#she probably thought she was owning the libs

[rejectingrepublicans]

The cruelty is the point.

[sunkissed-zegras]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. | delicate au, jack hughes

౨ৎ ─ summary | this takes place in late august of 2023, a little before the njd season started. jack hughes dm's the girl the whole internet thinks he's dating and invites her to a pre-season get-together at his house.

─ word count | 1.9k

─ warnings | anxiety, some flirting? nothing else!

─ taglist | @dancerbailey3 @valluvsu @daisysnhl @dasiysthings @iminlovewithtz11 @literatureluster @lvrzegras @lxvleyzoe @bowen-power @ru-kru @jackhughesily @hearts-for-luke

─ ev's notes | please lmk ur thoughts on this au so far! i, of course, always read ur guys feedback so anything would be very much appreciated.

Accept message request from jhughes (jackhughes)?

jhughes: have you seen twitter? we're trending 🤣 jhughes: looks like i'm your bf now 🤷🏻🤷🏻

libbytf: yeah um i don't even know how that happened😭 libbytf: they're crazy, that's not either of us?

jhughes: it does really look like us though haha 🤣 i don't blame them

libbytf: the more i look the photos the more i disagree lol, i hope they figure it out on their own 😭

jhughes: haha yeah [seen]

jhughes: me and luke are having a pre season party, you should come if ur free jhughes: oh and if leon wants you to hahaha😭

libbytf: when is it? i'll see if i can come and if i'm in town

jhughes: next saturday at our new place

libbytf: i'll let you know!

jhughes: k lmk ( 👍🏻 )

Libby stared down at her screen, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Did she just get asked out?

She received the message later that day and she was surprised that Jack Hughes had messaged her. She wasn't starstruck or anything but he didn't seem like the "dm" type, he looked more like the type to approach you in public.

She shook her head, she didn't even know if he was hitting on her. He probably wasn't even trying to come off that way, he probably just needed more people at his party. And the truth was, after the whole "Josh" thing, she didn't really have anything to do because everyone in the world was seemingly against her. The messy breakup with Josh had left her feeling exposed, as if every aspect of her personal life was now fair game for public scrutiny.

She had been under the spotlight for years now, long before she had even considered the idea of being a singer. Her sister and father were already apart of the "Hollywood" circle, she has seen this kind of stuff before. She's never been apart of the gossip, though - this was the first time she'd been in the spotlight for a bad reason.

Growing up in the shadow of her sister's and father's fame had accustomed her to the entertainment industry and all the drama that came with it. But now, as the fallout from her breakup with Josh engulfed her, Libby found herself thrust into uncharted territory. The barrage of rumors and gossip had stripped away the layers of privacy she had worked so hard to preserve, leaving her feeling vulnerable.

Libby couldn't even turn to her music anymore, she felt like it was no use because the whole internet (and their moms) hated her for no reason other than her relationship, or lack thereof.

She was pulled out of her thoughts as she felt her phone buzz on her bed. She reached for it lazily and opened it, reading the message.

leon 😛 are you down for something this weekend?

Libby typed out a quick response.

libs 🥸 depends

leon 😛 me and some of the team are gonna have a party this weekend to celebrate the start of the season, they told me to bring someone and ur all i have

leon 😛 unless u say no i'll ask someone else

libs 🥸 jack already asked me so sure :)

leon 😛 wait so ur his plus one?

libs 🥸 no bc he's the literal host, he just invited me😭😭

leon 😛 thats weird but okay, can u still be my plus one

libs 🥸 idk if that'll change anything but sure!!

She sighed at her brother's slight stupidity. It sounds like she was going to be going to the party this weekend. As she agreed, Libby couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety about attending Jack's party. The thought of facing a bunch of strangers, each with their own preconceived notions about who she was, made her stomach churn.

Before she could turn off her phone, her phone buzzed and she looked at the notification.

jhughes (jackhughes) started following you!

──

"Have you been on Twitter?" Leon spoke up as he drove, his eyes glancing toward Libby before focusing back on the road.

She shrugged, "Yeah. Why?"

"Everyone thinks you're dating Jack, it's kinda funny. Isn't this like, your first time meeting him?" Leon replied with a small laugh, shaking his head.

"It's pretty dumb, isn't it?" Libby replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "Well this is like my second or third time meeting him so it's not like we're strangers but still, we're far from strangers."

"Are you sure about that? He messaged you." Leon joked as he smirked at you as you rolled your eyes. She knew he was joking but a part of her thought that maybe he was flirting with her. But Libby could not even mention that to Leon because it'll make him go crazy, staying quiet was the better option.

"Shut up," Libby mumbled as Leon laughed. "The pictures aren't even us, you know?"

"The guy looks a lot like Jack but not you. It's so funny especially because everyone swears that they know you so well but they can't even tell the difference you and some other person." Leon grinned, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. "Well, I guess the internet just loves drama. Can't blame them for trying to spice things up, it is fun."

"I just hope people figure it out soon," Libby sighed, glancing out of the car window at the passing city lights. "I mean, it's not like I need more rumors right now."

Leon shrugged. "Yeah, I get it. But you know what they say, any publicity is good publicity."

"Yeah at least I'll know my new album will get tons of new streams, thanks to Josh's fangirls."

"You mean dickriders? Jesus, have you seen the comments?" Leon scoffed, making a turn to Jack and Luke's home.

Libby sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the car seat. "Yeah, I've seen them. It's like they're just waiting for the opportunity to tear me apart completely, I can't even go on Instagram anymore."

Leon's expression softened with empathy as he reached out to place a comforting hand on Libby's arm. "They're just fucking bored, that's all. They have to tear someone down to feel better. Don't let them get to you."

Libby nodded, grateful for her brother's words of encouragement. "I know, it's just hard sometimes, you know? Feels like I'm constantly under a microscope."

Leon nodded in understanding, his gaze unwavering in its support. "Yeah, I get it. But remember, those comments don't define you. You're so much more than what people say about you."

Libby managed a small smile as they reached Jack's home. The night air was crisp as Libby and Leon made their way towards Jack's home. The distant noise from the party spilled into the quiet neighborhood as they walked towards the entrance.

The home was pretty big but you weren't surprised, they were really good and popular hockey players so of course they had a big home. However, as you walked into their porch, you noticed how clean it was. Not many boys in their twenties kept their homes so clean and organized but Libby was pleasantly surprised at how clean their home was and she hadn't even been inside yet.

Leon gave the door a few knocks before the door opened to reveal Jack, a big grin on his face and a backwards cap on his head. "Leon! You made it!"

"Yeah, and I brought Libs!" Leon grinned back at Jack as his gaze finally fell on Libby, she felt his eyes scan her body before they landed on her eyes once again.

Libby felt a slight flush rise to her cheeks as she met Jack's gaze. His warm smile putting her at ease as she returned it, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

"Awesome! Come on in, guys." Jack ushered them inside, the sounds of the party becoming more pronounced as they stepped inside.

"There's some chips in the kitchen and you guys can just help yourself to the drinks inside the fridge, just don't drink any of our protein smoothies." Jack side glanced to Leon playfully, in which he responded with a quick fine. "Everyone's in the living room playing pool."

"I'm gonna go get a beer, if y'all don't mind." Leon called out as he headed towards the kitchen, leaving Libby and Jack by the entrance.

As Leon left, Libby shifted her gaze to Jack with a warm smile. There was a brief awkward silence before Jack broke it, "I didn't know that you lived in Jersey."

"Well I don't but ever since Leon's moved here I've been spending every second at his place. I actually live in New York City but it gets a little hectic, I need a break sometimes from... everything." Libby explained as she recalled all the drama from the summer, from everything with Olivia to Josh, it was eventful.

Jack nodded, his expression sympathetic as he listened to Libby's explanation. "I get it. New York can be intense, especially with everything going on."

Libby sighed, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders as she spoke about the challenges she faced. "Yeah, it's been a lot to deal with lately. Sometimes, it's nice to escape to somewhere quieter, you know?"

Jack's gaze softened with understanding. "I get it. I'm sorry by the way, with the whole uh... thing." Jack didn't really want to specify but they both knew as Libby nodded.

Libby gave him a sweet smile but before she could respond, Luke came in wearing a Devils jersey. "Dude I've been looking everywhere for you, there's something wrong with the-" He cut himself as he noticed Libby.

"Hey Luke." Libby greeted the tall curly-head with a grin as he walked over to where Libby was and gave her a side hug as Jack observed.

"Libby! I haven't seen you in a while, how's everything?" Luke asked casually as he pulled back.

"Can't complain." You spoke with a small grin as you looked in between the boys. "You?"

"Very excited for the new season, I don't know if you could tell." Luke chuckled as he looked down at the jersey.

Libby couldn't help but chuckle at Luke's enthusiasm. Even though she's never formally met Jack, her and Luke have a pretty good friendship through Leon. As soon as they met they clicked and now they're practically tied at the hip. "Hmm... I couldn't tell. Go Rangers, right?"

"Hey, hey, hey!"

"Whoa, don't you dare step foot in our homes and disrespect us like that. That is a like a slur around here." Jack shook his head playfully as him and Luke exchanged looks before all three of you busted out laughing.

"Sorry, sorry won't happen again!"

"It better not or we're gonna have to kick you out." Luke threatened with a mock-serious expression. "But seriously Jack, the TV isn't working and everyone wants to play Fifa for some reason."

Jack shrugged as he motioned to Libby towards the living room, "I don't even know if we own Fifa..."

They all entered the spacious living room where everyone was. There were some teammates who she recognized and some people she'd never seen before. Jack and Luke ventured off toward the TV, leaving Libby to go stand by the couch. She'd enjoyed the night so far but as she stood there, anxiety began to creep into her stomach.

Everyone here knew somebody and right now the only people she was close with was her brother, Luke and Jack and they were all playing Fifa right now.

"Libs, get a controller we need one more player!" Jack shouted from the coach and waved at her to come over. Libby hesitated for a moment, feeling a familiar pang of anxiety at the thought of joining a group of people she didn't know well. But as she stared back at Jack, she swallowed all her fears and walked over, taking a controller.

As she settled in next to them, Libby felt a sense of normalcy wash over her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she could just be herself, without the weight of everyone's expectations or the glare of being perceived.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[honeyspawn]

Some ideas about Paul's family:

Option 1: Jon Matteson Fmily Tree - full-transparency, the Jon Matteson family tree has never really been my personal favorite, or at the very least, the idea of Paul specifically having a big chaotic extended family has never felt very "Paul" to me. Paul has always struck me as such a solitary entity in Hatchetfield, or at least until Emma shows up. That being said, I won't deny that the idea is fun. That being said, I think if we're gonna go with the whole Paul is Richie's uncle thing, I don't think he's literally the brother of one of Richie's parents. I think "uncle" in this case is used in the general way a kid refers to an adult relative, and he's more of a distant cousin. I don't really know how to explain it, but I simply cannot picture Paul with siblings. Overall though, to me, I think I prefer the idea of Gary and Boy Jerry being Richie's uncles, and Paul is just kinda separate.

Option 2: Generic Retirees - I've mentioned this in another post, but something about Paul having no relatives in Hatchetfield even though he's lived there his whole life there feels very "Paul" to me. I suppose you could conclude from this that his parents are dead, but seeing as he's only in his early 30s and that implies his parents probably died kind of young (probably somewhere in the 50s-70s range depending on how old they were when Paul was born and when they died), I like the idea instead that the explanation is the most boring one possible; they retired in Florida. Their names are Arthur and Martha Matthews, or something similarly generic. They are the most boring 60 year old couple imaginable. Arthur likes to garden. Martha likes bird watching. They have no other hobbies. They visit Paul a couple times a year. They are constantly trying to convince Paul to move to Florida. They are the Matthews family. They are boring.

Option 3: Crack Theory Time - This is insane, and I don't really believe this theory, but the idea came to me one day and I the thought wouldn't leave my head, so I need to share it. So the idea behind this is Paul is such a singular entity that it's almost enigmatic, or at least it would be if anyone cared that much. Paul never talks about his family to anyone. He never really thinks about his family, and he feels like he's been on his own for a long time. That's not to say he doesn't remember having a family. He had a mom. She was nice. It was a shame she passed away 15 years ago. And when he starts dating Emma and she asks about his family, that's all he has to say. "I had a mom. She was nice. It was a shame she passed away 15 years ago." He remembers having a mother, but he doesn't really remember anything that specific about her. He's not sure why. He never thinks too deeply about it. He's not sure he can properly recall her face unless he's looking at an old scrapbook. It's strange, though. As soon as he puts the scrapbook back on the shelf, it's like he forgets again. All that really sticks is he had a mom. She was nice. It's a shame she passed away 15 years ago. It's not like he didn't love her, of course he did, she was his mom. And she was a good mom too, he's sure of it. One thing he does remember though, is before she died, she had a long talk with him. He can't remember about what exactly, but he knows it was important. He's pretty sure she was saying goodbye. If you've watched nightmare time, you may have guessed where I'm going with this. I don't really know where this idea of mine that Miss Holloway is Paul's mom came from, it just kind of seemed like Paul being a mysteriously solo entity in Hatchetfield makes sense, and this seemed like an interesting explanation. It also would tie into the fact that Paul might have a slight latent resistance to the LiBs. In tgwdlm, Paul has a whole musical number where he resists the Hive while being infected, while the only other times anyone gets infected on stage, it's a matter of seconds. Paul is also one of the only adult characters who sees through Tickle-Me-Wiggly; even Emma thinks Tim would want a Wiggly "more than anything." Do I think this is all some insane foreshadowing? Absolutely not. This seems extremely unlikely to me, and a product of my own over-thinking, but it sure is fun to think about anyway. (Also, I've never seen anything about this online before, but if this is an existing fan theory, please let me know. The Miss Matthews theory, if you will)

Option 4: He Doesn't Have One - Paul does not have a family. He is just Paul. It's not important for Paul to have a family because they are not relevant, and therefore, they simply do not exist. This also seems very possible to me, and tbh feels appropriate, both for Paul, and for Hatchetfield. I mean heck, according to Curt Mega his shopper character in Black Friday is literally named "Shopper No. 4". Paul just straight up not having a family because he's Just A Guy™️ feels right.

Wow, this was a lot, actually. If you read this whole thing, thanks for letting me infodump, and I'd love to hear what you think.

[somecallmejohn]

So I have a tiny theory about Simon’s wish...

When Magnifico revealed his wish to him he said that it was “to be the King’s loyal knight” and it might most probably be my bias, but I don’t think thats *exactly* what his wish was.

I do think his wish was to be a knight, but the whole "King's loyal" part feels ad-libbed by Magnifico to me. Personally I think that since a wish in the movie is like the most important part of one's self maybe that part includes certain qualities or traits that are fueled by the wish.

In "Recipe for Adventure"(retelling of the movie from Dahlia's POV, which may not be fully canon but it adds context and as long as it doesn't interfere with the movie canon i don't really mind) when Dahlia was thinking about the time she'd have to give away her wish to Magnifico she thought of how much Simon had changed once he gave away his wish, although he always was a bit sleepy(not as much as he was after it though) he also loved horse riding, spending time outside and using his size and strength to help his friends navigate the terrain and climb over boulders, he had changed so much she was afraid that she was going to forget all about baking as her wish was to be the greatest baker in the kingdom. So according to the book, some of the qualities and traits that Simon lost along with his wish were, his affinity for the outdoors, his enjoyment of horse riding and most of his energy, stuff that's pretty common for knights to do.

Personally I would also argue that he lost traits of bravery, loyalty and nobility as he had only been without his wish for a couple months and his back-stabbing of Asha was something that even Asha and the teens viewed as unexpected and out of character for him.

The traits the book has mentioned he's lost with the ones I personally theorized combined are the typical traits found in a noble knight, which is what I think Simon actually wished to be and not "the King's loyal knight"

Now why do I think Magnifico altered/twisted the wish? Firstly, he knew or suspected that Simon was a close friend of Asha, so having him by his side as a pawn to help him find her was a smart decision. Secondly, he had already twisted Sabino's wish to be from something as simple as to inspire the world with his music to something as sinister as to inspire a mob to destroy the kingdom before he had turned to villainy, I wouldn't be surprised if he had twisted Simon's wish too to fit his schemes especially if in his mind a noble knight is loyal to the king.

Now this is just a dumb theory I typed quickly, I may be wrong and biased but i felt like sharing this thought i've been having when rewatching the movie. Feel free to add your own thoughts as well if you feel like it!.

[atinylittlepain]

Care

college!steve harrington x f!oc

a brief continuation of Warm and Maybe, Probably, Definitely because my brain is fully rotting out of my ears over these two

.........................................

“That smells brutal.”

“It’s bleach, Steve, what did you expect?” 

“Are you sure this is, like, you–” What he was going to ask, are you sure you know what you’re doing? But Andy pulls away from where she had been folding her fingers through his hair to fix him with a look, crooked brow and pursed lips, and he knows better than to finish that question. 

“Well if you don’t want me to.” She draws out the last word, little sigh, little tug of her hand in his hair, her smile threatening to creep into a grin when his hands curl around the backs of her thighs, squeezing, and no, honey, I want you to, I do. 

“Then no messing around while I’m working, unless you want to end up with skunk stripes.” He’s not entirely sure how they got here, him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat in her tiny bathroom, trying hard to stay seated upright while her ministrations, pushing and pulling at his scalp, only make him want to slacken and slump against her hip where she’s standing between his legs. Sylvia sits perched on the lip of the tub, batting at a sheet of tinfoil a bit disinterestedly. No, not sure how they ended up here. Chalk it up to a long weekend and nowhere to go and a low murmuring thunderstorm outside. They had been lazing, languid on her couch, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head, clicking into one perfect do you want to try something?

And so they’ve ended up here, the light pattering of rain against the window and a Yo La Tengo tape she left playing filtering in from the other room, and he’s on the brink of dozing off, his chin nearly perched on the soft of her hip while his hair starts to get weighed down by folded tinfoil. Just a few though, it doesn’t take her long, her palm settling between his shoulder blades with a light scratch and, we’ll give them twenty minutes. He feels loose, pliant, and a little unsure why. Just good, he thinks, this feels good to be bored with her, to do you want to try something with her. 

When twenty minutes are up, she ushers him back into the bathroom and has him take his shirt off, leaning him over the sink and under the faucet. And she works with a deft care that’s surprising, one hand cupped over his eyes to keep water from rinsing into them, and the other working through his hair, making him smell like her with her shampoo. An aunt, she tells him, owns a salon back home, and she’d help out in the summers. 

“I thought it wasn’t very women’s lib to care about stuff like this.” He says it light, a joke, sitting on the lip of her bathtub and watching her plug in a blow dryer. He used to do this stuff, this preening, prepping stuff every morning, probably was part of the reason there’s a hole in the ozone layer with the products he used. That dropped off somewhere along the way, and he can’t presently remember why.

“Good thing you're not a woman then. Besides, it’s nice to pay attention sometimes.” And maybe that’s what it is, he thinks, that’s turning his heart into melt and burst in his chest. Care and attention, and how easily she’s giving all of hers to him over something so simple, and a little silly. She blow dries his hair, uses that round brush he watches her use in the mornings on her hair that’s now grown into something closer to a bob, and he likes that a little too much, a little too freakishly, the filaments of her mixing with him. And when she’s done, she takes a step back, a smile jumping in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh baby.”

“What? Is it bad?”

“Hey, a little more faith please.” And then she’s coaxing him up by his hands and getting him standing in front of the mirror with her chin hooked over his shoulder. He really looks, like, really looks. And it’s good, subtle, little golden lightness here and there in his hair, but he’s less interested in that than he is in the thick flush blooming at his clavicle and creeping up into his face. She’s got him blushing, making his grin slip sideways, a little sheepish when she starts smattering kisses up the line of his neck, not fair how pretty you are, Stevie, criminal, honestly, and a kiss to his cheek, to his temple. Both of their smiles start to melt when he turns his head and catches her bottom lip with his, and he knows, he knows. No, nothing like this before, not ever. Care, just because they can.

“Do you like it?” A question hummed into his mouth, turned around, away from the mirror, so he can really kiss her, his hands slung low around her waist. 

“I do, honey, you did good. How much do I owe you?” She pantomimes consideration, her head tilted while she brushes her hand back through his hair, curling at his nape.

“Hmm, I think a little Careless Whisper performance would suffice.”

“Not happening, sorry.”

“Oh come on, you were so good at the bar last weekend.” The bar last weekend with Robin and Eddie and her, and he had gotten just drunk enough to make karaoke seem like a good idea. He doesn’t remember it, but according to Eddie, there was a table, and Steve standing on it with a mic in hand and George Michael blaring through the speakers, and a very disgruntled bar owner that didn’t appreciate his zealous little performance. 

“I’m never getting that drunk again.” He drops his forehead down to her shoulder, a groan even as she breathes out a laugh, not letting him hide for long.

“Well, I guess you can make me dinner.”

“Yeah?” “Mmhmm, I liked that chicken thing you did before.”

“I can make the chicken thing.”

Care, give and take, willing and wanting, his way and her way. He likes getting to do this with her. 

[leaves-lilies-and-esther]

The pay gap/female choices debate

I was watching this Youtube video the other day, and it pissed me off, but the main point of it was that there were these two men discussing how the pay gap isn't real because it all comes down to women's choices, citing really crappy examples as evidence. They clearly thought they were "owning the libs" too. They did this with 0 contextual analysis on why women make the decisions they do.

The first example they used was the Uber driver 7% pay gap, and how it's completely explained by three factors: (a) that women tend to be less experienced, (b) that men tend to drive faster, and (c) men drive in more lucrative locations. (This paper is Cook et al 20 by the way if you want to fact check me).

And yes, when you put it that way and remove all context for women's decisions, it certainly looks like that sort of moment. But think critically for like two seconds here:

Those more lucrative locations? The paper directly states that it's due to men's willingness to "drive in areas with higher crime and more drinking establishments". Of course men are more willing to do this! Your average woman is significantly more scared of being sexually assaulted, murdered, etc than your average man. She's going to avoid high crime areas because she's already in a vulnerable position (letting strangers into her car).

The fact that women have less experience? The attrition rate for female Uber drivers is substantially higher- 76.5% of women leave after six months, as opposed to 65% of male Uber drivers. I did found an article explaining why women self-select out of being in Uber or Lyft in the first place from Forbes. Quote, "...the job still involves driving alone and picking up strangers, often at night- situations that many women feel are dangerous. In interviews with eight female on-demand drivers, FORBES found that they usually feel safe but sometimes have doubts after troubling experiences and holes in safety policies." The article goes on to describe the experience of a female Uber driver in Atlanta, whose male customer tried to assault her. The company didn't handle the incident appropriately, and she never drove for Uber again. I'm willing to bet that this is the case for other female drivers too. The other women they interviewed (even those who are presumably still driving) described multiple similar experiences.

So, if you were a female Uber driver, you would probably leave around the six-month mark too. And as a result of this high attrition rate, the average female Uber driver will have less experience as compared to men.

And you know what? These other "gotcha" responses about the pay gap can probably be explained by outside factors too. Even in totally automated systems like Uber, where it does come down to female choices, those choices aren't being made in a freaking vacuum. It isn't just "haha pink lady brain can't drive as well", it's women don't feel safe and therefore make less money.

There's other scenarios where this is true as well. Women aren't climbing the corporate ladder as quickly as men? What else is going on? The Harvard Business Review found that more than half of men expect their careers to take precedence in a marriage- so if his is being prioritized always, what's happening to hers? When children get sick, women are ten times more likely to stay home from work to care for them (Kaiser Family Foundation). What does she miss in that lost time? When female scientists write papers, they are less likely than men to describe their accomplishments as *outstanding* or *unprecedented*, with the end result that their papers are cited less often. But it's because when women are socialized to be caretakers and to perform without complaint, this is the end result (Professional Development at Harvard). Worse, women who don't do this, and ask for raises/bonuses/etc, are more likely to be penalized than men (same source).

Yes, women sometimes make "decisions" which negatively impact their careers, but take it altogether. What makes men expect precedence of their wives? Misogyny. What makes men expect that their wives, regardless of their careers, will always nurse their sick kid? Misogyny. What makes women and their employers view female accomplishments as less valuable? You know the answer.

PS: two last things. The first is that I'm not trying to reduce the value of traditional "women's work". It isn't bad that women are taking care of their sick children, it's bad that men aren't doing it in equal numbers.

Secondly, if you're curious, there's this amazing professor named Claudia Goldin who I stumbled across while googling for this. She basically believes that the issue isn't direct discrimination from employers, but that the labor market encourages women to work differently. (And she's like 1000% more nuanced and career-specific than anything I just wrote). I put a link to an article about her below:

[akane-kurokawa]

Chapter 137 thoughts!

Glad we’re continuing the ad lib scene to give some of the other character reactions. Seeing Miyako’s concern and Ichigo’s focus makes it easier to buy that they’ve been seeing this go down for the past couple of days.

More of the Ai focus this arc has been promising, as well as manga confirmation of what we already knew from 45510

The hundreds of saved drafts hurts my heart too, thinking about how the message in 45510 was probably the only one she had the courage to post, and it was deleted.

This imagery is absolutely horrifying and I love it. I feel like the narrative of Ai becoming an idol being a further victimization of her has always been in the subtext, but it doesn’t get much more main text than this chapter.

Also like the little confirmation that Ichigo understands Ai this well. Their relationship is still so mysterious but despite how comedic their dynamic was in the series I suspect he’s probably the person who understands Ai’s pain the most, being her guardian and the one who brought her into the industry in the first place.

Interested to see where this goes, Kana’s career after this movie has been a major subject of concern for me, and it’s too soon to tell if this’ll be a positive or negative step for her. The people who claim Kana has Kamiki death flags might get their wish though if she’s marketed well enough.

YESSSS THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING. Ruby stays the twin with the most competent understanding of Ai and her wishes even without seeing both those DVDs. People have been already saying this plot was rushed and unnecessary, but I think they’re missing the point entirely. This wasn’t a fight subplot for drama in the first place, Kana replicated a challenge Ai faced, Ruby understood Ai more because of it, and then she rose above and overcame it because they are two different people with their own strengths and weaknesses. This has literally been her character journey this entire series, how can you call it rushed?

RubyKana shippers: We’re so back!

Seriously though I really liked this reconciliation. Their friendship has been one of the strongest throughout the series, having it fall apart just for the sake of Ruby being in a similar situation to Ai would be a shame. I feel like we got the best of both worlds here in a way that’s true to Ruby’s character. Sucks Kana has death flags now, but if Akane can live two death fakeouts, Kana’ll probably be fine.

[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Ocean's Prayer

Or, Thane is a dom for hire.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for EXTREMELY SPICY TIMES

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~13000

Featuring ART by @messydiabolical!!

She reached for her omni-tool and read over Thane's proposal again. His final summary promised new experiences, intimacy so deeply indulgent that he actually warned her that her standards might be permanently rearranged. He had even included the words "fucked within an inch of your life." She could practically read it in his voice, could almost feel his weight pressing down on her, kissing his venom into her mouth. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shepard heard a voice shout from across the bar. A pretty asari waved a lavender hand as she approached. 

“Piper! It’s so good to see you again! And look what you’ve done with your hair. It looks great!” she said as she pulled Shepard in for a tight hug. “Come sit, come sit.”

Shepard let her lead the way to a table for two and set a gift bag down, summoning a warm smile even though she felt like hell. “I was traveling on Earth and thought of you.” 

Ruby, Shepard’s date, was dressed sharply in a pretty, thigh-length dress that showed off strappy heels and a teasing amount of cleavage. Her nails were lacquered in gleaming silver with white tips, eyes wreathed in smokey makeup that complimented her markings. By all accounts, a gorgeous person. 

Even so, Shepard had little taste for this preamble.

Shepard’s name wasn’t Piper, and her date’s name was probably not Ruby. The neat little gift bag sitting on the table contained a sum of credits for the escort sitting across from her. Shepard was getting laid tonight.

She had come with glowing reviews, a promise to give Shepard a night she would remember. All Shepard wanted was to get her brains fucked out. Preferably by someone dependable, in case she wanted to hook up again in the future. Instead, she was ad-libbing false answers to questions about her life, under the pretense of “getting to know each other.”

She tried to hide her impatience - Ruby was friendly, a little sultry, and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and Shepard supposed that was the draw of this kind of thing. A lot of people, she’d been told, sought a personal connection to complete the experience. The trouble was, what could she say? That she was on a life-or-death mission to save the world? 

"You mentioned you were in the reserves. Why'd you leave?"

Shepard half chuckled and half coughed. “Injured on the job,” she said with a shake of her head. 

Ruby nodded. “Sorry to hear, must've been bad if they let you out early."

Shepard downed the rest of her drink. "Bad enough that I'd rather not talk about it."

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” Ruby, placing a warm hand over Shepard’s loosely clenched one. “How about we go somewhere a little quieter?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sex was good, at least. 

Ruby had, indeed, fucked her brains out. But as Shepard settled back into her own bed aboard the Normandy that night, she couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. Some part of her left unsatisfied in a way she had difficulty explaining. The whole affair had been such an obvious attempt to make her feel like a normal human being. And though Shepard was blessed with many skills, pretending she had 'normal problems' was not one of them.

Unable to sleep, she flicked on her omni-tool, its orange glow near blinding in the darkness, and decided to respond to her follow-up questions. Ravishing Rendezvous, Inc definitely laid it on thick. They wanted her business, and they weren’t shy about it. She settled into her pillows as she opened the questions.

On a scale of 1 to 5, how would you rate your experience?

A solid three out of five. Mood and atmosphere? Two out of five. Intimacy? Four out of five - minus one star because she really did not want someone moaning a fake name again. Ruby herself? Five out of five. 

Help us curate your next experience by answering the following yes or no questions:

More human, or less human?

Definitely less human. She had slept with humans before and she didn’t need a live visual comparison to remind her of all the weird shit going on in her own body. She had hoped an asari companion would be far enough off to satisfy her. She had only been partially right. 

More romantic, or less romantic? 

Maybe less? She wasn't sure. Romance was unfamiliar territory, but she definitely didn't want roses or chocolate or… whatever people defined as romantic in galactic space.

The next one made her raise an eyebrow. 

More masculine, or more feminine?

She hesitated, thought about choosing "no comment," but reconsidered. Masculine didn’t have to mean male - although she wasn’t opposed to the idea.  

A new question appeared on her screen.

More dominant, or more submissive?

Shepard let her arm flop back on the bed as she thought about it. Submissive would imply she wanted to take the lead. It wasn’t a bad idea, but she worried she would come on too strong. Did Ravishing Rendezvous just have the perfect individual waiting in the wings for 200+ pounds of reconstructed Alliance marine to come crashing into them? Someone who would bear the brunt of her energy while also making sure they came out satisfied too? Some people get off on this, she reminded herself. But Shepard, more so than anything, didn’t have the mental energy to place the entirety of a stranger's satisfaction in her hands - she already spent her days worrying about everyone but herself. No, she wanted someone who would take charge.

She tapped her finger on “dominant.” It seemed like a move in the right direction.

Are you interested in viewing our BDSM specialists?

Shepard blinked a few times and squinted, wanting to be sure she read the question right.

She’d been fucked roughly before, but never dominated. Never tied up or bossed around, never controlled. The idea wasn’t familiar but the potential challenge was exciting. Like dropping into combat on a planet she’d never been to and coming back covered in sweat and stinking of eezo. Or navigating all the pain and adrenaline and exhaustion of her N7 promotion - being brought low and forged anew on the other side. 

Taking a deep breath, she pressed “Yes."

What followed were a handful of questions to gauge her interests and experience, before finally displaying for her a list of names and faces. 

To say there were some interesting options was an understatement. More turians than she could count, a couple of krogan and asari, and even one or two quarians. There were a few smug-looking human men that she immediately thumbs-downed. 

One person, however, caught her attention right away.

Enter a world of fathomless pleasures…

You know him as Ocean’s Prayer, the legend behind Fornax's renowned kink publication. Thane Krios has stepped out of the shadows for a one-on-one affair you’ll never forget. With a wide range of specialties ranging from softcore bondage to your most craven fetishes, Sere Krios offers a handcrafted experience tailored to your heart's secret desires. One taste of his venom and you’ll never be the same again.

Exclusions apply. In-person consultation required. Discretion guaranteed. 

Shepard sucked in a breath, staring at the image of an emerald-colored drell with a deep crimson throat. A striking three-quarter turn portrait framed him at waist height against a black background, bright light deepening the interesting divisions that decorated his forehead, drawing her eyes to the glossy scales and velvety folds of his cheek. He wore a simple, low-cut shirt that showed off his thick arms and strong, broad chest. Even things that would have been understated on any other person were impossible to look away from because he was just so different.  Colorful and serene, but radiating a strength of confidence that Shepard desperately wished to reclaim for herself. 

And not only was he gorgeous, he also came highly recommended, and his profile was heaped with stellar ratings. 

She whistled when she saw his base fee. Fuck it. Cerberus was paying anyway. Christ, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a drell in person.

She bit her lip and sent off a contact request.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His office was located on the 35th floor of Three Nerium Plaza, a skyscraper on the southern end of Nos Astra.

Shepard waited in the elevator with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her leather jacket. She’d been in all manner of stressful meetings before, but somehow even her appearance before the damn council hadn’t made her this antsy. She checked her reflection in the elevator’s mirrored back wall, straightening her jacket, unzipping it to just above the center of her chest. Should she have worn something less casual? Was it a stupid idea to reveal herself as the Commander Shepard?  This was ridiculous. She’d already fussed an inordinate amount for what was only a preliminary meeting.

The elevator opened into an underwhelming carpeted lobby, thankfully devoid of any other people. The directory led her down a series of hallways to the opaque walnut door of “T. Krios Consulting Services” - a neat little turn of phrase that could mean anything on Illium - beyond which was a waiting room, of sorts. Comfortable-looking chairs sat empty beside a wall lined with real, paper books with worn spines and interesting titles. Shepard fidgeted as she looked around the room, unsure what she expected in the first place. There was only one door, presumably leading to his office. Finally, her Omni-tool lit up with a soft ping, and she slowly opened the door. 

His voice was the first thing that hit her as she entered a stunningly minimalist corner office. 

“Good evening," he greeted with a smile, stepping out from behind a gleaming onyx desk and extending a hand. “You must be my 8 o'clock appointment.” 

She could practically feel every syllable in her bones. Wow.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krios,” she said with confidence she didn’t quite feel. His scaled palm was warm against hers, fingers gripping tight in a way that drove her heart rate just a little higher. He was shorter than she expected but possessed a larger-than-life quality in a black vest with a collared shirt beneath, the first three buttons of which were undone to arrange the material around his neck and upper chest. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

"Just Thane, if you don’t mind. Please, make yourself comfortable. Will you be using a pseudonym or shall I call you by the name on your contact form?"

Shepard seated herself and tried to relax. “Depends - are you recording?” 

“Never, unless you wish it,”  he said as he sat opposite her. She couldn’t help but notice he had no terminal, no pens or paper, and no datapad. Only a lamp, a steaming mug of tea, and a carafe of fresh water with a pair of empty glasses. 

"Shepard is fine. Between us only."

"Of course, Miss Shepard. Your reputation precedes you. What brings you to me this evening?"

The way he omitted the word "Commander" from his tongue had a way of putting her at ease that she didn't expect. She cleared her throat softly.

“I’m an ex-military officer involved in a sensitive operation. I’ve got some shore leave coming before we kick off, and I’m hoping to… forget about all that for a while.”

“I see. A little distraction to take the edge off,” he said with a slight nod, sitting back in his chair as though they were having the most normal conversation of all time. “I am honored. Do you have any questions about what I do?”

“Yeah, how does this work?”

“We will discuss your needs and go over necessary safety information. After our meeting, I will submit a proposal to you. Let me be clear that the proposal is not a contract, but a document over which we can agree on do’s and don’ts, must-haves, and, if you wish, an itinerary for the evening.”

Shepard raised a brow. “...if I wish?”

“Some of my more risk-averse clients like to know what’s in store. Others prefer to be… surprised.”

On impulse, she said, “Surprise me.” 

The way he smiled made her itchy with some kind of desire. 

“You may take as much time as you need to review my proposal, ask questions, and make changes as you see fit - consultation is free. Once we have come to an agreement, we will select a date and time. A deposit is required to secure your booking.”

“And this will be discreet?"

"Your privacy is my first priority, Miss Shepard."

"No recording devices?"

He gave a small smile that reached his beautiful dark eyes. 

"I have no need. My species possess eidetic memory. I assure you, whatever you say within these walls and in my studio will stay between us.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. What else didn’t she know about drell?

“If you wish, we can move on to the specifics of your needs. Tell me more about the nature of your burdens.”

Shepard took a deep breath and leaned forward. She'd thought about this. 

"When I'm on the ground team, it feels like I don't think. There's no time for worry or delay, no time for pain. It's like a veil comes down and separates me from all the things that keep me up at night. I just act."

She lowered her eyes, fixated on his hands. But Thane waited, not the slightest bit perturbed. It was almost unnerving.

“So many people put their lives in my hands without a second thought. I get so lost in the mission that the silence of my own ship is unbearable. I come back topside ready to take on the galaxy, and there’s nothing but an empty bed and a cold shower waiting for me. I’m pent up.”

Thane nodded, assessing her with those enormous black eyes. “You indicated on your dossier that you are looking for someone to lead you, but you have not endeavored to engage in submissive play before.”

She hadn’t been anywhere near as eloquent on her contact form, but that was the jist of it.

“That’s correct. Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all. Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind for your first time? There are no wrong answers; please be as plain as you feel you need to be.”

This was the part she was most nervous about. On her own ship, she made demands easily. But this wasn’t her ship, and these requests weren’t for the good of her crew or mission. Asking for such personal, intimate attention made her feel uncomfortably selfish. 

“I was sort of hoping you’d have some suggestions because I’ve only had one partner in the last four or so years. The alliance doesn't give us loads of time or space for hookups in general, much less experimenting. But I…” she sat back, propped an elbow up on the armrest, and laid her temple on her fingertips, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“Restraints are fine. Ordering me around is also fine, as long as you don’t ask me to do something ridiculous. I can take pain, but I don’t want you to be cruel. I just want to be… acknowledged. I want someone to address my needs because heaven knows I can’t do it myself. Push my boundaries, restrain me, but don't humiliate me. I've been fighting a losing battle for years; I didn't come here to lose another one.” She forced herself to meet his gaze as though it would confirm he was listening. “Whatever you do, I want you to fuck me within an inch of my life. I want to leave here so thoroughly railed that my ship's doctor orders me on bed rest.

The way his gorgeous mouth quirked sent a brief flicker of need ghosting down her spine. Whatever his intentions, that fleeting expression told her she'd been heard loud and clear. The hard part was over. She exhaled and decided to help herself to some ice water. 

“Your request is duly noted. I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Do you have any injuries I should know about? Any places on your body I should avoid?"

Shepard paused, halfway through chugging her glass.

"I'm… not sure."

Thane sat forward and folded his hands loosely on his desk. His voice was kind. "The question is for your safety, although I acknowledge the topic may be hard to discuss.”

She worked her jaw, not knowing where to begin. He knew who she was, but did he know why she was?

"I died," she said at last. And if he was surprised by this, he didn't let on. 

"What manner of trauma caused your NDE?"

Shepard shook her head. "Not a near-death experience. It’s complicated. I’m not sure which parts of me are still me."

His brow softened. "Forgive me, but have you considered seeking-"

Shepard closed her eyes and raised a hand. "Not what I came here for. If it's a deal breaker, I can leave right now - no fuss." She actually wasn't sure she wouldn't be upset, but she refused to let on. Every moment she spent doubting herself only made her feel worse. 

"Understood, Miss Shepard. We can work through any unplanned discomforts as they arise. Do you have any medications that may need to be administered as a result of your… experience?”

She shook her head. While technically untrue, her medications were ported into her via implant every several weeks. 

"I will also need an emergency contact."

She raised a brow.

“It would be unfair to expect you to account for every foreseeable risk. As a safety precaution for both of us, I cannot book your session without a contact on file."

Who in the world could she even…

"Can I get back to you on that?"

"Certainly, but please be aware that without a contact, I can only hold your booking for 48 hours."

"That's fine. I was out for two years. A lot of my contacts are… unreachable right now."

Thane smiled warmly at her. "Very well. You will have my proposal to review by sunrise. Consider it something to build on; there is no need to rush into something you aren't comfortable with."

Shepard let out a sigh of relief. "Great, looking forward to it."

“There is one more important matter to discuss.”

Shepard raised a brow as Thane reached into a drawer and produced a small vial, no larger than her little finger. 

"As you indicated in your consultation request, you have not been with a drell before, I would prefer you to establish your reaction to my species’ venom. If you find yourself to be averse to its effects, it would be ideal to know before we begin."

“So you’re saying I might be… allergic to you?” Shepard tried to temper her reaction but her face scrunched in confusion anyway. “Is this like a dextro/levo thing?”

“Not at all. Drell venom is known for its hallucinogenic properties. Many of my clients have sought me out for this reason.”

“Oh.” She took the vial and rolled it in her palm. There was maybe half a teaspoon or less of clear amber fluid inside, and it coated the glass as it moved. She stared at it dumbly, wondering in the deafening silence just how this material was extracted from the man before her. 

“I understand you are on a sensitive mission,” he said with a gentle tone. “You may refuse, of course. But in that case, I would recommend abstaining from oral contact and insemination during our session.”

She nearly choked when he said insemination, but his point was easy enough to understand. He was saying she couldn't kiss him, which seemed a damn shame given his perfectly shaped mouth. The rest of his point was… something she would be mulling over for days.

“How intense is this stuff? What should I be prepared for?” Will your semen really make me hallucinate?

“Most humans describe a dreamy state of mind, a feeling of being relaxed, and reduced inhibitions. Some report seeing enhanced colors, trails of light and sound, and heightened sensitivity. In my experience, it will occasionally make a partner more… glib.”

She looked up at him. “You have people in here getting high and spilling secrets?”

Thane gave a small quirk of his lips. “I can't say.”

“How long does it last?”

“That depends on your metabolism, but usually no more than forty-five minutes.”

After a moment's consideration, Shepard pocketed the vial. Whatever experience was waiting for her, she wanted all of it. At the very least she knew Chakwas wouldn’t breathe a word about it if she reacted badly.

Oh.

“Actually, I do have an emergency contact for you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sure as he’d said, his proposal arrived in the early hours of the morning. Secure and alone with a coffee and a plate of Gardner’s famous “Blueberry Triangles,” she held her breath, opened the message, and began to read. 

To say this was a detailed document was an understatement. Thane had gone so far as to include definitions, clarifications, and FAQ’s alongside diagrams and lists of equipment he had at his disposal. Shepard’s sense of modesty had long since been eroded by years of enlistment, but even still, she blushed through half-clinical/half-pornographic descriptions of what people and technology were capable of in the year 2185. 

By the time she reached the end, she was already feeling a little hot under the collar. His email signature read “with pleasure." No kidding, she thought.

Over the next several days, questions, clarifications, and other caveats were exchanged before they finally settled on everything. In the meantime, she did a little research of her own. Drell venom, she'd learned, could be extracted any number of ways, but the most popular strategy was to isolate the compound from saliva or "other" bodily fluids (something she had spent ample time 'thinking about' before bed). 

Her sample vial had been sitting on her desk for days, innocuous but impossible to ignore. Based on her reading, it seemed harmless enough. But it was hard to escape the fact that it had come from his body. Why this felt different than eating out her first girlfriend, she had no idea. Maybe because her first girlfriend hadn't tied her up while she did it. 

Having just returned from a firefight on Aeia, she grabbed the vial on her way into the shower, set it on the vanity, and stared it down as she washed her hair. She’d tried hallex once a few years back, out with her unit on shore leave. It wasn’t an experience she cared to revisit. Everything she knew told her it would be a much more mild experience. After all, how could he run a successful operation if he was poisoning everyone he fucked? And boy, she wanted to fuck him.

The apprehension was getting her nowhere. Shepard squared her shoulders, cladding herself in the determination she had felt just hours earlier when she liberated the survivors of the Gernsbeck. The cold was the furthest thing from her mind when the automatic water system timed out; she opened the vial and downed every drop.

It was thick, as she expected. It had the consistency of warm honey, tasted like salty citrus, and perhaps most surprisingly, felt kind of carbonated on her tongue. There were no bubbles in the vial, she was sure, but it tingled all the way down her throat.

Shepard stood there, dripping water, skin prickling in the cold, waiting for something to happen. Five minutes went by. Nothing. No dreaminess, no reduced inhibitions, and certainly no colors. She shivered, too hard focused on the venom to move the few inches she would need to towel off.

Nothing happened.

Until she moved.

Warmth flooded her limbs the moment she reached for her towel. She opened the bathroom door to a world of new sensations. Light gleamed off her model ship collection like twinkling lights. Her fish were brilliant blurs of color against their soothing blue backdrop. On the other side of the cabin, her armor locker interface glowed like a campfire. She wasn't cold anymore, not in the slightest. She felt comfortable - relaxed, even. The tension left her shoulders the moment she flopped naked on her bed, watching the stars go by in dazzling flashes and streaks.

Oh, yeah. This was nice. 

She reached for her omni-tool and read over Thane's proposal again. His final summary promised new experiences, intimacy so deeply indulgent that he actually warned her that her standards might be permanently rearranged. He had even included the words "fucked within an inch of your life." She could practically read it in his voice, could almost feel his weight pressing down on her, kissing his venom into her mouth. 

Something hot and untamed inside her told her this man didn't make promises he couldn't keep.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Jeez Commander, you got a hot date or something?"

Shepard was jumpy with anticipation. Her inbox was empty for the first time in weeks, her crew had their assignments, and her shore leave was cleared. Nos Astra's docking bay came into view.

"What's it to you, flight lieutenant?"

"I'm just saying, you're crowding the bridge right now."

"It's my ship," she said, one hand resting on the back of Joker's chair as the ship settled into its docking clamps. Her omni-tool pinged with a preset reminder. Forty-five minutes till showtime.

"Must be nice."

"You say that like you aren't also getting shore leave." She pushed off his chair with a playful shove.

"Uh-huh. We're all getting sloshed at a bar called Chocolate Starfish, but someone isn't coming with."

"Yup," she replied, dismissive. 

"Definitely a hot date," he muttered as she made her way off the ship.

A sleek, luxury cab was waiting to take her through the heart of Nos Astra under a brutal sun. This place looked nothing like it did at night. She wondered how many other individuals in Thane's line of work had their offices and studios in the gleaming towers that crowded the city byways. 

This time, she docked at the upper taxi pavilion on the 75th floor and took the lift down to the same level as before, loosening her shoulders as though preparing for a combat drop. 

Soon enough, she stood face to face with a pair of frosted glass doors. A soft, warm light shone beyond, giving the portal a sense of ominous liminality - a transition between worlds. On one side, the world she came here to escape from. On the other, an unknown kind of pleasure awaited. Fingers wrapped around the cold stainless steel handle and she breathed deep. 

The door opened with a rush of warm air. Smooth bamboo floors led her through a new reality of warm colors and textures that, while unexpected, helped put her at ease. She followed the corridor around a short bend and entered a gorgeous room with a vaulted ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Illium’s dizzying metropolis. To her left was a neatly made bed; to her right, a sofa accented with red patterned pillows, and overhead, a series of dangling artisanal incandescent bulbs.

Thane himself stood before the wall of windows with hands clasped behind his back. He was facing away from her, and from this distance, she could gauge his height and build much better than when they had met on opposite sides of his desk. From his wide shoulders and downward, to the satisfying taper of his hips and an absolutely perfect ass, he possessed a classic silhouette she found immediately enticing. 

He wore a neatly tailored cream-colored button-down, sleeves tucked neatly into themselves just above his elbows, and dark-colored pants. To her surprise, he wore no shoes and no adornments. He looked comfortable, in fact, as he turned to greet her arrival. 

“Welcome, Siha,” he said warmly. 

Shepard wondered if Siha was some kind of cultural term for submissive, but said nothing. On instinct, she straightened her back and shoulders, eyes straight ahead as he approached. Her immediate shift to full attention seemed to amuse him, because he lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile, now just a step away from her. A hand reached across the shallow divide as he passed, settling softly on her arm. 

Shepard clung to that point of contact as he circled behind her, stroking up and down her arms and shoulders, squeezing and releasing each muscle. 

“At ease, soldier.” 

Beneath his chaste touch, everything seemed clearer than before. His words took her back to a simpler time, back to when expectations had been heaped upon her, but they were clear, easy to identify, and even easier to obey. Demands that didn't require her to perform the impossible or weigh the worth of her entire species.

“Within these walls, your purpose is to serve me. Until sunset, you will address me as 'Sir.' Please me, and I will reward you. Disappoint me, and you may find yourself reprimanded.”

He paused. She knew what to do.

"Yes sir."

It didn't matter if he meant to threaten or intimidate her. No, when Thane spoke to her this way, she felt relieved, reminded that he was here to do the thinking for her. Shepard exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and he made a small sound of approval. 

“Tell me your safe words.”

“Cherry for stop, sir. Kiwi for pause.” 

His hands smoothed over her lower back and hips. “And if you find yourself unable to speak?”

“Two taps, sir, with hands or feet.”

“Good, Siha.” 

His touch lingered on her like a phantom as he withdrew and circled around to stand two paces before her. 

“Please undress.” 

Despite having been in various states of undress in front of other soldiers many times, this was altogether different. Thane was not shy about the way he assessed her, making no attempt to avert his eyes, although his expression remained neutral. Her shirt came off first, and she looked to him when she realized she didn’t know what to do with it. His expression betrayed nothing, so she elected to fold it quickly and place it on the ground beside her feet. 

Her boots and socks came off next, and then her pants. Each time she looked at him, he did not react, and so she continued, unhooking her bra. The cool air helped distract her from the color rising to her cheeks.

When she reached her panties, he took a step forward. “That’s enough. Place your feet three inches apart.” 

An oddly specific order, but easy enough to follow. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she settled into parade rest, palms out and overlapping against her backside.

Thane collected her pile of clothing and placed it somewhere by the door. Her skin prickled, whether due to temperature or anticipation, she couldn't tell. When he returned, he touched her shoulder again, this time with much more care. His scaled fingers traced a glowing scar. 

“Does this cause you pain, Siha?”

“No sir."

“I admit I've never seen anything like this before. Do not hesitate to tell me if they cause you distress.”

Shepard took a deep breath. Reading people had never been her strong suit, but she understood what he was saying. Somehow, it was more comforting than isolating. It felt like he cared. 

“Yes sir,” she confirmed, perhaps softer than she intended.

For a moment, he continued to wander, and although his touch was chaste, she felt her body stir beneath his eyes and hands. Trust was a frail vine, sun-seeking, crawling from the remains of her damaged ego. Something about him was calming in a way that felt disarming. She wanted him to touch her, badly enough that she didn’t flinch when he began to dress her with a length of rope.

This time, he was less chaste. He allowed his hands to brush along her curves as he worked, warm scales pressing into soft flesh, crisscrossing the valley between her breasts in a way that framed them prominently to his attention. Heat collected along the lines he traced across her bare skin, the rope creating a sort of harness around her torso. She bit her lip when he finished his work and circled behind her without further contact.

Her arms were next. Another length of cord slipped beneath her biceps, drawing them behind her. The position pulled her shoulders back, elbows some inches apart in their bindings as he continued, forcing her chest into the bright strokes of sunlight pouring through the windows. Her forearms followed, and then her wrists, palms folding together. There was a firm tug as he secured a knot above her hands. 

Shepard flexed in her restraints, testing her range of motion. He had given her enough space that her arms could slide together, but not comfortably. 

"Too tight?" He asked. 

"No. -no sir."

Strong hands settled on her hips, textured hands dragging across her skin as he circled her, either inspecting his work or her body - probably both.

“Now then, where to begin?” he said as he came to a stop before her. Her skin tingled in his wake, absorbing the heat of his touch, and she sighed as his palms smoothed over her breasts. He seemed pleased by her reaction. “Perhaps here. As you know, my species does not possess such anatomy.”

He continued to touch her, capturing her nipples in the spaces between his fingers. 

“Feels good,” she sighed, and he immediately withdrew, knocking her right breast with an open palm. “Sir-” she corrected. “It feels good, sir.”

“Very good, Siha.” His hands returned, taking each of her nipples between his fingertips. “Shall we test the range of your sensitivity?”

“Y-yes,” He applied firmer pressure. Her eyes slid closed and she groaned. “Just like that.” 

This time, he made a show of gripping her jaw firmly in one hand as he tugged on her breast with the other. Whatever lack of focus she had before was banished in an instant. His reaction was even more arousing than his touch - the way he did not hesitate to remind her of the rules of their game. 

“I will not warn you again,” he said.

“-sir,” she gasped, pushing her chest eagerly into his hands. 

He made a low sound, slowly twisting his fingers. The feeling was electric, bordering just on the edge of pain. If this was how the entire night was going to be, she was sure she wouldn’t survive. He continued to touch her, alternating between massaging and tweaking her breasts as she writhed in her restraints, kindling the needful heat growing inside her. 

One hand fell between them, wedging between her tightly pressed thighs. His voice made her ache when he pulled himself close and said "Open your legs, Siha."

She complied immediately, widening her stance. His fingertips traced her seam through her panties, forcing the fabric between her lips and rubbing a slow, firm line up and down her cunt. She felt rather than heard his low purr of approval. “Already soaking wet?"

"Yes sir," she breathed. 

Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head and touched his lips to the center of her chest, roaming hands pushing up on her breasts to bring them nearer to his face, nearer to his mouth.

Plush lips pushed against the sensitive tip of one breast and then moved to the other. He had been handling her for scarcely two minutes and already had proved himself more adept than any lover she'd ever known. She tensed, every pleasure center on her body yearning for the promise of his hot mouth. 

“Look at me,” he said softly. 

Her eyes lowered to his; enormous, dark, and somehow possessing a manner of depth she had never seen in any species before. Light from the windows illuminated the irises beneath his dark sclera, the same color as the fine scales adorning his cheeks. It felt like he could see past every lie she told herself, every fabrication she’d ever hidden behind. Good christ, if he already had her halfway to ruined, what the hell was he going to do to her for the rest of the night?

His mouth ghosted across her skin as he said, “Tell me what you want, Siha.”

She had to blink to regain herself. His mouth was right there, but rather than be direct, she attempted to appeal to his position. “Your mouth, sir," she said, before adding meekly, "...if it would please you, sir.”

The sound he made was all the reward she needed; a deep, satisfied thrum of arousal that made his crimson cheeks flutter. 

His mouth finally closed around the tip of her breast, tongue stroking long and firm across the sensitive peak. She couldn’t help the low moan that left her, every pass of his tongue like fire licking her spine. She squirmed, and he moved to her other breast, tonguing her nipple as he rolled the first between his fingers. The feeling was white-hot torment between her parted thighs, pressure screaming to be relieved. She wondered if she could climax off this alone, stumbling with the effort to maintain her balance as he tore her apart with devastating effect. 

“Fuck-” Her thighs came together, desperate for relief as she begged “Please-”

A second later, his touch vanished, and her heart dropped. She let out a strangled whine of frustration and stumbled as she reached for him only to be reminded that her hands were immobile.

“Disobedient,” Thane deadpanned, straightening himself to face her. “And to think how close you were.”

“Please, sir-”

“Hush, Siha. Allow me to help you remember yourself.” He soothed a thumb across her cheek before stepping away out of her line of sight, leaving her to wonder what he had in store.

His footsteps were nearly silent as he moved through the room behind her. She heard a drawer open, followed by the sound of softly clinking metal. Moments later, she felt his touch on her hands, trailing a line up her bound arms and between her shoulder blades. Something that felt like leather brushed the nape of her neck and she tensed, adrenaline igniting her blood as she prepared herself for what she imagined was a whip or a crop or-

“I have a request,” he said. “Something I would like you to wear for me.”

It didn't matter that she didn't know what it was. She agreed without hesitation.

“This is a collar,” he said as the cool leather encircled her neck. “May I?”

Shepard breathed a relieved “Yes sir.”

His voice was kind when he said, “Thank you." The material settled against her skin, not as tight as she expected. A gentle tension passed quickly as he secured the buckle. Although she could not see it, she could feel the cold press of some kind of metal against the front of her throat. 

He departed again for only a moment, and returned to face her. He placed something soft on the ground between them. When he spoke, his voice was low and tenebrous. 

“On your knees, Siha"

She sank slowly, trembling with the effort to maintain her balance. Hell or high water, she was determined not to disappoint him again. Her knees sank into the cushion he so kindly provided, and after some effort, he brought a gentle hand to her jaw. 

"Good girl," he murmured, stroking her cheek. 

Shepard wasn't prepared for the heat that rose to her face - and between her legs - at his words. They filled her with a kind of pride and lust that she hardly recognized, flooding her with yearning. 

"Are you familiar with meditation?" He said as he began to undo his belt with all the nonchalance in the world. 

Her breathing quickened. Words felt flimsy in her mouth. "I've never tried it, sir." 

"The practice is meant to achieve clarity of mind," he continued. "You may begin by focusing on your breathing.”

His fly dropped and his cock came free, a stiff and gleaming shock of fuschia against his pale green belly.

Yes, a deep breath was what she needed right now. His size was intimidating. Thane seemed to give her a moment to admire him, aware from their conversations that she had never slept with a drell before. Were they all so colorful and endowed? 

"Feel your breath," he said softly. He drew close, a hand beneath her chin pulling her gaze up the length of his body. “Center yourself on the here and now. There is nothing but you and I.”

Inhale.

He touched her hair. She could feel the heat radiating from his thick, ridged length as he held her gaze.

"I will give you everything, Siha. Do you trust me?”

Exhale.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.  

There was a warm hand on the back of her skull. 

"Breathe deep. Open your mouth. Taste."

Compliance poured from her without question, lips parting at his command. He laid the tip against her tongue as she looked up at him through errant strands of hair, waiting and ready for him to slide himself into her throat. 

"Be reminded that you may hallucinate." 

In that moment it was clear why he had insisted she dose herself beforehand. One way or another, he was already on her tongue, the faint citric flavor of him already calling her attention. She pushed her tongue against his tapered head, gauging his reaction. She wanted to see him as lost as he had made her, wanted to hear whatever deep, delicious sounds his rich baritone voice might produce. Unable to speak, she settled simply for a small nod of acknowledgment. His smile could have melted her. 

Slowly, he pushed himself into her throat. 

He was overwhelming in the most exquisite way. Bound and on her knees, she couldn't do much but take the intrusion as he seated himself so deep in her throat that her eyes nearly watered. The sound he made was soft and low, sinking through the cracks in her mind like water in the desert. He pulled his hips back, combed through her hair with elegant green fingers before grasping a fistful near the back of her skull, pulling her back into him. She let out a low groan of satisfaction as they both worked her mouth on and off of his sizable length. She had no idea where he would be most sensitive, but he seemed to take no issue with the way she swiped her tongue hard over the underside of his shaft and hollowed her cheeks. 

The hallucinations began quiet and slow. Her skin warmed, her mouth tingled, and when she opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) his scales glimmered like soft, iridescent stars. 

High above her, Thane's mouth hung just slightly open, his eyes hazy, free hand hanging limply by his side as he used her mouth. She found a pronounced cluster of ridges near the root of him and drove her tongue against it, rewarded at last with a guttural sigh and softening brow. 

"Your throat is a paradise, Siha," he panted, quickening his pace ever so slightly. "So good, so tight.”

The heat inside her was tethered to his words, a fire that burned hotter every time he praised her. She moaned around his length, pushing against him with her tongue, sucking him with abandon. He fucked her mouth until her jaw ached, the panties still wedged in her cunt burning against her clit. She wanted his climax like she wanted her own. Wanted to know if he would taste like the sun and zest he radiated before she drowned in the ocean of her own unsatiated lust, desperate for whatever he deemed her worthy of. 

She heard his breath catch in his throat, and that was all the warning he got before he shoved her head onto his cock. He pushed so deep that saliva hissed out the corners of her lips before he stopped, trembled, and came on a whisper-quiet breath. Liquid heat flooded her mouth, pulsing, thick and hot, coating her throat and warming her all the way down with a glittering sensation she couldn't hope to describe. His hand fell away from her hair but she was loathe to release him, sputtering as she hummed around his length. She drank him back until he pulled away and his cock fell heavily from her mouth. 

That sweet, sweet high settled over her. Oblivious to the thin tendril of saliva and cum that dangled from her wet lips, she rested her cheek against his thigh as he closed his pants over his retracting length. And then he was kneeling beside her, holding her as she caught her breath, murmuring soft praises as he used his thumb to trace her lower lip and push what remained of his spend back onto her tongue. The flavor spread into the hollows of her cheeks like rich, warm oil as she worked her jaw closed.

A hand brushed her hair from her eyes. His forehead pressed against hers.

"Lovely," he breathed, voice like silk against her cheek. "You are a gift, Siha.”

Shepard couldn't help but smile dumbly at him, thighs tensing in anticipation. She felt warm all over, dizzy and swaying with need as he helped her to her feet. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, holding her steady. 

“A… a little high, sir.”

She watched one of his brow ridges rise as his lips quirked in amusement. The more she looked at him, the more beautiful he seemed to become.

"A good high, I hope?"

“Sir, it feels perfect.”

His eyes seemed lit from within as he smiled.

She allowed herself to be led over to the sofa, where he seated himself and reached for her hips and turned her away from him. Steady hands closed over hers, fingertips slipping beneath her bindings, loosening the knot and securing it again such that it released some, but not all of the tension in her shoulders. There was a brief pause, and then without preamble, he hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down her legs. 

Shepard tried not to squirm. She loved where this was going.

“Please sit, Siha,” he said, patting his thigh. 

No sooner had she lowered herself toward him, his arms came up to circle her waist and pull her into his chest. They were skin to scale now, his shirt apparently having been opened at some point prior. Her eyes slid closed, the warmth of his smooth scales at her back giving her a feeling of security as he adjusted her position until her thighs fell open on either side of his.

"You have a new rule," he whispered against her ear. Shepard bit her lip in anticipation. "You must ask for permission to come. Will you do that for me?"

Shepard nodded, too high to remember herself, and jumped when he tapped her clit with three fingers. 

"Use your words.” 

Her head fell back against his shoulder. "Yes, sir."

For god’s sake, he didn't hesitate. She nearly sobbed as he soaked his fingertips in her wetness, tensing in his arms. It felt like heaven - like she could come right then and there - but she steeled herself. One finger gathered her slick arousal and began to circle her aching clit, teasing with a featherlight touch. She groaned as his other hand palmed her breast. The soft pressure was hypnotic, paired with the glittering sensation of his scaled fingertips between her legs. His breath against her cheek was a radiant, rippling mirage on the horizon of her lust. 

Slowly - so, so slowly, he pressed his finger against her wet opening and dragged it upwards, over her pearl. The jump in sensation made her gasp, but he did not reprimand her. If anything he only pulled her tighter against him, repeating the motion once, twice, and again, until she was writhing in his arms, biting her lip to stem the tide of her oncoming climax. That single, relentless motion tore her mind down minute by minute until her entire cunt burned bright with the desperate need for release. 

"Please," she gasped. "Please sir, may I come?"

He twisted a nipple in reply, his other hand slipping a finger into her opening. 

"So soon, Siha?” 

She whined, not sure how much she could take, but desperate now not to disappoint him. "It feels so good, sir."

"I'm glad my touch pleases you so," he murmured, pulling his finger from her depths and letting the connecting thread of sickness draw taut and snap in a cool, bright lash against her sensitive skin. "A fitting reason to continue, I think."

"I’m so close, sir-"

"I don't think you're nearly close enough.” He entered her again with his joined fingers. "I know you can take it, Siha. Let me hear all the beautiful sounds you make for me." 

He used his thumb to tease her clit as he curled his fingers inside her and sent a blinding flash of pleasure rocketing up her spine. She grit her teeth. 

"D- does it please you to deny me, sir?"

"Oh, Siha, I am deeply satisfied by the way you writhe in my arms."

She whined, trying to pinch her thighs shut to stem the tide of sensation, but it was impossible. He held her too tightly, scaled thumb rasping with delicious, sanguine friction against her slick center. She moaned when she realized he was hard again, his cock pressing into her backside. The thought that she was separated from him by nothing but a godforsaken pair of pants made her feel stupid with need, desperate to know how he would feel buried deep inside her. Her spine bowed, hips bucking against his hand as she released a strangled, pathetic cry of frustration.

"I know, my angel," he crooned, lust coloring his voice. "You can take it. Just a little longer." 

He was moving with her now, grinding himself up into her ass as he speared his fingers in and out of her open cunt. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch the way he touched her without the risk of falling over the edge. 

"Twenty seconds," he said. Shepard heaved a breath and grit her teeth, counting down in her head. Twenty seconds could pass in seconds on the battlefield. Beneath his hands, it was a nearly unbearable amount of time.

"Ten seconds."

The world was nothing but heat and sensation, her cunt burning like a drive core after a firefight, suffused with the incredible pressure of oncoming release. Thane latched his fingers around her nipple and she sobbed out with need, her spine bowing away from his back, arms and shoulders rigid with effort.

"Five."

The sound that built in her chest was a guttural, frustrated whine born of raw effort. It hissed out through clenched teeth. His fingers hilted in her channel and she swore she could feel every scale that passed through her opening. Just a few seconds-

"Two."

All the control in the world couldn't stop her. She felt the first straining pulse of release and knew she was doomed. Her climax reached up through her belly like a beast, squeezing along her spine and enveloping every nerve in her body in a screaming flood of ecstasy. She shuddered, unable even to hear her own voice as she tumbled through the wave he'd built upon her, chest heaving, straining against her bonds. Finally, all that remained of her breath was a choked-out moan.

She was spent. Somewhere far off in the back of her mind, she was aware she had broken the rules, but his disappointment seemed like a distant, irrelevant thing. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, velvet-soft cheek pressed to hers. 

"Breathe with me," he said against her skin. "Breathe."

She could feel how wet she still was; his fingers were the only thing stemming the flow of her own arousal, buried and unmoving inside her. Her shoulders ached, but her body burned, the fog and fatigue of climax at war with the raging desire to be filled, ravaged, and claimed by the part of him pressing hard and hot against her ass. Thane, unconcerned with his own state of need, was still as stone as he continued to chant softly against her, "Breathe, breathe."

She couldn't say how long it took to gain control, but with his body warm at her back, she slowly drifted back to reality until they breathed as one. When she opened her eyes, color bloomed around the golden lights hanging above.  It struck her that this man was still a total stranger to her, but here she was, perhaps the most vulnerable she had ever been since she'd woken up on that Cerberus recovery table. 

When he finally moved, the shift of his scales against her was electric.

"Can you stand, Siha?"

The words felt like wind in her hair; a soothing brilliance, far too fast to catch. He shifted her into a more upright position until her feet touched the floor. 

"...what?" She asked dreamily. Were his floors heated?

Plush lips touched the side of her neck, breath warm on her skin as he asked again with infinite patience, "Can you stand on your own?"

Standing. Right. She wasn't sure she could. How did he know she wasn't sure? All the multitudes of times she'd been knocked on her ass in basic, in N school- no one had ever asked her if she could stand on her own. They'd scarcely asked her if she'd been hurt. 

His hands held fast to her hips. With a shaky breath, she blinked her eyes against the hazy afterglow and straightened her back, stretching into a more comfortable stance. She felt her weight settle on her feet. 

"I… I think so, sir." 

He gave her hips a reassuring squeeze, and something in her heart leapt.  

"Very good."

They walked slowly to the other side of the room. He led her to the edge of the bed and encouraged her to sit. 

"You came two seconds too early, my angel," Thane said as he began to work the ropes around her wrists and forearms. 

Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, sir."

Thane only hummed in consideration as he worked. 

"You were magnificent at your peak, Siha. I will forgive this misstep." Her shoulders sagged in relief, his words like a balm on her heart. "However, it would behoove you to remember who you serve." 

"Yes, sir."

Her elbows suddenly came free, releasing the tension in her shoulders with a rush. Her hands tingled as blood returned to them. Thane adjusted the remaining cords around her chest but otherwise left them in place. As she sat, he moved in front of her and placed a bottle of water in her hands, from which she drank gratefully. He then began to rub her unbound limbs, drawing a breathy sigh from her. His hands - Jesus, his hands were a damn miracle. She hadn't even noticed how much her shoulders had ached, flexing them beneath his soothing touch. 

When he arrived at her wrists, he squeezed gently before reaching beside her and producing a pair of smooth leather cuffs linked by a small clasp.

Her eyes wandered as he worked, following the lines of his fingers toward wide palms, the elegant taper of his wrist, and upward along his strong arms. His shirt was now fully open, and she could see the wide, verdant stripes that flowed over his shoulders, leading her eye to all the other interesting features of his body.

The question rose from her before she could stop it, her fingers reaching before the words had left her mouth.

"May I touch you, sir?"

He looked at her then, and she steeled herself for a reprimand, but there was only kindness in his eyes. He raised her cuffed hands and placed her palms on his chest. 

Shepard couldn't help her dumb smile, flattening her hands against smooth, warm scales. There was a surprising softness to them, no resistance as she swiped a thumb over one of the errant dark scales that dusted his body, not unlike her own freckles. 

"Is my body pleasing to you, Siha?"

"Yes," she answered breathily, adding the obligatory "-sir," before he could acknowledge its absence. 

She traced one of the curious lines of crimson that ran beneath each of his pectorals, rewarded with a soft sound that she not only heard but felt beneath her hands. He’s sensitive here, she realized, repeating the motion with a firmer touch. His reaction, though reserved, was not lost on her. She wanted more of him, wandering downward to trace the diamond-shaped patterns decorating his pale green abdomen, and further still to more crimson frills peeking out from the top of his pants. He didn’t have nipples as a human would, but he did have a belly button, which amused her. And awkward though it was with her hands bound, he seemed pleased at her interest. 

Rather than removing her hands, he simply rose and moved away when he'd had enough. He gave her a small, soft smile as he said, "Wait here, Siha." 

She blinked as he paced away and disappeared behind a closet door. The euphoria of his venom left her in a relaxed, contented state, overtaken by the memory of the spectacular climax he had given her. She was certain no one had ever brought her off with just their hands before. And though her release had been powerful, it had done little to stifle the need gnawing at the edges of her mind. Her blood stirred with the thought of what he might do next. 

Finally, he returned, kissing the crown of her head. He placed a nondescript box by her feet.

"Please stand, Siha,” he said. “Spread your legs, and bend over."

She did as he asked, eagerly bracing her palms on the edge of the bed as she bent over and presented herself to him. Venom swimming in her veins, she wondered how much of her mind was still her own. If there was anything left, it has long since taken up residence in her pelvis.

Thane laid a palm at the base of her spine. Something slick prodded at her weeping cunt, and then she gasped as his fingers slid inside her. He gave two or three slow thrusts before withdrawing and dragging her abundant arousal to the tight bud of her asshole. She moaned in surprise as he pressed against her with one finger, rubbing in firm circles. They had agreed on no anal sex, but play was not off the table.

"When was the last time someone touched you like this?"

"I.. it was a long time ago, sir." She peeked back over her shoulder to find him watching her, rubbing her lower back with his free hand. 

“We will go slowly. Remember your safewords.” 

In this state, it was so easy to trust him. He slowly pushed a slick finger past her tight hole, feeling the stretch and burn as he entered her.

He reached for something with his free hand, and what it was, she couldn't quite see. As he worked her ass, he introduced the rigid shape of it to the seam of her cunt and eased it inside. It was wide but not long, a rounded plump thing that he let slip out into his palm before pushing it back in, over and over again. 

A plug, she realized. He was going to plug her. The idea that he planned to fill both of her holes made her head spin. 

His finger slipped out of her ass, and more slickness followed. She felt his fused fingers at her rim and grunted as they breached her. In moments he was building a rhythm, matching the pace of each hand as he began to fuck both of her holes. The feeling was incredible, whatever slight burn she may have felt quickly dissolving into warmth as he worked her.  She closed her eyes and let herself fall against the jasmine-scented sheets, pushing her hips back into his hands. 

"How does that feel?"

"It’s good, sir,” she breathed. 

And then the plug was at her entrance, pushing slowly, opening her with a delicious burning stretch that took her breath away. Deeper it went, stretching and pushing until the bulk of it popped inside her and the flared base settled with a soft tap against her hole. Thane gave it a few taps for good measure, and she couldn't help but moan into the bedspread. 

He stepped away for a moment, and she adjusted her stance, flexing and working her hips against the air with unshielded need. The plug’s modest volume put pressure against the inner walls of her cunt, and that hint of stimulation was driving her crazy. 

She searched for him over her shoulder until he finally returned, toweling off his freshly washed hands. 

"Now then, I seem to recall a discussion about pushing your boundaries.”

Thane squeezed her ass with both hands. Her need flared at the suggestion alone. 

“I think a few spanks would do well to remind you who you serve.” He teased her wet slit with his fingertips and gave her ass a light and playful slap, rumbling with desire when let out a quiet gasp. “Are you ready for that, Siha?"

Her cheeks burned and her thighs tensed as she said, "Yes sir, I'm ready."

She could hear the smile in his voice as he responded, "Very well. You will tell me if you become distressed." He caressed the curve of her backside with a warm palm. "Count to ten," he said. And that was all the warning she got before the first spank landed. 

It wasn’t forceful, but it jolted her anyway. His palm bounced on the left side of her ass in an upward motion. The sting was near imperceptible, but the intent was clear. She gasped involuntarily.

A few short seconds passed as he rasped her clit with near-threatening softness. And then the second hit landed on her opposite cheek. 

"I said, count, Siha."

"T- two, sir."

His hand impacted her left cheek again, and she gasped out, "Three, sir."

"You may drop my honorific for the moment." 

She nodded against the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut somewhere between arousal and a vague feeling that touched the edges of embarrassment.

Another spank on her right side. Now that she was warmed up, she welcomed the calidity blooming across her backside, slithering into all the little nerve endings that lined her empty, needy cunt.   

"Four."

He continued on, and she counted three seconds between each blow. By the time he hit six, she understood why his strikes were soft. The heat built over her skin in layers, each strike seeming to add to the next until she cried out against the indescribable waves of sensation rocketing through her.

"Seven," she gasped through gritted teeth. 

By eight, her ass felt hot in the wake of each blow. Her body was propelled forward in anticipation each time his hand came down, and she relished the electric feeling of her breasts dragging against the bedspread. By nine, she already knew she would miss this when it was over.

The last hit fell against her right cheek. She gasped “Ten,” and he relented.

Shepard sagged against the bed, flinching as he smoothed both palms over her sensitive backside, pushing the lingering burn into her flesh. The feeling sang through her veins. 

"I love the way your skin blushes beneath my touch," he murmured, nudging a knuckle against the plug buried in her ass. His fingers then slid - blessedly - back into her cunt, curling right against the part of her that made stars bloom behind her closed eyes.

"Open your hands, Siha," he ordered. 

She didn't know what for, but she complied, extending her bound hands across the sheets beneath her until her weight settled on her shoulders. A long, smooth implement was pushed into her palm and she closed her fingers around it as he adjusted its position such that the firm end of it settled against her clit. She leveraged it immediately, snuggling her cunt up to whatever blessed source of friction he had just endowed her with.

"Remember the rules, Siha,” he purred. “You wouldn't disappoint me a second time, would you?"

Cheek pressed against the bed, she nodded. "I promise, sir." 

The device hummed to life, a powerful vibration that made her shiver. Shepard let out a low moan.

"Good girl. Count to ten."

And then he pulled back and spanked her again.

The blow was no more powerful than before. She felt her ass jiggle on impact, too distracted and overwhelmed to care. 

"One." She groaned, voice muffled by the sheets. He brought a hand to her hair, forcibly turning her head to the side so as to hear her clearly. The second strike came, and the impact rushed in a wave across her entire body. "Two."

Pleasure and pain melded together like hot wax. Shepard panted, cheek smushed against the bed as he paused again and smoothed a hand over her reddened flesh. Pressure gathered between her spread thighs, her empty cunt clenching in desperation. She wanted more, bucking against his hand. 

Her voice was hoarse when she said, "Please don’t stop." 

He obliged, another three strikes raining down on her like the kiss of god. 

"Can I come, sir?"

He pushed two fingers into her cunt and wedged his thumb hard against her plug as though to contemplate her request. With her hands at the wheel of her own pleasure, her building climax was much easier to control. Even still, his seeking fingers drove her crazy, so desperate to be fucked she could scarcely think of anything else. 

"At ten, you may come for me."

"Thank you sir," she sobbed. He spanked her again.

Six. The feeling was a golden flash of light behind her eyes.

Seven. His fingers skimmed the soaking furrow of her cunt. Shepard let out a whine as he withdrew, grinding against the powerful motor between her thighs.

Eight. Her climax threatened to overwhelm her. She managed to lift her hips away from the vibrator seconds before it was too late, crying out against the raging push and pull of sensations overwhelming her.

Nine. She writhed against the bed, knees wobbling. Thane wrapped an arm around her belly and held strong as he kissed her spine, sending a chill throughout her entire body as she waited on the vicious precipice of the final blow and the sweet release it promised. 

Ten. 

She couldn't tell if it was harder than the rest. She came the second his hand landed, climax overpowering her so fast it forced the breath from her lungs. Light burst behind her eyes, white hot waves washing over every part of her as Thane stuffed his fingers into her pulsing cunt and fucked her through each rippling convulsion until she collapsed, panting and spent. The wand hit the ground with a loud thump. And then he was releasing her wrists, gently maneuvering her into a more comfortable position on the bed. 

She let out a feeble groan as he began to soothe her skin with cooling medi-gel. Worked up as she was, the texture of his fingertips was overwhelming in the most exquisite way; the only reality she could comprehend were his hands on her, the soft sheets beneath her, and the raging void inside her begging to be filled. 

“Tell me your heart’s desire, my angel,” he said, drawing his hand up the inside of her thigh. “What would you ask of me?”

Her head was swimming. Shepard clenched her teeth and made an incoherent sound "I want you to fuck me, sir.”

Thane coaxed her onto her back and she watched as though through a fog as he tugged on his belt. His scales gleamed in the low light of Illium’s setting sun. 

“Tell me again." he rasped.

His pants hit the floor and he began to stroke himself with hunger in his eyes that foretold the hurricane he was about to unleash, full lips parted with a breathy sigh as he squeezed, smoothing his natural fluid from root to tip. Shepard drank him in - every sound, every flutter of his eyelids, feeling for one second that she had regained some intangible thing from all of this, the trust and vulnerability that he gave and cultivated without reservation. She swore she’d never wanted anyone so badly in her life. 

“Please," she begged. Her own voice was thick in her mouth as she opened her thighs and spread her cunt with desperate need, open and empty and soaked with desire. "Ruin me, Thane.”

The sound he made rumbled like thunder on the horizon, and then his hands were on her, dragging her bodily to the edge of the bed and spreading her wide. Her ass chafed against the sheets, breath caught in her lungs as he laid his tip against her oversensitive clit and flames erupted under her skin. Where this was going, she was certain she wouldn't survive. 

"Who do you serve?"

"You, sir." She felt him at her entrance, and all thoughts fled her mind. "I serve you."

Time was immaterial. There was nothing but the stretch, the push, and the heat of him as he split her open with his gorgeous meaty prick. Her plugged ass pulsed as he filled her. Chills rushed over her in waves and she sobbed out her pleasure, gripping the sheets beneath her. 

"That's it, Siha," he crooned, stroking both thumbs up the sides of her wide open cunt. "Take all of me." 

Thane gripped tight to the meat of her thighs, pulling their hips flush. She was so full, fucking full that she scarcely had the space for thought. 

And then he fisted one hand in the ropes at her chest and moved. 

His strength took her breath away. Unable to do more than take what he gave, she gasped out sounds she didn’t recognize as her own as he began to fuck her in earnest. His grip was sure to bruise but she didn't care. Her pulse pounded in time with each echoing slap of his hips against hers, rapidly overwriting reality with unending shocks of pleasure as he filled her again and again. Absolutely no one had ever fucked her like he did.

And when he brought that vibrating wand to her clit, he didn't even wait for her to ask. 

"Come for me, Siha."

Shepard came like she was purpose-built to climax at his command. She shuddered violently beneath the unrelenting motor, voice breaking around the cry of ecstasy that forced itself from her throat. The sheets came apart beneath her gripping fingers as her limbs locked up against the assault on her senses.

"Again," he ordered, shoving her straight into overstimulation.

Thane held her thighs wide open as she thrashed, his strength too much for her to beat back without stopping him entirely. Her orgasm crawled from beneath her skin like a demon, clawing at her the whole way out.

"Once more, Siha,” he panted.

She couldn't- It was too much- She opened her mouth to tell him off but he bent over her, trapping the vibrator between them as he rasped into her ear, “For me, Shepard. I want you to come for me."

The sound that left her wasn't human any longer. Her back arched off the bed as though pulled by a force beyond her comprehension. She finally came one last time, the force of her orgasm sending her to heaven and hell and back again. With whatever remaining shred of rationality she possessed, she ripped the wand from his hands and flung it away.

And then there was only him. His hands on her body, his cock packed inside her, his hips hammering her soul from her body. He fucked her so hard, so completely, with such devastating demand that she was sure she would never be fit for duty again. Whatever world she had served before didn't hold a candle to the cataclysmic pleasure he gave her. Her eyes rolled back, and she could see the infinity between stars. 

Shepard groaned as he pushed deep, caging her between his arms and gripping her by the hair as he pulled her head back, his lips frantic and clumsy on her neck, her jaw, and finally, her mouth. She tasted the citric burn of his venom as his tongue pushed against hers, desirous and needy, swallowing the sounds of her desire. Her arms wrapped around him, tears stinging her eyes as he hollowed her out with more passion than she had ever known. The heat coming off him could incinerate her for all she cared. She never wanted to let him go.  

Adrift on his venom and pinned beneath him, she could only hold on as he drove himself against her. She let her hands wander, pulling at his backside, sliding over his hips. Her thumbs slipped into the sensitive crimson furrows of his pelvic frills and he gasped, his pace stuttering, and spent himself with a low, ragged breath. His lips met hers in clumsy desperation as he flooded her, sparkling heat blooming in the deepest reaches of her channel. It spread through her with every uncoordinated thrust that followed, driven by the sanguine push and pull of him until everything between her legs felt coated in bright, cool warmth. The high was cosmic, ethereal, so unlike any reality she had ever known that she wept, half in pleasure, and half in regret that she could not hold on to this feeling forever. He kissed her tears away, holding her until they were both well and truly spent. 

Eventually, Thane raised himself on shaky legs and withdrew. Minutes slipped by in exhausted, satiated silence after that. She sagged into the sheets as the ropes at her chest came undone, the collar at her neck fell away, and the rigid plug inside her was gently removed. There was a hand beneath her head, water at her lips. Something cool and soothing cleared the mess of fluids from between her legs. Then the sensation of being lifted as he climbed on the bed and arranged her into his lap, draping her against his chest. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She was dreaming. 

A warm embrace around her on a sunlit afternoon beneath the dreamy palm trees of a far-off island. Cool wind on her skin, an ocean in her ears. Someone was speaking to her; a deep, sweet voice that made her cheeks swell in a quiet smile. 

"Are you awake, Siha?"

Shepard made a small sound and weakly shook her head, nuzzling against something warm. For the first time, in too long, her thoughts were at peace.

"My apologies," the voice said. 

Apologies for what? Everything was perfect. Then she was moving, the sound of the sea disappearing into the warmth of rustling fabric. Her back settled against something decadent and soft. A tender hand cupped her cheek. 

She cracked her sleep-heavy eyes open to find herself in another realm, lit by the warm yellow tones of a nearby lamp and little else. The sky outside was dark and dotted with the twinkling, passing lights of Nos Astra’s traffic. Thane sat beside her, a small smile on his face. He kissed the top of her head.

"I regret that I must ask you to rise soon, Shepard."

Shepard curled into the lightly scented blankets that had been tucked in around her. 

"What time is it?" She asked. 

"Just past sunset."

She wound her arms around whatever parts of him she could reach and mumbled, "Five more minutes." 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thirty minutes later, she was gently roused from sleep. 

“Would you prefer to dress yourself in private?” Thane asked.

Shepard placed her tired feet on the floor and stood before him, naked as the day she was born.

“I think we’re past that,” she said with a small chuckle.

He gave her a small smile and helped her into her pants as he said “I wanted to thank you.” 

Shepard blinked. "I should be thanking you.” 

"We may thank each other, then. I enjoyed our time together."

Shepard attempted to conceal her blush by pulling her shirt over her head. "I bet you say that to everyone."

Thane kissed her cheek. "Even if I did, how would you know?"

It was a damn tragedy that she couldn’t spend the entire night with him. 

"If I survive this… thing… I'm involved in…" she began, a sudden timidness taking root in her like a damn teenager. "I'd love to get lunch sometime."

That got a genuine chuckle out of him, and he gave her a friendly hug. Her heart leapt for but a moment.

"Perhaps," he said with a beautiful smile. "We shall see what my wife thinks.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tali was stiff as a wire, straddling a chair on the engineering deck and gripping the backrest with both hands.

"You slept with who?" 

"I don't know, his profile said 'the artist formerly known as Ocean's Prayer' or something."

Tali’s luminous eyes were wide behind her mask, shoulders tensed with some kind of anticipatory excitement. 

"The Ocean's Prayer? From Fornax?"

Running a hand through her hair, Shepard smiled sheepishly. "We weren't allowed to have Fornax on Arcturus, Tali."

"This isn’t Arcturus! You have your own damn ship!" She exclaimed.

"I'm sure you've noticed, but I've been a little busy-"

"Keelah, Shepard. You humans make problems out of nothing." Tali's Omni-tool glowed to life. "Let me just… there. Look." 

A holo sprang up before her - a magazine cover - on which a green drell posed, the image conspicuously cropped at his waist. Tali pointed, as though the image didn’t already have Shepard’s full attention. 

"This guy?"

Shepard nodded, chewing on her lip. "That's him, yeah."

"Do you have any idea how famous this guy is? Look, look-" Tali began to page through the magazine. 

Just because Shepard never had Fornax didn't mean she'd never looked at porn before. There definitely should've been a paywall some pages back. She narrowed her eyes and gave Tali a mischievous look.

"Is that your personal copy?" 

"You-! Shut your mouth, you have no room to talk after what you just told me," Tali shot back. 

"Give me that, I want to see."

Her omni-tool pinged and Shepard flipped open the holomag. 

Ocean's Prayer: the Fornax exclusive you've been waiting for - interview with the Master of Inscrutable Depths himself.

"Shepard, that man could make even the most straight-laced turian beg for mercy."

"Damn," Shepard muttered under her breath, paging through walls of text she was too dazzled to read, sprinkled with teasing photos that made her hot under the collar. Just on the memory of his touch, his voice, his massive-

Oh. 

The next page opened to a full page photo. Shepard coughed on her drink.

Sere Krios is rendered by the incredible @messydiabolical. Check out AO3 for the uncensored feature :)))

[nibblyssacrifice]

ALSO!! I've seen some people theorising whether Grace's actions at the end of NPMD are out of her own volition or if she is the new "puppet" and I have to give a big thanks to @a-couple-of-bees for writing out the lyrics to the Lords in Black song, because it made me put some thoughts together. I am not saying these are 100% right, these are just my thoughts:

First of all, I don't think it got fully confirmed that the Zombie!Max they're trying to banish is doing this for the Lords in Black, so I'm only going to take that in consideration for like 50 per cent, but you'll see that later on in the post. I just wanted to clear that up before continuing.

When Steph offers up a bargain to the Lords in Black, they sing:

Whatever we want, we want, we want

Whatever we want we get

Whatever you want, you want, you want, forever in our debt

It is specifically that last part I want to talk about, although it is also interesting that they sing that they will get it. This might just be because they know that if the nerds aren't able to give it to them, someone else probably will, or that they already have Max in their control, but who knows.

But that last part implies that just because you gave something up, it does not mean that you have given everything. Perhaps the Lords in Black see this offer of your most cherished as a show of devotion to them. They know that you will do what they ask of you.

And while Steph and Pete obviously struggle with knowing that one of them has to die—and probably even more with the fact that not only was Steph going to shoot Pete, she actually did—Grace struts in without problem and gives away what she wanted to keep most—to stay a virgin.

She showed the Lords in Black without problem that she was willing to give them this, so she would probably be willing to give them even more human sacrifices. I don't think Grace is acting much like Max is, with him being dead and all, but rather that the Lords in Black just gently pushed her into this next step, into helping the world get rid of pervy dudes, and give the Lords on Black their new sacrifices. And who knows, maybe Max was already doing that for them, but he couldn't be fully controlled because he was dead, or maybe he wasn't, and the killings were just a happy accident for the LiB that they could now use to their advantage.

[bookish-bogwitch]

Thanks @thewholelemon, @facewithoutheart, @ileadacharmedlife, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @aristocratic-otter, @nightimedreamersworld, @ionlydrinkhotwater for the tags the past couple weeks. Here are six a lot of sentences I cut from Basil Pitch's Diary, which for now is just one baby chapter but the rest of which is coming soon eventually to a browser near you.

This bit's inspired by the fact that there was a Parliament election in 2015. I cut it because it felt kind of clumsy--sticking jokes in the character's mouths that weren't necessarily in-character--and also had the small issue of being completely, utterly irrelevant to the plot. (At least that makes it spoiler-free 😅.)

Excerpt and tags below the cut:

FRIDAY 6 MARCH Blood units 4, body temp 25, hair ducal, civic engagement meh, political parties at least 3. 11 a.m. Politickal Science. Professor Kates had us debate tomorrow’s Normal Parliament election, presumably because he didn’t plan a real lesson. Had never paid much attention to Normal politics before reaching voting age. Unlike Bunce. “…And that’s why I’m voting Lib Dem,” she concluded after talking for eight solid minutes. “You’re sixteen,” objected Wellbelove.  “Not a problem,” said Bunce, flapping her ring hand.  From the back of the classroom, the pixie chimed in. “What about the Green Pa—” Bunce made a rude noise.  “What about you, Simon?” asked the professor. “How would you vote?”  Of course the Mage’s Heir gets a platform for his inane views. What a blow when he finds out there’s no Butter Union party. “Um,” orated Snow. “I … I dunno. Labour, probably.” Snow turned to Bunce. “Like, some of them are nutters, yeah, but they’d fund stuff. Like,” he reddened, “schools and, like, social programs.” “Those are already funded,” said Bunce. “Not enough.”  “You expect the government to solve all your problems,” I quoted my father automatically.  Snow gave me one of my own You’re an idiot looks. “I really don’t.”  Shit. How many times had he been asked to solve the World of Mages’s problems single-handed? Bunce was still fired up. “Simon, you can’t just dismiss Labor’s xenophobic—”  I thought about what Snow meant and missed the rest of Bunce’s rant about something something intersectionality. As if she would willingly intersect with a Normal. 4 p.m. Am torn. Pitches always vote Tory, just like we’ll always vote against the Mage once we get back the franchise. (Fiona has a plan to steal it.) A liberal government would drain our coffers even drier.  But in our borough voting Tory means re-electing a man who opposed same-sex marriage two years ago. The craven claimed he wasn’t homophobic, he just had homophobic constituents. Do not see why the straight unwashed should control my freedom to marry.  Even worse is the Tory ghoul from Aldershot who stumped about “the aggressive homosexual community” using marriage as “a stepping stone.” As if I wouldn’t pay double VAT to be stepped on by an aggressive homosexual. Still. Am not simpleton single-issue voter; marriage equality is a fait accompli. And anyway, I’d only ever want to gay-marry Snow, straight and unwashed though he is.  Felt weirdly proud of him today for disagreeing with Bunce, especially when I realized the professor had singled him out not as Mage’s Heir but as spokesnormal. And that “social programs” meant his entire childhood.  Hmm. SATURDAY 7 MARCH 10 p.m. Resolved politico-moral quandary by forgetting to vote.

Look, it wasn't my idea for Baz to be a Tory. That was all Rainbow. I also do think Penny has a centrist streak inherited from Mitali but I have no idea real how this would translate into the Normal world.

Thanks @facewithoutheart for gently pointing out that this was a complete tangent. And sorry and thank you @captain-aralias for the content beta. It's not your fault I asked you to explain UK politics and then didn't listen.

Tagging @cutestkilla, @fatalfangirl, @moodandmist, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @im-gettingby, and @petedavidsonscock.

[swansstuff]

Uhhhh

OK so I haven't posted a chapter of my fic for a while so have some ramblings about fankids (anyone remember those fandom trends?) and other silliness <3 some I have thought about more than others but enjoy a tasty little morsel until I can actually produce something of substance lmao

Steph and Pete: get engaged when they graduate college in 2023. Get married when they both have steady income in 2026. Have Owen in October 2029. Have Amy in December 2034. Owen starts highschool in 2044. Amy skips 4th grade, starts highschool in 2047.

Pete: becomes a highschool physics teacher at hfh. Grows a moustache, sometimes double takes that he looks like Ted in the mirror. Takes Steph’s name.

Steph: becomes a 3rd grade teacher.

Owen: got the combo of autism and adhd, thanks mom and dad, had a 1:1 in elementary school (Mrs Keane). Art kid. May or may not be in love with his best friend (Will Green). Could be mistaken for Pete on a bad hair day. Inherited the Spankoffski family watch. Favourite colour is blue.

Amy: only got the autism but it's the freaky smart kind. Loves space, obsessed with planets. Probably also in love with her best friend (Elsie Chasity). Absolutely knows more than she should about the LiBs. Favourite colour is yellow.

Skrzynka: (Box in Polish) this fucked up, mixed breed cat that wandered into their backyard at some point. May or may not be a Tinky vessel

Grace and Ruth: get engaged in 2024. Get married in 2026. Have Joseph in 2031. Have Elsie in 2034. Have Abe in 2038.

Grace: criminal psychologist. (Major true crime fan)

Ruth: musical writer and director.

Joseph: quiet nerd kid, but has the same weird, threatening aura as Grace does. Into some real left field shit. Will debate the extended family on religion, one of those smarmy reddit atheists.

Elsie: non-verbal until like 7, Amy helped her communicate at school. Autism. Gentle, sweetheart. Creative girly, into her art, will forget to move until her piece is done.

Abe: nightmare toddler, Grace and Ruth regret having a third. Hair untamable.

Watson: ratty ass Irish wolfhound. Ruth had her childhood dog called Sherlock who passed so decided to get a puppy when Joseph was 3. They are inseperable.

Max and Richie: get engaged in 2024. Get married in 2028 once Max's dad finally fucking dies. Have Marie in 2033.

Richie: film critic (specifically horror movies)

Max: park ranger and highschool football coach

Marie: her middle name is Asuka, Richie had to be restrained and this was the compromise. She fucking hates this. Mini goth kid but also quite athletic, more into running than football. Did not inherit Richie's asthma but did inherit his insomnia.

Totoro: Named by Richie. Marie calls him Toto. Golden retriever.

Oscar: Named by Max. German Shepherd.

Suzie: Named by Marie after Suzie and the banshees. Rescue.

Lex and Ethan: get engaged in 2021, get married in 2026 once everything settles down. Have William in 2029.

Lex: actor at the Starlight

Ethan: runs his dad's garage

William: Will. Sort of takes after his dad, perceived as a bad kid but just likes sticking up for people. Quite creative as well, but more on the music side. Plays the piano and the violin, doesn't own either but plays at the highschool. Also very much in love with his best friend. Also raging adhd.

Hannah and Daniel: get married in 2040, have Meghan in 2043.

Hannah: guidance councillor

Daniel: ccrp worker

Meghan: can speak, doesn't until she's about 5. Her first word is Webby. This doesn't worry anyone at all. She may genuinely be a Webby conduit.

Emma and Paul: get married in 2022, have the twins in 2024. Have Jane in 2029.

Paul: this poor man will be with ccrp until the day he dies

Emma: "plant biologist"

Henry: yes he was named after hidgens. like a slightly more outgoing Paul, does end up working at Beanie's during his highschool years. Bit of a nerd for sci-fi thrillers. Has strong opinions on Working Boys.

Penny: named after Richie’s late mom, ie Paul's older sister. Manic anxious energy, doing everything all of the time, bit like cousin Tim. Has a Ted like sense of humor, Paul regrets letting him babysit.

Jane: named after Emma's older sister. Couldn't be more different. Absolute mess, reminds Emma of a younger her. Persued musical theatre in highschool and drove Paul fucking nuts.

[bookishjules]

Different anon but I would love to hear all about your sizzy headcanons and theories

i have a lot of thoughts when it comes to simon and music, but with sizzy specifically.. i like to think simon writes silly, ad-libbed songs for isabelle. sometimes, though, he'll surprise her with something with more meaning, a love song just for her. and it's kinda cheesy but that doesn't take away the heart of it

to that end, i think there's probably music playing in their house like 70% of the time, between simon fooling around on his guitar or playing with some new instrument he borrowed from the institute or just the radio. the last one allows for some pretty cute moments that end with them dancing around the kitchen hehe

i do think izzy continues her terrible cooking, but i also think she gets better. simon also has no talent in the kitchen, so they kind of stumble through learning together. i think it's important to isabelle that they have homemade meals (which i went into in this post)

i think it takes a little while for them to start having kids, for a few reasons, but once they do... they're some of the best parents. they listen to them and get on their level a lot. it also helps that they don't have the kind of responsibility that the other lightwoods do, which allows them to spend more time with them, and also frees them up to do most of the babysitting, even before they had kids of their own

as for simon's side of the family.. um well fuck that whole never seeing your mundane family ever again shit. if will and cecily were able to get around that to see their mom for decades, we can do it now. i think izzy and rebecca get along well. like so well that sometimes simon will come home to them hanging out without him, drinking wine and swapping stories or watching movies or playing a card game that was a lewis-family staple for them growing up that they later taught isabelle

actually, i think card/board games are a way they like to spend their down time, as much as movies or video games. i will stand by the hc that izzy's nerdiness was simply dormant until she started spending time with simon and found out about all the wonderful things there are to be a nerd about. though she will often deny it and say she only knows things bc of simon. and anyway, didn't dnd come in handy when they were in edom?? it's all about strategy practice (sureeee)

the games the two of them play don't always get finished tho bc you know, competition leads to taunting leads to flirting leads to kissing leads to...

good. night. kisses. <- i'll leave you with that one hehe

[happysadyoyo]

Hey I think you were a person I've seen dissect Serano's work pointing out the negative things said about trans mascs. I came across this post and while this quote seems positive toward trans mascs, stuff earlier in the article don't seem great but I'm worried I'm just hanging onto biases from her earlier work. Do you have thoughts?

https://at.tumblr.com/asterosian/704465315608870913/k1dj12qys9u7

Oof okay I have to admit I'm very biased against her, so reading this will be a challenge (also thanks, I think this is the kick I need to get back to reading Whipping Girl, knowing she's got another book out that may pertain to trans masculinity).

I'm gonna pull out some quotes from her article I feel pertinent to touch on, whether in agreement or not. This is gonna be long.

tl;dr She's still minimizing trans masculine issues, throwing AFAB folks under the bus, utilizing POC for her own end when she can, and is a hypocrite within the same page. And nonbinary folk don't exist.

So yeah, the coat of paint is new, but it doesn't really feel like her attitude towards nonbinary and masculine people have changed. And she tries to relabel rad fems as cultural fems. Which... no. Cultural feminism afaik has a totally different connotation now with lib fem than whatever it was in the 80's.

 Some of the insights that I uncover in Sexed Up are pertinent to the aforementioned “perpetually male privileged” claims levied against trans women. In addition, they also shed light onto why bisexual women are analogously dismissed as “perpetually heterosexual privileged” in some of these same settings.

But men aren't also dismissed as heterosexually privileged if they're bi/pan/aro/ace? This is speculative, but I do thing that there are probably a lot more bisexual men out there who don't know because they've been taught to reject their attraction towards men their entire lives... not unlike how women are taught the same but women are also more encouraged to be in touch with their emotions. Men aren't.

This is a nitpick admittedly. Of course she's gonna focus on women, like how I focus on men. But idk, if I was actually writing for a general audience, I'd want to be as even-handed as possible.

 I will also consider how said purity politics underlie recent debates between trans female/feminine and trans male/masculine communities.

Color me unexcited.

In Sexed Up, I discuss all these various forms of sexualization in depth and detail how they play out with regards to specific marginalized groups (e.g., people of color, people with disabilities, and LGBTQIA+ people, amongst others).

I'm highlighting this mostly because of my experience with Whipping Girl is ringing eerily similar to this article. Mainly in that Serano likes to reference work I don't have access to and just assumes she is right.

I'm thinking specifically on her assertations on Navajo gender identities and saying they are trans feminine actually (or something similar) and her source was like... another college educated white person who just so happened to be a dude. It's why I want to eventually go through my notes and read all her sources and do an annotated version of her book.

I just really don't trust her with identities outside of her own is what I'm saying. Maybe she's changed, but I don't have access to her new book atm, just this article (sorry I might read her other article she linked at the top later but not right now).

As an example, falsely smearing a marginalized individual as a “slut,” or “pervert,” or “faggot,” or “predator,” or “groomer” typically has little to do with finding them attractive and/or wanting to use them sexually, but has everything to do with invoking sexual stigma in order to defame, humiliate, or ostracize them.

I don't disagree with this bit. Though I'd throw off the word little because we can't know what's going on in someone's mind. It can be a complex mixture of it all in a gross, confusing slurry of unexpressed emotion.

This imagined “sexual corruption” is especially acute for minority women: If a billboard ad featured a white, cisgender, thin, able-bodied woman wearing a sexy outfit, many passersby wouldn’t even notice it, but if the model were Black, or transgender, or fat, or disabled, or some combination thereof, it might strike them as “sexually inappropriate.”

A really more straightforward example would've been porn stars. Actresses (esp white actresses) who have fucked black men tend to have lower prices attached to their work afterwards. I wish I remembered where I read that so I could link to it, but it's been awhile. And for me I think it makes sense logically. She's "corrupted" herself with another race or w/e. Stupid blatant racism but a very obvious example.

Even more obvious: the amount of women who get devalued for having an only fans and how their SO's are treated.

And if a person intentionally hurts or humiliates another person, we often call them a “dick.”

What does this have to do with penises being imbued with metaphysical powers in society?

While penises, and those who are attached to them, are not stigmatized themselves, they do seem to possess the ability to impart sexual stigma upon others. [Sexed Up, p. 164]

Once again, Serano cuts her own nose to spite her face. She tries to be even-handed while focusing on women, but as soon as she quotes her own work (hence the italics) we can see her laying down the blanket statement again.

Men are stigmatized for having sex. It's just not in the same way women are. And it's different depending on the specific sub-culture you're in. Sub-culture specifically because Serano, despite her claims otherwise, I will not believe is capable of looking past the US. That's my bias.

While a significant number of women commit acts of sexual violence, people tend to view these incidents as less serious and less harmful than similar acts committed by men — this is likely due to the imagined “lack of penis” required to initiate sex and to bestow sexual stigma upon the victim.

Oh good, I was worried she wouldn't talk about women committing acts of sexual violence.

For starters, gender and sexual minorities are often viewed as “sexually deviant” or “sexually deceptive” for our failure to comply with Predator/Prey’s roles and rules. As a result, people may view us as “marked by sex” — imbued with sexual stigma that others may fear they might “catch” from us, potentially being “turned queer” themselves in the process. 

I don't disagree again. It's a bit thing, and I think part of that fear in some people is actually repressed sexual or romantic or gender specific identities. It's scary to be confronted with something you thought was a fact but might not be... and for a lot of those people, if they soul searched they'd find themselves happy with their identity as it is.

Anyway a good recent example of what Serano is talking about here is ROGD --- rapid onset gender dysphoria. The thing that people claim is turning all the girls trans.

It also explains why so-called “lesbian porn” made by and for straight men is not considered threatening. This genre typically portrays two women kissing and fondling one another, but the “real sex” doesn’t start until the male protagonist shows up (with his penis) to pronounce “can I join you ladies?”

What the fuck porn are you watching Serano? When I look up lesbian porn, the only dicks involved are strap ons. And this isn't like. Specialty stuff. It's fucking free on pornhub and xnxx.

I realize I'm outing where I watch porn here but whatever. One day I can afford to pay decently.

Okay then there's some talk about how for bi men they're seen as gay and bi women as straight (nb/agender people not invited), some gold star lesbianism and how penises are seen as corrupting. Glad she's pointing out the penis hatred in lesbian circles (rad fems called out? nice).

Hm then something about how bi women in relationships with other women are uniquely targeted with heterosexual privilege which just doesn't smell right to me but I can't put my finger on why.

when people start wielding terms like “privilege” (or “socialization”) in non-nuanced ways — and especially when they frame these as perpetual statuses that are impervious to change — the concern they are raising has little (if anything) to do with actual oppression or marginalization.

Really Serano? Where's the "doubt" meme because

Go read the full thing here; it's infuriating. Basically, she's saying the rise in the use of TME/TMA as rigid labels is because trans male and masculine folks are upset that they're so overlooked and are pushing back on the fact trans women actually get highlight even in issues that uniquely affect us (the amount of times I heard people complaining trans women don't need ObGyn visits so why are we trying to bring up trans people...)

Also the bs that AFAB trans people highlighting the F in their AGAB means that trans women must also highlight the M in their AGAB... like Serano if that was true and we need to coin flip this bitch all the time, well, why do your adherents hate the term transandrophobia so much?*

*this is actually a lot more nuanced and if prompted, I'll go into a deeper dive on why one group trying to emphasize their marginalized status a certain way doesn't mean the coin flip group has to mimic their behavior in any way but not right now. But if you want to hear my thoughts, I beg you, send me an ask. I'll Go Off.

And in my experience, lesbians who are suspicious of trans women are usually suspicious of bi+ women as well, and vice versa. 

Name. Them. They're rad fems Serano. It won't hurt you to admit it.

Okay, she goes on a thing about cultural feminism. I'll bookmark that to read later I think. It's already 1:30. I've spent 30 minutes reading and responding after spending an hour trying to dethaw my lock to get inside after work.

Most radical feminists were careful to identify the male role rather than maleness as the problem. 

This is a quote pulled from the article Serano links about cultural feminism. I hate to tell Serano this (I don't) but this... things have fucking changed since the 1980's. Radical feminists now very much blame men for the problem, not just their maleness. That's why there's so much overlap with TERFS! They're literally rad ems!!!

Serano then goes on to talk about how they call themselves radical feminists and thus TERFs and it's like... what distinction are you trying to make here? This is worthless except to make me angry!

Cultural feminists sometimes collaborate with social conservatives and the far-right on certain issues — most notably, their anti-trans, anti-pornography, and anti-sex-work positions.

I don't understand her resistance to calling them radfems. They are radical feminists. Even if in the 1980's it was something different, it's been 40 fucking years. We didn't have smartphones or accessible cellphones back in the 80's. Get with the fucking program.

Blah blah stuff we already recognize about how radfems see trans women as inherently predatory and dangerous because they got penises. Nobody I know argues against that.

Okay yes, here we are talking about trans men.

Cultural feminist views of trans male/masculine people are more complex and varied. 

Yep, this is why we should have our own word, to better discuss these complexities separate from mere misogyny or transmisogyny. There's an inherent overlap with being once seen as a woman/girl and "choosing" to become more masculine, whether you're actually nonbinary or fully male.

Gender traitors, lesbians escaping the patriarchy, groomed by TRAs. Check, check, check. Irreversible Damage, oh that's an easy ---

And who is supposedly doing this “seducing”? Trans female/feminine people, of course. 

Do you here the tires of my brain screeching? I'm shocked my ears aren't bleeding. They actually popped. Just. Holy shit, the presumption.

What about ROGD Serano? The thing Irreversible Damage is about? The thing that "spreads" across "girl" groups? "AFAB" groups? Where are the trans women in this Serano? Do you want my ears to pop?

Okay, okay, five minutes and I've calmed down. I'll let Serano finish.

Another “gender critical” author, Kathleen Stock, has remarked that, “The autogynephilia tail is wagging the puberty-blocking dog,” adding that, “many of the loudest (partly because male) voices policing critical discussion of the treatment of ‘trans’ kids barely disguise their autogynephilia.”

Oh, so one other TERF author blamed it on the trans women. So because of that, you ignored other sources talking about it spreading across "girl" groups. As in AFAB. As in not trans women. Okay. My jaw does not hurt from clenching right now.

In their imaginations, “transgender” is a “sexually deviant and predatory man,” and “children” are conceptualized as safe, pure, and vulnerable “girls” who are in danger of being “corrupted” by a “male-borne” sexual “contagion.” It’s Predator/Prey thinking writ large.

Yeah, I wonder why the general public only think trans women exist (general public, not the public with young trans people coming out as their sons or daughters). It doesn't have anything to do with your hyper-visibility that trans men were complaining about and you defended those trying to shut them up with TME labels despite it going against what you wrote in this very article???

Here’s another way of framing this “gender critical”/cultural feminist perspective: Trans female/feminine people are viewed as inherently “contaminating” (we “corrupt” those we come into contact with), whereas trans male/masculine people are viewed as merely “contaminated” (i.e., they’ve been “corrupted” by someone else). As a result, the latter may be “redeemable,” at least to some extent or in certain cases. 

The emphasis (bold) is mine.

And here's the crux of my issue with Serano. She absolutely refuses to let go of the idea that trans women are not the most oppressed actually and there's a lot of give and take where sometimes trans women as a group might come out on top. Not that it matters in the long run because it all washes out compared to the cis world around us but she won't even entertain the idea. She has to make sure that we know that trans men and masculine people (in her view, AFAB people) aren't as oppressed as trans women/feminine people (in her view, AMAB people). And her putting masculine/male doesn't erase her total lack of a nonbinary perspective.

Cultural feminists also tend to view trans male/masculine people as relatively “safe” given that they are supposedly “innately female” and “lacking” the organ that imparts sexual stigma (and perpetrates sexual violence) upon other people.

This went with the above quote. I'm just pulling it out to show how she treats transandrophobia like its a good thing/privilege (but god forbid trans men act like trans women's visibility is a privilege because there's so many drawbacks---yeah like there is for being seen as "safe").

On the trans male/masculine spectrum, there can be a similar temptation to appease cultural feminists’ notions of “purity” and “safeness.” 

She also looks down on trans women who emphasize their post op status btw. She just really does not like hyper feminine trans women (see my videos where she complains about movies with hyper femme trans women), and she does not like trans men not entirely divorcing themselves from their AGAB. How dare we I guess?

Sorry that I was born and raised a girl and I still see my younger self as a girl. I'm not you Serano. I'm not going to act like my growth as a trans person is a model for everyone else and thus invalidate all nonbinary identities.

Whether intentional or not, these sorts of appeals tend to reinforce the idea that AMAB people (such as trans women and trans femmes) are indeed “dangerous” and should be excluded. 

Talking about trans men "playing up the F in AFAB" to access women spaces. Please someone send me an ask about this specifically so I have an excuse to go off tomorrow after work.

At the start of this essay, I brought up “recent debates between trans female/feminine and trans male/masculine communities.”

Okay awesome I'm ready. I'm not reading the linked article tonight, maybe I will if asked, but for now it's 2 AM.

So suffice it to say that some of the disagreements I’ve seen seem to stem from this imagined AFAB “vulnerability” and “safeness,” and imagined AMAB “contamination” and “dangerousness.”

Emphasis (bold) mine.

Imagined vulnerability.

Serano making me throw up in my mouth at 2 AM.

And as usual, it’s the supposedly “contaminated” group (in this case, trans female/feminine people) who gets accused of being “oppressive” in some way or other. 

Sure am glad that she chose not to go into specifics! Give us concrete examples please!

On more than one occasion, I have seen trans male/masculine people of color point out that this notion of “inherent AFAB safeness” is not generally extended to them.

But, notably, not the vulnerability. Just want to point that out. Trans MOC are just as vulnerable if not more so by fact of being men of color. White women hold so much power over them in public spaces.

It should be clear by this point that we must purge these cultural radical feminist frameworks from our minds. 

Fixed that for you. Stop trying to label them something new.

When you embrace the fact that the world sees you as “dirty” and “contaminated,” you make different art, and you gravitate toward different forms of activism.

I'm still not following links outside the article, but I don't disagree with this statement. You'll be seeing some of my own work related to this later next year.

'Being a freak] made me suspicious of appeals to “purity” and “safety” (after all, what feels “safe” to some people may in fact be “dangerous” to others). 

Would it surprise you Serano I have trouble feeling safe around women?

She also stops on the different art after talking about how in your face her poetry used to be. This is something else I really want someone to send me an ask about. I'm begging you.

[heavencasteel420]

WIP Wednesday

Featuring: Jonathan and the mortifying ordeal of enjoying your Baby Boomer parents’ music!

From Tonight, Tonight, The Highway’s Bright:

“What’s on this?” the front-desk lady asked, frowning at the cassette tape. “You know we listen to these backwards, too.”

She squinted up at Jonathan, who was suddenly very aware of the hollows under his eyes and the cooking-oil smell that he felt sure still clung to his hair. He’d made an effort, washing his face and hands in the bathroom at Drummond’s and swapping his T-shirt for a navy sweater with yellow stripes, but there’d been no time to go back to the apartment and shower, let alone take a nap. Another old-house nightmare had broken up his sleep last night.

“It’s folk, mostly,” he said, attempting to sound meek instead of annoyed. He had long shifts and bad dreams; that didn’t mean that he was trying to send Satanic messages to his sick mother. “It’s nice. Soothing.”

He’d listened to the tape himself on the drive down to Pennhurst. It was full of stuff from the sixties: Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Joan Baez, Tom Paxton, Peter Sarstedt, the Everly Brothers after they’d started making weird concept albums instead of chipper malt-shop pop. It wasn’t his usual style at all. He preferred more concise lyrics, and all the acoustic strumming just made him sleepy. Yet listening to “Farewell, Angelina” and “Shady Grove” while surrounded by the ghosts of Mom’s Camels had an almost hypnotizing effect, making the worries of the day seem less sharp and pressing. Maybe the tape would do the same for her.

The front-desk lady—Dolores, according to her badge—didn’t respond, just turned the tape over in her thin, knobby hands. It occurred to him that Joan Baez might be as offensive to her as Iron Maiden or the Sex Pistols. She was the right age to have been scandalized by Elvis (or, he thought uncharitably, Scott Joplin). He wondered if she (or the mysterious “we” she’d mentioned) would deem the lyrics too disturbing for a schizophrenic person. He thought of the pirates in “Farewell, Angelina,” shooting tin cans with a sawed-off shotgun while the neighbors cheered and clapped. He loved those lyrics; they reminded him of the people of Hawkins, cheerfully turning out for the spectacle of his family’s destruction. Joan Baez—or, rather, Bob Dylan, who’d written the song—had probably had something completely different in mind, but he didn’t care. He’d take vindication where he could find it.

From Tomorrow’s a Long Way Off (warning for allusions to domestic violence, plus Lonnie saying a bunch of gross inappropriate sexist shit, including about Joyce, below the cut):

“You gotta let these girls know where things stand, right at the start,” Lonnie said, turning the key in the ignition. The stereo started playing The Rolling Stones. “You can’t let them walk all over you. Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”

Yeah, thought Jonathan, they might start thinking that you shouldn’t call them crazy bitches and throw things at them.

“Mind if I turn this up?” he asked, gesturing at the stereo. “I like this song.”

“Sure,” Lonnie said. He pulled out of the parking space and started down Main Street. “What was that one you liked when you were little? You used to kind of bob up and down to it. God, you were funny.”

“Street Fighting Man,” said Jonathan.

Despite himself, he smiled. He could remember crouching in front of the record player on the shag carpet, trying to get closer to the music and its strange, rollicking beat. Lonnie saying hey, Joyce, the kid’s got taste. His mom beaming, hugely pregnant with Will and wearing some long hippie dress with orange flowers.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Lonnie was also smiling. It made him look older, nicer. Then he sighed. “It was easier when I was a kid, you know. Even girls thought women’s lib was a joke. Course, they still wanted their own way, but…”

He trailed off and drummed on the steering wheel. But you’ll never break, never break, never break, went the stereo. Jonathan stayed quiet.

“Well, I don’t know,” Lonnie continued. “I guess we got nothing to complain about. Back then, good girls didn’t give it up. Hell, most bad girls didn’t go all the way. Hey, you wanna know which one your mom was?”

Jonathan’s mouth went dry.

“No,” he snapped. “Why would I want to know that?”

Lonnie just laughed.

“Lighten up, kid. It was just a joke.”

Jonathan didn’t reply. Joke or not, it had been a gross thing to say. He looked out the window, watching the buildings get sparser. They were almost at the edge of town.

“You don’t know how good you have it,” Lonnie continued, apparently unbothered. “None of it means anything now.”

[gaast]

Why did you start writing horror short stories? You've probably told me before but I'd like to hear again!

Hmmm.

I started writing by writing really awful poetry starting in 5th or 6th grade. I remember in 7th grade English we had to write poems and the teacher read out some of his favorites and he wanted to read one of mine but I said no. That's just how I am.

Anyway, that experience still ruled, because someone in that class wrote something incredible and I was envious.

Well, anyway, one day I overheard a classmate who I respected kinda trashing my poetry, and he was right about it, so I stopped doing poetry and started writing stories. So I was like 13 when that happened, and I was regarded as one of the "emo kids" even if I didn't look the part because I was mentally ill. And also I grew up on like, Invader Zim and the older, edgier Nicktoons, so I was predisposed to writing darker stories.

Almost all of my writing from that era should actually survive on my deviantArt account. I wouldn't recommend it.

I wouldn't necessarily term that writing "horror," though. I was reading more (and therefore getting inspired by) Ayn Rand and Thomas Pynchon at the time (in 9th and 11th grade, respectively), so I wrote more self-consciously metafictional and postmodern stories, for better or worse. So I went from, like, imagining the minds of different fucked up killers to writing a sort of extension of "Six Characters in Search of an Author" mixed with Saw or something.

I sorta stopped writing as I attended college. I joined Tumblr with the fucking url "hewritesthings" and I never wrote things. The last thing I wrote before college was a choose-your-own-adventure-style thread on 4chan's /x/ that turned into a horror comedy piece where an evil flying penis monster was trying to summon John Cusack. That thread got archived.

After I finished grad school, it took me months to get back to reading, let alone writing. The person I was dating at the time and I had been talking about our OCs extensively for years, so I started writing slice of life stories about them as much as I could. Around the time I made this a habit was around the time I started thinking more seriously about what I wanted to do with my writing. At some point I decided I wanted to be published.

I think my repertoire was actually more sci-fi speculative than anything, as a lot of what I wanted to write was actually shit related to technology, as prompted by my Digital Humanities courses in grad school. I had a ton of good ideas I wanted to do for all these different sci-fi concepts, but none really panned out.

Around 2019, though, a few things happened. I joined Mastodon for a while and on the instance I was on I met another writer whose speculative work was inspiring to me. I thought of her as a rival, in a way, as well as a friend. The inspiration she gave me inspired me to write some of the work that I feel denote the transition to my current writing style--"Maintenance," which uses tech to enforce gender binaries in a way verging on horror, as well as the Twines I (at least, at one time) had in my itch page, particularly the one about bleeding out as you hang out with your friend at the mall. That was a bit too self-aware to be horror, but the later Twines I wrote about myself were definitely more in that vein.

Then, for NaNoWriMo, I threw out the initial concept I was developing about life on a space colony and ad-libbed a story about a person with edible skin.

This protagonist stuck with me, and the next year, as my relationship was clearly becoming toxic, I wrote a story expressing my frustrations, using that character as a base. I wrote it for an anthology of queer horror called Skulls & Spells, and it was accepted--my first publication. As part of the promotion for the book, all the authors collected in it answered a few interview questions that they posted on their Kickstarter; these questions were all about horror. And as I answered those questions, I realized that horror was simply the best way to tell queer stories the way I felt they needed to be told.

Because for me, queerness is monstrousness, but it's not right to make that monstrousness empowering. Rather, to be a queer monster, one must be a victim, must be falling apart, must refuse power and wholeness and identity altogether. Every queer story must be a horror story because it cannot fit comfortably within lived (heteronormative) experience.

As such, what got me writing horror was more a long process, fragmented and fitful, of finding myself in my writing and exploring my own philosophies, artistic or otherwise. It's not a grand tale--I was 13 and wrote about creepy forests or some shit to writing about gay robots in my 20s to now focusing on body horror as I hit 30--but it's a process that's still developing.

[sakis-sweets]

Just a thought of mine for the drama club, you may dislike/like this and I will fully understand you're opinions about it.

I feel like Kizana is very rude and harsh to her club members, from Kokona to Shozo. But Ig for Tsuruzo isn't that much rude nor harsh to him since he his the one substituting for her when she's gone and she does admire his acting skills than the rest.

On how she treats them is different from each one of them.

For Shozo, whenever he's done with writing the scripts she would immediately look at it for 5-10 seconds, throws it at his face and says "go do it again! This is the worst script I have ever read!" Then Shozo proceeds to redo it again for at least 3 times for her to accept it. Kizana compares Shozo to Tsuruzo within their acting skills, the reason why is because Shozo is going to be a 3-2 student, meaning that Shozo needs to also have the same acting skill level as Tsuruzo even as a background character he still needs to have a perfect acting skills to be considered as a "good enough actor" for Kizana's standards.

For Riku, Kizana treats him with bias just like Tsuruzo but different, she only says rude and harsh things to him when no one's around but acts nice to him out public since Riku does come from a wealthy family, she at least wants to make herself look good infrot of others when talking to Riku. (Not sure if this is the best one I can think of-)

For Tokuko, Kizana criticize Tokuko a lot, even when it's offstage. Kizana manages to find something that she can criticize Tokuko, like on how Tokuko wears makeup, how she walks and most importantly on how's her acting skills are. Kizana is very harsh on her criticism towards Tokuko and would immediately blast out insults on her.

Well for Kokona of course, Kizana hates her the most, for copying her hairstyle. She despise Kokona her hairstyle and the lack of her acting skills (since Kokona is a new member). She would either put her as a background character or has no role, she doesn't see Kokona improving but only sees her getting weak and left behind with from the rest.

And that's it! My apologies for any grammatically errors, my apologies for anything wrong with these hcs/thoughts of mine. And if you dislike some of them then it is perfectly fine with me. I will fully understand you're opinions about it!

You definitely make some good points; I think your interpretation of Kizana's relationship is spot on. And I can definitely see Kizana pulling some true Mean Girls shit on Tokuko and will probably find ways to subtly sabotage her while pretending to care. Etc: "omg that color will look so good on you!!" (It super won't). And I agree completely with your take on Tsuzuro, I think he's the only one who looks past (ignores? enables?) her stank-ass attitude and sees her talent, which is why she respects him.

I don't think being kind to Riku only in public would help; he can just tell his parents not to support her and they'd probably believe him. So she'd have to be nice to him all the time. But I think Kizana only cares about money as far as play production, and her own money might be enough depending on her background. If she wants to produce an excessively expensive play, she'll probably butter up Riku then.

I don't think Kizana has a specific vendetta against Shozo, she doesn't have a reason to just disregard what he's written and make him do it again for no reason. Remember, despite being an arrogant bitch, she did earn her presidential position with her skill. So she would read through the whole play and give him some constructive feedback, and then demand that he specifically fix HER lines over and over again. Only to just ad lib on stage anyway.