#i mean i don't actively try to make female friends or male friends in particular

[aromanticduck]

I'm bad at making female friends. Not in the NLOG way or the cishet man 'women are a different species' way - just that of all the 'girls' I've befriended, more than half of them later came out as trans guys or nonbinary.

[altruistic-meme]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks...

hi dear!!! i definitely don't mind AT ALL i love getting questions!!!! i probably have answered this question before, but this is one of those things that's subject to change pretty often as i find new characters and they take over from older ones :] so i will probably never give the exact same answer twice dksvjsdfh

ok ok that said, let me see... in no particular order:

Damianos of Akielos (Book: Captive Prince trilogy) quite literally THE man of all time. THE man of my dreams. he is such a beautifully written character who is so complex and interesting to read!! he is so gentle and caring despite his size, and he has a confidence i can only aspire to.

Neil Josten (Book: All For The Game trilogy) unhinged maniac 🧡 no but genuinely he is such a good main character. everything about him and his narration pulls you in to the story. he is the most unreliable narrator. his perspective is so skewed. also my namesake!!

Nakahara Chuuya (Anime/Series: Bungo Stray Dogs) i may or may not have somewhat of an obsession with him right now. he is literally so pretty that i throw my phone. but also he is so unbearably human in an incredibly tragic way, and he is that way because he actively chooses to be. he is a high ranking member of the mafia and he loves dogs and he promised his dying friend that he would save someone else and he is so loyal and bright. i am going to stop while im ahead bc 90% of my thoughts right now are about Chuuya so i could genuinely go on forever.

Victor Nikiforov (Anime: Yuri!!! ON Ice) he is so sad

Hinata Shoyo (Anime: Haikyuu!!) he is just so fucking BRIGHT!!! unlike Victor, Hinata is the exact opposite of me in almost every sense. it is so hard for me to watch anyone else when he's on the screen. he is just joy and energy incarnate and i want to be his friend so bad.

Spiderman (TV Show/Movie/Comic) this is a cheat because it's just. every iteration of spiderman. i love him. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman!! i have such a soft spot for Miles Morales' spiderman in particular due to the spiderverse movies, but i also really loved all of the live action spiderman movies. and we can't forget the tv show!!!

Prince Wilhelm (Show: Young Royals) fucking babygirl. yet another sad wet cat of a character who i project onto immensely. he is just so complex and interesting and so real and flawed and just. listen. having the weight of the world rest on your shoulders as you struggle with trying to make friends and fight your anxiety and handle your mother all by yourself is something i have dealt with too. i can't put into words all my thoughts about him right now, but rest assured there are More.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (Book: How to Train Your Dragon series) don't get me wrong, i love the movie version of him as well, but they are such different characters. and the book version of Hiccup has an incredibly special place in my heart. httyd is such a comfort read for me, and it was huge for me getting to grow up with Hiccup. he is just a fucking little guy and he goes through so much. but he keeps going. he didn't deserve any of it and he fights so hard to make sure no one else has to go through it like he did. gods i love him.

Charlie Spring (Comic: Heartstopper) same as with Hiccup, i love him in the show as well but to me the characters are so different and i just relate so much more to the comic version of him! he is a mess and i love him and relate to him. i wish i had what he has. i am also so proud of how far he has come!! and he reminds me to be proud of myself, too. also see; sassy motherfucker.

Kenai (Movie: Brother Bear) a strange choice, maybe, but this movie means SO much to me. it is a huge comfort movie. and Kenai, by virtue of being the main character, clearly gets the leg up as the favorite. but it's so amazing seeing him grow as a person (or. well. bear). he's funny, he tries so hard, he wants so much. and he's just a kid!! he learns so much!!

there are definitely some patterns in my favorite characters that i am going to choose not to look too closely at :') i have so many characters i adore. this was so hard ;;;

[theshenami]

So I've been reading/hearing about a strange argument recently regarding Cloud and Tifa's relationship in the FF7 compilation. It goes something like this: 1) a common trope in Anime and Asian dramas is that the childhood friend competes with a new girl/guy for the male/female lead's romantic interest; 2) the childhood friend usually ends up on the losing end and suffers unrequited love; 3) therefore, Aerith must be the one Cloud chooses in the end since it agrees with that trope.

What I find strange about this argument is that the opposite of 2) is more often the case, at least from the few dozen Asian dramas (Korean and Chinese, mainly) I have watched, where the childhood friends (or at least those with some unknown childhood connection) who secretly/openly like each other (and maybe have a relationship that ends for some reason) end up reuniting years later as adults, and end up together in the end. This sounds exactly like what happens in FF7 for Cloud and Tifa.

For the Final Fantasy series, in particular those that involve romantic subplots involving main characters with either other main characters or guest party members who grew up together, it seems like all of these cases resolve with the childhood friends ending up together romantically. The specific examples I can think of at the moment are:

FF3: Ignus and Princess Sara

FF4: Cecil and Rosa (BTW this has an actual love triangle in the plot as well as the narrative, unlike FF7, which is in narrative only)

FF7: Cloud and Tifa (I mean, it's the plot after all, and their romantic chemistry/tension in the remake trilogy is so obvious that the other party members actively bring it up)

FF8: Squall and Rinoa (this is one is a bit of stretch, but they are loosely connected through their parents' tragic love story)

FF10: Tidus and Yuna (also a stretch, I know, but their parents were close comrades 10 years prior to the story, and Yuna also notes that it must be fate that brought them together)

FF12: Vaan and Penelo (I mean, he says "I'm coming Penelo" in the last scene of the game, Balthier constantly refers to Penelo as "your girl" to Vaan, and it's not like he's going to be with Ashe or Fran at the end)

FF13: Snow and Serah (yes, as nauseating as they are sometimes, and obviously excluding the sequel storylines)

FF15: Noctis and Luna

FF16: Clive and Jill

I mean, nobody would claim that any of these couples are nothing more than ships (FF7 debates aside), as they are all obviously canonical. The point I am trying to make is that the argument laid out above does not seem to hold water for FF7. From the examples I gave, it would seem instead that the FF series is remarkably consistent in having the childhood friends end up together. Just wanted to put my thoughts out there to the world, so they don't keep me up at night...

[thaumatology]

Behind the Muse meme.

tagged(sorta) by @esotericjerks

Name: Nate

Age: 27

How old were you when you first started RP-ing: I'm pretty sure I started at 15, maybe 16. (That was a mistake btw, I do not recommend it.)

Height: 6'3"

OC’s or Canons: OCs, though I have a couple OCs who started out as borderline expies of canon characters just because I liked their vibe but I am allergic to actually playing canons because I feel like I will get them wrong.

Prefer to play females or males: I think if you looked at all the characters I have ever created there would probably be a slant towards male, but in terms of my currently active characters it's a pretty even split (though Colin still gets more of my attention than any of the others.)

Favorite faceclaim to play: I don't really use faceclaims, at least not directly. I'll often pick an actor with a similar facial structure to use as a reference when drawing a character from different angles, but I'm usually not trying to recreate them 1 to 1.

Least favorite faceclaim to play: N/A, see above.

Worst RP experience ever: Hard to pick. I've been in a lot of different rp communities and most of them have ended up eventually melting down over some OOC drama and it sucks every time.

Fluff, angst, or smut: Any and all as long as its interesting! (and tbh I'm kind of a sucker for domestic fluff even when its not.)

Most overused FC: I don't engage with the concept enough to know.

First character you ever made: God I don't know. I was making characters years before I ever started rping and I can only remember a fraction of them.

Worst character you ever made: If we're talking in terms of personality and morals then its probably my version of Beelzebub. The man responsible for Colin's birth and childhood is pretty up there too, but he at least had an (arguably) noble goal when he set out, he just lost it in the ends justify the means thinking.

Favorite type of plot: I love long term slowburn shit (not just in terms of shipping) that builds up on stuff established in previous threads over time. In terms of themes I really enjoy taking two characters where at least one of them is initially distrustful and having their relationship build into friends or lovers.

At what time of day is your writing the best?: In terms of actually putting things together, mid day. in terms of coming up with little tweaks that elevate what I've previously written? Just after I go to bed unfortunately.

Are you anything like your muse?: Oh for sure. A lot of my characters get little bits and pieces of my personality through osmosis, and Colin got more than most. In particular one thing I drew heavily on when writing him was how growing up with autism made it really difficult to relate to a lot of the experiences my peers were having, and while he is probably not autistic, he experienced a similar thing due to his condition.

Worst thing about RP (in general or on Tumblr): Imposter syndrome. I will spend like two hours writing up a starter or a reply and think I really cooked with it and then my partner will respond with something that feels like it just completely blows my stuff out of the water. I have to constantly remind myself that if someone is choosing to rp with me it means they probably enjoy my writing.

To end on a good note — best thing about RP?: Meeting people with similar interests and getting to see all of your writing (and especially worldbuilding for those who have it, please share your worlds with me I want to learn about them!!!). So many people here are super talented and creative and it's a joy to get to write with you all.

Tagging: Anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

[female-malice]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

... yes... but I'm not interested in gold star discourse at all. Some people take the gold star thing too far. That can make it difficult to discuss lesbian adolescent experiences.

Like, as a young girl, from age 8 to 11, I'd have what I thought were "crushes" on boys. All my female friends had crushes on boys. I knew they were normal, and they each had their unique quirks. I felt just like that. Normal enough, and when I felt different, it was just a unique quirk. So I'd observe them and how they had crushes on boys. And then I'd try to figure out which boy I had a crush on. It was an important topic to think about because it was a question I'd get asked often.

I realize now this was a more cerebral active process than what my OSA friends were going through.

I also had several male friends who I liked spending time with and hanging out with. But my female friends were always nervous around their crushes, and I wasn't nervous around these guys. So I knew I didn't have crushes on them.

Anyway, I'd always pick some boy that a Very Special Girl (VSG) really liked.

And, honestly? It was very weird. Because I'd really behave and feel like I had a crush on him. I didn't feel attraction, but I could still muster up an obsession over these boys. Looking back, I wonder where those feelings came from. Maybe it was the thrill and excitement of stepping on VSG's toes.

I never acted on these strange adolescent "boy crushes." And meanwhile, I had my first intimate romantic experience with VSG. This was just a "quirk." I still believed we were both normal and straight and just like everyone else. Because I felt normal inside more or less. So why wouldn't I be?

Any time a boy asked me out, I'd rudely reject him. Every boy that asked me out registered as supremely ugly to me. VSG wasn't interested in these boys, so why should I be?

But if one of VSG's boy crushes asked me out, what would I do? One of them gave me a mixtape once. I was thrilled! I felt like I won. Then VSG lost interest in him and so did I.

But what if this boy was more persistent? What if he didn't pick up on the fact I no longer had a "crush"? What if he asked me out for real? Would I have rejected him? Idk. Maybe we'd be a middle school couple and go to movies and hold hands. I can't picture this particular boy being a pig. But what if our little movie dates lasted a few more years? What if we were still going out at 13 and 14? Boys who are kind and normal at 11 can definitely grow into pigs. What would my straight peers expect me to do at that age? What would've happened to me?

I have no idea because he didn't ask me out. He gave me a mixtape and we left it at that. I was never in a situation where my "I'm straight and normal" hypothesis was tested so directly. But I remember how terrified I was of straight sex at the time. Sexual nagging from my peers at 13 and 14 could've really fucked me up. And years later, I'm sure I'd be annoyed at people arguing whether or not I was a gold star.

[hyacinthian-chateau]

Hello! I'd like to order a Match-up!

I'm female, and preferably match up with a male character

Taurus-Gemini, and according to the 16 personalities test, apparently I'm an INTP-T (Turbulent Logician)

I adore reading, from fiction (usually of fantasy and philosophy) to non-fiction (history, science-psychology, myths and religion; mostly humanities related)

I consider myself to be a fast reader. Of a standard sized book, I may read at least 100~300 pgs in one sitting depending on my mood and how much I'm into it.

Occasionally do some writing, if inspiration happens to strike me

Sometimes I'll cook and mix drinks when I feel like it.

I like to think about and analyze the whys and hows regarding an event and key figures of the "story" (whether be myth/legends or history) - personality, family background, their ideals & religion etc)

I enjoy rock music, and music from older generations.

My friends often comments how I have sort of a "big sis" vibe (probably simply bc most of them are younger than me) and very loyal. I'm also can be rather clumsy and forgetful. (I have once accident broke my friend's mother's rice cooker, and they find it particularly hilarious bc I'm Asian, they still like to poke fun at me about it till this day)

I can be quite a blabber-mouth when I talk about subjects I'm interested & excited about. On the other hand, since I'm a bit of a resting bitch face, according to a friend of mine, that I might come off as a bit cold, nonchalant, and elegant (?) (don't ask me why, that's just the statement I got) when I don't talk/ subject I'm not interested in.

I really dislike being lied to or being ditched and/or add an activity in the last min. Usually I may choose to forgive most of the time, but if happens too many times I will get frustrated & just simply starting distance myself bc the relationship would be tiresome, especially it is apparent that the said person doesn't take their words or me as a person seriously.

In terms of hanging out, since I'm terrible at making decisions so I usually just go with flow of whatever my friends or family decided, and/or decide things on the fly.

I'm not particularity good at initiate a hangout but I am trying to come out of my comfort zone on that part.

Doing housework isn't my forte either.

My personal "philosophy" is that "Love is selfish and therefore there only so much give, and that includes kindness, no matter a person seems to have boundless to give. They did it bc it "feels" to good them. So don't take them for granted "

(I hope you don't mind the info dump 😅 )

Thoma, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You would make a wonderful companion to Thoma.

Social and energetic is what you become when the young man becomes a close acquaintance of yours. Although you have tendencies to become somewhat withdrawn due to your racing thoughts, he isn’t afraid to coax you out of your shell—offering to take you out to relax at the Komore Teahouse while enjoying some Inazuman delicacies and indulging in petting cute doggies like Taroumaru.

The fact that you are terrible at making decisions allows him to be more creative when inviting you out for a date~ ☆

Once he’s known about your love for literature and tendency to hang around the Yae Publishing House, he’s ‘coincidentally’ running into you at different times of the day when he should be doing his tasks. You've caught him trying to read a book you had recommended but really, He's reading it not just so he can start a conversation with you but also have a deeper understanding of what you like.

The blonde is known to be incredibly patient and kind; Your ice-queen-like demeanour doesn’t bother Thoma at all one bit since he’s used to being around refined individuals such as the famous Kamisato siblings. If anything, he finds it incredibly cute when you start going on tangents about the subjects you have taken an interest in. If it means he gets treated to seeing you getting all flustered when you realize how much you’ve been talking, he's not complaining. He thinks you are Gap Moe at its finest.

Other than the books that you suggested, the Kamisato's helper perks up a little when he recognizes a tune or two when you share your taste in music. The blonde can carry a tune very well and sends you a proud look when you look somewhat pleasantly surprised when he remembers a particular song. Praise him a little?

From a young age, the blonde man has learned what it means to be self-sufficient, and that means he's more than experienced when it comes to being in the kitchen and maintaining a home. He's a little reluctant to be your guinea pig for some of your gastronomic ventures in the kitchen though if it allows him to demonstrate his skills in the galley, he's more than willing.

Another reason why Thoma would fall a little more smitten for you is that you are loyal. It's reassuring to know that you are both physically and emotionally available for a friend or family member to lean on. He knows it takes love, mutual respect, understanding and commitment for any relationship to last.

He's quietly hoping you'll see him as a potential partner but he's more than willing to match your pace until you are ready.

Ohh... But wait.

╰ ☆☆☆☆ ╮

[i-need-air]

Hello! I would absolutely love a V-Day matchup! Might be long so I apologize beforehand! 💘 and maybe 💗 with (male character of your choosing) if you're feeling up to it? 👉🏻👈🏻

I'm female and I prefer males! For basic generalizations I'm a Cancer, INFP, and a Slytherin for those quick personality sumups!

For appearance I'm all over the board. I'm 5'5 and a little chubby, some nice soft plumpness for that pillow resting gloriousness! I suffer from vitiligo so I'm pretty self-conscious about my appearance ontop of being knock kneed and pretty weird looking, I have deep blue eyes and blonde roots peeking through my black hair. Kinda got a reversed Kenma Kozume look going on. I'm pretty sickly a lot of the time since I suffer from an autoimmune disease and don't have the best immune system, so I'm constantly getting colds or the flu, on top of that I have a deteriorating eyesight so I need those cute ass circular glasses.

For my personality I am a little all over the place though I have two distinct "modes". I'm agoraphobic so I'm not outside and in public very often but when I am I'm very quiet, shy, and trying to the best wallflower I can be, trying to avoid any and all interactions, and if someone does bother me or a friend pushes my boundaries I can be sarcastic and very blunt. My secret dark humor coming out and revealing itself.

When at home though I'm a completely different person, usually, happy, bubbly, still quiet and shy though, the designated "mom friend". I do have a taste for some of the finer things in life so I can be pretty picky when it comes to food, I can only tolerate so many frozen or fried things before I need a fancy meal but I'm not posh or spoiled by any means.

I'm an artsy person, very much so, so most of my hobbies and activities have to do with something creative. I'm normally a concept/character artist and writer but I try to expand with being a painter or other niché things...and immediately forget but I'm terrified of not being good right out of the gate and I have an unnatural fear of failure but at least I can jump into video games to forget that for a while. Anything medieval inspired motivates me significantly to the degree I'm working on building my own world for either art or a novel!

Thanks all I can think of right now without going into some serious things so thank you for taking the time to write for me! I appreciate it and love everything you do! Thank you! 🎀🍨🌸

🥺 You're so 💞💖[+🗡ssslytherin] and I wanna match you up with someone that's so 💀🗡 [+❤ griffyndor] in return, lmfao! Like a big protective guy that can have your back so:

Bakugou:

× You're clearly goal oriented and talented, and Bakugou is all about respecting that. He will have your back [aggressively] by telling you practice makes perfection if that's what your seeking and will remind you that you have it in you, so just give your best!

× He's both an extrovert and introvert. While he can have all the attention in public just so you'd start feeling comfortable, in private he enjoys that you can be yourself with him. Makes him feel special and you'll get the same in return. Anyway, likes that you can hold your own though, but that doesn't mean he won't cut a bih for u 😌 [dark humor is his thing, imma fight for this hc]

× Enjoys cooking for you and doesn't mind that you're somewhat picky. He likes to make you the food you enjoy and perfect it for your taste in particular.

× Genuinely think he doesn't mind appearances as long as he's into your personality. Some chub doesn't throw him off at all [handsy mf] and vitiligo is something he actually finds beautiful. He won't take you but he'd trace your skin softly and you'll know.

[gendercynicalgrantaire]

A little bit ago I saw you make a comment about how radfems fail to realize there are trans normies. I've been thinking about it and I wanted to ask, other than yourself, do you know very many trans people irl who are normies who don't have any explicitly homophobic or misogynist ideas about gender and sexuality? I know they exist. But I've been disappointed by more than 1 transman who I thought cared about me and respected me as a lesbian when we really got into discussions about sexual orientation. Like I try not to become jaded but its really hard when I have trans friends I trusted for a long time and then they tell me same sex attraction is harmful or that gender roles are innate (ie: "I know I'm not a woman bc I don't vibe with xyz stereotype that I believe is true for every other woman I meet unless she identifies otherwise". I don't think every trans person is a actively toxic or anything but I feel like homophobia and misogyny is so rampant and explicit from the trans community in current year it's really hard not to be jaded as a defense mechanism.

Hi! So I found the post you were talking about. The intention I was trying to communicate wasn’t so much that normie trans people are unproblematic in their views of gender, but more so that there are trans people out in the world just trying to live their lives who aren’t narcissistic manipulators like a lot of internet TRAs might come off as.

When I call trans people “trans normies,” I’m defining that as trans people who are mostly not online and mostly not involved in trans discourse. And trans normies, like other kinds of normie, sadly tend to have some unexamined assumptions about how things work based on the dominant culture they were raised in.

Most of the trans people I know irl fall into one of two categories: the ones I meet at PFLAG meetings or trans-centric spaces, and the very rare ones encountered out in the wild. I’m going to hazard a guess that most trans normies are the latter-- they tend not to run in circles with many other trans people, and they also tend to be more interested in passing to blend in, both of which make them more difficult to find. They, like me, tend not to really run in the “trans community.” And admittedly, it’s even rarer that I meet a visibly trans person in the wild that I grow close enough to that I learn all about their gender philosophy, because I too have internalized assumptions about other trans people’s feelings that make me jaded against them (I’m trying not to fall into the idea that I’m “not like other troons” lol), and I’m trying to work through it to find and see if there are ones who have gender philosophies I can vibe with.

Most trans people whose gender philosophies I have heard, then, are the ones I meet in PFLAG and trans-centric groups. So probably a little less normie, but there are still normies mixed in there. And I’m not gonna lie, some of the ideas I hear make me cringe a little or feel like they would quickly fall apart if poked at. I don’t know if there’s a single trans philosophy out there that’s going to satisfy the gender critical community. But what I can say for trans people is that the vast majority of them that I have met irl believe in the following (paraphrased):

- If someone’s sexuality/dating pool excludes me, that’s their business. It can be a little disheartening knowing how small my dating pool is, but trying to convince people who don’t want to date trans people to date trans people is not a solution. I want a partner who loves me for me, not one who pretends to love me for woke points.

- XYZ stereotype does not mean that someone is a man/woman/nonbinary. (Insert just about anything in the XYZ. The trans and nonbinary people I meet in real life are also some of the most pro-gnc-cis-people people I know.)

- I am consciously aware of how I make cis people uncomfortable, and I make a conscious effort to mitigate that discomfort to the best of my ability while still living authentically and keeping myself safe.

- Cis women can have their own spaces. It doesn’t concern me.

- Obviously there are issues that only impact natal females and ones that only impact natal males.

- I understand that I have the biology of a certain sex. I might be uncomfortable with having a body of that kind, maybe even to the point where I don’t like to use the anatomical terms to describe my body in contexts where I can avoid it, but I’m obviously different from a [cis man/cis woman]. If I didn’t understand that, I wouldn’t be calling myself transgender.

I make these points because of their relationship with gc discourse. It’s inconvenient for gendercrits and radfems to acknowledge that there are trans people who feel this way. It’s even more inconvenient to know that the number of trans people who feel this way is not insignificant and thereby easy to dismiss.

In particular, I want to focus on the second point: stereotypes do not a gender make. Because honestly, most of the trans women at the PFLAG meetings aren’t talking about how they played with dolls as kids or how they just love being expected to wear make-up (often in an effort to pass, because unfortunately our gendered society does turn make-up into a tool for reading as female), and the trans men there run the gamut from hyper-masc to fairly feminine. There are a variety of trans philosophies I’ve listened to that stray away from the idea that simple gender stereotypes make a gender.

More often the story is one of alienation -- alienation from one’s body, from one’s appearance, and/or especially from society. And this alienation usually disappears (or at least fades into background noise) once transition has been undertaken. The trans person in question might not always have a satisfactory explanation for why that is -- and again, I don’t think any explanation fits the radfem/gc ideal -- but it is distinct from the rhetoric “wigs and dresses don’t make you a woman,” “lack of those things doesn’t make you a man,” which trans people are generally well aware of. This is what I hear most often from other trans people regardless of sexuality, mental health history, class, or any other dividing lines that gendercrits like to use to explain trans people away as simple, easily dismissible categories (think Blanchardianism).

Hmm...I hope that answers your question? I know I probably went off the rails there. Again, I can’t claim that trans normies can’t be problematic, or even that most of them aren’t problematic. Most normies in general are problematic because they tend to live less examined lives. But I also know there are trans people out there willing to listen to and calmly discuss the other side of things, especially if their viewpoint is just parroting what they’ve generally heard from the mainstream side of trans discourse.

In that regard, you’ll have the most luck with passing trans people and trans people who’ve been settled into their identity for a while. Non-passing and newly-out trans people tend to be defensive and self-conscious in a way that more seasoned and socially integrated trans people just aren’t. That’s another post in and of itself though. If a trans friend of yours says something along the lines of “I know I'm not a woman bc I don't vibe with xyz stereotype that I believe is true for every other woman I meet unless she identifies otherwise” (if they use that wording -- not sure if that second part is what they actually say or just the implication you’re picking up on, but chances are they don’t think every woman vibes with it and just need that pointed out) but they also seem like a chill person and you feel safe doing so, don’t be afraid to calmly and casually bring up a point of disagreement. It might not be something they fiercely cling to or have even really thought through all that much.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My best friend and I always hang out in his flat and for a while it was completely innocent. Recently though, he's been putting his hands under my clothes and when I tell him I don't like it he laughs, says it's just a joke and I need to chill. He has progressed to removing my bra from under my top, saying I've been brainwashed by society into thinking girls need to hide their boobs & when I tell him I don't care and not to touch me, he just laughs. But losing him means I lose my only friend.

Oh jesus. That sounds really awful and I’m sorry you’re having to deal with that. This is going to be painful to hear, but you’ve already lost this friend through no fault of your own. In fact, he never was your friend.

My bestie (female) had a male friend like this starting in high school, for five years. They were extremely close, had supported each other through a lot of hardships, only for him to sexually assault her, repeatedly, and only later she found out he’d done it to other girls too.

This guy you’re friends with doesn’t think of you as a friend, he doesn’t even think of you as a person. He sees you as a conquest. His goal is total access to your body, and he’ll take it slowly if he has to, but he will not stop. This isn’t a joke, and even if it somehow was it wouldn’t make it okay. No one needs to “chill” when it comes to people touching their bodies.

I see he’s using liberal feminist “sex-positive” “empowerment” tropes to try and manipulate you, but that’s all bullshit. There’s nothing empowering about engaging in sexual activity when you don’t want to. There’s nothing positive about it either. You get to decide when you have sex, with whom you have sex, what kinds of sexual acts you do (barring inherently harmful acts), or if you even have sex at all. He clearly doesn’t care about your boundaries, and what kind of friend doesn’t care and in fact actively crosses something so important?

So where does that leave you? Well, you’ve got to put as much distance between yourself and him as you safely can. Get “too busy” to see him alone. Have “plans”. He may become violent if you end the friendship outright, especially since you don’t have a network of friends to help protect you, so you might still make plans with him, but only in places where he can’t get away with shoving his hands up your shirt.

This obviously can’t last forever, though. Do you have any family members you’re close to who would understand and offer support? If so, use them as your lifeline.

You also need friends, real friends. These don’t happen right away and you’re going to be very hesitant to trust and get close to other people after this guy. The first thing you can do to lower your chances of this happening again is to narrow your potential friend pool to girls/women.

So which women to choose? Well, what are your interests? Particularly those that aren’t shared by him? Try going to meetups regarding these interests, they’re usually free. Join clubs or after-school programs or take a small course if you have some money to spare. Let your personality shine during these. If you get into some good conversations with some nice women, maybe you can plan to meet up outside the event. You don’t need to let them know about the man who’s been harassing you right away, but after personal stories start getting shared then you can.

You may find that once this man sees you now have a potential support network, he’ll back off. On the other hand, he could try to sabotage it. I would keep him out of the loop on that for as long as possible. And even fairly early on, you could say something like, “I have this friend who got really creepy on me and isn’t letting up no matter what I tell him, so I’m planning on ending the friendship. I’m just not sure what he’s going to do or say when I do.” You’ll find most people, women in particular will be sympathetic to that, and much less likely to believe anything he could try to use against you.

Now, you might feel guilty and like a bad friend for lying and avoiding him and choosing “your new friends” over him, and he may very well try and use that against you, quite possibly those exact words. Just remember what you’re doing now is all a defence mechanism being activated because he betrayed you by violating your boundaries. This is his fault, not yours. You bear 0% of the responsibility for this friendship ending.

So short term, avoid being alone with him, and rally any close family members if you have them. Long term, get new and better friends who are unlikely to betray you as he has. Longer term, cut him off.

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

I've got an idea- first time the Strategist picked up a male lover. Don't care what flavor of guy. I'm honestly very interested to know what you think would catch his eye enough to test the waters. Sexy eloquent times to make my queer heart sing, please and thank you? (P.S. bonus points for a neck tie of any sort being involved.)

[ISEB Author’s Note #1: I’ve had this Ask sitting in my inbox for ages, and it was one I had looked forward to tackling for a long time. Sadly, the demands of real life seemed to distract me every time I sat down to work on it; in an effort to wrap it up once and for all, I admittedly rushed through the prose a bit more than I would’ve liked. Likewise, I tried to avoid a specific dilemma that often crops up in fanfiction—the premise of two male paramours written 100% for the consumption of a female demographic—but as I am not a gay man myself, my attempts may have ultimately proved futile. For any of my followers who choose to skip this particular fic, I’m going to try very hard to get through at least one other Ask in my inbox before the day is over, so stay tuned!]

[ISEB Author’s Note #2: If you’ve kept up with any of my other fics at this point, you may be asking yourself why I avoid naming the paramours who happen to cross paths with everyone’s favorite strategist. The answer is simple: It gives the reader the option of projecting either themselves or their own OCs onto the characters in question. By naming them, I feel like it confines the story to my own personal headcanons; without the pesky limitations of names or titles, the reader is at liberty to imagine Ignis Scientia fellating Ronald McDonald, for all I care. That said, I fear I will be unable to circumvent the issue of naming the protagonist in my next work of Specs fanfiction; the best I can hope for is that you’ll come to love that character as much as I have!]

Ignis x Male Suitor; 6800 Words

Redunkulously NSFW

He isn’t quite sure where the palace rumors about him originated from; contrary to popular belief, the strategist didn’t actually entertain a plethora of paramours all at once. It was hard enough keeping tabs on the three men who were entrusted to his care, and juggling several partners without the others’ knowledge was just asking for trouble.

The gossip was doubly bewildering to Ignis Scientia considering he hadn’t bedded a lover for the first time until considerably recently—much to the teasing of his friends. Even Prompto, the bumbling idiot around women that he was, had managed to cajole a bored classmate into sleeping with him well before Ignis had ever shared himself privately with another. But he hadn’t been in the same kind of hurry to exercise his sexual prowess like the others; establishing one’s virility was all relative, and physical intimacy was no more or less a validation of masculinity than slitting an enemy’s throat.

But he had eventually taken part in a man’s customary right of passage, and the rumors about him had begun to spread within the Citadel like wildfire not long after. He wonders if his proclivity for indulging in an evening drink at the same bar several of the royal Kingsglaive frequented has piqued the curiosity of more inquisitive observers—the seedy underbelly of Crown City was fertile breeding grounds for palace whispers, and the women who visited the establishment on the regular were indeed quite beautiful—but that’s not precisely why he comes here.

It’s actually because of the bartender; specifically, the delectable cocktail he creates using aged Altissian scotch with a twist of Duscaen orange rind is what prompts the strategist’s returning patronage. Ebony is inarguably his preferred beverage of choice, but there’s nothing quite like a stiff drink after spending an entire afternoon walloping on his undisciplined pupils to ease the tension in his shoulders. If he didn’t have to get up so early every morning to prepare his royal charge for the day ahead, Ignis might not have any reason to leave the bar at all.

It also helps that the man behind the counter is easy on the eyes; maybe it’s because his clipped accent draws attention to his strong jawline when he elongates his syllables, or perhaps it’s simply because the strategist appreciates someone who isn’t afraid of donning a pair of classic suspenders. The bartender often pairs them with a crisp button-down shirt and necktie—both in varying shades of black, per the royal dress code—and he hasn’t been absent once since Ignis took up his admittedly fallible habit.

Which is why he’s somewhat perplexed to find that the mixologist is not at his usual post when he strolls into the tavern that night. The strategist is reticent to inquire into the man’s whereabouts for fear of perpetuating even more rumors about himself—behind the safety of Insomnia’s walls, bored Kingsglaive seemingly have little better to do than to hypothesize about the relationship status of a lowly Crownsguard—so he spends several minutes casually wandering the floor’s perimeter in search of the only company he cares to entertain at this particular establishment.

It’s only after he’s poked his nose into every corner and booth—keenly aware of the probing stares the Kingsglaive have trained on him—that he steps back outside and into the brisk night air. The smell of smoking tobacco wafts through his nostrils, and he follows the odor around the corner of the building until he finds its source: A gentleman is leaning against a brick wall in the alleyway behind the bar, nursing a cigarette and dressed in a crisp button-down shirt, necktie, and suspenders.

“For a moment, I thought I was going to have to construct my own concoction this evening,” Ignis says as he stops beside the man.

“Sorry,” the bartender chuckles. “Just taking a short break. Standing on my feet for hours on end gets the better of me sometimes.”

The strategist runs a hand along one of his own sore biceps. “I can relate. If I didn’t have your alcoholic curatives to look forward to, I fear I would have to resort to acquainting myself with Crown City University’s local fraternity chapter. Either that, or I’d have to learn how to pour myself a proper glass of scotch.”

The man snorts softly. “I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing what some of my patrons on the other side of the bar might come up with.”

“I have some skill in backward-engineering recipes,” Ignis concedes, “but there’s an art to zesting an orange I haven’t quite mastered yet.”

The bartender takes a drag off his cigarette and shakes his head. “Perhaps, but nothing someone of your talents with a knife couldn’t acquire. At least, if the grumblings of the bruised Kingsglave inside are to be believed.”

Ignis’ lips twist into a wry grin; he spends most of his time at the Citadel tutoring the palace’s lower security detail in the study of hand-to-hand combat—that is, when he’s not occupied with his duties to the crown prince—but is remiss to pass up any opportunity to humble Regis’ more arrogant bodyguards whenever they offer to cross daggers with him. “Come now—surely Nyx isn’t still bitter about the finger I broke?”

“Only slightly,” the bartender demurs, and withdraws a small case from his trouser pocket. “Cigarette?”

The strategist hesitates briefly, then plucks one from the outstretched box. “Sure.”

The bartender then ignites a lighter in his direction, and Ignis leans over to kindle his smoke. His face is in close enough proximity to the man that he can smell the subtle fragrance of his cologne; his cheeks warm slightly when the aroma activates a deeper, more primal area of his brain, and he joins his impromptu counterpart against the wall as the chemicals in the tobacco work their magic through his tight muscles.

“At the risk of sounding like I’m prying,” he says through a hazy exhale, “what is a fit young gentleman like yourself doing working as a bartender in Insomnia? The Citadel’s recruitment offices would positively wring their hands in delight if they saw you walk through their front doors.”

He’s not wrong about the fit part; the strategist surmises only a blind person could miss the sharp definition of the bartender’s torso beneath his tailored shirt. But the man plays coy, and brushes his observation aside with a curious flick of his wrist. “I’m not as young as I look,” he says.

“Oh? How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Thirty-two,” he replies. “And if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

It’s not often the strategist feels encumbered by the age gap between him and his elders, but the bartender’s soulful eyes seemingly penetrate his deepest insecurities. “Nineteen going on forty, according to my friends,” he quips.

“Scarcely more than a child. I bet you haven’t even seen the world yet, have you?”

Ignis busies himself with his cigarette, if only to avert the older man’s probing gaze. “Not precisely, no.”

The man then grows quiet; after a while, he takes a final drag off his smoke and crushes the discarded butt beneath his heel. “To answer your question, I’m not as fit as I look, either. I was living in Tenebrae when the Imperial assault there occurred.”

The strategist ruminates over the meaning behind his mention for a long moment, until the pieces click into place. “Were you injured?”

The bartender kicks his right foot against the brick wall, and Ignis can hear the faint clink of metal. “Lost my leg below the knee in a daemon attack.”

An inkling of guilt trickles through Ignis’ gut, and he frowns. “My apologies.”

“None the worse for wear,” the man says jovially, “but it does limit my professional options a tad.”

“You probably presume I’m an naïve anklebiter who is unaware of the true dangers of Eos prowling just beyond the city’s walls.” The strategist gnaws on his lip as he tosses aside his own cigarette butt. “I suppose that would not be an entirely inaccurate observation.”

“Not at all.” The bartender resumes his place against the wall, only now he’s a step closer to Ignis, near enough that he can sense the warmth emanating from under the man’s tunic. “Although I do wonder sometimes why you show up to this place all alone night after night, when the palace rumors that have reached my ears suggest you are anything but lonely.”

“I’m going to have to do something about those pesky palace rumors,” Ignis mutters irritably. “It’s a small wonder the entire constituency of Insomnia doesn’t think I keep intimate company with a pack of Sabertusks by now.”

“What intimate company do you keep, then?”

His gaze suddenly darts over to the bartender. “Come again?”

The man has one eyebrow cocked in his direction, the faintest hint of a grin touching his lips. “Was that impolite of me to ask?”

“No, it’s just—” In an uncharacteristic loss of composure, the strategist finds himself stumbling over his words. “I should think you would hardly find the interests of a mere Crownsguard entertaining, when there are undoubtably more important individuals that vie for your attention.”

“The Kingsglaive only talk to me because they think I’m easy to impress. Libertus Ostium is evidently harboring a behemoth-sized phallus beneath his royal raiments, if one were to believe even a fraction of his boasting.”

Ignis can’t quite stifle a laugh. “Libertus walks around like a nudist in the Citadel’s locker rooms, so I know it’s not that big.”

“I know it’s not, either.”

The way the bartender tosses him an mischievous wink gives the strategist pause. “…right.”

“So do the beasts of greater Lucis truly tickle your fancy?” the man continues. “Or is there more to your unassuming character than meets the eye?”

Ignis glances cautiously over at him, not entirely confident in his own ability to read between the lines. “I find an exceptional intellect to be most intriguing, above all else.”

“That’s not exactly the narrowest of requisites.”

The strategist views his own sexuality in the same manner as the approach to warfare; tried and tested methods are often the most applicable policy, but are wholly conditional depending on the circumstances. “I suppose that hinges upon your definition of narrow.”

“So then, whereabouts would you assess my intellect?”

The lines are becoming more distinct now, and Ignis offers him a small smile. “I think anyone who has overcome the tremendous amount of adversity you have is certainly worth getting to know better.”

The man purses his lips in thought, and for the briefest of instants Ignis ponders what it might be like to feel the bartender’s warm breath on his neck. Then his companion abruptly pushes himself away from the wall and moves to exit the alleyway. “If you care to learn more about my exceptional intellect,” he calls out over his shoulder, “I live in the biggest apartment complex on Twelfth Street. I’m off at midnight.”

Biggest apartment complex on Twelfth Street isn’t the most explicit of directions, Ignis surmises, considering 12th Street ran the entire length of Crown City. But the strategist has the advantage of logic on his side, and there are a few hints he can infer from what little he knows about the bartender.

The man has a prosthetic leg, which meant that the radius of walking distance he was limited to was no more than ten or so blocks from the bar. It was conceivable he might’ve driven to his place of employment, but as the metropolitan area where the tavern was located offered very little street parking, it seemed rather unlikely. Within those constraints, that left two possible structures for consideration; one was a story taller that the other, but the shorter one spanned a greater width along its facade.

So Ignis situates himself equidistant from the two apartment buildings, and waits silently beneath a flickering street lamp in the hopes of picking up on another, more audible clue. On weeknights like this, the roads and alleyways were quiet enough to hear the sound of footfalls on the sidewalk, and indeed the strategist is rewarded by the soft grinding of a mechanical joint not long after the top of the hour.

“It appears my enigmatic instructions gave you far less trouble than I had anticipated,” the bartender says, as he steps out of the shadows and into the brassy light. “I suppose they don’t call you The Strategist without due cause.”

“If your intention was to be purposefully vague,” Ignis counters, “I wonder why you bothered inviting me to your residence in the first place.”

“One can never be too careful, what with the eyes of the crown peering through every nook and cranny of this city.” The man stops beside him and looks him up and down once. “Besides, there’s something to be said about gauging a person’s interest with discretion.”

Ignis raises a dubious eyebrow. “So you were testing me?”

The man’s gaze settles in on his own. “Just curious to see how far your youthful inquisitiveness would lead you.”

Admittedly, the women who had attempted to play bashful games with him in the past had held the strategist’s attention scarcely beyond a single heartbeat. But the bartender was neither bashful nor a woman, and Ignis can’t help but be more than a little intrigued. “Truth be told, I was hoping it would lead me to that drink I never got this evening.”

His pulse elevates slightly when bartender flashes him a wide grin before heading off in the direction of the taller of the two structures. “I’ll have to charge you a premium for dipping into my own inventory. Good Altissian scotch is hard to come by these days.”

The strategist trails a few paces behind him, the subtle sound of creaking metal echoing in the bartender’s wake. “Unless you have an automated teller machine squirreled away somewhere inside your apartment, you’ll have to settle for a more informal method of compensation.”

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

Ignis takes note of his companion’s thinly veiled insinuation as he follows him down a footpath terminating in a corner unit at the end of the complex. The man then withdraws a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks an ornate front door; serving drinks to thirsty palace guards is clearly a prosperous business venture, the strategist surmises, if he’s able to afford such posh accommodations in a part of Crown City as upper-class as this. The bartender plays the consummate gentleman, holding the door open for Ignis patiently until he is fully inside the dwelling.

The strategist focuses his attention on the furnishings of the room when the bartender taps a light switch on the wall; there’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary beyond the usual bachelor décor—high ceilings, leather furniture, an array of liquor bottles displayed behind a glass cabinet in the kitchen—but a curious oil painting on the wall catches his eye.

“The Birth of Eos,” Ignis comments, sifting through the assortment of useless information he keeps filed away in his mind at all times. “It’s not often you see classical Tenebraen art this far from where it originated. You mentioned you were present during the Imperial invasion—are you from there originally?”

The bartender is already in the kitchen, retrieving a couple of glass tumblers from an overhead shelf. “I am. Most of my family relocated to Crown City after the assault, but I still have a few cousins living there. I assume you’ve never been to Tenebrae?”

“I have not,” Ignis says, “but Noctis spent some months there as a child, and regaled its beauty to me many times.”

“It truly is a lovely place, when it’s not crawling with Magitek infantry.” The man rummages through the refrigerator for a moment before withdrawing an orange from the crisper and setting it on the kitchen counter. “I seem to recall a royal retinue gracing the country with their presence for a time. The prince was recuperating from a daemon attack, am I correct?”

“Indeed.”

“Nasty beasts—the one interaction I had with them was once too many for my liking.” He then unsheathes a paring knife and deftly peels off a strip of rind from the orange. “May I ask how long you’ve been in service to the crown?”

“As long as I can remember,” Ignis murmurs, his attention still wrapped up in the details of the Astral depicted in the image. “I was recruited as somewhat of plaything for Noct when I was six years old.”

“If you’d had the choice, would you have done things differently? Explored other avenues?”

“I’ve… never really given it much thought, to be honest.” He finally tears his eyes away from the painting just in time to see the bartender uncorking a bottle of scotch and pouring a splash over both tumblers. “The circumstances I found myself in as a child seemingly dictated my lot in life.”

“I suppose there are far less honorable professions than that of a royal Crownsguard.” The man drops a twist of orange rind into each glass, then strolls over to where Ignis is standing before offering him one of the drinks. “Like bartending, for instance.”

“Bartending is absolutely an honorable profession. Just imagine how dreary the world would be without the simple joy of drinking oneself to oblivion.” The strategist smiles at his counterpart as he raises his tumbler to his lips. “What do I owe you?”

The bartender narrows his eyes. “How about an answer to a personal inquiry?”

“All right.”

“Are you virtuous?”

Ignis nearly chokes on his scotch. “Am I what?”

“Perhaps ‘unsullied’ is the word I was looking for.”

He then frowns, not entirely sure where the bartender’s line of questioning is headed. “Certainly not. I wouldn’t be having to field salacious whispers about myself if I were.”

The bartender takes a long sip of his drink before setting his glass down on a nearby end table. “I only ask because I never quite know what gossip to believe. Perhaps if the one set of rumors were untrue, the other rumors I’ve heard might be false as well.”

The strategist’s brow furrows. “What other rumors?”

“That you’ve engaged exclusively with women.”

“That… is not false, no.”

The bartender takes a step closer to Ignis, near enough that he can smell the scotch on the man’s breath. “Does the notion of entertaining the company of men trouble to you?”

The strategist’s eyes fall on the bartender’s necktie, and he briefly calculates the amount of time it would take to fashion it into a makeshift manacle. “I should think not. One willing body is as warm as another.”

“But you can’t speak from experience?”

“I cannot.”

The bartender tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “How curious.”

Ignis’ grip tightens around his cold beverage, the hackles on his neck tingling in mild irritation. “I’m not intimidated, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Are you sure about that?”

For a long moment, the two men stare each other down in silence; then the bartender casually reaches over and plucks the tumbler from Ignis’ hand before closing the distance between them. The strategist’s breath catches in his throat when the man runs his fingers lightly across his bare cheek, and his spectacled eyes fall shut when their lips finally meet.

There was something to be said about all the things that made women so delightfully feminine—small statures, dainty fingers, rosy lips that teased Ignis in all the right places. But the raw energy the strategist could taste on the tip of the bartender’s tongue was unlike anything he’d experienced before; the smell of the man’s cologne mingling with the oaky flavor of aged Altissian scotch muddles his senses and sends electrical impulses firing from his brain down to his feet with lightning speed.

Ignis clutches at the bartender’s necktie absentmindedly, if only to stop his knees from giving out from under him entirely. He has nothing to fear, however, because his companion’s hands are already circling around his waist, his strong fingers gripping the small of his back. He presses his chest up against the man’s torso, and for all the effort the nineteen-year-old strategist has made at crafting a mature and collected demeanor, he suddenly finds himself succumbing to the childish desire of wanting to be held.

But the bartender stifles his juvenile instinct by breaking their kiss, stepping backward a pace before Ignis can drag him to the nearest flat surface and strip him of his clothes entirely. “If this is your first attempt at wielding a sword,” he says as he reaches for Ignis’ glass, “you might want to finish this first.”

“My expertise admittedly lies with the lance, but there are some notable similarities.” The strategist grudgingly accepts the drink from the bartender’s hand and knocks it back in one swig. “How different could it be?”

His counterpart is already making his way toward a room at the end of a hallway, and Ignis abandons his empty tumbler before trailing him through the open door. A large bed is situated in the center of the space, and the bartender loosens his necktie as he lowers himself onto the edge of it. “I presume if you haven’t entangled yourself with a man before, you might have some inquiries as to the delegation of certain tasks.”

The strategist hesitates as he watches him discard his tie on a nearby pillow. “I suppose my expectations do align a bit more toward the traditional.”

The bartender then unbuttons the top two closures of his shirt, and Ignis catches a glimpse of his smooth collarbone. “I’ll tell you what,” the man says. “I have trouble being on my knees for too long a time. If you can spare me the effort of overexerting my right leg, I’ll let you play whatever role you like to your heart’s content.”

“An agreeable strategy,” Ignis replies, and slowly makes his way toward the bedside.

The bartender’s skin is as soft as he imagined it would be when the strategist finally traces his fingers along the lines of his chest. His hands then move to tug on the elastic of his suspenders, and a flutter of anticipation stirs in his belly when he slips them down past the man’s firm shoulders. His companion’s eyes never leave his own, and he waits unflinching while Ignis tackles the rest of his shirt buttons.

“I must admit,” the bartender says in a low voice, “I was expecting a bit more jittering from a man who’s only practice is with the fairer sex. Do they temper your nerves in steel at the Citadel?”

The strategist snorts softly as he liberates his partner from his tunic. “Not quite. The drink helped.”

He then covers the bartender’s mouth with his own before he can respond with a clever retort, dropping his hands to the man’s waist to release his belt buckle. At the back of his mind, Ignis knows this is little more than a momentary tryst, a mutual understanding between two men simply in need of alleviating a bit of life’s pressures; still, the bartender is tender in his touch, caressing the strategist’s jawline with gentle fingers and nipping softly at his lower lip.

Ignis then drops to his knees and eases the bartender out of his trousers; he isn’t quite sure what he was expecting his own reaction to be, but the sight of the man’s right leg causes his heart to seize up in his chest. Aluminum plates and copper wiring shaped into a respectable facsimile of calf muscles and an ankle joint encases everything below the knee, and Ignis runs his hand along the bartender’s thigh before stopping just above the artificial limb.

“You don’t have to worry about dancing around my feelings,” the man says quietly. “I can hardly even remember how it happened nowadays.”

Ignis had seen the visible scars carved into those in service to the crown who had been involved in action on the Imperial front; he’d even seen the emotional impact the terrors of the night had had on his closest friend. But he had never borne witness to the horrors of bloodshed in such close quarters before, and suddenly it felt as if the war against the Empire was right outside his doorstep.

The strategist glides tentative fingers down the man’s right leg, noting the transition between the warmth of his skin and the coolness of the polished metal. “Does it hurt?”

The bartender offers him a cheeky grin. “Only when I kick someone.”

The tension in his chest ebbs, and Ignis brushes a cheek against the inside of the man’s thigh. “Do warn me if you happen to be ticklish, then. In my experience, tooth enamel is rather weak against metal.”

He can feel the bartender’s hands sift through his hair when he moves to relieve him from his briefs; the strategist was scarcely bashful in the presence of bare flesh, but his cheeks unconsciously redden when he lays eyes on his partner’s burgeoning erection that matches the pressure in his own trousers. The dull ache of intoxication is causing his head to swim, although whether it was from the alcohol he consumed earlier, or simply a side effect of his increasingly demanding libido, Ignis isn’t quite sure.

And while he may have had little experience with manipulating a sword, the strategist knows what he likes whenever he happens to be on the receiving end of a lover’s generosity; his hands move instinctively to grip at the base of the bartender’s strengthening rigidity, his mouth enveloping him fully, his tongue pressing hard against the sensitive part just below the head. His partner’s fingers tighten around his temples once before drifting down the back of his neck; he is quiet in his reaction to Ignis’ gentle probing, but the fingernails the strategist can feel digging through the fabric of his shirt speak volumes.

Ignis takes this as a positive sign, and settles in more comfortably between the bartender’s legs. He then allows one of his hands to circle around the man’s artificial calf—he isn’t sure whether his partner has any feeling below his right knee, but the smooth metal is enjoyable to the touch nonetheless—and supplements his oral machinations with the other. The bartender’s own hands eventually let go of their vice grip over his shoulders and drift down the front of his chest, and Ignis can feel the buttons of his shirt loosen with each passing stroke of his tongue.

He pauses only briefly to give the bartender free rein to discard his shirt on the floor, glancing up as the man leans down to steal a kiss. Then Ignis returns his attention to the task at hand, closing his eyes against the sensation of warm flesh thrusting hard against the back of his throat. The scent of cologne and scotch and male pheromones that swirl in the air around his nostrils serves only to urge the strategist onward, and he reaches down to loosen the zipper of his trousers to relieve himself of the pressure plaguing his own groin.

The bartender remains silent, but Ignis can sense the man’s breath shortening in his lungs, can feel the pulsing of blood locked tightly inside the tissue of his shaft. And he can hear the sound of his mechanical ankle flexing and clenching in time with Ignis’ movements, until his tremors reach all the way to his hands and he tilts the strategist’s chin up with trembling fingers.

“Perhaps it would be best if we moved on to other things,” he says hoarsely. “I wouldn’t want to dirty up your spectacles.”

The strategist levels him with a malevolent grin, and draws himself up to his full height. The bartender’s hands drift to the waistband of his trousers, tracing his fingertips lightly over Ignis’ arousal before tugging on the pockets of his pants and dropping them to the floor. The strategist rakes his gaze over his partner’s taut abdomen when he pushes himself onto the bed and reaches for a drawer in the nightstand; after a moment, the man withdraws a small bottle and tosses it in Ignis’ direction.

“For your own pleasure,” he offers. “If you need more, there’s plenty where that came from.”

Ignis eyes the vial of lubricant in his hand; if a full bottle wasn’t enough to prime the evening’s activities, the strategist had grossly underestimated the proportions of his own equipment. But before he can even remove his smallclothes, the bartender rolls over onto his chest and props himself on his elbows.

Ignis finally abandons his briefs on the floor and eases himself onto the bed beside his lover. “If you don’t mind,” he says, as he gestures for the bartender to assume a comfortable position on his back, “I generally like to see my partners’ faces in the heat of the moment.”

“Missionary? Really?” The man lets out a laugh. “I should think you were an old maid, with that sort of taste.”

The strategist tucks the bottle of lubricant beneath his arm and plucks the long-forgotten tie up off the pillow. “There are ways of reinventing the familiar.”

The man’s eyes widen as Ignis gathers his wrists above his head. “If you were hoping to avoid a metal foot to the teeth, this might not be the best course of action.”

The strategist loops the tie around the back of the headboard and secures the bartender’s hands. “A calculated risk.”

When he is satisfied with the strength of his knot, Ignis rocks back on his knees and rids himself of his last remaining accoutrement: his glasses. There was something about the absence of the familiar weight across the bridge of his nose that made him feel even more naked and vulnerable than being nude in front of a lover; perhaps it was the comments he inevitably received from his paramours on how different he looked without them that triggered his insecurities about his own image.

But the bartender mercifully makes no wry quips about his youthful features, and instead watches with curiosity as Ignis uncaps the vial of lubricant; cold serum drips down into his palm, and gooseflesh ripples through his skin when he touches the viscous liquid to his screaming erection. He then pours a generous amount over his partner’s loins, spreading the fluid across the man’s shivering flesh with warm hands, until he stops to press a finger inside the most sensitive and intimate part of his lover’s body.

Only then does the bartender finally make a sound; Ignis introduces a second finger, and is rewarded not with a kick to the jaw, but a louder, more audible gasp from the man. The exploration of discovery was wholly universal, the strategist surmises, and probing a man’s canal was not all that different than teasing the sex of a woman. He leans over and nuzzles his nose against his partner’s neck, his hand still buried between his thighs, and the bartender tilts his face toward the strategist’s in a furious attempt to meet his lips.

Ignis indulges in his desire, but only briefly, because it isn’t long before the man’s hips are quivering and his insistence is making itself known. The strategist withdraws his hand and positions himself above the bartender, then reaches down for the base of his own shaft and nudges the head against the entrance of his lover’s body; the lubrication has its intended effect, and the strategist’s elbows nearly give out from under him when he presses his heat inside his partner.

It was an altogether different sensation than what Ignis had experienced in the past; the taut walls of a man were more rigid, the muscles tightening against his ardor more acute, than the soft folds of a woman. He ceases all movement for an instant to allow for the sudden dizziness in his head to pass, and moves to rest his cheek against the bartender’s chiseled torso until his mind is clear enough to actively quell the throbbing in his loins.

When he is certain his body won’t betray him and spill his seed unceremoniously within five seconds of penetrating him, Ignis finally lifts his head to cover the bartender’s parted mouth with his own. His kiss is gentle at first, then more urgent as buries himself fully inside his partner; the man arches his ribcage and wraps his ankles around the back of the strategist’s knees—his left leg warm, his right cool to the touch—until their two bodies are nearly as one and his partner’s hard-as-stone manhood is trapped between both their abdomens.

Ignis grips at the sheets on either side of the bartender’s head when he begins to move, if only to protect the man from his fingernails that are desperate to mark their territory. But he can’t safeguard his partner from his teeth, and indeed the strategist is unable to resist the urge to leave a trail of gentle love bites down the man’s collarbone. His lover’s arms strain against the shackles of the necktie, so Ignis teases his tongue along the inside of the man’s biceps in an effort to distract him from the knot fettering his wrists.

The strategist eventually settles his hips into a comfortable rhythm, and studies the planes of his lover’s face as he seeks out visual and audible clues that might reveal to him the thoughts turning behind the bartender’s mind. He can see his jaw clench tightly when Ignis meets the edge of his resistance, can hear the carnal growl coming from deep within his throat; he can also feel the warm droplets pooling onto his partner’s abdomen, a telltale sign of the man’s ardor inching ever closer to its breaking point.

So Ignis doubles his efforts, and aims for the same firm spot he can feel with each passing drive of his hips. The bartender’s thighs are gripped tightly around his waist, his moans growing louder in his ears, his arms fighting the ties that bind them. Ignis bites down hard on the inside of his cheek in a rapidly failing attempt at mitigating his own rising fervor; it doesn’t help that lubricant smothering both of their flesh makes the strategist’s thrusts glide with the ease and pleasure of a well-oiled machine.

The bartender’s eyes suddenly flash with a fire that catches Ignis off guard. “Untie me,” he whispers.

The strategist hesitates for a moment, then leans down to touch his lips lightly to his partner’s cheek. “It won’t be much longer, I promise.”

The man levels him with a steely gaze. “Do it before I break this headboard, damn it.”

It doesn’t take a strategist to pick up on the deadly seriousness of the bartender’s voice; he immediately moves to loosen the knot, and the man’s hands are on his buttocks the instant they are freed. His mouth seeks out Ignis’ with a hunger of a rabid Voretooth, and he grinds his hips agonizingly against the strategist’s aching loins; even Ignis, the silent lover he often was, cannot entirely contain the gasp that escapes his lungs, and he closes his eyes when his partner’s writhing intensifies beneath him.

This isn’t precisely how the strategist had planned things to occur; drawing out sensual pleasure was a marathon, not a race, and he’d hoped to prolong his partner’s ecstasy at least a little longer than it had taken him to down his cocktail. But the bartender’s fingers clawing urgently at his lower back is doing nothing to impede the familiar pressure constricting the base of his shaft, and his body has wrenched his own free will away from him in favor of progressing autonomously through his thrusts.

It’s his partner’s climax that ultimately tips him over the edge, and the strategist has but a heartbeat to register the sensation of warm, milky fluid squeezing through the tight space between their bellies. Then his own orgasm is tearing through him, so he yields himself over to the inevitable; he grits his teeth as his hips jerk in time with the pulse of his contractions. When the final wave of his climax has exhausted itself, he summons the last of his self discipline and gingerly lowers himself to the bartender’s chest rather than collapsing under the weight of his own mass entirely.

The older man rakes his hands gently through Ignis’ scalp and they lay in silence, their hearts beating nearly as one. The strategist resists the urge to laugh aloud at the ludicrous notion that there was something inherently immoral or emasculating about bedding a gentleman; sword or sheath, one willing body was truly as warm as another. After a moment, Ignis pushes himself off his partner and reaches for his spectacles resting on the nightstand.

The bartender peers over at him as he settles his glasses across the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, this was the part of the evening that Ignis was always the most tentative of; his loyalty is first and foremost to the crown, and he recognizes the damage he risks to his credibility with each surreptitious dalliance he engages himself in. It’s why he hides behind a cold and aloof demeanor whenever he returns his lenses to his face; feelings of longing and affection would only get in the way of a man who has sworn his allegiance to a life of royal service.

Mercifully, the bartender makes no indication of a desire for pillow talk; he simply retrieves a hand towel stored in a drawer in the nightstand and wipes the fluid from his belly in silence. Ignis’ heart aches inside his chest at the painful austerity of their resolution, but it’s the price he must pay as a Crownsguard, a fleeting moment of euphoria in an otherwise restrained existence.

The bartender then offers the towel in the direction of the strategist. “Care for a cup of coffee?”

He takes the rag and cleans up the product of his own desire between his thighs. “If you happen to have Ebony, I’d be in your debt.”

The man tosses his legs—mechanical or otherwise—over the side of the bed and draws himself upright. “I’d be an embarrassment to my vocation if I brewed anything less than the best.”

Ignis watches as the man quickly throws on his briefs and trousers before exiting the bedroom. He then glances around in search of his own wardrobe—how his shirt ended up all the way in the threshold of the door, he can’t quite remember—and dresses in silence, an odd sense of dismay washing over him. In hindsight, bedding the one person in all of Insomnia who knew just how to pour a proper glass of scotch perhaps went against his better judgment.

The alluring aroma of freshly-brewed coffee is already swirling in the air when the strategist finally moves into the living room. The bartender is leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his flat abdomen on full display for Ignis’ viewing pleasure. “Is everything all right?” the man asks. “You seem to be mired in a cloud of melancholy, all of a sudden.”

Ignis adjusts his spectacles out of nervous habit. “I was just thinking it might be best if I gave up my drinking habit for a while.”

The bartender frowns. “Are you worried about what I’ll say? I’ll have you know that no one keeps secrets in Crown City better than I do.”

“I’ve heard that before,” the strategist mutters, “but loose lips appear to follow me wherever I go.”

The man then retrieves two mugs from a cabinet, topping them both off with Ebony before moving to stop beside Ignis. “Libertus’ reputation seems to be no worse for wear, despite my best efforts,” he teases.

The strategist accepts the mug the bartender is holding out for him and grimaces. “Your discretion is appreciated.”

“If you choose to distance yourself from your fallibilities, I’ll try not to take it personally.” The bartender sips at his Ebony and touches a hand to the small of Ignis’ back. “But a little youthful capriciousness scarcely tarnished a man’s respectability. I should think your name might be famous across Lucis one day.”

“‘The Philanderer’ doesn’t exactly have the ring I was hoping for.”

“You have nothing to fear—‘The Strategist’ has already taken root in the minds of others. It may have reached the ears of even Tenebrae by now.” The bartender then leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Ignis’ cheek. “If you ever happen to make it there, do be on the lookout for the floating castles—they are truly a sight to behold.”

[jenmoboba]

Father's Day Flop

Father's Day is coming up this Sunday, and that means beware of the angry single moms, and lesbian parents. Mothers expect gifts, brunch, and exquisitely designed bouquets of flowers, but on father's day men are expected to barbecue because; equality right?

"It's all love," only means love that excludes men, and paternal figures. Love means men aren't allowed, and what kind of a message does that send to children? To be cruel and display hatred towards all fathers, just because some marriages and relationships can't work out?

Mothers always have high expectations for Mother's Day, but why is it women that are trying to pull the plug on Father's Day? In Australia, a women's group is trying to rename Father's Day to "Special Person's Day," to make children feel more included that don't have fathers or have an unfortunate circumstance. Why aren't they advocating for the renaming of Mother's Day?

Boys are more at risk than ever for lack of success in school, and in life, all due to fatherlessness. A lot of people have used the hashtag #EndFathersDay because it is a gendered holiday - but isn't Mother's Day?

I understand that there are some children that don't have fathers to celebrate on Father's Day, and I'm one of them. But there are children that don't have mothers, or at least active mother figures in their lives for them to celebrate. Not everyone has grandparents to celebrate on Grandparent's Day, or siblings to hug on Sibling's Day. Not everyone has a best friend to celebrate Best Friends Day with, or a Valentine to schmooze on Valentine's Day. What I'm getting at is, not everyone has someone to celebrate on these individual-specific holidays.

This card was pulled from shelves at Target due to its facilitation of racism. If race is the only thing you are pointing out about these cards, you shouldn't be shopping for one. If you don't like this particular baby daddy card, don't purchase it then? These are Father's Day cards, not vouchers for identity politics.

There have been feminist posters circling social media, saying, "Fathers don't deserve a day," and "End Father's Day," because it facilitates a celebration of the patriarchy and oppression of women. Although these were digitally manipulated, the originals say, "I regret my abortion." Wouldn't that mean that you probably didn't consult the father of the fetus when you made your decision? Did you consider that he contributed to the events leading up to you having a baby? Fathers do in fact deserve a day because they indirectly contributed to your decision to get an abortion.

Men were brought into the world and created by women as well as men. Having a pregnancy is a gender dice roll, you have an equal chance of having either gender, male or female. If you consider having a son as a misfortune, might I explain to you that China has a one girl policy. We have it so good in America, being able to have children at our own discretion without worrying about a female quota, and being able to have immediate access to emergency contraception methods.

Father's Day isn't any more discriminatory towards people than Mother's Day. If Father's Day discriminates against women who can't be fathers, Mother's Day discriminates against men who can't be mothers. If Father's Day discriminates against men who choose not to be fathers, Mother's Day discriminates against women who choose not to be mothers. I could go on. I'm twenty years old, and Destry and I have mutually agreed not to have children.

Neither of us have fathers to celebrate on Father's Day, but it is a great holiday that many people utilize to celebrate the paternal figures in their lives. I have seen great fathers make contributions to their children's and other children's lives. Mothers, grandfathers, and aunts respectively contribute to children's lives greatly, and it is unfair to want to get rid of one simply because bitter people disagree with it.

[dancingwiththebranches-blog]

Dating :: What Exactly Are Fit Singles

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[koreaism-blog]

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