nakshatra Venus is placed in. His 7th lord Venus is placed in Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra which is ruled by Jupiter. Jupiter is the 1st planet we take note of. Next we look again in which Nakshatra Jupiter is placed in. His Jupiter is placed in Vishakha Nakshatra which is also ruled by Jupiter. So what this tells us is that the meaning of his spouse's names will revolve around the themes of Jupiter. Now let's look at the themes of Jupiter.

Jupiter: anything related to wisdom/spirituality, learning/teaching, philosophical/mythological tales/stories, various deities, nature/outdoors/wilderness, travel, adventure, optimism/boldness, luck, abundance/expansion, morality and many more...

If we look at the meanings behind the names of Hailey Bieber's full name before she was married, we can see the themes of Jupiter playing out.

Hailey Rhode Baldwin

Hailey in Irish means wise one

Rhode has various meanings which fall under various Jupiterian themes. One of them is clearing in the woods (nature themed). The other meaning is where roses grow (also nature themed). The other one is the Greek island Rhodes which has a Greek mythological story behind its name.

Baldwin means a bold and brave friend (boldness themed)

As we can see all three of her names fall under the Jupiter archetype.

More example: this time predictive ones

Jungkook

He has Gemini in the 7th house in his D1 chart, therefore the 7th lord is Mercury and we look at the Nakshatra where his Mercury is placed in. His 7th lord Mercury is in Purva Phalguni Nakshatra which is ruled by Venus. We take note of Venus as the 1st planet and look further in which Nakshatra his Venus is placed in. Venus is placed in Chitra Nakshatra which is ruled by Mars and we take Mars as his 2nd chaining Nakshatra planet. Now we look at the themes of these two planets.

Venus: anything related to love, beauty, aesthetics, feminity, romance, desire, pleasures, elegance, flowers, music, poetry, art, wealth, justice/fairness, balance and many more...

Mars: anything related to war (fighting/soldier/weapons/conquering/land/fire), anger, passion/motivation/aspiration, masculinity, strength, speed, support/protection, hero/savior, and many more...

The meanings of his future spouse's first, (middle) and last name could revolve around the themes of these two planets Venus and Mars.

Bangchan

He has Scorpio in the 7th house in his D1 chart, therefore the 7th lord is Mars and we look at the Nakshatra in which his Mars is placed in. His 7th lord Mars is in Anuradha Nakshatra which is ruled by Saturn. We take note of Saturn as the 1st planet and look further in which Nakshatra Saturn is placed in. His Saturn is placed in Revati Nakshatra which is ruled by Mercury, we take note of Mercury as the 2nd chaining Nakshatra planet. Now we look at the themes of these two planets.

Saturn: anything related to time, nostalgia, discipline, life lessons, karma, maturity, struggles/hardships, serving/servant, work/careers, limitations/restrictions/rules/laws, ink, metals (but gold and silver are mostly ruled by Sun and Moon still), icyness, stone, firmness and many more...

Mercury: anything related to words/numbers, speaking/writing, intellect/cleverness, colors/vibrancy/creativity, geometrical forms/shapes, petiteness/youthfulness, children, joyfulness, a message/information, skills/crafts and many more...

The meanings of his future spouse's first, (middle) and last name could revolve around the themes of these two planets Saturn and Mercury.

Mingyu

He has Sagittarius in the 7th house in his D1 chart, therefore the 7th lord is Jupiter and we look at the Nakshatra in which his Jupiter is placed in. His 7th lord Jupiter is in Shravana Nakshatra which is ruled by Moon. We take note of Moon as the 1st planet and look further in which Nakshatra Moon is placed in. His Moon is placed in Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra which is ruled by Jupiter, we take note of Jupiter as the 2nd chaining Nakshatra planet. Now we look at the themes of Moon, because we already discussed Jupiter before.

Moon: anything related to the moon itself, emotions/feelings, water, purity, sparkling, night, dreams, wishes, intuition, healing, sensuality, nourishment/care, home/mother, motherliness, calmness and many more...

And Jupiter (see themes mentioned above)

The meanings of his future spouse's first, (middle) and last name could revolve around the themes of these two planets Moon and Jupiter.

Other planet's themes

Rahu: anything related to exoticness/foreigness, the sky, clouds/fog/smoke/shadow, heights, illusions, uniqueness/unconventionality, rebelliousness, taboo, fame, mystery and many more...

Also as for names with cardinal directions in their meanings:

Sun is East. Mars is South. Venus is West. Jupiter is North.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

With that I have covered all the planets and their themes. Of course there is so much more to say for each planet but these are the ones in the overall frame so you can get an idea of what the names could be like. Hopefully this was informative and well explained.

Thanks for reading. See you soon. 🪐

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Hidden Depths

Valerie learns a big secret while tailing Danny Phantom on a patrol, and comes to some other realizations along the way. (Feat. T4T Gray Ghost)

Danny x Valerie or Danny x Paulina - "Hidden depths" {from @ave-aria}, t4t gray ghost {from Dey} and Valerie finds out the truth about why Cujo attacked Axion labs and that the ones to blame for her dad losing his job are the same people who killed innocent dogs. Her vendetta against ghosts instead turns into a vendetta against rich people - and look! There’s a billionaire in town. {from @ghostboidanny}

(I don't actually use the phrase "hidden depths" in the fic, but I made it the title because it is the overarching theme of the story, so I'm pretty sure it still counts.)

Read Also on AO3

[Warning for mentions of animal abuse and animal death and implied gender dysphoria.]

Thank god for the internet, Valerie thought as she sized herself up in the mirror. Last night, she'd happened upon a video tutorial for a safe, no-tape tucking technique, and now that she'd tried it out it was working like a charm. She'd never felt so hot in her ghost hunting outfit. And as much as she liked wearing skirts, she was already looking forward to wearing skinny-jeans to school without fear of being clocked.

The nice thing about moving to Amity Park for her father's work when she was already on hormone blockers in eighth grade was that no-one had to know she was trans. The unfortunate thing was if she wanted to keep it that way, she'd have to devote a lot of time and energy to making sure she passed.

In those respects, she both envied and felt sorry for Danny Fenton, who'd lived in Amity Park his whole life. Most of their classmates had known him since pre-school, so they knew he was trans, and he couldn't hide it—but that also meant he didn't have to worry about hiding it. He didn't have to spend late night's practicing voice feminization by reading homework questions out loud, or never be able to wear tight pants despite having fantastic thighs, not like Valerie.

Well, Danny's thighs weren't all that great, to be honest. Not that he didn't have other things going for him. She'd thought so before, but he was pretty cute, in a runt of the litter kind of way. He was so tiny and weak, and she felt a need to protect him. 

Maybe I should just ask him out, she thought, frowning. It wasn't the first time she'd thought that. She did really like him, but every time she considered trying to date him, a million excuses not to came to mind—ranging from the stupidest most irrational gender expectation of "He's the boy, I should wait for him to ask first" (which she knew was stupid and irrational, but societal expectation made her anxious about it anyway), to "between school, my job, and ghost hunting, I'm way too busy for a romantic relationship.

The latter reason was usually what made her give up on the idea, seeing as it actually was reasonable and rational. Maybe even too rational. As much as she liked Danny, she just didn't have the time for him.

She shook her head and sighed. That was enough of that. She had a ghost patrol to get to. She pulled on her hood and visor and snuck out her window, gliding away on her hoverboard with intent, and soaring over the Elmerton Bridge to Amity Park for some hunting. 

It seemed, at first, like just another patrol, save for the fact that she felt a lot more comfortable in her skin-tight suit than usual. A couple ectopusses, one of those suit-ghosts that turned up from time to time and made a nuisance of themselves. No big names tonight.

That is, until she saw Danny Phantom. And better yet, he was walking that ghost dog he'd used to destroy Valerie's life, the two of them leaping over rooftops without a care in the world.

She raised her ecto-net-launcher. After rigorous observation and note-taking, she'd discovered that Phantom could sense when ghosts were near. But Valerie was no ghost, and he was completely unaware of her presence, too focused on his rotten pet to notice her.

Through the scope, she watched the dog grow a few sizes to tackled Phantom to the rooftop and lick his face. A loud laugh rung out across the quiet night.

"Cujo! Hahaha! Cut it out!"

Cujo... the dog has a name. Valerie closed her eyes and took a breath. Of course it has a name. It's Phantom's pet ghost dog, he would have named it.

She opened her eyes and fixed her sights on the pair of ghosts through the scope of her net launcher, focusing her thoughts on her long-awaited revenge. This was her lucky day, and like hell was she gonna let it pass her by.

"Sit." The dog sat. "Stay. Hoooolllld." Phantom held up a ball and waved it, but the dog stayed very still despite its obvious excitement. It was well trained. "Fetch!" Phantom threw the ball with inhuman strength and the dog, Cujo, took off like a shot to catch it while his owner watched, laughing.

Valerie clicked her tongue in irritation. She'd gotten distracted watching and missed her chance. No matter. The dog would be back to return the ball and she'd have another shot. All she had to do was be patient.

Patience was hard with the pang in her chest freezing up her trigger finger. 

Valerie had always loved dogs. Back when she was little, before he'd made the shift into security, her dad used to train guard dogs, and he would let her help sometimes, on days she didn't have school. He made the switch to electronic security systems after discovering that some of his past clients abused the dogs he'd trained for them, mistreating and under-nourishing them, mostly because of fear. After that, he made it his goal to make guard dogs obsolete so that none of them would have to suffer unqualified masters who thought of them as more weapons than living creatures.

Her anger returned full force.

It had almost worked. Axiom labs was all set and ready to replace their guard dogs with her father's new security system until Danny Phantom messed everything up. For ruining her life, for destroying her father's dream, Danny Phantom and his ghost dog would pay.

Wait... ghost... dog? Now that she thought about it, Cujo had really seemed to know the layout of Axiom Labs pretty well when he was tearing the place up. And he was clearly well-trained, but Phantom had just been helplessly dragged along on his pet's rampage. She blamed him for not controlling his pet but... they were both ghosts, weren't they? What if Cujo wasn't always his.

Cujo, now roughly the size of a tool-shed, came bounding across the roofs, back to his master, but even once they were together again, in the perfect position to be trapped in her net, she hesitated. Maybe she was thinking about it too much because she was finally closer than ever to getting her revenge... but maybe... just maybe... she hadn't thought about this enough ahead of time.

Danny Phantom walked Cujo down the walls of the building they were on and step by step the dog reduced his size. Her window was closing.

"Alright, time to go home," Phantom said. "We had fun, but I have school tomorrow, and if my parents find out about you we're both screwed." He stopped in front of Fenton Works and in a flash of light that almost made Valerie look away, he transformed, and Danny Fenton stood on the doorstep of his own home. He pointed down. "Home, Cujo."

Cujo barked once and dove through the sidewalk and Danny walked in his front door. Valerie had absolutely no idea where "home" was for Cujo, maybe the sewer? Danny's basement? It hardly mattered in the face of the discovery that her nemesis was none other than the boy she'd been crushing on for almost as long as she'd apparently been trying kill him. 

Conflicting emotions stayed her hand. Had Danny just been acting nice and cute to trick her? No that... that didn't seem right. There were times when even Phantom seemed like a good guy and she hesitated to hurt him. So... maybe the sweet, funny guy was the really Danny, and the evil ghost was a false perception? 

How could he be a human and a ghost anyway? How was that even possible? He couldn't be a ghost in disguise, basically everyone in town had known him since he was a little kid.

Valerie was no stranger to second-guessing herself. She often said or did things without really thinking them through. From something as small as an offhanded comment that led to her agreeing to go to a school dance with Tucker Foley of all people, so something as big as telling her Dad she was a girl right before her mom's funeral when she was eleven because she was suddenly overwhelmed with the fear of another parent dying without knowing who she truly was. 

Sometimes it worked out for her, like when her Dad immediately accepted her and they started working together on planning her transition. Sometimes she ended up getting stood up by Tucker freaking Foley of all freaking people. Which she totally wasn't bitter about, not at all. Not like that was the most embarrassing moment of her entire high school career so far, up to and including becoming suddenly poor and having to move to freaking Elmerton for cheaper housing and get work as Nasty Nat the Nasty Burger mascot. No, as humiliating as all that was, getting stood up by Tucker Foley definitely took the cake.

She was getting distracted.

The point was that she was starting to realize that jumping into this ghost hunting revenge scheme had been maybe the most impulsive, poorly-thought-out thing she'd done so far. And somehow she hadn't even realized that until tonight, months later. It was well past time to take a step back and really consider what she was doing and why she was doing it.

—

"Hey... Danny, can we talk?" Valerie approached him and his friends at their lunch table, and Sam looked like she wanted to actually hiss and spit like an angry cat. Tucker was also there. Ugh. Tucker. "Alone? Like, after school?"

"Sure thing, Valerie!" Danny agreed brightly.

She couldn't help but smile back at the look on his face. Just like a puppy dog who heard the word 'walk'. "Meet me outside my sixth period, then, room 104. I'll be waiting."

As she walked away to her own lunch table, hearing Sam mutter about not trusting her and how she was dangerous and Danny dreamily murmur in agreement, clearly not actually listening.

She'd been doing some research the last couple of days, even enlisted a computer geek from school to help her hack into Axiom Labs in exchange for letting him tell the rest of the A/V club that she made eye contact with him and smiled.

What she found out was... enlightening, to put it kindly. Depressing, too.

As it turned out, she may owe someone an apology. Her anger, it seemed, was misdirected. But on the bright side, she'd found a new target to take her anger out on. 

She leaned against the wall, textbook hugged to her chest as she waited outside her classroom for Danny to show up.

"Hey, Valerie," Danny greeted. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Not here," she said, pulling him into the empty classroom and closing the door behind her. 

Her sixth period teacher always left ten minutes early because he was also the crossing guard for the crosswalk down the street, so the students all left ten minutes early, too, making it the perfect place for a private conversation.

"Okay so... I feel like I owe you a couple things here, and I'm not really sure how I should go about this. But... I guess I should start with where to start um...."

"You don't owe me—"

"I'm trans," she cut him off. He didn't even know why she owed him anything so of course he would think she didn't. It wasn't relevant. "Girl. I'm a trans girl. I started transitioning before I moved her, so I'm stealthing it but uh... that's me. Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course I won't tell anyone," he assured her. "I'm trans too, but like, in the other direction. Oh, but you probably know that already, 'cause everybody knows. Is that why you decided to come out to me?"

"No, I decided to come out to you because... well...." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I know you're Danny Phantom. I saw you transform when I was out ghost hunting—which you already know I do because you've been Phantom the whole time, but you didn't tell anyone so thanks. It didn't seem fair that you didn't get to tell me on your own terms, so I thought I should tell you one of my secrets too, to make us even."

"But I already know you hunt ghosts," Danny pointed out. "So in that case, wouldn't you finding out I'm Phantom make us even? Wait—you know?" It was kinda funny watching him process her words in real time. Gosh, he was just too cute. "Why aren't you trying to kill me, again?"

"Because I also learned some other things. About Axiom Labs and that ghost dog that helped destroy my dad's hard work." She fixed him with a searching gaze, unsure how he'd react or what she should expect from him. "Before bringing my dad in to do the security, they had guard dogs, which were very poorly cared for there. When they thought they wouldn't need them anymore, Axiom had the dogs put down.

"Perfectly healthy animals who never hurt anyone, well trained and well behaved, hard workers, in the prime of their lives, and they were all euthanized because the rich bigwigs at Axiom Labs decided they were no longer needed." She had to pause and take a breath to try and stop from crying. She'd already cried in the privacy of her own room. Now she was trying to have a conversation. 

"I saw pictures," she continued with only the slightest waver in her voice. "Cujo was one of those dogs. Did you know?"

"I..." Danny averted his eyes. "No, I didn't. Not for sure, anyway, but I did suspect something like that." 

She nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry," she said. "For thinking you and Cujo were evil. For thinking that all ghosts were."

"Hey, a lot of people think that. I'm used to it. No hard feelings here."

He was trying to make her feel better, but even though she'd been that way just a little while ago, she hated it. Hated thinking about Danny, kind, funny, sweet Danny, having to stand alone against all the vitriol from people who didn't know any better.

She was pretty sure that 'I'm used to it' was the most depressing thing anyone could say in response to sympathy. Not that she hadn't said it plenty of times herself.

"Anyway," she said, instead of telling him what she was thinking and making this whole conversation even more depressing. "I'm still pissed as hell that my life got ruined, but I've realized I'm directing my rage at the wrong people. Instead of ghosts, I should have been targeting selfish-rich people all along.

"Axiom Labs went out of business not long after the security troubles, and the CEO is currently enjoying retirement in the Bahamas, so he's out of reach for the time being, but there happens to be a billionaire right here in Amity Park, and I know you hate Vlad Masters with a passion—although I don't know why, now that I think about it."

"He's a fruitloop," Danny said dismissively. "I'll explain later if you want, but now I'm more curious about what you're suggesting here."

"Oh, well I was wondering if you'd want to help me go fuck with Mayor Masters a little bit," she said, the hesitated a moment before steeling her nerves to say what she'd been wanting to for months. "Could be a fun... first date?"

Danny's eyes widened and her anxiety spiked through the roof.

"Only if you want it to be!" she pivoted, blurting the words so fast even she could barely understand them. "We could totally be fucking with the mayor as totally platonic friends and I would be totally cool with that. Why am I saying totally so much?"

Danny grabbed her hands gently, shocking her into silence. She could barely breathe as he looked up at her with a soft expression full of fondness.

"I think that would be a totally rad first date," he said. "I'd love it." 

Oh, she was down bad for this boy. Absolutely gone on him.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Judd Legum and Rebecca Crosby at Popular Information:

Today, the National Security Agency (NSA) is planning a "Big Delete" of websites and internal network content that contain any of 27 banned words, including "privilege," "bias," and "inclusion." The "Big Delete," according to an NSA source and internal correspondence reviewed by Popular Information, is creating unintended consequences. Although the websites and other content are purportedly being deleted to comply with President Trump's executive orders targeting diversity, equity, and inclusion, or "DEI," the dragnet is taking down "mission-related" work. According to the NSA source, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they are not authorized to speak to the media, the process is "very chaotic," but is plowing ahead anyway. A memo distributed by NSA leadership to its staff says that on February 10, all NSA websites and internal network pages that contain banned words will be deleted. This is the list of 27 banned words distributed to NSA staff:

Anti-Racism Racism Allyship Bias DEI Diversity Diverse Confirmation Bias Equity Equitableness Feminism Gender Gender Identity Inclusion Inclusive All-Inclusive Inclusivity Injustice Intersectionality Prejudice Privilege Racial Identity Sexuality Stereotypes Pronouns Transgender Equality

The memo acknowledges that the list includes many terms that are used by the NSA in contexts that have nothing to do with DEI. For example, the term "privilege" is used by the NSA in the context of "privilege escalation." In the intelligence world, privilege escalation refers to "techniques that adversaries use to gain higher-level permissions on a system or network." The purge extends beyond public-facing websites to pages on the NSA's internal network, including project management software like Jira and Confluence.

[...]

The government memory hole

Since Trump took office, thousands of web pages across various federal agencies have been altered or removed entirely. Federal agencies have taken down or edited resources about HIV, contraceptives, LGBTQ+ health, abortion, and climate change. Some web pages have later come back online “without clarity on what had been changed or removed.” An analysis by the Washington Post of 8,000 federal web pages “found 662 examples of deletions and additions” since Trump took office. The analysis found that words like diversity, equity, and inclusion were removed at least 231 times from the websites of federal agencies, including the Department of Labor, the Department of Education, the Department of Health and Human Services, and the Department of Transportation.

The NSA’s “Big Delete” is a form of authoritarian censorship under the MAGA regime led by the Trump-Musk-Vance axis of evil.

See Also:

NCRM: The 27 Words the NSA Is Scrubbing From Its Websites: Report

[i-like-forcefem]

so i know this guy and he's very cute,, and i kinda wanna forcefem him, but don't know where to start 🥺🥺

/hj

Awwww that’s wonderful!!!

Well one of my favourite techniques is by allowing the target plausible deniability for dressing up

Maybe do a bet and the loser has to wear this dress Or maybe make it real ambiguous and reveal the dress part later

Or maybe make a bigger social event where everyone dresses so cutely so you might as well join in

Be kind, be accepting and patient, love every single step “he” takes and be very vocal about your encouragements

Truly love bomb “him”, make “him” associate feminity with happiness (if that association isn’t there already), make every step made “wonderful and lovely and you’re doing so great and I’m so so proud of you and I just want to gobble you up and and and” don’t give “him” any time to doubt

“He” is adorable and you’re so so so glad “he” is letting you do “his” nails, you know this color would fit so so well, and regardless of how well painted the nails are, they do add so much and make “him” look so good, and we should really try purple next!

That’s another crucial step, once you make progress don’t let it go

You paint his nails? Wonderful! If they get chipped and “he” asks how to remove it als to it for “him and instantly apply a new color

“He” let you do some basic makeup? Make “him” feels so so pretty and set a time next week when we can try the different mascara! And maybe even dress up a little to match the make up!

“He” puts on a skirt for you? Well it’s gorgeous it fits so so well it’s really “his” color! And maybe just take it with you? And if not let’s go clothes shopping next week! I know this lovely second hand store where we can get you so many beautiful clothes for cheap! It’d be a shame if you didn’t own at least one skirt yourself!

And, I kind of forgot what I was saying there! Just get “him” to agree to one minor point, make “him” feel so so loved for it, and always set up the next point, which can be either more of the same or an escalation, but never give her time to doubt, herself always pin down a “next-time” for her to look forward to, and always make her feel so so loved for showing up every time!

People aren’t nearly vocal enough about how they feel towards those closest to them! Be the exception!