#this revelation inspired by the fact that i did manage to jerk off last night while thinking abt having a biodick lmao

[lavenderedhoney]

Me, thinking about how difficult it is for me to fantasize about having a biodick just for fun and how sometimes when my gf is dirty-talking to me about an imaginary biodick I have to stop her or I get too sad and how one time I literally burst into tears in the middle of having sex bc she said she loves my genitals the way that they are, realizing I probably do actually have genital dysphoria:

[uwurakax]

story of us ♡

pairing: atsumu x f!reader ♡

genre: angst // exes // mutual pining ♡

summary: at an inarizaki volleyball club reunion, you have the unfortunate displeasure of meeting your ex. you swore you’d be fine, you got over him years ago right? ♡

word count: 2k ♡

author’s note: sort of proofread hahwbaha - also not super angsty but yanno haha. been into writing again hehe ♡

♡ (inspired by the story of us by taylor swift) ♡

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t worry! I’ll see you tonight okay?”

It was only for one night, you could survive a few hours right? You sure hoped so. You quickly hung up on Suna, praying that he didn’t hear the waver in your voice. You were sure if you didn’t end the call when you did, he’d have had you figured out.

It’s not like you were dreading this, you had prepared for this night, it was inevitable; it had been planned for months. Were you honestly just kidding yourself? Probably, but you were certain that for just tonight you would be fine. It had been years since Miya Atsumu had broken your heart, and you wouldn’t let those feelings resurface. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t be sad or angry anymore.

“Tsumu.. what?”

“I just don’t think we should stay together after graduation you know?”

“But why?!”

“We’re both going in different directions and it just seems like the best thing for us. I’m sorry, I really am Y/N, good luck with everything”

It was awkward and ugly. You watched your first love walk away from you. Heavy tears cascaded down your face. Black eyeliner and mascara smudged from your fingers rubbing against your eyes in an attempted to stop them from watering even further. It sucked. Just a few moments ago you were celebrating finally being free of high school and going on with a new chapter in your life with your now ex boyfriend. Now you were here, with your eyes swollen and red, and your heart utterly shattered.

You never bothered with love after that.

You shook off the painful memory, deciding that it didn’t matter anymore. That was in the past, this was the present. Looking in the mirror to apply a gorgeous rogue lipstick you noticed your eyes start to slowly tear up. You supposed it didn’t matter how long ago it was, or how hard you desperately tried to forget.

Your heart would still hurt over it’s first holder.

You opted to go for a natural glam look - not something too much, but you wanted to look a little bit different than how you normally did on the daily. Part of you also wanted to show Atsumu just exactly what he let go. Was it petty? Sure, but you figured you earned it a little bit. With a classic little black dress, black strappy heels and red bag, you were ready to make your way to Onigiri Miya.

The Uber ride did little to ease your nerves. The closer you got to Osamu’s establishment, the closer you were to seeing him again. You honestly didn’t want to see Atsumu ever again, already rueful that you even agreed to come to the reunion. You guessed you owed it to the other members; you were the manager back in High School, and why should you let one jerk ruin seeing the friendly faces of the team again? Who knows when you all would be free again? Everyone was so busy nowadays, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, you could ignore Atsumu tonight. No one would ever blame you for it - they all knew what he did graduation night.

The car suddenly stopped, bringing you out of your thoughts. You muttered a quick ‘thank you’ to the driver and slowly got out of the car. Your heart was pounding in anticipation, almost like it could feel the familiar presence of the one who owned it long ago. You wished your heart and head could be in sync, but one was reminding you of the hurt and pain that he inflicted, while the other yearned him despite it.

You took a deep inhale, steadying yourself. You could see the old volleyball team through the windows of Osamu’s restaurant, noting that you were in fact last to arrive. You didn’t want to admit it, but your eyes lingered on your old lover more than they should have.

Finally deciding that you couldn’t stay out in the middle of the street much longer (and the fact that you didn’t wear a jacket), you made your way to the building. Your heels clicking and clacking against the pavement, almost like a beat of impending doom. You couldn’t help but be a little dramatic; after all, what were you to do - you were about to see the only guy you had ever loved and he just so happened to have stepped on your heart.

It was surprisingly easy for you to plaster a smile on your face, greeting your old teammates with warm hugs and a beaming grin. You could’ve almost fooled yourself into thinking that you no longer felt any pain or resentment. That was until you briefly caught Atsumu’s figure in the corner of your eye. The awkwardness and tension was slowly rising inside of you. It was only for a split second but that was enough. You both locked eyes with each other for just a moment, before you both pulled your gazes away.

It was a lie, you weren’t fine at all.

For the entirety of the night, you ignored Atsumu. In fact, you completely disregarded his presence, pretending that he didn’t even exist.

And he did the same to you.

You silently gave your heart an apology, utterly siding with your head. You didn’t know whether this was the right choice, but it was yours nonetheless, and you weren’t going to back out of it now. You weren’t sure if the rest of the guys could sense the cold war between the both of you, though it wouldn’t surprise you if they did.

And they surely did.

It wasn’t that hard to note from everyone else that the ex lovers were tiptoeing around each other. Often noting the minuscule glances the both of you gave one another while the other wasn’t looking. It wasn’t hard to note that the both of you were so firmly stubborn, and refused to even say anything more than a greeting, which was definitely half-assed on both parties.

It wasn’t hard to see the anxiousness on both of your faces when the only available seat just happened to be next to you, and Atsumu had to awkwardly shuffle his way to the chair and plop down quietly.

It wasn’t hard for anyone to see that the both of you were still stupidly in love with each other.

They couldn’t tell if it did or didn’t make any sense. You and Atsumu were that couple. The high school sweethearts. The ones so in love, everyone else thought that you’d both actually make it. It definitely came as a huge shock when Atsumu had broken the news to his closest friends. Osamu could barely hear his twin on the phone, the hiccuping and sobs sounded foreign to him. What he could make out, however, was Atsumu saying “I let her go ‘Samu” followed by a burst of tears.

With both of your backs to one another, you continued on, as if you both weren’t there. It honestly hurt the rest of them to see. The once happy couple, who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other were now scooted on the edge of their seats, desperately grasping at any amount of space they could.

Did either of you know that neither one of you had dated, or been with anyone else since?

You kept chatting away, noting that the end of the night was dawning upon you, and that after this you’d never have to see Atsumu again - at least not for a long while. The night wasn’t all that terrible, and you supposed if this were to ever happen in the future once more, you wouldn’t be apposed to coming again. You felt a slight pang in your chest at that revelation. But it was what you wanted right? You were so dubious about this reunion because of him in the first place, it didn’t make sense to feel this way. You tried to brush it away - your heart couldn’t get what it wanted. One day it would lose his sense, and find another to beat for. The world was a big place, and even though it hadn’t found another, it would.

One day. It was all you could hope for.

As the last few minutes of the reunion drained on, members of the team excitedly decided to spend it taking group pictures. It all happened so fast and so quick, that you didn’t even register everyone piling in together. A phone set up on the counter, and bodies squished together. You had completely forgotten you were situated next to Atsumu. You couldn’t move, no matter how much you wanted to.

It was only for a few minutes, you could endure it.

Suddenly, you were accidentally pushed. Your heels making you unstable, and you tripped right into Atsumu. Both of his hands intertwined with yours, so naturally. It was the contact your heart was craving for all night. You muttered a quick sorry before promptly turning away from him.

For some reason, neither of you had let go of your hands closest to each other. You figured for just one last time, you’d indulge in the feeling of him, and that for once, you’d listen to what your heart wanted.

You smiled, did silly poses, stuck out your tongue, threw up peace signs and everything you could think of. And as you all got ready for one final picture, Atsumu squeezed your hand.

You didn’t hesitate to squeeze his right back.

And after a last click you all cheered and clapped, so thankful that tonight happened. Regrettably, you both had to let go. You savoured his touch, wanted to ingrain his fingerprints in your mind. He no longer made you angry or frustrated. The last few moments made you relive your happiest memories with him. It felt like such a shame to let it go, but you had to. You knew deep down, that your heart would never desire anybody else; but he made that choice long ago. There was nothing you could do anymore.

You’d now go on and pretend like he never existed, like you had been for years. You wondered if it was easy for him. It must’ve been really: he was rich, famous and you weren’t blind to the fact that he just looked better than ever. You were sure girls were fawning over him left, right and centre.

Once your Uber arrived, you quickly bid the boys a goodbye, telling them to enjoy the rest of their night. You were sure they were heading to a bar, and you didn’t want to impose on being the only girl. You’d let them have their boys night. You ducked out, your heels tapping, and the chime bell ringing above the door signalling your exit as you bounced out of sight.

Atsumu could only sigh at your departure secretly wishing that you’d come back and bound into his arms. But thats all it was, wishful thinking.

“Are you really just gonna let her go again?”

Atsumu turned to his brother with a sad smile.

“There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go back in time, and besides, she hates me and has since graduation. As much as I want to, I can’t do anything. Anyway got any booze?”

Atsumu brushed past everyone to head into the restaurants kitchen, hoping to find some form of alcohol to dull his senses and momentarily forget about you. He’s sure if he stayed any longer out there, he would’ve cracked. He was the one to end it, he didn’t have the right to go after you. It had been years, he’s sure you’d have moved on anyway. At least he got to see you tonight, and as short lived as it was, he was glad he got to hold your hand one last time.

Miya Atsumu had broken your heart, and you wouldn’t let those feelings resurface.

You smiled bitterly, looking out at the passing city lights, noting that that had indeed been true, because those feelings never left.

[lil-creatorwritings]

Summer of Smut Writing Challenge July 6: Lovers [Sid Arnault]

Fandom: Midnight Cinderella Pairing:  Sid Arnault x Reader Word Count: 4,840 words--I am #shookt Prompt: Nighttime skinny dipping Warning: Pure, unadulterated smut. There is zero plot. Also, modern!AU. Cause why not. And FWB. A/N: Part of @voltage-vixen ’s Summer of Smut Writing Challenge. You can check the original post for the rules and prompts if you’d like to join in as well! *big breath* I don't know if I was just inspired or possessed while I was writing this. I had an idea in my head that I wanted to see through, so I started to write, and kept writing it, and kept writing it...and then wrote some more. This word count may not be impressive to others, but to me, it's possibly the greatest achievement I've done with a one-shot. I have never written a fic that was almost 5,000 fricking words. My mind is blown. Also, no I have not done Sid's route, actually, not even once! Also no beta so we die like men! So that's my excuse for you on my horrible writing and proceed at your own risk! Tagging @otome-smut-queen and @jennacat84 as well~

---

Every now and then, you and your friends made it a point to go on a trip together to hang out and spend time with each other. It was a way for everyone to destress from their work life and just have some fun and adventure. This time, it was decided that a trip to a forest lodge was the perfect summer getaway. The place was known for its hidden lakes and natural waterfalls, which was an ideal spot for taking a swim in.

It was already mid-afternoon when you reached the house, hearing the rush of water nearby as a couple of the boys busied themselves over finding the waterfall while the girls were discussing what to have for dinner. You felt a hand on your shoulder, looking up to deep blue eyes watching you. "Whatcha doing standing around here?"

"I was just taking in how pretty this place is. Don't you think so?"

"Yeah, it sure is. Though we should probably beat everyone else to which room we want to sleep in.

"The room closest to the stairs then. That seems to be farther away from the rest of the others." You mentioned, setting your backpack down on the table. "I guess this is what we get for being the only ones single in this group of couples."

"What, you saying you don't wanna share a room with me?" He teased. "It's not my fault that you keep dating jerks who break up with you after a month."

"Yeah, yeah, will you stop reminding me already and grab the room keys?"

It was still a bit of a sore topic to talk about. There was always some issue with every guy you previously dated, ranging from the typical 'got back together with their ex after a week or so' or they were dating another woman at the same time. There was even one that felt they were rushing too fast into the relationship after you harmlessly offered to let him sleep on your couch for a night.

Sid had been the one who was there after each breakup. You've known each other since your college days, which almost always surprised everyone who knew that fact. He was one of the few who got the privilege to listen to you drone on about how much of a jerk they were, preferably over some alcohol. It was stupid because even though you didn't have the same tolerance as he did, you would continue to drink even if you'd hit your limit. This sprouted a problem when one morning, you woke up to a different bedroom in a different set of clothes. Your panicked scream made him run inside to check on you only to have one of his pillows smack him right in the face.  

"Sid! What happened last night?!" Clutching the blanket closer to your chest, you tried to hide from him. "Don't tell me we--"

"Sheesh, calm down for a sec." He gently placed his hands on your shoulder, his warmth shaking you out of your confusion. "Take a deep breath and lemme talk."

When you had calmed down, he started to explain last night. After you got drunk, he drove you to his place since it was much closer compared to yours and asked one of his maids to attend to you. Your clothes were in the laundry since you had spilled a drink down your blouse as you tried to stumble your way to the nearby dance floor. He managed to stop you from humiliating yourself just in time and convinced you to come home with him.

Your cheeks burned as you listened to his story, the words triggering a few bits of your hazy memory. Looking around, you noticed that the rest of the room seemed untouched. "Wait, if I was here, then where did you sleep?"

"Why, did you think I stayed here with you?" He grinned, the tone of his voice suggesting otherwise.

"I said nothing of the sort."

Sid handed you a bottle of aspirin and some water from his nightstand. "My living room couch is pretty comfy, you know. Now drink up and get changed so I can drive you home."

That morning, to say the least, was quite strange. You knew that he was well-off, but you didn't feel the extent of the reality until you sat down on the spacious table with him, eating breakfast as a few of the maids simply stood close by. It was surreal, especially when you're used to eating all alone in your apartment. An older butler, who you guessed was the head housekeeper, approached you in the foyer and handed you a small opaque packet. You weren't able to inspect what it was until you were settled in Sid's car, the blister pack slipping from your hand in surprise.

"What's--"

"Your butler gave me Plan B!" You couldn't decide if this was comical or horrifying.

Sid paused as his shoulders shook, pulling over the nearest sidewalk before exploding in laughter. You should have been suspicious, especially since you knew about his infamous track record with women. Not that you were a part of that--even back in college, which is a whole other thing in itself--, but you should have made the connection much earlier.

"Stop laughing! This is serious!" You smacked his arm. "Your staff thinks that we slept together!"

"Ah, James, ya damn prick. Sticking your nose where you shouldn't." He murmured, finally getting a hold of himself before continuing to drive down the road.

"I don't see why this is funny to you."

"Because you and I both know that that will never happen between us."

"I wouldn't use the word never..." You muttered under your breath as you turned to the window.

"You sure you mean that?"

The shift of his voice from being playful to serious made you look back at him. For some reason, you thought he looked a bit tense as he kept his eyes on the road. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that if it's possible, you would give being friends with benefits with me a chance."

You can't say that the thought hadn't crossed your mind before. He certainly was good looking, though quite cocky and tactless at times. What stood out to you though was despite that, there was a caring and selfless side to him. Not many people would know that, mostly because they get put off with his abrasive attitude.

A part of you wondered how serious he was. "You've seen how terrible my relationships are."

"It doesn't have to be anything else but physical." He replied. "I think we both know that there are certain urges that are better dealt with someone who knows what they're doing."

"That's a bit subjective."

He chuckled. "That's not what drunk you said to me last night."

"Oh god... What did I even say to you?"

"A lot. Some would say a bit too much. You turn into quite the chatterbox after a few shots."

Groaning, you rested your forehead on your hand. It was bad enough that you couldn't remember what you said, but now he knows about how poorly your exes perform in bed. Though you trusted him not to say anything to anyone, the fact that he knew about it made you wish the ground would swallow you up on the spot.

The car came to a full stop in front of your apartment complex. "Nothing else is going to change. Except that we may get a bit busy in the sheets with each other now and then." He said it so casually as if talking about the weather. "We can also forget this conversation ever happened."

This sort of thing wasn't that unusual--you know people who had friends with benefits and turned out okay. He already knew about your intimate frustrations and here he was, offering you a viable option with no strings attached. To say that you didn't want it would be a lie. Plus, both of you were smart and responsible adults who can make their own decisions. Either of you can choose to stop at any given time and still keep the friendship intact.

You thought it was a fine idea. Until it got complicated.

Night had already come as you sat on a log by the campfire, tending to a s'more on a metal skewer. Everyone else had gone up ahead to swim in the lake but you decided to stay behind, declaring that you forgot your swimwear to avoid any further questions.

"You sure you don't want to swim?"

"No, Sid. I don't want to." You rotated the stick, careful to not let the marshmallow burn. He took a seat beside you. "What about you? Didn't you say you wanted to take a dip?"

"Nah. Maybe later." Poking at the fire, he rested his chin on his hand and watched the ashes dance with the wind.

A strange silence settled over the two of you as you waited for your perfectly toasted s'more to cool down before taking a bite. Maybe it was just you who felt that way, but for the past few weeks, you knew that something had changed. Admittedly, being friends with benefits with Sid was quite the revelation. You were confident in your assumption that he was good in bed, but experiencing it for yourself had been mind-blowing. You were by no means innocent, but each encounter had left you breathless and wanting for more.

Of course, there were rules that both of you had agreed on, which mainly rotated around communication. Be open about what you want to try or what you don't want to do. Respecting personal space and time. Speaking up if one of you has found someone they want to romantically date--which was the set deal breaker.

Thankfully, you never received another blister pack from James. It did make you wonder about the previous women he slept with, thinking about if they received this same sort of treatment with him. You quickly shoved those thoughts away, your chest aching a little. It was also easy to forget about it when you were with him because you always enjoyed your time together, whether it be just hanging out as friends.

Out of the blue, one of your co-workers commented on your improved mood, chalking it up with a new and better lover. Before you could explain, a realization had struck you as you stared at them wide-eyed.

You were in love with Sid Arnault.

And that was trouble. But after that day, you couldn't ignore the swirl of emotions in your chest when you saw him. In hindsight, you didn't expect this to happen since you were quite secure on what your ground was with him. He was a great friend, someone who knew some of your intimate secrets, who always looked out for you and protected you. Sure he would tease you for the spirit of it, but never to the point of harm.

A relationship with him was out of the question--you weren't even sure if he was interested in having one, more so with you. You were sure that he had no romantic feelings for you.

Right?

Engrossed in your thoughts, you didn't notice Sid until he was right in your face as he took a bite from your s'more. "Hey!"

"It'll go to waste if you keep spacing out like that." He teased, licking the chocolate off his lips.

Seeing him do that sent a rush of memories through your mind, your body tingling in response to the closeness of his warmth. The singing cicadas were a good reminder of where you were, looking away as you focused on your treat. As a means of distraction, you decided to skewer another one on your stick, pretending to watch it cook as you push your thoughts away.

"You keep thinking about something."

I'm thinking about you. "What makes you say that?"

"You have this distant look in your eyes. Like you're trying to remember something."

I'm trying to remember the moment when I fell for you. "Really? When do I do that?"

"Sometimes, when you look at me." You tore your gaze from the fire to look at him. Sid looked far ahead into the forest and for a second there, you thought he was about to say something profound. He grinned, leaning closer as he stared into your eyes. "You're not falling in love with me, are you?"

I already am. "You wish." 

He shrugged and pulled away. "You should let me know if you're dating someone."

I'm not. "I know. We agreed to that."

"But there is someone you're interested in."

Yes. "No."

"Who is it?"

You. "There isn't anyone."

"Don't tell me." He paused, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "He hasn't the balls to confess to you."

Annoyed, you hit him on the head with your hand. "No one! How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through that thick head of yours?!"

Sid covered his head, wincing in pain from your sudden attack. A moment passed before the sound of his unbridled laughter rang in your ears, filling you with a sense of happiness. "There we go. You look better when you smile."

You hadn't even realized you were frowning until he mentioned it.

"Whatever you're worried about, it'll be fine. Trust me."

Before you could respond, footsteps echoed behind the two of you as you heard your friends coming back from their night swim. He stood up, ruffling your hair before walking off towards the lodge. "I'm gonna go lie down first. See you inside."

As you watched his retreating back, you whispered to yourself. "If only it was that easy..."

After extinguishing the fire and bidding goodnight to everyone else, you quietly slipped inside the dimly lit room and under the covers of your bed. Although it's been roughly an hour since Sid lied down, your gut somehow told you otherwise. It didn't help that you couldn't sleep, hyperaware of the fact that you were surrounded by couples who could be up to some business.

"Hey."

Nothing. You turned around, seeing the back of his head poke out from his blanket. "Sid."

"Whaddya want?"

The hoarse quality of his voice told you that he might have been asleep. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No. Kinda hard to sleep on this bed."

"Take a dip with me." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

You heard him shuffle a bit, presumably to check the time on his watch. "Right now? It's well past midnight."

"I know."

"I thought you didn't have anything to swim in."

"Swimming naked doesn't sound too bad."

"The water's going to be cold."

"Then you'll keep me warm."

"..."

"Come on." You pleaded. "Please?"

Pause. "Fine."

The two of you slipped outside, using the moonlight to guide your path. It was easy to follow the sound of rushing water to the lake as your eyes widened in wonder. "Oh wow. It's amazing."

"The others mentioned that there was a small alcove behind the waterfall. Pretty sure no one's been using that for any funny business." His tone suggested otherwise as he approached the edge, watching as he undressed before glancing back at you. "Well? Stop gawking and get moving."

This wasn't the first time you've been naked in front of him, yet a shy feeling bloomed in your chest. Staring at the ground, you started to take off your clothes, tossing it on his pile, and slowly stepped in the cold waters. It wasn't too bad as you tested the bottom, seeing how far you could go until it all disappeared beneath your feet.

Sid headed for the center, which was also probably the deepest area. "What are you doing all the way over there? I thought you wanted a swim."

"I am not going any further than this." You pouted, crossing your hands over your chest.

"You shouldn't waste the opportunity, you know." He made his way over to you, standing in front of you as you tried to avoid staring at his muscular chest. "What, are you afraid of drowning or something?"

"No."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Biting your lip, you cast your gaze to the waterfall. "I don't like it if I can't feel my footing under me and there's nothing for me to hold on to. It's... unnerving for me."

Without another word, Sid reached for your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling you closer and pressing your chests together. The warmth from his body made you shudder as he tilted your chin up to him. "If we're like this, then there's nothing to worry about now."

As the ground starts to fade, you closed your eyes and hid your face in his neck. His arms rested on your waist, holding you securely as he let out a husky chuckle. "You alright there?"

"I'm fine!" You fought the urge to kick around, worried that you might hit him by accident.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice a bit softer now. "you're doing okay."

Feeling nothing with your legs, you tuned your attention to him instead. Idly playing with his damp hair, you matched the rhythm of your breathing with his own. He was looking at the sky, and you didn't bother to look until he stopped swimming.

"Hey, look up."

You lifted your head, following his instruction as you took in the sight in front of you. The night sky was unobstructed, the darkness littered with stars as far as the eye could see. They created a stream of light and colors, dispersing away as they stretched higher and faded in the distance. It was mesmerizing, leaving you in awe as you smiled.

"Beautiful."

"Right? I've never seen anything like--" You looked back at Sid, surprised to see him staring at you. The gentle look on his face made your heart skip a beat, wondering if he had been talking about the sky or describing something else.

Something pulled the two of you closer, lips coming in for a kiss. One of his hands came up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair and tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss. You nipped on his lower lip, sucking on it and sliding your tongue in when he opened his mouth. It was demanding and intense, quickly robbing you of your breath as he palmed your breast.

Sid leaned down to nip on your neck, teasing your skin with his tongue as he said. "I think we need to move if we're going to continue this."

"Mhn. A bath sounds like a good idea as well."

You let him lead you back to the edge, having enough restraint to put your clothes back on and walk back to the house. Even in this uncomfortably damp situation, it did nothing to impede the growing heat in your core. Sneaking back into your shared room, he immediately pulled you in the shower and stripped you both of your clothing. The smell of lavender filled your nose as Sid massaged the shampoo in your hair, washing it carefully before moving along your body with soap. When he reached the apex of your thighs, you whimpered when his hand slipped between them and brushed against your clit.

Not wanting to be left out, you started to do the same to him, reaching up to gently rake your lathered fingers through his hair. You started to rub your hands over his chest and down his hips before reaching to stroke his hardness, earning you a strained grunt from him. Swiping your thumb on the head, you balled your hand around it and squeezed before pumping your hand over the entire length.

"Don't play naughty." He nipped on your ear before getting on his knees, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. "You know the rules."

"Why did you even put that rule in?" You asked, remembering his preference of pleasuring you first before taking his.

Sid answered with his tongue on your slit. Gasping in surprise, you clutched on his hair and rolled your hips forward. His appetite was as ravenous as the last you remembered, your body shuddering in delight when he sucked hard on your clit. Fingers rubbed your soaked entrance, two of them thrusting in you fast while applying more pressure with his mouth. You could only moan his name as your orgasm crashed over you, your other leg giving out and trusting him to support your weight.

Dizzy from the rush of your release, you slid down into his awaiting arms. He held you to him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. He pressed soft kisses on your shoulder, caressing your sides. "Sid," your purred, blowing hot air below his ear as you raked your nails up his back. "give me all of you."

Whether either of you realized the implication of those words was the least of your concern as his tall form hovered over you. His disheveled and wet hair framed his gorgeous face, his intense blue eyes shining like the midnight sky you saw earlier. If your thoughts hadn't been hopelessly muddled by him, you would have recognized that look he had.

"I just can't win over you, can I?" He mumbled, voice taut as he shut the shower off. Without letting go, he stood up and left the bathroom with you still in his arms before laying you down on one of the beds. Settling himself between your legs, he rubs his cock along your slit, using your arousal to push into your slick heat without causing you pain.

You moaned loudly as he filled you, stretching around his impressive size. With a steady pace, he started to thrust inside you while his thumb stroked your aching clit with wide circles. It was a slow climb to your peak, a contrast from his earlier ministrations. His free hand caressed your chest, cupping and massaging your breast.

A pinch to your hardened nipple made you whimper. "Any other man would be lucky to see you like this."

Flustered with his words, your cheeks grew red. "What? No one else is--"

The rest of the words died in your throat when he slammed his hips hard into yours. Letting go of your breast, he leaned forward on his knees and slipped his arm under your waist, hugging you closer to him. His mouth nipped on your neck as you arched your back, thighs quivering from the building tension in your core. You couldn't grind up against him in this position, leaving you open and defenseless as you took everything he gave you. His cock rubbed right against your sweet spot in this angle, making you spasm with each thrust.

Moving faster, he pumped in and out of you as his fingers drew smaller circles on your clit. You felt him whisper in your ear, your heart leaping out of your chest over his words. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you rasped out his name with your reply, squeezing around him tightly. Groaning in your neck, he released inside you as his thrust became erratic, filling you with much of his warmth.

Even as exhaustion set in, Sid gently pulled out of you and eased you down on the bed. A soft towel was wiped down your body before he lifted you in his arms, carrying you over to the next bed and tucking you in the cool sheets with him. His hand caressing your hair quickly pulled on your consciousness, sending you off into a dreamless sleep.

When you woke up, you were alone in the room. The darkness outside told you that it was still early morning, probably just before dawn. You got dressed and grabbed Sid's jacket, draping it over you as you made your way downstairs. The living room was empty, though a cup of unfinished coffee was your only sign that someone else was awake.

Leaving the lodge, you looked around for him. You ventured down the path to the lake, spotting him by the edge as you came closer. He was looking out into the distance, refusing to turn around as he spoke. "It's still too early. Go back to sleep."

"Nah. Maybe later."

The cicadas were gone now. There was no one but the two of you here. Walking over to a rock next to him, you faced the opposite direction and leaned on a smooth portion. "Last night, I heard something."

"Did you now?"

"I remember you said that any other guy would be lucky to see me like that." What struck you with that sentence wasn't so much the words, but the undertone of jealousy. "And then you said, 'be mine'."

Sid didn't respond, so you continued. "You didn't let me finish replying to the first one. I was going to say, 'no one else is going to see me like this'. Because I only want it to be you who sees me like that."

As scared as you were to address the pink elephant, you couldn't bear to leave it just like that, not after what you heard. You would survive if the arrangement was broken after this, but not before you determine what his feelings for you are. Even if you're wrong and this is all just one-sided, you could bear the heartache. It's the regret from not giving this--the two of you--your all that you refuse to let happen. Not with Sid.

Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your fist and mustered what courage you had left. "What I'm saying is, I love you."

Your heart clamored in your chest as you waited for a reply, staring at the patch of grass in front of your feet. The first morning rays had started to peek over the horizon when you finally mustered the courage to look up at him. "Sid?"

He looked at you, cocking a sure smile. "Heh. It feels nice to hear that from someone you love."

As your mind scrambled to think, he leaned closer and cupped your cheek. Your vision was filled with him as he kissed you with quiet passion, pouring out his feelings into you. Kissing him back, you clutched on his shirt to keep yourself steady as you pulled him down.

Sid let out a chuckle. "I didn't think you'd remember all that. Not with what I was doing."

Your cheeks flushed over the memory. "I usually don't, but I couldn't get it out of my head."

"Hm. Makes that two of us then."

The two of you stared at each other for a while before you spoke. "Are you sure about this? I don't have a very good track record when it comes to relationships."

"I have my own bad record and you seem to be accepting of it." He rested his forehead on yours, gazing into your eyes. "This is just the start, so we'll have plenty of time to figure stuff out."

Nodding, you leaned closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." He smiled, kissing your forehead before extending a hand out to you. "Come on. Let's have some breakfast."

"Oh, before we head back, there's something I want to ask you."

"Hm?"

You felt embarrassed to ask this, but you needed to know. "When did you start to like me?"

His eyes widened in surprise as a faint blush spread on his cheeks. "Around our last year in college."

"What! It's been that long?!" You shouted, clamping your hand over your mouth. "Okay, then why didn't you try to ask me out then?"

Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, he averted his gaze. "I would've, but... When you cried to me about how you hated playboys because your first boyfriend was one, I knew I couldn't at that time. I was pretty much jumping from bed to bed back then." You noticed the tips of his ears turning a shade of red as he continued. "So I had to straighten myself out first."

"So, that day in your car, when you offered that... You weren't sleeping around anymore?"

"Not for a long while."

Now it was your turn to blush. "But the pill..."

"James is a nosy guy. Sticks himself in other people's business even if he isn't supposed to." Sid cleared his throat. "Are you done investigating? You can ask me more after we eat."

"Fine, fine." You pulled on his arm, walking back together to the lodge. Although you had many more questions for him and probably vice versa, he was right--this was just the start, and there's plenty of time for the two of you to explore this next step. It can't be that bad, not if you have him at your side through it, and you were sure to do the same for him.

[gwenbrightly]

Ninjago Jaya ~ Blanket Forts

Cross-posted from FF.net, because why not? Just a quick little Jaya oneshot taking place right after Skybound.

She can’t breath – can’t… Something is wrong… she feels like she’s dying. Like someone has thrown acid directly onto her. Her chest burns. In the distance, she can hear someone screaming her name. Sobbing. What’s going on? She’s gone numb… Why can’t she – It’s then that Nya wakes, sitting up, breathing so sporadically that she’s on the verge of hyperventilation. Just a dream. Just a dream… But, oh. Why does this have to be so hard? She's safe. Alive. The poison can’t hurt her anymore, and neither can that djinn. She knows that. But it doesn’t stop her from reliving every last sucky detail of what she faced less than a day ago (in fact, it’s not even midnight yet, so…). She almost… No, it’s best not to think about that… Maybe if she just. Doesn’t sleep? She supposes. But that’s not really a great option, cause then, she’ll be stuck up all night with nothing but her own thoughts to distract her. And she’s not sure she can handle being alone right now. She needs Jay. It’s funny, she thinks slipping from her bed, how she’s gone from actively avoiding the master of lightning, to being desperate to have him near her as much as possible. Love is weird like that. The hallway is dark, quiet. A stark contrast to the locations she’s spent the past few weeks. First, on the run, then stuck in jail, or on an island, then on the run again… Being home is nice. Sort of. Except for the lingering trauma from the past few days. Yeah, the sooner they can recover from that, the better. And for now, the others don’t need to know about how close everything came to being… The master of water quietly slides the door to Jay’s quarters. But… He’s not there. In fact, if his bed still being tidily made means anything, he hasn’t been in the room at all since they finally returned from Styx earlier. So, then… Where is he? Not the kitchen or living room, apparently, Nya discovers upon further searching. Sighing, she makes her way out into the deck – the only other place left to check. And it’s a good thing she does, as it turns out, cause there he is, looking out over the railings, posture tense. A light summer breeze plays with his ridiculously curly hair, making it an even bigger mess that it usually is. Honestly, it’s actually a pretty beautiful night. There are no clouds in sight; she can see millions of stars scattered across the sky.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks softly when she reaches him. Jay flinched slightly at the sound, before realizing that it’s her.

“Y-yeah… I couldn’t stop thinking about how…” He says so quietly she almost misses it.

“Me neither. I-even after I scrubbed every last inch of my body, it feels like the venom is still there. Like, I keep forgetting how to breath.. And remembering how much it hurt… And…”

“Oh, Nya…” He breathes, wrapping his arms around her. She bites back a sob as she snuggles into his embrace, reveling in the comfort it brings her. They rock back and forth for a few minutes, trying not to completely break down.

“I'm so sorry we had to go through all of… that. I-you died. It was horrible. And it was all my fault!”

“No. Don’t you dare try to take all of the blame for this. I mean, yes, you definitely made some really stupid choices, but if anyone’s gonna take the responsibility for what happened, it should be me. I started all of this a long, long time ago when I - ” Nya angles herself so that she can see his face.

“Nya, you don’t have to-” He begins to cut her off, but doesn’t get very far. She smiles softly, saying,

“Look. I chose you. I want us to work out, for us to be happy, but in order for that to happen, there are some things that need to be said. First of all, I come with baggage. A lot of it.”

“So do I.” He agrees, still not sure where the conversation is going. She bites back a chuckle.

“I’ve noticed. But… The thing is, before… During the whole fiasco with the perfect match machine? It was never about you. It was about me. For the record, I never stopped having feelings for you… I-I just…” Dragging Jay down beside her, she sinks onto the deck, leaning her back against the railing. It’s going to take awhile to really explain. To lay herself bare like she knows she needs to. Because Jay deserves the truth. They may as well get comfortable.

“I’m not the best at… Being open about my feelings. I’ve always hated feeling vulnerable, and back then? I didn’t really get why… Not until a lot later. When I was forced to become the water ninja, in fact. I was so awful at it, and it made me so uncomfortable – but it also helped me identify some of my self image issues.” She takes a deep breath, reaching for his hand as she continues, “So much of my life, I’ve felt like I had to prove something to someone. In Ignacia, Kai and I both had to prove that we could take care of ourselves. There wasn’t another option, unless we wanted to be saddled with some sketchy babysitter or sent to an orphanage. Then came Kai becoming a ninja, and, suddenly, I got it into my head that you guys wouldn’t take me seriously if you realized that I was samurai x.” She ignores the disgruntled look on the master of lightning’s face – she already knows now that it was a stupid sentiment, “So I didn’t tell you. Even though it probably just made things more dangerous. When Sensei started training me, I felt like I had to prove something there, too. That I was worthy of my mother’s element – even if I hated it and just wanted to go back to being a samurai, something that I was already good at. I got so frustrated that I tried to quite. And that’s when it first started to click. Because maybe some part of me thought that by doing all this impressive stuff, I could prove that it was a mistake for my parents to-to…”

“To leave you behind?” However Jay managed to guess her thoughts, she’s a little grateful she doesn’t have to say it herself.

“Yeah… So, anyway, back when we were still together, you were always so open and sweet about your feelings for me. And somewhere in the back of my head was that part of me that felt like I could never measure up to the person you thought I was and-”

“I'm so sorry! I didn’t realize… I-I only wanted to show you how much I cared. Because I thought that if you realized how special and loved you were… You wouldn't…" Leave me? The words aren’t spoken aloud, but the implication is there.

“I know. I just… I was feeling so overwhelmed, because I did want to be able to tell you how I felt about you – about the whole situation, but I kept talking myself out of it and thinking that if I just added a few boundaries until I reached the point where things felt safe again that… But then that stupid machine came into the picture, and I dunno? It scared me, because what if I was wrong? What if you didn’t really love me and left…”

“I would never.” He assures her, squeezing the hand clasping own. She brings her spare hand up to touch his cheek.

“You wouldn’t. And I was awful to let myself think that. Everything got so out of hand, and I had so many opportunities to fix things, but I didn’t. Even after the fighting calmed down. I didn’t wanna risk hurting you by ruining another relationship attempt. So, I stayed quiet. I came so close to confessing everything on Chen’s Island – but I didn’t have a chance to before we had to run off and save the world.”

“Will it ever not be that way?” Jay ponders. She shrugs.

“The world saving was very distracting. For a long time. Once I finally felt like I was starting to come to terms with what had been going on mentally, having the media get involved dealt me another blow. It was like the world no longer valued me as anything more than a token – an object to be won… But I didn’t want to completely give up on at least being friends with you, so I started trying to talk. But in the end, I just ended up pushing you away even more because I was so concerned about fighting my public image and not letting anyone else decide what I could be or do with my life. And to be honest? It freaked me out how sure you were that we were meant to be. I needed to regain control, and you ended up paying the price. And I can never tell you how sorry I am for being such a jerk! I died! You almost got killed several times because I refused to stop being stubborn and let someone else take the wheel, even for a moment! I-I…” A soft kiss prevents her from saying anything more. How is it that such a simple gesture has always had the power to relieve her pain?

“I forgave you a long time ago… And I never stopped caring about you, either. Even when I was fighting with Cole-which was a pretty dumb move in hindsight. We were both being idiots. And I’m sorry too...”

“I-Okay. Yeah, we kinda were… We’re a hot mess, aren’t we?” Nya exclaims, snuggling against her boyfriend. He smirks slightly.

“Well, we’re definitely hot!” She shoots him a look, which he pretends not to see, instead kissing her forehead.

“And we are a bit of a mess. But we’ve both grown so much. I really think we’ll make it this time…”

“Mm… I love you, Jay Walker.”

“And I love you, Nya Smith. Just don't ever die on me again. I don’t think I could handle that…” They both shudder, moving even closer together, as if afraid that they’ll be torn apart.

“I’m not handling it now…” Nya admits, “I’m sure sleep would help, but… That’s not happening any time soon…”

“Same here. So, what do we do, then?” Jay wonders. She doesn’t answer right away, but then, inspiration strikes her.

“When I was little, Kai used to build these super elaborate blanket forts whenever one of us was upset. Like ones that spanned entire rooms, and had lots of junk food hidden inside. And then, we’d stay up and watch as many movies as it took to calm back down. Do you think, maybe…?”

“Sure. If it’ll help. I’ll grab the cushions and blankets, you get the movies and snacks.” The master of lightning quickly agrees. It doesn’t take long for them to construct their fortress against one side of the deck, using every last spare sheet and pillow they own (and maybe snagging a few from Kai’s stash-that’s what siblings are for) . One and a half movies later, they finally give in to their exhaustion, falling asleep with their hands intertwined. Their joint presence keeps the nightmares at bay until Nya’s brother finds them the next morning. Though concerned about what exactly they’ve been doing all night, he’s honestly just relieved that they’ve finally figured things out. One less source of headaches for him, as long as they don’t go making a habit of public displays of affection like yesterday’s kiss… Which they probably will, but he can yell at them later. They do look awfully cute like that…

[makistar2018]

Taylor Swift’s Netflix Special Is the End of an Era

By Amanda Petrusich January 3, 2019

While Taylor Swift isn’t the most instinctive dancer, she is practiced and spirited, and has surrounded herself with a crew of world-class athletes. Photograph by Matt Winkelmeyer / TAS18 / Getty

Last summer, the pop singer Taylor Swift began a stadium tour in support of her sixth LP, “Reputation.” It was a wildly successful jaunt, and, on its final night, in Arlington, Texas, more than a hundred thousand people filled A.T. & T. Stadium to watch Swift perform. The two-hour show was filmed for a Netflix special and released on New Year’s Eve. If it’s been a while since you witnessed that many human beings gripped by what appears to be complete and utter joy, “Taylor Swift: The Reputation Concert Tour” is a quick fix. Swift’s fans—beaming, sobbing, gasping in a kind of deranged ecstasy—receive her desperately and gratefully. Even through a screen, the heady, collective love is palpable.

Swift first appears onstage wearing dark lipstick, lace-up knee-high boots, and a hooded, sequinned black leotard. While she isn’t the most instinctive dancer, Swift is practiced and spirited, and she has surrounded herself with a crew of world-class athletes. Their routines are elaborate and inventive. Swift is constantly accenting her lyrics with physical flourishes (eye rolls, jazz hands, hair flips), all of which seem intensely pre-plotted; the relentlessness of her choreography allows us to briefly imagine a universe in which nothing plain ever happens and no moment is unproductive. Her tours have always felt more like elaborate theatrical productions than concerts, in part because Swift is not the sort of artist who is prone to spontaneity. Her limbs snap dutifully into formation, over and over. Pop music isn’t exactly predicated on bold expressions of authenticity—there is no reason why, in 2019, any grown person should be griping about the relative “realness” of pop stars—and stadium tours are always tirelessly rehearsed. Still, I winced when Swift and her backing dancers looked at each other and heartily fake-laughed in the middle of “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.” Truly, I winced so hard.

Swift was an early adopter of the faux-intimacy afforded by social media, and she has mastered, if not pioneered, its weird, chummy cadences (“You guys!”). She is terrifyingly expert at addressing millions of strangers as if each were a cherished and familiar confidant. It’s easy to be cynical about this way of communicating, which favors a kind of dopey, manipulative warmth. In my darker moments, I fear that it portends some kind of societal collapse, in which we are all seduced into complacency by robots giddily announcing, “You guys!” It is more likely that this is simply what happens when powerful women are expected to be both sweet and savvy, nurturers and entrepreneurs—eventually the line between the two fades, and friendliness and salesmanship become inextricable. 

The narrative premise of “Reputation,” both the album and the show, is Swift either shrugging off the gossip and innuendo that have followed her for much of her career or leaning deeper into them. (The latter is represented by a large cobra motif.) But Swift never quite manages the snarling belligerence of Joan Jett, whose “Bad Reputation,” from 1980, remains the definitive text on not giving a shit: “And I don't really care if you think I'm strange / I ain’t gonna change,” Jett promises. 

Swift cares a lot, even when she’s strutting and flipping her hair. To be fair, she has been subject to plenty of sexist bellyaching—what might read as ambitious or confident in her male counterparts is derided, in Swift, as shrewd, conniving, callous. But the fact remains that she’s not exactly enduring endless, seething comparisons to Pol Pot, which sometimes makes her boundless self-pity feel odd. “Reputation” is a resurrection story—there is even a film-within-a-film that figures Swift as a kind of gossamer phoenix, overcoming persecution to stand and love again!—but it’s hard to know what Swift is rising above, exactly, beyond some moderate embarrassment and the usual celebrity hounding. A montage at the start of the film features inane chatter from entertainment hosts and radio d.j.s—the sort of idle, trivial taunting that every superstar contends with. The worst thing anyone says about her is, “All this drama is exhausting.” 

But drama is, of course, the pop star’s stock in trade. Swift has always been proud of the extent to which she transparently mines her own life for lyrical fodder. The songs on “Reputation” toggle between tender and boastful, as Swift recounts various professional and romantic entanglements. “I Did Something Bad” revels in the (satisfying) idea of being a jerk to a jerk (“If a man talks shit / Then I owe him nothing”) but nonetheless contains moments of real vulnerability—like when, in the second verse, she offers the deeply sad advice “You gotta leave before you get left.” 

One of the gentler moments of the film is Swift’s performance of “All Too Well,” from the album “Red,” from 2012. The song was never a proper single, yet it’s one of Swift’s most beloved ballads, and she plays it solo, on an acoustic guitar. The song is about being haunted by memories of a bungled love, maybe for a little longer than you should be. “I know it’s long gone / And that magic’s not here no more/ And I might be O.K. / But I’m not fine at all,” she admits—so go the scars of love. What’s most striking about “All Too Well” is how Swift validates and reaffirms her experience; when a complicated relationship ends, it’s easy to feel bewildered and betrayed, unsure of everything that happenedprior to the moment of collapse. Were you swindled? Or, worse, did you somehow invent the whole thing? Swift’s repeated assertion—“I was there”—begins to feel like a kind of corrective to whatever unkind maneuvering her ex (in this case, the actor Jake Gyllenhaal, according to Swift lore) was up to. Though later in her career she would become more brash about broadcasting her own empowerment, “All Too Well” might be Swift’s most quietly feminist moment. 

The show ends with a medley of “We Are Never Getting Back Together” and “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things,” two buoyant singles about holding your ground. It’s worth sticking around through the closing credits, both to watch the stadium empty out—enterprising fans stuff their bags with scraps of confetti or “Reputation”-themed newsprint from the floor—and to watch a few minutes of backstage footage, in which a surely exhausted Swift and her dancers climb into golf carts and zoom off. 

The critic Jon Caramanica, writing in the Times, recently argued that pop music—which he defines as songs that strive for “gloss, pep, ecstasy, spectacle”—has faded as a dominant cultural force. “Pop, the genre, is no longer pop,” he writes. Instead, pop music has been replaced on the charts by hip-hop and more niche or global sounds (which are usually inspired, in one way or another, by hip-hop). This shift was surely quickened by what Caramanica refers to as “the largely frictionless Internet,” which makes it easy for listeners to acquire precisely what they want and nothing else, and for smaller or regional genres to spread quickly. Pop, as a sound, has always been guileless and optimistic; these days, chart-topping songs tend to be morose, melancholy, and angry. The massive pop stars of yesteryear—Katy Perry, Justin Timberlake—are fading from the public consciousness. Their work seems corny and off-center now. In that context, “Taylor Swift: The Reputation Concert Tour” will soon either be regarded as a museum piece or as a testament to Swift’s era-defying longevity. I suspect it will be the latter. 

The New Yorker

[wishingforatypewriter]

Fighting with Nakiris

Summary: In which Erina and Alice are angry because they care. Some spoilers for chapter 222. Fourth installment in my On the Road series. 

This was becoming a bad habit, Erina realized as she made her way down to the main kitchen at three in the morning as she had almost every night for the last week and a half. And as was usually the case, Yukihira was already in there making something.

He grinned when he saw her. Erina swallowed thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of her short nightgown and messy ponytail. "Perfect timing, Nakiri."

"Hmm. What do you have for me today?" she asked, eyeing him and the large metal pot he was stirring with a blend of fascination and disdain. Considering the ordeal he'd just gone through to get the former third seat on their side, Erina assumed that he'd try to get a decent amount of sleep—but clearly she'd been wrong. He never did have any sense of self-preservation.

"Coq au vin ramen," he explained before ladling her out a serving. His insanity might have been rubbing off on her, but the French inspired dish actually sounded like a good idea.

Erina took a deep breath before sampling the rich soup, flavored with chicken bones and red wine. It tasted of summer nights in Paris—of walks along the Seine and stolen moments in the shade of the Musee d'Orsay. And that was only the broth.

"Have you ever even been to France?" she asked, breathless.

"Nope."

Damn him. Erina noted the subtle balance between the slightly acidic broth and the rich lardons. The flavors were beyond reproach. She had come to realize that in the kitchen after dark, her god tongue was entirely his creature—and oh how she hated him for it.

"So what do you think?" he asked her, grinning in that self-satisfied way of his.

"Passable," she said curtly, refusing to meet his eyes. He didn't seem completely bent on torturing her tonight, and she appreciated it. "Barely."

Usually he'd try to get a better response out of her, but Souma merely shrugged at her less than enthused reaction. Her hooded eyes and rapid breathing said all the words she refused to speak aloud. "Want me to try again? I had another idea for ramen using jerk pork."

Erina nibbled her lower lip; that sounded delicious. But she wasn't even done slurping up the contents of the bowl in front of her. Would she be able to survive another of his creations without losing her composure? "I won't be made into your guinea pig, Yukihira!" she snapped. "People pay absurd amounts of money to have me take even one bite of their dishes."

"You seem to be enjoying it, though," he pointed out. "Isn't that why you keep coming down here at night?"

"Absolutely not! Nothing would make me happier than to stop running into you down here," she said with a scoff and an exaggerated hair flip.

"Alright. Just pretend I'm not here." Then he took out another gargantuan pot and started mincing garlic with thyme and scotch bonnet peppers.

Erina frowned. He had let the argument go a lot faster than she expected, perhaps faster than she wanted. Was something wrong?

Deciding to take advantage of the reprieve he'd granted her, Erina was able ignore him for all of five minutes before she glanced his way. He looked more exhausted than she had ever seen him. "Why don't you just go to bed? Tadokoro-san said you collapsed earlier today."

"Well, technically that was yesterday."

"Not the point."

Souma merely shrugged, the tired expression gone now that he knew she was looking. "I bounced back," he explained. "But going against Megishima made me realize there are all types of ramen out there."

"Naturally he would." Erina knew that by their third year, each student chef at Tōtsuki settled into a specialization—and senior Elite Ten members held complete hegemony over their specialties. She could hardly fathom how the former third seat had been convinced by anything the likes of Yukihira had to say. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you need sleep to function...not that you were ever all that functional to begin with."

"Don't worry about it. I never needed much sleep." Then he flashed her an easy grin—one, she assumed, that was meant to convince her of his infallibility, that he had an easy solution stored away for every potential setback. It was the expression of a charismatic leader trying to assuage the worries of a subordinate, and she resented it immensely. He may have had all the other rebels—hell, everyone else in their graduating class—spellbound, but he could not fool her.

"Okay, let's get one thing straight between us," she said, her voice level, her expression made of steel. "In general, I'm clearly far above you. But in this one particular situation, you and I are equals. I am not one of your adoring fans—"

"Nakiri, what are you—"

"Let me finish," she said, meeting his eyes with a defiant amethyst stare. "You know that unwavering faith in your ability to fix things that everyone else seems to be depending on? I don't have it. At all. I see things the way they are. If you keep overworking yourself like this, you're going to end up in the hospital, and then my father will get everything he wants. It is so arrogant for you to think that despite everything Isshiki-senpai, and Takumi, and even Hisako and Alice and the others have been doing, the fate of the culinary world rests on whether you can perfect two or three extra dishes in the middle of the night!"

For a good minute afterwards, Souma only looked at her. For someone who rarely said what she meant, Nakiri could give a damn good lecture when she wanted to. "You're right. I'm sorry if that's how I came off."

"Really?" Erina blinked once. Twice. She hadn't expected it to be that easy. "I mean…just try to be reasonable—limit it to one or two all-nighters a week."

As soon as she left the kitchen, Erina ran into Kuga-senpai loitering in the hallway. She could tell from the smirk on his face that he had heard everything.

"Is there something you need, senpai?" she asked.

"My snack time is right after yours," he explained. "But maybe I should just head back upstairs."

"Do as you see fit," the Nakiri heiress said, nonplussed, before continuing down the hall.

"You know, Nakiri-kun," he said to her retreating back. "You have a really strange way of letting your feelings show. You should be more honest."

"Good night, Kuga-senpai." Erina continued until she reached the staircase, back straight, head held high. And then, in the comfort of her own bedroom, she buried her face in a thick down pillow and screamed.

It was well past four when they came back from their late night mission, this one to break the Azami faction's monopoly over the ingredient supply chains in Hokkaido. Usually Yuki and Ryouko and the others slept through the clandestine departures and early arrivals. But this time they were all disturbed by the sounds of a largely one-sided argument.

"You guys are so stupid. Insanely stupid!" Alice said.

"Okay," Kurokiba replied, set on appeasing her.

"But it's not okay. You could have gotten yourselves killed!"

"Do you understand how much money that was?" Hayama inserted.

"It wasn't even that much money!" Alice shouted. "Back me up here, Hishoko."

"It actually was a lot of money, Alice," Hisako told her, and since Alice was paying these bribes out of her checking account, she was very glad that it hadn't been stolen. "I'm going to go get some ice."

When the Arato heiress went up to the breakfast nook to retrieve said ice, she happened upon the usual eavesdropping crowd. Ikumi, Yuki, and Ryouko were joined by Marui and Ibusaki. All five of them were sipping tea—Hisako's tea, mind you—and wearing intrigued expressions. The sounds of the argument were still wafting up, loud and clear.

"But what if they had been armed?"

"They weren't."

"But what if they had been? You would be dead, Ryo-kun!"

“You’re exaggerating.” 

“In what way am I exaggerating?” 

Hisako grabbed an ice bucket and a few dish rags, sighing. "You guys have until this bucket is full to ask your questions." She pushed the button on the fridge. "Go."

"What the hell happened?" Ikumi asked.

"The person we were supposed to make a deal with actually set us up to get robbed."

"Are you alright, secretary-chi?" Yuki questioned, raising her hand like a child in school.

"Alice and I stayed in the car the whole time," she explained. "We didn't even know what happened until it was over."

"But Kurokiba and Hayama…" Ryouko let the question hang in the air.

"Were stupid enough to try and fight their way out? Yes."

"Boys are so dumb," Yuki said. "I definitely agree with Alice-chi now."

"Yoshino-san, that's a lot of money to just lose," Ibusaki interjected.

"What happened to the money, anyway?" Mauri asked.

"We still have it somehow." Hisako finished her tale just as the ice bucket reached its capacity. "But naturally Alice is not happy."

"And you?" Ikumi asked.

Hisako sighed. She really hadn't had a chance to react with Alice barely letting anyone get a word in edgewise. She supposed she was just glad nothing really bad happened. "Honestly, I'm just ready for bed at this point. Goodnight, all."

She descended the stairs to a chorus of 'goodnight Hishoko' and was surprised to find the living room silent.

"Alice decided to take the argument back to her room so she could get comfortable," Hayama told her.

"Typical." Hisako rolled her eyes at the revelation. "How'd you manage to escape?"

"She has tunnel vision when she's mad, and you know how she is with Kurokiba. All I had to do was stand on the other side of the room."

Hisako actually laughed a little. "You're the worst." Wordlessly she wrapped some of the ice up in dishrags and handed it to him. "She's right, you know. Dramatic, but right."

"Probably." He took the DIY ice pack from her, thanked her. "Luckily none of those gentlemen in the pub hit as hard as you do."

"Oh, shut up." She had to admit, there might have been some truth to it. She had spent years taking self-defense classes so she would be able to protect Erina in case of an emergency. However, she would have never guessed that her right hook packed such a punch while she was sleeping. "Where'd you learn how to fight, anyway?" she asked. While Kurokiba had always served as Alice's enforcer, she didn't imagine that Hayama got much practice in ass kicking while watering the plants in Professor Shiomi's greenhouse.

"Here and there," he said with a sigh, and Hisako knew that she wouldn't get a more detailed response out of him. Not tonight, anyway.

"Wanna do me a favor?" she asked before realizing that the question made her sound a bit too much like Alice.

"Depends on what."

"Go give Alice and Kurokiba the rest of this ice before it melts." She, for one, was not getting drawn into her tirade again.

"Not happening," he told her. "Ask for something else."

Hisako smirked. He should not have said that. "You know that dish you made for the finals of the autumn elections…"

Two hours, several cups of expensive tea, and a plate of pacific saury carpaccio later, they were found asleep on the living room couch. This time, at least, nobody was punched.

[wendyimmiller]

Fear, Loathing, Capitulation, Relapses, A Cry for Help, and Another Empty Promise to Do Better; In a world of unfairness and charlatans, these are the real things!

Déjà vu all over again. In what is apparently becoming an abusive relationship, I again find myself the victim of Marianne Willburn’s poison pen, which, I now believe she nightly wields in her dreams, inflicting dagger-sized wounds on a field of retreating lesser writers in Play Station-like battles. For again, right here on Garden Rant, my home turf, another rebuttal. Actually, a rebuttal to my rebuttal of her rebuttal to my happy, harmless, and humorous little column, “Time for A Grexit,” which appeared in the July/August 2019 Horticulture Magazine. Just a 500-word bit of sophomoric snark I dashed off last summer when I was still sweet and hopeful. It was cute. It was funny. And, despite itself, it did manage to make a surprisingly cohesive case for American gardeners taking all their English gardening books and dumping them into Boston Harbor. I was innocent back then, and my life was so much simpler. Appallingly, it turns out that having a stalker is nowhere near as much fun as you might imagine.

The end of life as I knew it.

The most recent blog site equivalent to being repeatedly chased down the street by your neighbor’s dog.

This most recent rebuttal wasn’t unexpected.  Red flags were up after her first rebuttal, and my family and I worried that Marianne could possibly be a serial-rebuttaler. I could see her in her classy, tastefully appointed, mountain retreat, seething from my jovial retort to her first rebuttal, and working. Working! I cowered, knowing she would soon, on a day of her own choosing, emerge with another 15,000 word tirade. All of it letter perfect and grammatically correct, and crafted to turn all my loved ones against me and laying waste to all I am, all I ever was, all I’ll ever be, and everything I’ve ever loved. Including all my dead pets. And all my dead Stewartia. And, I’ve got to admit, I’ve been a nervous wreck. Pretty much, this has been the worst period of my life, which includes the bout with cancer I mentioned in a previous missive and, in fact, bring up in almost all my conversations.

The rebuttal that came out of the blue.

This is my jovial retort to her first rebuttal. Jovial, yet at the same time devastating.

Here’s the deal. After my last rebuttal, I was out of ammo. I’d used up everything I had. No quotes left in the stockpile. No more references back in the magazine. No last cache of jabs, nudges, innuendo, and implications. Not even a dull, rusty bayonet on the end of my empty rifle/poison pen with which to inflict dagger-sized wounds. So I hunkered down in my ramshackle, mismatched, patched together, horticulturist-class, Midwestern hovel, tried not to notice the leaks in the ceiling and the paint peeling from the walls, and prayed for a miracle.

And, whatya know, I actually got one. Apparently Marianne was out of ammo too. So when the inevitable time came and I looked over and saw the grenade roll into my bunker and blow up, I was pleasantly surprised that it did so with only a soft doink. No blast. No shrapnel. No carnage. What happened was more akin to an uncomfortably loud airing of the “We Are the World” video interrupting your conversation in a bar. Or maybe it’s better described as something like hearing the “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke” commercial playing on a scratchy transistor radio on a hot day by some kid in line ahead of you at the snack bar at the community pool who walks off with the last French Chew. Or maybe it was more like an overly-affectionate, dripping wet kiss from an older aunt with a weird accent right on the face of your much younger self. Whatever metaphor best describes my response to Marianne’s newest rebuttal–and you get to choose–the fact is that while indeed unpleasant and unwanted, I survived it.

But that doink? Came to find out it was pretty passive-aggressive. One that snuck back up on me after another day and a second look. “Garden Regionally, Get Inspired Globally” was Marianne’s banner, her battle cry and l’appel aux armes. Well, who the hell can argue with that?

Brian at work.

Marianne, you pulled a good one on me. Left me dangling and looking like a real jerk. Reminds me totally of a time when I introduced another friend/nemesis and co-worker named Brian to the audience at one of our symposiums at the Cincinnati Zoo & Botanical Garden. Our ongoing “feud” was pretty well-known to most of the audience, although not all of it, and I decided to deliver the most personally insulting introduction I could imagine, laying it on thick for an awkwardly long time, bringing up typically off-limits things like divorces, and, in my mind, generously setting him up for one of his patented hilarious ripostes. But he said nothing. Just went into his talk. With big sad eyes. Made me look like a complete asshole! A master stroke!

Yep, Marianne, you got me. You got to the reasonable position first and now here I am a rubber ball dangling from a string on your paddle. Well done.

As I’ve made plain, I am but a simple gardener from the heartland forever drawn by the magnetic pull of my next Big Gulp, teetering constantly on the cusp of diabetes, and free of an opioid addiction by reasons no one understands. As such, I too am not without need of nor appreciation for inspiration. So, for you Marianne, yes, if you get that from English writers who for some reason hope to cross how-to manuals with great literature, go for it. It’s kind of weird, but whatever. Just don’t be tricked into trying Meconopsis. It’ll break your heart.

I, on the other hand, I turn to the bottle for inspiration. And, believe it or not, I only discovered that about myself while pondering this. Ironically, it also occurred to me that my method might be even more cosmopolitan than Marianne’s! While plenty of good Kentucky bourbons are close at hand, I sometimes find my inspiration from a single malt Scotch. Or a spicy Caribbean rum. Or a sexy French vodka. Or a hot-tempered Greek Ouzo. Sometimes a warm Japanese sake is just the ticket, but there are times when a smooth Canadian whisky will do just fine. Or a Mexican tequila. Or wines from almost every continent. Even, and I’m gritting my teeth a little as I admit it, an English gin. Fact is, turns out pretty much the whole planet is lousy with spirits ready to light up the masses with inspiration. This whole revelation humbles me. It fills me with wonder. Heck, I’m but a tiny speck in this big Universe. All of us are. And maybe, deep down inside, somehow, we’re all pretty much the same.

I took that idea to bed with me last night. I laid there thinking about people. And Marianne. I pictured her in her home, sitting by the fire with a cat on her lap and a Christopher Lloyd book in hand, sighing at the better passages and finding inspiration. At least between those times when she’s not shrieking abuse towards Ohio and pounding out another manifesto of a rebuttal on her keyboard. Nope. I suppose that when she settles in and watches Monty Don on Netflix that she really isn’t that much different from me when I find my inspiration by stumbling around in the garden at night, a half empty fifth of Jameson in hand, condemning myself to damnation for all the neighbors to hear by way of whatever blaspheme I bellow when I discover brittle, dead branches where my daphne used to be.

A daphne.

Daphnes. My God, how many have I loved? How many I have lost. I feel my mood changing. You know, it just isn’t fair. I just can’t get over the disparity. The disproportionate distribution of the wealth. I’m thinking here in terms of gardening. Those lucky bastards. Those haughty English, PNW, and Japanese gardeners who ply their passion where the soil is rich, the weather is benevolent, and every person who scratches a mountain laurel into the ground gets drunk on their overnight and over-sized success. And they say to themselves, “I’m bloody great. I can grow everything.” And they take a creative writing class on Tuesday nights at the community college and peck out some frilly, freakin’ best seller!  Books that we here in the nether regions see in the windows of the five and dime, which draw us inside just to get out of the cold for a minute. But we slobber all over the pictures and the manager comes and makes us buy it, accepting a chicken and a few eggs as partial payment. Figuring that since we now own it, we might as well read it, we do. And then get all “inspired.” Then on the one half of that one spring day that’s sort of nice, we go out, religiously follow all the advice, and then invariably, inevitably, unsurprisingly experience the kind of catastrophic disaster that can only come when you live here and are daft enough to follow gardening advice from those who live over there. In God’s green Eden. In freakin’ Eden!

Wait. Whoa. What happened? It seems I’ve gone back down that rabbit hole. I apologize.

But, you know, there’s another thing that isn’t fair. Here in the continental part of the country, hard-working, decent, good gardening folk who can write and who really need a break never get brought in from the bullpen. Good writers, people who have willed lush, magnificent oases out of hardpan in weather that kills the people whose central air breaks on all but three or four days a year, never get that call from Timber or any other publisher. Why? Because all of their editors are tied up ushering dozens and dozens of spoiled English and PNW writers through their “masterpieces.” So-called gardeners for whom a daphne could fall off a truck and roll into their ditch and still grow like a Callery pear.

Another daphne.

Dammit. Angry again. Wait. I’ve got an idea.

I’d like to buy the world a home, And furnish it with love, Grow apple trees and honey bees, And…

 Well, that got annoying really quick. Screw it. I’ve got issues. I’m off to the liquor store.

            Fear, Loathing, Capitulation, Relapses, A Cry for Help, and Another Empty Promise to Do Better; In a world of unfairness and charlatans, these are the real things! originally appeared on GardenRant on November 20, 2019.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2019/11/fear-loathing-capitulation-relapses-a-cry-for-help-and-another-empty-promise-to-do-better-in-a-world-of-unfairness-and-charlatans-these-are-the-real-things.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

Fear, Loathing, Capitulation, Relapses, A Cry for Help, and Another Empty Promise to Do Better; In a world of unfairness and charlatans, these are the real things!

Déjà vu all over again. In what is apparently becoming an abusive relationship, I again find myself the victim of Marianne Willburn’s poison pen, which, I now believe she nightly wields in her dreams, inflicting dagger-sized wounds on a field of retreating lesser writers in Play Station-like battles. For again, right here on Garden Rant, my home turf, another rebuttal. Actually, a rebuttal to my rebuttal of her rebuttal to my happy, harmless, and humorous little column, “Time for A Grexit,” which appeared in the July/August 2019 Horticulture Magazine. Just a 500-word bit of sophomoric snark I dashed off last summer when I was still sweet and hopeful. It was cute. It was funny. And, despite itself, it did manage to make a surprisingly cohesive case for American gardeners taking all their English gardening books and dumping them into Boston Harbor. I was innocent back then, and my life was so much simpler. Appallingly, it turns out that having a stalker is nowhere near as much fun as you might imagine.

The end of life as I knew it.

The most recent blog site equivalent to being repeatedly chased down the street by your neighbor’s dog.

This most recent rebuttal wasn’t unexpected.  Red flags were up after her first rebuttal, and my family and I worried that Marianne could possibly be a serial-rebuttaler. I could see her in her classy, tastefully appointed, mountain retreat, seething from my jovial retort to her first rebuttal, and working. Working! I cowered, knowing she would soon, on a day of her own choosing, emerge with another 15,000 word tirade. All of it letter perfect and grammatically correct, and crafted to turn all my loved ones against me and laying waste to all I am, all I ever was, all I’ll ever be, and everything I’ve ever loved. Including all my dead pets. And all my dead Stewartia. And, I’ve got to admit, I’ve been a nervous wreck. Pretty much, this has been the worst period of my life, which includes the bout with cancer I mentioned in a previous missive and, in fact, bring up in almost all my conversations.

The rebuttal that came out of the blue.

This is my jovial retort to her first rebuttal. Jovial, yet at the same time devastating.

Here’s the deal. After my last rebuttal, I was out of ammo. I’d used up everything I had. No quotes left in the stockpile. No more references back in the magazine. No last cache of jabs, nudges, innuendo, and implications. Not even a dull, rusty bayonet on the end of my empty rifle/poison pen with which to inflict dagger-sized wounds. So I hunkered down in my ramshackle, mismatched, patched together, horticulturist-class, Midwestern hovel, tried not to notice the leaks in the ceiling and the paint peeling from the walls, and prayed for a miracle.

And, whatya know, I actually got one. Apparently Marianne was out of ammo too. So when the inevitable time came and I looked over and saw the grenade roll into my bunker and blow up, I was pleasantly surprised that it did so with only a soft doink. No blast. No shrapnel. No carnage. What happened was more akin to an uncomfortably loud airing of the “We Are the World” video interrupting your conversation in a bar. Or maybe it’s better described as something like hearing the “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke” commercial playing on a scratchy transistor radio on a hot day by some kid in line ahead of you at the snack bar at the community pool who walks off with the last French Chew. Or maybe it was more like an overly-affectionate, dripping wet kiss from an older aunt with a weird accent right on the face of your much younger self. Whatever metaphor best describes my response to Marianne’s newest rebuttal–and you get to choose–the fact is that while indeed unpleasant and unwanted, I survived it.

But that doink? Came to find out it was pretty passive-aggressive. One that snuck back up on me after another day and a second look. “Garden Regionally, Get Inspired Globally” was Marianne’s banner, her battle cry and l’appel aux armes. Well, who the hell can argue with that?

Brian at work.

Marianne, you pulled a good one on me. Left me dangling and looking like a real jerk. Reminds me totally of a time when I introduced another friend/nemesis and co-worker named Brian to the audience at one of our symposiums at the Cincinnati Zoo & Botanical Garden. Our ongoing “feud” was pretty well-known to most of the audience, although not all of it, and I decided to deliver the most personally insulting introduction I could imagine, laying it on thick for an awkwardly long time, bringing up typically off-limits things like divorces, and, in my mind, generously setting him up for one of his patented hilarious ripostes. But he said nothing. Just went into his talk. With big sad eyes. Made me look like a complete asshole! A master stroke!

Yep, Marianne, you got me. You got to the reasonable position first and now here I am a rubber ball dangling from a string on your paddle. Well done.

As I’ve made plain, I am but a simple gardener from the heartland forever drawn by the magnetic pull of my next Big Gulp, teetering constantly on the cusp of diabetes, and free of an opioid addiction by reasons no one understands. As such, I too am not without need of nor appreciation for inspiration. So, for you Marianne, yes, if you get that from English writers who for some reason hope to cross how-to manuals with great literature, go for it. It’s kind of weird, but whatever. Just don’t be tricked into trying Meconopsis. It’ll break your heart.

I, on the other hand, I turn to the bottle for inspiration. And, believe it or not, I only discovered that about myself while pondering this. Ironically, it also occurred to me that my method might be even more cosmopolitan than Marianne’s! While plenty of good Kentucky bourbons are close at hand, I sometimes find my inspiration from a single malt Scotch. Or a spicy Caribbean rum. Or a sexy French vodka. Or a hot-tempered Greek Ouzo. Sometimes a warm Japanese sake is just the ticket, but there are times when a smooth Canadian whisky will do just fine. Or a Mexican tequila. Or wines from almost every continent. Even, and I’m gritting my teeth a little as I admit it, an English gin. Fact is, turns out pretty much the whole planet is lousy with spirits ready to light up the masses with inspiration. This whole revelation humbles me. It fills me with wonder. Heck, I’m but a tiny speck in this big Universe. All of us are. And maybe, deep down inside, somehow, we’re all pretty much the same.

I took that idea to bed with me last night. I laid there thinking about people. And Marianne. I pictured her in her home, sitting by the fire with a cat on her lap and a Christopher Lloyd book in hand, sighing at the better passages and finding inspiration. At least between those times when she’s not shrieking abuse towards Ohio and pounding out another manifesto of a rebuttal on her keyboard. Nope. I suppose that when she settles in and watches Monty Don on Netflix that she really isn’t that much different from me when I find my inspiration by stumbling around in the garden at night, a half empty fifth of Jameson in hand, condemning myself to damnation for all the neighbors to hear by way of whatever blaspheme I bellow when I discover brittle, dead branches where my daphne used to be.

A daphne.

Daphnes. My God, how many have I loved? How many I have lost. I feel my mood changing. You know, it just isn’t fair. I just can’t get over the disparity. The disproportionate distribution of the wealth. I’m thinking here in terms of gardening. Those lucky bastards. Those haughty English, PNW, and Japanese gardeners who ply their passion where the soil is rich, the weather is benevolent, and every person who scratches a mountain laurel into the ground gets drunk on their overnight and over-sized success. And they say to themselves, “I’m bloody great. I can grow everything.” And they take a creative writing class on Tuesday nights at the community college and peck out some frilly, freakin’ best seller!  Books that we here in the nether regions see in the windows of the five and dime, which draw us inside just to get out of the cold for a minute. But we slobber all over the pictures and the manager comes and makes us buy it, accepting a chicken and a few eggs as partial payment. Figuring that since we now own it, we might as well read it, we do. And then get all “inspired.” Then on the one half of that one spring day that’s sort of nice, we go out, religiously follow all the advice, and then invariably, inevitably, unsurprisingly experience the kind of catastrophic disaster that can only come when you live here and are daft enough to follow gardening advice from those who live over there. In God’s green Eden. In freakin’ Eden!

Wait. Whoa. What happened? It seems I’ve gone back down that rabbit hole. I apologize.

But, you know, there’s another thing that isn’t fair. Here in the continental part of the country, hard-working, decent, good gardening folk who can write and who really need a break never get brought in from the bullpen. Good writers, people who have willed lush, magnificent oases out of hardpan in weather that kills the people whose central air breaks on all but three or four days a year, never get that call from Timber or any other publisher. Why? Because all of their editors are tied up ushering dozens and dozens of spoiled English and PNW writers through their “masterpieces.” So-called gardeners for whom a daphne could fall off a truck and roll into their ditch and still grow like a Callery pear.

Another daphne.

Dammit. Angry again. Wait. I’ve got an idea.

I’d like to buy the world a home, And furnish it with love, Grow apple trees and honey bees, And…

 Well, that got annoying really quick. Screw it. I’ve got issues. I’m off to the liquor store.

            Fear, Loathing, Capitulation, Relapses, A Cry for Help, and Another Empty Promise to Do Better; In a world of unfairness and charlatans, these are the real things! originally appeared on GardenRant on November 20, 2019.

from GardenRant https://ift.tt/37s0CpZ