#there's no feeling i would point to that tells me i'm a woman

[alisonwritesimagines]

You'll Be Mine and I'll Be Yours ~LA!Mihawk Imagine~

Summary: Mihawk finally asks you to be his.

Author’s Note: Now that the live action One Piece officially announced who Crocodile and Robin is and I'm in the Skypiea arc on the anime, I am posting my drafts with my Enchanted series.

Based in my Enchanted Series

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

“Is it bad to say that I don’t want to go home yet? Or at least not sleep just yet?” You asked Mihawk one night.

He had come back to you from being gone for so long. You hated to admit that you missed him a lot. After a dinner together, you felt like you couldn't sleep or had the feeling of wanting to go to bed. For once, you wanted to stay up.

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Just not feeling sleepy right now,” you tell him.

“Then how about we take a stroll?” Mihawk asked you.

“A stroll?”

“If you’re worried about it being dangerous, don’t. I will be joining you to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Mihawk tells you.

“I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d join me even if I said no. I know you follow me to make sure I’m safe.”

“I see you finally noticed.”

“Yeah. But I’m okay with a stroll. Come on,” you tell him.

You both walked along a path side by side. The stars glowed beautifully in the sky.

“So, what does a warlord like yourself have to gain?” You asked him. The full moon shined so brightly, you didn’t need a lantern to guide your way.

“Gain from what?”

“This small village. There’s nothing really here,” you pointed out.

“You’re here aren’t you?”

You looked at him, the blood rushing to your cheeks. It began to feel a little hot to you. Damn his words always somehow got to you.

“I guess.”

“What about you? You said you were alone. What do you have to gain staying here?” Mihawk asked you.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just keep hoping my boys will come back to me.”

“Tell me about them,” Mihawk said.

“Well they’re both pirates now. One of them is just a boy who is determined to become King of the Pirates. I used to take care of him since he was a kid along with two others. And the other one is around our age. He is a captain of a pirate crew.”

“Was he your lover?”

“Yeah. He told me he’d come back but he hasn’t," you sighed softly.

“This ex lover of yours sounds like a fool,” Mihawk said.

“Why say that?”

“Because if I had a woman like you, I could never leave her and not come back,” Mihawk tells you. You stopped walking as you stared up at him.

“You don’t mean that,” you softly spoke. You didn't want your heart broken again by another pirate.

“I do. I could never leave a woman like you alone,” Mihawk said as he held your hand. You looked down at your hands before looking away.

“Maybe we should go back,” you tell him.

“If that’s what you want.”

You nodded before letting go of his hand and heading back to your home. The walk was silent besides your footsteps on the graveled path.

When you got back to your home, you felt Mihawk take your hand into his.

“Will you be mine?” Mihawk asked. You turned to face him. Mihawk got closer to you, caging you in between him and the front door.

“What?”

“Be mine? I've fallen for you Y/n. I know you have fallen for me as well. And I swear to you, I would never let anything happen to you,” Mihawk tells you.

"I don't want my heart broken again," you tell him.

"I will never hurt you. I'd die first before hurting you," Mihawk tells you.

“Alright. I’ll be yours,” you nodded at him.

“May I kiss you?” Mihawk asked you.

“Yes please,” You nodded. Mihawk cupped your cheek before leaning in to kiss you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed him back. You felt Mihawk pull his hand away from your cheek and move down to your waist. He pulled you in closer as he kissed you.

You pulled away from the kiss for air. Mihawk gently pressed his forehead against yours, taking in a couple of deep breaths as well.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked him.

“If you’d have me,” Mihawk tells you. You nodded before turning around to open the door. You pulled Mihawk inside before shutting the door and locking it.

When you woke up, you smelled food. You noticed Mihawk wasn’t next to you, making you sit up. You got out of bed and walked to the front to see him cooking in your kitchen.

“Nice to see you awake,” you tell him.

“Morning. Breakfast will be ready in a moment,” Mihawk tells you.

“So we sleep in the same bed together for the first time and you make breakfast? Any other secrets I should know about you?” You teased.

“It’s not really a secret. You’re mine now remember? I have every intention to spoil you,” Mihawk tells you. You smiled before walking over to him and kiss his cheek.

“Aren’t you romantic,” you tell him.

"Only for you my love," Mihawk says to you before kissing your cheek.

"So what do you want to do today?" You asked him.

"I was hoping to help you get over your fear of the ocean," Mihawk asked.

"Why's that?" You asked unsure.

"You've been cooped up in here for too long my love. I'd like to show you the world if you let me," Mihawk said.

"Okay. You're gonna have to be patient with me though," you warned.

"Of course," Mihawk said, giving you a quick kiss.

[balkanradfem]

Okay so I know I just hit you all with the controversial chestnut poll, but I have some new development in life that I want to complain about, and in order for me to complain about it, I need to give you the context.

I don't particularly want to give you the context. You're going to diagnose me with female socialization, and some of you will feel the urge to click the anonymous ask button and tell me off. Today I need you to fight that urge! I am feeling insecure, I am feeling lost, I'm not certain in my choices, I've acted without thinking, and got myself into a situation I can't control. So please don't be mean to me. I deserve to complain on the internet and not be called out, alright?

So this is the story of how I accidentally became a live-in caretaker for an injured, elderly woman. It's temporary! She'll get better, hopefully.

I worked for her occasionally, and she's always been kind to me. She would give me a little jar of jam sometimes, and I love little jars of jam, it's a way to win my heart. A few days ago, she called me in a panic, telling me she fell, and she needs my help. I came over, and found out she broke her arm in two places, and one of her rib is broken. She fell unconscious, after being dizzy all day, and fell on a big metal lantern, breaking it. She was now in so much pain she couldn't get up by herself, dress herself, or do any kind of household tasks. She went to the ER, got her arm wrapped up, and was trying to get a pain injection. I helped her get trough the day, and promised to come early next morning, to help her up from the bed.

Next day I found her in tears in her bed, unable to get up, desperate to go to the bathroom. It became clear she needed 24/7 assistance, and she asked me if I would move in until she got better. I said yes without thinking, because I was at this point, severely concerned, and wanted to do anything to help her out.

So this is all not so bad, right, I'm being normal, it's normal to offer help to an injured elderly woman who is nice, but there's a catch. She doesn't live alone. She lives with her older husband. Who is also disabled and can't help her at all. So in order to help her out.. I had to move into a place where a male lives. That is the worst part of this.

I'm still in the first few days of living like this, and my own life had to fall to the background. I can't go foraging for chestnuts every day, I can't go to my garden as much, I'm still going to work, just from her place. I'm overwhelmed and struggling to get used to the new situation. I'm not used to being around people at all, and now I'm forced to socialize almost all day. Caring for someone comes fairly natural! I'm already so in sync with her, she can just look in the certain direction and I know what she wants me to do. I've figured out where everything is in her kitchen, closet, and basement. She's pleased that I know how to do basic household tasks, and am willing to do it in her way. And she's nice, she's telling me things like 'thank you' and 'what would I do without you', which feels good. But I am very exhausted and sleep deprived, she wakes me up at 1am, and then 5am again, and I'm unable to fall back asleep in a room I lack familiarity with. I miss my room.

She and her husband said they were going to pay me, and in my natural ways, I said something like 'no you don't need to' which I feel like everyone will get mad at me for, but they did insist they would pay me anyway. I as usual lack the sense to care about money – someone's arm is broken, that's way more serious issue to me!

Alright so now to the part of the post I wanted to write, a fun poll where you guess, what has her awful husband done by this point :) go ahead and guess!

You have one day to guess! Which one of these scenarios happened in the first few days of his wife breaking three bones in her body. I'll tell you the correct option tomorrow!

[xmimikyuusx]

Breaking my oath to not post myself, because I'm really feeling it lately. But it's frustrating how much of the anti-transmasculinity and anti-transandrophobia arguments hinge on this weird world of exclusivity.

I've been admiring lately how on the positive side of things, the transandrophobia discussion also brings to the table the discussion of other marginalized groups who are often dismissed or actively pushed out of the conversation because it doesn't fit the white cis feminism that people have been clinging to (and reinventing to include Trans women in the most surface level way). Bringing up the issues that cis MOC face, or disabled or intersex men and many others, we are not the pioneers of these conversations whatsoever but the discussion of the marginalization Trans men and mascs face is an open door to these other conversations. (I.e relating across identity lines, seeing other groups and acknowledging their suffering and looking for solidarity)

On the other side of this, denying transndrophobia or even the idea that a Trans man/masc can face marginalization, whether be it even from his masculinity or his transness, is a closed door. No one's suffering matters except their in group. If you're not a woman or woman aligned in some way, you simply cannot be important to the conversation, because you're the bad guy. You're the oppressor. You're too uninformed and stupid to understand what oppression REALLY looks like. You need to shut up, even if it's on your own post, your own blog, words out of your own mouth, because speaking about your experiences, when those experiences don't line up with women being the victim and men being the perpetrators, is just another sign of how evil you are.

Or iterations of this. It hurts me even worse when it comes from another Trans man /masc. I remember a post a while ago in the tag, from a Trans man retelling a story about how a Trans man in his community was brutally murdered, dismembered, and he attended his funeral. And in the same breath, he was telling us how even when this attrocity has happened, we just do not have it as bad as a woman would. We just would not understand.

It boggles my mind. How much worse does it have to be? What does worse look like after sky high rates of murder, sexual assault, abuse, and suicide? And why does it have to be this bad before it's recognized that there's a problem?

Community doesn't come from exclusions. It doesn't put Trans women's oppression in jeopardy if a Trans man is also struggling just as much. Comparing how much one group is struggling, in these abstract ways, to try and prove a point, to try and drive a stake between genders like it'll somehow matter in the end, is pathetic. It's not helpful. Unfortunately, it's some people's outdated, vitriolic version of feminism that is very difficult to distinguish from a terf or a radfem. This unhinged reactionary jump we get from any corner of the community to protect their status as the victim, that someone else's suffering somehow diminishes their own, it's disgusting.

I don't want to rant anymore, but I know the day when we move past this will be amazing. We deserve better than trying to destroy our own community from the inside out.

[watermelinoe]

do you feel as though you are a woman?

well, i am a woman, factually speaking. do i have feelings about being a woman? of course i do. being a woman has physical and social consequences and you do tend to notice lol. it's not so much a matter of feeling as it is a basic observation about myself, the same way my eyes are objectively brown, my sex is objectively female. so i can feel any way at all and still be a woman.

[yolowritter]

In Offense to Emilie Agreste

Hello there everyone, and- ...okay, put down your pitchforks, I haven't even started yet! Before an angry mob gathers 'round my blog, allow me to explain what today's rant is about. Unlike Lila Rossi, whose existence makes me want to hurl bricks at my screen whenever she appears, Emilie Agreste is actually a pretty interesting character. However, there are things about her (both canon and implied) that have me giving this picture-perfect gal a very intense side-eye. So today I'll be talking about what I think of her character, why I think she could have been written better, why she absolutely isn't a good person, and how the narritive does her a diservice by reducing this poor lass to an insignificant plot device, just so her clinically insane husband can have a reason to bully teenagers in spandex!

Firstly, let's quickly establish what we know about Emilie. I'll explain why I believe anything that isn't directly stated later, now it's just the basics. She and her sister Amelie are coming from a well-off family in England, presumably with quite high standards and expectations. We know little about her early life and it frankly isn't important, but she does at some point take an interest in the creative arts. She firsts meets her husband-to-be Gabriel when she arrives in Paris to further her education, and it's easy to assume they become friends due to similar interests. Then, later down the line, they meet Nathalie Sancoeur, with whom they scour the world to find the Miraculous jewels. After they do find the Butterfly and Peacock in Tibet, they all return to Paris and she creates Adrien Agreste, her son, using Duusu's powers. About twelve years later, she falls ill and "into a deep sleep" because the Peacock Miraculous was broken. This kicks off Gabriel's descent into madness and his crusade as Hawkmoth, which slowly drove him to insanity for reasons seen in this post. But still, this vague timeline leaves us with a lot of questions as to who she was as a person, and how she lived her life.

Before I delve deeper into this, I would quickly want to clarify the sources for the above information. We know from Represenation that Emilie met Gabriel when she went to Paris for educational reasons. I honestly don't remember if her field of study is mentioned, but considering she later stars in Andre's film "Solitude" it isn't hard to derive that said studies could be related. The high expectations from Emilie's family come from the fact that Gabriel had to change his name at some point in life, possibly because Emilie's parents wouldn't accept her marrying some "lowborn". Additionally, we know Amelie's marriage to Colt was arranged, so there definately is a sense of "securing the family lineage" here that exists in what remains of aristocracy today. In Passion, Nathalie is implied to be a treasure hunter of some sort at the time she meets Gabriel and Emilie, though how long she's been at the profession isn't clear. Still, they do work together to find the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous. We see in Evolution that they are occupying the Agreste Manor with the Peacock in hand, so it's possible they purchased the house either right after their trip to Tibet or before. Other relevant information comes from the thumbnails of Emilie's videos and photos from the Passion episode.

As an aside, Astruc better give us that Tibet special, because I need more Agreste family Lore! These people made their drama the entirety of France's problem and while I respect that, I need to know more! Also, Thomas' quote of "a lot can happen when three people are in close proximity for a long time"? Pretty sure that's from Twitter btw, if you want to look it up. I see you, Thomas...I see you...

Anyway, onto exploring Emilie's themes as a character. From the very start of the show, we have a lot of clues that point to her being an angelic, kind and can-do-no-wrong type of character, at the very least in Gabriel's eyes. There is a whole other topic here about him being obsessed with the past and looking at it with rose-tinted glasses, but I digress. The portrait of Emilie in the atelier, her photo in Adrien's room, and Gabriel's fond remniscing all give us the idea that she was a wonderful, lovely person! In fact, we even get a bit of personallity added to her in the Simon Says episode, where Gabriel tells Chat Noir "you have some of her (Emilie's) flair for dramatics". So of course, she was goofy sometimes, which is a trait we see Amelie share at least a little of in the Felix episode, what with her Elsa-style entrance into the manor. For Season 1, we got plenty of information as to her character, even if we didn't know her name quite yet.

In Season 2 we get more of these examples of her being a wonderful person who is dearly missed, such as the whole plot with the above-mentioned Solitude movie, and Adrien wanting to go see it. Why exactly Parisian cinema is playing this movie in the first place considering what we know about Andre abandoning his career as a director is completely unknown and reeks of a plothole to me, but then again so do half the episodes in general. Point is, from very early on in this show we get a positive perspective on Emilie's character. Sure, there's a lot we don't know about her, but I'm sure her wedding day, her early years with Gabriel, their actual relationship, whatever she had going on with Nathalie, and the whole drama with her parents and later Amelie's husband isn't important...right?

Yeah no I'm not letting her off the hook. Aside from the obvious Adrien stuff that I'll get into in a bit, it seems suspicious to me that nobody can ever come up with anything negative to say about Emilie. And I don't mean a genuine character flaw, even if nobody is perfect, I mean just...something embarrassing? An old joke shared between friends from college, a little detail that sheds light at her sense of humor, even a fond recollection of something silly that happened in her youth. There's nothing. Aside from Gabriel saying she had a dramatic flair, which I will talk about, we know nothing about Emilie Agreste as a person. She barely feels alive, almost existing solely to be the "dead wife" archetype of the show. And okay sure, some of that is the fault of whoever was in the writing room when they try to bring her up. But come on, you're telling me Nathalie doesn't have a single memory or photo in that large stack of recollections that shows her being alive for once?

And of course I don't mean Emilie being literally alive, we see plenty of that. But think back to the photo with Gabriel, Audrey, Emilie and Andre for a second. As an example. I can't recal the exact details, but Emilie is standing to the side, closer to being out of frame than anyone else. In the middle of the shot, the other three seem to be having a good time, but she's only giving a polite, proper smile to her friends. Naturally, not every person out there is extremely expressive, but this is a safe space. Emilie is with close friends and everyone is enjoying themselves, yet her face looks like she came out of a portrait. When I noticed that little detail, I went running to find more. Aside from the videos that she left behind, we've never seen her speak or interact with any character excepting that Evolution scene where she first gets the Miraculous. So can we please think about this logically for a second? What kind of person is Emilie Agreste?

She was born in high society, with a lot of expectations on her shoulders and only her sister for company in her formative years, if Adrien and Chloe's sibling-like bond is anything to go by. And yes that's another post entirely, but they were childhood friends and he had almost nobody else his age to talk to, so I'm drawing a parallel. I won't speculate at all about Emilie's childhood, because frankly it's irrelevant to today's conversation. What I will say however, is that everyone we meet who has interacted with her has fond memories and good things to say about her. And every depiction of Emilie we get, even those not made by Gabriel, she seems to radiate perfection. And that right there is her character's theme. Being perfect. She presumably was the perfect daughter, the perfect (or at least a good enough) student to go to France in order to further her education, so on and so forth. But her family life very much isn't anything close to that. For one, her sister is stuck in an arranged marriage with an abusive a-hole who seems to have been spat directly out of a Texas steretype. There is no indication that Emilie knew about this, but...she also eventually let Colt borrow the Peacock Miraculous to make Felix. Clearly she entrusted Colt Fathom of all people with a magical artifact that can make sentient life, because sure, that seems perfectly reasonable!

Of course signs of abuse are hard to notice even when directly pointed out, but for the purposes of Emilie and Amelie, it seems fundementally against the good, pure and angelic character that Emilie has been presented as to even consider handing Duusu over to Colt. I'm ignoring the issue of Tomoe since that hasn't been explained, but there's clearly something wrong here. And now...now we come to Adrien's home life. We know that he has never been to public school before Origins, which happened only because Chloe enrolled him by the way, and Gabriel does allow him to go at the end of the day. We didn't know at the time, but it does seem reasonable for Gabriel to refuse him completely here, seeing that in hindsight, Adrien's class specifically becomes a hotspot for Akumatizations. But despite this danger, Gabriel still allows Adrien to remain in public school. Additionally, it's completely reasonable to assume that a pre-teen and later teenager would want more freedom to explore the world, and I find it incredibly unlikely that Adrien only expressed this after Emilie keeled over. Surely, this child would have wanted to make friends before then, especially if Chloe would brag about how many friends she has in school, which seems like a thing she would absolutely do to impress him. Sure, that last bit is speculation, but Chloe does act like this all the time in Season 1, so it's natural to consider that she did so before too! The thought of Gabriel being the permissive parent here, and therefore not the one keeping Adrien inside all the time...it really frightens me.

And just to be clear, this isn't a tinfoil-hat "Emilie is secretly evil" theory or anything like that. I'm just saying that she isn't perfect, never has been, and actually made a lot of mistakes during her life. Especially with Adrien. Because doesn't it seem like a loving mother's attitude to want to spend time with her precious son, showing affection and being with him at all times? As a reminder, unless the concept of adoption was never invented in this universe, Emilie Agreste could have just grabbed a child out of an orphanage at any point during her lifetime. But instead, she specifically wanted this one, Adrien. And what does she do to get her precious, perfect baby boy? Why, she scours the entire planet with her huband (possibly to-be) and her definately-not-side-chick Nathalie the treasure hunter to find a magic brooch that gives her the power to make him herself, exactly how she wants! Plot aside for a minute, doesn't that sound a little bit insane to you? The desire to have a child alone wouldn't drive anyone to go to such lengths, and this is assuming she is infertile or has some other problem that a good night under the stars with her pals Gabriel and Nathalie won't fix!

Clearly, Emilie had something very specific in mind when going through all the magical, mystical and half-maddening hoops that she had to go through in order to make Adrien in the first place! She practically dragged her husband and their friend on a worldwide trip just to find some tiny bird goddess stuck in a brooch! Are you reading this correctly? And then after Adrien popped into existence (presumably by being carried to term, etc.) Emilie made sure to shower him with love and adoration. But she also kept him isolated, and secure. This isn't as much speculation as it is just reading between the lines, but Adrien seems constantly awestruck throughout the show when presented with new experiences. Not to mention another disturbing thing, she was put inside the life support pod with Adrien Amok on her finger! That's a huge red flag, right in front of us, but it's been ignored because Gabriel is the one who uses it on-screen. Consider that by the time he does use the Ring, Gabriel is well on his way to utter insanity, considering that Shadowmoth is already unhinged enough to quickly evolve into Monarch once the conditions are right. Gabriel has absolutely no chill when it comes to terrorizing innocent people, or using Adrien's Amok to control him when need be. So why is there an implication of Emilie doing the same when she should have been perfectly sane and not driven to desperation because of a loved one's loss like her husband? Again, go check out this post for a full Gabriel analysis.

I'm not saying that Emilie was evil or crazy or a psychopath or anything of the sort. I'm telling you all that she had control issues. Among all the other stuff we know, and with said information pool being tiny to start with, Emilie Agreste seems so intersting! There should have been a whole plot point about removing the rose-tinted glasses that her death cast down on Gabriel, Adrien and Nathalie! There should have been flashbacks to when she was alive! We should have seen her interact and show love towards Adrien! To her credit, Emilie did see that her death was going to mess with Gabriel's head tremendously, and left him a little video politely asking that he doesn't become an internation terrorist. You know, just as a failsafe. It sure is a shame that she never had that conversation with her husband when she was still awake, or that to our knowledge, never said goodbye to Adrien. The public narrative is that she "disapeared". Are you joking me? Of course Gabriel covered everything up, but this is never adressed!

The writers have a ironically perfect character in their hands! Emilie is a mystery to the audience, she has a complicated relationship with both the show's main villains (Lila doesn't count if she's in barely a dozen episodes), one of the titular characters, and is also literally the reason why the show's events kick off in the first place! But we are shown nothing of her for over one hundred episodes of Miraculous! Even Ephemeral, one of the episodes I hate the most in the whole show, could have given us a glimpse into whatever Gabriel's restructured world would have looked like! It was the perfect oppurtunity for us to see Emilie up on her feet and actually having a role to play, instead of just discount Mrs Freeze! Yes I know her name is Nora, I know it's not the same situation, shush, I'm making a "Emilie is in the basement fridge" joke. The writers and Thomas did this woman so dirty it's not even funny! And I am offended at her, because at the end Emilie serves no purpose than to have Gabriel be "sympathetic" in Season 2! There are a dozen plot threads just dangling around for them to rip out of the ceiling and play with, but Emilie's very existence amounts to absolutely nothing! A gravestone would have served as a better character, because at least there could be something useful writen on it! Some kind of descriptor that gave us any insight into her personality!

But no, she's a blank slate! She's just some gal that showed up, found a magic peafowl and keeled over, ultimately leading to Adrien's sheltered home life, social awkwardness, and mommy issues! Because you cannot tell me that Emilie's parenting, no matter how well-meaning, didn't screw Adrien's early life up! She could have been the best mum in the world and it still wouldn't have mattered, because she considered him her perfect creation! Can you see the irony here? Can you observe the myriad of metaphors and the hundreds of ways this can get included in a story? Does Thomas Astruc and his team want me to have a mental breakdown??? Like, excuse me, honestly excuse me, but the sheer amount of offense I take both on Emilie's behalf and to her utter uselessness in this franchise is astronomical! I love this character! I really do! Wrote a whole alternate backstory for her where she and Nathalie are college roomates and everything! Heck, I love her so much that I did make her into a crazy psychopath in one of my AUs just so she can play a key part in that story as the Hawkmoth-equivilant! My love and adoration for Emilie Agreste reaches the god damned moon and back, but unless she actually has more than ten seconds of dialogue in some kind of flashback or prequel, I will continue to be offended! I'll continue to be pissed! And I'll continue to pray for the day where she becomes more than a practically irrelevant plot device!

Anyway, I need to cool off. I need to have a drink. I need to relax and take a break before making the post in defense of poor Chloe, because she too got shafted by the narritive, just like Adrien's mum. Expect it sometime soon, or at the very least when I'm not going insane over the fact that despite directly causing every major event in this franchise to occur, Emilie Agreste is a bigger question mark than the dude in a banana costume. Seriously, what the heck is up with Mr Banana anyway? I'll be seeing you all soon, but until then, Stay Miraculous everyone!

[anastacialy]

y'know, i keep making a habit of swinging my bat at hornets nests, but i have to say i'm getting so, so tired of people complaining about shows not making perfect sense when they aren't even close to done. we're four episodes into this season of doctor who. we're four episodes into this season of bridgerton. and yet in both fandoms i keep seeing people whine that such and such didn't make sense or it wasn't explained all the way and by god you guys i think maybe explanations might come later in the season. this is something most viewers will recognize as being called a 'plot.'

[the-casbah-way]

not to beat a dead horse but jesus christ can you just leave people alone in public bathrooms i just want to fucking piss girl i'm so tired of feeling anxious and trying to avoid using public bathrooms because of how fucking weird cis people are about it. i tried to go into the bathroom at work today (i have worked here for years) and this woman who has worked here for two weeks and doesn't know me laughed and tried to like. steer me in the direction of the men's toilet instead and was like "wrong way!" are you fucking kidding me fuck off

[bumblingbabooshka]

Worst Guy Ever - Also, Unfortunately, Very Homosexual Convo. (subtextually)

[girlscience]

the past few weeks I've been feeling basically zero dysphoria and yet the amount I was thinking about my body didn't decrease even slightly

[running-in-the-dark]

aw man. for a minute there I thought I might be allowed to take Ibuprofen again since I stopped taking the antidepressant that I was on. but sadly no, you're also not supposed to take it when you're on the anxiety medication I'm on 😔

[non-un-topo]

Should I see a therapist for my unexplained contempt for my Heterosexual Family Members and their wedding planning and their baby-craziness y/n?

[deadrlngers]

me doing completely normal things vs. my mother telling me to not do them since i was 5 y/o bc "that's smth men do"

[libraford]

Today I was helping run the booth for the local queer non-profit at the farmer's market and a woman told me that she would like a flag, pointing to our little bucket of flags. So I picked up the bucket and I brought it over and asked her which one she'd like.

"Well, tell me about them!"

"Oh! Okay! This one is the inclusion flag- its for everyone, including allies."

"What's this one?"

"That's the bisexual flag: it represents people who are attracted to two or more genders."

"Hmm... what about this one?"

"That's the nonbinary flag: it represents people whose gender isn't strictly 'male or female.'"

"Hmm... what's this purple one?"

"That's the asexual flag: it represents people who may not feel sexual attraction the way that others do."

She put her hand to her chest and got this really curious look on her face. "Tell me more about that!"

"Oh, happy to! So like if you're out with your bestie and someone real fine walks by and she's like 'omg look at him' and you're like 'girl get a grip?' Or like you just don't get what the 'big deal' is about sex or why everyone is so weird about it? But there's also room for like- you don't fall in love with the way someone looks, you're attracted to the person- their sense of humor and their kindness, or there's something about their personality that just makes it click for you? That's asexuality, too!"

And she got real quiet and seemed to think about it for a minute. So I grabbed our little informational sheet about different queer identities and handed her a copy. "If you want to do some research, this is probably a great place to start."

She thanked me and took an ace flag, stuck it in her hair.

Sometimes when you're online all the time, its easy to think that 'everyone knows about (topic), there's no reason to keep talking about it so much.' But while the people on the internet are real people, the internet ISN'T real life. And there are lots of people who do need to know that they do have community!

One of the jokes is that I'm a lot of people's 'patient zero' for discovering that they're queer. This is why.

[carebearbussy]

𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙮 & 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙋𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 <3

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 1.3k

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your cravings have been going wild.

Ever since you had fallen pregnant by an absolute gargantuan of a man, you are forced to carry twice the amount of nutrients and food stored in your body. The local doctors had recommended that your usual meals be doubled in size, in order to support the extra weight it carried by having a child under Sukuna. And even Sukuna had chimed in, adding that maybe his diet would work for you. But you quickly declined the offer, taking into consideration the life growing inside of you. You did not want your child to grow up to be a cannibalistic monster, much like his father.

But your food choices have been much more bizarre as of lately. Things ranging from huge one course meals that could feed a family of 7, pickled everything, anything covered in cheese, and any regular foods you ate had to be made a specific way, or served in larger portions. Which is why you had decided to wake Sukuna up in the middle of the night, one of the cravings you had pondered on being at the top of your to do list.

Every now and then, your cravings would get really bad. To the point where it was now everybody else's problem. But you truly couldn't help it.

"Kuna, 'Kuna wake up!" You whispered, as you lay spooned beside him. You shook his body from behind you as you spoke, making sure he could hear you. You felt him stretch awake with a low groan, letting you free of his grasp. "Are you awake? Its important..." you ask, awaiting a response out of him. And to your avail, he is awake, but not with the attitude you were initially hoping for. He seemed annoyed that his rest had been interrupted, but those concerns were to be put to rest, as you stepped out of bed, sliding your slippers on by the edge of the bed. He looks at your standing form with half lidded eyes, clearly making the first of many signals of his annoyance with you at the moment.

"What is so important that you wake me from my rest, woman? Im giving you six seconds to speak." He says, as he props himself upwards, sitting at the edge of the bed. With you standing near him, he seizes your hips with his lower set of hands, forcing you into his proximity. "I'm not waiting all day." He ushers you on to speak, but as you think about his possible answer, you start to rethink telling him what you truly want. You look away, clearly starting to get nervous with the attention. But as you do, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look down at him, as he searches for answers. "Go on."

"Well... i've been having cravings lately, and I wanted to know if maybe the kitchen could make me something..." You say, fiddling with your thumbs, as you feel your stomach start to growl lowly. He looks down at your stomach, as you quietly protest his decision to be made. He closes his eyes for a couple seconds, before responding.

"If this is what you really need, then I will indulge this once, brat." He says with a low sigh, as he lets go of his hold on your waist, getting up from his spot on the bed. You look up at him eagerly, silently squealing to yourself as you jump up and down slightly. You wrap your arms around your husbands neck, as you reach up on your tiptoes to pepper kisses all over his defined face. He looks down at your cheerful form, looking unaffected by the attention you give him, but deep down is smiling on the inside. He knows that as long as you stay his sweet, happy wife, then he can get a good nights rest after this.

He picks you up by the back of your thighs, as you are lifted off the ground what seems suddenly. He hoists you on his left side, one hand holding your ass up, the other acting as a back rest. Letting yourself be carried, he opens the door with his right hand, walking into the large hallway to your favorite place since becoming pregnant, the kitchen.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

It seemed as if you had started a national crisis.

With the way you had Uraume, as well as a team of the estates chefs working like dogs in the kitchen. All that could be heard from the upper left wing of the estate was the clinking and clanging of pots and pans, as well as chefs scurrying to prepare the food you had requested. Because it was well known that any request of yours, was to be taken as seriously as if it were from Sukuna.

Uraume seemed to be the only calm one, with them being used to your shenanigans. They were the head of the kitchen, as they lead all of the preparations for the 'big feast', as they like to call it. That big feast being for your pregnant self, of course.

As the kitchen was torn shred by shred trying to prepare you the perfect dish, you stood by the entrance and watched, one hand on your stomach. Standing besides you was Sukuna, with lower arms crossed, as his upper arms conducted the kitchen staff with whats right and wrong. Your eyes lit up with excitement, as you watched all of these people cater to your needs.

"Kuna, how about... chocolate filled dumplings?" You asked, looking up at your focused husband. He was busy keeping an eye on everything, making sure not to mess up your multiple requests you had made in the past twenty minutes. He looks at you with upper set of eyes, his lower ones hyper focused on the kitchen staff.

"That sounds disgusting. But if that is what you wish, so be it." He tells you, scoffing at all of the ridiculous things you had said so far. He then watches as Uraume heads your way, a silver platter in hand, holding what seemed to be at least thirty pieces of bacon, covered in chocolate and sea salt. To any sane person, this would look downright vile. But to you? Sukuna watched as your mouth practically dropped. You squealed in excitement, looking at the dish in hand. "Please enjoy, my lady." Uraume says, still holding out the dish to you as you happily devour it.

But you pause as you look over at Sukuna, still looking down at you. And thats when a lightbulb flicks in your head. You grab a piece of bacon from the tray, as you step in front of Sukuna. He looks down at you, wondering what you're up to, when you reach up on your tippy toes to try and pry open his mouth. "Pleaseeee try it!" You say, pouting your lips, still trying to open his mouth with your fingers. He looks down at you as he furrows his eyebrows, curling his lip upwards. "No, that is repulsive."

Your pout lowers into a full frown, your eyes glossy with the want for him to try what you are offering him. He rolls his eyes, as he picks up the piece of bacon you are holding with two fingers. He looks at it, as he scoffs, swallowing it in one go. "See! Its good right?" You ask him, a smile crossing your face. He looks at you with a 'are you serious?' look, before ruffling your hair, amused with how happy you were that he divulged you.

"It was horrible. Never again are you going to make me do these kinds of things for you, brat."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

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Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

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edit: the full fic xx

[stromblessed]

Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows

In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.

If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.

So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.

I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?

However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.

Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)

And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.

Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.

It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.

Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?

While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:

She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.

You see where I'm going with this.

When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:

And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD

When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.

MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS

No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.

And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:

Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!

The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.

And, uh

Yeah.

I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.

But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.

Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:

But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.

There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.

After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:

"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.

Kind of like another bird in this show: