#oh one more thing. if we are getting specific i am on the sex-repulsed side of the scale

[johnbly]

the way that getting into period dramas has made me more inclined to believe that i am actually ace is funny

[epaily]

more ace feelings yeehaw

i was unloading today which is kinda mindless, and i had this realization thats never fully made sense before

general anxiety and self hate aside, the thought of someone looking at me and wanting to fck me is revolting :D not at all in a fetishizing way, im not a moron i know thats normal. but to me, personally, someone looking at me and wanting to be intimate makes my skin crawl. tenfold if its just some random guy.

im so repulsed by the idea of someone wanting me because i cant/wont/dont want to do AnyThing its just all so gross to me. even the guy i like, the very first time we talked he called me cute and the thought of him looking at me once and going 🥵🍆 makes me want to die thats awful to me. not fetishing its normal im just ace!!! i am just me!!!! why am i so weird!!!!!

this is longer then i wanted it to be lol i hope this makes sense

**i saw a reddit post about op disliking oral in all forms and the line specifically "oral is a basic thing in any relationship" ..............is it? is it expected? i really, really cant imagine that.

on one side of the coin its abso fucking lutely possible to have a relationship without sex, look at older people or queer partnerships with different lines or celabit people who wait til marriage or health issues get in the way (and granted fhat one can get the other person pissy) or just people who happen to not fuck often!! its normal!!!!!!

on the other hand, ive seen.......way too much saying you cannot have a ""real"" relationship if you arent fucking on the regular. like isnt there a law somewhere defining this?

i dont know

all im sure of is i hate sex and i hate sexual activaties and i hate the thought of someone looking at me and getting turned on and i think this is very deeply ingrained because i have worn baggy and loose clothing to hide my body forever, and oh god i just want to be loved so desperately but because of the way i am and my aversion i probably never will be. i just want to be myself and be loved.

[bitchlessdino]

guilty pleasure pt. 1

Pairing: Jihoon x gn!reader x Mingyu

Genre: smut, some plot

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: mostly Jihoon pov, heavy pining, male masturbation

Summary: You know what’s shittier than liking someone taken? Liking someone taken by your best friend.

author note: HI! I am not sorry for posting this right after the Dino ask. welcome back to bitchlessdino where nana is a mess always. today i bring you to one of my favorite seventeen dynamics. i am obsessed by how mingyuzi are together all the time and i feel like not enough people talk about it. this is a short little bit that builds up to a bigger thing and tags will be according the specific part so keep that in mind.

Chapter list

tagging : @multi-kpop-fanfics @hoshistar96 @dinosbestie @aceofvernons

Jihoon wasn’t stupid, he had eyes. You were absolutely breathtaking and it took every fiber in his body to knock some sense back into him. His attraction to you was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt before, and he felt weak coming to terms with that. Not only were you physically the embodiment of sex and pure charisma, you reeled of class and genuine that he didn’t find in other people. Your setback, however, was the fact you had to be preoccupied, by his roommate nonetheless. 

Mingyu was lucky beyond measure. How he came across you remained a mystery. All Jihoon knew was that out of everyone he’s ever met, you had this quality about you that drew him like a moth to a flame. Your face, your body, your voice.

God, your voice was absolutely electrifying. How these thin walls would talk and how Jihoon would listen, he could write sonnets of how absolutely wretched you made him with the delicious noise you emitted. He was starting believe he never experienced a sexual awakening until you walked right out of Mingyu’s door or moaned as loudly and boldly through the wall where Jihoon slumbered on the other side.

Although all this is true, Mingyu wasn’t the type to keep someone around like he did you.

As far as Jihoon knew, Mingyu’s lust was endless and didn’t limit any single person. As he recalled, several types of people take the walk of shame leaving the same door only to never be the same face. It was stranger after stranger with no repeats. Then again, here you were sleeping over in his shared living space for the umpteenth time. You stuck out in that giant t-shirt, thanks to Mingyu, prancing around the common area in no visible bottoms. Your smile, like a ray of light, energizes his tired mind as you pull out a mug for your serving of coffee.

“Morning, Hoon! When did you get home last night?”

He never once left the apartment complex. 

Coughing, he scratches the back of his neck in discomfort. “I actually worked from home today.”

“Oh. Shit. I hope we weren’t bothering you or something. Were we loud?”

Very.

“I had my headphones in. They were noise canceling, so you’re all good.” He nods reassuringly.

“Aw well, good,” the coffee bitter, but uplifting, on your tongue, you finally start to feel alive, “Any plans today or were you gonna stay home?”

Jihoon knew why you had to ask. You were wondering whether the apartment would be free later for you and Mingyu to continue what you were doing last night, without Jihoon being a big cock block in the way, not that it stopped them before. The man simply sighs and munches on his cereal mundanely, shrugging. “I could give you guys some privacy this afternoon.”

“Oh, that's not why I asked,” you professed in a panic, “I was wondering if you wanted to join us today.”

Jihoon had to pause. “Join you?”

All kinds of thoughts ran through his head like venom, trickling into every wrinkle of his brain. Whatever group activity you had planned could only be deduced to one thing for Jihoon at the moment, and it had his blood pumping. The idea of having Mingyu be in the same room was repulsive, probably because he knows where Mingyu has been, but that look in your eyes was more than enough to convince him. And he admits even if it was for a moment, he’d take that chance.

“We were gonna grab lunch at the bear cavern and the pasta they have there is to die for. I thought you’d really enjoy it.”

Not exactly what he expected. In retrospect, this made more sense. “Uh, sure. I guess.”

“Great! Oh, and I started listening to your Spotify playlist and added it to my account. Your selection is so good. I had no idea your taste in music was so sexy,” you playfully nudge with a wink.

His throat runs dry. Even if you were just complimenting his taste in music, hearing the word roll off your tongue so smoothly was enough to burn his ears and cue the butterflies. He handles the edge of the counter with a hard grip, calming himself down the best he could. “T-thanks. I was gonna add some more finds later tonight.”

You finish your mug and clean up the remaining inside the sink, “Can’t wait.”

Jihoon understood his predicament all too well. If he could, he’d make every opportunity to have you gasp his name, have you begging to have him fuck you in every corner of the room, have him the only person on your mind. However, he knew his setbacks, his limitations, and last, but not least, where his loyalty lies.

As irritating as Mingyu can be, he’s his roommate and pretty much his best friend at the end of the day. Having a friendship like this was one in thousands. Yes, the man stood 6 foot three inches, despite being younger, and yes he sometimes uses this knowledge as leverage to occasionally poke fun at Jihoon who was of a decent height. He was so much of what Jihoon isn’t , but despite all that, he knew he could never betray his friend on any level.

His patience was tested that day when the group lunch commenced. You, of course, sat beside Mingyu, having the other roommate to witness every little private intimate gesture made in front of him. Mingyu, love stricken as can be, played with your fingers like a child amused by the simplest of things, his voice hitting the highest of pitches when you made him laugh, and the never-ending gaze he had in your direction. 

Jihoon could feel his guilt boiling over and feared it spilling over to the surface, risking his friendship. He refrained from too many glances. 

“Good right?”

Jihoon picks apart his food, putting on a show by stuffing a fork full of pasta in his mouth. He makes a sound of approval, nodding. You proudly grin, and go on with your meal. Mingyu on the other hand sees his friend with his mouth so full, reaching over with a napkin to dab his roommates face. “Ah, Jihoon. Chew thoroughly please, we can’t have you choking.”

Jihoon swats his hands away, wiping his face himself in defense. “I got it. Keep your hands to yourself.”

The pretty boy pouts but is immediately distracted by the person beside him pulling his arm, complimenting how cute he gets when he’s considerate. It was then at that moment, an employee made a poor lapse of judgment and had a pitcher of lemonade spill all over you. You were taken by surprise, unable to predict that from a mile away, and stepped away from your seat to let the ice fall from your lap and let everyone see the soaked mess you became in a matter of seconds.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”

“You better be sorry, how could you be so careless?!”

Before Jihoon could stop himself, his voice bounced off the walls of the restaurant furious at the reckless waiter, having never had his voice resonate that loud before at a stranger. You pull him aside, ensuring him it was a simple mistake and you were fine, but Jihoon was doubtful.

“Are you sure? you’re really wet.”

Yeah, he heard it.

“I just need a change of clothes, if you have any.”

“There should be a clean set in my car in my gym bag, that ok?”

“Perfect,” you nod.

You turn to Mingyu briefly to let him know that you’d follow Jihoon back to change and Mingyu paid it no mind. As you follow him back to the car, you embrace your damp body, seeking out the sun to warm up and watch Jihoon open up the car truck to take out a clean shirt for you to change into. He gives it a good sniff before handing it to you, immediately regretting his actions. “Hopefully it smells clean enough.”

You giggle, “This will do just fine.”

You take a sniff yourself and relaxed at how surprising and pleasant its scent was. “Mmh, smells good to me. I’ll go change in the back seat.”

He unlocks his car to give your space and you crawl inside, closing the door behind you. Jihoon flushes a deep red knowing you’d be topless in the car where his back faced, so he took some deep steady breaths. Attempting to stray away from non-platonic thoughts like the underwear you wore or how soft your skin probably was under your clothes. Anything that could get him in trouble.

He was not proud of what he did that night. When he finally got the shirt back after all day of you bathing your scent in it, he couldn’t look at it the same. So, he did what any man blinded by lust could do: he masturbated. However, it wasn’t going to be any normal chain yanking, the shirt had to be involved. 

Flat against the mattress, in a singular tank top, he holds his borrowed shirt in his left hand and his throbbing erection in the right. He strategically places the shirt on his face, panting like a dog as he takes control. Your perfume that ligers, a slight sweat build up, and even the bit of soda residue spill on your skin, he absorbed it all. He pictures your face in his mind. Beautiful, yet sultry, dying to have his angry cock inside you.

He whispers to himself your name, letting his delusions run wild and imagine you do the same for him. He flicks his wrist hard, the fabric of his abused shirt heaving up and down from his breath. His knees arching up in the bed, hips jutting upward, thrusting into nothing until he cums, guilty large streams of ivory heating up the large patch of his bare stomach, then the deafening silence. Simply his breathing and shame was left behind.

He had been lucky neither of the Mingyu nor you had caught him in such a weak state. He would never live to see the next day.

“I’m so fucked.”

[beautifulmorningstar]

Reminder that not everything I reblog is full endorsement, as it tends to be on this website. Neither is it endorsement of the people in the notes/OP. I can explore ideas as I see fit without y'all losing it over someone else's blog.

Anyone who wants to harrass me about it is just getting blocked.

Edit: even if i DO agree with something "controversial" or whatever, consider that my mind isn't monochrome and that it doesn't mean I automatically stop seeing the other side. Don't like it? Get the fuck off my blog then. (Also you can check my tags for thoughts on specific posts, if you feel unsafe on my blog etc. If there are no tags kindly do not make assumptions)

Edit Again (Feb 10 '23):

1. New followers: if you don't want me following you back or you don't mind a follow while not wanting me reblogging from you, feel free to DM me w your request (this goes for longtime mutuals too). I understand what it's like out there, you don't have to explain anything

That being said, if you're a blank blog...you're getting blocked, sorry

2. If we have a conversation about ANYTHING, it will be private. No I don't take screenshots or whatever.

3. Since this was asked before, my "reminder" tag is one I use for reminders TO MYSELF, and my new "heterosexuality" tag is something I've decided to use for any mention of heterosexuality (it's not supposed to indicate negativity), my doom tags to block truly awful real-life news is "tw negative" and "tw heavy negative" (for mild and sickening, respectively). I also tag other potentially traumatic things (i.e. "tw violence"). Feminists, if you're sick of seeing male terrorism, my tag for that is "male terrorism" (lol).

4. If I suspect you might threaten the women I follow, you will be blocked

(25 Jan, 2024) some stuff:

+ pro-choice always = basic feminism

+ not shaving = despite being a non-action in and of itself, is an important feminist/self-respectful stance

+ no sexual violence is ever acceptable, including in war, no matter which side

+ white people aren't better/more deserving than any other people, ever

+ I'm fine with the gold-star term (that includes rape victims) and therefore against people who attack lesbians that use it

+ Lesbians are naturally repulsed by the idea of sex with males (lesbians = homosexual female humans). It is possible to be coerced under heavy/threat-induced environments (think arranged marriages/religious upbringings) but no lesbian willingly decides to engage in PIV sex - males are a turn-off.

+ fatphobia is stupid, appearance-based insults are usually stupid. I am personally convinced that extreme fatphobia is reframed misogyny (women naturally have more fat distribution than males)

+ hatred of femaleness is a major symptom of living in a male-centric global system and neither is natural (the inability to imagine anything beyond our current point in time does not help)

+ question the propaganda but expect the truths to be difficult to obtain

+ anti-religion: growing up without such a thing shows religion up rather clearly as tools to blind, subdue, control, and weaponize (despite the positive aspects/cultures that may exist too)

+ oh also I don't interact with your pathetic little anon hate messages. As in, you get deleted on sight and I don't even read the whole thing :)

⚡ I should mention I'm not a radfem, as I haven't got the reading + I don't live the lifestyle properly as an intentional choice (however the way I am/live naturally aligns with it in some ways) + I respect the women I follow too much to claim to be one without following through. Still, I am definitely a supporter in any way I can here. If you want to know more about me and you're not a Sus Impostor, feel free to DM me (also be aware I disappear for long amounts of time bec I'm useless at constant communication).

[jackoshadows]

Sometimes I think ASoIaF/GoT fandom is too hard on J*nsa shippers, like let them ship their ship if it makes them happy, but then I read shit about how Jon/Arya is "bad" incest because they look alike but Jon/Sansa is "good" incest since they look like Ned/Cat, and then I'm like "nah, they deserve to be the laughingstock of the fandom."

IMO, the fandom only has an issue with the 'Jonsa is canon' shippers who spend their time mutating Jon, Dany, Arya and others into unrecognizable side characters in a story called a Song of Sansa and Sansa.

Why do I dislike Jonsa? Because of the shippers.

The way Jonsa is shipped makes it at it’s core an inherently misogynistic and classist ship that undermines Jon Snow as a character and his canon relationships in the books and the TV show IMO. Dany and Arya get a lot of sexist hate because of this ship. Especially Dany. Jonsa stans turned against the character specifically after Jonerys happened on the show.

The ‘Jonsa is canon’ folks posit that:

Jon’s disdain for girls like Sansa is actually about Jon feeling that he is not worthy of beautiful, perfect Sansa because of his bastardy. He therefore settles for girls similar to Arya, who are more to his level - classism and sexism in one concise package! Jon’s issues concerning his bastardy will be resolved once trueborn, beautiful Sansa deigns to love him.

Jon is wrong to like girls like Arya and does not know his own mind. He will therefore grow as a character and acknowledge that his type has always been Sansa.

Jon has actually referred to Arya as being horse-faced and ugly and told Arya that it is right and correct to live within patriarchal rules!

Jon is also very shallow - he develops a romantic crush on his 11 year old sibling who mocked and bullied Arya for being ugly. Who cares if Arya went crying to him afraid that she too was a bastard because of her looks, 11 year old Sansa’s beauty is too hard to resist!

Arya cannot have a romance arc, is not pretty, will not marry or have children. Jon will be repulsed by her when they meet again. Jon will grow to dislike Arya, Val, Dany etc. for their masculine characteristics and for killing people. Instead he will find Sansa’s feminine courage more appealing and fall in love with her beauty, purity, innocence, singing, dancing, lady like ways.

Slut-shaming. Dany has many partners unlike pure, innocent Sansa. (They have rather puritanical opinions on sex and morality and project these notions onto Sansa. I don't know if it's because of their obsession with fairy tales and disney princesses)

Jon will turn into a Littlefinger like character who sexually manipulates Daenerys - a rape victim - in order to help his true love Sansa get the North. This is okay because Dany deserves it and it’s about helping Sansa.

Dany and Jon's child will be born deformed, monstrous. Dany will turn mad because of genes. Jon will reject her because she’s barren. The Starks are superior to everyone.

Actual defense of slavery and classism. Dany is wrong to free the slaves in Meereen, Arya is wrong to step in to help Mycah, the classism and feudal structures in Westeros is fine as long as the Starks/Sansa are the ones perpetuating it.

Jon is oversensitive and whiny about Catelyn Stark and she was right to abuse him because bastards are a threat to her children.

Jaime Lannister will become Hand of the King, for Queen Sansa and King Jon, while evil Tyrion will die.

The hard power of characters like Daenerys and the violence of characters like Arya is evil and wrong while the violence of male characters is righteous and justified. Jon, who regularly kills people, will be put off by Arya and Dany killing people.

Daenerys and Arya should be repudiated because they have masculine characteristics, masculine courage, a masculine narrative arc and people only enjoy their story because they stand in for male characters.

‘People like Dany more than Sansa because Emilia Clarke showed her tits’ - actual words written by a popular Jonsa shipper.

The scorned women trope. This is a core premise of many of their theories like political Jon and fAegon being real. Dany will be rejected by men, go mad and burn down KL.

There is only one real female character in the story - that’s Sansa. And the only reason - the ONLY REASON, people criticize or dislike the character is because of their internalized misogyny against the only real female character in the books. Only Sansa gets the fairy tale romance because she’s a real woman.

Being written as a divisive, xenophobic, isolationist, backstabbing traitor on the show is good writing that portrays Sansa as a good leader.

And so on and so forth. I am pretty sure I have only covered like half of their nonsense.

Ultimately the problem for Jonsa is that it's nonexistent in the books and both characters had an antagonistic relationship on the show. There's nothing there. So the 'Jonsa is canon' folks take away from Arya, the Jon-Arya relationship, erase Arya from her story and relationships and demonize Dany to make Jonsa happen.

Jonerys and Jonrya shippers don't have that problem. Both ships have material from the books and show and even extras like GRRM's leaked original outline to make the case for these ships. Jon, Dany and Arya are central characters in the series.

Jonerys and Jonrya shippers are not writing essays taking away from Jon and Sansa's relationship - because that relationship is nonexistent. There's nothing to take away from! Other shippers don't have to make up things out of thin air or hate on Sansa for having a relationship with Jon. She doesn’t have one!

There's actual little clues in the books that could point to either Jonerys and Jonarya instead of shippers being excited that Jon's book chapter followed Sansa’s or snow fell on her face lol.

Jonsas literally erase Arya from her story in the books and her relationship with Jon to insert Sansa in there. Jonrya shippers don’t need to do that - Arya has a central story in the North and Jon Snow literally died for her in the last book!

And that's why all these anti posts from people like Daensa shippers grouping Jonerys/Jonrya together with a crackship like Jonsa makes no sense. If anything, considering how these shippers have now started becoming obnoxious as well with their 'Oh look at us, we are so edgy and superior!' shit, Jonsa will fit right in with them.

[harpersplay]

Genuine non-troll white woman here - you wrote "So I already knew that Good Girls was a white feminism phantasmagoria...But, jesus fucking christ, y'all are just showing your true colours lately. The way you talk about a MOC in relation to a white woman is disgusting." Not asking you to call out specific people or posts or start any kind of flame war but what would be a general example of what you are talking about? I follow a good chunk of people and I'm not seeing this maybe b/c I'm not following the same people, maybe out of willful blindness, maybe I'm not recognizing it - again, b/c of ignorance, etc. Just trying to understand what you mean - and not do it obviously, if I am doing it.

I apologise for taking a longish time to answer this. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to get into it. Anyway, I'd first like to say that this is all my opinion. What bothers me might not bother someone else. BIPOC are not a monolith. Even subsections aren't. Not all Mexican trans men are a monolith. Neither are all Japanese lesbians. You get the idea. And that's not even including people like Ben Carson or Caitlyn Jenner—people who support and work for policies that actively harm the marginalised group of which they are a part. Secondly, I know this isn't your intention, but asking POC to tell you what is ok to do and what is not is a slippery slope to "my [blank] friend said this was ok." Finally, the fandom is quite small so it is pretty hard to give general examples. I don't know if it's more trouble to quote specific posts or not, because some will think it is about them anyway. Anything I'm going to mention I've seen on Tumblr, Instagram, Reddit and/or Twitter. But there are definitely popular Tumblr blogs that all push the same narrative. Oh, and one last thing, I haven't seen any of what I'm referring to from people I follow.

Ok, let's go. For a very long time, mainly WOC have pointed out the racial problems within the show and the extremely dismissive attitude about those problems from mainly white women. And while these same women have written thousands (even tens of thousands) or words about Beth (it's always Beth) and her struggles and the amazingness of such a complex female character (ymmv), they brush aside commentary about racism as either nitpicking, not understanding the show is about the 3 women (tell that to all the white men with fleshed-out storylines), or misogyny. The last is especially hostile because they are often talking over Black women and misogynoir is a very real fucking thing that couples the fun of being hated for being a woman with the delight of good old-fashioned racism. They espouse the idea that people having a problem with Beth are all covert & overt misogynists. But talk out the other side of their mouths that they can't possibly be racist even when they support racism in the show or ignore concerns brought up by fans of colour. And that is just the absolute height of hypocrisy. Because by the former they acknowledge that people in a marginalised group (women) can still be anti- that group (a phenomenon with which I agree). But in the latter, suddenly they don't understand that concept.

Specific to the post you are responding to, fans that purport to like Brio write about the relationship in ways that reveal how much of their enjoyment comes from Rio being inferior to Beth. It's all about what he can do for her, how he acts against his best interests for her, how he literally denies himself sexual pleasure for her. Those are all meant to show how in love he is with her. But the show never bothers to tell us why. And, no, this is not because the show is so deep. Other romantic relationships they have scenes that are explicit about the characters' feelings. But Rio, after being shot, after being betrayed, after being mocked, is just so in love with Beth....because. (MYSTERIOUS!) And the Beth stans are more than fine with this because they think everyone should be as obsessed with Beth as they are. But it's bad storytelling. And, in this particular case, it gets into very dicey racist tropes. A white women treating her Latino lover like an afterthought is not the same as a white women treating her white lover like an afterthought. It just isn't. And if some of these fans are as smart as they pretend to be, they know that. They just don't care. Much like the showrunners.

There was so much talk defending the drawn-out Boland marriage because why can't we understand how hard it is for Beth—who is, at various times, claimed to be emotionally abused by Dean or staying with him because it is safe and comfortable—and we don't appreciate how difficult it is for her (I may be one of the few divorced people talking about this show on Tumblr, so this has always made me laugh). Yet there was nothing but glee when Rio flipped on his brousin (who was written as both abusive and safe) for Beth. Where was the empathy for Rio and how hard it was for him? Especially because, unlike Beth, he didn't even have one parent? Hadn't the Beth stans used her very tragical history™️ to explain away her every shitty act? idk, not having any parents and going to jail (as a minor?) and being betrayed by your family seems pretty tragic. But I didn't see them all of a sudden excusing Rio's bad behaviour. Because, feminism or something?

What about Beth's feelings? Last season she spent trying to have him killed. This season she spent looking annoyed by him. Throughout both she talked down to him in a specific white woman way that every BIPOC has experienced, even if some of them are cool with it. There were multiple opportunites for Beth to talk about her feelings with Ruby and/or Annie, but the writers made the deliberate choice to always make it about sex (and god, the immature way they had these three grown women talk was fucking obnoxious). She spent the last 2 seasons also wanting him out of her life to the point that a majority of her actions in S4 were motivated by getting to Nevada with her husband and kids. Beth doesn't care about Rio but Rio needs to put Beth above everything because he's just so in love like he's never been before (which is blatant Marcus & Rhea erasure). And anyone who doesn't think Beth would have just as happily been sitting on that bench plotting how to "run the city" (hahahahaha!) with Nick if the situation worked out differently hasn't been paying attention.

So, what do we have? A white woman who is constantly excused (by the loudest portion of the fandom) for all her ill treatment to her Black BFF & her Black husband, her Asian coworker, her Latina "friend," and Rio (among others) because her life is hard and who is not required to even be nice to her supposed "endgame". And a MOC who is expected to accept being treated poorly by the white woman because he loves her.

And, a last thing, this attitude grossly crossed over into talk about real people when the fans—who self-righteously claimed to be above anon sources or talking about the actors—latched on to the narrative and enjoyed blaming the MOC actor for the cancellation of the show, even dragging his insignificant (in terms of influence) Black wife into it. All while conveniently ignoring that the creator/showrunner is a white woman. The star & producer is a white woman. The people making the decisions at NBCU & Netflix were white women. All white women with so much more power than the Latino actor.

Shit, did I answer your question? I know this is a lot. But I could honestly make mulitple posts on each issue I touched on here. Basically, white people ain't slick, be they content creators or fans. We see how & what y'all talk about. We see that Rio not having a last name is not a big deal to you and we know why that is. So we're fucking tired. And we're over a show that had so much potential crapping all over their POC characters to prop up a white woman. And we're repulsed by the white women in the fandom who use their tears to seem oppressed and who toss around the word misogynist because POC dare call a Karen a Karen.

[everything-laito]

Hypersexuality and Laito Sakamaki (UPDATED)

Hiya guys! Been a long ass time since I’ve made a post like this, I’ve been getting so much ask box activity + had school so I haven’t had the time to make an original post! This has been something I wanted to write for a while, and not only was I busy with school, but this one hits home hard to me personally, so I was going back and forth for a bit writing it. But I think I’m ready :)

I know there’s kind of a general consensus that anything DL related comes along with a trigger warning whether stated or not, but just a TW considering I’ll be talking about some real life experiences; not in depth or detail of course, but just mentions of it :) Not only is this a Laito analysis but it’s also an educational tool to help other people know about this!

So, without further ado, rant under the cut! 

Hypersexuality is something that many sexual assault/harassment and rape survivors experience after the abuse. People associate asexuality or sexual repulsion as the only (or common) psychological affect after experiencing those situations. However, there is another affect that can happen, and it is more common than people think, and aforementioned, it’s hypersexuality. It’s basically having more sexual feeling and urges after the experience, in order to cope with the nonconsensual one. And it’s exactly what Laito experienced after Cordelia’s abuse.

I’ve also experienced something like this. I don’t believe I’ve experienced it in full swing, but definitely something like it. I haven’t been raped thankfully, but I have been sexually harassed/assaulted before a handful of times. I know I’ve briefly mentioned that in other analyses, but I’m just explicitly stating it here.

I first learned about hypersexuality this year actually, and my Laito nerd brain was like “holy shit that’s the name of what Laito is going through.” Then I was like “oh fuck I’ve gone through that a little bit too.” I thought going along with  would help me “heal” myself, and it really was doing the opposite. (UPDATE: realized that what I thought was a lot of sexual trauma/hypersexuality was mostly compulsory heterosexuality (but still with those dabbled in too—quite a terrible combo) because last month I realized I’m not attracted to men! Although those experiences I mentioned did mess me up a bit, realizing this is a huge step in the right direction for my own mental well being. Just had to make this correction on my part, since the original post had more emotional investment than I would have liked it to :)) 

Like I have said in my little update, I realized I was going through mostly compulsory heterosexuality while also going through some minor sexual trauma/hypersexuality. Although again, I have not had it as bad as Laito has or other sexual assault survivors (which I am grateful for that), I still have a personal grasp of coping mechanisms with traumatic experiences or experiences I did not particularly enjoy. (If you are interested in learning more about compulsory heterosexuality, feel free to send me an ask! I just don’t feel that it’s appropriate to talk about it in regards to Laito or make a post about it, since it doesn’t relate to him)

And that’s probably also why I can resonate with Laito so much, at least on that scale, and even if I experienced a grain of what he’s going through. I know he’s fictional but these are definitely real experiences and real feelings. 

Laito’s case is a bit different than just feeling overtly sexual. Although he’s trying to heal himself through sex and other intimate actions, he’s also doing it as a type of revenge. He doesn’t like purity, and in fact, he’s quite jealous of it. I’ve heard this is also a pretty human way of coping with this type of abuse, and it is why I love Yui as a character. She’s incredibly strong and sets an example for Laito. This makes Laito jealous yet entertained by her, and that’s also a reason why he probably keeps her around. He also attempts to use Yui as a vessel to avenge his own feelings (even not knowing about Cordelia being in her at first). I  personally wasn’t like that, but given the circumstances, there’s definitely people who are. Laito’s character can be so human to me sometimes, its astonishing, despite him being a character, a vampire, and just generally does some wacky or terrible shit. 

You could say his hypersexuality could also be similar to typical Pavlovian Conditioning. You’ve probably heard of the whole experiment of training (conditioning) a dog to expect food when they hear a certain sound and thus, his mouth waters. We’re conditioned by a lot of things in our lives, from triggering a “flight or fight” response from this specific ringtone or high school bell. It’s just a built in “routine” our minds utilize to process pattern recognition. I know I say this a lot, but we don’t know how vampire brains in the DL universe compare to human brains (and quite frank, I don’t think we will), so I will just do my typical human brain picking. 

In Laito’s case, he was conditioned to “love” Cordelia in a fashion that was incredibly gross. No, I won’t sugar coat it. In my Cordelia/Laito analysis, I talk about how Laito was probably groomed. Grooming is another type of conditioning. Although I don’t believe his grooming was sexual, it definitely “prepares” the victim to be exploited in that fashion later on. It’s to build a false sense of trust to be betrayed. Later on, when Cordelia started having sex with Laito, he became used to it in a “conditioned” fashion. When someone said that Cordelia was calling him, he knew what it was. He also thought it’s what he wanted, even though he knew that he didn’t. I believe I have referenced his MB Dark Prologue monologue before, but not this part of it. Here’s the monologue: 

――Who is it that I give my love to? Throwing myself away, I caught the sight of someone Someone I didn’t recognize, Suddenly, I realized I was looking into a mirror. The mirror reflected myself within it. I couldn’t see anything else. I am disgraceful for this greed. I was wearing a visage. What I wanted, certainly was love. It’s not that easy. Because of these words, I suffer. No matter how many times love is said, The only thing that will be important to me, Is only the physical contact and body.

I know I've said it in the Laito/Cordelia analysis, but Laito is visibly confused in his flashbacks. He’s trying to grasp what love is, but then convinces himself that love is physical contact, and not emotional connection, especially near the end. He knows he’s suffering but he is still conditioned to think like this. Same case for people who suffer from hypersexuality. 

Although many people do not know why it occurs, it can be a symptom or “side effect” from disorders, medication, and the like. In the sexual trauma case, I believe a main reason is that the person utilizes sex to cope with trauma, or because they are used to sexual acts being forced upon them. That’s where conditioning still comes in. He’s treated as one of her suitors, lovers, or the like. Even as a stand-in for Richter and Karlheinz. He doesn’t consider Cordelia to be his mom until the DF Vampire ending. On top of him not receiving emotional gratification which leads to all sorts of just awful stuff for him, sexual attention is the only type that he receives until Yui comes along. He is used to not having emotional support or connections, which is why physical contact is what he is more “comfortable” with, while at the end of the day it still does not satisfy him.  

It creates a positive feedback loop of him being unsatisfied, while being confused about where he’s unsatisfied in, leading to him trying to “fix” himself or avoid his own personal, emotional problems through lust and sex, but then still finding himself not “healing.” Then the cycle continues, enthusing his hyper sexual behavior even more.

I was sent some great articles from @souchiika on the DL discord (thank you so much!) and one of the articles stood out to me, since I did not talk about this type of topic on this blog yet. Here’s the link to the article, and here’s the quote that stood out to me!

Furthermore, indirect effects were also statistically significant, providing support to the hypothesis that depression and guilt would be serial mediators of trauma-hypersexual behavior relations. The paths through depression and guilt have been found to be the most significant with moderate and high indirect effects on hypersexuality. Moreover, male gender, as covariate variable, is a relevant risk factor for hypersexual behavior.

Hypersexuality is something that is still being researched like I mentioned earlier, but since these findings came out, it definitely makes sense in Laito’s case (and in general). Like I said, Laito does feel unsatisfied and even shameful of his actions, which is more apparent in the beginning of his and Cordelia’s “relationship.” In those flashbacks, he asks himself if this is what he really wants, and although he attempts to force himself to like these actions as a coping mechanism, there is still a relative degree of shame and guilt he has. It is also apparent nearing his DF Ecstacy ending when he finds out that Karlheinz foresaw Cordelia having sex with him, and even wanted it to happen. All that shame and guilt came bellowing out while he was in a fit of distress. In initial attempts to mediate this guilt and shame, he projected his feelings onto other women through sexual acts, leading to more of this hypersexual loop. I know I talk about Laito projecting a lot, but it is frequent in his character. Like I’ve always said, it’s typical “bully” power dynamic manipulation. If Laito can bring a victim of his down to his level, then he feels better about himself (but it satisfies him for only a short while, until Yui in MB+). 

Also, note that this is no excuse or justification for him to rape or sexually assault others. It is merely an explanation as to why he does it (as for my posts in general, it’s not a justification, it’s an explanation). 

Another reminder that rape and sexual assault isn’t about the sexual urges, but about power. That’s why anybody with any background can do it, given the circumstances. 

This post was a bit hard for me to write, so I apologize if I got too overtly personal for your liking. Like I’ve said in the past, I’m not writing this to gain sympathy too, and sure that sounds superficial of me to say now (although I truly mean it), I just want to use my platform as an educational tool. Sorry about the change in my typical tone :) 

Sorry if this was too much of a doozy, I really wanted to talk about it and to educate people, despite it being a bit personal. I just felt like the most effective way was to convey how real this topic is, despite this fandom knowing about it in a fictional setting. 

I hope you have a great day! -Corn

[bybibucky]

Honey, Just Tell Him

Bucky Barnes x reader One Shot

     You’re much less quiet about your obsession with the idea of being fucked by Bucky Barnes than you should be. What if, one day, he catches on?

     word count: 5.4k

     warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), a smidge dubcon, oral (f receiving), choking, gagging, exhibitionism, bit of bondage, spanking, face slapping, degradation

note: idk what exactly happened here but this is my filthiest one yet. the working title was BUCKY VIOLENT SMUT so do with that what you will. feel free to yell at me in the comments

Bucky Barnes was strong. Everybody knew this, everybody was intimidated. He was a bit of a violent guy – came with the territory – and everybody flinched whenever he rose his voice. Granted, that wasn’t often, but recruits knew not to approach him unprompted. He wouldn’t actually hurt them, especially not the new ones, but he had a century worth of deadly reflexes on his side, and anyone would be clever not to tempt him into letting his inhibitions go.

But you, you wanted those inhibitions gone. Practically every mission you were on with him, whenever you watched him squeeze the life out of various villains with that fucking metal arm, whenever you marveled at his insane precision every time he pulled the trigger on one of his guns, whenever he threw his favorite knife, you were as wet between your legs as the blood seeping from Bucky’s victims.

It was hot beyond relief and such a contrast to his sweetheart-self at home. Not that he wasn’t sexy every minute of every day, but this danger that oozed off of him whenever he needed to be a weapon was difficult for you not to find attractive.

“You have to stop staring at him.” Natasha came up right next to you, and you almost jumped out of your skin. That pathetic hiding spot behind one of the punching bags that hung from the ceiling apparently wasn’t all that secretive. “He’ll notice it one day. If he hasn’t already.” The sound of her voice traveled from one of your ears to the other as she walked to stand behind you so you wouldn’t be seen by Bucky. To your luck, he was preoccupied with his own punching bag.

“I can’t,” you whispered, “and you know it.” Your obsession had become prominent enough for it to be your main topic on girls’ nights.

“Honey, just tell him.” There was a comforting hand on your shoulder, but her tone was traced with annoyance.

“Tell him?” you screeched, though still barely above a whisper, “tell him what exactly? Fuck me senseless, Bucky Barnes? Step on my throat until I lose consciousness?”

Natasha couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Maybe not in those exact words. But I’m willing to bet he’d fuck you sideways till Sunday or whatever you want to call it if you just asked. He’s not shy about it.”

You groaned. You were painfully aware of how not-shy he was about his sex life. There barely passed a night in which you didn’t have to listen to Bucky going to town with a random girl he had brought home. His room was next to yours, and at this point you were convinced that the universe had constructed this specifically to torture you. “Don’t remind me.”

As Bucky sent the already weak punching bag flying across the room with a hearty kick, you were ready to whimper. The image of you getting shoved against a wall in a similar fashion was instantly on your mind. Helpless, you felt jealousy grow in your chest when Bucky waved over a new recruit towards the sparring mat.

Natasha chuckled beside you, taking a deep breath to get ready to ruin your life. “Hey, Barnes!” She stepped around the punching bag, pulling you with her. “I got a better opponent for you!”

A minute later, you were stood at the opposite side of the mat, facing Bucky. You weren’t enhanced yourself, much like Nat wasn’t, but you had taken him down before. Although, you weren’t sure you would again, not if he looked like that. The shirt was rudely tight and even the obvious sweat stains didn’t repulse you, rather on the contrary. He was panting, that signature smirk on his lips taunting you.

“Anything off limits?” he asked and you already felt your stance weaken.

You shook your head. “You know the drill, Barnes.”

“Then c’mon, doll,” he said lowly, “give me everything you’ve got.”

Naturally, you pounced. His hands met you half way, firm around your waist to throw you over his shoulder a second later, but yours were still free to punch him straight in the jaw. He didn’t take the time to wipe at the corner of his mouth were a bead of blood was gathering, of course he didn’t, and instead spun you around, one arm switching to wrap around your throat. It wasn’t enough to cut off your airway and you appreciated that. It gave you the opportunity to drop your weight in his hands. He’d let go, you knew it, so he wouldn’t actually choke you, and you would use that as leverage to hook a leg around one of his to make him falter.

Bucky fell, rolling over in an attempt not to crush you, and you sighed when he gave you enough time to get back on your feet.

“You’re holding back,” you said, complaining. This wasn’t how training was supposed to go.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” His stance called for a time out, and you relaxed as well.

“Yeah,” you said, “you’re coddling me and you’re giving me all those opportunities to take advantage of you.”

Bucky laughed, whole-heartedly. “You’re taking advantage of me?”

Your lips pulled together in a pout. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re open everywhere. It’s no fun if you let me win.”

His smile darkened. “So you’re telling me to go all in? No mercy whatsoever?”

“Yes, obviously!” You bounced on the balls of your feet, excited now. You’d been craving a real challenge. Okay, more like craving something vastly different from Bucky, but this was the next best thing.

A second later, your back smacked against the mat, wind knocked from your lungs. You hadn’t even seen it coming. “What the fuck,” you coughed, Bucky’s face appeared above you. “I wasn’t ready.”

He cocked his head. “You said no mercy. Nobody would wait for you in a real fight.”

“This is a real fight.” Your lungs were still not fully filling up and you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

Bucky laughed again. “Not a fair one, doll. You’d never win against me.”

Like hell you wouldn’t. Once you had regathered your strength and will to fight, your hands flew up, trying to push him off, but he was quicker. In one swift move, he trapped your wrists above your head. No matter how much you struggled, they wouldn’t budge.

“Face it, doll.” God, when had his mouth become so close? “You’re a weak little thing. Nothing against my power. I could do anything I want to you like this and you’d just have to endure it. Only begging can help you now.”

A whimper caught in your throat and you swallowed it down. He couldn’t know.

But his hearing was enhanced. “What was that, princess? Am I hurting you?”

He was but you couldn’t let it show. You shook your head. Any second the two of you stayed in this position was too amazing to pass up on. Princess?

Bucky leant down to whisper. “Don’t lie to me.” His hot breath fanned across your neck, forcing out goosebumps in their wake. “It won’t do you any good.”

You were at a loss for words. What had gotten into him? Part of you was suddenly convinced you had hit your head too hard against the mat and where now unconscious and dreaming. But when he scraped his teeth along your jaw line, practically biting down, you knew. No dream felt like this. You felt your nipples as taut pebbles against your sports bra, your core practically aching already.

“You’re wet, aren’t you, doll?” he asked, and you shook your head vehemently. But Bucky scoffed, “bad girl. Still lying even when I told you not to.” He wouldn’t let up, instead spoke again, and you pressed your thighs together at his words. “I can smell it on you.”

Now you couldn’t hold back the whimper. It forced itself out of your throat in a mix of arousal and embarrassment.

Bucky chuckled. “There we go,” he said, still so fucking close to your ear. “I told you you’d lose against me.”

You shook your head, entire body thrashing with it. The attempt wasn’t to get him off you, but rather because you couldn’t contain your energy. His words were doing unspeakable things to you.

“No?” The mocking tone hadn’t left his voice. “Go on, then. Try to escape.” But your hands were glued to the mat, he didn’t even try to spare you some of his colossal weight that pressed against your body. That and the sheer weight of his words kept you immobilized entirely. “Thought so.”

You puffed out a breath in annoyance. This wasn’t fair at the slightest. He was being mean for no damn reason. But you couldn’t deny the way it was making you feel. Being at his mercy like this was exhilarating.

His free hand firmly grasped your jaw. “I don’t like that little attitude on you,” he said and with the way he was holding you, it was impossible for you to respond. “You think you can just lie here, pretending you’re not fucking turned on, when we both know that you’re parading your filthy state of mind all day every day?”

Oh God, did he somehow know about your pathetic crush on him? Was this punishment for letting it consume you?

“Don’t look at me like that,” he continued, “you’re not the innocent victim in this. You’ve been telling everyone in detail how you want me to rail you. ‘Fuck me senseless, Bucky Barnes? Step on my throat until I lose consciousness?’ That can be arranged, doll. You could have just asked.”

Was he actually serious? This had to be some cruel joke. “Did Nat tell you?” Suddenly, there was deep pit in your stomach. But Bucky wouldn’t have any of it.

“She didn’t have to,” he said, “not only can I smell your arousal – by the way, it’s so prominent right now that I can almost taste it – but you can’t really hide from my enhanced hearing. Especially when we’re in the same room and you’re literally begging to be fucked.” The hand on your jaw finally released you, only to run down the hollow of your throat until it found the hemline of your sports bra. Inches away from your breasts, you arched your back, trying to push them into his grip.

“Oh, you really are a little slut,” Bucky murmured, “aren’t you, princess?”

It didn’t feel like a question, so you didn’t reply. But the need to shake your head in a pathetic attempt to maintain your propriety remained.

“No?” He almost laughed, and you felt the offending puff of air against your neck. “So you don’t touch yourself and moan my name? You’ve never told any of your friends how you want me to fuck you hard enough to leave bruises? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you. Are you telling me I imagined all of that?”

You wished you could tell him that he was imagining it, that there wasn’t an undeniable pool of your arousal seeping through your yoga pants – which he could apparently smell – and that you weren’t hungry for him like you like you hadn’t eaten in months. But he had told you not to lie. You shook your head once more.

Bucky smiled against your skin. “Then tell me, princess, are you a little whore?” He finally brushed his fingers against your nipple and that alone compelled you to say, “yes!”

“There we go,” he hummed, “you can’t hide from me.” Briefly, he pushed your wrists into the mat, signaling for you to keep them there. At this point, you had almost forgotten they were there at all, so at ease with being unable to move.

Then, less asking for permission – because he knew he had it – and more finally taking what he wanted, he wrenched open your legs, calloused hands firmly on your knees. They slid up, up towards your center, but ignored it completely, and you were ready to cry when they settled on your stomach instead.

You whined high in your throat, and Bucky full-on laughed at you. “You want me to touch your cunt, is that it?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question, “poor thing. You’ve been bad, princess.”

Princess. There it was again. Where was that coming from? Before today, he had never used that word, much less in this context, but you didn’t get the opportunity to think about it further, because Bucky tore at the fabric of your sports bra and pushed it up, finally freeing your tits. Instantly, he attached his mouth to one of your nipples – all teeth, sucking harshly.

“God, fuck!”

Bucky came up for air, regarding you for a half-second. “Shut up,” he said, an unimpressed growl in his voice, “you want the whole compound to hear us?”

You hadn’t thought of that. Right now, you had your tits out in the middle of the gym. There were floor-to-ceiling windows practically everywhere. Anyone could see. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was more of Bucky, whatever he would give you.

Before you could give him an answer, he brought your scrunched-up bra higher up until it was level with your mouth, and without waiting for you to react, he shoved the fabric between your teeth. You were trapped, arms pressed against your head as the tight garment held them in place, silencing you.

He went on, bringing all his attention to your other nipple while the first one lie completely forgotten, soaked skin tortured by the air conditioning. You wanted to touch it yourself, twist and pull to imitate his teeth but you weren’t allowed.

“More,” you moaned instead, voice muffled by your sports bra. You could feel him smile against your bud, the tender skin slick with his spit there as well.

“You need to learn to behave, little girl,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, his face back in front of yours, “you’ve wanted me for so long and now that you finally have me you can’t wait five minutes?” He scoffed. “I thought you were better than that.”

Shaking your head, you opened your mouth to beg. “Please, Bucky, please.” Speaking now – as coherently as you could – you didn’t recognize your own voice. The desperation was heavy and a borderline moan traced every syllable, even through your makeshift gag.

Bucky took pity on you. Partly, at least. He leaned back to unceremoniously pull at your yoga pants as well as you underwear until you were completely bare from the head down. There was a significant rise in his power like this, him above you fully clothed while he had you writhe and moan naked beneath him. You loved every second.

Fully bypassing your clit where he knew for a fact was the place you ached for him the most, Bucky plunged two of his fingers straight into your pussy. They were thick, thicker than your own, and longer on top of that, instantly reaching spots you could only dream of by yourself. You were ready to mewl but the possibility of him stopping at all when he had barely begun and it already felt like this was too much of a threat.

Bucky watched your nostrils flare as you tried your best not to cry out while also continuing to bring enough air into your lungs. One hand keeping the steady rhythm of his fingers fucking into your cunt, the other went to stroke your chest. “You think you can be a good girl for me and stay quiet?” he asked, and it was the gentlest he had been this whole time, “I’ll get you out of this.” His free hand found your makeshift gag, slightly pulling the fabric tighter against your lips. It was now fully lodged between your teeth. He was teasing you.

You nodded as much as you could in your restraint. Part of you wanted it gone. What if you moaned again, then? Would he punish you?

“If you say so,” he drew the words out, warning you. And he slipped the sports bra, its fabric soaked in your spit, up your arms and off. One-handed, unsurprisingly, and kept his other hand between your legs, warm flesh fingers pumping into you. His thumb joined the party, lightly flicking your clit and you would have almost lost your composure, had it not been for the raise of Bucky’s brow. You didn’t want to disappoint just seconds after being granted some mercy.

You had known he was good at this – countless nights of having to listen to him take apart is conquests were proof enough – but you hadn’t expected the feeling of drowning like this. Cotton in your ears, you noticed yourself to be almost paralyzed. Anything physical that was restraining you was gone by this point, his hands only there to pleasure you. What kept you without movement were solely his words and your desire to be good for him.

But then, his metal fingers replaced his flesh hand in your pussy, consequently hitting the most delicious spot while he kept his thumb on your clit, and you couldn’t contain the high-pitched moan that burst from your lips in surprise. It was met, even more shockingly, with Bucky’s hand slipping from you only to slap across your cheek.

Your head whipped to the side harshly, almost straining your neck. He eyed you dangerously when you looked back at him and your stomach churned.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

The thought was there. That you should lie, deny him that power over you, but he would have seen right through it.

“Don’t play innocent. I could feel your walls clench around me, grip me so fucking tight,” he groaned, “wanna squeeze my cock like that, princess?”

The frantic nodding of your head happened on its own accord and your hips bucking only underlined it further. He laughed at you.

“Fucking hell you’re desperate,” he said, “and I’m all here for it.” The confession was accompanied by a bruising kiss. He stopped his ministrations on your pussy, but the kiss was so good that you didn’t even fully notice. It was the first of its kind, Bucky’s lips tangling with yours deliciously. Tiny, tiny whimpers slipped through and he ate them all up, quite literally.

When he pulled away, his eyes were even darker than before, they almost weren’t even blue anymore. You were certain your facial expression mirrored his, though presumably, you looked more wrecked that he ever would.

“I should keep you like this forever,” he mused, “bound and chained to any flat surface just for me to take you and take you until you’re bruised and aching, dripping with cum. You would be the pettiest sight.”

Your breath hitched. The thought of that was starting to get to you embarrassingly harshly. It sounded it amazing.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, “wanna be a good little girl for me?”

“Please.”

“Think you’ve been good enough for me to taste you?” he asked and you went to respond but Bucky answered for himself, “I don’t think you have. A good girl wouldn’t have flaunted herself, worn those skimpy little outfits when outside it’s fucking snowing, told anyone who would listen how much you need to get railed. No, you’ve been bad, asking for it without actually asking for it.” Bucky slapped you square on the thigh and you jumped in surprise, whimpering.

“That’s what I want,” he said, “so sensitive that you flinch when I raise my hand, reduced to nothing but a complying, whimpering mess.”

Your eyes nearly rolled back in bliss. That simple thought went further than your own fantasies, but sounded delicious. “Your mess,” you agreed. Bucky smiled.

By now, you were dripping down to his wrist, your pussy letting out a filthy squelch every time he pushed his metal fingers in. Accidentally focusing on that, on how embarrassing it really was, you didn’t register how Bucky propped himself up on his elbows between your thighs, but the first contact of his tongue against your cunt definitely didn’t go unnoticed. You bucked against his face on accident and Bucky pulled back instantly.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growled, “you’ll take whatever I give you, not a fraction more.”

But you couldn’t stop. Being turned on way past the breaking point, and his mouth was too skilled for you to just lie there, unresponsive. Bucky got up a moment later, cussing you out under his breath as he walked over to the wall of weights across the room.

You thought he was leaving you altogether, that you had annoyed him one too many times, but the thoughts died right when you opened your mouth to call after him. Because Bucky returned, a barbell in hand. Eyes widening, you watched it come closer until it sat square across your abdomen. It wasn’t tight enough to make breathing more difficult, but enough to trap you against the mat. He smirked at the sight, towering above you.

“This is what happens if you don’t comply, princess,” he said darkly, “but you’ll bend against my will eventually, even if I have to force you.”

Bucky was back between your legs before you knew it, resuming his work against your pussy. He forewent your clit entirely, much to your dismay, but beneath the little contraption, you had no choice but to endure the teasing.

He looked up at you the entire time, watching your reactions closely as he ran the tip of his tongue across your lips lazily. He was waiting for you to break, prompting a punishment the closer he got to your clit. But you were stubborn, unwilling to let him win this. You would behave and stay quiet like your life depended on it.

Bucky saw that and chose to grant you some mercy and he suddenly felt the urge to witness you climax from just his tongue alone. He watched your eyes screw shut the moment he latched his lips to your clit and sucked, running his flat tongue all over it a second later. Somewhere deep down he knew she should reprimand you, tell you to keep your eyes on him and not your own fantasies, but the sight was prettier than he had imagined. You looked better than any girl before you, had a richer taste, more exhilarating smell and feel, and were altogether breathtaking. He should have done this much sooner.

But you didn’t give him more time to contemplate, as you began to involuntarily fight against your restraint, bucking your hips for more friction where you craved it the most. You were close, that much was clear, and even though he wanted to torture you some more and deny you that pleasure, if you looked this already, he needed to know what you would look like orgasming.

You held it off for as long as you could. Then, you began to beg. “Please,” you whined, not caring about the consequence, “please, Bucky, please. I need to cum. Fuck, fuck, please let me cum.”

Bucky listened to your begging for a while longer, urging you on with two fingers against your g-spot and his tongue on your clit. Once your words turned into incoherent babbling, he knew it was time. “Come on, then, princess,” he said, voice still hard, “cum for me. Right now or you won’t cum at all.”

And you did. Finally being granted permission, you allowed yourself to let go, to let all that pent-up frustration wash over you in a tidal wave that shook you to the core. A string of broken curses left your lips with a volume that went silent against your own deaf ears. In all that haze, you even lifted the bar on your chest about an inch off the ground, pushing your hips further into Bucky’s hands. His ministrations kept going, keeping you going, and pulled every fraction of your orgasm from your body until you were reduced to a whimpering heap of heavy limbs.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky said, making his way back up your body. He ripped the weights off of you and effortlessly tossed them across the room. “Gonna fuck you now, baby.”

You whined in response, the only response you managed.

“What was that, princess?” he asked panting, right in front of your face, “think you can take me?”

When he had shoved down his pants and underwear, you had no idea, but suddenly, you felt the head of his cock against your thigh. You jumped in surprise. Bucky chuckled.

“Thought so.” But he angled himself against you anyway, before slowly pushing in. “Fuck,” he moaned instantly. Not even when you dared to thrust your hips against his did he intervene, instead he let it slide this one time. But you grew cocky, and did it again. You weren’t able to a third time, however, because Bucky wrapped the metal hand around your throat, using it as leverage to fuck into you all the way. “Feeling brave, are we?”

The growl in his voice did not fall to deaf ears. And deep down, you felt bad for not following orders but the feeling of finally getting fucked by Bucky Barnes was too great. “Please, I can’t wait anymore. Please I need it so bad.” His grip around your throat wasn’t tight enough for you to stay silent.

“I’m gonna have to teach you patience, princess,” he scoffed, “this won’t do.” But instead of making true to his word, he simply grabbed your hip harshly, angling them up towards his. The movement brought blissful friction against your g-spot, and you couldn’t contain the yelp. Bucky placed his flesh hand over you mouth, the metal one still around your neck. “Next time.”

With that, he began a brutal pace. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight, little slut.” The words were more growled that spoken, gritted teeth displaying how concentrated he was. Bucky was chasing his own pleasure above yours, partly as punishment, partly because he couldn’t help it. But you wouldn’t complain with the way his thrusts hit all the right spots anyway.

The urge to scream his name was there, but all that came out was a muffled whine. Bucky leant down, smirking. “Huh? You trying to say something? Too bad.” His hips only moved faster, harder, and you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to cum all over his cock.

He lifted you, balancing you on his thighs as he used your hips for leverage. You could feel your skin getting caught between the plates of his metal hand. Bucky watched your jaw fall slack and eyes screw shut.

“You better keep looking at me, princess,” he hissed between his gritted teeth, “and don’t you dare make a sound.”

That was easier said than done. With the way he was making you feel so fucking good, they way he spoke, you developed a kink for his voice right there and then. The whines with every breath you took were much harder to hold back. When Bucky grew tired of it, he tore off his own shirt only to shove it between your teeth. “Shut up.”

His strong scent engulfed you instantly, and you could clearly discern a mix of his deodorant and sweat from working out. It was relentlessly filthy but this close to edge, it wouldn’t matter what he forced on you, it would turn you on. Embarrassingly enough, a long moan could be heard even through the soaked fabric in your mouth when Bucky rubbed his thumb all over your clit.

“You need to cum, don’t you, princess?” he asked, also slightly breathless by now.

You nodded harshly, desperate to be good for him, to silently beg for him as much as you could. And he chose to be merciful.

The nod came before his words. “Do it.” His voice held a strained grumble. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock. Cum like the good whore that you are.”

And, fuck, you did. The second orgasm was completely different from the first. That one would have pulled your legs from beneath you had you been standing, rolling over you in a blissful wave. This one tightened all your muscled simultaneously, a slow-motion tingle in every corner of your nerves. You arched your back, shuddering your hips in his hold for even more friction. The scream was only silenced by his shirt, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you were grateful for it.

Bucky felt your walls clench around his girth as he continued to fuck you in deep, harsh thrusts that only spurred your orgasm on further. “Fuck,” was all he said, groaning in bliss as he watched you cum, all for him.

It didn’t take long for him to follow you down the rabbit hole. His hips faltered as he struggled to keep up the reckless rhythm. “Fuck, princess.” Bucky was close, that much was evident in his heated stare. “Look at me, slut” he said, “look at me when I cum inside you.”

You obliged, because it was all you were left to handle. Only him.

“Want me to fill you up?” he asked, voice hoarse, “mark you as mine?” Your frantic nods were all he needed. His gaze was glued to yours, and you kept your eyes unblinking, unwilling to miss even one second of his orgasm. And it was worth it. His hair matted to his forehead, a deep focused crease between his brows, his hands in an unwavering grip around your hips, he stopped just barely, and you felt him shoot his load. He began thrusting again moments after, riding out his orgasm. If he made any noise, you were unaware, you hardly heard a thing over your own ringing ears.

The mixture of his cum and yours oozed out of you the moment he pulled out, and you were ready to feel ashamed about it, but Bucky gathered your legs straight up in the air with one hand, leaning down to lick up every trace of the mess you had made. It was, while filthy beyond belief, also insanely hot.

You accidentally let out a surprised whine. Bucky responded with an almost playful slap to your thigh while keeping his mouth on your pussy. The shock and your remaining sensitivity made you jump from the impact, shutting you up in the process.

“Thought so,” Bucky mumbled against your skin. Once he was done cleaning up as much as he could, which only were a few more seconds, he gently placed your feet on the mat. Careful not to touch you, he moved to lie beside you, one arm propping up his head, the other pulling out the soaked shirt.

You felt his cool metal fingers brush away small strands of hair, and watched him curiously.

“How are you doing?” he asked, voice still slightly hoarse but having lost that mean tilt.

“Good,” you whispered, “you?”

Bucky nodded. “Same.” He paused. “Was that too much?”

You nodded instantly without really thinking it through, but when Bucky took another moment to answer, you realized it was the truth.

“I know you weren’t expecting it.”

“It’s okay,” you said, “I really liked what you did.”

At that, he offered you a toothy grin. “Yeah? Maybe we should repeat it sometime.”

Before you could move to agree, you heard Tony’s voice over the speakers. “Look, I’m glad you guys finally bumped uglies,” he said, voice obviously annoyed, “but I’d appreciate it if the entire compound wouldn’t be part of it next time, yeah? Barnes, we talked about this. The gym is a public space and not your personal fuck room.” There was a click in the speakers which told you that Tony was done, but you were too occupied with staring at Bucky in shock.

“What? I told you to keep quiet.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

Grinning his cocky grin, Bucky rolled back on top of you. “I’ll show you­–“ But he wouldn’t finish that sentence.

“Guys! Get a fucking room!”

::::::::::

‘Everything’ Tags: @alphaabucky​ @badassbaker @brieannakeogh @buckysmusculararm @captnbarnesrogers @courtneychicken @guccicloudz @diinofayce @hellomissmabel @hiddles-rose @iamwarrenspeace @imrisaluk @jjbarnesgirl @Julliiaaq @justanotherbuckydevotee @kimcarcrashin @letaliabane @lovely-garbage @paisl20y @palaiasaurus64 @partlybcrnes @rebelfleur22 @silverwolf7850  @sunnyandtwisty @taliarosej00 @teacher-crushed @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @thevanishedillusion @thelostallycat @xcrawlerwood @iscasahufflepuff​

‘Bucky Only’ Tags: @bandbooktvaddict @bonky-bornes @cassandras-musings @courtmr @joyofbebbanburg @ladyjthewriter @ria132love

‘Smutty’ Tags: @bandbooktvaddict @bonky-bornes @letaliabane​

– you can get tagged through an ask or here

[riverthunder]

The Stars in Our Skies

For @thespacecryptid for the @ironstrangehaven Gift Exchange ❤️

Link to AO3 Post: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625829

Notes:

Alrighty, so first I need to apologize to my giftee, TheSpaceCryptid. I tried to finish your gift early, and I want to say I had it done sometime between the 15th and the 20th? And after a lazy Christmas Day I went into my Google Drive to post this and it was just... gone. I have no idea what happened. So I had to redo the whole thing from scratch. In some ways I like this version a lot more, though- and in others I think the original was a little better? But overall I'm pleased with this.

You had a lot of ideas I absolutely adore- like Asexual Stephen (insert my heart eyes here), and stargazing dates, and these two being professors. Just. Mwah. Beautiful.

Also, I'm tagging this as Teen due to some discussions of sex- nothing graphic, though, obviously- since I headcanon ace Stephen as a sex-repulsed asexual like myself.

I hope you like the fic and your bonus artwork to make up for how late this ended up being! Apologies again!!

The Stars in Our Skies

Tony stared just a little bit as the new astronomy teacher strolled into the break room and began fixing himself a cup of oolong tea. He had a beautiful face, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw, as well as piercing, beautiful eyes. Tony also had a funny feeling that he’d met the astronomy teacher many times before, but he couldn’t put a finger on where.

He knew Professor Strange had been a surgeon back in the day, and he was sure he’d seen him at some of the galas he’d attended in his youth. But it felt like he’d seen Strange more recently than that.

He was very obviously distracted during his class, and he gave up on whatever physics explanation he’d been trying to give the poor engineering class he was clearly confusing, and told them to just go ahead and work on homework, giving them a bonus extra two days on his latest paper as well to top it off while he sat back down at his desk to think.

At the end of the period, two of his best students came to sit next to him.

“Everything okay, Professor Stark?” Peter asked while Harley gave him a knowing smile.

“Fine, boys, just a little off my rhythm is all,” Tony said, trying to look unconcerned.

“You sure?” Harley asked innocently. “Sure it’s not something else? A certain someone, maybe? Like… I dunno… the hot new astronomy professor?”

Tony had been taking a drink of coffee and choked on it at Harley’s words, which was decidedly not good, since the coffee was still piping hot thanks to his specially designed insulated mug. “I- you- what?” Tony spluttered.

“What?” Harley asked innocently. “He’s kinda like you, Professor. A silver fox. He’s smokin’.”

“Harley!” Peter said indignantly. “You can’t say that about a professor!”

Harley shrugged. “Too bad, it’s true, Pete. ‘Sides, Professor Stark should come to terms with the idea.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harley’s tone. “Oh really?” He asked. “Why?”

Harley shrugged innocently. “Because I wrote Professor Strange a note in your handwriting and hid it in his desk drawer asking him to go on a date with you tonight at 8:00.”

Tony stood up so quickly his coffee mug almost spilled all over the papers he’d collected from his first period, but before he could shout at Harley at the top of his lungs, a certain handsome professor was standing in his doorway.

“Oh,” Stephen said, looking from Tony to their students. “I’m sorry, are you busy? I could come back another time.”

He was holding a piece of paper that had obviously been folded a few times in one of his trembling hands.

“No, we were just leaving,” Harley said sweetly.

Peter felt himself blushing for some reason as he passed Professor Stark a quick note of his own. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d please check my work on these chemistry notes,” he said.

Tony glanced down at them. A new web-fluid design. He nodded to Peter. “Yes. Yes. I’ll look them over and e-mail you with any necessary changes.”

“Thanks!”

Without another word, Peter seized Harley’s upper arm and dashed out of the room, while Harley laughed and tried to protest, clearly thrilled with watching Tony flounder in the presence of his crush. You could hardly blame him. Seeing Tony Stark, Iron Man, who was a professor for fun, flounder, was a rare and almost unheard of sight.

“Hello, Professor Stark,” Strange said politely, and Tony felt his face heating up. “Um- hi- I-”

“I am very sorry,” Stephen said, setting the note in his hand down on Tony’s desk. Tony caught a glimpse of the handwriting- fucking identical to his own. That damn Keener brat. When Tony got his hands on him-

“But I am afraid I must decline your invitation.”

Oh.

Tony hadn’t even known he was asking Stephen on a date a few minutes ago, but somehow Stephen’s words still stung.

“Oh,” he said out loud. “Uh… busy?”

“No,” Stephen replied.

Yeah, that definitely hurt.

“Oh.” Tony glanced at the note and quickly plucked it off the desk. “Okay. That’s fine, I understand. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with this.”

“You didn’t,” Stephen told him. “It was actually very flattering. But I don’t think you would like to be in a relationship with me, so I am afraid I must decline.”

Wait, what?

“Uh… sorry, you lost me,” Tony said awkwardly.

Stephen chuckled. “I identify as asexual,” he explained. “Specifically, a sex-repulsed asexual. And from what I know of your past...er, love life, I think it’s better if I decline the invitation altogether. I don’t want to upset you because you want to have sex and I don’t.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “So it is an ace ring!” He said, pointing at the black ring on Stephen’s middle finger on his right hand. “Rhodey called me crazy and said it was a swinger’s ring!”

Stephen blinked in surprise and glanced down at his ring. “Er- yes, it is,” he agreed.

“Cool! Okay.” Tony shot him a smirk. “In that case- are you an ace of spades?”

Stephen looked shocked. “You- you know about the card suits?”

“Sure do,” Tony said proudly.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Okay then- who uses the ace of diamonds?”

“Demisexuals and demiromantic asexuals,” Tony said. “Ace of clubs is for graysexual and grayromantic, ace of spades is for aromantic asexuals, and ace of hearts is for romantic asexuals.”

He grinned, and Stephen had to crack a smile. “Very impressive.”

“So, what’s your suit, Doc?” Tony asked, grinning at him, and Stephen had to resist the urge to let that smile widen.

“Ace of hearts. I’m a romantic asexual.”

Tony grinned. “I can work with that.”

Stephen allowed his face to fall into a small frown. “Tony, I-”

“Look, Doc, I don’t need sex to be happy,” Tony said. “I’ve had loads in my day, yeah, but I’m a big boy and frankly, I think it’s about time I had a relationship that wasn’t so focused on it. If you’re good with a romantic relationship, I can be happy with one, too.”

Stephen chuckled despite himself. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Tony said, a bit smugly.

Stephen chuckled. “Very well.” He wrote something on a small scrap of paper and offered it to Tony, taking back the note Harley had written. “You can pick me up there, at 8:00.”

“I’ll be there,” Tony said, snatching the fake letter back. “And I’ll give you something actually written by me then.”

~(*)~

Tony pulled up to the house on Bleecker Street. Huh… looked kinda like a museum, to be honest.

The elegant Professor Strange was already walking to meet the car. “Right on time,” he teased, climbing in. He looked like he was putting on a brave face as he entered, and Tony took note of the way Stephen’s hand reached for the cabinet handle on the inside of the door.

Tony bit his lip. “I just like to be on time to things,” he said casually, placing his right hand on the console if Stephen wanted to hold it too, or instead.

Stephen nodded. “Well, I appreciate it. So, what’s the plan for our date?”

“I think you told Professor Verity that you like ramen from Samurai Noodle, right?”

Stephen smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Great! Then we’re getting take-out,” Tony told him, grinning to himself. “And I have a great idea of where we can eat it.”

“Oh? And where is that, exactly?”

“It’s a secret,” Tony said, smirking. “Are you ready to go?”

Stephen nodded, looking amused as he took Tony’s free hand on the console. “That I am. Let’s go, Professor Stark.”

Tony snorted as he started the car. “Alright.”

He tried to sound cool, but he knew that he had started blushing.

~(*)~

“So what exactly are we doing in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?” Stephen asked as Tony laid a large blanket out in one of the large fields near the Avengers Compound.

“Why?” Tony asked, smirking at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Stephen chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you’re secretly an ax murderer about to eviscerate me in the middle of this field, free of any witnesses?”

“Ouch,” Tony complained. “You’re really good at wounding someone’s ego, you know that, Strange?”

“So what’s the real reason we’re out here, then?” Stephen asked, amused.

“Lay down,” Tony ordered, pointing to the blanket. “And look up.”

Stephen did so, and gasped in surprise. “The stars….” He breathed, sounding mesmerized.

“That’s right,” Tony said, smiling at him. “Not to easy to see them in the city. But I figured you’re the Astronomy Professor… maybe you’d like to see them more clearly? Maybe teach me something I don’t know?”

“Lay down,” Stephen ordered quietly. “There… Orion the Hunter. Can you see his belt? The three stars, just here.”

“Oh… right,” Tony said. “Isn’t he that dude everyone says Artemis loved?”

“A common misconception these days,” Stephen murmured. “In many of the myths, Artemis was actually the one to kill him, on purpose, for harassing her friends, the Pleiades, or she would encourage someone else to kill him for her, such as Apollo. He’d summon a giant scorpion to kill Orion, which many believe is Scorpio, as the two constellations aren’t around at the same time. When Scorpio rises, Orion vanishes.”

“Cool,” Tony said softly, staring up at the night sky with Stephen. “What else can you see?”

“Sirius, the Dog Star, Orion’s hunting dog,” Stephen said, pointing to the bright star. You can see the constellation Taurus there. Gemini there. Monoceros is there, very faint. You see? Look closely.”

“Beautiful,” Tony murmured, resting his head on Stephen’s chest as he gazed up at the sky.

Stephen smiled to himself and wrapped an arm around him. “Hmm. Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured in a thoughtful voice, making Tony blush.

~(*)~

“Was that an okay date?” Tony wondered as he drove Stephen back to Bleecker Street.

Stephen smiled at him. “You don’t know?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted. “And I kinda wanna… you know. Do this again.”

Stephen chuckled as they reached the museum door. Wait… how come even the building looked sort of familiar? And the street…?

“Well, in that case… it was a perfect date, Professor Stark.” Stephen leaned over, kissing his lips gently. “And I expect to go on another one with you very soon.”

“Sure,” Tony said, a little breathlessly, his eyes wide as he stared at Stephen. “Whatever you want….”

“Perfect.” Stephen smiled at him, and suddenly something long, red, and fluttering was at his throat, gently tugging him out of the car. “Alright, Levi, alright. I’m coming,” Stephen murmured, reaching out to stroke the red fabric.

Tony stared at it. A sentient cloak….

Wait- was he-?

Stephen was already disappearing inside the door when Tony found his voice, so he couldn’t ask him directly. He sat in the dark of his car, dumbfounded, and feeling his heart pounding. Was that the kiss, his sudden epiphany, or both?

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?” Chirped the cool Irish accent.

“Am… am I dating the Sorcerer Supreme?”

Extra Notes:

To clarify the "Stephen is the Sorcerer Supreme but Tony doesn't recognize him but is sure he's met him before" thing- I headcanon that Stephen's magic acts as a sort of "barrier" to his identity- and just protects his identity for him. I got the idea from Cute High Earth Defense Club actually- where the villains and heroes can't really recognize each other as specific students when they meet due to "radio interference" almost- but in my Stephen headcanon, it's more that the magic puts a sort of veil over Stephen, so Tony is sure he's met him before, but he can't put his finger on where until he recognizes Cloakie and goes "oh shit, Stephen's the Sorcerer Supreme I've been battling monsters with???"

[toxicpineapple]

HI IM ANON THAT ASKED FOR HCS and i just wanted like hmm a general like hcs for the whole cast,, but i would gladly appreciate a ‘taro ramble too <33

okay, well, to begin with, i do have a post of drv3 character headcanons already, so you can go and check this post out for your outdated juice. i honestly made this post months ago though so a lot of the headcanons on there are. kind of wonky. i’m gonna go ahead and correct the ones that have changed real quick and then add on new ones.

- bi kaito and maki? LAME!!! kaito and maki are homoromantic asexuals and i don’t take constructive criticism. (bi kaito and maki headcanons are so valid i just prefer them as homosexual now LFKDSJFKJD anyway akamota rights)

- actually they’re all asexual? hehe. the love hotels aren’t real they can’t hurt me. i’m gonna list ace headcanons now

- shuichi: sex positive asexual

- kaede: sex indifferent asexual

- kaito: sex repulsed asexual

- maki: sex repulsed asexual

- miu: sex indifferent asexual (side note, if anyone comes at me for my ace miu headcanons i’m literally gonna commit a murder)

- kokichi: sex repulsed asexual (but good at repressing his sex repulsion)

- rantaro: sex repulsed asexual

- himiko: sex repulsed asexual

- tsumugi: sex repulsed asexual

- tenko: sex repulsed asexual

- angie: sex positive asexual

- kiyo: sex positive asexual (but experiences sex repulsion due to trauma)

- ryoma: sex repulsed asexual

- gonta: sex indifferent asexual

- kirumi: sex repulsed asexual

- kiibo: sex indifferent asexual

- um. i lost my train of thought. oh. okay. so i gave kokichi depression back when i made this post and i think that was a weird thing in particular to saddle him with. i don’t think kokichi is like, a-okay and all the time, but i think he tends more towards manic than depressive. which isn’t to say that he can’t be both, but there’s a vibe and kokichi doesn’t have it

- regardless i gave kaito depression. suffer bitchboy

- while we’re talking about kaito, HOO BOY, i am a kinnie. sorry about this, anon. kaito has asthma, which isn’t a kinnie thing, but he also plays the ukulele, which IS a kinnie thing. i mentioned that he can knit. that was true. he also bakes!!! and he has had a series of hyperfixations throughout his life in this order:

- disney movies (ongoing)

- pirates (elementary school)

- musical theatre (first year middle school)

- frogs (second year middle school)

- tennis (third year middle school)

- also kaito has a crush on ryoma! haha! did i mention i don’t take constructive criticism! anyway

- let’s talk about trans headcanons :)

- shuichi, kokichi, maki, kaede, himiko, and tenko are all binary trans no matter what work i’m writing them in. even if i don’t tag it and it doesn’t come up at all, assume they’re trans! because they are and i don’t take constructive criticism

- BIG fan of nb kiibo, rantaro, kiyo, angie, kirumi, and kaito. just, real big fan

- all trans headcanons are valid periodt!!! except transmasc tenko we don’t.... we don’t like that in this house. please take your transmasc tenko elsewhere

- while i do think that himiko’s master committing suicide was One Hell Of A Take on my part, i’m pretty sure he just left. he just ditched a child because she was better than him. that’s all. y’know that one oumeno fic where he dies and everything is nuanced? yeah. he was just, a shitty person, that’s all it was. i’m sorry himiko you deserved better

- ummmmmmm himiko autistic! himiko autistic. she cannot STAND the texture of denim or sweats, it is just. The Unhappy Texture

- delicately eyezooms. low empathy mugi? low empathy tsumugi? hewwo, low empa

- kokichii is very good with kids! just exceedingly good with children. it’s because he is one himself

- kaede has two dads :)

- himiko’s parents are divorced. she lives with a single mother. as one does from time to time

- rantaro, if he finds all his sisters, eventually settles down as either a teacher, a therapist, or a school counselor. so like the first two or a combination of them

- kaito knits under the bed. why does he do this? i don’t know. he doesn’t know. it’s a thing, just go with it.

- rantaro sees a lesbian and thinks, “hmmm. she could use an emotional support himbo” and then just does it. kaito does this too but he hyperfocuses on like. two or three lesbians at a time. rantaro spreads himself thin between the lesbians. amamota and lesbians guys get into it

- mwahahaha (pushes my amamota agenda onto you) they’re dating and in love!

- coffee headcanons :)

- shuichi: black. as black as his soul. which is to say very black. not because he’s emo he just likes the colour

- kaede: a bit of cream and sugar, nothing excessive. kaede stays up late on hyperfixation energy alone she doesn’t need no coffee

- kaito: a couple sugar cubes but no cream

- maki: ... a lot sweeter than she’ll admit

- rantaro: milk and sugar with a side of coffee

- gonta: gonta prefers tea! but he’ll take coffee when it’s offered, as gentlemen do. he likes it with a bit of cream, but no sugar

- kirumi: black.

- ryoma: black

- himiko: she prefers apple juice. himiko gets nauseous on coffee

- tenko: DOES NOT DRINK COFFEE!!! NO!!!! COFFEE IS AN ADDICTION IT’S BAD FOR YOU!!!!!!

- angie: angie doesn’t drink coffee either but when she does you have to fill the damn thing with mostly milk or she will be absolutely unbearable

- kokichi: you really wanna give this little adhd gremlin coffee? are you insane? (he’ll take it with an egregious amount of cream and sugar but he doesn’t mind it black)

- miu: black and like six or seven cups of it at a time

- tsumugi: a little bit of cream but no sugar!

- korekiyo: he really prefers tea but kiyo will take coffee either black or with a touch of cream

- kiibo: haha.... he’d like to know what coffee tastes like.......

- scent headcanons :))))

- shuichi: books, cinnamon, rose tea, coffee

- kaede: honeysuckle, morning dew

- kaito: axe body spray, banana bread, old spice

- maki: fresh snow, dry cleaners

- tsumugi: fabric stores, honey, lemons

- korekiyo: incense, perfume, old books

- kiibo: metal

- kokichi: linen, sugar

- rantaro: evergreen trees, fresh laundry, incense (finesses jim’s hcs)

- miu: coffee, machinery, rosemary shampoo

- kirumi: mild floral perfume, dark chocolate

- gonta: trees, camp fires, pine needles

- angie: paint, clay, daisies, salt water

- himiko: strawberries, clean laundry, hot chocolate

- tenko: cherry blossoms, tatami, maybe a little bit of sweat

- ryoma: mint, rubber

anon i probably have more but my spoon count just went down, i hope you appreciate this list, such as it is FLKSJDFKLSDJFj i’m!! really passionate about these guys. i’d also love to talk about rantaro’s specific relationship with each member of the v3 cast so like........ shoot me an ask if there’s interest i guess FLKDSJFLKDSJF

or if there’s interest in anything else!! i love answering these you guys are so sweet, tysm <3

[pansexualseaanimals]

Chapter 9 Sneak Peeks ‘Cause You Deserve It

Hey guess what? I’m still alive! I haven’t been writing for a while because these past few chapters have kind of been making me face things about my own life that I hadn’t given due time to address and manage (especially Pyxis and Rory’s thoughts on how parents can “love you but not want you”, and stuff said by multiple people in chapter 9, the one I’m still writing) so I kinda just dealt with those thoughts and came to conclusions and stuff in my own mind while I endlessly binged anime and video games. Not that I don’t normally do that, mind you, but I did it a lot more and not much else.

Luckily, I live in a wonderful gorgeous apartment in my favorite town I’ve ever lived in (the only town I’ve ever called home, in fact! At least, in this world!) and it’s super comfortable and I live with my best friend who is way too good of a roommate if I must be frank - I’d rather be Columbia, honestly - and life has been relatively super good, so like. Don’t worry! I’m so happy in my life the way it is! I’m back home in the Midwest, surrounded by beauty and friends who’ve helped me out more than I could ever ask (but I did, let’s not lie lol) and... I still have depression and I’m working on that and planning on getting a doctor soon, but... I’m starting new good habits, getting into things I’ve been wanting to try, and yeah... I’m rambling at this point so I’ll make the rest quick.

I wanted to give sneak peeks because it’s been SO LONG and I don’t know how many people really actually read this thing? Like, “I’m excited that there’s a new chapter” kind of peeps? But no matter how few there are, you guys all deserve something nice, and this was all I could think of. Instead of just posting one scene, I’ll post a few clips from a bunch of scenes. Everything is subject to change as I keep writing, so it might not match the finished product, but... That just means you guys are extra-special! Heehee! ^__^ 

Excerpts are below the read-more cut. Hope it’s enjoyable! 

\/\/\/\/\/

"Oh, I've got twenty-five coins for the sea show clanking in the backseat, whoa-oh. I've got thirty-two seashells lined up in a row..." Caurel happily sang as she covered the turquoise side in pink, pausing and hiding in a corner when she noticed Zebra rising out of the spawn pool. The younger Inkling, hesitant, flung her brush wildly to cover the pink ink and swam forward, repeating the process every few feet. When she dropped down to the valley, she triggered another Ink Mine, this time getting away just quickly enough.

  "Not falling for that again," they sighed... right before Caurel popped out of her corner and slashed her brush at her, sending her floating right back to the spawn point. Unable to keep from giggling, Caurel re-inked the entrance ramp and climbed up to the higher level, brushing quickly down the alley as Zebra respawned again.

  "And I'll swim, swim, swim, to my darling Martha... And let her lay me down in the bay where the warm winds blow~"

  "Are we singing the same song?" Penny shouted from the audience, loud enough to be heard over the stage music.

"'Martha's Bay' by the Seagulls?" Caurel shouted back for confirmation.

"I knew it! Ahhh, I love you!"

"I love you, too, Butterfly!"

"Boooo!" Rocky shouted as he took out Thresher. "Get a room!"

  "But their love for each other is like our love," Ankyr said with a wink.

"You really are a sea turtle."

  "Hey, only Pyxis can call me-" SPLASH! Ankyr fell prey to Bonnet's Heavy Splatling.

"FOR ANKYR!" Rocky jumped up and flung his roller down before rolling toward Bonnet - and getting caught in a freshly thrown Splash Wall.

  "I love it when he does that," Tiger squeaked.

\/\/\/\/\/

"What took you so long? Why did you trade Ankyr for these randos?"

"Rocky," Caurel sighed. "They're the friends we were supposed to meet today, remember?"

"Oh..."

"Guys, this is Rocky, our squad's leader," Pyxis laughed.

  "Nice to meet you," Carina said, stepping forward to shake Rocky's hand. "Don't worry, my 'boyfriend' will be back soon."

  "'BOYFRIEND'?" The entire crowd turned their attention to the charismatic newcomer.

  "It's just an inside joke," Pyxis hastily assured them. "You'd just have to be there."

"Yeah, he kind of saved me a lot of hassle," Carina shrugged.

  "My Sunshine has inside jokes with people I don't know," Moises thought out loud. "Not sure how I feel about this..."

"Well, you know us now," Hans piped up. "She's Carina, I'm Hans, this here is Shera, and the rude guy is Cygnus."

"I haven't said anything rude yet!"

"We all know you will," Shera said as she scooched over to Abbey. "So, what's your name?"

"I'm aromantic," Abbey said between sips of coffee. Their friends howled with laughter in the background.

"Aw, that's too bad... Are you... asexual, too?"

"They're not sex-repulsed, if that's what you mean," Pyxis jumped in. "That's not what asexual means, though."

"Sweet little Pyxis," Cygnus chuckled, patting his friend on the head. "Always here to educate her friends."

"...You mean their friends," Rocky corrected.

  "What? No. You too? Are all Squids okay with the whole fluid-gender thing?"

"You didn't even last five minutes," Hans sighed, covering his face with his palm.

  "Look, she was born with lady-parts, am I wrong or am I right?"

"Here's what I know," Rocky began slowly, stepping closer to the Octoling and staring him in the eye. "This particular group of friends respects what people choose to call themselves. When you're with us, you refer to Pyxis as they/them. If you can't handle that, you can swim back home."

"ROCKY!" Caurel grabbed her brother's arm and yanked him down to sit beside her. "They're our guests!"

"And Pyxis is family," he bit back. "Which is more important to you?"

"Wow, they really worship you around here," Cygnus laughed, turning to leave. "Do they even really know you? Your history? What have you been telling them?"

"Cygnus, get back here and act your age," Carina commanded.

"No thanks, Your Majesty."

  The crowd was hushed for some time, the noises of the audience around them and the battle down below, permeating their silent space.

  "Sorry about that," Carina finally spoke up. "I told him to behave himself. But he's... how do you say... stuck in his ways."

"He's only twenty-two," Shera rolled her eyes. "He's just a stubborn pufferfish."

"You okay, honey?" Hans asked Pyxis, who was too busy processing their own thoughts to realize they should answer.

"...I'm family?"

\/\/\/\/\/

And now, here’s Shera going goo-goo over more Inklings

---

“Vanilla? Is that a brand, or...?"

"Oh no, I just mean, the original one."

"So... Vanilla means original?"

"The basic form of something, yes. Regular. It's just slang."

"Who's the person with the gatling?"

"Ah, that's Pixie with the Zink Mini Splatling. Disruptor and Bubbler."

"Pixie..." Shera turned to where Pyxis was seated. "PIXIE!"

  "Yes?"

"I can never call you Pixie again! That's the name of my new future wife!" Ecto and Thresher couldn't help but laugh.

"...Glad to hear it?"

"She's actually dating Ty right now," Tandy pointed out. "Sorry, you'll have to look elsewhere."

"Darn."

"Great Overseer," Carina sighed. "Why are you so thirsty today?"

"I dunno, Queenie," Shera shrugged and shook her head. "Look. I had no idea Squidlings could be so attractive, okay?"

"I mean, she's not wrong," Hans laughed. "The first time I saw Ankyr..."

"YOU CAN DO IT, GUYS!" Pyxis suddenly stood up and cheered as loud as they could.

\/\/\/\/\/

And now for some good parents! Specifically, Ecto’s dads. Well, one of them. The other is busy playing Pokémon with Caurel and co. in the living room at this moment. They haven’t been mentioned much so far, but they’re great friends with the Waters (Waters’? Waterss?) ever since all the families met, and Rocky and Caurel hang out with them a lot.

---

"That's because you can look back on the past, apply your knowledge of the present, and cook up a better future for yourself. A new happiness. Again, one that won't last forever. And maybe it's not perfect. Maybe you burn your tongue. Maybe you let it go cold without realizing. But there'll always be more soup."

"You just have an answer for everything, don't you?" Rocky scoffed, throwing more tomatoes into the pot.

  "Not quite. There's one thing I've always wondered."

"The secret of life?"

"Nah, figured that out in college."

"What? No. Shut up." The two shared a laugh. Mister Plasma reduced the burner's heat and placed a lid on the pot, before turning to Rocky.

  "Back when you were in Coral Reef's boat... Why didn't you say anything?"

  "Well..." Rocky took a moment to continue. "Figured there wasn't any point, I guess. Can't help it if the person you have a crush on is gay. Like, if Pop was het, you wouldn't have the love of your life."

"Well I'm glad that's not the case," he said with a short laugh, before frowning and patting Rocky on the head. "Sorry, hon."

"It's fine. That's one of those 'just move on' parts in life. So I did."

"Ah..."

"Happened with Ankyr, too. But that was back when we were super tiny. Like.. That's a different kind of love. Baby love, I guess. But then again, we thought Ankyr was a girl back then. That was easier to move on from."

  "You just can't catch a break," Dad laughed. "Anyone on your mind these days?" Rocky thought a while before answering.

"I... Not really. I don't know, Oji. Guess I'm kind of giving up for now. I just wanna cook and take care of the ocean. Those are my loves. Well, I'll never get tired of Turf War either. I guess... that's it."

"And that's A-okay," the adult Inkling nodded, before yelling "COME AND GET IT!" There was a multitude of shuffling sounds from the living room as the young adults made their way to the kitchen. "Come see us any time," he said again. "We'll always be here for you."

\/\/\/\/\/

And that’s all I have for you here today, I wanna stop myself before I give away more than I might have given away... But yeah, working on that slowly but surely now. I was already about halfway-ish done with the chapter before I fell off, I think? Depends if I think of adding any more scenes than what’s already planned. So, look forward to that soon! Catch you on the flip side~

P.S.: As a reminder, this is the second-to-last chapter I’m writing; after 10 is over, we’ll be moving on to the second book in the series, which will hopefully have much better pacing and will definitely be a lot different, but still be about the lives of Pyxis, Ankyr, and their loved ones - that will never change. Some of your favorite characters might not be around as much in book 2, some might get a spotlight where they hadn’t before, and of course we’ll meet lots of new friends, and you’ll just have to decide what you think of each of them. :3 But I hope you have fun. Regardless of anything, thanks for reading. If you’ve read any of Look Alive, Sunshine, you have my Heart Containers, and my eternal gratitude. Please let me know what you think, if you’ve got the time. Love & hugs!

[midnatt-heronweather]

MY Thoughts this Aromantic Awareness Week 1/?

Aromantic Awareness 2021 February 21st to February 27th

This will probably make no sense to anyone, but since I’ve got no prompts to fill or questions to answer this is what I’m doing.

“Some” people say you shouldn’t talk about these things, and should keep them behind closed doors, I say. Education and acceptance is more important than some stuck up tarts archaic idea of modesty...

but I do agree with moderation of information of course.

I‘ve a few talking points, I’m not going to say how many because it may be more than I originally start out with. , and as you all know I can go off on tangents.

__________________________ First I guess I should Explain the flag and what it means, because, like other LGBT pride flags the colours have meaning

>Green & light green: represent the aromantic spectrum,aromanticism (represented by green); covers all arospec identities (aro, gray aro, lith/akoi, cupio, quoiro, idem, demi, fray, caed, requis, arovague, and others)

>White: for all the nonromantic forms of love and attraction; friendship/platonic, aesthetic, sexual, sensual, emotional, mental, QP relationships, family, you name it [Alternatively some designs include yellow for this, though personally I avoid yellow for visibility sensitivity]

>Gray & black: for the sexuality spectrum, covering arospec acespecs (asexual spectrum ppl) as well as arospec allosexuals __________________________________________________________

1b of this blog deals with an important subject Discovery - basically its a ramble of an attempt to explain how I know I’m Aromantic Asexual   Rather than being specifically dedicated to the Aromantic side of my Identity this one’s a mixed answer because it covers both Asexuality and Aromanticism as it regards to me: So - I see and hear a lot of people ask “how did you discover you were “<Insert sexual identity here>” and I‘ve listened to a lot of AroAce people give their answers which always seem to sound deep.. Well, make my own seem rather pedestrian; decide for yourself, this here’s my answer:

The truth with me is frankly... I didn’t “discover” anything apart from the term itself; I’ve always been this way. Oh yeah, I went through phases trying to make sense of why I didn’t fit the social norm of being a sex mad teen or even slightly interested and not repulsed by the whole thing I asked the questions “am I gay?” “ Am I wired wrong?” Etc. But it’s all the same because it was just... me.

Of course ‘society’ has had its opinions, for years people called me frigid, told me ‘god’ wouldn’t let a creature like me be ‘happy’, because I was... i don’t know, Pagan/fat/geeky/ somewhere in the LGBT rainbow take your pick as to what “creature” referred to, i don’t delve into the small minds of backwards northerners anymore, its a bog of stench. Another thing I was frequently told was that I pretended not to want something because I knew I was too ugly/fat/repulsive to get “it”. Which given what happened to me on my 18th makes me laugh ironically. But anyway...

I formed my own explanation, either just to wave a geek flag or because it was one of their insults -   I’d get called alien (originality was not something that was encouraged at my school as you can tell), so I came up with calling myself Vulcan, with the lack of emotional response and distaste for social norms it ft me

I’ve never “wanted” romance, and the idea of physical contact makes my skin crawl (literally and figuratively) Sometimes I’d stop and ask myself if I’d felt  ‘feelings’ for someone.. Like the books described or like my favourite characters on TV?  That... butterfly ‘love at first sight’ heart racing at the sight of another person, but th answer was always no. I even asked the few people in my life I looked up to, to describe “love” (still do sometimes, but that’s more fic research stuff) and it never registered with me which has never bothered me more than a passing itch would.

I was/ am me and there was nothing I could do about it, and as that was the only way I’d ever known it was/is natural to me. back to the ‘discovery’ part of this rant/blog: I can’t really separate discovering Aromantic or Asexual as terms, and tbf I can’t really say for certain when either clicked into place. As with most important things I discovered I wasn’t alone or an ‘abnormality of nature’ through a hell of a lot of research.

I was in university, going to my first few (good) conventions, and I felt surer, of myself I guess, as cheesy as that sounds. this was when I was around 25 Ironically for me this was not that long after after I’d met Ally Dark fairy goth sister lady that she is and started actually finding reasons to like and trust .. anyone really, and shortly after this we met Heather and I discovered among the other things we shared, she was Asexual too, but she’s... i think the term is actually allo-Romantic, she’s interested in that sort of stuff, loves a good romance story, and all the mush attached  

I’m still defining the parameters of me, as we all do, people change throughout their lives no one stays precisely the same but. I AM Aromantic Asexual and that is one thing that I am quite happy to say will never change.

The Uk as far as I’m concerned doesn’t recognise Aromantic or Asexual people enough, not that the rest of the world does either, because we don’t stand out as far as their concerned, (well. Most don’t ;) ) but we exist, we are valid and despite what some would have you believe we do count in the LGBTQIA and that is my “discovery” rant/blog/ ASAW day 1 post

[ladyofpurple]

answer all of the questions!!

holy SHIT ok bless you omg

(sorry it's a full day late i took this shit SERIOUSLY. don't ask me how many hours this took, i was in A Mood™️ last night. removed the ones already answered xoxo)

angel; have you ever been in love?

yeah. didn't end too well, but i loved him.

petal; favorite novel and author?

this is like asking me to pick a favorite child. i guess favorite author would be stephen king, if only based entirely on the sheer quantity of his books i own alone. favorite book would probably be special topics in calamity physics by marisha pessl, and i'm only saying that because it's been my go-to response for years. i have lots of favorite books. ask me again in five minutes and i'll give you another one.

honey perfume; favorite perfume/scent?

freshly made coffee. lilacs. jasmine. cut grass. the ground after it rains. chocolate chip cookies in the oven. cigarette smoke on skin. my mom's shampoo. my grandma. my dog when he's just had a bath. thanksgiving dinner. acrylic paint on canvas. sawdust. that one cologne i can't name but can smell on a guy from a mile away. mulled cranberry and apple juice. vanilla. coconut. fresh laundry. peppermint.

sweet pea; what’s your zodiac?

virgo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising ✨

softie; talk about your sexuality.

i'm biromantic asexual, primarily attracted to men more than women (but have had too many crushes on girls to consider myself het), generally sex repulsed when it comes to the thought of having it myself. i prefer to call myself queer in passing conversation, it's easier than explaining asexuality and the differences between sexual and romantic attraction. if someone asks more specifically, i'll usually just call myself bi for simplicity's sake, even though the ace part is a much more important (to me) part of my identity. monogamous as fuck.

i'm still struggling with internalized homophobia and a lot of "am i even queer enough" thoughts, which is super fun. took me a long time to even consider the fact that i might like girls at all. i'll probably never come out to my parents. not that they'd, like, disown me or whatever, but they're juuuuust homophobic/transphobic enough that my few attempts to educate them when they say something A Little Yikes have shown me that i should probably just stay in the closet unless i absolutely have to come out. like i'm getting married to a woman or something.

sugarplum; what’s the color of your eyes and hair?

i usually say my eyes are green because it's easier, and they mostly are, but i have rings of greyish blue around the irises and sometimes they're more hazel in the middle. they always have a green tint to them though, even if the intensity of the green varies.

my natural hair is brown, a little on the darker and slightly ashy side of completely generic. currently a former blonde, although i'm hoping to bleach my fucking YEAR of growout soon, and then go some crazy color as a last hurrah before i have to go dark again. being broke fucking sucks.

wings; coffee or tea?

tea!! black tea. chai, to be specific, with an irresponsible amount of milk and sugar. chai lattes are a fucking drug okay? coffee makes me sick (not a judgement, a literal fact. last time i tried some i threw up).

fairytale; are you a cat or dog person?

cat!! but my family has a chihuahua named sonny and you can pry that little monster from my cold dead hands ok i will fight you.

snowflake; favorite time period?

okay, i wrote and rewrote my answer to this about 10 times. then i tried to divide it up into categories (aesthetics, history, fashion, vibes, geographical location, etc), but that didn't help. so basically: i don't have one, because i have too many.

i like the american 20s-60s for the aesthetic, music/movies, and the fashion. i also like the european 1600s-1800s for the interesting history and also vibe. i love the french and russian revolutions — the fashion! the art! the wars and political upheaval! I FUCKING LOVE HISTORY. then, of course, we can't forget the rennaisance. or the witch trials (pick your continent). and ancient greece? the roman empire? hello?? did i mention empires? how bout we mosy on over to south america — can i interest you in the mayans? incans? aztecs? what about china and japan? korea? vietnam? and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the black plague.

ancient egypt? sign me the FUCK UP. vikings? yes please. the celts? oh boy. the MYTHOLOGY. the ARCHITECTURE. the LANGUAGES and POLITICS and LITERATURE and REVOLUTIONS and GOD HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ANY OF THESE

i uh. might have gotten a little excited. basically i like history a lot. and mythology. and linguistics. and cultural practices. and the politics and prejudices behind wars and stuff. and learning in general. moving on.

vanilla; do you believe in ghosts?

let's put it this way: i don't not believe in ghosts??

listen. we don't know jack shit. we don't know what happens after we die, there are constant scientific revelations that turn our understanding of the universe completely upside-down, and there is literally no way to know which religions or myths or urban legends could have some grain of truth to them. like, dude, i've literally thought i was haunted before. psychology is bananas and the universe is infinite.

demons could be real. ghosts could be real. what if we just haven't invented the necessary technology to prove it yet? what if we never do, and they just fuck around alongside us, moving furniture and making shadow puppets on the walls just for kicks until the earth explodes? what if that one tumblr post was right and ghosts are actually real people from alternate universes or timelines that we see accidentally bc some cosmic wires got crossed? who fucking knows.

i love horror movies and scary stories and ghost hunter shows just as much as the next gal. but listen. psychics? mediums? people who accept every single creepypasta retold third-hand from their neighbor's kid's classmate's second cousin who "totally knows a guy"? doubt.jpeg

i don't understand the sheer amount of assumptions made willy-nilly about the nature of ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. the assumption that "oh this machine that totally doesn't look like a coathanger taped to a walkman will work because ghosts have this temperature and can always communicate like this and are electromagnetic" or whatever just baffles me. to a certain degree, following a general consensus is one thing — some basic things everyone can agree on? that's cool. ghosts can walk through walls and are probably dead people or whatever. but oh my god, taking every single story as absolute, undeniable proof?? taking these stories and expanding on them to infer intentions and scientific facts to something that by it's very nature is unknowable and assuming, like, every spirit is created equal?? and yeah, ghost hunting shows are fun and campy and kinda creepy but like. you really, genuinely don't think any of them have ever faked anything at all??? even if ghosts are real, it's fucking reality tv, my dude. it's the entertainment industry. at least maintain the slightest ounce of critical thought before taking zak bagans' word as the goddamn gospel.

and sidenote, maybe it's just my limited exposure as a white woman in the western world, but of all the shows and podcasts and movies and documentaries and whatnot i've been able to find and consume, there's the constant use of christian ideology applied to every situation that just really burns my bacon. what, there's never been an atheist ghost? if you see a shadow person and you don't know the lord's prayer by heart, are you automatically fucked? why are there never stories about, i don't know, viking ghosts? does your religion in life preclude you from becoming a ghost in the first place? is that why people never mention buddhist ghosts? i don't get it, and that's why even though i'm self-admittedly the most superstitious person i've ever met, true believers make me roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out. makes me come across as more skeptical than i theoretically am. I HAVE VERY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OK

but like, you couldn't pay me to fuck with a ouija board. i'm not stupid.

delicate; diamonds or pearls?

both have their appeal and their place, but diamonds, i guess. i like the sparkle. but fake ones!! or synthetic. diamonds are overpriced and artificial scarcity is a scam and i don't need a dumb rock that some poor person in a mine somewhere was exploited and possibly died for. no blood diamonds in this house, thank you very much.

if i ever get engaged, i don't want a diamond ring. i'd want something cool, a little unusual, like a ruby or a sapphire or some other sparkly gem that isn't literally shoved in your face every waking moment as the expected standard symbol of True Love. they're cheaper, they're cool-looking, as a ring they still hold the cultural symbolism of an engagement/wedding ring. and honestly, as long as it's well-made and durable, whatever hypothetical gem it is doesn't have to be real either. i'm a woman of simple needs and demonstrably low standards. no point in going into debt for a fucking piece of jewelry, regardless of ~tradition~.

lavender dream; favorite album?

oh lord. welcome to the black parade, i guess. or anything by panic! at the disco. there are dozens of possible options — my interests are mercurial and my memory is garbage. but i'll always be an emo little shit. black parade and vices and virtues were also the first two albums i ever listened to where i loved every single song on them, and i happened to listen to them for the first time at around the same point in my life (i got into mcr super late. like, 2012 late. rip).

silky; what’s your biggest dream?

it's cheesy but i guess i just want stability and, by extension, happiness. emotional stability, mental stability, financial stability, stable living situation, stable routines, stable relationships... you get the idea. i have ambitions and passions, of course, but my ultimate goal is happiness at this point in my life, and i'm pretty sure stabilizing all those things would go a pretty long way in achieving that goal.

a little apartment with walls i can paint because white walls make me angry. bookshelves and posters and fandom merch on every wall. a computer i can actually play games on again, and somewhere i can paint and draw and record my podcasts. someone who loves me, maybe. a cat, if i'm stable enough. space for people to come visit me, and a place for them to sleep if they need. a tiny balcony, if i really want to shoot for the stars. a job i don't hate. the spoons to hang out with my friends, and the money to not worry about buying little presents for the people i care about sometimes. i don't need much.

strawberry kiss; do you have a crush right now?

nope.

glitter; favorite fictional character?

another loaded question. like books, if you ask me again in five minutes i'll probably give you a different answer. but in this particular moment, caleb and jester from critical role (please don't make me choose between them). i won't go full shipping mode rn, but jester is so funny and silly and sweet, so much more complex than she seems, and she tries so hard to make everyone happy even when she's so sad inside. the healer who treats healing as an inconvenience in battle (she's so fucking valid and also mood), the glue that keeps the party together. and caleb learning to trust again, facing his trauma and coming out of his shell. he loves his friends so much he plays wizard as a support class and i love him so much.

i love the mighty nein in general, of course, and all the guests/honorary members they've had. pumat!! pls don't be evil reani!! keg!! shakäste and grand duchess anastasia!! cali!! kiri!!!! the brotps! empire siblings! chaos crew! nott the best detective agency! i still love molly and all his assholery to bits (fight me), and mourn his lost potential. i adore yasha, even when she's gone; fjord has grown so much; beau and nott and caduceus — i love all their flaws and disagreements and their character arcs and the excitement of watching them grow and learn. but if i had to choose, caleb, jester and molly have always been my top 3 since day 1 and, well, molly isn't really an option anymore.

but like i said, ask me again in a minute. i have a fucking list.

swan; share a quote or passage that means something to you.

a collection of things off the top of my head:

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. — Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

a tired feminist Mood™️

"What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not foolin' a soul." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

i got my love of books from my grandma — some of my favorites i got from her. sometimes, as a treat, she used to take my sister and i to bookstores and we'd stay there for ages, getting to pick one out, roaming the shelves, the mental torture of having to choose. the peace of being surrounded by thousands of potential worlds, so much information, so many stories just waiting to be told; being surrounded by strangers who share that same wonder. the anxious drive home so we could read them, being unable to wait that long so i inevitably start reading in the car and make myself sick. telling her in excited detail all my favorite parts. if we were lucky, maybe we got to split a bear claw, or she'd drive past starbucks and get us something there too (tall vanilla soy steamer with one pump of vanilla syrup, whipped cream on top that always melted too quickly and squirted out the hole in the lid, so hot it burned my tongue but so good i didn't care). i have never felt more at home than i do when i'm surrounded by books.

"There are a lot of different types of freedom. We talk about freedom the same way we talk about art, like it was a statement of quality rather than a description. “Art” doesn’t mean good or bad. Art just means art. It can be terrible and still be art. Freedom can be good or bad, too. There can be terrible freedom. You freed me, and I didn’t ask you to." — Alice Isn't Dead, season 1, chapter 2: Alice

as cringey as it is to admit it, this line made me cry a lot after my breakup.

"So you aren't American?" asked Shadow.

"Nobody's American," said Wednesday. "Not originally. That's my point." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

[side-eyes white america real hard]

there's more, of course. there's always more. don't even get me started on song lyrics, we'll be here all day.

lace; what’s your favorite plant/flower?

lilacs and roses.

mermaid; do you prefer the forest or the ocean? why?

both, i guess. but in different ways, and in different circumstances.

the sea is wild. it is endless and deep and unknowable. it is beautiful and dangerous. i am terrified of the ocean, and yet my favorite place in the world is an empty beach on the oregon coast. i have picked sand from between my toes for days with hair crusted in salt, danced around bonfires and watched the stars while marshmallows burn, gotten pulled under the waves as a child and nearly swept out to sea. picked starfish and crabs from small pools in the rocks, and swum (accidentally) with wild sea lions. in a long skirt, too early in the year to be swimming, i once took off my shoes and waded fully clothed into the water to my waist and just... danced. splashed and kicked and laughed with a boy i barely knew until our throats were sore and our toes were numb, walking home hours later with our soaked clothes clinging to our legs, shoes squelching, dripping algae as we went. the ocean is freeing and overwhelming all at once. i love it and am petrified by it in equal measure.

the forest is beautiful in a different way. it is silent and dense and serene. you are surrounded by life and yet, somehow, completely alone. there is magic in the forest, and history, and even when all else dies, that will remain. the trees grow from the corpses of their ancestors, and some have lived dozens of our lifetimes — with luck, a few dozen more. it is quiet there, peaceful, even the tiniest wood in the middle of a city muffling the outside world through the trees. you can feel the ancient ways deep in your soul as you follow winding paths strewn with fallen leaves, the mystery and wonder and superstitions of your forefathers. you wonder what it would be like, to run your fingers over the moss, to take off your shoes and socks and just run, leaping and dancing over rocks and roots, hair wild and air filling your lungs in deep, pure gulps as you shed the responsibilities and struggles of modern life, for just a moment remembering what freedom tastes like. it is primal, this connection to nature, one we have nearly forgotten over time. and as the sky grows dark and the silence of night presses against you, shadows looming, every footfall deafening, perhaps you begin to understand why some believed in monsters.

honeymoon; do you keep a journal?

i used to. honestly, that's a good idea, i should start doing that again. lord knows i have enough empty journal-type books.

starlight; do you believe in love at first sight and soulmates? why/why not?

i want to. i want to believe there's someone out there for me, the love of my life, someone to whom i'll be the love of their life, and that when i meet them i'll just... know.

but when i met my ex, i didn't really look twice at him for a while — no love at first sight. and when we were together, when i loved him and he swore he loved me back, i thought he hung the stars in the sky and knew i would marry him someday. couldn't even consider the idea that that wouldn't happen. and then when he broke up with me, he ghosted me so suddenly and thoroughly that he even preemptively cut contact with every single one of our mutual friends he thought might side with me in the breakup, before anybody even knew we'd had a fight. so, not soulmates either.

i really want to believe that someday the perfect romance will just fall into place and i can have the happily ever after i've always dreamed of. but the reality is i might never even have another s.o. for the rest of my life. maybe i'll get hit by a car tomorrow, or my hypothetical soulmate moves to argentina to become an alpaca farmer on a mountain somewhere and we never even meet. maybe i'm so traumatized by the betrayal and lies that i'll never have the courage to even try again.

and even so, happily ever after doesn't have to include a fairytale romance, regardless of whether i want it or not. i still like to cling to that hope though, deep down.

princess; what do you value most in people?

i'm going to assume you mean "real people" as in people i have positive relationships with, and not random strangers on the street.

loyalty. kindness. support. humor. similar values. patience. being able to grow together and teach each other things, so we can make each other better. honesty. trust. compassion. confidence. emotional vulnerability. communication. intelligence, or at least a willingness to learn. strength.

[seasaltmemories]

Devil’s Line Review/Analysis

This is gonna be a different beast to tackle for a few reasons A) I actually started this once before and dropped it, B) For a proper analysis I’m gonna have to dive into spoilers, and C) I technically haven’t finished the entire series, as the last volume of the manga isn’t translated (and I will only talk about the manga here) I say this all so you’ll be gentle with me as I pop from subject to subject

To start let’s get that summary:

Tsukasa, a college student, is rescued from an attack by a devil, one of many vampires that can blend in among the human population. Anzai, her savior, is a half-devil who exploits his supernatural gifts as a member of a shadowy police task force that specializes in devil-related crime in Tokyo. As Anzai continues to keep guard over Tsukasa, the two quickly forge a tentative bond—one that Anzai fears will test his iron-clad rule of never drinking human blood …

So I feel like expectations play a lot into how you receive this story and what you want to get out of it.  My first time going in I was told it was a dark fantasy series, and then what I got in the 7 or 8 chapters I read was a lot of faffing about of will they won’t they with the external plot only appearing to be there to drive the main couple together, so I got bored and dropped it

This time I went in not only knowing there would be a lot of romance, but also personally more in the mood for vampire stuff, and kinda meeting it where it was allowed me to see it grow into more interesting ways

The beginning isn’t bad, but I think it is best appreciated when you know up front this is 50% romance and 50% thriller, both genres are equally important to the narrative, but rather than starting out with that ratio, the beginning focuses entirely on Tsukasa’s and Anzai’s blossoming romance, from there a greater plot concerning devils begins to unfold, and then the two really begin to work in sync to prop both sides up

Bc once the ball starts rolling, the plot becomes a high-speed mystery concerning secret conspiracies and questions of who you can trust, what started out simple gets more information added on that complicates matters as you begin to question your own judgement, still what keeps the plot from becoming a jumbled mess is the fact at the heart of the story is always Tsukasa and Anzai, it gives the narrative focus that I’ve see few things series have

I should also mention my first impressions of the romance being shaken bc I am so used to series having couples who are love at first sight yet waste the entire time actually getting together until the end, and while these two basically also have love at first sight and take a while to actually get together, they get together in an overall timely manner, and their relationship is allowed to grow and evolve in very mature ways, not just sexually but also emotionally, a lot of their arc together is learning about how to communicate what they want to the other and as their relationship grows, their strength as individual characters grow as well

Now I’m gonna get into some spoilers, but what turned the series from simply fun into can’t put down is the timeskip

A lot of the elements that I enjoyed were being done before the time skip, but I feel like the skip is what allowed it to reach new heights it just kept hovering up at

Bc slowly as we start from Tsukasa and Anzai, the world expands, first to his colleagues, then to their enemies until it is a large but never burgeoning cast of connections, and the way they keep it all together is that it is grounded by lot of casual little moments to see people just be people, no matter their relation to the protagonists, we are consistently shown the humanity of almost everyone we come in contact with, and as a result it is hard to not fall in love with people who had previously tried to murder your faves (and might still currently be doing so)  and after the timeskip we just get hit with back to back side stories of the cast each going through their own internal problems, while still keeping to focus on Tsukasa and Anzai

Another thing that helps is that the worldbuilding concerning devil’s is extremely well-done, again it starts out simple “they see blood, then transform into monsters, sexual lust is connected to their bloodlust” but not only do we learn devil’s themselves, but a lot about what it means for a world to have a population like this, for example we get a detailed look into the tech created to help devil’s have safe sex with human partners and while it can be easy to poke fun at such specific details, by the end of the series it really does feel like an actual genetic disorder rather than some supernatural stuff with a sciency explanation tacked on

A moment that really made me stop and realize “oh the person behind this must know stuff besides story-telling” was when after and educational lecture about devils, the speaker admitted privately that the model used to describe them was problematic in that it demonized certain sects of devils, like wow, it was a quick moment, but a story showing the struggles of nuanced activism? Then we not only touch upon exploration of devil’s through a social science lens, but the overall philosophy that gets brought up on how to deal with institutional bigotry is interesting (this will be endgame spoilers so if you want to skip this, scroll down until you see bolded words again)

In two separate cases, we see two queer women involved in institutions get asked to do something unethical, both decide that if they refuse then they’ll get fired and someone else will simply take their place, and their goal then becomes to work through the system until they make it to the top and can start openly resisting

The effectiveness of these strategies is intriguing to dig through, the first is a researcher breeding devil/human children to study, (many of the participants being convicts) and from her actions we see her try and inform those involved to the best of her abilities and get their consent, and when possible, try to use couples who are already together, any information that would put individuals at risk of being chosen for illegal experimentation, she destroys, when she becomes the head researcher, she changes the program to rely completely on studying the children of already formed devil/human couples who come to them willingly

The second is asked to head the conspiracy of wiping out all devils, when ironically she is a devil herself, and so what they do is essentially play their part until they’ve amassed enough power to eventually stage a coup, until they can get an insider to be the prime minister to publicly reveal to the world, the conspiracy and have vocal support of devil rights, not only does this plan depend on the actual killing of innocents and riling up actual bigotry, but it also attracts actual cold-blooded killers and violent bigots which complicate matters, and for all their effort, the prime minister gets assassinated right during his big speech 

As I mentioned their is still one volume left untranslated so I don’t know how it will add on to this, (most of the plot lines got wrapped up so I can’t see many major developments happening beyond wrapping up character plot threads) but they’re some juicy thematic questions to chew on as well, which is always a treat

Returning to some general strengths of the series, there really is a genuine sex-positive stance, I say that specifically bc it isn’t just simply exploring themes of sex, but also the way it does so, as mentioned above, there is a lot of baggage around devil’s and their sexual relationships, but a lot of what the characters have to learn is that such desires are normal and not some great abomination, just something they have to be responsible about, no one is shamed for communicating what they want/like, especially women, where multiple female characters are in fact openly encouraged to communicate to their partners that they are interested in sex, and from their we watch multiple couples (including a m/m one) work out what they want, in one neither is interested in romance, but is ok with a friends with benefit thing, two have the male participant be unsure of their feelings and so they work in their comfort zone (one likes physical touch and kissing, another they only hug) the m/m couple not only get screen-time of struggling with the “are you gay, I want to show interest but not get perceived as a creep” deal, but one admits to being repulsed by sex, and they still work out a romantic relationship

And the most surprising amount part of this, is that there is no unnecessary titillation, the eternal question of what is over-sexualization and all can get confusing and tiring, so I won’t define a specific threshold here or say this is the only way to tell such stories about sex, but first you don’t got any unrealistic body proportions on anyone or any creepy shots, everyone is fully clothed and dressed normally for the non-sexy bits, and while we do get a sex scene, it is pretty non-graphic (you got boobs and that is all that it on screen) so there really isn’t any confusing moments like in other stories I’ve experienced where I have to wonder if the framing contradicts its message 

I could go on, but the strength of the story lies within at the end of the day being about normal people just trying to live their lives, it really does seem to capture the essence of what it means to be human effortlessly, and I am just immediately charmed and ready to follow Ryo Handa in whatever other projects she does

[sometimeinjoon]

Misleading Misdemeanor

4.1k

01 - 02 - 03 - 04

A/n: I have an obvious lack of knowledge of actual criminal procedure, ignore all the mistakes, I hope they’re acceptable. Also, it MAY get gruesome. Tread with caution.

Kim Namjoon. 24. Murderer.

Also one and the same as you, under certain conditions.

The sight of a black folder poised on your desk barely daunted you. It’s been a while, you thought, sitting down on your chair. In contrast to the multiple glaringly bright red folders in multiple towers around you, this black one seemed to hide its menacing contents quite well. To anyone else, this sole folder would be the most innocent of the swathe you basically lived in due to their sheer number.

At this point, you were never given anything but red. As soon as a case a little too complex shows up, it’s always the same phrase — “give it to the blitzkrieg" — as your superintendent lovingly refers to you. The color repulsed you so much you wanted to smash your new assistant Jennie’s head through the wall whenever she smiled at you with her less-than-pearly whites and fire engine red lipstick; she was sweet but stupid, and that plus her nauseating love for the stupid color made you want to chop her head off most of the time, but lucky for her, you were composed. You had to be, especially with your line of work.

Opening the folder, you were greeted with the typical documents: what they did, who they harmed, how many they harmed, sentence, possibility for parole, multiple photos of their crime scenes. Your eyes quickly get glued to the mug shot, which unnervingly resembled a yearbook picture more than it did an archival photo of a deemed psychopath, judging by the color of his folder that was almost never used. The motherfucker was smiling, and on top of that, the motherfucker was attractive. Nothing new in your experience though, that’s how pretty faces get away with so many crimes. You were merely noting facts.

Yelling in the corridor averted your eyes from the man in the photo to your window, seeing a man being dragged away by several police men. A dull 4 sat atop his head and you nod; the noisy ones were never really dangerous, although if it took 4 men to haul him to his cell, he sure was strong, you’ll give him that much. Behind the boisterous man was Yugyeom, your long-term colleague, sporting a proud 8. Darting your eyes around the people that were present outside your office, you gave a contented sigh. The gray numbers become overwhelming when you see too many all at once, and now that you controlled when you saw the numbers, you were invincible.

Fixing your view back to the opened folder, you begin to read on the man:

Kim Namjoon. IQ an impressive 148. 32 counts of murder, 2 counts of manslaughter. Nothing else.

You figured a man of his physique and appearance would be a rapist, and that’s beyond your bias, but he wasn’t. Perched at the very top of his victim list were his former investigators, sitting in first, second, and third, indicating succession, first being his latest victim. His case went from a white, to a red, to a navy blue, to a black in the span of a week, and no one has done that in your many years of experience. You’ve been warned quite sternly by your superintendent: “He killed the last 3, so don’t ever let your guard down. No one else can do this but you at this point, and if we lose you, the entire team’s going down.” Strangely enough, seeing this man’s case accelerate to the most dangerous color category that quickly made you excited to interview him. What number did he have? You’ve never seen anyone above a 9.

“Fifteen minutes, krieg,” Yugyeom knocks on your open door, adjusting his cuffs, as if the man they were dragging out gave him a bit more of a fuss than usual. You hated the nickname that was forced onto you, but nonetheless, you nod at him, taking one last sip from your cup before standing up, black folder in hand.

The walk to the interview room was relatively short, but filled with gasps from newer employees you passed by, and reassuring smiles from the ones you’ve been working with for a while. Throughout your career, you’ve only ever handled 3 black cases. To exemplify that feat, no one else has handled a black case. They were reserved for you. Everything above red was reserved for you. It took a lot to move up from a white case, and when a case does move up, it’s already a scare.

“Good morning, miss,” the policeman that was going to stand guard outside the room greeted you, holding the door open. Shortly after, 2 more policemen joined him. You were about to ask why there were so many of them, forgetting briefly about the supposedly extremely dangerous man you were about to encounter. You should be a little more fucking nervous, you fucking diva, you thought to yourself. Honestly though, how dangerous can this man be? Compared to you, at least.

Namjoon is ushered into the room and you don’t look up from the files you were trying to organize. You hear the door to his side of the room click, and he inhales quite sharply as he sat down.

“Wow,” he pauses for a bit too long, “you’re smart.” You can hear his smile through his voice. You don’t reply to his compliment as you continue to jot down questions you were going to ask him. “I know you know I am too, cause I know you can read my profile,” he follows up just as you pressed the button on the intercom to speak, not once looking away from your notes, and it makes you laugh right into the microphone.

“Oh shit, a girl this time?” By the way he speaks, you sensed genuine surprise in his tone.

“Sexist?” you ask, finally looking up, and you get the wind knocked right out of your chest.

A red number. It says 12.

“No, just astonished they’d even send a female in my direction, knowing what I did to the others,” he answers you, his gaze fixed right on the mirror in front of him. You feel like he’s looking right at you, except he seemed to mirror the subtle terror he couldn’t see on your face.

You struggle to speak as you not only lost your entire train of thought, but also you were scared shitless, as much as you’d hate to admit it. You didn’t know numbers could be red. You also didn’t know that the scale didn’t stop at 10.

He deadpans at the one-way glass in front of him, acknowledging the change in strategy. “I mean, I don’t think you intend to make my post-arrest kill count four, do you? It’s harder to kill someone when you don’t know who to kill, exactly.”

“Correct, even though the interrogation style’s motives must be obvious.” you try to nonchalantly answer. 

“Also wouldn’t be exactly delightful to fall for my interrogator,” he places his cheek in his hand, half-smiling. What a motherfucker. “You have a beautiful voice, ma’am, I could melt listening to you talk about what an asshole I am.” He smiles wider. 

“Great, then let’s do just that. Name?” 

“You know my name. My file’s right in front of you.”

"I’m trying to follow protocol, but since you’re so eager, let’s get to it then,” you say, and he nods.

"Let’s cut everything out,” he says, leaning onto his elbows on the table. “I know you know exactly what I am, and the flowery talk I use on everyone won’t work on someone like you.” His expression is hidden by the shadow cast by his face from the drop light on the ceiling, and oh god how you wish you could see what he looked like as he said that.

“You talk like you know me,” you say, clicking your pen down and you see him raise an eyebrow and blow air out of his nose in a form of a hesitant chuckle. You tried to ignore your obnoxiously sweaty palms. He can’t see you, you reminded yourself. 

“Kim Namjoon, 24, murderer.” The way his voice comes out so rich and deep contradicts the evil he spoke, and it scared you more how he seemed so calm and composed. You were used to murderers and rapists be this way, all collected, all chill, but the menacing 12 marking the air above him made it difficult for you to just treat him like an ordinary man.

“Any specific motives on your killings? Specific targets?”

"Anyone. Everyone. I don’t really care.” You stop writing.

“Any types you spare?”

He smiles at your question. “The ones like you.”

He’s an actual fucking psychopath, you tell yourself, and re-read his files to see if he really wasn’t a rapist, or at least a sex offender. He seems to be quite purposefully alluring.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I mean by that?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. You wondered why all traces of fear seem to have left your body, the red 12 you’ve willed away to not have it distract you, although it’s real, and it’s a warning. What made this too-confident of a man be a 12? Why is his number red?

“Yes, tell me more about why you wouldn’t want to kill me,” you wave your pen around in the air as you spoke into the mic, trying to humor him. Surely he was just being sly.

“Two quite simple things,” he waves his hair away from his face. “Smart,” he raises his pinky finger in a count, “and dangerous. I know you’ve been told you’re one of a kind, and you are, baby girl, you are, but you’re — ” he trails off, and looks directly at the mirror and you meet his eyes. 

“A red 12. Just like me.” 

“Are you sure you want to do it this way?” The policeman asks you before moving out of the doorway to let you in. He wasn’t the only one nervous about this, no, the entire fucking building was. Half of them were sure they were about to lose their best employee ever, and half of them are convinced you’ll break this man and skin him alive.

You intended to make neither of the two sides right.

The interview yesterday did not go as planned, and ignoring the worried looks to your direction as soon as you left the interrogation room, you decided to end the interview early, for your own sake. Your mind was racing, heart thumping like a horse that’s just ran in a race. Today though, you planned to get the answers you needed from him.

Setting your gun underneath the table, you waited patiently for Namjoon to be let in. You were nervous, more nervous than the interview yesterday, and understandably so. You were now going to be a mere few feet away from the hotshot killer, and he wasn’t going to be cuffed or restrained in any way. 

As soon as Namjoon sets eyes on you, he looks like he’s about to break out into a panic. He was expecting the mirror, the intercom, but instead, he sees the red 12 above your head, and then your actual head. He could see the blazing numbers through the mirror yesterday, despite not being able to see you in actuality. He couldn’t actually believe what he saw. He’d spent all night trying to convince himself it was an illusion. Master killers were a gray 9, so what were you? More importantly, what was he?

No words were spoken for a good 30 seconds after the door was shut behind Namjoon, the two of you just blankly staring at each other, studying each other’s features. Your hands were clasped underneath your chin, and in a fleeting moment of vulnerability, Namjoon actually tucked his massive frame into a smaller size, as if afraid of you all of a sudden, maybe shy? The audience that has gathered at the monitoring room held their breath as they waited for something to ensue.

You inhale deeply and the click of your pen startles Namjoon. “What did you do before you were arrested?” 

“Don’t you have it there?” he asks, pointing at the black folder opened at the side of the desk. He actually looks sincerely gently disgruntled by you, as if seeing you physically has ruined something in his already-ruined mind.

“I have a list of your previous crimes, yes, murder, murder, murder, and another murder, what a surprise,” you say, flipping through his papers, setting down the lie you were telling lightly. “Oh and what don’t I have, your last case. Tell me what you did.” You place your hand over the stack of papers so he won’t see the police report that you feigned not having.

“Killed a man, but this time it was an accident,” he shrugs, and looks as if he regrets having committed the crime, but you know he relishes in misleading people with his demeanor, and you know you can’t let him mislead you. 

“Go on?” You ask, meeting his too low of a gaze, and you were extremely surprised when he actually took your coaxing and just lets it all out. 

“He hit me with in the back of the head, and I, retaliated? I pushed him back too hard. He fell and hit his head on the pavement, and now he’s dead.” He finishes with an exhale. “Manslaughter. Starts with an M, but isn’t murder.”

 It’s not uncommon for criminals to make up stories and actually make them believable, but to your surprise, his account matches the one in his folder exactly. He actually just told you what happened, and he looked like he felt bad for it.

“I can’t read you,” he says, taking the words right out of your mouth.

“Why are you trying to read me?” 

“It’s important that I know you.” He answers, looking at you with softened eyes and you were at the edge of making sure you don’t believe him.

“So you can kill me?” You ask, pressing forward onto the desk.

“No.”

“Hurt me?”

“Does it look like I would try to?”

No, no it doesn’t. He seems like an angel just about now, and the annoying voice in your head that never has anything helpful to say insists that he must be sincere. 

“Tell me, why do you need to know me?”

“So that I can know what I am too.”

You don’t press any further and instead settle back into your seat. This interview was going nowhere with questioning like this, and you both knew that. You also knew there was an audience behind the mirror, and so you flip through your notes from yesterday and go on with the bullets you weren’t able to ask.

“Why did you commit all those murders?”

“It’s different for each one.”

“Okay, Jackson Wang. It says here you were best friends. Why did you turn on him?”

Namjoon’s eyes close shut and he doesn’t open them until after a whole 30 seconds passed by. “His number turned green.”

You inhale sharply when he says that and he’s just as surprised as you were with your reaction. He continues on his train of thought: “he was an 8. Gray, at first, then it started to ombre into this mud color, until eventually, after not seeing him for a while, I look up and see it’s gone completely stoplight green.”

“What does it mean when the numbers turn green? How bad is it that made you do this to your best friend?” You press forward, sliding the 4R photo of the crime scene you were talking about. Jackson Wang, steel pipe in his chest where his heart should be. It went right through him, the other end of the pipe impaled into the brick wall behind him.

Namjoon avoids the photo and looks to his side. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

“That’s why I’m asking you all these things. Let’s pretend I’m stupid. Explain this shit to me.”

He scoffs. “I can’t pretend you’re stupid. Yours are red. And it goes over 10.”

At this point, the people in the monitoring room are completely lost on the situation, questioning not only Namjoon’s mental stability, but yours as well. The ones that have faith in you are convinced that you’re doing this as a tactic and are riding along to his bullshit to juice information out of him, but only Yugyeom and your superintendent are aptly following along to the conversation. They knew what you were talking about, but just like you, they were lost on Namjoon talking about green numbers. All of you only thought that the numbers were gray. You were the only one that can see the numbers, aside from the man across you on the table, but the numbers are definitely not just gray. They can also be fire truck red. And now, to your surprise, they can be green too.

“Then don’t pretend I’m stupid. Pretend I’m your equal and I can perfectly understand your motives to your kilings.” You say leaning even further forward on the table. Namjoon starts moving his index finger against the desk in an incessant manner, drawing a short line. He exhales overstatedly and he leans forward too, his left elbow thudding onto the desk, eyes locking with yours once he settles his cheek onto his opened palm. His finger is still going at it despite the change in position, although now outlining a cross, forward, backward, sideways, stop. He assumes you’ve taken notice of his movement before he tilts his head down to look at you through hooded eyes. 

“Try it.” His finger stops.

There’s electricity in your feet and he’s uncomfortably close, but you don’t back away. You’re stuck in a staring contest with a psychopath, his moods changing at exceptional speed. One moment, he’s shy, scared, startled by your presence, and another moment he looks like he’s about to lie you down on the table and fuck you silly, like right now. He’s smirking, dimple exaggerated by the light above his head.

“Are you sure you haven’t raped anyone yet?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Ma’am,” he fully smiles at this point. “Call me anything you want. Murderer, psycho, any synonym thereof,” he settles back into his seat, his finger starting to draw again, this time slower, “but I am never two things: a liar, and a rapist. I’m a gentleman, and I’m sure of it. I’d hold the door open for you if I could once this interrogation is over.”

You toss another photo in his direction, and he takes it. He relaxes further in his seat, one arm slung behind his back rest, the other holding the picture up. He alternates looking at the photo, and then at you. He talks before you ask him anything.

“Six. Easy kill. Gray. He had a wedding ring, but he was abusive.” His finger stops moving. “I had a hard time with this one, just cause he’s so big. With my size it’s not really difficult to take someone down, but this one was muscular. Really muscular.”

“You seem almost happy about this one?”

“I am,” he sets the picture down, sliding it back to you. “He was an asshole.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes slightly narrowed. Without looking away from him you slide another picture across the desk. You keep your hand on the glossy print while you waited for him to talk.

His face smoothens, smile disappearing. He looks like he’s choked on air when he sees the picture, lips quivering.

“Kim Taeyhung. Your brother.” You barely whisper. “Why?”

“What if I tell you there wasn’t a motive?”

“You told me you weren’t a liar, under any circumstance.”

“You’re good at your job, miss. Really good.”

“That’s the reason I’m in front of you.”

He doesn’t answer for a while, eyes fixed on the gruesome image of the man shot repeatedly, blood ironically painting the canvas that was behind him where he’d fallen over. You reach back and give him more images, more angles of the murder. After you spread out the fourth one, he slams his hand down on your wrist to stop you and stands up. The policemen barge into the room to restrain Namjoon and he doesn’t fight either of them. He throws both his hands up behind his head and smiles. With his face being closer to the light on the ceiling, his eyes become more prominent in its shadow: wide and bright and prodding. There’s something feline and predatory about his gaze, like he’s thinking of dissection. Destruction.

“No, it’s okay,” you tell the two policemen that were preparing to take him away. “Let him go. I’m not done with him yet.” They look at you extremely confused, but they obey. The monitoring room is now bursting full and hot and uncomfortable. Yugyeom weasels his way to the intercom and shushes the room before he speaks.

“Try that one more time and we’re sedating you.”

“Sir, I just held her wrist.” Namjoon looks at the mirror from side to side and sits down. “Hello to everyone watching!” he waves, smiling wide. When his lips terminate the lift at the ends of either corner, he stares at you, his look greedy, intent on taking as much of your features in as he can. He looks back at the mirror behind you, and then to you once again almost immediately. He rests his cheek on his palm again, looking like he’s admiring you from across a library table in university.

“Tell me, miss,” he smirks, “why is your highest digit here at your office an 8? And why just one?” You swallow hard at the nonchalant statement. He definitely can see the numbers, and he’s talking about Yugyeom. “Underground, we go up to 9s. Multiple 9s.”

You wave off his statement while you rearrange his file, sliding a quick compliment to his allies before his face turns serious again at your voice.

“They’re not allies. I don’t have allies. Allies are bullshit.” You nod at his even tone.

“Figures, you did kill your bro—“

Namjoon slams his hand down on the table, startling everyone in the proximity. “I didn’t fucking want to kill Taehyung, you bitch,” he literally spits out the curse he’d so aggressively thrown at you. “I would never fucking kill any of my brothers.” He was talking quick, veins on his outstretched arm prominent and angry. Almost as angry as he was. You hold out your palm to the policeman barely opening the door, peering at you through the slit on the steel. He nods, but his eyes were full of worry.

“You killed two of them,” you say unfazed, head tilted to the side. You were looking at him cripplingly, challenging him, trying to press at his emotions harder so he would burst. “Taehyung. Jimin,” you listed off. Namjoon’s chest heaves with every breath, ears red. His hand is now balled up into a fist, the other clawing at his thigh. You lean closer to him and repeat the names of the three youngest in his family. “Taehyung. Jimin.” You say with emphasis. You fish out their photos from the stack you had and flick them towards him.

He closes his eyes, not wanting to see the images. A tear slips down one of his cheeks, his face flushed, neck veins near popping, fists shaking from how hard he’s closed them in.

“Stop,” He whispers.

“Why did you kill them?”

“I was young. Stupid. Reckless. I still am,” he surrenders, tears now continuous. “But I regret harming them. Killing them. They were godsends in this hellhole.”

“You shot Taehyung 23 times,” you read off of a page in his folder. “That seems intentional, if anything.”

“Why are you suddenly an idiot?” He blinks at you. His eyes were bloodshot, brow worried and hurt was evident in his voice. “Panic. It was in panic.”

“You need to cock a gun to fire that many times in succession, Namjoon,” you cross, and his eyes grow wide at you calling him by name.

He leans forward, hushing his voice. “One,” he sticks his index finger out, “I threw the fucking bullets, alright? And two,” he follows up with his middle finger, “do not call me Namjoon. That’s not a name for you to use. You have no idea what that does to me when you say it.”

You’re baffled with what he said, and you’re not sure how to take that in. You narrow your eyes at him, feigning arrogance. 

“Namjoon.”

[doctortreklock]

I’ll Sing While I Simmer - October 23, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Asexual character (because it’s Asexual Awareness Week!)

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Title: “Me-Stew” by Shel Silverstein

Words: 2330

Content Warning: Dubcon (see end notes for details)

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It turned out that when Spock had told Jim that Vulcans tended toward asexuality outside "mitigating factors," he'd been shifty-eyed for a reason.

"I am going to be generous right now and assume that there was a very good reason why you didn't tell me," Jim said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

And there were the shifty-eyes again, the only tell in Spock's otherwise perfectly Vulcan visage. "I can assure you--"

"Because to me," Jim continued, barreling on, "this seems like the kind of thing one might be expected to tell their partner."

"Jim--"

"Oh yes, dear," Jim mimed, "I'm terribly sorry, but I forgot to mention that I have to have sex every seven years. Guess it just slipped my mind." And there went all his calm veneer.

Spock's eyes were dark and perhaps a touch sympathetic. Jim felt a pang in his chest and crossed his arms against the sensation.

Off to the side of the exam room, Bones cleared his throat roughly. "I'm about three weeks behind on paperwork, so if either of you need me, I'll be in my office." The good doctor didn't flee, but it was near to. Jim envied him his quick escape from the fallout that was sure to ensue.

The door slid shut behind Bones and Spock took advantage of the brief lull to explain.

"Jim." He paused. "T'hy'la." Jim tried not to show how much he was melting around the edges at the familiar endearment. "As you know, I am not wholly Vulcan. There are no previous human-Vulcan hybrids to use as an example, and so it was unknown if I would be afflicted. It was postulated that I would be spared, as my mother's genetics run stronger in some specific strands." Spock's mouth twisted slightly and Jim knew he was thinking of Nero. "However, since the destruction of Vulcan-That-Was, there have been reports from the colony of individuals entering their Time prematurely, and so it seems that regardless of predictions, my Time is now upon me."

Well, Jim would say one thing about Vulcans - they never lacked drama.

He lifted one hand to rub at the side of his face and made a face at the rough stubble he found there. Just another reminder of the hellishly long day he was in that had started with a slightly snappish Spock and was now ending with a piece of very unwelcome news.

"Give it to me straight, Spock," Jim said, tired of the conversation already. "What are our options?"

"Are you asking as my captain or my beloved?" Spock asked without flinching. "Because the answers are quite different."

That didn't sound good. "Both."

"As my captain," Spock prefaced, then he squared his shoulders. "Captain, it is my estimation that given my current rate of deterioration, I will reach an inexcusable level of efficiency by approximately ship's noon, three days from now. It is my recommendation, then, that I be deemed medically unfit for duty at the end of alpha shift tomorrow. I would further recommend that Lieutenant Sanchez be promoted to Interim Science Officer in my stead and that her promotion be permanently secured upon my death. My position as First Officer--"

"Wait, wait, wait," Jim interrupted. "Hang on, go back." There was a cold panic creeping up his spine. "Your death?"

"Yes." Spock paused. Jim didn't say anything, panic sending his stomach swooping like the universe's most terrifying roller coaster. Spock continued. "If the urge to...couple is not sated, the plak tow, the blood fever, will set in. Unless satisfied, the fever will eventually lead to total system shutdown and my death."

Jim's mouth was dry. "Were you not going to mention that?" he croaked.

"I was," Spock said, shifting his weight slightly. "If you'll recall, I did say there were two different ways I could answer your question."

He was being evasive. Jim thought they were past that. "Spock," he said softly.

Spock looked at him, gaze softening. "Jim," he echoed. "On a personal note, I have few options. You are my beloved. I shall leave it to you to decide which course to take."

Jim opened his mouth to protest that this was unfair, that he shouldn't have that much power, that Spock shouldn't give him the responsibility for such an important decisions, but Spock simply held out two fingers in the ozh'esta, a Vulcan kiss, and he subsided, pressing his own fingers to Spock's in silent response.

Spock nodded as if there had been a decision made and lifted his eyes from their joined fingers to look at Jim again. "As my beloved. Jim, when I was young I was placed in a bond with T'Pring. This you know." Jim nodded. T'Pring and Uhura had been the only exes of note that the pair had. "This bond was intended to draw us together during my Time. Then, we would join and our bond would deepen." Jim couldn't suppress a frown at the idea. "Following the loss of Vulcan-That-Was, our preliminary bond was broken. T'Pring did not perish, but concluded that a bond with a full Vulcan was necessary for the propagation of my species." Jim's frown deepened. "Her logic was sound," Spock chided softly. "As a hybrid, I am by necessity sterile. There was no logic in remaining tied to me when there were others more suited to her own needs, just as you are more suited to mine." Jim's frown faded into a wry smile at the gentle reminder, accompanied by the subtle reassurance of Spock's fingers against his own.

"With T'Pring now bonded to another, there is no one set aside for me, no one waiting for me. Jim, please," Spock said when Jim opened his mouth to protest the last point. "I would ask that you allow me the courtesy to complete my thoughts and lay out my arguments."

Jim pursed his lips, but nodded. "Fine. But I reserve the right to ask an obnoxious number of questions afterwards."

A slight smile graced Spock's lips. "I would expect no less of you, t'hy'la." He pressed his fingers against Jim's for one last moment before pulling away and clasping his hands behind his back. Jim's fingers felt cold afterwards. "As I said, there is none set aside for me among my own people or elsewhere. My remaining options are limited. Those few Vulcans adept at kolinahr have been known to successfully dissipate the blood fever through meditation, though this method knows success only after the purging of all emotions. There were once rumors that physical exertion could disrupt the fever, but I do not know the specifics, and I fear those knowledgeable have perished on Vulcan-That-Was." Spock paused, and his face was the most perfect Vulcan mask Jim had seen on him yet. "The final option is the simplest. I do nothing, and the plak tow consumes me as it has Vulcans before me."

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Jim burst out. "There's no way that's going to happen. Bones will find something that can help. He's worked wonders before."

"Millions of hours, figuratively countless hours, have been spent by those at the Vulcan Science Academy in pursuit of a cure or relief for the pon farr. None has yet been found after decades of research," Spock intoned evenly. "While Doctor McCoy's efforts are laudable, it is highly improbable he would meet with any different success."

"What about me?" Jim asked before he nerves could get the better of him. "Am I not Vulcan enough for you?" He swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat.

Spock looked at him, and this time he looked at him. Jim felt simultaneous waves of panic and terror with a small underlying layer of excitement that tingled up and down his spine. "My blood burns for you, beloved," Spock said simply, his voice thick. "But I wouldn't ask that of you."

Jim could hear his pulse beating loudly in his ears. It was a well-guarded secret - though perhaps a less-well-guarded one on the Enterprise - that Jim was asexual. He had never been sexually attracted to anyone and - in point of fact - was repulsed by the very notion of sex. When he was seventeen and had first decided to attempt the feat, he had nearly thrown up when the other man had touched him.

After a half-dozen false starts that - through bad luck and poor timing - somehow managed to secure Jim a reputation as a playboy, he had resigned himself to a life alone. Well, as alone as you could be with Bones and the entire crew of the Enterprise determined to be your family.

Spock had been a surprise. First, as a congenial colleague, then as a friend. Then, after the realization that Vulcans were mostly asexual as well - with apparently some very important caveats - as a partner. Jim told Spock about Iowa and his father, and Spock told Jim about Shi'Kahr and his mother. They played chess and talked ship's business and exchanged Vulcan kisses (because human kisses were often too much for Jim) and melded for hours, the steady press of Spock's fingers on his face all the grounding Jim needed.

But this...this changed everything. No matter what Jim decided - because Spock had put the decision solely in Jim's hands and doesn't he understand that now - everything would be different. Obviously, a small voice reminded him. Because either you'll sleep with him or he'll die. Jim shushed the voice, because it had to be a more complicated decision, didn't it? Because that choice only led to one answer.

The look on Spock's face was serene and his eyes were calm, as if he'd already accepted Jim's answer. But he couldn't have, because Jim hadn't made one yet. Or maybe he had.

"Ask me."

Spock blinked and his peaceful expression shattered. "What?"

Jim took a deep, shaky breath and double-checked himself. Yep. Still decided. "Ask me."

Spock was wide-eyed and his lips were trembling ever-so-slightly. "Jim," he rasped. "Will you knowingly and willingly consent to join with me, here, during my Time, as I pass through the mating fires?"

"Yes." Jim's voice was low, but sure.

"Will you--" Spock faltered. "Will you knowingly and willingly consent to bond with me during this, the first of my Times?"

"Yes," Jim repeated, his voice ringing with certainty this time.

Spock's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Will you knowingly and willingly consent to stay with me, t'hy'la, binding your family to mine?"

"Yes," Jim agreed. Then he added, "Is this usually quite so much like a marriage proposal?"

Spock looked a little dazed from Jim's agreement. "Not traditionally. Generally speaking, bonding usually occurs when one is young and does not require a formal declaration of intent. The mingling of families is a separate event, usually performed at the behest of the higher ranking matriarch shortly after the bond has matured." Now Spock looked faintly guilty. "I could not bear to be parted from you by any ritual known to my people, beloved. If I acted in undue haste, please forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, Spock," Jim told him fondly. The panic that had accompanied him since Spock's initial description of pon farr hadn't dissipated, but it had settled and Jim could work around it now. The thin frisson of excitement that had run through him at Spock's gaze had vanished, but Jim had hopes that it might pop up again. The overwhelming emotion Jim was feeling right now was love. Love for Spock, who could lay out any problem with cool aplomb, no matter how personal. Spock, who trusted Jim to know his own limits. Spock, who proposed and then apologized for it. Spock, who was so dear to Jim and so very much Spock, that Jim feared for the fate of any universe without him in it.

"Very well, then," Spock said, the slightest blush of green across his cheeks the only hint of his pleasure at the exchange. "I trust you will keep the doctor appraised of the situation?"

"Of course," Jim agreed. "We'll need to talk about things, lay in supplies, antiemetics, that sort of thing."

Spock nodded and straightened up, attempting to revert back to the professionalism that was so familiar to them both. "If you do not have any further need for me, Captain, I will be spending my remaining leisure time in meditation."

"Sounds good, Mr. Spock."

Just before he reached the door, Spock paused and turned around, extending his fingers towards Jim once more. Jim obliged him, feeling relieved that at least this hadn't changed.

Once Spock had gone, Jim took a moment to breath and reevaluate himself. He was still good? Yeah. His lips curled in a smile. It would be rough. The panic and terror were still lurking beneath the surface, but for the moment they had subsided. He and Spock could get through this; just another one of the obstacles that ended up being no match for the Enterprise's command crew. They had this.

Jim squared his shoulders and walked out of the room to find Bones.

--

It wasn't easy. Jim suspected it would never be easy. But it wasn't bad, not with Spock. Not when Jim was doing this because of Spock. Because it would save Spock's life and there had never been anything more precious to Jim than that. Not his ship, not anything.

And when it was over, when the fever had passed and Spock slept peacefully at last, Jim had curled around him and run his fingers gently through Spock's sweat-soaked hair. And when Spock woke up, the first thing on his lips had been Jim's name and the second had been an apology. And Jim had shushed him firmly and kissed his forehead softly and told him there was nothing to forgive.

So Spock just held Jim tightly with trembling arms and murmured his gratitude into Jim's neck while Jim stroked his hair and held him back just as tightly.

----------------------------- *A/N: I'll just be over here inventing Vulcan courtship practices. Don't mind me.

Content Note:

Warning: This fic contains mentions of a sex-repulsed character engaging in consensual sex. He wouldn't ordinarily choose it, but events conspire and he consents to sex in this specific set of circumstances. He is still sex-repulsed afterwards, but will likely consent to sex under similar parameters in the future.

I am also sex-indifferent myself, and as such have no experience with the kind of situations Jim finds himself in in this fic. I have attempted to portray his feelings realistically, but I may be rather off base. Apologies.