#but yes anatomy is an experience like no other that you really should experience for yourself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

megamindsecretlair · 3 months

Text

Mr. Black, Part 6

Pairing: Tre x Assistant!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FLUFF. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (fem receiving), oral (male and fem receiving) , spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, mentions of female anatomy, dumbass reader, power imbalance, Tre is a boss, all consensual.

Summary: Tre has an unexpected surprise for you that leads to even more conversations about...whatever the hell this is between you. You do end up loving the surprise and you get a bigger peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Word Count: 10,614k

A/N: I promise not all of my fics will be this long moving forward! This was the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written and it healed something in me LOL. As an update, I had Covid this past week and I'm just getting my strength back. Please be kinder to your faves! I am over the moon that you enjoy my works and look forward to the next chapter, but let's keep it cute. My family are my opps and do not like to see me happy. If ya'll only knew what I had to endure writing this...These updates will take time. And I'm doing this for free! This is a hobby! I'm not a smut machine. Let's stay mindful of that. To prove you actually read this far, put your fave fruit in the comments! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @henneseyhoe @miyahmaraj @my1onlysenpai @darqchilddaydreamz @badassdoll @playgurlxoxo @eggnox @abeautifulmindexposed @theyscreamsannii @melaninpov @mcdesij @kholdkill @blowmymbackout @theunsweetenedtruth @monaeesstuff @cocoeffects @soft-persephone @duckiesfairy @slippinninque @westside-rot @prettypink-princesss @kawaiisadoglu @thadelightfulone @the-crystal-one @miyuhpapayuh @thecookiebratz @twocentuar @esachicaa @enchantedillumination @xo-goldengirl @tranquilfandomer @we-outsiiiide @hihellogoodbyebruh @bratzmaraj @yourofficialgal

The week between Christmas and New Year’s was a lawless haze spent mostly in Tre’s bed. You hadn’t seen your place all week and it should bother you. There was no mention of it. There was no conversation to be had. He just kept inviting you back to his place and you kept saying yes.

He got you a hygiene kit complete with a Coach bag to put it in. You told him you could just pack something from your place, but he wouldn’t hear of it. You had your very own electric toothbrush sitting on his sink.

Every time you went to the bathroom, you stared at the thing as if it could come alive at any moment. It was a courtesy thing, nothing more. It didn’t mean you were moving in. You were quickly realizing that Tre might’ve lacked proper social skills. With all his big talk, he lacked the cues necessary to clue you into whatever the fuck was going on with him.

He couldn’t possibly think that he could get you a hygiene kit, keep pajamas over - not that you used them much - and you would just smile and wave and move into his fucking house?!

The past week, he had kept you in a near-permanent sex fog. He still ate you out at work, stating that he simply liked the taste of you on his tongue while he dealt with the company hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate. He told you that your sweet taste made dealing with idiot managers worth every solid minute.

He still had you suck him off in the morning, stating that he loved nothing more than pumping you full of him to start your day. He was able to work harder and smarter with empty balls and thoughts of what he was going to do to you later at his place.

There wasn’t enough time to really talk. There was this burning obsession with each other that didn’t seem to let up as the week went on. Every time you finished having sex, you wanted to crawl under his skin and do it all over again. You couldn’t get him out of your system. In between sex marathons, him cooking, and your conversations about interests, there wasn’t enough time to discuss the whole…headband situation.

You sat at your desk presently and your eyes kept flickering towards the front of the building. You couldn’t see much past the desks and chairs. The thought of Miss Headband returning made you ill. You were comfortable with the knowledge that Tre was yours in whatever capacity this was, but uncomfortable that Brianna thought she could walk in whenever she wanted.

What stopped any of his other conquests from walking through the door? Or calling you to set up dick appointments with him? You hadn’t been working for him long but you wouldn't be surprised if he had past assistants schedule such things.

Your nails tapped on your desk. Your jealousy was showing. And it didn’t suit you well to show it at work where anyone could see. You needed to put an end to the uncertainty. If Tre had a black book, he needed to burn it right this second. He wasn’t going to need it anymore.

Panic was a funny thing. Sometimes, it felt like a bubbling pot of oil sludging through your veins. Sometimes, it felt like a thousand tiny insects with wings fluttering beneath your skin. You felt a mixture of both as you checked your mental status.

Maybe Tre was rubbing off on you too much. Your friends had said you were turning distant lately. You usually told them everything, but how did you even begin to describe what the hell this was?

It started off as something hot and naughty between you and your boss. Everyone had that fantasy right? Being railed against an office desk until your eyes were crossing and you were screaming in pleasure?

All your life, you thought there was a schedule and order to these things. You meet a man, you go on a few dates, you explore interests together, and you date some more. You meet the friends and get their stamp of approval. Then it’s the family’s turn. You move in with each other to see if you could cohabit a space together. Perhaps get an animal together to see if you can take care of a living thing as a precursor to kids. Then, there’s some wholly romantic and unique proposal with the help of your friends or family. A wedding, a honeymoon, boom, pop out some kids and build a life together.

This was so fuckin’ backwards, you didn’t know where to start besides him swatting your ass. There have been no dates, just earth-shattering, world-ending orgasms, a few items at his place, and you left in a perpetual state of what-the-fuck?

Order and schedules made sense to you. It kept you on track. This…was messy as hell.

You sighed audibly and rubbed your head. It was too much thinking and it was giving you a fuckin’ headache.

“What’s wrong?”

You yelped and jumped in your seat. The chair went rolling to the left as you looked to the right to see Tre half sitting on your desk. Where the fuck did he come from?

“You scared the hell outta me!” You placed your hand against your chest to see how fast it was going.

“Maybe you should stop daydreaming at work,” he said with that damn smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t daydreaming, I was thinking,” you told him.

He sighed audibly and hung his head. “Nothing good ever comes from you overthinking,” he said.

“Shut up. It’s not overthinking. Logic calms me down,” you said.

His smirk returned. “I can think of something else that’ll calm you down,” he said.

“Shh!” You looked around the empty office. It was lunchtime and sunny outside, so everyone went out to the food trucks to take advantage of the warm weather. Still, you had to be cautious from anyone who might overhear.

You moved to stand up but Tre blocked your path. “Not hungry?” You asked.

Tre smiled and looked off into the distance. He took a few steadying breaths and looked back at you. “Got you on a schedule already,” he said.

Now it was your turn to look away with a goofy grin on your face. His words brought to mind something Brianna mentioned.

“Hey, what did Brianna mean by 'training me’?” You asked.

“I’ll explain all that. First, let’s go. We’re gonna be late,” he said.

“Late for what?” You asked. You turned to your computer, bringing up his schedule. The weekend had been blocked out without you noticing. He had no meetings or calls set up. “What is this?”

You clicked through the change history but Tre put his hand over yours to stop you. “It’s okay, I handled it.”

“Handled it? I’m the one that handles your schedule! When did you do this?” You asked. You literally had one job and you were too distracted this week to notice that he had been shuffling and moving things around.

You tried to picture him being sneaky and dealing with other assistants while he moved meetings. You pictured getting a random call from someone with a voice like his. A voice made for phone sex and your panties were already growing damp thinking about it. Yeah, he could finagle his way through just about anything if he had half a mind.

“Come on!” He grinned and pulled you from your seat. You had just enough time to grab your purse. He held your hand as he pulled you through the empty office. Panic jumbled your nerves. Instead of pulling you to the front of the building where the food trucks were, he pulled you to the back of the building.

You knew there was a back of the building, conceptually, but you didn’t know there was an entrance this way. You were hired in the mix of things and you didn’t get an official tour before diving in and picking up the slack.

There was nobody back here as he swiped his badge and you were let out into a parking lot. It was small, filled with only a few expensive cars.

“You have a private parking area? Ya’ll suck,” you giggled.

Tre tugged you towards his car. You weren’t good with car brands but you were pretty sure it was a Lexus SUV. He opened the door for you and motioned for you to get in.

“What about my car?” You asked.

“I took care of it,” he said with that damn smile.

“What the hell is going on?” You asked. You placed your hands on your hips and faced him completely.

Instead of answering, Tre looked at his watch. “You have about two minutes before the other managers pull in and see you hopping in my car. I’m sure they will have thoughts about it,” he said.

Your fear of being discovered was greater than your need for knowledge. You could needle him in the car. You hopped inside with his help and then he closed the door with instructions to put your seatbelt on. You rolled your eyes and did it, not because he said so, but because it was sensible.

Tre rounded the front of the black truck and hopped in himself. He sighed with a smug smile on his face and started the car. His windows were tinted well past the legal limit. But you had a feeling he just didn’t give a shit.

He pulled out of the parking lot just as a smaller sedan was pulling in. You sank down in the seat but Tre only chuckled at you. Clear of the parking lot, he swiftly pulled onto the freeway.

“Okay, I’m in the car. What the hell is going on?”

“You know, you’re cute as hell when you’re confused. You get a little crinkle in your nose,” he said. He sped up on the mostly clear freeway and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re not going to tell me no matter how many times I ask, huh?” You asked.

He grinned and flicked his eyes to you. “Look at you catching on,” he said.

You growled and folded your arms across your chest. You turned away from him as much as you could in the seat and looked outside the window at the passing cars and freeway signs. You could tell that you were heading North but anything could be North.

“I promise you’ll like the surprise,” he said.

“I don’t like not knowing what’s going on,” you said.

“I know. I’ll break you of that,” he said.

“Excuse me?” You flipped your head to look at him but he kept his eyes trained on the road. One hand was on the steering wheel and he slowly inched his other hand towards your thigh. He squeezed the bare skin, his pinkie lightly grazing your pink dress.

You hated that your body reacted instantly. Your pussy fluttered and you were going to be damp in a minute thinking about that hand and all the nasty things he’s done so far.

“I don’t repeat myself,” he said.

You could be petty and point out that he’s repeated some things to you. But if he wanted to keep up his little fantasy, you weren’t going to cure him of it. As much as you liked to test his boundaries, you still had handprints on your ass from the last time you tried to get cute.

You focused on just being able to breathe while his thumb rubbed your left thigh. Soft music played in the car, low enough to not be annoying, but high enough to get the general rhythm.

The sights turned more industrial as you headed towards…LAX? Was he taking you to the fucking airport?

He got off the ramp for it, circling around, and headed towards the entrance on Century. He joined the congested traffic as he took the ramp to departures.

You huffed in disbelief. “You have to be joking. Where are we going? I haven’t packed, I haven’t got any supplies, I haven’t told anyone. I can’t–”

“I had a lovely chat with your friend, Ka’ron, the other day. She’s a little mad you didn’t tell her about me. I’ll admit, I was a little hurt too,” he said. He talked as he maneuvered around the insane traffic at LAX. It was like people lost all sense of decorum at the airport. People weaved in and out with little regard to who was behind or beside them. They had no idea which terminal to get to or realize that they couldn’t park at the curb forever.

Buses and shuttles ran through the inner road of the airport. You still hated that they changed the flow of traffic. It seemed much more dangerous to have you stand at the outer curb to be picked up. And the construction for the incoming train was plain annoying.

“You talked to Ka’ron?!” You screeched. Too many questions flowed through your head. How did he get her number? What did he even tell her? What the hell was this?

“I told her that I wanted to surprise you with a trip and after she got done laughing at the surprise part, she helped me pack your bags this week.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Your friend was going to murder you. After she got done begging for every last scrap of detail she could get out of you, she was going to murder you for not telling her sooner.

“You have crossed so many–”

“I also bought you new travel bags. I didn’t care that they didn’t match, but they were really raggedy,” he said. He pulled into long-term parking, grabbing a ticket from the kiosk, and the metal arm raised. He pulled in and began the search for a good spot.

Gurgles of sounds escaped your throat but you couldn’t form a single sentence. Were you having a heart attack? Aneurysm? Were your blood vessels popping at this very instant?

“She helped me find your passport,” he said. He turned and backed into the parking space.

In the middle of your meltdown, you could appreciate the slip of skin at his neck as he looked backwards to park. It was somehow hotter that he didn’t solely rely on the back-up camera. You’d dreamt of that open collar enough times to call yourself a stalker at this point.

“Passport?!” Where the hell was he taking you? You weren’t going to say no to a free fucking trip. You weren’t that dumb. It was…the lack of consideration that bugged you. The fact that he’d been planning and plotting while he had you twisted up in all kinds of shapes no human body was meant to be contorted into.

Or perhaps…it was a control thing. You were without an anchor or foothold in this. You didn’t see this coming at all. You had no say over where you were going, when you were leaving, when your friends would know about him, what they would know about him, what you would wear, or do. It was beyond unnerving.

Tre shut off the car and got out, leaving no room for you to ask a thousand questions. You were still in your office attire for fuck’s sake? Not the most comfortable traveling outfit. There was no way in hell you were going through TSA in fucking heels.

He rounded the car and opened your door for you, letting you out with a smug wink. He really didn’t see anything wrong with whisking you off to some exotic place without a conversation first. Had there been even a tiny ounce of communication beforehand, you wouldn’t be quite so shocked and pissed.

Next, Tre went to the trunk and lifted the door, pulling out a rose gold London Fog suitcase and a complementary Coach duffle bag. Your mouth dropped open. It was so gorgeous, you drooled a bit as he pulled out his own black suitcase and duffle bag. He moved both to the side and then handed you a more personal bag.

“Move your things from your purse to that. We’ll put your purse in the trunk,” he said. You stared at him like he was some alien with four heads.

He smiled and stepped closer to you, pulling you by the hips flush against him. You refused to give him any indication that this shit was okay. But he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, and pecked your lips.

“Trust me. It’ll be good,” he said.

You pressed your lips together and decided to surrender for the time being. Your boss…lover…boyfriend…was taking you somewhere and you didn’t have to lift a finger. There were worse arguments to be had.

The personal bag looked like a smaller version of the duffle. You ran your hands over the soft fabric filled with tiny C’s and then opened it. Inside, there was your Kindle, various meds you may need, head scarf, sleep mask, and ear pods. There was also a brand new matching wallet that you transferred your ID and cards to. This whole thing was absurd but you let yourself enjoy it.

Once done, he took your purse and placed it in the trunk in an innocuous box and closed it. “We’ll change in the lounge,” he said.

Your eyes bugged out again but he wasn’t going to answer a single fucking question so you let him grab your bags and walked over to the bridge connecting you to the terminal. There, he wheeled your bags to the check in counter. He pulled out both of your passports and handed them over to the agent.

She was an attractive Black woman with her hair pulled into a bun. She openly ogled your man so you moved next to him and peered over his shoulder. “Make sure I have the window seat, baby. You know I like to look outside when we take off,” you said and grinned at him, not looking at the woman at all.

Tre smirked down at you. He placed his hand on the small of your back and leaned down to kiss your cheek and then whispered in your ear. “You’re so sexy when you’re jealous.”

The woman cleared her throat and finished taking the necessary steps to check in your suitcases with a much better, more professional attitude. You made sure to smile and thank her while he grabbed your duffle bags and personal bag from the counter. He scooped up your passports and tickets and tucked them into his bag. Then, he grabbed your hand and you moved on to the security line.

Getting through that was a headache all on its own, but once through, Tre pulled you towards a lounge. You knew they existed, you just never had the luxury of being inside one. It was quiet with muted lighting and a bar area where people sat for drinks and the latest game on TV.

As he said, there were bathrooms and he told you there was a travel outfit in your bag. You stood in the fancy bathroom, half-giggling like a madwoman as you changed out of your dress into more comfortable clothing. You now had on black leggings, tennis shoes, a loose gray shirt, and a light gray sweater. That had been most of the bulk in your duffle, so you had room to fold up your dress. The heels were a bit of a problem, but that was okay. If they got messed up, you were making him buy you a new pair. And you’d only feel slightly guilty about it.

After dressing, you went out into the lounge area. You skipped over Tre twice, not because you didn’t recognize him, but because you were surprised to see him outside of formal wear. Sure, you’d seen him lounge at home in his briefs, or the pajamas he wore to cook, but you had never seen him out and about in his element.

He wore black, of course, but it was a black Henley T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black jeans, black boots, and his glasses. He looked good enough to fucking eat and you had to stop just outside the door to admire how hot he was.

He was looking down at his phone so he hadn’t seen you walk out. But as if you were linked, he looked up at that moment and grinned. You walked over to the bar area and he grabbed your bags from you.

He grabbed your hands and opened them so he could take in your outfit. “You look so fucking gorgeous,” he said.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” you said.

He held out the bar stool for you and helped you settle in. There was already a strawberry margarita sitting there for you and you sipped it, letting the frozen treat relax you. “Our plane leaves in an hour so you have time to finish,” he said.

“Any hint to where we’re going?” You asked.

He shrugged and sipped on his whiskey. “You’ll see at the gate,” he said.

“The only thing you can’t hide from me,” you said.

He grinned. “I could if I really wanted to. Make you wear your earphones the whole trip.”

“I can see the board,” you said.

“Not if I didn’t want you to,” he said.

You threw up your hands. “You know how insane this is right? Calling my friend, planning this behind my back, ambushing me in the middle of the work day? Where do people think you are?”

“I am on my way to a conference for potential clients. Since I’m such an awesome boss, I gave you the weekend to spend with your family,” he said.

“No one’s going to buy that,” you said with a giggle. You wouldn’t buy that shit if you heard it.

“They have no proof to the contrary. I know my methods are off, but I know a few ways you can thank me on the plane. I always wanted to join the mile high club,” he said and eyed your outfit. “Maybe we should’ve gone with something easier to take off.”

You slapped his thick arm. “Not on your life,” you said. The tips of your ears burned just thinking of it. Those tiny ass bathrooms ensured there was no way two people could fit. And you were not sucking him off in first class. He was too damn big for any other seating.

He chuckled and sipped more of his drink. You talked more with him pointedly ignoring your questions until he looked at his watch. He grinned, that wide smile melting your insides, as he grabbed your things and took your hand.

The casual way he touched you, openly, in the airport where everyone was anonymous was a balm to your spirit. You didn’t know you needed this…validation of the two of you. You didn’t care what people thought of you to the extent that you were together. You were more concerned about office politics. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you couldn’t let the office gossips think you were sleeping your way to the top.

Out in the open like this, you felt excited to be the one holding his hand while he guided you through the chaos of the airport. He walked leisurely to your gate. You frantically searched the boards for destinations. These were all domestic flights to the East Coast. Atlanta, New York, Chicago…

He stopped at a gate going to Miami. You eyed him as he took up a place near the gate. They were beginning to call for your group.

“Now boarding first class to Jamaica, with a stop in Miami. Now boarding…”

“Jamaica?!” You whispered to him and he grinned down at you.

He squeezed your hand as he moved you in line, handing the agent your tickets, and then pulling you down the tunnel. You had no room to talk as he placed your bags in the overhead bin and you settled into the nicer seats in first class. For once, your big ass fit comfortably in the seat with enough foot room to swing your feet.

Shit, after flying like this, you might have to do it all the time and leave your friends in economy. You were all going to the same place, you didn’t have to sit next to each other. The flight attendant asked if you wanted a drink as more people got onboard. You accepted a tequila neat and settled into your seat, wiping everything down with cleanser wipes you found in your personal bag. Your girl really fucking knew you.

“Bougie looks good on you,” he said as he watched you.

“Shut up! I’m gonna enjoy the fuck out of this. When are we coming back?” You asked.

“Tuesday night,” he said.

You couldn’t help looking outside, looking at the people who passed. You didn’t want to contain your excitement. As the boarding ended and the plane began to taxi down the runway, Tre settled in his seat and tapped your arm to get your attention.

“Why haven’t you told your friends about us?” He asked.

He wanted to discuss that now? “And say what? ‘Hey guys, what’s new with me? Well, my boss has been blowing my back out for the past few weeks?’” You whispered so everybody in first class wouldn’t hear your business.

He scrunched up his face. “It’s not official until your friends know. And I’m not just your boss,” he said.

You threw up your hands. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Your boyfriend?” Tre asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Boyfriend! That’s what you are?” You asked.

The captain started speaking about preparing for liftoff, so you were spared a few moments as the flight attendants came around to collect trash and remind you about the trays.

The plane took off and Tre never stopped looking at you. As it ascended, he leaned in so he could be heard over the roar of the engines and mounting pressure.

“That’s exactly what I am. And I want you to tell them about me,” he said.

You looked at him. He was serious about this shit. You didn't know what to say or what to call him. You guessed it was the logical step after declaring “you’re mine” while hopping on his dick. You licked your lips and nodded. “You’re my boyfriend. I’ll tell them when we land,” you said.

He smiled and sat back in his seat as if it had been eating at him. The tension left his shoulders. When the plane leveled out, the flight attendants came around with warm peanuts and drinks. You got some water to balance the drinks you’d had.

The plane ride to Miami was comfortable now that Tre decided to relax. You were able to joke with him about the book he chose to read while you whipped out your Kindle and awkwardly told him about the filthy book you were reading. You had a brief layover once you got to Miami. You collected shot glasses for your friends.

The plane ride to Jamaica was smooth. You were flying into the night but the sight as you descended still stole your breath. The water was a mix of cerulean and true blue, with scores of seaweed you could see from the plane. The island didn’t look all that big flying overhead, but the hills were wide and varied in height.

The plane had to turn to land into the small ass runway and you were half concerned as the captain easily guided the plane onto it. You rolled into the gate and Tre helped bring your bags down.

The airport itself smelled like Shea butter and breezy sandy beaches and you inhaled deeply. You had traveled all over the world at this point with your girls. Hitting up spots in Europe and Mexico, but there was something so amazing about landing in a place with people that looked like you.

Everywhere you went, there was another Black face to greet you. There were fans up high blowing hot wind at you but to you, it was perfect. As you got off the plane, there was a man standing there with Tre’s name. He walked you past the long line to the left for regular people.

That line was long and looked unbearably hot as people stood there trying to get through customs. You assumed the young man was a driver with his company shirt and shorts on. You never saw anything like it. He guided you through the lane to the right, going down a ramp, and turning into a much shorter customs line. The agent at the gate checked in your passports, stamping them, asking routine questions.

Through, the driver stood off to the side while you waited for the bags. There were gorgeous Jamaican women with red outfits on helping people find their carousel and telling you to settle in for a long wait because they were slow.

The accents were the best part. It sounded like coming home. A deep, ancient knowing made you feel at home here than you ever did in the States. Tre grabbed your bags from the carousel since they came out among the first bags. The driver took it from him and led you out of the busy airport.

There were just…Black people everywhere. For once, you didn’t feel like an oddball out when you traveled. Seeing Black faces was the norm. The driver took you through the final screening, handing over a form Tre filled out while on the plane. Then, you were out of the baggage claim area where even more people congregated. Bus drivers were trying to find people to scoop up, taxi drivers did the same, and there were so many guides waving signs for tours.

Outside, the air was balmy but comfortable and the driver led you to his car. There was nothing fancy about it, but you climbed in all the same while Tre talked with him. Then you were off.

You had to keep pinching yourself. Jamaica was gorgeous. The rolling grassy hills were interrupted by pockets of communities. You passed by signs of colonization. Plazas, houses, Popeyes. You giggled and pointed it out to Tre who just smiled like you were the most adorable thing on the planet.

It still blew your mind that he wanted to be your boyfriend. It seemed so high school the way you felt about it. But it felt right so you decided to go with the flow. By the time you made it to the adults only resort, you were absolutely tired. Tre told you to sit in the waiting area while he handled everything.

In no time, you were showering in your suite still pinching yourself that this was actually happening. You had dinner, buffet style, and enjoyed part of that evening’s entertainment. There was live music and a dancing troupe that you half paid attention to. Now, you just wanted to crawl into bed but you still had so many questions.

You let Tre see your text message as you texted your friends that you arrived safely with your boyfriend. You had landed and your phone dinged immediately upon turning on. Ka’ron told your entire friend group that not only were you getting regular dick, you had been whisked away on a fancy trip on some real movie type shit.

But Tre didn’t look satisfied with what you said. So you made him take a photo with you with the amazing view in the background. You confirmed that he was a sex god and you would give all the nasty details when you got back. He was much happier about the photo and asked you to send it to him.

He was so…domestic and it was freaking you the fuck out. You didn’t have the energy to bombard him with millions of questions. He tucked you into bed and then you were drifting off to sleep, trying to remember everything you wanted to ask him.

The next day, after breakfast, you took a look around the resort and everything it had to offer. There were multiple pools and a small beach area where you could go and relax. The resort had towels and pool equipment for you, but it was tied to your room number. If you didn’t return it when you were done, then it would be charged to your room.

Ka’ron didn’t steer you wrong with the outfits she chose for the trip. All light, lounge wear that fit easily over skimpy bathing suits your friends made you buy. You had no intention of actually wearing them. But that was all she packed and the look on Tre’s face was worth it.

He was content to walk around like everything was fine, but your questions were burning you from the inside out. Worse than the damn sun. This was their milder season so you knew it could have been much, much worse. But the UV index was much higher so you stayed spraying on your sunscreen.

You held hands and stopped at some of the gift shop areas spread around. There was an ice cream shop that sold coffee and meat pies. You got ice cream while Tre went for coffee. But his entire focus was on you licking your spoon.

You began to do it deliberately slowly, licking every inch. You put the end in your mouth and slowly withdrew it while keeping your eyes on him. Your body heated up from the way his eyes were trained on your lips. He caught every movement and swipe of your tongue across your lips to lick it up.

Tre grabbed your ice cream cup and threw it away. “Hey! I wasn’t finished!” You complained.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said. The ice cream was “free” due to the all-inclusiveness of the resort package but you weren’t going to split hairs. Here, you and Tre were always on the same page.

Your body responded to him like it had never done in the past with previous lovers. You felt him on a cellular level as your swimsuit grew damp from your arousal. He pulled you to the elevator and your room, barely opening the door before pulling you inside and slamming you up against the door.

His lips crashed into yours, desperate and needy. Moans escaped you even as his beard tickled your face. You just wanted more. You pulled at his shirt and pants, undressing him just as he undressed you. He turned you around, pressing your chest against the door. He kissed your neck as he untied your top and lowered your bottoms.

Your chest was still pressed to the door so your top didn’t fall just yet. Tre’s warm hand on your back prevented you from moving. He stepped closer and you felt the heat of his chest scald your back.

You trembled in the doorway. You wanted to see him and touch him too. But he only slipped his right hand around your hips to spread your pussy lips apart. You hissed as his fingers connected with your clit.

You felt him smile against your neck. “Already wet for me, little one?”

Your head thumped against the door as he worked your wetness around your clit, diving into your pussy to gather more of your arousal and spread it around. He toyed with your clit, rolling around his fingers, and flicking it just the way you liked.

“Oh, shit, Sir,” you moaned against the door. Your cheek was pressed against it as he rubbed his erection against your ass. He nibbled on your ear, licking away any hints of pain. His left hand came up to grab your titty. He finally let the fabric fall as he pinched and rolled your nipple in time with his fingers on your clit.

“I want the neighbors next door to hear you screaming and call the front desk,” he whispered in your ear.

Pinpricks of arousal traveled up and down your body. You could barely stay standing as that particular image flashed in your mind. “I want you to explain that it was just some enthusiastic play time and nothing to be concerned about.”

Your moans were pathetic and whiny as you raised up on tip toes trying to escape his fingers. But he only pressed into you further, pressing you against the cold door. You scratched at the wooden door. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to help you as you cried out and the orgasm ripped through you like a thunderstorm. You were whipped about in a frenzy as the power of it stole your breath away.

You cried as you calmed down. Tre withdrew his fingers and panted against your neck as if he had just gotten done fucking you. He audibly smacked his lips as he tasted you on his fingers and moaned as he licked every last digit.

He roughly turned you again, slamming his lips against yours in a brutal kiss. You took control, kissing him and pushing at his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at you as you dropped to your knees.

His dick twitched as you palmed him, running your fingers over him once before opening your mouth and sucking him inside. You licked him just like you did that ice cream spoon. Slowly and sensually and maintaining eye contact. He groaned, licked his lips.

“Oh, that’s how we doing it?” He asked. He sat back against the wall and you adjusted with him. Then you continued teasing him and sucking him into your mouth. You played with his balls and he moaned low in his throat. You rolled them with one hand while keeping your other hand braced against his thigh.

You licked him, running your tongue across his tip. “Mm, suck me down,” he said. But you ignored him, continuing to kiss your way up and down his shaft. He chuckles were stuttered and he shook his head.

“I’ll remember this when it’s your turn,” he promised darkly. You knew he was going to pay you back when you started teasing him. But you just liked the sound of him moaning for you even more. You sucked him all the way down, trying to fit as much of him in your mouth as you could. Then you started sucking on him like he liked. Rough, bruising, bullying your mouth with his dick.

“Unf, that’s it. That’s it right there,” he coached while he threw his head back and groaned. He released himself and you swallowed every drop. He took a few deep breaths before picking you up and bringing you to the bed. He spread your legs apart and looked his fill at your dripping pussy.

“Wait! Fuck!” You didn’t need a break but you did need a tiny breather. You had been out in the sun all day walking and enjoying the day. But the feral gleam in that man’s eyes had you slightly worried that you were in danger.

“Tre,” you said, trying to get a handle on yourself. It wasn’t normal to want to throw common sense through the window and have him fuck your brains out. Right?

“The fuck did you just call me?” He asked. His deep, rough voice turned even darker as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He slapped your pussy and you reared up, trying to scoot away from him.

He slapped it a few more times, each one stinging more than the last. The sting gave way to a burning coil of heat that had you moaning and moving your hips for more. You hated that he turned you into exactly what you didn’t want to be, a sex doll. Well, hell, there were worse things to be while underneath him.

You stammered as you tried to think past the unbridled lust and need.

“What’s my name?” He asked. He landed another smack against your pussy. You only grew more wet. The wet slaps were getting louder and filthier and he noticed. He didn’t wait long for you to respond before continuing to slap at your pussy until your legs were shaking.

“S-Sir,” you moaned.

“What is it?” He asked. He tilted his head and you looked at him through that sex fog you’d grown accustomed to this past week. You could barely think of your answer, let alone make your mouth move, as he slammed two fingers inside you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. Your hands gripped and let go of the sheets around you on the king sized bed. He pumped the fingers in and out of you, moving them around to feel every inch of your soaked walls. You moaned and whined, your needy sounds somehow turning you on even more.

“What’s my name, little one?” You asked.

“Sir! Sir!” You yelled out, cried out, in time for your orgasm to kick in, making you shiver in time with the frost from the AC. You shook, out of control, thighs trembling and knees buckling. If you were standing, you’d have collapsed to the floor.

Tre scooted in, making sure your legs couldn’t close. “Remember our safe word?”

You nodded dumbly. “Candy cane,” you muttered.

He dropped his head to your belly, placing soft kisses there. “Only you can turn me into a fucking animal,” he whispered against your skin. You giggled as he continued to attack your plump belly with kisses.

He licked the swell of your breasts and moaned at your taste. You reached out and grabbed his dick, played with the precum between your bodies. He moaned and ground his hips into you, rocking with every swipe. You flicked your thumb across the tip, flicking all that pre against the tip of his dick. He sighed and groaned under your touch, latching on to your nipple and suckling you.

It began to dry up so he pulled away and dropped to his knees. “Please, Sir. I need you,” you said.

He took off his glasses and tossed them onto the bed. You grabbed them and placed them on your chest to keep them safe. There was a bite of cold from the metal but it quickly warmed. You didn’t want to get lost gripping the white sheets in desperation and accidentally crush them. Tre watched the movement and his eyes turned darker still, a thousand yard stare entering his gaze.

Sweat gathered at his brow, rolling down the side of his sweet ebony skin and sliding into his beard. His breathing was erratic as he lowered against your pussy lips and drew your legs over his shoulders.

His fingers dug into a deep massage of the back of your thighs as he nosed through your wet slit. You bit your lip and gyrated your hips, unable to control yourself from moving. He suckled one of your pussy lips into his mouth, pulling to the point of pain and you cried out.

You had no idea how you were going to survive another one but you weren’t going to tap out. You needed him just as badly as he needed you. Needed this. This was the only time you felt like you were on the same page. The only time you felt connected, mind to mind.

He moaned, inhaling your scent and swiping his tongue out. You were still so sensitive from your earlier orgasms that you twitched with every pass. The massage on your thighs already had your back arching off of the bed, but when he finally dived in and wrapped his sexy lips around your clit, you were crying out and clutching his head.

“Oh shit!” You moaned. This was different. This was him trying to prove something. Or earn something. He suckled on you, hard, pulling waves of pleasure from you and making you whine and groan and scream to the sky. Perhaps he would get his wish and the front desk would be calling you any minute, asking if everything was okay.

No, everything was not fucking okay. You were getting the life sucked out of you and it was bordering on painful. It felt too fucking good as he licked and moaned his way in between your legs. His tongue speared in and out of you, mimicking how he was going to fuck you. One of his hands disappeared from your thighs and you felt him groan and tug on himself.

“That’s my job, you know,” you managed to breathe out.

He huffed against your pussy, rolling his tongue around your clit in small, tight circles that made your eyes cross. His tugs grew rougher and you panted to get enough oxygen to form a thought.

“That’s mine,” you said before succumbing to another orgasm. This was brutal and unforgiving. It blinded and deafened you. Sweat gathered everywhere. Pooled in the crevices of your skin. Your thighs locked his head in and he kept going, kept working his jaw to wring every last bit of it out of you.

Your knuckles hurt from clutching the sheets so hard as you came and came, wave upon wave of pleasure soaking the sheets beneath you. Tre licked up everything you gushed out. You twitched with every pass, too overstimulated.

Your cry was small and weak and he finally stopped, kissing up your thighs and over your belly. His hands roamed your body, touching every inch he could. He rubbed feeling back into your limbs, anchoring you in place and bringing you back to the world of the living.

Your essence dripped nastily from his beard and he swiped a hand down to work it in. “I like when you get possessive. You said this was yours?” Tre stood over you, peering down at you. He tugged on his thick erection and it jerked as you struggled to your elbows to hold yourself up.

It looked fucking painful the way it strained away from him, veiny, and begging for you. You licked your lips. Fuck, you wanted to taste him. Wanted him to feel just as good as he made you.

“Mine,” you huffed out.

He swiped his hand through your slopping juices and coated his dick with it, rubbing himself and groaning as he looked into your eyes. “One day, I’ma paint your belly with my cum and see how many paintings I can make.”

Your pussy clenched sharply and you moaned at the mental image. You needed him to do that, like right now. Something on your face made him grin and huff a laugh. He gripped your legs and tugged you closer, ass half-hanging off the bed.

“I like the idea of stuffing you more. Fucking my cum into you and painting your insides with everything I can give you,” his rubbed the top of your thighs and your hips. His hands were always deliciously callused and it worked at turning your body into jelly.

“I want everything,” you said. You gave him puppy eyes as your voice turned soft and girly, small with need.

His hand went to your face as he leaned over you. Your sweaty bodies rubbed together and you moaned, pulling him closer by his hips. He watched you rub against him, grabbing his ass with one hand and pulling him into you.

Your head was deliciously empty. You were operating on basic instinct. You just wanted him inside of you. You just wanted to be connected to him. Claimed by him. He moved his hips, rubbing his fat dick against your folds. You were trying to move him inside of you but he was too big for all of that. He’d have to be guided in.

“You want this dick, little one?” He asked.

The pet name was like a dose of dopamine that traveled from your brain to the tips of your toes. It relaxed you further, making you smile goofily at him.

“I want that dick, Sir,” you moaned.

He pulled you by the chin for a sweet, tender kiss that made your eyes water. He used his other hand to guide him inside you. That was anything but tender. He shoved inside and your mouth dropped open.

He groaned as he looked at you and began to pump his hips at a fast, punishing pace. You couldn’t breathe. You would probably pass out in a second. Your mouth flopped like a fish as he found a spot deep inside you already. You felt full and connected just like you wanted, getting closer to him every time he was inside you.

“Breathe, little one. I don’t want you passing out on me,” he said against your lips. He kissed you as if to give you the very breath you desperately needed. You gasped and sucked in as much air as you could while he was currently stealing it from your body.

Fuck, you felt electric. On top of the world. You felt like you could do anything now that he was inside you. You rolled your head, unable to choose a position to hold and keep it. He felt too fucking good pumping into you.

Your arms trembled from trying to hold yourself up but it was important to you to stay like this. Stay close like this. Your head was bent towards his. His lips were pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and cheeks. You returned his sweet kisses so at odds with how he was fucking you.

And make no mistake, this was pure, animalistic fucking. He was rutting inside of you. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Feel so fucking good.”

You clenched around his dick. His moans made you greedy for more. You felt invincible. Power drunk. You rendered a powerful man like him speechless and sloppy as his hips jerked against you.

He stopped to adjust himself, lifting one of your legs higher and then he set to work again. You grabbed his forearms and held on, looking into each other’s eyes, as your moans matched. Your face started to contort with a rising orgasm.

“Mhm, let that shit go. Let me feel you flooding this dick. Get that dick wet for me,” he cooed.

“Sir, Sir,” you moaned. Your nails dug into his arms as you leaned your head back and it finally overtook you. “Ouue, fuuuuck, babbyyy,” you moaned as you came. Your body convulsed on his dick, flooding him just the way he wanted with your slick.

“Fuck, I feel it. Feelin’ that shit,” he groaned. He hung his head as you closed your eyes. Stars exploded behind your eyes. You closed them tightly, trying to survive this. Trying to survive him and his body.

His own orgasm was ripped from him, soaking you in his cum. You felt it pulsing inside of you, pumping load after load. His hips still snapped inside of you, fucking it even deeper. You held on, your head against the bed and flopping from side to side as you cried and moaned, shaking on his dick.

Tre panted and groaned, his hips slowing down. Fuck, you were definitely going to feel this shit later. He dropped against your shoulder, off to the side and careful to avoid his glasses on your chest. He licked and kissed on your neck as he panted and recovered.

You messily sucked in air. He’d already seen you in a bonnet and shower cap, you were out of dignities to spare. You massaged the back of his neck while he laid there. He groaned, tension leaving his body in visible waves.

He softened inside of you and slowly pulled out. He leaned back into standing, so he could open your legs and watch his cum spill out. He licked his lips as if he still wanted to play with you but you were both too fucking tired to do anything but huff and look towards the ceiling.

He flopped beside you, wiping sweat from his brow. You yawned, but he told you not to fall asleep.

Not to fall asleep? How could you not? Your poor vagina was begging you for a break and he wasn’t giving an inch.

You heard him flittering around the suite. You distantly heard water running and then he was running a warm towel between your legs. You hissed at the contact, the soreness, the desperation finally leaving your bones for the time being.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered as he cleaned you up. He disappeared again and then he was back, picking you up and scooting you further up the bed. Somehow, he produced a tray of fresh fruit and made you sit up to eat and drink the water that was also on the tray.

“Where did this come from?” You asked.

“I sent for it while I was cleaning myself off. I think you dozed off,” he said. He had a proud grin on his face and you rolled your eyes. Yes, yes, we all knew he was a sex god capabale of fucking you to sleep.

You nodded and opened your mouth while he popped a strawberry in. The fruit was delicious and refreshing after something so intense. The last thing you wanted was to eat or drink. But he pointed out that you needed something besides your light breakfast and ice cream.

You were sitting against the headboard, letting the coolness ease your feverish skin. Your legs were tucked in and he closed the distance, sitting as close as possible to you while staying in front of you.

“I owe you some answers. But first, I want to say that this was an apology trip and fucking,” he said.

“Apology?” Shit, you really couldn’t think. Your thoughts were…nonexistent.

“I owe you an apology for not letting Brianna know that we were done. That she couldn’t just walk into the office whenever she felt like anymore. We ran in the same circles and shared the same tastes. I like my women to be a little submissive in the bedroom. Tying them up, controlling their orgasms, the whole bit. That’s what she meant by training. She thought I trained you to call me, Sir.”

He hadn’t, not really. It was a default to call your bosses Ma’am or Sir or whatever they preferred to be called unless they gave you permission to call them by their name. A holdover from your old school grandparents to teach you manners. Tre terrified you in the beginning, you had honestly been too afraid to call him anything else.

He told you more about how he usually got with his women. He found that he was into the whole scene life from his time experimenting in college. He didn’t “do” relationships. In every sense of the word, you were his first real relationship. He was so focused on getting things together, he skipped over a dozen or so steps and just wanted you by his side.

It was…sweet and started to answer a lot of fucking questions about him.

“I knew that I fucked up with the Brianna thing, I heard how she was speaking to you. We spent the lunch hour talking about how we were over whether she liked it or not. She kept asking what made you so special. And I just kept telling her everything. Everything made you special.”

Your eyes were starting to tear up so you bit your lip to keep from making them fall. He was being so damn sweet and open, it was tearing you to pieces.

He looked away, looked down at your legs. His hands idly rubbed your calf as he talked more. “I knew I needed to make it up to you beyond just saying sorry or taking you to dinner. I needed you to know I’m serious,” he said.

You reached out and caressed his cheek, tugging on his beard. “Trust me, I know you’re serious,” you said with a giggle.

He shook his head. “I know I ambushed you with this. But there’s still so much I don’t know about you. I heard you talking to Ka’ron one day and knew she was the main one to ask about this. When she said she never heard of me, I will admit, that hurt.”

He said as much back at the airport. You dropped your hand to his, to the one drawing circles on your calf. You squeezed his hand and looked into his open, brown eyes. “I’m not ashamed of you. I didn’t know how to explain it. You’re still my boss,” you said.

“I’m not just your boss,” he said.

“No, but…sometimes you push forward and there’s never a conversation in between. Like you decide all these things in this…relationship but you don’t tell it to me. You leave ‘me’ out of the relationship and that’s no way to be together. I need that conversation to ground me. I’m not a mind reader.”

“I can’t help it. It feels like I’m always trying to gauge whether you have one foot in or one foot out. I feel like…I have to catch you by surprise,” he said.

That was fair. You had a history of running and being scared. You were constantly running from situations that were too real, too honest. You hated that you weren’t always seen as the “fun, uncomplicated” girlfriend. When guys pushed for more, you were the first out of the door and onto the next one. Over and over, ready to bolt at the first sign of something being real.

“I am in. I am yours. I am not going anywhere,” you said. “I promise to talk to you first if I ever feel like bolting. But that’s just it! I don’t feel like bolting with you.”

You still felt panicked sometimes, like you couldn’t breathe with the mounting pressure and knowledge that all of this could come crashing down on your head. That everyone would find out and snicker and laugh you out of the office. That Tre would realize that he was dating someone so far beneath his league, it was laughable.

“I feel like you’re going to realize we’re not on the same level,” you admitted.

“We’re not. You’re so far out of my league, I don’t know why you’re here,” he said.

You looked at him, waiting for him to laugh or yell, “Gotcha!” It never came. He was fucking serious. The realization made you look at him like he was crazy.

“Get the fuck out,” you said and shook your head, laughing.

“I’m very serious,” he said. You felt like you knew him by now. He didn’t “do” humor that much either. He made you laugh and you had fun watching comedy specials together, but for the most part, he was deadly serious.

“You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met. You’re smart, funny, and you can talk about so much shit I never heard about. I feel like I have to shower you with gifts and trips to make you like me,” he said.

You pushed at his chest. “You’re so full of shit and I’m not falling for it. I’m not after your money!”

“I know,” he said with that shit-eating grin you’re so fond of. “I check the statements. You haven’t used my card once. What’s up with that?”

You threw up your hands. “Did Brianna ever get a card?” You asked. You couldn’t look at him while you asked that question. You didn’t want to compare yourself to Lil’ Miss Headband but you needed to know.

“You are the only one I’ve ever trusted my money to,” he said. He brought your hand to his lips.

You sighed quietly, loving to hear that. You’d just about die if it turned out that he gave every little woman he slept with a card.

“Sounds like we’re both harboring shit instead of talking,” you said.

He nodded. “We promised honesty from here on out, yeah?” He asked.

You nodded, popping a grape into your mouth. “Total honesty. No matter how scared we are or how much it hurts.”

Tre sucked his teeth and fought you for a piece of cheese. “Ain’t nobody scared,” he said.

You laughed and called him a liar and continued to talk a few things out. He didn’t mind reassuring you over and over that you were the only one he’d really been with. You still found it hard to believe, you had eyes.

His ego needed no stroking as he confirmed that there were always women after him but it was hard to tell if they wanted him or his money. He had no problem treating his lady, but when it was expected and not appreciated, it got old fast. You respected it. You’d still have a hard time believing it though.

You spent the rest of the weekend, much more relaxed that you didn’t have the weight of Brianna hanging over your head. You were able to swim and venture out into Jamaica to a local shopping place with women selling wares. A lot of it was the same thing from stall to stall and you felt bad having to tell a lot of them no. Tre was patient and let you get however many souvenirs you wanted for your friends.

You spent New Year’s with him inside of you, making you beg for mercy until your voice gave out and your body quaked. You got your kiss at midnight. It was sloppy and wet and perfect.

Unfortunately, you had to return home to a million calls from your friends and family. Cat was out of the bag officially. You made sure that Tre knew it was all his fault to which he only grinned and asked which house you were visiting first. But now that you were back in sunny California, a pit gnawed in your belly.

You didn’t know how to broach the subject. You had planned to tell him when you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off last week, but then the trip threw you for a loop.

He brought you to your place, after you had to practically grab the steering wheel and make him drive you to your place and not his. You made sure he knew that you weren’t trying to leave him, you just had things to check on and he was perfectly capable of coming to your place. Unless he’d spontaneously burst into hives from not sleeping on black sheets. Traveling was a fluke, the rules didn’t apply while on vacation.

“Oh, we got jokes,” he said and grinned on the way to your place. “I’ll remember that tomorrow.” He kept that evil grin on his face and you shuddered to think of what he had planned while you clenched your thighs together.

At your place, you stopped him from getting out of the car with a hand on his. He looked at you, growing more and more concerned as he looked at your face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I don’t know how to just blurt this out,” you said. Your leg bounced in your seat. Your street was quiet for once, no one outside to distract you.

“Hey, total honesty.”

You nodded. “I was going to tell you last week but…” You took a deep breath and then closed your eyes. Rip that bandaid off.

“Someone’s stealing a shit ton of money from the company.”

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tre Files #Tre x Black!reader #Tre x Black reader #x Black reader #Tre x Fem!reader #Tre x Fem reader #Tre x reader #Tre x you #Boss!Tre x Assistant!reader #Assistant!reader #Candy Cane Lane fanfic #Candy Cane Lane fan fic #Candy Cane Lane fanfiction #Candy Cane Lane fan fiction #Trevante Rhodes fanfic #Trevante Rhodes fan fic #Trevante Rhodes fanfiction #Trevante Rhodes fan fiction

291 notes · View notes

haejjoon · 7 months

Note

Hiiii

First of all I want to say that I love your art and I really admire it. It has kind of make me want to go back to drawing again. I used to draw a lot a few years ago but I stopped because I became unhappy with my progress. Now I want to go back to making art but I'm insecure about it because I'm worried I'm too old to start again (I'm 19) and whether I'm capable of relearning it properly. Do you have any tips about where to begin to learn art basics (specifically anatomy)? I would appreciate any advice.

Hello!!! Firstly thank you so much for the compliments, it really does mean so much <333

I'm nineteen, too! Of course you can start art again. I've taken a lot of breaks in between my own art, too, and it's only very recently that I started enjoying making art again (after .... like.... a year or two. lord) so I really do understand how you feel. But we're nineteen years young, and have so much time ahead of us to get back on our feet.

In my experience, improving comes quickest when you focus on one very specific skill at a time—and I mean SPECIFIC. Practicing gestures with torsos only, the muscles of the upper arm, skeleton heads in different angles. I've been studying arm anatomy (and only arm anatomy) recently, and I'm already miles ahead of how I used to draw arms in the past.

If you want a specific step by step on how I personally draw anatomy, I don't mind sharing a quick tutorial! But for general advice—form follows gesture, and gesture follows movement. The biggest mistake someone can make while drawing a body is focusing on the accuracy of the muscles/bones before getting the flow of the gesture down.

Even if the anatomy looks a bit wonky with the gesture, it's important that you capture the movement of the pose first, and then build muscle on top of that. Proko on Youtube has a very good quick drawing series on this, and explains it way better than I do, but that's the gist of it.

Also, PLEASE always use references! I know that hearing that gets old, but it's really important. If you'd like, I can make a quick tutorial on how to use references properly, too. Reference everything—pose, lighting, even art style if you're looking to switch things up (i have about 10 different tabs open on my computer with different artists I admire so I can reference their art religiously).

Speaking of referencing art styles, it's important to gather a bunch of artists you like in terms of style, and not just one. The trick is to separate them by skill—"this artist is for lining refs", "this artist is for anatomy refs", "this artist is for face refs", etc, etc.

And to jump off of That: I find that with anatomy, looking at other peoples' anatomy studies on pinterest is also very helpful. Obviously you should be referencing from real life too, but with art, it can be difficult to pin down what to put on the page and what to leave to the imagination. You wouldn't want to actually draw every single muscle in the arm individually, right? So I go and look at other artists' anatomy studies to see what they keep and what they don't keep.

(usually i find them on pinterest, and they look smth like this. the color coded ones especially help me.)

I'd recommend learning gesture and anatomy first, then building off of that to learn how to draw faces, then lining/coloring, just so that you have a solid base to work off on when it is finally time to color. (also because coloring/lighting requires a fair bit of how body anatomy works as well!!)

But yes, that's all the advice I can give from laying in my bed. I hope it helped somewhat, and if you'd like tips on how to do something more specific, I'm always willing to draw it out or go more in depth ^^ Best of luck on your art journey!

#asks

99 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 2 months

Text

remember it once - chapter three

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack x Belle Rating: T (will change) Chapter: 3 / 7 Word Count: 2900

For today's @dodgerfoxweek prompt: love letters/banter

read on tumblr: one | two

The months are long without her. Jack finds himself softening towards Sneed of all people. Following the lifesaving procedure Jack performed on Belle, Sneed has demonstrated a genuine interest in bettering his basic surgical skills and acquiring the more advanced techniques he lacks. He’s still superior, still snide, still essentially Sneed, but now he listens to Jack’s ideas and, occasionally, compliments him on his successful surgeries.

The number of successful surgeries has been increasing steadily since Belle introduced ether and carbolic acid, and with Sneed cooperating, the two doctors are able to work side by side in the theatre on the same patient. This frequently shortens surgery time, which has manifold resulting benefits: decreased blood loss, reduced risk of death from time spent under anaesthesia, shorter duration for Jack and Sneed to endure each other’s presence. Strangely, the situation has become something akin to… training each other. When Prof goes, the hospital’s power structure should actually change for the better, with two capable surgeons sharing their knowledge. Sneed will be Jack’s reliable right hand, and Jack has dreams of bringing in new doctors who will contribute to the pooling of information rather than existing in competition with one another and risking lives in the process.

Of course, it isn’t a completely smooth partnership. Sneed can be awfully Sneedy at times. Whenever he makes a dig about Jack’s reading, Jack urges him to put his own educated shoulder to the wheel to see if he can find the cure for being an insufferable git. Someone really should, he insists while watching Sneed’s mustache twitch with restrained petulance, in this day and age.

Unless he’s tending to his patients, Jack keeps his evenings for himself. He’s trying not to gamble, not to drink too much (admittedly, “too much” is an inconstant measure), not to say yes to Fagin’s more suspicious plans; anything he claims is “foolproof” is particularly to be avoided. It isn’t exciting, but nothing really is without her.

Just once during the four-month voyage that carries Belle to England, a letter is delivered to Jack. Well, it’s delivered onto another ship, to the postmaster in Port Victory, to Government house, into Fanny’s hands, and she turns up at the hospital—to his initial confusion. Since Fanny escaped marriage to the Lettuce, Jack isn’t aware of any renewed interest in Sneed. He doesn’t understand what she’s doing here. When she says she’s received a letter, he imagines the very worst and feels his face drain of blood, but Fanny launches into a description of Belle’s experiences thus far. By her tone, Jack slowly recognizes that this letter was not followed by a note about Lady Belle Fox’s tragic burial at sea. He exhales. Even though Fanny feels that she’s communicated everything, Jack asks her to read the letter. He wants to hear Belle’s words.

Tell Jack I would write to him if Mother was not watching me like a hawk, Belle writes. I forgive her, only because we have been two months at sea and even the pastimes which were initially the most novel have become dully familiar. Without a full household staff to command—and Father, crucially Father—her attention falls heavily on me. She tells me to do my embroidery and study my Latin instead of the anatomy texts she finds “vulgar” and “revolting.” This is most amusing, considering her own pricked fingers and the seasickness that rears its head whenever she attempts to read for an extended period.

“It sounds dreadful,” Jack remarks, crossing his arms.

“But you were in the Navy!” Fanny protests. “Don’t you love the sea?”

“I didn’t mean the sea.”

She may be willfully ignoring the implication that he was talking about her mother.

It is not recommended that I stand on deck, Fanny reads on, but after I had done it once, I was determined to return. Fanny, it takes the breath from one’s lungs. Blue. Everywhere. To be in constant motion, harvesting the energy of the waves. Some mornings—

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

Jack’s vision had unfocused as he listened, reintroduced to the sea he’d made his career upon through Belle’s eyes. He realizes the question is Fanny’s and blinks.

“Which part?”

“All that dreadful… air! The wet!”

“Keep reading.”

Fanny sulks but lifts the paper once again.

Some mornings, I catch the dawn. The sky is the blackest thing you can imagine, and then, suddenly, the ship and all of us onboard are born into the world. I believe we are hardly real between sunset and sunrise. Colours seem to seep up from the horizon as though the paintings you love so much have been washed in the distant water, fleshy pinks and bitter oranges rise and bleed. It is the most vital thing I have ever seen. I only wish Jack were with me. Tell him, Fanny. I can hardly believe I won’t sail from one shore and meet him at another…

“It becomes a bit… romantic,” Fanny explains, not exactly bashful, but certainly aware that she is privy to something Belle and Jack would ideally keep to themselves. “Would you like to read the rest alone?”

Ah. Then it is uncomfortable.

Before he can speak, Jack watches Fanny’s eyes widen as she recalls the disastrous dinner. She’s about to assume (only because Sneed bloody announced as much) he can’t read. He heads her off, quiet and flushed while he explains that it is difficult, not impossible. Easier when words are written clearly with plenty of space, more difficult when someone’s handwriting is cramped and smudged. He can read. It just takes time, but he will spend time on Belle, he will sit with her letter and focus and squint in order to relieve Fanny of her messenger duties.

“But what about when you want to write back?” Fanny asks, eyes searching but kind.

“I’ll ask—” But who will he ask to correspond with his fiancée on his behalf? Fanny is probably the best choice as she’s keen to support their romance, but she’s nosy. He might (he does) want to say things that only Belle’s eyes will read.

“Oh! I have already thought of something much better!” Fanny gushes. Jack hasn’t yet had the opportunity to suggest a single name.

—

“It is the images that I find so very awful,” Fanny explains, supporting this assertion with a grimace as she pages past an illustration of a grotesquely swollen tongue, “but it was the images Belle seemed to like best, of late.”

She’s installed him in her sister’s room. One of Belle’s medical texts is open on her desk, and the pair of them stand over it in contemplation. The Governor is in town and the household staff are either entirely disinterested in what Lady Fanny and Dr. Dawkins might be doing in Lady Belle’s bedroom or else they don’t care a whit. Even if they did care, Jack thinks, what are they to do about it? Most of them probably can’t read any better than he can, if at all. They certainly won’t be writing to Lady Fox to inform her of the young doctor’s latest misdeed.

“What do you think?” Fanny asks.

“I couldn’t overstate their usefulness,” Jack says, turning a few pages himself. “And I suppose they are things of beauty, when done well.” He traces graceful lines of musculature. “The detail shows an interest in precision and care, which I can certainly relate to.”

“Not of the images themselves,” Fanny complains, closing the volume with sudden petulance. “My idea! Drawing to Belle instead of writing to her!”

“I’m not sure I have your… skill,” he states cautiously, recalling Fanny’s very memorable trees. “Not to mention your instruction. You must have had tutors?”

“I did have one, but he was quite rigid. We had a difference of taste.”

“I see.”

“Have you ever drawn?” she wonders.

“A little,” Jack admits. At last, he removes his hat, setting it on the desk. He brushes a hand through his hair. “We surgeons try to keep notes of our surgeries—successful and not. Often, Hetty will take dictation for me, but if she’s busy, or the procedure’s something I did by feel rather than by sight, it can be easier for me to try to sketch what I remember.”

Fanny smiles encouragingly.

“Try, then.”

This is how he removes his coat and pulls up a chair. It is how he casts his eyes over the pencils and sticks of charcoal, the messy potted watercolours, before reaching out to touch the tools with his fingertips. Jack doesn’t notice when Fanny leaves him to it, but at some point, there is a cup of tea on the desk into which he accidentally dips a brush. He doesn’t realize until he fills his mouth with the chalky flavour of diluted paint.

It's his own palm he’s attempting to represent. He curls and opens his hand, studying the toughened skin. In his mind, he peels back time, scrubs away the callouses to peel back his very skin, remembering his palm ripped open from the ropes on the first ship on which he sailed. Jack sketches the ragged edges of the injury, the glow of abrasion. With a sodden brush, he dips into the red, then swipes across the paper, watching the wound bleed as the water spreads. He wrings some of the water out before applying more paint to the spot, getting the colour rich and real and—

Fanny shrieks from behind him.

“How awful! I mean, excellent.” She smiles in apology. “I wish I had never seen it, and I mean that as the most sincere compliment.”

“I understand. I appreciate your opinion.”

“Do you?” She looks genuinely surprised. “I can see why Belle fancies you.”

It really isn’t his place to tell his fiancée’s sister she should expect more than basic respect from any man she’d hope to marry, so he doesn’t. Fanny is much more assured in the advice she gives to him, offering blunt criticism as she points to different parts of his creation. Not unkind though.

“Again soon?” she asks when she’s done and he’s standing to go, realizing he has paint soaked into the sleeves he didn’t roll up his arms soon enough. Unusual. It’s normally blood there.

Jack nods.

—

While he’s still learning, Belle’s letters begin arriving from London. Fanny dutifully shares each one. Now that Belle has more freedom to write—physical freedom, without her mother looking over her shoulder—each letter contains the sentence “Fanny, stop reading.” Jack appreciates the honesty of Fanny reading this line aloud, though she does also frown at being excluded from the rest.

The rest.

It has to be Fanny who explained, and Jack is grateful for it. The remainder of Belle’s letters are written larger, with spaces between the letters, each word cleanly executed on the page. They’re legible, specifically for him, exactly how he told Fanny a letter would need to be to lessen his struggle.

At last, he has an account of her longing firsthand. She doesn’t speak of the engagement—there is still a risk that Fanny would spy the word, even if she weren’t intentionally snooping—but it’s clear she isn’t only writing to an acquaintance, a friend, a fellow student of the human body. That Belle refers to well enough, perhaps dangerously so, but it’s all in Latin. The switch from one language to another stumps Jack at first, but he learns to watch out for it. In Latin, Belle is both formal and erotic, and Jack finds himself angling her letters away from the eyes of Hetty and Fagin, though neither knows the language. While Belle’s sentences are stiff, the parts of the body she employs Latin to address—parts of his body, and hers, frequently imagined together—evoke visceral memories. The dusty old language can be surprisingly sensual, Jack finds, when Belle writes of skin on skin.

He responds with broken bones, chipped teeth, dislocated jaws—drawings of all the latest cases to pass through his ward, everything Belle’s missing. It’s when he’s replicating the twisting line of stitches he threaded into an elbow the other day that he has the idea to embellish beyond paint; Jack pokes through her belongings (sorry, Belle) until he discovers her embroidery thread. After that, his art becomes vivid in a way that almost astounds him, even as he jabs the needle through the page. He lays a skin-coloured wash on an arm, then raises a blue vein down its length. He adds fibre ribs to open cadavers, creeping lines of red to blood-shot eyes. When he gathers both Fanny’s art supplies and his strength to recreate the surgery he’ll remember for the rest of his days, he brings Belle’s aorta to life in crimson before sewing in the noose that ties it off. I love you, he tries his best to say. I love you all the way through.

—

Dearest Jack,

I must tell you immediately, or with as much immediacy as a letter from Britain to Australia can allow, that my mother and I will be home in Port Victory sooner than we had planned. Therefore, do not suspect me of neglecting our correspondence if you do not hear from me with the regularity to which we have both grown accustomed. I may be boarding a ship within the week. I fear my mother is being overly cautious, but as an earlier departure is to my benefit, I was hardly about to protest. The responsibility for her agitated state is mine, as I will unfold.

I’ve told you of my time at the University College Hospital here in London. As access to the hospital was key to my mother getting me here, she has allowed me to maintain a standing appointment with staff. I have observed so much and taken copious notes. Your letters also inspired me to seek out a young nurse here, who I was told had something of a talent for drawing. I’ve paid her to illustrate my notes, so that we might more easily replicate these new techniques on our patients when I am back.

Though I miss you terribly—you know I do, Jack, do not be too jealous of London’s sick and injured, monopolize my time though they may—there has been so much to learn that I was deeply frustrated by the wave of sickness that suddenly swept the city. Before you leap to chastise my response, yes, I know it was a selfish one. You see, at home, you might have called on me to help mitigate the spread of illness. Here, I am an indulged guest. I may be present at surgeries and question patient doctors, but in the case of an outbreak, I am denied entry. Foolishly, I complained about this to my mother. Rather than commiserate with me over the injustice of my being shut out when I have the time, inclination, and very possibly the skills necessary to help, she determined they were quite right to bar me. A mere two days later, she decided we had better leave them to it and sail for home while our own health is still sound.

This does not mean I have seen nothing, and, Jack, I am not so selfish as to hope this illness reaches Port Victory. It appears to be neither influenza nor typhoid. I may have been able to diagnose it with closer study, but such a thing was denied me. At least these male doctors cannot separate me from my books; I have already begun packing my trunks with all the latest literature. I know you will make time for me so that we can discuss things properly. It is an enormous comfort.

It's been more than half a year since our separation began, yet I doubt you have forgotten what awaits us upon my return. My mother will see how you have flourished in your role as Head Surgeon, and she will know how steadfast our love has been. I believe our engagement has lasted long enough. I long for us to be united in all ways.

Yours across oceans,

Belle

—

The months are slower than ever, but not even Sneed on his crankiest day can bother Jack now. When Prof finally stepped aside, as recognition for his substantial contributions to the health of the colony (To the death rate, more like, Jack thought, but resisted impertinence just this once), he was allowed to maintain his residence in the house meant to be passed between head surgeons. Braced for the worst, Jack was surprised that this didn’t mean he wouldn’t be offered the things his predecessor had enjoyed.

Instead, they built him a new house.

The day he was granted his own bed is still clear in Jack’s mind, the day he was given his own quarters at the hospital even clearer. An entire house is so overwhelming that he puts off moving in. He’s afraid of the strange and terrible objects that will fill it—spoons in the kitchen and settees in the parlour. Innumerable trinkets for Fagin to nick, no doubt. Jack will have to pretend to mind, because the best thing that will be in the house will be Belle. He can’t imagine being concerned about much else.

He takes to strolling down to the dock each morning. On one of them, Belle’s ship comes in.

#dodgerfoxweek2024 #my writing #The Artful Dodger #dodgerfox #Dr. Jack Dawkins #Lady Belle Fox #Lady Fanny Fox

13 notes · View notes

wickedlyqueer · 2 years

Note

i've been thinking of starting the wicked novels. have you read all 4 novels? are they worth the read?

I have read all 4 novels, yes. And whether they are worth it or not... heavily depends on what you want to get out of them tbh.

WHAT TO PREPARE FOR:

dense prose that clearly has its roots in post-modernism. If you're not willing to read long sentences that begin with a deep analogy for racism and end with some sort of sexual innuendo or disturbing event, this is going to be a hard read for you.

Just. So much sexual stuff. which ironically enough you can also easily read over. (The second time I picked up on it sooo much more than the first time reading it. but in my asexual defense, how tf should i have known what "dragonsnaked" meant).

Similarly to the bullet point above: you can easily read over incredibly important plot points. This is because Maguire sometimes doesn't bother to elaborate; skips years within a single sentence; and is unforgiving to the mind who wanders while reads. There's a reason my notes look like this:

No consistency in character arcs whatsoever. This isn't your average fanfic or even YA novel. Just to put it into perspective: the book is called "The Life And Times of the Wicked Witch of the West". Which is just "Elphaba's Life". But Elphaba barely focalizes (her point of view), and when she does, it's at a point in the book where she's starting to lose her goddamn mind, so there's always a sense of an "unreliable narrator". So just know going in that the politics of Oz have the center, and especially in the later books all characters start to blend together, with a similar tone of voice and sense of humor.

Maguire—bless him and may god help him—cannot write women. He tries, he really does, but anything about the women anatomy is so unappealingly written and I was not the least bit surprised to learn he's gay lmao. He also has a tendency to turn women (especially when they get older) into "waifs". When in the fourth book he describes Glinda as being sad she never got kids I wanted to scream and rip my fucking hair out. Glinda Upland of the Arduenna Clan would never want to be a mother. She'd fucking hate it. And I'll forever hold it against Maguire for ever having suggested otherwise. (He also did something similar to one of my favorite side characters in the second book; Sister Apothecaire. She gets an absolute character assassination by the fourth book).

The biggest "reveal" in book four was literally spoiled by the family tree in the beginning of the book. 🤦 so there's a built up for like 300 pages and all the while you're like "WE KNOW!! WE ALREADY KNOW!!" which made book 4 a particularly frustrating experience imo.

WHAT TO LOOK FORWARD TO:

Understanding fanfics and other fan work much better. A lot of fanfic is based on a mix of musical and book ("booksical"). Even minor characters like Pfannee, Shenshen, Milla, Crope & Tibbet, will make an appearance, even when a fic is more musical based. This was the reason I decided to read the books too back in the day.

Also understanding (popular) interpretations in fanfics better. Like. I tend to write Elphaba as intersex, non-binary and bisexual. That looks very out of the blue when you only have the musical's context, where Elphaba is played by mostly feminine women. But once you read the book you look at those same headcanons and go "word".

Delicious gelphie (sub)text is there, if you want to look for it. But you do have to look for it (twas written in the 90s, lads).

Very queer, actually! And not just in the sense of like "there's a lesbian couple" like we see nowadays in media, but it's just... present. This is written by a gay man, and it shows. You can see queerness popping up everywhere. There's a lot of sexuality and gender stuff going on. And even though nobody goes "I am a trans man" or whatever, you sometimes read stuff and go "that's gender dysphoria babe, idk what to tell ya"

Once you get used to Maguire's writing style... he actually can write some pretty gorgeous prose and he writes with a lot of wit. I like his sense of sharp (dark) humor.

WORLD BUILDING! I honestly just read the other three books for world building for my own fics, more than anything.

FINAL VERDICT:

I do generally recommend reading at least the first book. Especially the first half of the book is just so solid. There's a reason why "Shiz Era" is so beloved in this fandom. Easily the best chapters out of the entire series. It gives so much more backstory to the musical (and bigger Oz lore). The latter half drags on imo, but that's also kinda the point?

The other three books..... depends. I read them for my world building in my fanfics. And I honestly found the second book to be rather cathartic, because it really goes through the motions of mourning Elphaba and that's what I kinda needed after the devastating ending of the first book, but I've heard other people say book 2 was their least favorite.

Basically. If Maguire hasn't utterly broken your spirit by the first book, the other three books still have plenty of joys in them. (For instance, I fucking love Nor. and whenever Glinda shows up in the sequels, it's always the biggest joy ever!)

Usually I describe the novels as such: "I didn't enjoy reading them, but I sure am glad I've read them."

#wicked #wicked book #wicked the life and times of the wicked witch of the west #sam's asks #long post

150 notes · View notes

carpisuns · 2 years

Note

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to start posting Miraculous Art or digital art inngeneral? I want to make a tumblr for it, but I feel like I need to be good enough to do so in a way?

Yes! My advice is: just post it :) go for it! there is no “your skill level must be this high to post” rule.

honestly, sharing work can be scary for people of any skill level. it’s good to learn how to get comfortable with your own mistakes and just learn and grow and improve without feeling shame about where you’re starting. and you might be surprised by how supportive people are of beginners and how much they genuinely enjoy your work even when you don’t really know what you’re doing! Haha

here look at this

I drew this like 3 years ago and I was proud of it at the time but i despise it now and I think it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever drawn because chat’s arm is like TWICE as long as it should be 😂 the anatomy in general is Bad but that arm haunts me to this day!!!! Omg

But you know who commented on that mistake? No one!! This post got like 100 notes and it was just people being nice (and this was back when I had just started my blog and had hardly any followers).

^ this was one of my earliest pieces of ML art, which I drew on paper and then took a photo of and colored in with my finger on my phone bc I didn’t have a drawing tablet lol. I specifically remember flipping out bc buggachat reblogged it 😂 it is not a good drawing!!!

The point is that art doesn’t have to be super well done for you and others to enjoy it! posting your stuff is a great way to share what you love, make friends, connect with other creators that you can learn from, and just feel supported in your art journey. Improvement will come automatically as you just keep creating and having fun with it!

Sometimes i actually get excited when I see art that was drawn by a beginner because it’s just cool to see people learning new things and sharing things that they enjoy even if it’s not perfect. I know it’s intimidating to share your work when there are other artists who are more skilled than you, but realistically there is always gonna be someone who’s better than you, no matter how good you are, so you might as well get used to it now 😂 also, even artists you look up to make mistakes! i remember when I first started learning I thought everyone else’s art was flawless lol but when you train your eye better you notice mistakes more. Which isn’t a bad thing! It’s nice to remember that we’re all still growing and we can support each other as we do that. I could go through every one of my art pieces and point out mistakes I’ve made or ways I could improve lol and that’s just the stuff I even notice! Sometimes that’s a little intimidating bc I’m like “omg XYZ artist is SO good, they’re probably judging me” but honestly that’s probably not the case(?) haha. In my experience fandom artists are very supportive of one another whether they’ve been drawing forever or are just starting out. So don’t sweat it! Just share your stuff and see where it leads you :)

good luck!!! I am cheering you on! 💜

(also I’ll let you in on a little secret: if something is stupid/funny people don’t care how ugly it is. yesterday I posted something that looks like this and people reblogged it. amazing)

#anon #ask #positivity

197 notes · View notes

thereareeyesinsidethetrees · 3 months

Text

@transford-pines woe, au be upon ye (under cut)

warnings for talk of death and (lethal) injury

context for anyone who doesn’t already have it: this is a gravity falls/fnaf au where none of the books nor anything past sister location happen. also, the nightmares have nothing to do with the illusion disks

i’m more tired than my usual as of writing this, so some bits may be a tad incoherent. my apologies for that. anyway, au explanation time:

this au focuses on the stan twins. stan and michael become the same character, ford and cc become the same character. shermie owns the sister location (and some other things) but is unaware of the fact that the robots are uh. sentient. shermie is the older brother here

that should place filbrick in the role of the william afton, but he’s not. because him murdering random kids for no reason feels like it undermines him being an abusive prick to his own kids in a way. he doesn’t need to be a killer to be terrible, y’know? so the murderer is someone else

seeing as ford is cc in this au, i’m sure you know where this is going. stan doesn’t do the deed himself, but he does watch as it happens (there is a reason/s for this. that i won’t get into right now. we’ll make an addendum later if we remember)

here, the theory about fnaf 4 being an actual nightmare cc is having as they die is true. i’ve always taken it as a ‘facing your trauma/coming to terms with your death’ type deal, and i feel like that fits here. stan promises to put ford back together before the latter dies

this is where we start getting into artistic liberties

stan thinks ‘okay. there’s this college that’s relatively easy to get into and it has courses i can take to learn more about supernatural shit. and that’s the kind of stuff ford was wanting to research anyway, so even if i don’t figure something out, i’ll just do that’. this is how stan meets fiddleford. he will come up again later

stan still needs to get a job, so he goes to shermie for help and ends up working as a technician in the sister location. this way, he gets paid to poke around at stuff that could potentially help him make progress in his studies. it goes pretty great, except for the part where the robots rip his intestines out

are you ready for weird ass ghost shit cause we’re getting into weird ass ghost shit now

stan has the realization that ford has actually been haunting him since he died. he just couldn’t do anything before. but, now that stan is more than well on his way to exiting this mortal plane, ford is finally able to talk to him (which really just consists of stan barely existing and ford going ‘well, you tried. my turn’)

in other words, stan is forgiven (kind of) and ford uses his ghostly abilities (really just possession-ish) to keep stan alive so he can try and…do something about that whole situation. ford rushes stan out of there (‘big sharp metal thing is going to use you as a meat suit if you don’t get out of here’ is pretty good incentive turns out) and he manages to make it to a phone so he can call fiddleford for help

does fiddleford have any experience in engineering entire functioning organs for people? not at all. is he gonna try and figure it out anyway? you bet he is

stan ends up healing okay. ford sticks around (he’s afraid if he lets go of stan, he’ll just immediately keel over). stan introduces fiddleford to his dead brother. fiddleford gains an interest in also studying human anatomy (he needs to be prepared in case stan almost dies again). ford and fiddleford dance at one point. stan confronts shermie about the incident. shermie offers him a position as a night guard in a different location (still plenty of robots there, but no giant death claws. which was the actual problem, as far as he knew. no, he did not know about the extent of the wound). stan takes it because now he wants to know how the hell the animatronics in the sister location got possessed

stan begins investigating any deaths that could be causing the hauntings, which leads him into trying to figure out who (and/or what) is causing the deaths. ford and fiddleford kind of help, though ford is working with the same information as stan (and also keeps scaring the other ghosts away) and fiddleford just offers ideas and advice whenever stan gets back to the dorm. this is essentially where the au starts getting into ‘ooh what’s gonna happen next’ territory.

some things up on the radar: shermie somehow doesn’t believe the twins about the hauntings (despite knowing about the murders), stan witnesses another bite and has a very bad time, and ford and fiddleford talk about hydraulics for a while

do you see what i meant. when i said there were a lot of changes. and to proceed with caution

anyway, that’s all for now. woe, au is no longer upon ye

#death #mention of death #it’s a murder mystery again. yay #with mystery trio!! yayyy

9 notes · View notes

urcadelimabean · 1 year

Text

Absolutely no one:

Me: every mammal has a clitoris (and so do many non-mammals such as crocodiles and many bird species). In many extinct as well as extant mammals, sexual stimulation of the clitoris caused/causes ovulation. When one species of male bat performs oral sex on the female before and after penetration, he is allowed to copulate with her for a longer period of time, prompting us to ask how the clitoris and behaviors of stimulating it are an evolutionary benefit. Animals such as bonobos and dolphins engage in clitoral stimulation. Now we look at humans... Humans do not talk about the clitoris at all. Many erroneously think it's vestigial. The shape of the penis is plastered everywhere from graffiti to medical textbooks, even brought up frequently in conversation through jokes, whereas virtually no one, including medical professionals, can even recognize the full wishbone shape of the clitoris when shown it. Clitoral anatomy is a footnote in medical texts. Many men would, for some reason, prefer it if women could come without clitoral stimulation. Try telling a man you'd like him to come without any penile stimulation. Everywhere we are told that by dressing sexy women are "embracing and exploring their sexuality." I will never aim to shame women for their dress or behavior and believe that doing so is extremely damaging and unfeminist. However we need to discuss the social pressures women face to perform sexiness for men and the alarming fact that the clitoris is suspiciously absent from virtually all discussions of women "exploring their sexuality." This is because women are not yet encouraged to explore their sexuality in an authentic female -centered way. Female sexuality is viewed through a male lens, in which the penis and vagina, rather than the penis and clitoris, are the cites of sexual function. (When women do orgasm from penetration, it's due to the stimulation of the internal clitoris.) People describe the clitoris as phallic. On one hand, it is undeniably homologous to the penis, with all the same erectile tissues, capable of erection. On the other hand, for too long the clitoris has been thought of as male when it is not. For trans men and non-binary people the clitoris is not female, but for cisgender women, how can we possibly continue to view the clitoris as male in nature simply because its homologue is the penis? The scrotum is homologous to the labia, yet we do not view the scrotum as a female structure in cisgender men. The clitoridectomy of women in the minds of men is so complete that they have even come up with the notion of "penis envy," a concept which just makes no sense to a woman who knows her body and finds joy in stimulating her clitoris. If anything, we should be discussing, perhaps, the way men feel threatened by women orgasming without the need for penetration, and the misogynistic sex-shaming culture that has caused us to be so universally silent on the subject of the clitoris. I haven't even covered yet the glorification of the penis versus the idea that vulvas are dirty and ugly. There's even a trend now to shame women for having a certain shape of labia minora. (You can get labiaplasty from surgeons that don't know where clitoral nerves are. They may sever them, ending your sexual function.) Women feel vastly less confident asking for oral sex than men despite it being the only way many women can orgasm. Yes, men are shamed for having small penises. And how is that judgement supposed to reflect on the small external glans of the clitoris? Is the "size matters" philosophy another reason men don't want to acknowledge the sheer size of the internal clitoris, that actually extends from the glans to the vagina, partially surrounding the vaginal opening? Really, the size of the organs shouldn't matter at all: the people they are attached to matter. Their pleasure matters. Their bodies matter. Their experiences are equally as important as men's experiences. The clitoris is as important as the penis.

41 notes · View notes

bechloeislegit · 6 months

Text

20 Questions Game

This seemed like it might be fun to do. So, here’s my responses. I was tagged by @ridiculously-over-obsessed

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

AO3 says I have 113 Works (many of which I migrated over from FanFiction.net since that was the first site I posted on).

2. Total AO3 word count

1,866,264 (Can this be right?)

3. Fandoms you write for

I write solely for Pitch Perfect

4. Top 5 fics by kudos -

Love at First Bite: A Pitch Perfect Story - A vampire AU fic; cowritten with RJRMovieFan.

Pitch Perfect 3: BeChloe Is Legit! - Pitch Perfect 3, written as we believe it should have been and could have been if the filmmakers were a little more visionary; cowritten with RJRMovieFan.

Skyping While Sleeping - Summary: A one-shot based on a post/prompt from Tumblr User @ladygaybeale. Beca is on tour and Skypes Chloe. Chloe thinks Beca is asleep and tells Beca her deepest regret.

Stronger - Summary: Beca and Chloe meet before Beca starts at Barden University and become fast friends. Chloe is a Senior and had a terrifying experience when she was home for the summer. The two are drawn to each other, but is Beca biting off more than she can chew in wanting to be more than just a friend to Chloe? Rated M for language. Warning: Mentions of anxiety attacks and assault (not sexual).)

BeChloe Week 2019 - Summary: 8 BeChloe One-shots based on prompts submitted by Tumblr users.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I’m sure I’ve missed some, but I do try to respond to them all.

6. Fic w/Angstiest Ending.

I think I’d have to say, “Chloe Effed Up.” It’s the only fic I’ve written where Beca and Chloe do not end up together.

7. Happiest ending?

I am known for happy, fluffy stories, so I can’t pick which of my fics would have the happiest ending. (I do love writing an Epilogue and will (almost) always find a way to have a happy ending.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None that I can recall.

9. Do you write smut/what kind?

Not usually; I have written some light smut when I felt it added something to the story (or I got badgered enough and added some to keep readers happy; giving into peer pressure is not usually my forte, but I can be persuaded every once in a while).

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven’t, but I have used characters from Grey’s Anatomy more than once.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Yes.

12. Ever had a fic translated?

Not that I’m aware of.

13. Ever cowritten a fic?

Yes, several, actually.

14. Favorite ship?

For writing, all Bechloe, all the time. Also, Staubrey. And, I don’t write them, but I have grown a bit fond of Junksen (and I did write a Christmas one-shot where Aubrey and Emily were together).

15. A WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Nothing that’s been posted. (I do have a couple of fics in a Drafts folder that I started because I got an idea and didn’t want to lose it. I may have to revisit that folder and see if there’s anything there worth working on.)

16. Writing strengths?

I finish every fic I start; nothing is left incomplete. I also feel I’m stronger at writing one-shots than multi-chapter fics.

17. Writing weaknesses?

I use dialog to convey the story because I’m not as good at imagery or descriptive narratives.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in a different language?

I haven’t written too much in a different language, only small parts of conversations, and Google Translate may or may not have been involved. If I actually spoke a different language, I would definitely write something in that language.

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

Pitch Perfect. Also, it's the only fandom I’ve written for.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Wow! That’s a loaded question. I don’t really have a favorite, but I do have a few that I really am proud to have written. My top five are (in no particular order):

Beca and Chloe’s Summer Fling My Name is Beca Mitchell What if the World Ended Tomorrow? Chloe Goes On Strike Stronger

There are also a number of one-shots that I would consider faves (I admit I have too many to list).

Tagging: Anyone who reads this and wants to do it.

#bechoeislegit #tagging game #20 questions

11 notes · View notes

gremlintrash · 3 months

Note

what a dim fkn lesbophobe.. ofc most prostitutes don't enjoy most times the crusty johns f*ck them but if they're osa they at least have the capacity to enjoy sex involving males and their dicks which lesbians innately do not. it's overdramatic to say that every single encounter a prostitute (who had picked this job) has is SA, that's trivializing the very meaning and victims of SA. there absolutely are het and bihet women who enjoy being promiscuous and getting railed by random males and have decided they may as well make money from that as incomprehensible and dangerous and anti-feminist as it is. but lesbians could never willingly be with a male, so yes, ofc if a male r*ped me - a gold star lesbian, it would be 100 times worse for my psyche than a fellow woman r*ping me. that is not the say that r*pe isn't always traumatic. female heteros can't ever really relate to this because they are female themselves and are attracted to males who oppress them so they'll never understand how revolting the very idea of any physical contact with a male is to us, the softest seemingly consensual hetero 'love-making' 🤢 would still be aggressive r*pe to a lesbian. on the other end, most het women will never that viscerally disgusted by the idea of intimacy with a woman, they don't desire it, but they know and have female anatomy themselves and female genitalia isn't as weaponizable and physically endangering as male either. if you asked most het-attracted women, they'd still choose to be assaulted by a woman if they were forced into such an awful choice. most of them are so lesbophobic and heteronormatively brainrotted anyway that they wouldn’t even perceive lesbian sex as 'real' so being r*ped by a woman wouldn’t be as traumatic for most. so while all r*pists should die eternally in the pits of hell no matter the compatibility of their orientation and their victim's, you are simply lesbophobic and insanely cruel if you think that the doubly inhumane: homophobic and misogynistic 'corrective' r*pe isn't most horrific and traumatizing to lesbians in particular.

So first of all i think you're like completely misplacing your anger, hope it made you feel better to type all that out at least? Like I think you've misunderstood my post maybe lmao, because the POINT of that post about "no prostitutes are lesbians because any real lesbian would kill themselves rather than get touched by a male is very unkind TO LESBIANS who have been sexually abused by men or prostituted. But maybe because I suggested I think its fucked up to say that "osa" women suffer less from being raped you don't care abt the rest.

So to clarify, I dont think attempting to quantify who suffers from rape "the most" is a reasonable conversation to have, it's neither helpful nor compassionate to any victims of sexual assault.

You can recognize that corrective rape is awful (it is and I've never said otherwise) and think that.

Why do we need to build a hierarchy of the different types of sexual abuse and assault lmao? Who does that help? What gives you the right to quantify the pain of other people as well? I could hit you with "well what about victims of incest?" Or something like that and maybe you would double down or make a concession "well okay, under those circumstances MAYBE it's as bad for """osa""" women to be raped as it is for lesbians" but the point of what I'm saying is actually I think that this conversation is gratuitous and I think we've lost by entertaining it at all. You can have a conversation about factors which might exacerbate the suffering caused by sexual assault/abuse without devolving into "and that's why none of you will ever suffer like *I* have suffered" etc and so on. Why does it even seem attractive to you to feel like no one could ever understand how particularly damaged you are? Would you not rather try to relate to people who are trying to reach out through similar experiences to you than like languish alone like this? Like refuse to let people relate to you and then claim that they can't/won't? Idk lol

#you need to like... think abt your priorities

6 notes · View notes

doctor-orbagels · 9 months

Text

How I Draw With Borderline Aphantasia

~Preamble~

Hi! I’m Dr.Orbagels, and even though I have been drawing for most of my life, my brain is a near black void where any images are very hard to make out. This is a condition I would come to know much later as Aphantasia. As you might guess, this was extremely difficult to work with for a very long time. Anyone with similar experiences can relate to needing piles upon piles of references, doing fan art when you felt like you were incapable of something wholly original, and a whole heaping helping of imposter syndrome. So, here I’ll detail my own experience overcoming this massive hurdle in the hopes that it will help others who are having the same struggles!

Important Note:

I am not claiming to speak for everyone who has Aphantasia, nor will my methods work for everyone. As I will get into later, even though i absolutely do have this issue on some level, my case is not nearly as bad as some have it. These are more or less oddly specific tips from someone with an oddly specific condition.

Also, I’m not necessarily the best or most technically proficient artist out there, but I’ve come a long way.

~why “borderline” and what my condition is like~

I think the easiest way to get across how I think is through the most common example of what level of Aphantasia you have:

When you think of an apple, what do you see?

Well, if I were to answer this, it would be something along these lines

Yes, I can see some level of silhouette and almost get a complete image, but it feels like the smaller details and overall outline are very hard to see when thinking of the full picture. However, things become clearer the more I focus on certain parts over others, sort of “zooming in” on what I’m thinking about.

~what I did about it~

This is the main reason I am bothering to post anything about this at all: it took me nearly 15 years of trial and error and struggle after struggle to figure out what I’m doing, and I can’t help but feel that if I was able to just tell past me how I did it, I would have progressed so much faster.

Anyways, first off is even starting a drawing in the first place. I don’t know how relatable this is, but things like anatomy skeletons just do not make sense to me when you can’t really make out the entire image in the first place. So, I much prefer to just zoom in on the image in my head, so to speak, and start with the line that is the most clear. This line is often either towards the top of the image, the part most in the foreground, or whatever feature is most prominent. To use the previous apple example, I’d probably start here:

From there, it’s easier to work your way downwards as you go.

And then start working on where certain details will go

Admittedly, i don’t really specialize in super detailed/realistic shading and rendering and I am completely self taught, so I don’t really have a choice other than to concede that my ability to explain my process kinda ends here. However, I found that tumblr is an amazing place for art tutorials and just getting this far is enough to get the whole train going.

Here’s the part that’s much more difficult to swallow:

The only was I was able to develop this method was from YEARS of freehand copies (i.e. replicating the works of other people as closely as I could). No, this doesn’t mean literally trace other people’s art, nor does it mean that you should even post your freehand copies or hype yourself up for doing them. Freehand copies should be purely for practicing techniques and exploring your art style. Nothing more, nothing less. However, again, this was just how I was able to make things work for myself and eventually do things that were original.

~conclusion and more disclaimers~

This does not mean that I have negated my need for references entirely, nor did it mean I felt the need to abandon making fan art. This method just made it so I was able to make anything original at all. If this makes sense to literally even a single person like me, then I’ve justified posting this.

Finally, I need to reiterate that I am NOT the best artist in the world, nor the most technically skilled. I just know what I know and I’m still getting better.

Here’s some of my most recent art that I’m most proud of. Two finished pieces (Pumpkin Rabbit, being my first digital drawing ever, and the monster with 4 left hands I have named “Windmill”), two WIPs (the MC of a story I’m making and fan art of an old creepypasta i loved as a kid), with two being originals and two being fan art.

#artist on tumblr #trans artist #aphantasia #tutorial kinda but mostly just saying my story and process #digital artist #small artist #self taught artist #neurodivergent #autistic things #actually autistic #i am absolutely going to edit this later when i think of better ways to further explain lol #long post #my wips

2 notes · View notes

bushs-world · 1 year

Text

I posted 1,871 times in 2022

That's 1,836 more posts than 2021!

177 posts created (9%)

1,694 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@queen-of-meows

@mareebird

@playinggalaga

@inexpressiblybeautiful

@the-girl-who-sold-the-wxrld

I tagged 1,635 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#loki - 419 posts

#sylki - 379 posts

#loki series - 313 posts

#sylvie - 226 posts

#pro sylki - 119 posts

#fandom wank - 117 posts

#tom hiddleston - 76 posts

#loki season 2 spoilers - 61 posts

#fanfic - 51 posts

#loki meta - 46 posts

Longest Tag: 90 characters

#i bet the day this sign was put up a lot of people sneakily picked up a few leaves anyways

My Top Posts in 2022:

I don't understand why people are making a big deal about the mention of pads and periods in 'Turning Red'.

It is a movie directed towards young girls and they have a right to know about their bodies and the changes they will experience.

The average age to get periods is 12 years and some girls get it as early as 8 or 9 years old. There is nothing to be ashamed about it or to hide it from little girls who one day have to experience it and don't have any support in dealing with his big change with their bodies.

Periods are a natural part of a girl's life and it would be so much better if they are prepared for it. Also, stop sexualising periods. There is nothing shameful about it.

Let girls be girls and stop trying to gaslight them into being ashamed of their own body and anatomy.

97 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

Ok, so I am really stepping into dangerous territory here, and I may get a lot of hate for this take. But honestly, I needed to get this off my chest, so here's my dive into it.

So, recently I saw a take that claimed Loki isn't responsible for Frigga's death. And that it's unfair of Mobius to blame him for it.

Now, here's the thing. Loki obviously didn't kill Frigga himself. Nor did he want her to die. He proactively didn't take part in her death. Ultimately he shouldn't be called her murderer. So, yes to say, Loki killed Frigga is wrong and cruel. Frigga was killed by the Kurse

But Loki did have a part to play in her death. Maybe you can't place full responsibility on his shoulder, but he definitely had a part. He led to the Kurse, albeit unknowingly to Frigga, which resulted in her death. And before any argues otherwise, let me add it is canon as confirmed on Marvel's official website. Mobius also repeats a similar sentiment in ep 1.

Now, the point is whether Loki should be held responsible for Frigga's death or not. And if yes, how much? Like I said earlier, claiming Loki killed his mother is wrong, since he didn't kill her or nor plot to have her killed.

We can't also say Loki was responsible for her death, because honestly, Frigga was in danger anyways. The palace was under attack. We can argue sooner or later, the Kurse and Malekith may have found Jane and Frigga.

But what Loki is responsible of, is endangering his mother. He is responsible of leading the Kurse to her. And he is responsible for putting her in harm's way.

Obviously he didn't do it on purpose. He felt he was sending them to Thor. He had no idea his mother will pay the price instead. But, that is his fatal flaw.

Loki plays around with fire, thinking he can control the outcome. He comes up with elaborate plans, believing he can control how things play out, only for things to go out of control and everything burning down. Which not only hurts others but also himself. He learnt about his true heritage only because his plan went sideways and he found himself on Jotunhiem with Thor. And that's Loki's flaw. In his hubris that everything will go according to plan, he neither contemplates what will happen if things go wrong nor consider the consequences of his actions. And often times, other people get hurt.

In Thor, he sent the destroyer to Earth to stop Thor from returning, effectively endangering the lives of innocent people on Earth. The destroyer did create a lot of damage in the town, and maybe people must also have been hurt.

And this is going to anger a lot of people, but Loki had endangered Frigga's life before. In Thor, he leads Laufey to Odin's chamber, where Frigga was sitting at his bedside. Laufey only pushes Frigga away before he goes to kill Odin. But what if he hadn't. Frigga may have been hurt and Loki knowingly, put his mother in danger, just to prove himself to his father.

That's exactly what happened in TDW, only this time things didn't go according to his plan and Frigga died. That's why Loki's development in ep 6 is so meaningful. He finally learns to consider the consequences of his actions, and realise how others could get hurt.

So, yeah, while Loki didn't kill Frigga, he did have a part to play in her death. And yes, Mobius was cruel to tell him he killed his mother. But he wasn't wrong when he told Loki how he played a part in Frigga's death. This incident is what makes Loki so tragic. And defending him or outright excusing him of any guilt just takes away a lot of Loki's complexity.

115 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

After seeing the tweets from RTS society about the Loki series (x), one thing is extremely clear. The choice to put Loki in a boring TVA uniform was a conscious one. And I am trying to analyse what that uniform represented from a Doylist perspective.

Loki's armour

I will be using the example of Loki's armour from Thor. Also, I am not an expert in costume so I may get some things wrong.

Now, Loki's identity in the main timeline is intrinsically linked to Asgard, Odin and specially Thor. He never had any individual characteristic or storyline and his story always depended on Thor's story. In fact, for 10 years, he was only either Thor's foil or Thor's brother.

And his armour is designed to reflect Loki's place in Thor's story. The armour has a distinct asgardian look with runes and symbols. It is dark in colour as compared to Thor's bright red armour to symbolise Loki's place as the darker, more villianous brother. I also remember reading somewhere that the horns represent villiany. So, this armour represents Loki's connection to Asgard and his place as Thor's foil.

I also think this armour represents Loki's stint as a villian. Because in Marvel's 10 years photo, Loki is wearing this armour in the villians group

See the full post

121 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

I saw the multiverse of madness trailer and loved it. But the line " You break rules and become the hero. I did the same and became an enemy." is rubbing me the wrong way. I have decided to withhold my judgement until I see the movie but given MCU's treatment of Wanda, I am afraid it will be another line to whitewash Wanda's mistakes and cast her as a poor victim.

Now, I love Wanda. I understand her trauma. I can understand the reason for her actions and sympathise with her. I also love that she is a complex, morally grey character who makes bad choices. It is time we move past Ms. Goody two shoes and the vamps.

But I don't like Marvel always pulling the trauma card, whitewashing her mistakes and making her a poor victim. She has made mistakes, let her take responsibility for that. Let her be a character with a chip on her shoulder rather than erasing all her wrongdoings.

Which brings me to that revolting line in Wandavision- "they will never know what you sacrificed for them." Now, I will not laugh at Wanda saying she was just playing pretend in her fantasy. To her, it was real and she had to let her husband, her children and her perfect life go. It was a big sacrifice and Wanda was really brave to make it. But the residents of Westview are well within their right to hate her. She held them captive and mind controlled them for weeks, keeping them away from their friends, their families even their own children. They were being mentally tortured. To suddenly paint them in a bad light for hating poor Wanda instead of hailing her because she sacrificed her everything is just the worst case of victim blaming. It puts the entire importance on Wanda's loss ignoring the residents plight.

In fact, Darcy and Monica were in the series just to defend Wanda. I get Wanda is in grief and needs help. But this doesn't absolve her of her wrongdoings. Yet these two would jump in and defend Wanda's wrongdoings. Wanda has been through so much, she has been in so much pain etc, etc.

Especially Monica was extreme in her defense of Wanda. She pushed you through walls and ejected you out of the hex, ya but she didn't kill me. She held 1000 of people hostage, ya but she put up her own quarantine. Don't let Hayward make you the villian. Like come on.

Instead of trying to paint her as a benevolent hero who could have done bad things but didn't, it would have been better if they showed her as a person so consumed by her grief, she lost track of right and wrong and suddenly realised how wrong she was and fix it. Which Wanda did anyways, Marvel doesn't need to make excuses for her behaviour.

125 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Since I am on a 'defend Sylvie' tirade, here's another pov that truly baffles me.

I have time and again seen posts about how Sylvie is a villian, how she has killed innocent TVA workers and she isn't held accountable for it. While these accusations may be true on a surface level, what's really sad is that they completely ignore Sylvie's trauma and the reasons behind her actions to paint her as a one-dimensional villian who is propped up just as a badass girlboss which is far from true.

Let me start off by saying Sylvie is not a hero. She is a heavily flawed, morally grey character. And yes she has done bad things. Also many of her actions aren't from a place of altruism but vengeance. But she is far from the villian some people make her to be.

1. She killed innocent TVA workers

Let's talk about the innocent part for a minute. Yes, the TVA workers are victims. Yes, they have been kidnapped and brainwashed into becoming TVA's slaves. Yes, they have been robbed of their lives. But they are not actually innocent. They have been pruning timelines and hunting down variants. The people who are actually innocent are the people they prune. People who just go about their daily lives until they suddenly appear and take their entire life away from them. People who don't even know what their fault is. You know people like Sylvie. And even if we assume they are innocent, can we just look at it from Sylvie's pov. These innocent people kidnapped her as a child, these innocent people hunted her like a dog and forced her to hide in apocalypses. If above all, we believe Sylvie is still wrong because she killed them, then so are they. How is it that Sylvie becomes a villian because she killed people while the TVA workers are innocent despite killing people? She is a villian because she killed her oppressor's minions?

2. But she hurt innocent people as well

Yes she did. By enchanting them. And she does rely on brute force to get her out of situations. But that is more about her survival, and less about wanting to hurt others and actively jeopardizing their safety which is the hallmark of a villian.

On another note though, at this may be dark, these people are in apocalypses, they are going to die anyway. And since Sylvie keeps returning to the same apocalypses over and over, she may have seen them die over and over again to a point where she became desensitized to them and their pain.

3. Sylvie learns of the TVA workers truth yet doesn't sympathise with them

Of all their reasons, this one really angers me the most. Because first of all, this completely ignores Sylvie's scene with B-15 to fit their narrative. But even if it was true, where does this complaint even come from? From the fact that since Sylvie is a woman, she is automatically supposed to care and look out for other people? Even when these same people turned her life into a living hell? That Sylvie is supposed to put other people and their pain over her pain and cater to them instead of protecting herself?

4. She isn't held accountable

First of all, who will hold her accountable? The shadow organization that controls all of time from the fringes and take away innocent people's lives from them. And secondly, do people truly believe that the TVA are bearers of justice who are metting out appropriate punishment to Loki? Because that is far from true. Loki is a victim of the TVA who hurt and torture him to get him to comply. TVA has no moral superiority over Sylvie so how is she going to be punished? And for another thing, Sylvie isn't hero coded. She is propped up in ep 4 and 5 but that was a conscious decision to make her arc in ep 6 more impactful.

And if we think about it, TVA and HWR aren't benevolent do gooders anyway. HWR's strict policing in the name of protecting the timeline caused as many casualties as the multiversal war if not more. So, maybe Sylvie wasn't too wrong in killing HWR. Yet Sylvie's actions are framed as wrong, HWR's death is shot in a tragic way and it is clearly implied she messed up. She is shown to be completely driven by anger. So, how was she hero coded? How was she portrayed as an awesome girlboss? She kills her oppressor, frees people from TVA's tyranny and still ends up the wrong one.

Sylvie isn't a perfect, poster image of a heroine. But she isn't a villian either. At best, she is a morally grey character or an anti heroine. And while I don't approve of all of her actions, I can understand where she comes from which many people in the fandom refuse to do.

What's even upsetting is that if these same actions were to be done by a male character, the fandom would have been quick to forgive him and excuse his behaviour. But since, Sylvie is a woman these very same actions are heavily criticised and she is painted as a big baf villian.

155 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

8 notes · View notes