#because i think if it continues i will die with it

[bucketsorbueckers]

Trouble - 7

Warning: language

WC: 8K

a/n: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

any mistakes are none of my business!!

Paige’s POV

Azzi was still in her shirt. Which didn’t matter.

Except it really, really did.

Because every time Paige looked at her, all loose curls and bare legs, she had to forcibly remind herself that this wasn’t anything. That it couldn’t be. That Azzi was 23 and off-limits and—

“Can we—can we eat after we talk?” Azzi asked, quiet. 

Paige blinked, tearing her gaze away from Azzi’s mouth and forcing her brain to catch up.

Paige turned to her fully then. And stilled.

Because Azzi stood there like she was bracing for bad news. Like Paige might turn her kindness into a condition. Like this was a test she wasn’t sure she’d pass.

And that did it.

Paige’s posture eased. The edge she didn’t know she’d been holding in her shoulders gave way to something warmer, quieter. The kind of softness she didn’t let show often—except maybe, apparently, with Azzi.

“Yeah,” she said, voice lower now. Gentler. “We’ll talk. Then eat.”

Azzi nodded, still fidgeting. And Paige reached out—without thinking, really—just touched the back of her arm. Light. Reassuring.

“You don’t have to look so scared, Fudd,” she added, a small tug of a smile at her mouth. “It’s just me.”

Azzi gave her a look that said exactly, and Paige felt something tug behind her ribs so sharp it almost knocked the air from her chest.

Azzi eased back into the couch too cautiously. Paige watched her from the corner of her eye, then finally cleared her throat—quiet, almost hesitant.

“So,” she said. “How are you really doing?”

Azzi shrugged. “Fine.”

Paige didn’t even blink. “Don’t lie to me.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

She stared at her lap instead, fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. Paige watched the way her shoulders curled in slightly, the way she blinked too much like she was holding something back.

“I mean…” Azzi finally said, voice quiet. “I’ve had better days.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

A long pause stretched between them.

“I just feel…” Azzi trailed off. Sighed. “Exposed, I guess. Like I made one dumb decision and now everyone has a think piece about who I am.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Paige said immediately. “You called someone you trust. That’s not a scandal.”

Azzi gave her a look—equal parts frustration and disbelief. “It is when that someone is you.”

Paige didn’t blink. “I know. And I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot. Especially when you didn’t ask for any of it.”

“No—” Azzi stumbled, rushing to fill the space. “You don’t owe me an apology, Paige. You were doing me a favor. Like, I know you didn’t even want to—”

“If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t have,” Paige said, firm. Calm. But her voice gentled at the end, like she couldn’t help it with Azzi. “I’ve never struggled with saying no.”

She paused. Let it settle between them.

Except to you, she didn’t say. But she thought it. Hard. 

“I just—I feel like I should be the one apologizing,” Azzi said, her voice soft, tugging at a loose thread on the hem of her borrowed shirt. “I was the drunk girl you had to keep upright, and now everyone thinks…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. The tips of her ears went pink, and that was enough.

Paige exhaled a laugh—gentle, not mocking. “I’ve had worse things assumed about me than being into you, Fudd.”

That made Azzi blink. Straighten. Her eyes caught Paige’s for half a second before she looked down again, teeth catching on her bottom lip. And, well. That lip should be illegal. Paige looked away before she could start thinking anything else that dumb.

“With that said,” she continued, keeping her tone even, like her stomach hadn’t just done something completely humiliating, “it’s just noise. It’ll die down as soon as someone else does something mildly interesting. Which, in this league? Any minute now.”

Azzi swallowed. “You seem so calm about this,” she mumbled. “I thought… I was scared you’d be mad at me.”

The last part came out quiet. Raw. Like she hadn’t meant to say it but couldn’t keep it in. And it hit Paige in the gut—because she hadn’t considered that. That all day, while Paige had been pacing her apartment and staring at walls, Azzi had been sitting with that fear. Thinking she’d messed up. That Paige might be angry. That she might’ve ruined something.

Paige looked at her—really looked at her. And Azzi’s eyes were big and dark and just a little too shiny, like maybe she hadn’t slept. Like maybe she’d been bracing for something worse than internet discourse.

“I’m not mad at you,” Paige said, soft as anything. “Not even close.”

She hesitated.

“Not sure I ever could be.” Paige hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud. Not like that.

She dragged a hand over her face, like she could shove the words back in with enough pressure. Rolled her shoulders once. Tried to reset.

“Anyway,” she muttered, “I’m used to this by now.”

“You get used to it?” Azzi asked quietly.

Paige let out a soft breath. “I did. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”

Azzi’s jaw shifted, a flicker of tension tightening her expression. “I just don’t want this to mess up my season. Or how the team sees me. Or how—” She cut herself off. Looked away. “I don’t know. I’m probably just being dramatic.”

She started to retreat into herself, Paige could it. See her pulling the walls up, talking down on her emotions. So, Paige reached out gently. Hooked two fingers under Azzi’s chin and lifted, not forcing—just asking. Azzi met her gaze, and Paige saw all of it. The fear. The shame.

“You don’t owe any of those people an explanation,” Paige added. “And this isn’t going to change how the team sees you.”

Azzi didn’t blink this time. She just looked at her—eyes wide, open in a way that made something in Paige ache.

“How do you know?”

Paige let the corner of her mouth lift, something quiet but certain. “Because I said so,” she murmured. “And because I’ll take care of it.”

Azzi studied her for a second longer, like she was searching for any cracks. But Paige held her gaze, unshaken.

“I’ve got you,” she said simply. And she meant it. ‘Now, you gonna be alright?”

Azzi nodded once, and Paige let her hand drop back to her lap. Her fingers still buzzed faintly from the contact.

“If you find that you’re not,” Paige added, “you have my number. Assuming your phone’s charged.”

That got a laugh out of Azzi. A real one this time.

“I swear I’m usually more responsible than I’ve been lately,” she said, groaning.

“Yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Paige replied, standing. “Now, do you have a microwave in this place, or are we eating cold hibachi?”

Azzi blinked. “You brought hibachi?”

Paige just shrugged, already heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t show up empty-handed.”

Azzi was still smiling as she followed her in.

—-

They’d agreed on chopsticks. Mutual decision. Mutual disaster—at least on one end.

Paige was fine. Better than fine, honestly. She’d mastered the skill sometime in college when she decided eating takeout four nights a week shouldn’t look quite so sad.

Azzi, on the other hand, was…struggling.

It had been ten minutes of war. One girl. One pair of chopsticks. Zero pieces of chicken successfully consumed.

“Forks exist, you know,” Paige said casually, not looking up from her plate. “They even come free with the meal.”

“No,” Azzi said, deadly serious. “I’ve got this.”

Paige smirked and let her eyes flick sideways—just in time to catch Azzi attempting a new method that looked more like a science experiment than a technique. She was trying to scoop rice now, holding the bowl close, hunched in focus, lips pursed like she was in overtime.

And she looked so fucking cute.

Paige immediately wanted to punch herself in the throat for thinking it. Cute wasn’t safe. Cute wasn’t smart. Cute got people in trouble.

She went back to her food. Took a bite. Chewed. Didn’t look.

Looked anyway.

Azzi’s cheeks were pink. Her jaw was tight with concentration. She was failing. Spectacularly. And trying so hard to pretend she wasn’t.

It was unfair—how endearing it was. How easy Paige found it to just sit here beside her, pretending like this was normal. Like it wasn’t the most fun she’d had in a month.

She took another bite. Didn’t say anything.

But maybe later, when she was home and alone, she’d let herself choke on the memory of it.

“Ugh, how are you so good at everything?” Azzi groaned suddenly, holding the chopsticks like they might betray her at any moment.

Paige smirked, cocky and slow. Picked up another piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth without breaking eye contact. “Natural talent,” she said.

“Natural, my ass,” Azzi muttered, brows furrowed in frustration as she went for another bite. She pinched the piece of chicken between the chopsticks, lifted it toward her mouth and then watched it tumble.

Paige caught the chicken with her hand before it hit the floor—barely—her reflexes still decent despite her brain shorting out.

She should’ve just dropped it on a napkin. Tossed it, maybe. Acted like she wasn’t entirely unraveled by the way Azzi looked right now—legs folded under her, face flushed from the warmth of the room or maybe just from being near Paige, that oversized UConn shirt swallowing her whole.

But Paige didn’t move. She just looked at her.

And then, because apparently she’d abandoned all common sense, she lifted the chicken back up. Slow. Intentional.

“Need help?” she said, her voice low. Even. The kind of calm she only ever used when she was one bad decision away from complete collapse.

Azzi’s gaze flicked up. Steady. Curious. Her mouth parted like she was considering saying something, but didn’t. Instead, Paige watched her tongue dart out—just briefly—before she leaned in.

She took the chicken into her mouth, slow and unblinking, her lips brushing Paige’s fingers with a softness that felt dangerously intentional. Or maybe that was just Paige’s problem—how easy it was to mistake softness for invitation when her whole body was strung tight like a live wire.

Her breath caught. Not just from the touch.

But from the way Azzi looked at her, still looking at her. Steady. Unflinching. Like she knew exactly what she’d done. Like she was daring Paige to react.

And Paige didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She sat there, spine locked, fighting the white-hot pull that had haunted her since the second she stepped through Azzi’s door. Because if she so much as leaned in—if she let herself want out loud—it would all unravel.

But god, she wanted to. More than she’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

Because Azzi’s lips weren’t just pink—they were warm now, and Paige knew their shape, the way they moved, the way they felt.

Because their knees had been brushing all night, subtle but constant, and Paige hadn’t pulled away once.

Because Azzi Fudd was beautiful in that devastating way—like something meant to hurt you slowly.

And Paige wanted more. Terribly. Shamefully. Irretrievably more.

Paige swallowed, clearing her throat that sounded more like choking on something she shouldn’t and pulled away. She sat back like she needed the space just to remember how to breathe. Her spine stiffened, legs stretched out in front of her, like posture could protect her from the chaos still humming beneath her skin.

But her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.

Paige stood then, taking the empty containers to the trash. On her way back, her eyes flicked toward the open door off the hallway—and froze.

Azzi’s room.

The mattress was on the floor, no bed frame in sight. The comforter was rumpled, a stack of books sat beside it, and frames leaned against the wall.  Paige didn’t mean to stare. But something about it stopped her.

Because she knew Azzi could afford a bed frame. Knew this wasn’t about money. It was about being too busy. Too overwhelmed. Or maybe just not expecting anyone to care.

And Paige felt something twist in her chest. Quiet, but deep. The kind of feeling that made her want to fix things she had no business fixing.

She looked back toward the couch where Azzi was still sitting, watching her.

“Fudd,” Paige said from the hallway, her voice slow with suspicion. “Where’s your bed frame?”

Azzi froze “Oh. Um. Haven’t gotten around to it.”

There was a pause.

Then Paige poked her head into the bedroom like she already knew what she’d find. Her eyes swept the space once, then landed on the mattress on the floor. No headboard. No rug. Just a stack of books beside it acting as a makeshift nightstand and a lamp tilted at an angle that said I gave up halfway through trying.

“You’re kidding,” Paige said flatly.

Azzi appeared and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re a professional athlete. Not a college kid subletting off Craigslist.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Paige stepped fully into the room, hands on her hips. “What are those boxes in the corner?”

Azzi rubbed the back of her neck. “The frame. It just… looked complicated.”

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, already crouching. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor for how long?”

Azzi laughed, despite herself. “A few weeks. It’s honestly fine.”

Paige stood in the doorway of Azzi’s room, arms crossed, staring down at the mattress on the floor like it had personally wronged her. The box with the frame leaned half-open against the wall, untouched.

She exhaled. “I can’t, in good conscience, sleep in my own bed tonight knowing this is how you’re living.”

Azzi hovered behind her. “I was gonna do it tomorrow. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her voice dropped, like she was embarrassed to admit it.“I don’t know. I suck at building stuff. I always end up with extra screws and rage issues.”

Paige shot her a look, already stepping into the room.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m emotionally stable and great with an Allen wrench,” she said, crouching in front of the unopened box. “We’re building it. Now.”

Azzi crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Well aware,” Paige said, crouched on the floor and already halfway through dragging the box open. “And yet, here I am. Voluntarily choosing to spend my Saturday night helping you. So, I’d just accept what you can get.”

She tugged a tangle of metal pieces free and shook her head. “God, this company’s really bold with how few instructions they think people need.”

For only a beat, Azzi lingered like she was unsure but then finally, she came and sat on the floor beside her. 

“Are you sure you’re good at this?”

Paige smirked, “I’m good at everything, Fudd.”

Azzi’s POV

Oh my god.

What was she doing?

In the last twenty-four hours, she’d called Paige crying, passed out in her bed, woken up on her chest, spiraled into tears again like a toddler on the verge, admitted—out loud—that she was scared Paige might be mad at her like some needy, spineless idiot.

And now?

Now she’d just eaten chicken out of Paige’s hand like some hopeless, hormone-fueled degenerate.

Like some girl who didn’t know better.

Like some girl who wanted to know what her fingers tasted like.

Azzi pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

She was going to implode. She was going to combust. Or throw herself out the nearest window. Whichever option got her further from the quiet, steady way Paige was still looking at her  Like she hadn’t just ruined her entire carefully constructed sense of cool in under thirty-six hours.

Like she was inviting her to do it again.

“Are you going to help, princess, or just stand there and observe?” Paige asked, one brow lifted, lazy and amused and entirely unfair.

Azzi’s whole body lit up with secondhand embarrassment. This had to be a hallucination. Some fever dream conjured from exhaustion and sexual frustration—because there was no actual way Paige Bueckers was sitting on the floor of her half-built bedroom, casually offering to assemble her bed frame like it was just another Saturday night.

God, she was going to die. And she was going to do it while wearing Paige’s shirt.

“I’m more of a supervisor,” she said eventually.

Paige snorted, shook her head without looking up. And that was it. That sound.

Azzi froze. Because hearing Paige laugh like that—low and real and careless—felt like catching sunlight in your hands. Like getting away with something you weren’t supposed to have. It wasn’t the kind of laugh she gave to interviews or press conferences. It was quieter. Private.

Earned.

And Azzi, like a complete, hopeless idiot, felt her stomach do something humiliating.

Cool. Just her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the love of her life alphabetize screws and laugh like it was nothing.

She was so down bad it was actually offensive.

Midway through tightening a screw, Paige paused. She reached up, readjusted her hair in one hand, and twisted it into a quick knot—loose, a little messy, like she’d done it a thousand times without thinking.

Azzi watched the whole thing like it was slow motion. The way Paige’s forearms flexed, the tendons in her hand shifting under smooth skin. The way her shirt tugged up slightly as she lifted her arms, revealing even more of her toned stomach. The way the little baby hairs at the back of her neck curled slightly with sweat.

God.

Azzi was actually going to die.

Because there was no earthly reason for something as simple as Paige putting her hair up to feel so obscene. So hot. And yet, here she was—heart racing, mouth dry, brain officially short-circuiting.

She had to look away. She had to say something. Or maybe just throw herself into the wall and hope that knocked some sense into her.

“Fudd?”

Azzi’s head jerked up. Paige was looking at her—expectant, a little amused. Definitely caught.

“Can you hand me the smaller Allen wrench?”

“Y-yeah,” Azzi said, voice embarrassingly uneven. Her fingers scrambled over the scattered tools, trying to find the right one without completely losing grip on her dignity. Which was difficult, considering her brain was still short-circuiting from the image of Paige’s hands. Paige’s forearms. Paige’s everything.

“Of course,” she added, like that would somehow make her seem normal. Like her hands weren’t literally shaking as she passed the tool over.

Paige took it without question, fingers brushing Azzi’s for a second too long. Just long enough to make Azzi’s breath catch—not audibly, thank god, but enough that she had to look away before she did something stupid. Like stare at Paige’s hands again.

Or worse, her arms. The muscles in her forearms flexed as she adjusted the wrench, her sports bra peeking out as she worked. Her hair was half-tied now, some loose strands falling out, and when one slipped into her face, she pushed it back with the heel of her palm in a move so casual it made Azzi want to die a little.

It shouldn’t have been hot. It was just hair. Just hands. Just a stupid bed frame. But Azzi could feel the flush creeping up her neck again, pooling behind her ears. Because there was something about the focus on Paige’s face—the quiet concentration, the easy strength, the steadiness—that made Azzi’s entire body go soft and stupid.

“I’m, uh—gonna get us water,” she said suddenly, already scrambling to her feet.

Paige looked up, surprised. “You okay?”

“Yep!” Azzi called over her shoulder. “Just—hydration. Very important.”

She made it to the kitchen, gripped the counter, and let her head fall forward with a quiet thunk. She was not okay. Not even a little.

When she came back, Paige basically had the bed built. 

“Where’s my water?” Paige said, tracking Azzi’s empty hands. 

“I - Oh -”

“Kidding Fudd. I’m good. But come on, we need to put the mattress on.”

Azzi blinked. “Right. Yeah. Mattress.”

Like that was a word she knew how to process.

She crossed the room and grabbed one end, trying desperately not to trip over her own feet or her own feelings. Because now Paige was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, looking entirely too competent and entirely too…there. Like in her space. In her bedroom. In her life.

“Lift on three?” Paige asked. Azzi nodded mutely. “One, two—”

They hoisted it together, dropping it onto the frame with a dull thud. Paige adjusted the corner, her fingers brushing the sheets. She looked up, her face inches from Azzi’s.

Azzi didn’t move. Paige didn’t either. And suddenly, the mattress didn’t feel like the most intimate thing in the room.

"We make a good team," Paige muttered.

Azzi barely registered the words. Not when Paige was looking at her like that. Not when every breath felt shared.

She leaned in—barely. Just enough to shift the air between them. To see if gravity might be on her side tonight.

Paige didn’t move.

And for a breathless second, Azzi let herself believe it. She’s going to kiss me.

But then the world tilted back into place. She remembered who she was. Who Paige was. And how ridiculous it sounded—that Paige Bueckers, of all people, would kiss her here, in a half-finished bedroom that still smelled like stale air and clean laundry. When she could have anyone. Be anywhere.

So Azzi blinked, steadied herself, and eased back. Just a fraction.

Offered a soft smile like nothing had happened at all. Like her heart wasn’t still racing. Like she hadn’t just risked wanting something she wasn’t sure she could have.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I guess we do.”

The next few hours were a blur of half-finished projects and quietly loaded glances. Paige moved from one forgotten task to the next—tightening the loose hinge on the bathroom door, replacing a dead lightbulb in the hallway, assembling the wobbly IKEA side table Azzi had been pretending didn’t exist.

Azzi mostly hovered nearby, offering directions she barely understood and pretending it was supervision.

“Lefty loosey, righty tighty,” she said at one point, and Paige didn’t even look up.

“Please never say that to me again,” Paige replied, straight-faced.

Azzi smirked and leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Paige’s fingers moved—precise, sure, like she fixed things for a living.

And god, she kind of did.

Azzi didn’t know what unnerved her more: that Paige had stayed this long, or that it felt so normal to have her here. Too normal. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. Like the late hour and the soft yellow light in the apartment weren’t building a world that Azzi wasn’t sure she’d be ready to leave.

Paige was standing across the room, leveling something against the wall, when she paused. Azzi didn’t even look up at first—she was too focused on stuffing sweatshirts into the one bin that barely fit under her bed.

“You want this hung up?” Paige’s voice broke the silence. Not teasing. Not soft, exactly, but…something close. She was holding a photo.

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

It was an old one—grainy, slightly overexposed. From a random off day in summer. She, Jana, and Caroline had driven an hour just to find this stupid sunflower field Jana had seen on TikTok. Her hair was windblown. Caroline had been yelling at bugs. Jana had taken the picture and somehow managed to catch Azzi mid-laugh, eyes closed, head tilted back.

She hadn’t meant to leave it out. She’d unpacked it and meant to tuck it away. 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Azzi stood slowly, brushing her hands against her thighs. “That was from last year,” she said, like that mattered. 

Paige looked at it for another beat. “You look happy.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. There wasn’t anything to say, really. Because she had been happy. Or at least lighter. Less watched. Less responsible for keeping herself composed all the time.

“They’re my best friends,” she said finally. “Jana’s basically my full-time bully. Caroline pretends to be the voice of reason but she’s just as bad.”

That earned the smallest smile from Paige, who carefully set the photo back down.

“Reminds me of Bridget and Courtney.”

Azzi nodded, arms crossing. She noticed it. Paige asking, listening. Wanting to know something real about her. She knew not to miss an opportunity.

“Were you guys always close?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, turning back to the shelf she was stacking. “Even before the league. Kinda hard not to know each other. Women’s basketball is a small world.”

Azzi let out a quiet breath. “Guess I’m just surprised we didn’t meet sooner.”

Paige paused. Just for a second. “We did. Well sort of.” she said.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“You wouldn’t remember,” Paige added, not turning around yet. “But I came to one of your games. Think you were a college sophomore. USA Basketball.”

Azzi’s heart hiccupped. That game. She remembered the nerves. The feeling of being the youngest one there.

“I sat courtside,” Paige continued. “You had on these white and blue kicks, and you hit three corner threes in a row,” Paige laughed to herself.  “You were the youngest on the court and cocky as hell. I left thinking you were going to be a problem.”

Azzi couldn’t breathe. “A problem?”

Paige’s smile was slow. “In the best way.”

Paige’s POV 

She was such a fucking idiot. Bringing up that game she had watched like some lovestruck loser. 

It was a memory she hadn’t revisited in a long time. Mostly because she didn’t like thinking about those days—how she was still getting used to being so visible. The way her presence at games could eclipse everything else. Whispers trailing her through the stands. It had felt unfair. Distracting.

She remembered not wanting to go.

She’d told Bridget and Courtney that showing up to watch college hoopers felt performative, unnecessary. That the attention should stay on the players. But they’d dragged her anyway, saying she needed to stop acting like she was allergic to joy.

And then Azzi had stepped on the court.

Paige had known who she was, sure. Everyone in the circuit did. But that was the first time she really saw her.

White and blue sneakers. Corner threes that could make a grown man weep. Calm. Lethal. Eyes sharp and steady like she didn’t even register the crowd.

Paige remembered thinking—she’s unshakable. And she thought that had been the end of it.

But it wasn't

She hadn’t meant to keep watching after that. But she had. Quietly. From a distance.

She told herself it was just professional curiosity. That anyone who loved the game would’ve paid attention. That it didn’t mean anything.

But still—she watched. Not obsessively. Just enough to notice how smooth her game was. How the ball left her hands like it wanted to.

There was something about it. Something easy. Something that didn’t need to prove itself, even when everyone was watching.

She’d never admit it out loud. Wouldn’t even let it sit too long in her own head. But she remembered.

“And then, of course,” Paige said, finally turning to face her, voice just this side of casual, “I knew you because you broke my all-time three-point record.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Paige added, a wry tilt to her mouth. “You single-handedly rendered me irrelevant in that moment.”

Azzi snorted—sharp, involuntary. “Yeah. Like Paige Bueckers has ever been irrelevant.”

Paige lifted a brow, her smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “My ego could never handle that, so, thank God for your mercy.”

She nudged the final book into place on the shelf, letting her hand linger there for a beat. Then she stepped back, gave the room a once-over, and exhaled.

“Alright, Fudd,” she said, glancing over at her. “I think we’ve officially made this place a home.”

Azzi nodded, slow smile spreading as she looked around. “Thank you, Paige. You didn’t have to do this at all.”

Paige shrugged, one hand still resting on the back of the chair she’d just moved, fingers curling against the fabric. “I’d be morally questionable if I let you keep living in…whatever this was.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi murmured, rocking slightly on her heels. “I still feel bad.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but it was softer than it should’ve been. “Don’t.”

Azzi looked at her then. “Well, at least let’s say I owe you now.”

That stopped Paige. Not entirely—but enough. Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers twitching against her thigh. Her gaze found Azzi’s and didn’t budge.

“And how exactly do you plan on settling that debt?”

Azzi blinked, caught for a second—then her mouth curled, slow and deliberate. “What kind of payments do you accept?”

It hit Paige like a flash—bare skin, flushed lips. Desperate, desperate hands. Her stomach flipped, sharp and uninvited.

She looked away, jaw tight, breath catching as she dragged it in slow through her nose. Tried to remember she was older. Supposed to be above this. Supposed to be better.

“I’ll let you know,” She finally managed. 

—-----

Paige was already in bed when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a name she didn’t expect to see this late.

Azzi Fudd.

She tilted her head, thumb hovering for a beat longer than it needed to. 11:03 PM. What in the world could Azzi possibly be texting about at—

Oh.

It was a photo.

Azzi, half-buried in blankets, the old UConn t-shirt still on. Curls splayed out on the pillow. A smirk tugging at her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Another text followed a second later.

sleeping like a baby tonight (not a college frat boy) thank u againnn 💤

Paige stared at the photo longer than she should have. Then zoomed in—just a little. On Azzi’s face. The curve of her mouth. The way her lashes cast faint shadows over her cheeks.

God, she thought. She’s so fucking beautiful.

It wasn’t fair. How someone could look like that at 11 PM, in a blurry photo, in a shirt Paige had had for years. 

She let her thumb hover over the screen before locking it and setting the phone down face-down on her chest. Then she exhaled. Real slow. Like maybe if she breathed carefully enough, it would cool the heat climbing up her neck.

But then—because she was weak and because self-restraint was a skill she only possessed in theory—Paige opened the message again.

Zoomed in again.

Azzi’s smirk. Her stupid perfect cheekbones. The way her collarbone peeked out from the stretched neckline of the shirt. Paige groaned into the silence of her bedroom. Embarrassed for herself. Alone. At 11:07 p.m.

She tapped out a reply anyway.

I thought Bruins were supposed to hate Huskies?

The bubbles popped up immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Paused.

Disappeared again.

Paige stared, heart doing something ridiculous in her chest. Like it was waiting to be called into the game.

Finally, the reply landed.

i make special exceptions for those who build me furniture :)

Paige read it twice. Then a third time.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it.

She let her fingers hover over the keyboard for a second—just long enough to almost think better of it.

Then she typed:

careful. that sounds like the start of a very dangerous reward system.

And sent it before she changed her mind. 

—--

The first preseason game came like clockwork.

Paige felt old—her knees a little tighter, her body needing longer to warm—but she also felt…good. Settled, almost. Not just because she knew the system, not just because they were coming off a championship. This year felt different.

Maybe it was because it was her fifth season in the league. Maybe because the stakes didn’t rattle her the way they used to. Or maybe—probably—it was because she wasn’t so alone anymore.

Because her mornings weren’t quiet stretches of solitude. They were shared now. Filled with the sound of a ball echoing off hardwood and Azzi’s voice teasing her when she missed free throws.

And her nights—well. Her nights weren’t as peaceful as they used to be. They were full of thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking. Full of the shape Azzi made in her bed, the way her voice got soft when she was tired. The memory of her lips brushing Paige’s fingers.

But on the court, none of that mattered. Her and azzi played together like poetry. And it made them lethal. 

Around her, the locker room was humming—music thudding from the overhead speakers, shoes squeaking against the tile, teammates half-dressed and hyped. Paige sat in the corner, headphones on, legs stretched long in front of her, already half-zoned out.

This was her ritual. Stay quiet. Stay focused. No eye contact. No chatter. It was the only thing that ever stilled her mind before games—letting the music drown out everything else until all that was left was the court.

She let her head fall back against the locker, eyes slipping shut, breath slow. In. Out. In. Out. Easy.

But something kept poking at the edge of her awareness.

It wasn’t the bass. It wasn’t the shouting. It was movement. Small, tight. Repetitive.

She cracked one eye open and found Azzi across the room.

Sitting on the bench. Elbows on her knees. Hands clasped together too tightly. Her foot was bouncing like it was trying to outrun her own thoughts.

She looked like she was trying not to be sick.

Paige shut her eyes again. Forced herself to stay in her lane. This wasn’t her problem. Azzi was a grown-up. A pro now. She’d be fine.

The foot kept bouncing.

Paige tried to ignore it. She really did.

But then Azzi looked up, just for a second. And her face was doing that thing—trying to hold everything together, just barely.

Paige swore under her breath and tugged her headphones down. Pushed off the wall and crossed the room, crouching in front of her before she could talk herself out of it.

“You breathing?” she asked, quiet.

Azzi blinked like she hadn’t even noticed Paige move. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Paige gave her a look.

“Okay,” Azzi muttered. “Maybe not fine fine.”

Paige tilted her head. “You’re nervous.”

Azzi tried to shrug, but it barely passed as a movement. “Just…first game. First real one.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Paige said. No hesitation. “You’re incredible, Fudd.”

Azzi blinked again. But this time, it stuck. Like she didn’t know what to say to that.

“You work your ass off. You play smart. You’re a problem,” Paige added, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. “Trust me, I know. You give me hell in every scrimmage.”

That earned a tiny laugh from Azzi. “You hate when I beat you.”

“The fact that you ever beat me should give you enough confidence for the season.”

Azzi’s hands finally unclenched. Her leg stopped bouncing.

Paige stayed crouched for another second, just to be sure.

Then: “Now go out there and ruin someone else’s afternoon.”

Azzi smiled, for real this time. “Yes, ma’am.”

Paige nearly choked.

It hit harder than it should’ve—low and sharp, like a gut punch she didn’t see coming. She masked it with a cough, knocked her knuckle gently against Azzi’s knee like that would settle something.

It didn’t. She tugged her headphones back on. 

But she kept her eyes on Azzi.

In warm-ups.

In the pregame huddle.

Even when the lights dimmed and her own name was called for the starting lineup.

Azzi smiled more easily now. Seemed more grounded. But Paige could still clock the tension in her jaw. The way her hands flexed and unflexed at her sides like she was holding something in. Pressure. Nerves. Wanting to get it right.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just bumped her shoulder as they passed on the way to the baseline.

Then the whistle blew. And the Lynx got to work.

It was violent from the jump. Not actual blood but close. They pressed full court, forced back-to-back turnovers, moved like wolves who’d gone too long without a kill.

By the end of the first quarter, they were up nineteen.

Courtney hit a transition three and screamed something guttural. Bridget stole an inbounds pass and laid it in without blinking. And Azzi? Azzi was flying. Two steals, a block, and a baseline jumper so smooth it made the crowd gasp.

Paige didn’t smile.

But god, she wanted to.

Because Azzi was torching them. Floaters. Corners. Catch-and-shoot threes. And she was moving like she’d finally exhaled. Like her body had remembered that it belonged here.

But Paige had seen this story before. Knew exactly how it went.

When games got like this—when the lead ballooned and the scoreboard turned lopsided—the other team didn’t usually go down with grace. They got petty. Got mean. Started bumping harder on screens. Talking more than usual. Trying to knock rhythm loose with cheap contact.

And if there was one thing worse than getting blown out, it was getting blown out by a rookie.

So when Paige saw the opposing forward shift mid-rotation—too quick, too deliberate—she moved. Called it. Tried to rotate across.

But it was a step too late.

Azzi rose for a jumper and got clobbered midair. Hard. Arms swiped through, body upended. She hit the court with a crack that made Paige’s chest clench.

The whistle blew. Finally. But Paige was already there.

“Fudd? You good?”

Azzi groaned but nodded, shaking her arm out. Paige didn’t touch her—she just stood close enough to be felt. Then she turned. Found the defender still lingering nearby.

“Can’t keep up, so you gotta knock a rookie around?” Paige said.

The girl shrugged, smirked. “Just playing the game, Bueckers.”

Paige stepped in, close enough their shoulders brushed.

“Try it again,” she said “And I’ll make sure you don’t finish the game.”

“Who would’ve thought you got a soft spot for a rookie?” The girl argued. 

At that, Courtney was tugging back. 

“Fudd is fine,” she muttered. “Don’t start a fight.”

But Paige’s first were still curled. 

“It was dirty.”

Bridget joined, raising a brow, arms folded across her chest. “It was,” she said. “But why is it your business? Every rookie gets their welcome to the league moment. You know that.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were locked on the far end of the court, where Azzi stood alone at the free throw line, shoulders square, jaw tight, shooting her flagrant shots.

Swish.

Paige exhaled.

“Yeah, well,” she said finally, voice even. “Fudd’s rookie moment came from me. She doesn’t need another one.”

Courtney’s mouth twitched. “Your rooookie,” she sang under her breath, dragging it out like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Paige didn’t dignify it. Just rolled her eyes and dropped into the seat beside them, gripping her towel a little tighter than necessary.

But her gaze never left the court. Not for a second. Not while Azzi sank the second shot and jogged back to the bench giving her the cutest thumbs up she’s ever seen.

God, Paige was fucked.

The game continued. And Paige didn’t plan it. That was the thing.

It wasn’t like she spent the next quarter fantasizing about revenge. She was focused. Composed. Doing what needed to be done. But the second that same defender cut across the lane—shoulder down, eyes sharp—Paige stepped in.

Not subtle. Not even close.

She met her mid-stride. A clean foul, technically. But there was weight behind it. Purpose. The kind that knocked the air right out of your lungs.

The whistle blew before the girl even hit the hardwood. Paige didn’t flinch.

She didn’t offer a hand, either. Just bent at the waist, leaned down slow enough to make it count.

Her voice came quiet.

“Keep your shit off my rookie.”

And then walked away.

-----

The Lynx won by forty-two.

It was the kind of win that shut people up. That made analysts backpedal and headlines rewrite themselves mid-paragraph. It was domination, plain and simple—fast breaks, lockdown defense, a highlight reel’s worth of buckets that left the other team looking stunned by the third quarter.

And Paige?

She hadn’t even played her best game. But Azzi had.

Which might’ve been why Paige couldn’t stop looking at her.

Even now, in the quiet of the training room, as steam drifted off the surface of the ice bath and her own muscles throbbed in the best kind of way, Paige clocked the wince before Azzi even said a word.

Her game shorts swapped for tight spandex, hair tied up, but her jaw tight. Too tight. And her stride—confident, sure—stuttered just slightly as she stepped further in.

Paige narrowed her eyes because she recognized it.

“Hip?” she asked, already knowing.

Azzi hesitated. “It’s not a big deal.”

Paige sat up straighter. “Did the trainer see it?”

Azzi gave a weak shrug, like that was an answer.

“You’re allowed to ask them for help. That’s literally their job,” Paige said, her voice a little sharper than she meant it to be.

Azzi sighed. “I know. I just…” She looked down, picking at the seam of her sleeve. “I didn’t want to alarm anyone. My hip’s always been a little sensitive. And with how fast the transition from college was—there wasn’t really time to rest. I figured it’d go away.”

Paige’s jaw flexed.

“You’re not a machine,” she said finally, softer now. “You don’t get extra points for pretending you’re indestructible.”

Azzi gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “Yeah, well.”

But Paige couldn't stand it. She was out of the tub in one smooth motion, water sliding off her skin, towel knotted low on her hips. She didn’t give Azzi a second to protest—just took her hand and dragged her towards the table. 

The room was mostly cleared out. Just low fluorescent hum and the quiet pad of Azzi’s feet behind her. Paige didn’t look back until they reached the table.

“Up,” she said. Azzi hesitated. “Don’t make me drag you.”

Another beat, and then Azzi climbed on, palms braced behind her, trying to look casual even as Paige watched her wince with the movement.

Paige stepped closer. “Where’s it tight?”

Azzi waved in the general direction of her hip. “It’s not that bad.”

“Let me guess,” Paige muttered, crouching beside her, “you haven’t said anything about this to anyone since camp started?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Paige didn’t need her to.

She pressed her thumb lightly into the muscle. Azzi flinched.

“That’s not nothing,” Paige said.

“It’s been worse,” Azzi offered, like that meant anything.

Paige rolled her eyes and adjusted her angle, bracing herself with one hand on the table, the other firm against the source of the tension. 

She worked slow, methodical. Thumbs pressing into the tight muscle just below Azzi’s hip bone. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the occasional shift of Paige’s knuckles against skin.

And it was skin now. Because Azzi had rolled her shorts down a little, murmuring something about better access. Paige had nodded like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t made her mouth go dry.

Her hands flexed, dragging across the warm curve of Azzi’s hip, brushing just shy of the waistband. And Azzi didn’t stop her. Didn’t flinch. She just watched.

Every time Paige looked up, those eyes were there. Half-lidded. Heavy.

But her body was tense.

“Relax,” Paige said, her voice lower than she meant.

Azzi did—her legs shifting wider on instinct, hips tilting slightly toward her. Paige felt her pulse spike. She kept going, kept dragging her hands over soft skin, calloused fingertips grazing sensitive spots she probably shouldn’t know were sensitive.

“Better?” she asked.

Azzi nodded again, but it was slower this time. Less about agreement and more about something else. A hum beneath the surface. Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but nothing came.

Paige’s gaze dropped—first to Azzi’s throat, the way it moved when she swallowed. Then lower. She caught herself, barely. Forced her eyes back up. It was impossible.

Because Azzi was perched on the edge of the table with her shirt bunched up around her waist, legs slightly apart, eyes wide—but not afraid. Just waiting. Like she wanted to be looked at. Like she didn’t mind Paige’s gaze lingering.

So Paige stepped in closer. Slowly. Carefully.

Her fingers pressed into the space just above Azzi’s hip, thumbs tracing along the edge of a muscle that had probably been tight for weeks. Azzi hissed softly through her teeth—whether from pain or something else, Paige didn’t ask.

“You gotta tell me if it’s too much,” Paige murmured, voice lower than she meant it to be.

Azzi nodded. Didn’t speak. Her lashes fluttered as Paige dug in deeper, thumbs rolling in slow, practiced circles. She’d done this for teammates before. This wasn’t new.

But nothing about this felt familiar.

Azzi’s skin was warm. Soft. A little damp from the game, but Paige couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t focus on anything except how every shift of her fingers felt like pulling a thread she wasn’t supposed to touch.

Azzi made a sound—barely there. A soft exhale that caught at the end, and Paige’s pulse skittered.

She moved lower. Slowly. Fingertips brushing the inside of Azzi’s thigh, pressing into the stubborn muscle just shy of dangerous.

Azzi’s knees parted another inch.

And Paige nearly lost it.

She kept her face blank. She was good at that. Good at pretending she wasn’t shaking. That her hands weren’t trembling a little as they moved higher again—this time under the curve of Azzi’s hip, thumb grazing the faintest dip of her lower stomach.

“Here?” Paige asked, too quiet.

Azzi nodded. Said nothing. But her eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened, she looked dazed.

Paige pressed again. Slow. Careful.

Azzi bit her lip.

“I should probably stop,” paige whispered. "Tell me to stop,” Paige said.

Her thumbs pressed gently into the soft skin just below Azzi’s hip, not hard enough to hurt—just enough to make her aware of every single point of contact.

Azzi blinked. Swallowed. Her breath caught in her throat, and Paige watched the movement of it. The flutter in her pulse. The pink flush starting to bloom up her neck.

“And if I don’t want you to?” Azzi said.

Paige went still.

For a second—just one—her hands hovered, unmoving. Her breath faltered. That was all it took.

The thought hit her like an elbow to the sternum. The weight of what Azzi was saying—not just the words, but the way she said them. Barely above a whisper. But there was heat in it. Want.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t inch closer. Didn’t give herself that out.

Instead, she let her thumbs circle one last time. Slow. Focused. Like she was mapping a memory she had no right to want. Every inch of her body was buzzing—electric with restraint. A beat too long. A breath too sharp.

She dragged her hands away like it hurt to do it. Because it did.

Then—finally—she stepped back. Let her hands fall away.

Azzi exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

Paige didn’t look at her right away. Didn’t trust herself to. But when she finally did, Azzi’s cheeks were flushed. Her mouth parted. And she was staring at Paige like she wasn’t sure what just happened—but she wanted it to happen again.

Paige cleared her throat. “You’re good,” she said, the words landing rough.

Azzi nodded. Then—quietly: “Thanks.”

Paige only nodded back. Then turned, walked toward the exit like her blood wasn’t on fire. Like she hadn’t just touched something sacred and walked away.

Barely.

Just barely.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about how deeply lucanis' life has been defined by a lack of control of that life -- as he himself points out, even before the ossuary went and carved the headline out again with big bloody letters. of course he reacts badly to losing what little control he did manage to construct for himself even within those circumstances.

(namely: experience has taught him that things (caterina, loss, pain, love, all horribly and indelibly intermingled) will happen to him whether he wants them to or not and there's nothing he can do about that... but he gets to decide what's let in or out of his soul as it happens, even if he has to close it all down and deaden and numb himself out in the process. (even if that means he drifts further and further away from illario, who's been desperately reaching out and trying to keep hold of him until he finally gives up completely and tries to cut the bond all at once when lucanis doesn't seem to reach back anymore.) it's such rare well-observed freeze logic solidly constructed from the bottom up, I'm still so impressed with it.

the way illario seeks constant external means to cope with caterina's abuse and importance in his life -- he can't win her admiration or acceptance or warmth (or like. acknowledgement even, at times :') ), no matter what, so he goes out and finds those things in others and then disdains and dismisses it for how easily and falsely it's won from them. he plots, he conspires, he tries to beat her at her own game however clumsily, he tries. lucanis doesn't try things that way. he's not about 'how do I improve my situation' by nature, he's 'how can I stop this from getting worse'. he avoids, he internalizes, he hunkers down and makes himself nothing until the pain maybe ends. he's fundamentally not a plotter, he's a reacter. an expert assassin pantser, if you will, to illario's clear and stated exasperation fhsak. man I love them. illario says 'get us out of here!!! if you loved me as I love you you'd help me get us out of here before it kills us both', lucanis says 'there is no other place, there's nowhere to go, all we can do is endure. and if it kills us... well, that's just family. that's what love is (the way things are headed I'll die first anyway so it's fine I won't have to face losing you)', and they're equally baffled and hurt by each other's POV. but they're both right, and they're both wrong. there's no 'right' way to deal with caterina's treatment of them, or their situation. the house always wins, if you pardon the expression. house dellamorte still stands and that is what matters to caterina in the end more than anything.

it also fits so well b/c like... their core wounds are that illario is the least favourite and is constantly dismissed, so he has to prove to caterina again and again that he matters. not even that he's worth love or respect or warm regard, but that he's here at all and as such should be considered. he has to shout 'in case u forgot I EXIST!!' at the top of his lungs or else be rendered nothing within the family structure (and himself, because it's all about family, that's all that really matters. in some weird twisted way I think caterina openly declaring him before all the other crows to still be of house dellamorte -- and no one from house dellamorte kneels -- is kind of a victory for him, as much as it's also a furthering of a prison sentence and public humiliation. house dellamorte brainfuckery goes hard.). lucanis is the favourite, and it's the double-edged sword that he gets all the affection and attention but also all the control and impossible expectations. drowning under all of that constant stress and close evaluation, his brain whispers 'I don't exist' to try to escape, to hide and hold on to the deep parts of himself that are crucial to life but not part of the perfect grandson caterina demands of him as the price of her love.)

I think a lot about how what seems to disquiet lucanis the most post-ossuary (as it would anyone with that psychological makeup) is the dissolving of internal boundaries and control he's been relying on, which is part of what spite symbolizes. his anger and reactivity has seceded from the union to the point of personification as a little guy (a little guy he resents and fears for his unpredictability and invasions into regions of his psyche he wishes to stay frozen and barren, and yet cares about deeply, loves! and also constantly dismisses and frequently helplessly lets down unless he's helped to learn to do otherwise. does this remind you of another relationship in his life, perhaps. it makes me feel nuts to think about the illario/spite parallels thanks for asking), and now that little guy is out there running the show freely the moment he glances away or closes his eyes. literal nightmare scenario I feel for him so deeply. so much of his coping is predicated on being able to Not do or feel or want certain things, and that's out the window now, Spite has Opinions. Spite refuses to stay wisely in place even if that place is hell on the logic that if you move you could find yourself in a place that's even worse, somehow. Spite actually wants to experience the world, however fucked up and scarring the way he arrived here, not just endure it. Spite means he has to face that maybe illario wasn't wrong all those years, at the same time as having to admit and face what illario has done to him, and figure out what to do about any of it.

anyway. mary kirby ma'am that's some good fucking metaphor work. thank you, and sorry about all the shit that happened

[catminecraft]

i think we should actually make a bigger deal about skizz' behaviour & his mod team. i think we should actually be outraged because how can you expect your community to be "for everyone" whilst giving a platform to people who literally want to see us detransition or die. idgaf about that damage control post he made, if he doesnt fire his mods & immediately change his behaviour then 🤷

i have to be honest if nobody addresses this then I genuinely dont think ill be able to continue supporting hermitcraft anymore. it cannot be a 'safe space' if theyre just okay with me detransitioning or dying! if theyre okay with cruelty & bigotry! and i do actually think we should make a bigger deal about that!

[asgardian--angels]

mage viktor discourse again on twitter and all i can say in my little corner over here once again is, I don't know why the entire fandom takes it as canon that mage Viktor failed to save every world he manipulated.

Canon does not provide evidence of this. This is fanon speculation. It's a fine headcanon to have, but everyone talks about it like it's canon when it isn't. Canon is ambiguous about the outcome of the timelines mage Viktor altered. The little nods we are given point, in my opinion, towards the opposite conclusion, that he successfully averted destruction.

I've written meta on this before but in summary:

1) 'In all timelines, in all possibilities' is worded precisely, it's not 'out of all timelines'; the implication is that every time, Jayce brings Viktor back from the brink, not just in our timeline. 'Only you' doesn't refer to our timeline's Jayce, it refers to all Jayces. Jayce always brings him home. If Viktor continuously put the fate of each timeline in Jayce's hands and Jayce failed over and over, I don't think he'd say those words. And the way he says them matters. His words are tinged with wonder, not sorrow. As if over and over again, he is shown that Jayce saves him, and it continues to amaze him. He doesn't sound defeated, like this is the next in a long line of Jayces he's sending off to die. The feeling is that Viktor's faith in Jayce has not been misplaced.

2) If mage Viktor doomed every timeline, there would be hundreds (or more) mage Viktors. All running around manipulating timelines. I highly doubt the writers wanted to get into that kind of sticky situation. The tragedy of mage Viktor is that he is singular. Alone. Burdened with the responsibility of the multiverse. The emotional gut punch of his fate is ruined if other timelines led to the same outcome, and from a practical standpoint, having multiple reality-bending omniscient mages would rip apart the fabric of the arcane.

There are other points, such as there being only one corrupted Mercury Hammer and our Jayce is the only one to receive it, and the fact that if mage Viktor is as omniscient as he is implied to be, he could easily step back into other timelines and correct course, because it's highly unlikely he could sit still and watch things go down in flames. But these things can be argued elsewhere.

While I love conversations about mage Viktor's motives and selfishness vs altruism, the writers & artbook have expressed that Jayce and Viktor care greatly about Runeterra and want to fix their mistakes to save it, and that their reconciliation is symbolic of Piltover and Zaun coming together as well. Yes, they make disastrous decisions towards each other, making choices for the other or without the other, which has negative consequences for their relationship and for Runeterra - but I think fandom pushes their selfishness even past what's canon sometimes, as if their entire goal hadn't always been to selflessly help the world around them. Their final reconciliation is about bridging the gap that grew between them - the pain and grief and secrets, betraying themselves and each other - to mutually choose each other openly and honestly. Part of the beauty of their story, as expressed by the creators, is that in their final moments, they chose each other and took responsibility for their actions by sacrificing themselves to end what they started, together - and that choosing each other saved the world. TPTB have stated this - that Jayce and Viktor are the glue holding civilization together, and when they come back to each other, they can restore balance. It's when they're apart, when they hurt each other and miscommunicate, when they abandon their commitment to each other and their dream, that the greater world suffers. Their strife is mirrored in the story-world at large.

Mage Viktor is framed as a solitary penitent figure, damned to an eternity of atoning for his mistakes. He paid the ultimate price and now is forced to live his personal nightmare of exactly what he was trying to avoid for himself with the glorious evolution. The narrative clues we're given point more in the direction that he saves timelines rather than dooms them. If Viktor's actions kept killing Jayce, the very boy he couldn't bear to not save each time, it would undermine these narrative choices. Yes, Viktor couldn't stand to live in a world where he never meets Jayce, so he ensures it keeps happening. But in that same breath, he couldn't bear to see a world where his actions continue to destroy Jayce and destroy Runeterra. His entire arc in s2 is born of his selfless desire to help humanity, help individual people. He would not lightly destroy entire worlds. That's his original grief multiplied a thousandfold, and narratively it would lessen the impact of the one, true loss he did suffer, his own Jayce. It wouldn't make sense for him to be alright with damning other timelines to suffer the same catastrophic tragedy that created him. I mean, maybe I'm delusional here, but is that not the entire point? Because that's what I took away when I watched the show.

As I said, I love discussions about mage Viktor, as there's a lot to play with. All I wish is that the fandom at large would not just assume or accept the Mage Viktor Dooms Every Timeline idea as canon, when there is nothing in the actual canon that confirms this. Maybe people need to just, go back and rewatch the actual episode, to recall how mage Viktor is presented to us, and what it's implied we're supposed to take away from his scenes, and separate that from the layers of headcanon the fandom has constructed.

[cactihierophant]

I understood that and I apologize if I came off as harsh or shaming. I think you're completely correct about expanding the narratives around what recovery looks like. I also don't agree with AA or scaring people. I understand that you're saying we need to create a more complete picture of addiction including people who ease out of it, or manage it in other ways, or people who do relapse and come back as part of their journey. I know people who have quit and then gone back to substances and were able to continue in moderation or w/o health risk. I know people who are still in addiction and probably won't come out of it and thats fine for them. I also know people that have died from DTs/ relapses. I've also met many people who were trying to manage addiction that didn't know this.

I do think that the cultural context matters,but its not like those stories also don't get frequently glossed over. In building a more complete picture, I think we need to acknowledge the very real health risks as well as the nuance and diversity of addiction. That includes the people that absolutely cannot go back into their addiction because people do absolutely die from this. Im not saying we should frame addiction narratives around this (in fact I think that's also dangerous in many ways as you are stating) , but it still needs to be part of the conversation.

That being said i do sympathize with your frustration about people approaching you in that way. That probably does feel incredibly dismissive and does ignore a lot of whats going on in that sphere.

This has the tone of a personal post that blew up and I just wanted to add that part of it to my tags.

every time I mention how many days sober I am I appreciate people congratulating me and telling me to keep up the good work. it is nice. but I also wish that milestones in addiction recovery weren’t still so pinned to length of sobriety/abstinence

yeah yeah I’m 50 days sober who cares. how about the fact that, when I do drink, it tends to be nipped in the bud after two days nowadays instead of weeks or months? how about the fact that drinking has been condensed to a six pack because I’m at the end of my tether, instead of browning out every night? how about my friend who has decided to stop drinking alone, and is actually sticking to that? recovery doesn’t always look like sobriety and I wish it was more normal to talk about that. yknow. when addiction is normal to talk about at all

[miwiheroes]

Day 38: Something's Not Adding Up...

Remember, the analysis posts where they have "Day 35 etc etc" are going to be going on my byler slides

So my last byler slides post on here was to do with the lightning flashes and the imagery created from El being in the UD. I am going to be continuing to make posts on the love monologue from here on out its going to be...interesting as there is just soooo much to unpack. Today's is going to be about the fact there are lots of things that Mike says in the monologue that don't add up. There were so many other words that the Duffers could have written into the monologue to make it more convincing, but they didn't.

Straight off the bat, some people might not be convinced that Mike is lying in the first place and never will be. Unfortunately for you, one of the main themes in Season 4 is lying. SO many characters lie to each other at every single turn. However, this theme is especially very very present in the Willelmike love triangle. Lying isn't so much a theme during El's lab storyline, on her part, but whenever she's associated with the love triangle's storyline, she is associated with that theme.

Every single character in the love triangle is lying about something, and they do these things during monologues:

El lies about her life in Lenora during her letter monologue.

Will lies about his feelings towards Mike being El's in his painting monologue.

Mike lies about how he feels towards El in his love monologue.

Another main theme in Season 4 is the fact that they don't win. It was a shock for the audience when they weren't necessarily successful and didn't kill the Big Bad, just like the other seasons. Many things were unsuccessful and unsatisfying. Max's heart stops despite her fighting so hard. This theme can clearly be seen in all the monologues near the end of the show.

Funnily enough, all the monologues' aims are unsatisfying in the end because of the lies in them:

El's lies are found out and then cause her and Mike to have a huge fight.

Will's lies and self-sacrifice and his words about Mike being the heart means that he (in his mind) loses Mike to El forever.

Mike's lies means that 4 gates open in Hawkins because Max's heart stopped.

And this makes total sense because the show's main mantra is literally: Friends don't lie. Meaning lies = bad, yeah

This is the rule of three in action. There is a clear rule of three seen from the fact they are all monologues, from each person in the triangle. Meaning they all need to follow the same pattern. So in this season....Will lies, El lies, Max lies, Lucas lies, Joyce lies and Mike......has no lies? Hm, not likely. So in this season.....Will's lies mean he loses Mike, El's lies are ultimately found out, and Mike's monologue......ends up unsuccessful. But why?

Because he lied.

We've established that due to the themes of the show, the pattern in the monologues, and Season 4's overall theme of them not winning. This just means to me that the love monologue while super important, was not supposed to be wholly truthful and this big positive thing.

Now we can unpack these lies:

The first is obviously the big 'I love you' moment. I would love to talk more about this specific phrase obviously, but I more go into why this is implied to be a negative thing rather than a positive in my other monologue post and my upcoming ones. Without the depth however, I can say that the audience is not supposed to be satisfied when they hear Mike say this. The lightning strikes, Mike's face, the fact Will is behind him in the background, El's face - they all point to that.

To me, this face he makes before saying it not only screams him thinking that he's about to lie, but it screams "i really don't want to do this but i have to otherwise she's going to die." It really feels like something bad is happening rather than something the audience is supposed to want, especially with Will in the background of the shot.

El do you hear me? I love you. I'm sorry I don't say it more. It's not because I'm scared of you. I'm not. I've never felt that way. Never.

Choosing to make him say "I'm sorry I don't say it more".....Hm.

The whole point of El's argument in Episode 3 is that he never says it. Mike then goes onto say "I say it" and El throws the fact that he can't write it in his face, like she thinks it's something that he can't even fake. Not only does he never say it, he never shows it. Just because you can't say it doesn't mean that you can't show it, Mike. That's one of the big reasons why El needs Mike to say it to her - because she just doesn't feel it from him. Ergo, he shouldn't be saying sorry for not saying it more. He should be sorry for not showing it more.

Mike is completely incapable of talking to El directly about anything of the romantic sort, because he knows it's lying, and he doesn't want to feel like he's lying because....that would incriminate himself to himself (if that makes sense). Instead, he tries to perform it to other people, make sure that other people are aware that he has a girilfriend, be more romantic with her in public rather than alone. Byler has many, many scenes by themselves where they have a satisfying intimate moment. In all of Milkvan's one-on-one scenes, Mike either stumbles over his words to refuse to force a romantic moment, just makes out with her, gets interrupted before doing anything satisfying, or argues with her.

The thing about him not being scared of her... I do believe that Mike is not scared of El harming him. He was upset and shocked that she harmed Angela because it went against his idealised version of her, despite her being in the right - this led to him making passive aggressive compliments and ignoring her for the rest of the day. His reactions was enough to remind El of Brenner. Her abusive father figure who was scared of her because he thought she killed these kids violently. This then led to her projecting her anxious attachment towards Brenner onto Mike again - but maybe that's for another post.

But I am scared that one day you're going to realise that you don't need me anymore. And I thought that if I said how I felt it would make that day....Hurt more.

The first sentence is funny because we heard him say something very similar in the van scene, which means that this portion is true. He really wants to be needed. I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. It makes me feel like El just began to attach herself to Mike because she was definitely not independent herself, since he gives her love sometimes and takes it away the next moment. Mike only liking the fact that she needs him is...interesting because he never says that he needs her. Wants her. Loves her? This is just an unequal relationship, as Mike has stated as one of his main insecurities when talking about it with Will.

He just wants El to feel these things that he himself does not. He wants someone to need him. That is how he wants to be loved. But the thing is....El realises that she doesn't need him to say I love you during the lab arc. My next post on the monologue will touch on El's arc more, and the fact that her needing Mike to say I love you was not because she loved him so much and wanted him to say it back. She just wanted to feel like she wasn't a total monster. But then she said to Brenner that she no longer thinks she is. So yes, Mike, she doesn't need you anymore.

But you know who does need Mike? Will. Will loves Mike in the exact way that Mike wants to be loved, which is. not. a coincidence.

But the truth is El I don't know how to live without you. I feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods.

While this sentence is not nice, don't worry, because I do believe one of the main reasons it's there is to make the audience angry. There are so many fucking shots of Will during the monologue, just to remind you of him, to remind you how much this monologue is hurting him, to remind you that these words are only happening because of him. I will be, again, talking more about this in an upcoming post.

Saying I don't know how to live without you is not proof that he loves her. I'm sure you can imagine that why this suggests that their attachment to one another is unhealthy. It is true, that he doesn't know what to do if he loses her, which is exactly why he is saying these things to win her back. Not because he loves her.

The second sentence, again, is very false and codependent as well. Saying that your life depends on someone else....uh. This also contradicts what Mike had said about stumbling on her in the woods not being fate, not being destiny, but dumb luck. Instead of an active choice that he made, just like with Will when he says that meeting him and asking him to be his friend is the best thing he ever did, it's something that he'd never meant to do.

One of the biggest differences between Mike's speech in Season 2 and Mike's speech in Season 4 is the fact that his speech in S2 instantly breaks through to Will, there is no music, it's extremely intimate. When Will says in his Van speech that Mike gives El the courage to fight on, Mike takes that and therefore gains the belief that he is the one that needs to tell her he loves her even if he doesn't, in order for her to fight on. WHEN REALLY it's Will. The proof is in the pudding:

You were wearing that yellow Benny's Burgers T-shirt and it was so big it almost swallowed you whole.

Meaningless line that deadass has no point to it, other than to remind El of a memory that he thinks is good for her. This is the only time that she smiles/laughs a little, before going back to looking upset again. This is so weird - "You were wearing a yellow shirt so I loved you". I could talk about how the colour yellow is so obviously associated with Will, but honestly, I don't know if that's a reach or not.

And I knew right there and then , in that moment, that I loved you. And I've loved you every day since.

And this ladies and germs, is the Biggest Lie. Why did the writers feel the need to have Mike emphasise the fact that he knew. right then and there. in that moment. ?

It's because..... They really wanted us to notice that they were talking about LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT which can be proven wrong by going back and rewatching the show. They really wanted no one to make an excuse and say that maybe Mike didn't actually know then. HE SAID HE KNEW.

"Maybe he just meant a little later." HE SAID RIGHT THERE AND THEN. IN THAT MOMENT.

This is why I believe the writers only put this line in to make the audience actually question the truthfulness of the whole monologue. They could have had Mike easily talk about the moment he fell in love with El. That would have been just as romantic, but no, they made it something to be provably wrong. On purpose.

Now, we have a lot of evidence from the show itself to prove that when Mike met with El, he did not love her instantly:

In the trailer for Season 1, they show Mike finding El. The first thing he says, portraying what his first thoughts were, was "That's not Will." - at the time of making the trailer, the creators had already filmed and written the season. So they knew what they were doing putting this in the trailer.

Mike cared about her and took her in, but was completely ready to prioritise Will instead - he said to Dustin and Lucas that the reason they couldn't show their parents who they had found was because they'd be on house arrest. He then tells them that he can get El to talk to his mom and his mom can "send her back to Pennhurst or wherever she comes from. And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time, we find Will." This shows that his main priority was finding Will. He's a little careless about El at this point. He emphasises find Will! because he wants to state that he'd never meant to find El.

The next morning, Mike comes down to feed her and then asks her to go to the front and pretend like she's never met him before so that his mom can help her. She refuses. He then realises that she might be in trouble, and when she says there are, that's when he decides to keep her.

From this point onwards, he's somewhat indifferent towards her, showing her around the house, like he's teaching a toddler/ alien life force what his house is like. To me, this is not love. Mike's excitement seems more like friendship, care for another person, or just that he made this scientific discovery. When El points Will's photo - that's when he really takes priority in hiding her and keeping her. The very next scene is him hiding her in the closet (lol) - the scenes are back to back so that you don't need to question whether Mike hides her because he wants to be friends or hides her because he needs her to find Will.

The only time that Mike began to get the idea that his care for El might be romantic is because of Lucas. He was the one to say that he should 'marry her', aka a very heteronormative 80s, nuclear family thing. Mike seems annoyed that Lucas is doing this, but he is genuinely confused - not shy. He seems fed up. The moment after this conversation, he learns that being queer is a bad thing from the bullies, therefore making Lucas's daydream more of a preferable thing. Read more about this here.

Okay so that's some of the evidence from the show, but I guess we don't have to take all of that as complete evidence, because that may be up to interpretation (not really but whatever).

There is some evidence from sources outside the show too:

This is direct evidence from the show's writers that they do not believe in love at first sight - aka why the hell would they write something into the show that they do not believe in?

Above here is where Finn was asked about how 'strong' Milkvan are and about the confession. Keep in mind he was asked about the confession as the last thing. With this, Finn chose to specifically talk about how he didn't forsee himself to be in any kind of romantic relationship - this was something that he was insecure about. Saying romance was not on his mind even initially when he found eleven, is crazy fucking work. This had caused a lot of Milkvan's arguments to change from "Mike said he loved El at first sight!" to "Mike never meant at very first sight, just the next day or something! He was just being hyperbolic!". Girl. He literally said in his speech - Right there, in that moment. It was emphasised to you. Hyperbole would have been: "I knew in that moment that I loved you more than I love life itself" or something. Learn the definition of a hyperbole.

I also love how Finn expresses that Mike's feelings towards El are similar to how Elliott felt towards ET - which was obviously not romantic love. This is Finn explaining away all the seemingly romantic behaviour that Mike has towards her in the beginning of S1. Thankyou for that <3

(Also can we talk about how he said its his first romantic feelings for someone like we get it, he's not going to stay with El.... "going into to s5", "still a couple going into it" - OKAY WE GET IT HEEHEE)

It's so funny because all this fucking evidence I just showed you can be completely made null and void if Mike had simply said something like "I've loved you since *other moment*" "I fell in love with you that week." But no. It was a provable lie.

I love you on your good days I love you on your bad days.

Saying this stuff can't possibly mean he actually shows it. Just saying that you love someone on your good days and bad days doesn't actually mean you do, or that you're showing it. The whole reason that El wants Mike to actually say it is 1. because she needs reassurance that she's not a monster, and 2. because she doesn't feel the love coming from Mike whenever she's having a 'bad day'.

In my opinion, the only reason why he says these things is because he wants her to survive. He thinks this will make her happy because he's remembering what he did wrong - even if it's not true.

Consistently, from Season 1 onwards, he doesn't show that he loves her or consistently shows affection towards her even when she's doing something that he doesn't like:

Season 1: Only shows care for her when she's helping him find Will or saving him with her powers. Says 'What is wrong with you' three times. The first two are when Mike thinks that Will has died and therefore thinks that El lied to him, his anger and sadness mix into this lashing out. He says it again when she attacks Lucas.

Season 2: Has a very idealised version of her due to his guilt and so doesn't think of her as a bad person at all - this then fuels the fact he puts her on a pedestal, therefore making him more likely to take away that love as soon as she doesn't hold up to his standards. He doesn't see her this season until the end.

Season 3: Shows extreme frustration at her behaviour when she breaks up with him. He calls her (and girls in general) a "different species", says that he doesn't understand what he's done to deserve this despite not explaining anything to her, and says that he is the victim in this situation. He believes himself a victim of her wrath or something. This isn't even him lashing out because he's upset or sad, because he seems perfectly happy to have fun with Lucas as if this isn't a serious situation.

Season 4: Oh boy. Again, he has this idealised version of her in his head. Now that she doesn't have powers, El feels the need to perform for him again, making herself seem like she has the perfect life. As soon as she deviates from this perfect image, Mike is cold towards her. He says "what did you do" when she attacks Angela, and this is paralleled within the show with her abusive father figure (hello??). He then ignores her when she is clearly upset, and says rude comments at dinner, not caring when she storms off. He begins to try and apologise, but as soon as he's attacked for his incriminating behaviour he gaslights her by blaming other people for their problems, and calls her ridiculous. Again, he tries to place her on his pedestal that she can't reach by calling her a superhero.

I love you with and without your powers. I love you for exactly who you are. You're my superhero.

The last time that El was called a superhero by Mike, where she realised that she was never going to be enough for him unless she can be of benefit to him:

And the same exact thing in the love confession, though this time, El knows that she is not a monster, knows that she doesn't need Mike to think she's a superhero.

Mike constantly talks about how El is a superhero or his superhero - this just shows that he went from point A in the third episode to.....point A again??? The difference here is the fact that Mike used the fact she's a superhero as 'proof' that he loves her when they first argued in her bedroom, even though he didn't want to say it. Even when he seems to want to tell her i love you, he still uses this excuse as if he needs extra proof.

Another thing about the superhero thing is that it directly contrasts to Will and Mike's dynamic. Mike seems very happy to be working with Will as a team when he talks to him earlier in the season.

He would much rather work with someone as a team than work under them as their inferior. He literally expresses to Will about how insecure he feels surrounding El's superpowers and how he doesn't feel special or needed - and yet he somehow uses this as a reason to love her.

HE HAS SEVERELY POOR SELF-ESTEEM if he is using something that makes him feel worse about himself as proof that he loves her. The big difference between Milkvan and Byler is that Mike is not on the same level as El, so they never work as a team. Mike has expressed his preference for working as a team with Will.

This part of the confession is also very different from the argument scene because he is calling her "MY superhero" rather than just a superhero. This may seem more romantic on the surface, but to me it just proves how much he places her on a pedestal for her powers and how they benefit him and increase her positive image only. The next thing he does is talk about her powers, nothing to do with her personality, nothing to do with her bravery or anything like that. Awful wording from Mike.

And.....I can't lose you. Ok do you hear me I can't lose you.

This....is not a lie. Absolutely not - and that's what makes the rest of the lies so plausible. I don't need to elaborate that much on how attached he feels to El, how much he doesn't want to lose her because he wants to feel needed by someone, as a result of his poor self-esteem. More proof that he's saying all these because he doesn't want her to die, and he feels responsible for her life time and time again.

You can do anything , you can fly you can move mountains I believe that. I really do. But right now you just have to fight.

Wasn't the whole point of El's fucking argument that she can't do anything sometimes!!!! Putting El on a pedestal and claiming that she can actually do things they can't, exaggerating her powers to the point where its unrealistic, will just make El feel bad that she can't do those things. It will make her feel even more that Mike doesn't love her for who she is, but rather the idea of her.

His inflated idea of her is fuelled by the things that she has done for him, which include getting Will back from the Upside Down, it includes her saving him, it includes her defeating the mind flayer. His idea of her became so inflated during Season 2 when he couldn't see her, so much so that when she doesn't live up to that, you can clearly see that he acts cold. This is not love, even if it was, it's not fucking healthy.

Now, this is the point of the monologue where El looks over at Max. Up to this point, the vines have not stopped tightening around her throat, despite Mike trying his best to make her focus.

The fact that they put this image over Mike saying "you need to fight" is to portray El's reason for fighting. It is portraying the fact that the only reason she is able to fight is because she is reminded by the fact Max is in danger, and reminded by Mike that the only thing important right now is that she needs to stay alive.

However you read Mike's sexuality as, it is a fact that his love for El isn't romantic. He cares about her, he has a clear idea of who he wants her to be, and idealises that version. Whenever she doesn't live up to it, he takes it away. Her character arc means that she realises she doesn't need this in order to survive. I hope you can see the sheer amount of lies, vamping, him not wanting her to die, the ideas he has about her and think that they are not healthy.

This was such a long ass post, forgive me tumblr gods.

[lycheejelli]

Summary:

Xavier broke his promise. Again.

After you had to rescue his reckless ass from another “secret mission” he swore he’d stopped taking, you decide the spoiled prince needs to learn that actions have consequences.

But when he shows up at your door desperate and pleading, you realize your plan worked better than you ever imagined.

Sometimes the best way to tame a prince is to make him remember what it feels like to want something he can’t have.

A switch dynamic story exploring what happens when Xavier’s dominance crumbles and he discovers just how good it feels to let someone else take the reins.

a/n:

A loose continuation of Feverish Attempts. I was mad at him and was inspired by this TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTj4qbckg/ (This is completely self indulgent)

I personally headcanon Xavier as a dom-leaning switch.

We see him dom in game time and time again. Now this begs the question: when does he sub?

Warnings: 18+, Afab reader, no other physical attributes described other than puthy, dom reader, sub Xavier, reader’s a little mean, dacryphilia, oral sex, handjob, cum play, slight spoilers for feverish attempts, single use of y/n, begging, lots of “please”

Word Count: 2.4k

No beta, we die like Caleb.

Beta Writers: @liv-laughs @space-lattes

(Get it. Because he’s not dead.)

You were pissed. Royally pissed to say the least.

Despite his charm, persuasiveness, and inexplicable ability to convince you to follow his lead, your anger festered.

Xavier had broken his promise.

His promise to let you into every part of his life.

His promise not to lie anymore.

No more disappearing.

No more secret missions.

And funny enough, you were the one who had to bail him out. Having to carry his weary body all the way home.

All of which could have been avoided had he just told you he was heading into danger.

Did he understand the panic that spread through you when you heard him on the phone? How frightened you felt thinking you might not have made it in time to reach him?

Water drips from your chin as a sigh leaves your lips.

Here you are, in his bathroom, after he convinced you to stay the night at his place.

“If you leave and my fever comes back in the middle of the night… What if I die? Will anyone notice?”

He used those damn puppy eyes!

But today will be the end of this cycle.

He needs to learn that his actions have consequences, that you aren’t all talk.

You steel yourself and straighten your back as you head out.

Someone is gonna have to tell that spoiled prince no.

“Baby… come back to bed.” You hear a whine coming from under Xavier’s comforter as you exit the en suite.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

Step 1: Don’t look at him. The puppy eyes are the hardest to resist.

Turning your back on the blonde, you shuffle throughout the room to find your shoes.

“It’s already 7 am, Xavi. I need to write up my report for the mission I just finished. Your fever is gone. I think you can handle resting for the day. After all, you're already a pro at that.”

With his hair jostled, his panicked eyes meet yours. “You’re leaving?” That whiny tone is back again.

Step 2: Don’t let him persuade you with a pout and a whine.

“I wanted to sleep in with you. I was even going to cook break-“

You finally turn towards him.

“Xavier. I’m behind on my reports because I had to run to the rescue of a certain reckless hunter.”

Crouching over to reach him, you peck his cheek.

“I’ll swing by for dinner. Love ya.”

Step 3: Leave him wanting more.

It has been two weeks of this.

You, sleeping at your apartment, him, sleeping at his.

Cheek kisses, brief hugs, and after every night, when your stomachs are full of hearty food and laughter, he inevitably asks you,

“Can you sleep over tonight? We can watch that corny horror movie I was telling you about.”

He has that pout again.

Pretending to think about your answer, you glance around the room.

“Well, we have that meeting with Captain Jenna in the morning… I think I’ll just head home.”

His pout deepens.

“But babeee, I haven’t held you,” he whines.

A slight bite to the lip as he starts bouncing his foot beneath the table. Poor boy can’t even sit still.

And you know exactly what he’s implying. He don’t want no damn hug.

“But babeee,“ mimicking him, “I wanna go home. To my bed.”

Standing, you start to collect your things.

“Okay. I’ll go with you!” His eyes darted between you and the door. Reaching out his hands towards yours as he starts to rise.

“Xavier.” Meeting his eyes, you reach for his face. While holding him in your hands, you promise, “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Cupping his hand over yours, he turns to kiss your palm.

“Okay.”

Heavy footfalls echo throughout the empty room as you start your nightly routine. Finding a graphic tee, unclipping your bra, and shucking off your pants, you head to your vanity. Recently, you’ve had more time to complete all your nightly skincare.

There are some benefits of going to bed alone after all.

That’s when you hear it. A soft knock at your door.

You ignore it at first. Probably just Charlie making a bit of noise.

But there it is again.

Three soft knocks in quick succession.

Who the hell is at your door at 11 pm?

And a gentle, “Princess?” filters through.

Ah. Xavier.

Jumping up from your seat, you take off, but slow your pace as you approach the door. Can’t let him know the extent of your excitement now, can we?

Opening the door, you see the visage of your darling boyfriend. Like you, he’s wearing a graphic t-shirt paired with dark gray sweatpants that sit low on his hips, revealing a dangerous sliver of skin peeking through. Your eyes finally flit up to his face, that forever pout still planted on his lips.

“Xavier?” eyebrows raised in inquisition. “Did you need something?”

His eyes rake over your form.

“Baby. Honey. Light of my life. May I come in, pretty please?”

Even at his notable height, he doesn’t seem to tower over you in this particular moment.

“Xavier-“ Damnit. Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate. The mix of guilt and desire rises to the surface for just a moment. He slumps against the door frame, breath heavy in his lungs.

“Y/n. Princess. Please. Please. I promise I’ll be good for you.”

…

You reach up and grasp his collar. Lips finding each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. The whimper he lets out as he finally, finally gets a taste of your tongue muddles your thoughts.

But you can’t help the way your tongue falls into step with his. How you press your body against his or how his now apparent arousal sends a wave of arousal between your own thighs.

Fingers tangling into the base of his hair. A small yank to the strands tears the two of you apart, much to his dismay. A soft glow starts to form on Xavier’s skin, highlighting his features as he whines against your lips, relishing the feeling of your touch on him.

“No, nooo. Princess please. I need you. Need to taste you again.”

His lips crashing against yours is nearly painful; the way they press against you amplifies the feeling. With every hint of movement, he pulls you flush against him again. Your bodies melding into one as he grabs a fistful of your ass.

“Xavi- nghh,“ he cuts you off as his teeth graze your neck. Nibbles, to bites, to suckling. His mouth stays planted upon your skin.

“Bed. Now.” was all the convincing he needed before he lifted you into his arms, locking his lips back onto yours. Shutting the door with his heels, you weave through your apartment with renewed urgency.

Setting you down on your bed, Xavier sinks to his knees before you. While guiding your hands back into his hair, his eyes ask for the exact thing he’s been dreaming of for weeks.

“Use your words.”

His ears burn. A red creeping onto his cheeks as he looks up at you.

“Can I eat you out?… please.”

Tight fingers raise his head towards your soaking core. He can’t help but nestle his nose into your wetness as the glow around him flashes with need. A heavy inhale of your scent sends a shuddering whimper tumbling from his throat.

“You smell heavenly.” His tongue reaches out and swipes at the dampening fabric, creating a larger wet patch.

“Tastes even better.”

A gasp escapes your lips as you feel Xavier pull your panties to the side and lick through your folds. No crevice is untouched as he collects you on his tongue.

A muffled “need you, need you so bad” reaches you as his tongue focuses on your sensitive nub.

Despite his urgency, Xavier takes his time savoring your flavor. Teasing your entrance and making sure to give the proper attention to your clit. Your thighs can’t help but squeeze onto him.

Fuuuck. Why did you ever deny him in the first place?

“Shit, baby… I’m close. You want it?”

Seeing his eyes peek over your thighs. The desperation in them could only be described as animalistic. Mumbling affirmations into your pussy as he wraps his arms around your thighs, solidifying his positioning.

He finally delves past your entrance. Your hand is on the brink of pain with how hard you’re pushing his head into you. His princely nose bumping into your clit at just the right angle.

Only thoughts of tongue and face and Xavier, Xavier, Xavier fill your mind as the feeling consumes you.

Throwing your head back as you grind against his face, moans tumble out of you. You can’t help but notice the vibrations against your core as Xavier’s moans aid you in wave after wave of your orgasm.

As your breaths slow, you recoil away from Xavier’s kitten licks.

You struggle a bit prying him away from you, but he relents. Licking along his lips, ensuring not to waste a drop, he rises.

Pulling him into another kiss, you get a taste of yourself on his tongue. Possession fuels you as you suck him into your mouth, sparking a groan from the back of his throat. Your hands find his hair again, tightening their hold on him, feeling the low vibrations of his moans.

Sensing the rising peak of his desperation, you reach out for his pants. Fumbling with the knot for a moment, you try to pull away to get a better look. Nipping at your lips, he continues to seek you. Grasping his chin to break away, you finally glance towards what’s giving you trouble.

Freezing in your ministrations, your eyebrow furrows at the visage of your boyfriend. Accompanying the prominent bulge beneath his sweats was a spreading wet patch at the tip.

“Xavi, did you…?” Your eyes meet his inquisitively. Burying his head into the bruise-riden crevice of your neck, a whine bubbles from his throat.

“I couldn’t help it.” His ears red hot as he nuzzles into your skin.

“And you're still hard?” Groaning as you point out his obvious affliction.

“Help me…. please.” He’ll never live down the title of spoiled prince.

Tugging the string at the right angle, you yank at the waistband of his sweats.

Eyes widening a second time at the sight of his cock springing free, dripping with need and the remnants of his previous release.

No underwear. Fucking slut.

“You came without permission. You promised to be good.” A pout forms on your lips as you reach out and slowly wrap your hand around his length.

“I’m sorry... please,, plea- ngh” Your hand moves slow and hard. Agonizingly so.

Your hand moves along him, eyes focused on the way his eyebrows crease and his mouth hangs open as you work him towards the edge. Swiping your thumb over the head, while squeezing just hard enough to feel it in his bones. But your pace never picks up.

“What are you even begging for?” A pearl of pre further lubricates your hand’s path alongside your words. Jerking involuntarily into your hand, Xavier closes his eyes in an effort to restrain himself. So sensitive after cumming for you already. It’s hard not to revel in the power.

Wetness falls onto your shoulder as you hear sniffling from your partner.

“ ‘m sorry… wanna cum for you baby.” Stopping your hand you give a squeeze to the base of his cock. Pulling away from him, you make contact with his ocean-filled eyes.

“You’re gonna listen?” A nod.

“Take these off me.” Motioning towards your panties, ruined from your earlier escapades. Despite his state, he still manages to lift you to work your panties down your leg gently.

While throwing your underwear somewhere unbeknownst to you, he starts to line himself up with your entrance. Stopped by your hand, grasping his length once again.

“Never said you’d get to fuck me now did I?” His focus shifts from his cock to searching your eyes for understanding. Brow furrowing, his mouth hangs as the question can’t form on his tongue.

“Cumming without permission? I think you still have a few lessons to learn.” Your hand picks up pace again. This time with more fervor, ripping a whine from his throat.

“Having to cum on my pussy should be punishment enough.”

A whimper rips from his throat as you work your hand along his length. His head falls into place on your shoulder as strings of desperation leave his lips.

It doesn’t take long. After your teasing earlier and the taste of you still on his tongue, his shuddering grows in rapid succession.

“Babyy~ ‘m gonna… can I? pleasee wanna, just for you, just for you.” You’ve never seen him use this much self-control. Usually, he takes what he wants, but listening to him beg like this? This is precisely what you’ve been waiting for.

“Go ahead, baby. Give it to me.”

Splashes of white start to coat your core as Xavier rocks into your hand. His cock spurts rope after rope of cum directly onto your pussy and lower abdomen.

Whimpers escape him as more tears flow from his eyes.

Whines turn to sniffles as he goes back to nuzzling into your shoulder. Pushing you flat onto the bed, his legs too weak to stand in his current state.

Xavier raises his head while wrapping his arms around you, mumbling, “I‘m sorry, baby. Can I sleep over?” Those damn puppy eyes. Even worse when he’s sleepy.

“How could I say no to my prince?” The faint glow on his skin seem to culminate and dot your bedroom with night lights.

It wouldn’t be so bad to fall for his beguilements this time.

[cocosteatime]

Hey.....I saw that you are accepting requests.... can you do lookism men reacting to s/o who is a independent woman and refuses to use their money

Hii omg ofc!! Thank you for the request!

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

Money, Money, Money

Ft. Gun Park, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo, DG/James Lee, Zack Lee

Notes: arguing, gaslighting, some fluff, dating/established relationship

Summary: you’d rather die than let a man pay for you

GUN

- He’s baffled that you pushed his card away and used yours instead

- He continues to try pay with his card but you’re somehow faster than him and he’s lowkey impressed 😂

- He admires how you stick to your own convictions and are independent

- However, he’s a traditional man and he thinks he should be paying so he often gets annoyed when you don’t let him

- Specially when you’re out on dinners together and argue on who’s getting the bill

GOO

- He WANTS to spoil you

- He can’t stand it when you refuse to let him pay

- He WILL hold you in a chokehold in front of the cashier and tell them to quickly use his card

- He’ll sneak his credit cards into your purse hoping you’ll accidentally use them

- Will buy you TONS of gifts to make up for when you refuse his money, and every time you fight because you’ve told him many times to stop doing that

SAMUEL

- He’s used to spending a lot of money

- Designer clothes, gourmet food, alcohol, parties, GIRLS

- So he’s really shocked when you refuse his money

- At first he didn’t really care, if you wanted to use your own money it wasn’t any of his business

- But then it starts to irk his inferiority complex

- Did you think he can’t provide for you? Does he not have enough money? Do you have more money than him? So you think you’re better than him?

- Eventually, every time you refuse his money or pay for him he turns bitter and would throw backhanded “compliments” at you to make himself feel better

DG/JAMES LEE

- He would find it really refreshing

- As an idol, people were only around him because of his money and popularity

- But seeing you refuse to take his money makes him see you as genuine

- He still offers to pay but doesn’t insist if you say no

- He’ll still spoil you with gifts and flowers tho because he thinks there isn’t anything else he can offer to you

ZACK

- He also thinks he should always pay for his woman and would absolutely love to buy you food and gifts

- So when you refuse to let him pay he’s a bit hurt and paranoid thinking you don’t like him

- You explain to him how important your independency and values are to you and he understands and respects it

- But he won’t give up and will always try to pay for you

- Specially if it’s a date, he will try extra hard to not let you pay but still respect your boundaries

[malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy]

Snakelets

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1418

Warnings: One subtle hint to coital activities. Dark humor.

Summary: Draco and Fem!Reader's version of pillow talk.

Reader's Point Of View:

I push his sweaty body off me, laughing. He lands on the bed with a thud and pops his head up, feigning shock.

"Way to thank me for such a enjoyable evening." He says, voice light and playful. I look over at him, rolling my eyes and turning away from him to hide my giddy giggle. The kind I only get around him. I pull the blankets up to my chin, burrowing in.

"What are you doing?" I hear his curious voice directly behind my shoulder and above my ear, which makes me jump. He wraps an arm around my waist.

"You move far too quietly."

He laughs softly against my neck, his chest vibrating against my back. "I move silently when I need to," He says, "Why did you move so far away from me?" He says, voice light as he presses a kiss to my neck before craning his head over my shoulder so we can make eye contact.

"I got cold and wanted the blanket to myself." I say casually, pulling the blanket tighter around me- not willing to admit to him that he makes me bashful. He raises an eyebrow.

"Cold?" He repeats, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or are you just feeling shy?" He teases gently, shifting closer to me and tucking his arm under my head so I was sandwiched between both of his arms.

"Yes, cold." I say, doubling down and finding my confidence again. "Just like your heart."

He chuckles darkly, pulling me towards him until my back is flush against his chest. "My heart is plenty warm." He murmurs into my ear. "Especially when you're nearby." His hand slowly begins to roam my stomach, tracing patterns that make my breath catch.

"I disagree. It's lukewarm at best."

He playfully growls at my teasing words, "Lukewarm? I'll show you lukewarm." He says and gently bites my earlobe before peppering kisses on my neck. I giggle, squirming slightly and letting out a tiny squeal.

"That tickles!"

He laughs softy, his breath warm on my neck. "Did it now?" He asks before pressing a kiss to my jaw. "I can do it again if you'd like." His voice was teasing but filled with a dark promise that made my heart race. I feel him leave soft kisses up my neck slowly, his lips dragging along the skin.

"That feels nice." I say, reaching up and caressing the side of his head, closing my eyes to bask in his affection. "I fear you've got me trapped in your snake's nest. I kind of like it here, though."

"Stay then." He whispers, nuzzling against my neck. "Stay in my nest forever."

My heart swells but I don't let myself dwell on it. Instead, my avoidant-attachment self decides to make a stupid comment to make light of the moment. "Maybe I will. We need more sticks though." I joke, still caressing the side of his head. He chuckles, understanding my attempt to lighten the mood. I'm sure he knows I'm not ready for declarations of affection yet. He plays along, his fingers continue their tracing on my stomach.

"More sticks?" He teases. "Right. Because snakes need sticks apparently."

"Yes. To hide the little snake eggs. But I won't be needing your help with that because you don't have the right parts." I jest, tracing his jaw with my fingertips. He throws his head back, laughing genuinely at my joke, his grip on me loosening slightly as we enjoy the playful banter.

"Oh really? You think you can handle little snake eggs all by yourself?" He asks mockingly, turning his head to nip gently at my fingertips.

"Absolutely I can. My eggs will be model citizens upon hatching. Your eggs would be an owl's dinner."

He bursts out laughing again, pressing his forehead on the side of my neck for moment. "My eggs would be the most feared snakes in the entire grasslands." He retorts, his voice filled with mock outrage. "And your little model citizens would get eaten by my snakelets."

"Absolutely not. Your eggs wouldn't even hatch because you'd forget to take care of them and they'd die off."

He laughs again, pressing his face into the side of his neck as he tries to stifle how funny he actually finds me. "Forget to take care of them? More like I'd intentionally neglect them so they'd die off if they were weak and couldn't adapt. I'd rather have no snake babies than inferior ones."

"You'd neglect your own kids? Criminal. Straight to snake prison you go while I call Snake Protection Services." I joke but stop, thinking for a second. "But, knowing you- you'd slip through the bars."

He laughs again, his body shaking with amusement. I love this side of him- the playful, teasing side that he rarely showed. He sees his chance and takes the joke further.

"And if I did escape? What would you do then?"

"Well by then, my snakelets will have bonded with yours and I'll have raised a snake army that I train specifically to attack you. On sight."

He leans over me to meet my face again, his eyes widening dramatically as a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

"A snake army trained to attack their own father? How... heartbreaking." He feigns hurt before his grin returns. "But mark my words, those snakelets would lose against me in battle and become loyal to me only. Their superior. They'll turn on you the second I command them to."

I fake gasp. "They'd turn on their mama?" I place a dramatic hand on my forehead, pretending to feel faint. "My babies! Why!" I say dramatically, pretending to let out a sob. Instead of feeling sorry for me, he laughs and watches my theatrics in amusement. I smile softly, appreciating his laugh. I've never heard it so much.

"If they'd truly turn on me, I'd have to send my owl on them. No traitors are allowed. Loyalty is my one rule." I joke.

His laughter slowly subsides, replaced with a small, thoughtful smile as he looks down at me. "Loyalty." He repeats, his thumb brushing against my cheek. "What of their father, then? Would they remain loyal to me if they somehow survive your owl?"

"Well, that depends on how you treated them when they served you. When you weren't in prison, that is."

He chuckles, his smile widening slightly at my teasing tone. "And what makes you think I would end up in prison even if you called SPS on me?" He looks at me, eyes playful. "If I somehow did, I would slip through the bars like you said." He leans in closer, his voice lowering. "Besides, I'd never neglect my snakelets in the first place." I see the shift from jesting to something deeper.

"You told me you'd let them be eaten by an owl if they were inferior eggs." I chuckle softly, shifting slightly so my head is higher up on his arm.

His face falls dramatically, feigning hurt again. "Well... yes, but only because I have incredibly high standards." He grins mischievously, tracing patterns on my shoulder with a soft finger pad. "And for the record, my offspring wouldn't be anything less than perfect. I mean, look at me." I chuckle softly, rolling my eyes playfully. With a small, amused smile he lays his cheek against the side of my head, absentmindedly tracing up my inner forearm.

After a few moments, I watch his expression become slightly more serious. "But..." He pauses, considering his words carefully, "But if they ever turned on their mother, I would let them become dinner to something." He says firmly, his voice lacking any humor. "Because no matter how perfect they are, loyalty to their mother is paramount. Anything less is unacceptable."

"Their mother would be a lucky snake then." I say softly, tracing his hand. His expression softens at my gentle touch, his fingers curling slightly around mine. "Very lucky." he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because their father is incredibly protective of their mother." He lifts my hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

I realize he's not talking about metaphorical snakes anymore. I feel my heart swell again, and this time I don't fight it. I pull his arm around me and burrow back into him. In return, he wraps both of his arms around me tightly, holding me as if I was the most precious thing in the world.

Masterlist

[justevelynnnn]

Mine all mine.

Pairing: Viltrumite Mark x afab!Reader

Summary: He stole you from your home and now he’s marrying you. He wasn’t your Mark so why did you have to constantly fight and remind yourself of that?

Warnings: {MDNI 🔞}, smut, reader is afab, forced marriage, PiV, cunnilingus, hidden Stockholm syndrome

A/N: who doesn’t love a good viltrumite mark x reader post 🤭

You didn’t know what to make of your situation right now.

You were married to a version of your boyfriend who joined the viltrum empire and was this cold and strong like iron figure.

He saw you during the war and just….swooped you up. Hardly even saying anything. One of the Marks, the one with the mohawk actually, was yelling at him to focus on the “mission”. The one in yellow and black was also saying that, but he also said he literally wanted to eat you and no matter how you thought of it you didn’t like the sound of that at all.

That day was all around frightening.

And then you eventually passed out from pure fear, the fast flying and realizing you were being taken to lord knows where with no one knowing.

You woke up on a soft white bed in a futuristic looking room. It smelled like iron but also fresh linen. Like the candle. It was so full and huge but in a way felt so empty and lifeless.

There was a warm yellow glow coming from different areas of the room and a low constant buzzing sound filled your ears.

Your body had felt heavy and you realized you were in one of those white suits the Mark was wearing. Part of you thought about how he had to change you out of your clothes to get you into that. Then you shivered as you realized he saw you naked.

Just then the door to the room slid open as you sat up, a soft psshing sound following. You looked to the door to see Mark, not your soft and awkward boyfriend but the other Mark. The Viltrumite Empire one.

He flew in slowly and looked at you like he was examining you, but looked tired like he had been working tirelessly doing something. Maybe fighting. Still thought he had perfect posture and that hard look, stoic on his face.

“I take it you just woke up?” He said with his arms coming from behind his back and calmly floating to the end of the bed.

His eyes softens when his feet hit the floor and he sees your fear.

“I won’t hurt you. Never.” He quickly stated but you weren’t even thinking about that. You were still stuck on the fact he saw you naked.

“How did I….get in these clothes? How did I get here?” You spoke slowly almost like you were scared to speak, also wanting to choose your words carefully.

“A female maid did that. No man is to ever see you bare, but me.” He said that last part seriously and it almost gave you goosebumps. Before you could ask him to elaborate he continued, “And I brought you here because you are to be my bride tomorrow.”

“Um…..uhh…” You started but you couldn’t continue. What could you even say? No? And where would you go? It was probably either this or die even though he said he wouldn’t hurt you. Surely, that’s probably what those husky guards were for.

He cocked his head to the side possibly out of confusion, and it almost reminded you of your Mark. A cute silly thing that was out of character for this one but warmed your heart when your boyfriend did it. It was now that you really started to miss him even though you were technically looking directly at him.

“I mean…okay? I guess i can’t say no at this point.” You shrugged. He just nodded slowly and moved to sit on the bed with you. His thigh touched yours and you wanted to move but decided against it.

“This will be our quarters. My room is spacious as I am next in line to rule and I will have you here too. I hope it’s comfortable.”

“It is actually…” You say feeling the soft bed. “But, do we have to get married….tomorrow? Can’t we just like…i dunno…um…”

“Court?” He interrupted.

“What?”

“You want us to court first?” He looked down for a second and then back at you. “Well, i heard your kind, humans, refers to it as…”dating”.”

Your kind? Oh.

“Uh, yeah.” You said slowly almost glaring at him. “Can’t we….date first?”

“No.”

“Okay, why?” You said even more confused.

“Because, the wedding date is set for tomorrow. No need to waste time. I already know I want you as my mate.”

“Mate..okayyy…so, Mark? You just…i’m not used to this. On Earth, we take things slow. I know i’m already dating a different Mark but that’s because i like him. I don’t even know you….” You say getting frustrated. He noticed but his face didn’t really change.

“We are the same person.”

“No- well yes, okay just… Okay. My Mark did not want to serve Viltrum. He doesn’t agree with nothing you guys do. And, also, he hates killing.”

“So, he’s weak and a traitor to the Viltrum empire..” Now he was glaring. You swallowed getting nervous now.

“Sure….whatever. Look, he was sweet to me. Kind. We laughed and i enjoyed being with him because i could be myself. But you….you’re all…serious and kind of intimidating. Also instead of girlfriend you say i’m your mate and that’s weird.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. He almost looked sad or even embarrassed. But maybe that was you searching for the human in him if there even was any.

“I…i can be kind. And call you “girlfriend.”” He says quietly.

“Okay…but…”

“I can be sweet.”

“Can you? Because you just kill all the time.”

“Only when im threatened. Or challenged. I don’t just…murder for the thrill. None of us do that. And I will never hurt you or let anyone or anything hurt you as long as we are together.” He looked away almost hurt. Then added, “You’re mine now.”

You guys go back and forth for a while. Eventually, you knew you wouldn’t be able to win this. He was dead set on marrying you. If you ever got to go back home you just hoped your Mark wouldn’t accuse you of cheating even though it technically wasn’t? Your head hurt trying to figure this all out, make sense of it all.

He looked just like him so kissing him during the ceremony wasn’t too bad. And he did look at you with love. At least it looked that way,but it could very much be some weird fascination mixed with possessiveness and you wouldn’t be surprised.

The wedding was as stale as you anticipated. There was no music. Just horns blown during the actual ceremony. No one was crying or smiled, like genuinely, they all just stared. Watched as their next emperor married a weak, delicate human. You felt almost guilty like this wasn’t something you were forced to do.

Some dry conversations here and there, even drier laughs as some of the viltrumite women questioned and jokes with you. The food sucked. It was packed with “nutrients” your new husband said but there was still no flavor.

The decor was sad, gray and white metallic balloons everywhere. Even less flowers that looked the same. Even the cake was depressing, in looks and taste.

And it didn’t help that your dress was a size too small—he never even tried to get you fitted—so you were just uncomfortable all day. Your vows were made up and a lie, his felt…plagiarized for some reason.

That’s why that night, in your new shared bedroom, you immediately flopped on the bed and just sobbed. Your weird makeup was getting ruined and smudged as tears stained your cheeks. It was ugly but who cared? When you were done you’d still be here, stuck on this crazed strict planet, with your new husband who was a monster version of your boyfriend.

Mark stood at the door watching your chest heave and listened to your cries. His face still stoic but his eyebrows moved subtlety downwards. He reached a hand out as if he wanted to touch you but pulled back looking away. You didn’t care if he cared. As far as you were concerned he had no heart.

He sat on the bed and just listened to you. He said nothing. He didn’t comfort you like your Mark would, he didn’t even rub your fucking back. His body was a statue, unmoving and cold.

Your despair was replaced with anger as the minutes went by. You were angry with everything. Your situation, this shitty wedding, him…

“Y’know…” you began, voice shaky and still full of sadness, “The least you could do is bring me some damn tissue…for your wife.”

The last part was spat at his back, full of venom but also in a way hopelessness. He twitched a bit at this and rose to find you a box of tissues, still saying nothing in response.

You grabbed the box and began to wipe your face and nose. Just like you thought, nothing changed. Just then you felt like your heart broke and you didn’t know why. You could take a guess though and figured it could be the fact that you’d never see your home or friends or boyfriend ever again.

“I bet you wanna fuck me now?” You mumbled.

You stared at him as he spun around looking almost shocked, for a spilt second again he looked just like your own Mark again.

“Of course not.” He said sounding a bit offended. He got off the bed and crosses his arms. Was he really angry?

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, please. I know you. I know Mark. And I know how this works…what were in the honeymoon phase now?”

“Honey…moon?” He repeated confused. Must’ve been the only thing he heard.

You gave up and mumbled a “whatever, nevermind” and looked to the door. He had to be lying. He said you were his “mate” but did he also think you were stupid?

He didn’t say anything for a minute. He cleared his throat and fixed his tie, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he looked so good in that stupid suit today. It fit his muscular frame perfectly. You couldn’t help your attraction but it made you sick knowing you liked this particular Mark who murdered thousands if not millions.

“I mean, it is custom we make love…like most newly weds here do.” He looked away from you now. “But, I don’t want to pressure you.”

“You had no issue pressuring me to marry you though.” You glared at him. You were almost taken aback by his softened features. He actually looked…guilty?

“I- I know.”

“That’s it?” You got up angrily and walked over to him. “You know? You turned my whole life upside down! You made me your little pet wife! You took me from everything I love! What makes you think I want you or even love you?” You poked his chest during that last part. He didn’t even flinch, just stared at you. His eyes were glassy.

It was the most emotion you ever saw on his face.

“I’m…I…” He began but stopped.

You wanted to cry again. Even if he was trying to apologize what would it solve? You looked at him through your lashes and into his own teary eyes.

And then…you hugged him. Your body just moved and you didn’t understand why; but it just felt right. He reminded you so much of your soft boyfriend. Mark used to be your comfort. Now his presence made you nervous and uneasy.

His body was warm, familiar. His heart beat was slow and oddly loud just like your Mark. And his breathing slowed almost to soothe you. You didn’t look up at him, you couldn’t. It’s his face but…it’s not also.

When you finally felt his arms around you, you sighed. Maybe if you could pretend…

You two stayed like this for a while. You didn’t know what face he was making or how he really felt, but you pretended it wasn’t him you were hugging.

When you slowly pulled back and looked up at him, at his face with a single tear running down his cheek, your heart flipped. You absolutely despised this version of your boyfriend but at the same time…

You couldn’t stop yourself from inching closer to his face, his lips…and kissing him gently. Your hands moved to the back of his head and you sighed once more. His lips were soft and warm. You could almost smell the faint smell of iron on him that never went away.

He had to pull back to catch his breath, so did you, and then he kiss you again. This time it was deeper and hasty. Like time was going to run out and he’d never see or kiss you again. Your heart raced. Adrenaline kicked in, and the next thing you knew he was gently but quickly removing your dress. And you were helping him. You didn’t know why you were doing any of this. Just a few hours ago the last thing you wanted was to be around him. Let alone fuck the guy.

But you had lost hope. Maybe you’d really never get back home and it wasn’t like he wasn’t just a copy of your boyfriend. Internally, you were at war with yourself. Even as he removed his suit and laid everything down neatly, exposing his toned body, you couldn’t help but stare. It was mental ping pong.

He looks just like him, could this sex really be different?

Well, he’s a murderer.

But maybe if you just pretend, be delusional for now…

He’s still a horrible being, serving an even worse empire. The one you’re stuck on, by the way.

He brought you back to reality when he kissed you once more, climbing on top of you. You didn’t know when you ended up in just your panties, given by Viltrum of course. And your brain almost short circuited when you saw that he was completely nude already.

“Slow down….”, you whispered, honestly more to yourself than to him. He still nodded and kissed your collarbone. He kissed your whole top half slowly, almost torturing you, but you knew it was because you told him to slow down. He moved down like he was worshiping you.

Your Mark never.

His lips, still warm and soft, sent jolts through you when it brushed on sensitive parts of you. He slowed down the lower he got. He pulled your panties off even slower, staring into your eyes.

That was the only article of clothing he threw carelessly. You watched as he came undone and felt yourself come undone as he licked and sucked on your folds. He ate you out with questionable skill. Skill that had you writhing and whining under him. He tasted you like he was savoring you.

You knew then and there you couldn’t pretend he was your Mark because your Mark just licked. This one passionately devoured you.

It wasn’t long before you came. You never shook so hard or saw so many stars. He moved up so he could kiss you and you moaned as you could taste yourself on his lips even feeling some drops fall from his chin to your neck. He wasn’t so stiff anymore. He almost looked…satisfied.

He huskily asked if you were ready and for consent to which you just nodded still catching your breath. He kissed you as he teased your entrance a bit before slowly inching inside you.

It was a stretch which caught you off guard. By logic you were taking the same dick, right? Why did it seem like this Mark was so much bigger? Maybe it was because it had been awhile or maybe he was bigger and you just didn’t look.

He noticed as you whinced and he stopped.

“Are you okay?” He said voice full of concern. A strong hand rubbed your face and you leaned on it instinctively.

“Yeah, just…give me a moment…”, you said quietly like you were nervous someone would hear you. Like someone would hear and judge you for sleeping with a mass murderer.

The war in your head stilled when you gave him to go ahead and he started moving. Suddenly, all you could focus on was the pleasure that filled you. The contrast of the soft bed under you and his hardened, toned body on top of you had your head spinning and numb. His name was coming out your mouth like a broken record. Your hands couldn’t stop moving , gripping the sheets and later on his back.

It was almost weird to see him moan and groan above you. To hear him swear as he fucked you. To see any expression on his face was weird.

It almost warmed your heart thinking that maybe this was because he trusted you. He felt safe around you enough to let his guard down and just…be. He didn’t have to be all tough around you.

The sex itself was sloppy. It wasn’t making love like you half expected from someone like him. It was thrilling, messy and intense. There were times he kissed your neck and when he found that sensitive spot he clenched your pussy around him. His moans were delicious and intoxicating. He kept saying how you were “his” too.

“You’re mine.” He’d whine into your neck. “Mine all mine…”

Everything became overwhelming as you felt that familiar knot build up in the pit of your stomach. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as he whispered dirty things in your ear about how you were “such a pretty wife” and how “you took him so well.”

He mentioned how badly he wanted to fill you up with his seed and just breed you. You couldn’t even hear him anymore, not over your own self.

The second orgasm ripped through you and he wasn’t far behind. Surprisingly, he was respectful enough to pull out even though you almost didn’t want him to. Your belly was painted with his cum and lots of it. And Viltrumite sperm was thick like crazy. Just like your Mark back on Earth, he came for almost a full minute. Some of it even reached your face.

His eyes were half lidded and full of lust as he smiled down at you, his chest rising and falling quickly. All you could do was stare back as you finally started to come back to your body. It set in fully what you did. You let lust take over and drive you into his arms. Disappointment and disgust filled you immediately as he laid down next to you.

Neither of you spoke for a long long time. The cum and sweat dried on you and made you uncomfortable and if it wasn’t that it was the guilt you felt.

With his experience, you wondered how many other women he laid with. It was impressive how good he made you feel, how all the anger just disappeared.

It wasn’t love. You didn’t know how you felt yet. Conflicted, for sure. But there was something else…

He moved off the bed after asking if you were okay and had a guard bring you guys some towels and fresh loungewear. He proceeded to gently kiss you as he wiped you clean so you felt somewhat fresh. His compliments fell on your deaf ears as you disassociated.

Later on, you were in his arms again in the bed. He helped you into your soft, white silk gown earlier. He had his own silk set but apparently for men. His strong arms were wrapped around your waist like he was protecting you. His soft breath on the back of your neck and back sent shivers through you. It was just like when you slept with Mark. Your Mark.

You were facing the window. It was dark, like how it would be on Earth. Days and Nights were oddly similar here. The sky was a nice blanket of a dark navy blue and freckled with shining white stars. Viltrumites flew around, possibly going to their own homes this late. The futuristic buildings stood tall in the sky white lots of lights going out now. It was strangely peaceful.

You just stared out the window. You couldn’t sleep and you were already feeling sore.

As you finally started to drift off an hour later you decided to must accept your fate. This was your life now.

[peachiejeongin]

Just found your blog and LOVE it!! And I have an idea for Changbin! How about one where he takes you to the gym for the first time and he's being nice and showing you how to use the equipment and you go along with it BUT THEN he turns around and sees you lifting a shit ton of weight and he's just like "how...what-I HOW?!?!"

Or one where you're a pole dancer (not self projecting) and he's watching you dance and then wants to try some inverts because he lifts and he doesn't understand that those muscle groups don't carry over and it's fluffy crack

💚💚💚

you lift me up (literally) | changbin

pairing: changbin x reader genre: fluff, crack warnings: mild swearing notice: hello, my love! thank you so much for your request! i decided to go with the first suggestion, and i am definitely considering the second as well! without further ado, enjoy the story! :)

word count: 1.3K

“Come on, babe! It’ll be fun!”

Those six words, spoke ever so enthusiastically by your boyfriend, were how you found yourself in this situation:

You were at the gym.

Otherwise known as Changbin’s second home.

Machines clanked, grunts echoed, and it reeked of protein powder, sweat, and body odor. 

Why did you agree to this?

‘Because your boyfriend is an absolute sweetheart, and if you said no to him, your heart would break in two pieces,’ you thought to yourself.

Still, you had not been to a weight room in years, so it felt like a completely foreign experience, though it most certainly was not.

Hell, as far as Changbin knew, you had not been here at all.

To your defense, he was so enthusiastic once you agreed to come, rambling on and on about everything you guys could work on together. You did not want to break his heart by saying you had already worked on pretty much every machine you could think of. Even now, he looked so excited to have you here with him, beaming from ear to ear at you.

“Are you ready, y/n?” Changbin asked, practically bouncing on his heels. His sleeveless top clung to his torso, his biceps basically bulging out of the sleeves.

“Totally,” you replied, faking a smile. “I’m so ready to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of gym buffs…one of those being my boyfriend!”

Changbin laughed, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a light kiss to your temple. 

“You’re gonna do great,” he told you, tone highly optimistic. “I’ll walk you through everything, don’t worry.”

You nodded, still feeling hesitant, but nevertheless letting him guide you to the dumbbell racks like some sort of muscly gymnasium tour guide.

“This is a dumbbell,” Changbin explained, completely seriously.

“Really?!” you questioned sarcastically. “I had no idea!”

Changbin shot you a playful glare before continuing.

“Anyways, it’s your best friend during workouts. We’ll start small.”

You quietly snorted but played along, letting Changbin show you how to do curls, shoulder presses, and how not to swing your body while lifting. He was attentive and sweet the entire time, never once teasing you—even when you exaggerated your struggle whilst lifting a 50-pound dumbbell for a little dramatic effect.

“While you’re lifting,” he advised, “keep your elbows tucked in—don’t let them loosely go everywhere. Try to keep your back straight, too. That way, you don’t drop the dumbbells on yourself.”

You nodded dutifully at his “lesson.”.

“Got it. Keep my elbows tucked, don’t arch my back, and don’t die.”

Changbin chuckled.

“Exactly. Ready to try some machines?”

Ten minutes later, you were pretending to listen as he explained how to use the leg press.

“This machine can be difficult,” Changbin warned. “A good tip I have for you is to start light. Try around 70-80 pounds at first just to get a feel for things.”

“Right,” you nodded once more. “‘Light.’”

As he was about to help you get started on the machine, he noticed one of his friends walking in.

“Hey, man!” he called out, turning back to you shortly after doing so. “I’m gonna go talk to him for a second. You got this?”

You gave Changbin a thumbs up and a smile in response with Changbin returning the latter; as soon as he walked away, you quietly stood up and adjusted the weights on the machine. A cheeky grin tugged at your lips.

Time to have some fun.

You loaded it up, not too dramatically, but enough to add a bit of a shock factor. You began to work the machine, pressing the added weight with ease.

To your luck, Changbin came back over just in time.

“Sorry about that baby! How are you doing?”

“Just fine!” you exclaimed, not even out of breath. Changbin smiled, proud that you had “caught on” quickly.

Then he noticed the weight on the machine.

His eyes widened, jaw dropping as he watched you effortlessly press nearly 250 pounds on the leg press.

The silence was loud, and Changbin was incredibly surprised, to say the least.

You stopped on the machine, smiling innocently as you looked at him.

“How’d I do?”

“You…What the…How the…How did you…” Changbin stumbled over his words, confusion sputtering out of him as he looked between you, the leg press, and the added weight.

You stood up from the machine, cracking your knuckles as you made your way over to Changbin.

“I thought you said this machine could be difficult?” you cheekily teased, poking at his chest; he just stared at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Babe.” He blinked. “That’s more than I can press! How do you even know how to use it??? I thought this was your first time at the gym???”

You just laughed.

“I never said that, Binnie!” you defended yourself. “But hey, you looked so happy talking about getting to teach me and stuff, so I wanted to keep up the act to make you even happier!”

Changbin let out a light chuckle out of pure disbelief.

“I’m still happy!” Changbin told you, excitedly. “Hell, I’m even happier than I was teaching you because you’re an absolute beast!”

You let out a string of light giggles.

“Guilty as charged,” you confessed.

“But wait,” Changbin paused. “How can you lift that much?”

You shrugged, tilting your head.

“High school,” you answered. “I was on the track team, and we weight-trained every week. I kinda miss it now that I’m thinking about it.”

Changbin gaped slightly, hands on his hips, eyes shifting from pure confusion.

“Seriously??? You never told me you did track in school!!” He shook his head, his brain trying to wrap itself around everything still. “Damn baby, you could’ve let me through a workout!”

“What can I say,” you chuckled. “I like watching you explain gym stuff to me, though. You get all serious and hot when you really get into it.”

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands from both incredulity and bashfulness.

“I just mansplained how to do a fucking curl-up to you, meanwhile you’re out here leg-pressing 250 pounds!”

You patted his back, unable to keep yourself from laughing uncontrollably.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you assured, “your form tips were really helpful. I actually didn’t know keeping your elbows tucked in helps with lifting.”

“Wow,” Changbin sighed. “I helped Miss Beastmode with her form. I feel special.” His tone was a mix of playful sarcasm and his usual teasing.

You looked at him, a cheeky glint present in your gaze.

“Well, I could always coach you on my form,” you suggested. “How I got to be able to lift and press as much as I do.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes at you.

“I’ll let you teach me on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If you’re able to pick me up.”

“Changbin, what?!” Your eyes went wide and you began to chuckle. “Okay, I’m strong, but I haven’t been to a gym in years!”

“So what?!” Changbin playfully hollered. “You just leg-pressed 250 pounds like it was nothing, but you’re scared to pick me up?! I see how it is.”

“Arm strength is different from leg strength!” you fought back teasingly.

“No, no!” he sarcastically stated, dramatically turning away from you. “I get it! You don’t want to. You’re not strong enough to. Guess you won’t get to coach me!”

Changbin was only joking, but he worded it in a way that dared you to do so.

As such, you suddenly came closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist—which caught him completely off guard—and picking him up. Turns out, even after a few years, your arm muscles did not betray you as you lifted him off of the ground with ease, nearly having him over your shoulder. To add even more hilarity, you began spinning around, causing Changbin and yourself to giggle continuously. 

“Okay, okay!” Changbin called out. “Point proven! Can I get down now?!”

You did as asked of you, setting Changbin down and stretching your arms lightly afterwards.

“So,” you began, smiling brightly. “Can I coach you now?”

Changbin rolled his eyes playfully.

“Only if I get to spot you.”

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @/hyuneskkami

🏷️@amararosesblog @velvetmoonlght (dm/inbox to be added!)

[ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ? ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ!]

[mapswithoutwyoming]

This is really a nuanced topic. Our concept of “consensual chess” and “nonconsensual chess” often is overly focused on contextless interactions and doesn’t take into account the various social forces that can work to manufacture consent in people who might agree to a game they don’t actually want to play, but on the other hand, to what extent can any individual person be responsible for understanding whether someone who accepts their proposal for a friendly match is feeling indirectly coerced? I’m by no means an expert, but just based on what I’ve heard from accounts of chess games I’ve found on various databases, there are a few things that I think people should keep in mind.

Are you kidding ??? What the **** are you talking about man ? You are a biggest looser i ever seen in my life ! You was doing PIPI in your pampers when i was beating players much more stronger then you! You are not proffesional, because proffesionals knew how to lose and congratulate opponents, you are like a girl crying after i beat you! Be brave, be honest to yourself and stop this trush talkings!!! Everybody know that i am very good blitz player, i can win anyone in the world in single game! And "w"esley "s"o is nobody for me, just a player who are crying every single time when loosing, ( remember what you say about Firouzja ) !!! Stop playing with my name, i deserve to have a good name during whole my chess carrier, I am Officially inviting you to OTB blitz match with the Prize fund! Both of us will invest 5000$ and winner takes it all! I suggest all other people who's intrested in this situation, just take a look at my results in 2016 and 2017 Blitz World championships, and that should be enough… No need to listen for every crying babe, Tigran Petrosyan is always play Fair ! And if someone will continue Officially talk about me like that, we will meet in Court! God bless with true! True will never die ! Liers will kicked off…

yeah I mean I don't think there's anything wrong with playing chess. as long as it's between 2 consenting adults

[neuvilletteswife4ever]

Yandere Illumi

It had been a year since you last saw the sunlight. Or maybe even longer, you honestly didn't know.

The last time you saw even a glimpse of sunlight was when you tried to escape, you had gained all his trust, and in the end, you had betrayed him. Or atleast that's how Illumi saw it.

Ever since that day, you wouldn't even dare about thinking of the simple word 'escape'.

Considering Illumi's cruel nature, anyone would be able to guess what he had done to you. It wasn't a pleasant thing to think about.

Today, was a normal day for you. Waking up in your shared bed to find Illumi not there. He was always busy and came back during the night.

Not that you were complaining, you'd rather die than see his face. Fortunately you always fell asleep before he arrived back home, but you could always smell the reeking smell of blood whenever he came back. Even in your sleep you smellt it.

When you got up, you got dressed, specifically the clothes that illumi wanted you to wear, and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Illumi always told the chefs to have your breakfast ready as soon as you woke up.

However, when you arrived in the kitchen, it was dead silent. No one in sight. It was odd, no butlers or maids to greet you or anything like that.

It was strange..but you weren't complaining.

Maybe...

Just maybe..

You could..try escaping..?

No.. you couldn't. You wouldn't wish it upon anyone to have to deal with his anger.

The simple reminder of what he had done that day sent shivers down your spine.

But..you wouldn't escape. Just.. see some of the sunlight.

And so you did. And you wish you hadn't.

It was dumb of you to think that illumi wouldn't have security cameras watching your every move everywhere.

Even you walking a simple step sent him a notification.

But of course, silly you, would've never known.

When he got the notification, he pracitically teleported because of his immense speed. He looked for you, and it didn't take long. You sat in the garden, simply admiring the scenery and the unfamiliar feeling of sunlight.

As you sat on the bench, you sensed a very familiar aura...one that you knew far too well.

Illumi's.

You quickly looked behind you, and there he was, standing there. Looking down at you with those scary lifeless eyes of his.

"I-Illumi! I didn't know you'd be home so earl-"

You blurted out quickly, your face masked with the face of a fake loving wife, while underneath that facade you were freaking out! But before you could finish your sentence, he interrupted you.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here." His aura seemed to intensify. "I thought i made myself clear that you are prohibited from doing anything without me near. It's as if your asking for punishment, Y/N-"

You interrupted his sentence as well by kissing him on the lips. And that shocked him a lot. You, had never. Ever. Shown affection towards him.

You hadn't even done it because you loved him, you just did it to save your own ass.

But that kiss...meant a lot to him.

Before you could pull away, he held your head from behind, not letting you pull away from the kiss.

After a long moment, he let you pull away.

"From now on, you'll continue doing this." He continued. "I'll stay home tomorrow."

Oh no....gosh.. you couldn't imagine what he'd wanna do tomorrow.

You just wish you could've shut that mouth of yours and not kissed him at all.

You forced a smile, but the smile didn't quite reach your eyes.

"That sounds lovely.."

[needtobehisprettyboy]

Jayce's end speech to Viktor is not profound—not to me at least

I know people have already talked about this but I wanted to rant about it too cause it's been bothering me for a few days and it's one of the reasons why I don't interact with the monogamous JayVik side of the fandom much besides reblogging some things I find cute and liking posts. The shippers are ok, but the source material that they often reference really annoys me -.-

I don't blame JayVik shippers or anyone else who talks about the scene for finding it really romantic and/or deep. In another show, the scene likely would be 100% and the writers themselves (that Amanda and Linke who shouldn't be trusted) talk about it like it's soooo magical and wonderful and awe-inspiring. Depending on how you interpret the scene, it definitely can be.

Unfortunately, the scene just rubs me the wrong way. Disabled people on reddit and no doubt on Tumblr have addressed their dislikes of how the scene went. In general though, it just didn't touch on the true issues at hand.

While I'm not disabled, I have had the 'just love yourself' bit of advice from multiple people and?? Ok?? How does that help me in a world that hates people like me?? I learned to love my body, but various people treat me differently because of it. I learned to love my skin color, but I won't ever be treated like my white counterparts. I learned to accept my transgender identity, but I will still be considered a degenerate freak regardless.

Whether you love yourself or not isn't the issue. It's others loving you or not that is. It's law enforcement looking down on you. It's politicians not properly acknowledging your struggles (if they even acknowledge them at all) that's the problem. It helps to love yourself, but your love and acceptance of who you are isn't the magical fix all.

‼️CW: ‼️⚠️‼️ discussion dealing with death / a close death encounter ‼️⚠️‼️

‼️SKIP IF YOU WANT‼️

Not to mention, Viktor had every right to be upset with his deteriorating health. What I just said applies to this too—it doesn't matter if you love yourself or not you'll still have issues that won't go away. It's a horrible fact to live with (having physical issues that can't be solved with self love) which is especially true for people who think they're just wasting away.

I actually had a close encounter with slow death. It is sincerely horrifying feeling yourself get weaker and wonder whether something serious would happen. I can't imagine knowing I'm going to die and not have a way to get better. My brush with death was entirely preventable and I got better (by not letting myself breath in carbon monoxide omfg), but Viktor couldn't get better. He was heading towards his death bed. It just messes me up having people brush over that. I mean come on!! That man was going through some serious shit!!

I still feel fear over what happened to me even though I knew how to prevent it!!! What he went through was not addressed properly at all. It was NOT "imperfections" he was about to fucking die and that kind of experience makes you feel a cold dreaded desperation. IT ISN'T SOMETHING TO DISMISS NOR THAT CAN BE FIXED WITH SELF LOVE!!! There is no beauty in helplessness. It would be one thing to accept death and know that you can't always change your fate, but that wasn't what was talked about.

AAAA I HATE YOU TWO BASTARDS (the writers not JayVik)

‼️end of CW‼️

Arcane is a show that doesn't have in-world homophobia or racism (thank fuck please continue that), but it still has classism among other types of oppressions. I don't quite know if it has ableism—if you think it does let me know cause I'm always open to new info and different perspectives.

Viktor's main problem was his terminal illness which was caused by outside sources and wanting to make a real impact on the world. Jayce himself said Viktor suffered from pollution from the undercity. No doubt because of the different availability of treatments in the undercity and Piltover's government not giving a shit to help those they're responsible for, he wasn't able to get it caught in time which led to his terminal illness developing/worsening before his work was done.

And Viktor told Heimerdinger about wanting to be remembered!! He got a decent way up the social ladder for someone coming from the undercity who didn't have a patron or a house to his name, but he would've gone much further if he was from Piltover. It wasn't that Viktor thought his disability was a "weakness", it was that his illness was killing him and he KNEW other people viewed him as less than for things he couldn't control. I mean Jayce might have looked down on him too or been wary of Viktor for being from the undercity had he been told up front. Viktor's illness wasn't a weakness, it was something that stopped Viktor's dream path with other factors such as his place of birth being obstacles he managed to overcome—somewhat.

I don't know that it was necessarily because he was disabled that people looked down on him. Maybe part of it was (I SINCERELY don't know whether Arcane would have in-world ableism regarding Viktor's disabilities), but part of it was DEFINITELY because of where Viktor came from. Also, his main objective in leaving Jayce, and even before he left, was to help people. It wasn't to "fix" imperfections. That came after.

While Jayce was off playing councilor, Viktor was working on Hextech and wanted to show it off as soon as they showed some good progress. He didn't have time to wait around because of his TERMINAL illness, so he wanted change now and tried to change himself to let him live longer, not simply because he thought he was "imperfect".

For goodness sake people are allowed to want to change their situation for the sake of survival!!

Arcane fumbled the ball by making Viktor's objections change and try to act as if those were his main objectives all along when it was shown ON SCREEN that the Hexcore was corrupting/influencing him. His dreams were pure, nice and they ended up becoming corrupted because he descended into Godhood not understanding what his "help" was doing to people and having his humanity stripped away. Viktor wanted other people's suffering to end, but that wasn't the problem. Wanting people to get proper help for their issues wasn't wrong—it was the WAY he went about it that was wrong.

That's a good plotline right there yet it was ignored/misconstrued.

Jayce's speech of imperfections just didn't make sense.

Not with what we know of the previous context!!

Viktor's illness wasn't something to be ignored and things wouldn't have changed if Viktor "loved" himself. It had nothing to do with loving himself!! That wasn't the root cause!!

It horrified me that Jayce resurrected Viktor especially with Viktor saying he didn't feel cold anymore after he was revived aka he didn't have the same human feelings he should've. The resurrection CHANGED him. He didn't reject humanity. It was taken away from him!!

Jayce's speech just didn't fit with what truly caused the situation. At the end of the day, this was only caused by Viktor's and Jayce's desire for Viktor to survive. If they weren't so desperate for him to live, Viktor wouldn't have gone to Singed, got the shimmer, used it on himself, experimented, etc, etc and Jayce wouldn't have revived him without his consent. There was nothing inherently wrong with them wanting Viktor to survive but they did cause horrible things due to how they went about it yet somehow the show acts as if it is inherently wrong and points out the issues BUT IN THE WRONG WAY?? As if Viktor just wanted to not be disabled bc he wanted to be a better person or something and not bc he was about to die??? As if Jayce forcing Viktor into being merged with the Hexcore that killed Sky wasn't a big issue?? As if either of them were gonna accept Viktor's progression and that all Viktor had to do was accept himself the way he was???? What?? WTF?????

Of course, I'm really focusing on one part of the speech. Like I said earlier, depending on your interpretations the scene would be cute, but just hearing Jayce not get the overall fucking point was annoying. It's not his fault tho bc to be fair, he did get the job done and let Viktor finally rest in peace—

It's the damn writers' fault (•\ _ /•*) !!

People act as if the scene is so cute and I can't really tell them that they're 100% wrong because it IS written as Jayce being sincerely understanding and accepting and Viktor was shown to appreciate his words, but I just can't get over the fact that the true issues were overlooked. "Beauty in imperfections" my ass. There was another lesson that should've been taught about acceptance and it wasn't that one.

Ugh, I really hate seeing the scenes pop up on my dash and people quoting it or whatev. That and them making it a meme of Viktor becoming God because of a gay break up as if he didn't have every right to be upset over Jayce reviving him using a dangerous method without his consent and, in fact, with an explicit request for the thing involved in said dangerous method (the Hexcore) to be destroyed.

Rip my poor girl Sky... deserved more than what happened to you (⁠T⁠_T⁠) and sorry Mel that the writers made JayVik's relationship (platonic or not) "deeper" than what you had with Jayce as if you're not special too (⁠个^个⁠) each one of you guys (Jayce, Viktor, Sky, Mel, etc etc) deserved better ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´∆`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

UGHHHHH I HATE THOSE TWO+ ANTI SEMITIC, RACIST, IGNORANT BASTARDS!!!!

Arcane would've probably been better if they weren't in charge ((⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻ !!!!

[hanhwrites]

🇫🇷 BARRICADE DAY 🇫🇷

(yes those are pages from the brick, no I did not do that on purpose, I just loved Grantaire a little too much)

in this picture: five copies of Les mis, a Les mis lyrics books, a Les mis playbill, my Les mis and Iliad paper (with all the important things blocked off yay ✨✨), and a Paris necklace

long post sorry

ummmm so I got to meet Ramin Karimloo the other day at Pirates! the Penzance Musical and it was an incredible experience, that's his signature on the Les mis playbill (from a few years ago) (idk if you can even see the signature at that angle)

so three or four years ago I watched the Les Mis 2012 movie cuz I thought oh why not. as I watched the barricade scene I felt like this was going to be something I remembered for a while and I didn't know why. I then proceeded to watch way too many videos of actors (hi Aaron tveit lol) singing these songs. when I discovered Ramin Karimloo and Hadley Fraser singing at the 25th anniversary concert I fell in love with Enjolras and Grantaire.

since this, I have read the book 3 times, memorized every lyric Les amis sing, collected five copies of the brick, and recently just wrote a big academic paper about the sacrificial love between Enjolras/Grantaire and Achilles/Patroclus which won an award.

I love these characters.

I don't just love Les mis, I love Enjolras and Grantaire

They are incredibly personal characters to me. Grantaire is something I'm almost afraid of, he brings me to tears with every sentence written and with every word he says. he is so cynical, I fear becoming him and losing faith in the world. I see him struggle to find meaning to the world and to humanity and I can't even blame him for it. yet, despite that all, he finds something, or someone to believe in. his sacrificial love for Enjolras is something so beautiful that I find it difficult to describe why its beautiful. he goes against every belief he's ever held for him. grantaire gives me hope because despite his cynicism, he is able to hope.

Enjolras, I'm also afraid of. I too find myself becoming passionate about causes, yet I always find myself doubting. enjolras doesn't doubt, he accepts his fate and he continues on, he lives the life of a martyr and that is terrifying. I give up a lot even though I care a lot. why? why am I unable to die on these hills? enjolras is a tragedy. he knows what fate holds and yet there is no avoiding it. enjolras gives something to aspire to when I find myself ridden with doubt.

I think about these characters way too much but never like I've thought of other characters. they are human. they believe and they don't. they hope and they accept death. they live and they die. I want to love someone like grantaire loves enjolras. and in any other universe, he would die for enjolras over and over again despite what his beliefs dictate, because it is fate. but even more than fate, it is who he is. to live a cynical life and yet to hope. and enjolras, to devote himself to his worldviews, yet to die with a non-believer with a smile on his face.

this book, this musical, these actors and characters, they mean so much to me

so happy barricade day

and I'm very happy I could express this to one of the actors that started it all for me: Ramin Karimloo

[thatstormygeek]

I really disliked Idiocracy the first time I saw it. It was so mean-spirited and awful about the wrong things and I couldn't get past that to care what else it might be saying.

For some reason, years later, I agreed to watch it again with some friends. My reluctance meant I missed the beginning - Joe was already in the future by the time I showed up. And it was so much better that time around. It's still the same crude humor, but it's much easier to see that the targets aren't the "idiots" (well, not just the "idiots").

[I guess I should give a spoiler warning here, tho this movie is sooo old]

The people Joe runs into in his bumbling quest are laughably ignorant, yes, but they are just people, too. They ultimately care about the same things Joe and Rita and every one else do; they have been and continue to be failed by their systems.

They don't put Brawndo on their plants because they want the plants to die; they are poisoning their plants because of a corporate ad campaign run amok. They think you give plants Brawndo because they have been told plants thrive on Brawndo because the Brawndo execs wanted to sell more product and their government didn't do its job.

And seeing people who cannot do their jobs without a computer telling them what to think hits VERY different in the era of LLMs/genAI. Not in a "haha, look at this dumbass who can't do the simplest thing!" way (which, if I'm being honest, is more likely the way it was originally meant), but in a "holy shit it's scary how quickly everything devolves when critical thinking is no longer valued" way. Then again, the fact that the medical doctor operates identically to the other professions makes me less confident in my assertion of the original intentions.

More than once in recent months (though not that much more), I have found myself commenting on someone's post saying Trump is our President Camacho. While both are showmen (I guess. I feel like that's giving Trump too much credit. but people insist he is.), Camacho fucking cares about his people. He sees Joe as a resource and immediately puts him to work to save the damn crops. Trump, otoh, hates the very idea of a United States of America and only gives anything approaching a shit for anyone he thinks can enrich himself. Not the same.

*ahem*

Despite what I just said, I wouldn't even consider myself a fan of the movie. I sure as hell wouldn't have imagined I had this much to say about it. But for anyone who would like to watch it for some reason and is (fucking very understandably) put off by the "stupid people breeding" framing, I'd suggest just...skipping? the very beginning (and the very end - they felt the need to revisit the concept to bookend the damn thing). You won't miss anything of value. Though the movie itself is still full of gross-out toilet humor and problematic tropes. But that's what plants crave.

Idiocracy is kind of bad in its messaging because it ends up being kind of implicitly pro-eugenics but even setting that aside its political message is just kind of silly. It's of course understandable why it's become such a core part of US liberal discourse, because it allows them to pretend that like. The only reason the Bad Party is in power is because of some nebulous anti-intellectualism infecting the US. It gives them a good way to externalize the issue. Actually, the reason the Good Party isn't in power is because the electorate is bad and stupid.

Anyway this was brought to you by the fact that I saw mention of a Cracked article that compared Hulk Hogan's appearance at some Republican event to Idiocracy and I felt a sudden wash of nostalgia as I was transported back into the Bush presidency.