#please that’s part of why I’m posting this at all
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Jealous reader x sub!arlecchino
(Poll result)
Hello I am so back.. again.
Guys genuinely I am SO sick it’s insane. I won’t go into details on this post because it’s a lot and it’s scary but I’ve never been this ill. It’s the fanfic writer curse, I say. To make up for the lack of writing, this one is LONG. Anyway, I truly hope you all enjoy Arlecchino being a sub because I giggled the entire time I wrote it. I wrote about half of it before I got sick again in December, and half of it.. today. Thank you for your service and patience, my dear readers
Word count: 2.9k
Contents: jealous reader, sub arlecchino, strap sucking, strap riding, you know what hell yeah
(I listened to blind eyes red by Minnie, touchin’ me by chandler leighton, pornstar by nessa barrett.. you’re getting where I’m going, yeah?)
Nsft utc!
“I don’t think you quite understand. I don’t like when you talk to other women that way.”
Your voice rings out in the bedroom you and Arlecchino share. Watching as she sheds the blazer of her suit, your jaw feathers at the little smudge of red on her white collar. The faint smell of alcohol wafts into your nostrils and you’re not entirely sure if the smell is coming from you or her, and you don’t think you really care.
“It isn’t like that,” Arlecchino murmurs, a slight hint of irritation breaking through her usual tone. “She was drunk, I was entertaining her. She talked, I listened.”
“You listened? I suppose you were ‘just listening’ when her hands were all over you, then?”
“She touched me, I did not touch her.”
“That makes it fine, then. You didn’t touch her, so it’s fine that she’s marked you with her fucking lipstick!” Arlecchino pauses, one hand on her tie. She isn’t sure if she’s ever seen you this angry before, it causes her eyebrows to furrow, a small frown forming on her face.
“My dearest, please, you must calm down. I am wearing a ring, the ring that shows I am devoted to you and only you—“
“Yet, I watched you entertain that woman the entire evening. Maybe that dessert had an aphrodisiac in, because you were all over her like you hadn’t had sex in months.”
“You and I both know that statement is false.”
“Then stop acting like it is. Do I not fuck you well enough? Do you not fuck me well enough? Is that why you let her put her hands on you?”
Arlecchino almost recoils at the vehement words that spill from your mouth. You have never acted this way, not ever. Of course, she’s used to women fawning over her and trying to get her attention, and you’ve never reacted this way before. With a barely noticeable tilt of her head, she responds, her usually commanding voice slightly softer than usual, filled with thinly veiled annoyance.
“You are very good at what you do, if that’s what you’re wondering. If we’re talking about who does what to who, however, I must make it clear to you that you do not fuck me.”
“I could.” Arlecchino isn’t entirely sure whether that was a challenge or something you were just saying. She stares at you for a second, eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows knit together and the way your lips downturn into an irritated frown. She scoffs bitterly, but she can’t help the slight amusement she feels at the thought of you trying to take control of her the way she so easily controls you. Her hands continue the act of undressing herself, letting herself slip out of the black blazer she saves for events like these.
“Ha. Unfortunately for you, my dear, you aren’t very good at taking control, let alone keep it. I can melt you into nothing but putty with a few words.” For Arlecchino, she knows she’s upset you, and she does feel guilty, but she can’t help the way she feels a small burning in the pit of her stomach at the way you’re so.. demanding. She wonders if you’d actually do it, she decides that you wouldn’t. She decides that part of you just isn’t in you, that you couldn’t, until she hears your voice, irritated, hard, and with absolutely no option to argue against it.
“Take off your belt, Arlecchino,” She freezes, eyes moving towards you once again. You cannot be serious, she thinks, except you are, and she can tell by the way you tap your finger impatiently against your thigh. “Now.”
“What on Teyvat is this?” She murmurs, one hand moving towards the buckle, expertly weaving the leather out of the buckle before pulling on it, letting it fall loose. Looking at you with furrowed eyebrows, she pulls the belt off, the sound of the leather moving through the belt loops. As soon as it rests in her hands, you move, snatching it with a speed she couldn’t have expected. You inspect it for a few seconds, turning it over to feel the material in your hands. You look up at her, jaw clenched before you, with mirrored motions, things you’ve watched her do so many times, create restraints with her belt, tying them firmly around her wrists. You don’t let her speak, your hands move quickly to remove her trousers and whatever else she has on under her waist. She tries to act like the sudden change isn’t affecting her, because it isn’t. Not really. Maybe a little bit. Arlecchino finds herself eagerly stepping out of her clothing, and you don’t miss the way the tall woman almost stumbles.
“I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen now,” you breathe quietly, stepping back to look at her. Her hands are retrained in front of her, and she’s bare, save for the loose dress shirt hanging on her body. “I am going to sit on this bed, and wear the strap you so love to use on me, and you, my dear, are going to get fucked. You tell me I cannot do what you do to me, but I think I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“You’re going to— what? You can’t. You never have before. Do you even know how to use it?” Arlecchino seems to be biting back a chuckle, the look in her eyes tells you that she truly doesn’t believe you’re capable of it. But you’re angry enough, she knows that much. “This is ridiculous.”
“Sit.” You demand softly, and like clockwork, she steps back until she finds herself perched on the bed. No biting remark this time, not when she sees the look on your face. Her dark eyes track your movements as you move to That Drawer, hands moving over the harness. Your head turns and you glance at her from over your shoulder. Despite the many masks she wears, you can see the hard determination in her eyes— she doesn’t plan to fold for you. She has no idea that she will anyway.
Your hands fumble slightly as you remove whatever items of clothing you still have on before you start buckling the harness. She chuckles dryly, almost mockingly, as the harness nearly slips from your grip. You meet her with a look so dangerous her chuckle fades out into a sigh, her eyes drifting down to the belt tied around her wrists. She gives an experimental tug, but you’ve tightened it to the point she can’t seem to break free. She wonders if she even wants to, but then remembers that she’s not supposed to enjoy the lack of control. She doesn’t. She likes control, she needs control, and yet..
Her thoughts are interrupted by the feel of weight on the bed, the mattress denting slightly as you sit. Red crosses gazing over you, you watch as they land on the way your hand moves along the length of her strap. It’s an unfamiliar sight, usually she is the one watching the way your eyes widen slightly and the way your chest rises and falls slightly quicker in anticipation. Even with the unfamiliarity, you’ve touched the silicone enough to know your way around it, and just to annoy her, you let out a quiet airy moan when your fingers swipe over the top of it. She scowls, jaw tensing.
“Stop.” Arlecchino mutters, casting an irritated look in your direction as she shifts slightly, adjusting her position on the bed. She swallows, but doesn’t take her eyes off of you or the way your hand moves.
“Why? Are you finally feeling something?”
“Not in the slightest, dear.” The pet name is said with almost a growl, and the edges of your mouth quirk up in a smirk.
“Liar.” You return with equal vigor, standing up once again to stand in front of her. The smirk fades, and what returns is the angry look from earlier. Your voice, once soft, comes out sharp and commanding. “Get on your knees.”
“I will not.”
“Peruere.” Ah. Her eyes flutter at the way you say her name, and her fists clench in the restraints. After a few seconds of debating, her height slowly reduces as she moves from the bed to sink to her knees in front of you. Arlecchino looks up at you, and you swear for a second you see a look of need there before it disappears. A gentle hand of yours brushes her hair from her eyes before cupping her cheek, and on instinct, subconsciously, she leans into it, eyes closing for a second.
“You know what to do, don’t you, baby?” You murmur in a voice that’s suddenly so soft and sweet it makes her double take. She can’t figure you out, she knows you’re purposely switching tones the way she always does with you. She knows you’re aware of the small fire growing in her stomach even though she denies it vehemently. You hold the silicone in your fist, giving it a few experimental pumps (you swear you can feel it) before you tap the tip against her lips, her lipstick almost matching the colour of the material. “Come on, pretty girl.”
Her lips part as her eyes close, and she feels it against her tongue as her mouth closes around it. One hand stays cupping her face, the other moves to grip her hair, caressing her scalp before tugging.
“No, look at me,” you chide gently, your own head threatening to tilt back at the sight of her like this. You wonder if you’re punishing her for her actions still or just enjoying the fact you get to boss her around for once. Probably both. When she doesn’t open her eyes, and instead goes to squeeze them shut even more, your voice comes out slightly colder. “Now, Peruere.”
Reluctantly, they open, just as the strap slides and hits the back of her throat. You gasp quietly at the sight of it disappearing and the way her eyes are threatening to tear up with every movement, words coming out shakily. “Oh, there you go, I told you you could do it, didn’t I? Good girl, Peruere.” You think you hear her moan as her chin begins getting wet, and you wish you weren’t breathing so loud so you were able to hear every little noise that came out of her. You can count on your fingers the amount of times she’s made noise during acts like these, and now she’s on her knees in front of you, looking up at you with glassy eyes and spit covering her chin, moaning at the feel of you thrusting the silicone into her mouth. Your hand leaves her hair and covers your face, feeling the way your cheeks have heated up before you pull away from her, leaving her with an obscene noise that causes her to gasp for breath.
You move back to the bed with trembling legs, sitting so your back is pressed against the headboard. You gesture with a finger for her to come to you and she does without hesitation. Once next to you, she looks at you, both hands coming up to wipe the spit on her chin with whatever she can wipe it with— the skin of her hands or the belt, she doesn’t care, but she decides she won’t be seen as a fucked out mess before she’s even been fucked.
“Go on. If you plan on being a whore at the party, you can be a whore for me at home, yeah?”
“That isn’t—“
“I didn’t tell you to speak. You know what to do, don’t make me say it, it is not in your best interest.”
“Oh.” She hums, trying to act nonchalant like her heart isn’t threatening to beat out of her chest. Either way, she moves, positioning the strap in the right place before taking a soft breath, her arms moving over your head until her bound hands are resting by the back of your neck. You glance down and scoff quietly, your voice nothing but a whisper of condescension and awe.
“You’re dripping, Peruere. I haven’t even done anything, you really ARE a whore, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“Answer me. Now.”
“..yes.”
“Good. Continue.” A command, really, not a request. She stares at you, and you stare at her, an unforgiving, unrelenting look in your eyes. Arlecchino’s jaw tenses and feathers before she sinks down, immediately gasping at the stretch she’s not really used to feeling. It takes a while for her to sink down fully, and you say nothing, but the hand that moves to her waist to stroke your thumb gently across the hot, marred skin is reassuring enough, even though you’re angry at her. Once she does bottom out, however, the noise you hear from her is something you didn’t think she was even capable of making. She whined. You blink twice almost in shock before she looks at you, face red as her head shakes gently.
“Don’t.” She mumbles, teeth grazing her lip. She doesn’t move, she knows exactly how she’ll react if she does, and quite frankly, it’s humiliating for her to have been so confident just a little while earlier.
“Move, Peruere, or I’ll move you. I can see that you want to. I can HEAR that you liked it, hm?”
Her jaw drops slightly as your other hand comes to her waist, and she knows the threat of you moving her is real (even if she almost wants it), so she takes it upon herself to control her movements. But she whines again, and can’t help but bury her face into your neck. You let her, for it’s only the first time she’s been like this with you, if at all, and you’ve embarrassed her enough, you think. She’s tentative with her movements at first, almost testing what she can take and what feels like too much. You place kisses on her shoulder, whispering things that turn her even more into a pathetic mess.
“I wonder what the rest of the fatui would say if they knew you were riding me like a pathetic little slut, Peruere,” You whisper, hardly containing the breathless grin you have on your face as she moves, your hands guiding her whenever she loses rhythm. Your words register, and she slows, only to have whatever self control she had snap, and she speeds up, nails digging into your back. You hiss at the pain, but moan when it fades into a dull ache and you hear her whimper into your ear. “If only your god could hear you like this, all fucked and desperate to cum for me.”
“Don’t—“
“You don’t get to tell me what to do when I have the ability to take away the pleasure. Isn’t that what you always say to me?”
“You’re evil.” She gasps out, stifling yet another humiliating whine by biting into your shoulder. You groan, but let her continue when you feel her eyelashes getting wet once more.
“And you’re about to cum while you cry because of me.” You respond with such cockiness she’d snap at you in any other situation, but you’re right, and she knows it. “It really feels that good, huh?”
“Yes.”
It’s all Arlecchino says. She doesn’t think she can say anything else, she’s not even sure if she’s thinking anymore. She’s clenching around the strap and letting out strained noises every time the tip of it nestles itself into the spot that always makes her see stars. You’re making noise too, just the sight of her so undone like this, her dress shirt barely on her body now, only there because you like the way it looks.
“Please, I’m.. please.” She mewls, legs beginning to tremble.
“Words. Use them.”
“Let me cum. Please.”
“Do you think you deserve to after what you did tonight?” You ask, voice piercing through her. She knows the implications and she lets out a soft cry/moan, shaking her head, her hair tickling your shoulder, her forehead pressed onto your collarbone.
“No. I’m sorry, please. I won’t—“ she stops, gasping for breath again. She can feel it, a few more movements, but she knows she needs, or rather, wants, your permission.
“Won’t what?”
“I won’t do it again. I’m yours, always.”
“Good. Then cum, pretty girl.”
Mumbling a string of ‘thank you’s and ‘oh, archons’, she comes undone, her movements frantic before eventually stopping to a halt. She pants into your shoulder before raising her head half a minute later. Both of you are breathless, but her mascara has run, her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen. At the sight of you, Arlecchino lets out a shaking breath before hiding her face again.
You urge her to put her hands in front of you again, and she does, lifting them off of your neck.
“You did so well.” You untie the belt, letting it fall on the bed beside you both with a small clink. You find the edge of the bedsheet and move it so it covers at least some of her. For someone so ‘ruthless and violent’, she’ll need a lot of love and care after this, you think, even if she’ll grumble while accepting it. The poor woman is exhausted.
#🔥𝔎𝔫𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰#genshin impact#Arlecchino#arlecchino genshin#arlechinno genshin#arle#arlechinno x reader#genshin wlw#genshin x reader#genshin fanfic#genshin smut#genshin impact fic#arle smut#genshin arlecchino#arlecchino x you#arlecchino hc#genshin impact arlecchino#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin impact fanfics#genshin blog#genshin x you#arlecchino fic#the knave#arlecchino au#guys if the quality has flopped#I’m so sorry#back soon#trust
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blue eyes + bruises - part one
✯ pairing:
doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader
✯ summary:
a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.
✯ warnings:
mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.
✯ a/n:
nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)
—
Sarah doesn't have lunch often with her brother, but she does today, placing the responsibility of taking care of him on herself, as she always does. Her latest manifestation of this fact is you – her best friend since her college days. He doesn’t know it, but she’s coming to him with a proposition; your sweetness and his intelligence – she knows they’d meld together like a puzzle and that’s precisely why she’s set up a date between the two of you for this evening. She enters the hospital cafeteria slowly, spotting him from across the gigantic space. His shoulders are slumped and she clocks a limp in his step, instantly sure he’s been on his feet for far too long. She smiles softly as they lock eyes and notices his are far more sunken in than she’d like them to be; in fact, they almost resemble the dark black holes of a skull missing its skin and as he makes his way feverishly through the cafeteria line, she wonders if he’s okay.
“Rafe – you look like you haven’t eaten in six days.”
She scolded as the older Cameron made his way to the table and sat his tray down across from her.
“I eat.”
He grunted in response, rolling his blue orbs into the back of his head at her incessant need to pick him apart in the form of worry. This was why he didn’t return to North Carolina after college, after all. Though he couldn’t in part blame it all on his baby sister, the discontent of his father and the enthralling energy of the city had wooed him and his bride.
“Yeah, okay, hot shot.”
She replied, laughing, throwing a french fry in his direction.
“You’re gonna be mad but I've promised your hand to someone for the evening.”
She said, giggling.
“Dammit, Sarah!”
He replied, the huff that escaped like that of an agitated dog.
“Come on, big brother! Please – she’s my sweet friend from college and she’s nice and shy and she –”
“I don’t care. I’m not going.”
Rafe interjected aggressively.
“Well, too fucking bad. I already told her you agreed and I’d really hate it if you stood her up. It was like pulling teeth to get her to agree to even give you a chance.”
“Too. Fucking. Bad.”
He gritted out.
“No – don’t play with me, I know you. Rafe Cameron is a lot of things, but he isn’t cruel and it took a lot of convincing for her to come out anyways, so please.”
Squinting her eyes in annoyance and shaking her head, she waged her war with him blatantly, tired of his bullshit only five minutes into the conversation in only a way that he could ignite.
“Tell that to Molly. She thinks I am.”
He whispered.
“No she didn’t – doesn’t.”
She caught herself, two years later still not used to talking about her sister-in-law in past tense.
“Just go – please. Get out of this hospital and those fucking ugly scrubs.”
She pleaded, her soft blue eyes always something he had to give into.
“Fine, Sarah, I’ll fucking go.”
He growled, jerking his plate closer to him as he began munching on the chicken tenders that sat in front of him.
—
Rafe was dreading this date, he didn’t know you or what you were even like and let’s be honest, he hasn’t dated in literal years, hasn’t even given it a thought. After Molly departed from him, he ate, slept, and breathed life in the hospital, too afraid to be in his home alone – too afraid the silence and lack of love would swallow him home; death by a thousand cuts. He felt like that was probably normal for the situation he had found himself in; divorce in the form of death. He stared at himself in the mirror of the locker room, being sure he was ready as his hand tousled through his unruly hair.
“Sarah’s right – I do look like shit.”
He muttered, suddenly wondering what this unknown woman would think of him.
He made his way down the linoleum lined hallway and out of the hospital door a few moments later, the familiar red shine of ambulance lights just out of his peripheral and the screech of the alarm coming from the rig coming to a stop. He watched carefully as they pulled a young woman from the back, her limbs splinted and blood covering her. He wasn't sure what it was; fate or an uneasy stomach, these days he hardly had the capacity to tell the difference. But, whatever the force behind it, she pulled him toward her and as he got close, the date he had planned for suddenly slipped his mind.
—
Everything hurt – that was the first thing your brain registered as you pulled your eyes open, the sound of a siren and the beat of your heart blaring simultaneously in your ears. The siren was close, you could tell, but you seemed so distant from it at the same time, so far away and fleeting. You closed your eyes, the darkness overcoming you. It only felt like they had been closed for five seconds, but you were sure it had been longer as you heard the sound of a man’s voice and felt wind around you, signaling your brain that you were moving by the sound of rickety wheels beneath you. The man sounded handsome and kind, his voice deep as it bellowed in the air around you.
“What do we got?”
He asked with urgency, looking pointedly at the paramedics, a team of doctors surrounding him.
“25 year old female, car accident. She went through the windshield – crush injuries, concussion, internal bleeding – she’s barely hanging on.”
He gingerly nodded at the words of the paramedic and brought a pen light from his pocket, pulling your eyelids back and shining it into them. A groan escaped your lips at the intrusion.
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
His voice penetrated your ears and for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain pulled your eyes open, fighting to get to whoever the voice belonged. As you took in the blue eyes that stood over you, you registered who the voice belonged to – sounds and words you could barely register coming from his mouth again.
“I’m Dr. Rafe Cameron, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”
He spoke, sliding his hand in yours, giving you a kind smile.
“Can you squeeze my hand, for me?”
Your senses weren’t intact, numbness infiltrated your being but you could feel his calloused hand as it slipped into yours and with all the energy that remained in your body, you squeezed his hand weakly. He smiled – bright and breathtakingly beautiful, teeth so perfectly in line that you were sure he had orthodontic work at some point. You noticed the crinkles by his eyes as his lips parted and his lips turned up. You suddenly regretted not shaving your legs this morning, taking in his handsomely sculpted jaw as he turned his head sideways, stretching his hands across you. You were unsure what was happening until you felt him unhooking the straps that you now realized were draped across your body, securing you to the bed you laid on.
“Move her on three – one, two, three.”
He chanted out, voice bellowing as his words controlled the move of every person in the room. You weren’t sure what kind of doctor Rafe was, but you knew he was important, that he was a leader, as every nurse and bystander operated under his sole instruction. You closed your eyes as the hands of the people around you lifted you from one bed to another, the jostling of your body breaking through the heavy cloud of numbness and what started as a whimper but quickly turned into a full-fledged bloody murder scream escaped your lips.
“Easy, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”
His hands made their way to your hair, pushing the blood-stained strands away from your forehead. His touch was gentle and calming, you had never been touched by a doctor like this, you thought to yourself.
“R-Rafe?”
You croaked out, eyes pleading.
“Hmm?”
He questioned with all his attention on you. His blue eyes raked over your form, studying your face, taking in the distress and the pain that laced it.
“Gonna die?”
You questioned, mumbling, incoherently and before he could even respond your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arching off the bed as you your body shook into a fit of convulsions.
“She’s crashing!”
One of the nurses yelled out.
“We’ve got to get her to the OR now, get me a neuro consult and page Dr. Richardson, I have no doubt in my mind she’s hemorrhaging.”
As soon as he muttered out the words, Rafe was straddling you on the gurney, legs on either side of your hips as his palms laid flat against your chest, fingers interlocking with each other as he violently, urgently pressed up and down in an attempt to restart your heart.
“Not today, sweet girl. Not today.”
He whispered, continuing chest compressions as the nurses and doctors wheeled the gurney the two of you were on into the operating room.
—
masterlist:
as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3
@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron prompt#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafecore#doctor!rafe#doctor!rafe cameron#doctor!rafe x reader#blue eyes + bruises
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<- love and deepspace masterlist
Hey, so guys—I’m gonna write a whole ass theory/not-theory post about love and deepspace. Please give me your own thoughts and excuse my rambling it’s 2 am and I’m supposed to be asleep.
—
No but I actually need the LI to interact in game, I know (think or read somewhere) that the love and dating parts are separate timelines and in the “main” timeline MC doesn’t romanticise any of them(?). Anyway not my point, my point is that they all canonically exist in the same place and Caleb is probably the one tying everyone together.
I swear I believe it was Caleb that Rafayel talked to in the nest place where he lead MC so she could find the Onychinus. There was also a TikTok someone made (probably as a joke) of why Rafayel’s reaction to MC feeding him an apple threw him off.
Caleb is also Zayne’s childhood friend, but alright I’m gonna take a little spin off and ask;
When Zayne is reborn, does he remember everything immediately? Does he as a child bear memories of his previous lives as an adult? Or does the memories come to him with age?
Because IF the case is that Zayne already as a child knows of his past with MC and still has the powers of seeing the future, did he perhaps purposefully become friends with Caleb and MC?
Alright back to the main plot point of my post.
I dunno much about Xavier because I don’t have his full 5-star myth yet, but I do know he’s travelling through space and time (?) and that dude knows some shit. He’s most likely also being extra overprotective because of Caleb, like he’s maybe met an alternative version of him in the past?
Oh, but then there’s Sylus.
I’m just saying, Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier all helped MC find the Onychinus and if they truly thought she would be in life threatening danger they probably would’ve stopped her.
I don’t know how!!! But I’m just yapping so stay with me, ok? They all wanted her to find Sylus, because Sylus is the only one strong enough to protect her.
They probably know about the aether cores, that MC can use the dragon to their advantage. However they didn’t realise that MC and Sylus actually share half of each soul, that they are two kindred spirits.
Oh-ho! But Caleb knows, and Caleb haaaates it. Because he, the one who imprisoned Sylus to begin with, wants nothing more than to see the dragon back into the abyss. Because Caleb, the whole reason he’s in MC’s life is to get to Sylus.
Knowing she’s the key to the dragon, he decides to use her, manipulate her into thinking he’s nothing but a kind and loving friend. Sadly, Caleb didn’t anticipate that he too would be smitten by MC.
So everything just turns complicated now, because in the “main timeline” where MC doesn’t romanticise any of the LI, they’re all very much in love with her.
Gods and when they finally all meet… I’m envisioning like the Deepspace throwing every universe together, causing the past, future and present to mash up and fuck the whole reality… and something something Ever.
#love and deepspace lore#love and deepspace#lads#lnds#lnds sylus#lnds zayne#lnds rafayel#lnds xavier#love and deepspace sylus#love and deepspace zayne#love and deepspace rafayel#love and deepspace xavier#lnds caleb#lads caleb#love and deepspace caleb#lads sylus#lads zayne#lads xavier#lads rafayel
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idk if youve done something like this, but a you posted that with y/n and spencer and theyre having fun but theres an old tweet about how spencer likes y/n!! hope this makes sense <3
winter break stirred up some writing motivation, sorry to everyone who has expected more lol. this is a GENIUS idea anon, tysm <3
yeah, i posted that... | spencer agnew x reader
gender neutral reader, second person, embarrassed spence, real tweets from the boys!!
~~~
You were all in for another shoot on the Smosh Pit set, and today was no ordinary one. The much-anticipated episode of "You Posted That?" featuring Spencer Agnew, Shayne Topp, and you, Y/N, had been scheduled for months. You’d joined Smosh not too long ago after building a successful career as a standalone YouTuber, and this was your first time competing on the popular show. Ian Hecox, as the host, was already hyping up the event with his usual mix of sarcasm and self-deprecating humor.
“Welcome to another episode of ‘You Posted That?’” Ian announced dramatically. “Today, we’ve got three contestants who are about to question their own digital footprint. Please welcome Shayne Topp, Spencer Agnew, and Y/N L/N!”
The small audience on set cheered, and you waved nervously. Spencer, seated next to you, leaned over. “You’re going down,” he teased, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Big words from someone whose tweets are probably all queerbaiting jokes,” you shot back, earning a laugh from Shayne.
“Let’s get started with Round One: ‘You Posted That?’” Ian said with the same exaggerated cadence. “Here’s how it works: we’ll show you one of your posts with a few keywords blanked out. If you can guess the missing words correctly, you get five points. If not, zero points. Got it?”
The first round began with Spencer. The tweet displayed read: “I've had the _____ ____ ___ stuck in my head all day, but only the part where ___ _________ says "___ _ ___ _ ______".” After laughter rang out and a few moments of squirming, it clicked and he guessed “Naked Mole Rat” "Ron Stoppable" and “can I get a booyah” Ian grinned. “Correct!” he exclaimed, as Spencer let out a celebratory “YES!”
Next up was Shayne, whose post read, “______ _____________ > Everything else” Shayne furrowed his brow. “It doesn't fit but... Raisin' Canes?” he guessed, earning howls of laughter when Ian revealed the actual tweet: “Nature Documentaries” Spencer groaned, “Next time just go outside and scream 'I'm smarter than you.”
Then it was your turn. The screen showed, “Me: 'I’m going to bed early tonight.' Also me at 2 AM: Watching _ _____ ______ _ ____ _____” After some thought, you guessed “a woman eating a live squid,” earning you a solid five points. “Weird, but correct!” Ian cheered, as Spencer gave you a playful side-eye. “Real quirky to watch mukbangs,” he muttered. "Look at the year posted!" You laughed back.
The second round of guesses brought even more chaos. Spencer’s next tweet read: “If you _____ ____ _____ while working from home alone, you are a cop” He confidently guessed “wash your hands,” but Ian burst out laughing as he revealed the true answer: “brush your teeth.” Spencer buried his face in his hands as Shayne and you doubled over.
Shayne’s second tweet was equally absurd: “there's no "I" in ____________” He guessed “Unfunny,” but the actual word, “peamupbubber,” had everyone in stitches at the duality.
When it was your turn again, Ian read out: “Why do my plants thrive but not my ______ ______? Asking for a friend.”
"To be clear, this was cute in 2016," and after some embarrassed sighs, you guessed “social life,” earning another five points. Spencer groaned. “Stop being good at this!” he joked.
Then came the final round of tweets. Spencer’s face turned pale as his last post appeared on screen. It read: “If ______ ever gave me a chance, I’d drop everything. Just saying.” The room went quieter, and all eyes turned to him.
“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.
“Spencer,” Ian said, barely containing his grin. “Care to fill in the blanks?”
Shayne burst out laughing "Dude, don't die on this show of all of them", and you stared at Spencer, your jaw dropping. “Spencer, what is it?” you demanded, though you couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up.
“It was a long time ago! Before you joined Smosh! I didn’t think it would ever come up... its Y/N.” Spencer stammered, his face turning bright red.
“Wait, so you had a little crush on me, huh?” you teased, unable to resist.
“Little is an understatement,” Shayne chimed in, wiping away tears of laughter.
“Well,” Ian said, looking at Spencer with a playful smile, “5 points!”
The room erupted into cheers as Spencer laughed it off, but the embarrassment was clear as day. You kept looking at him, trying to give him the hint, but anytime he saw your bright smile, he turned crimson.
The shoot wrapped up fairly quickly after that, with your other posts being just as recognizable to you. Being the rightful winner you walked out happily, nearly skipping back to your desk next to the games pod. You saw Spencer awkwardly approach your desks before you had a chance to sit down.
"Hey, I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea that tweet even existed anymore... it was just- I don't know. I just hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," He apologized.
You quickly rebutted, "No no not at all, Spence. It was really sweet actually. I have never told you this but I felt the same way when I first joined."
"Wait really?" Spencer looked up at you with surprise and unbelievable relief.
"Might still feel that way now. If you do too?"
"Yes! I mean, yes, I do. I never got over it."
"Your crush on me?"
"Yeah, I posted that for a reason."
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𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕁𝕒𝕫𝕫𝕒'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪: ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟝
This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.
There was definitely a chance to escape this cruel and ruthless man.
And yet, like taking up a challenge full force, I returned to this man.
I don’t regret my decision.
Still -
Jude: Enjoy yer work, commoner.
As I sat at the desk a piece of paper fell from above.
Kate: A contract….?
Jude: Go get it signed by the noble listed here.
Kate: A signature? But, is that okay……
I picked up the crudely placed paper, and when I read it over, I shot straight up from my chair.
Kate: Hold on, isn’t this address is at the edge of town! And the deadline…..it’s today!?
Jude: Then there’s only one thing t’do. Head there quick why dont’cha?
Jude points his chin toward the exit and then coldly drops his attention to the documents in his hand.
(I don’t regret my decision to returning to Jude…..)
(Not at all. Probably not — Definitely don’t.)
I managed to get the signature without incident, and then rushed to the port where Jude was.
Kate: I got the contract signed….!
Jude: Thanks. Got back just in time, I’m leavin’ the next job t’ya.
Gokursan is being used here and it means "I appreciate all your hard work", but nowadays it’s just a fixed term, and since "san" is used, it apparently denotes that the speaker could actually care less about your efforts. So, I simply translated it as "thanks."
Kate: Next!? What’s next?
Jude pointed out the cargo with his chin.
There were stacks of boxes filled with parts that I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Kate: What’s this…..
Jude: Are yer eyes for decoration, no matter how ya look at it, it’s a inventory inspection. Check that the quantity of items is correct.
Jude: Miss a single thing ‘n….ya know what’ll happen, yeah?
[Transitions to Raven Co.]
Kate: Aren’t I just an errand girl?!
Kate: But I’m being paid properly for the work, so I can’t criticize him in the end, which is frustrating….
My pent up complaints spill out one after the other.
Even so, watching me making a list of all the things I’ve diligently inspected,
Ellis let out a soft laugh.
Ellis: Kate, you’re thinking everything out loud.
Kate: Oh, sorry. I was being nit-picky Ellis, but…..
Kate: If I keep it bottled up, I just might go insane or I might end up KILLING Jude all together.
At that moment, laughter poured from above.
Theodore: Kate’s sucha real outspoken lady!
He’s Theodore, a salesman who works at Raven Co.
Everyone calls him Theo, and I call him that too.
Kate: Oh, Theo. Thanks for all your hard work outside the office.
The moment I greeted Theo, an intimidating stare appeared behind him.
Kate: ….And thank you for your hard work too, Jude.
Jude: Can ya not greet me all sour like? Think it’ll make me retch up my mornin’ tea.
Kate: I wonder if I’m under a curse where I’ll die if I don’t say something sarcastic…..
Ellis: Hehe, Kate you’re thinking out loud again.
Kate: It’s okay, I meant for Jude to hear what I said just now.
I smiled unperturbed…..
Theodore: Hmm, I see.
Kate: What’s the matter?
Theodore: Well, I’ve been thinkin’ this for a while now, but ain’t Kate the president’s type?
Kate: ………..Uh, what?
(Type? Who? Whose??)
While I was flabbergasted, Theo started joyfully sharing his theories.
Theodore: Ya don’t get discouraged easily, ya don’t give up, ‘n ya got guts. Right?
(Right? Even if you say that….)
When I glanced at Jude next to me, his expression read, “Is this guy insane?”
Jude: How many years have ya worked for this company. This nobody’s the exact opposite of my type!
Theodore: Huh, really? Then what’s yer type president?
Jude: Modest, not pushy, ‘n knows one’s place.
[Answer: That’s the total opposite of me +4/+4]
Kate: That’s the total opposite of me. But Jude’s not my type either, so we’re similar that way.
Jude: Well, I don’t really give a shit what’cha think, but…
Jude: Now that’cha mention it….will ya be able to find something to like?
Kate: That’s….
As pointed out, it’s a plain fact that I’m at disadvantage when finding something I like about Jude.
Jude: Ha, lookin’ real forward to goin’ all out tormentin’ ya for breachin’ the contract.
Kate: ….Ugh.
In the middle biting my lip out of frustration that I couldn’t retort, Ellis suddenly spoke up like he had remembered something.
Ellis: Oh, Jude. Didn’t you say that you had something to talk about?
Jude: Yeah, Ellis, Kate. Only you two need t’come the president’s office.
(I wonder what he wants to talk about…..)
After we gathered in the president’s office, we faced each other and Jude spoke leisurely.
Jude: I’m off work tomorrow.
Next to me, Ellis nodded slightly like he had guessed right.
Ellis: You’ve got a mission for Crown.
Ellis: Ah, Kate this is your first time coming with us on a mission, isn’t it?
Ellis: I look forward to it. Let’s do our best on your first mission….Hey, Kate?
Ellis waved his hand in front of my widened eyes.
Kate: …..I was being worked so hard that I forgot I was a fairytale keeper, and that you two were Crown members.
Ellis: Hehe, you’re so funny Kate.
Jude: She’s just a idiot.
The next day, after the sunset we went by carriage deep into a forest.
(I can see the lights…)
Traveling through the thick darkness, a striking mansion suddenly came into view within in the dense forest.
Jude: There it is.
When I looked out the window, I saw a line of carriages waiting to enter the premises, and women wearing beautiful dresses alighting from them one after the other.
It’s said that upper-class women gather every night at this members only club hosted within the mansion, where large sums of money are being made.
After Her Majesty received a report and sensed evil there, Crown was asked to investigate.
That’s what led up to this mission.
Ellis: Kate, you seem nervous, are you okay?
Kate: Y-yeah….I’m fine.
Jude: What’s with that weak little I’m fine? Looks like yer ‘bout to hurl, ain’t convincin’ none.
Jude: Can ya even pull somethin’ off like bein’ a “daughter of a nobleman”?
Kate: I can do it, I’m FINE!
In this mission, I’m the daughter of a nobleman.
Ellis is going undercover as a black-suited staff member.
(I wonder what role Jude’s going to play?)
At the meeting before the mission we were assigned our roles, but Jude never informed us of his role.
(It seems like he has a special role, but….)
Jude: Let’s go.
(It’s been a while since I’ve been on a Crown mission…I need to give it my all!)
The carriage door opened, and I steeled myself as I took a step forward.
Kate: T-this….
When I entered the mansion, I was met with a view that exceeded my expectations.
Aggressive Young Lady: Come to me, Fabien.
Woman Experienced With Pleasures: Oh, Fabien promised to have a drink with me.
Aggressive Young Lady: That is for him, the “Gentleman”, to decide.
Aggressive Young Lady: Hey, I’m in the mood for the most expensive drink.
Woman Experienced With Pleasures: Oh my, are you trying to steal by using money to compel him into what he does?!
Woman Experienced With Pleasures: If that’s the case, then I’ll order an even more expensive drink than this young lady.
Fabien: Non, non! Please do not quarrel over me ladies.
ノンノン is the katakana for “Non” or “No”. Since katakana can mean a speaker is speaking another language or with an accent, I assume he is French, and opted to translate accordingly.
Fabien: It is my pleasure to attend to both of you beauties.
Fabien: I shall satisfy you both to your heart’s content.
Both the young aggressive woman, and the experienced one shrieked at the same time.
It was a member-based club where upper-class women gathered every night.
— In actuality, it was a social club where handsome young men called “Gentlemen,” entertain women.
Kate: I see. It’s a system where women order expensive alcohol from the men they like.
Kate: If payments were made competitively like this, then a lot of money would be in the works.
Ellis: In the end, this mission turned out to be innocent. It’s rare for Her Majesty and Victor to be wrong.
The sounds of women’s voices bickering over those called “Gentleman” could be heard all around.
Kate: It’s disappointing, but also a bit relieving because it was nothing.
As I discreetly spoke to Ellis, I glanced towards Jude.
(But…I never would’ve anticipated Jude being assigned to fulfill the role of a “Gentleman”.)
Jude: …..Tch, the queen and Victor were fed phony intel by those shitty palace twits.
Jude: Ain’t goin’ along with this damned rich people’s game.
Kate: Whoa, Jude you can’t leave….If you disappear it’ll look suspicious!
I whispered after Jude who was about to turn his back on the venue.
Instantly, the lights in the room were dimmed and a spotlight shone upon corner of the venue.
Underneath the light was one who appeared to be the wealthiest among the gathering,
A noblewoman wrapped in jewelry stepped forward.
Curvy Noblewoman: I am pleased to announce this evening’s special event. And that’s —
Curvy Noblewoman: The Gentleman who makes the most sales tonight, will be presented with the deed to this piece of land that I own.
Curvy Noblewoman: Ladies who wish for their favorite to be number one, please do your best.
Jude: ………….
Jude’s eyes lit up when he heard the announcement.
Kate: Jude, what’s that?
Jude: Plot of land I’ve been aimin’ at for business expansion.
Jude: Whadda huge danglin’ carrot……Ha, sure, I’m all for it.
(What…..)
Kate: Wait, Jude. The one who’s granted the deed is the “Gentleman who makes the most sales.”
Jude: Then it’s simple. In other words, all I have to do is become number one.
Kate: Huh?
The way Jude spoke changed all of sudden.
I saw the battle of ordering drinks starting at various tables,
Meanwhile, Jude scoured the room as if looking for prey……
Jude: I can’t afford to be late. Well then, excuse me.
Jude smiled like a utterly different person and then walked toward some women wearing gorgeous dresses.
Jude: Ladies, may I join your circle?
Heavy Drinking Lady: I haven’t seen your face before….. Are you new? Of course, let’s enjoy a drink together.
Jude: Thank you. As a token of my appreciation, I’ll treat this beautiful lady to a reserved drink tonight.
Jude: It will get you so intoxicated that you’ll pass out.
(WHO IS THAT…..?!) ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?!
The women’s faces were blushing like they were already drunk on Jude’s seductiveness.
Not only does he have a gentle expression that makes it hard to believe he’s a cold-hearted man with sadistic tendencies,
But his conversation was amazing, fully demonstrating his discerning business acumen….
Jude: These elegant, dainty heels look wonderful on your slender ankles.
Idk why, but this line was the cringiest thing I've ever translated. I'd rather tl smut everyday for a year than tl this again (¬_¬")
Jude: It’s wonderful how it embraces the latest vogue.
Skillfully capturing the hearts of women by talking about fashion….
By the time the drinks were delivered, Jude was surrounded by several layers of women.
The bottles on the table were emptied in the blink of an eye, and the women began to compete by ordering more.
Ellis: Twenty more bottles to this table.
Ellis who was dressed in all black was busy as well.
Three hours have passed since then —
Underneath the spotlight, the noblewoman wearing jewelry appears again.
Curvy Noblewoman: It seems that the Number One Gentleman will be determined soon.
Looking over, I saw Jude and one other person still sipping alcohol in the room where noble ladies and Gentlemen were passed out dead drunk.
It was the Gentleman with the highest selection rating in the club.
Curvy Noblewoman: The sales of them both are equal, so I’d like to propose a special challenge.
Curvy Noblewoman: How about a one-on-one match to see who is the better Gentleman?
Curvy Noblewoman: What game shall we play……Heehee, this is your first time visiting here…..
Curvy Noblewoman: Well, let’s have that pretty lady over there choose.
At that moment, the dazzling spotlight shone upon me.
Kate: Wh-me….?
Ellis: Kate get’s to decide? That’s a pretty big deal, right?
While I was still in shock, I was led to the seat and was sandwiched between Jude and the number one Gentleman.
Number One Gentleman: Nice to meet you, beautiful lady.
Jude: I’ll take on any challenge. I’ll do whatever the princess commands.
[Main Story Master List] [Chapter 6]
T/L note: Haha, poor Kate was so worked to the bone that she forgot she was a fairytale keeper, poor thing! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I can't wait to share the next chapter too!
Dividers: @.natimiles Tags list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul
If you wish to be added (+18 YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!
#ikevil translations#cybird translations#ikevil jude#jude jazza#jude jazza translations#Jude Jazza Route#ikevil#ikemen villains
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untitled angsty but then sweet piece...
hello guys!! it's been like over a year lol. I was going through my google doc and found this and I feel like I never posted it? so now I am posting it. maybe this can be a part 1 but also we know I'm great at starting multipart stories and not finishing them so lets see
૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ��˶ ₎ა
warnings: none (~1.2k words)
✿��•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿
“You're just gonna ignore me then, babe?”
Y/N continues silently puttering around in the kitchen, going out of her way to make sure her back remained turned on Harry. There weren't many ways to get under his skin, but throughout her years of being with him she learned that being on the receiving end of the silent treatment usually made him fold pretty quickly. She was annoyed with her husband and the fact that he seemed clueless as to why made her even more upset.
“I take your silence as a yes?”
More puttering. More re-wiping the already clean counters. Starting the tea kettle. Washing her hands. Anything to not acknowledge Harry, really.
“I can’t make it better if you don't tell me why you're so upset, love,” he takes a tentative step toward her. “I know we've been together for ages but I still can't read your mind. Think ‘m gettin’ real close, though.”
This is said jokingly, and she knows her husband is just trying to dissipate the tension that's thick in their kitchen, making the spacious room seem impossibly small. She doesn't acknowledge his joke, doesn't crack a smile because that would give him too much satisfaction. Nothing made Harry cockier than being the reason for Y/N’s laugh, a sound so sweet she’s pretty sure he’d forbid everyone on the planet except him from listening to it because he wanted it all to himself. He always told her it was music to his ears.
The fact that he doesn't even know what he did is what finally causes her to break, muttering about how fucking ridiculous he is under her breath. It's not lost on Harry.
“Now you've moved on from ignoring me to cursing at me?” he sounds more curious than upset, taking another step toward her. She backs away, defensively crossing her arms over her chest and she doesn't miss the way Harry’s brow furrows at the action. “Can y’please tell me what I did, Y/N? Please?” When she looks down at the ground, ignoring his please, he begs some more. He’s not above groveling, really.
“Please, angel? Lemme fix it,” his eyes are wide and wild as he wildly searches hers for some clue as to what he did wrong. “Tell me-”
“Am I always just gonna come second with you?”
She can almost see the wheels in her husband’s head turning, knows he's choosing his words carefully before he speaks so as not to upset her any further.
“Okay, love,” he runs a ringer hand through his hair. “Can you be a little bit more specific?”
“We had plans this afternoon, Harry. We were gonna try that new café that just opened. I was looking forward to it,” she doesn't care if this makes her sound selfish and childish. “I know you were working and I know you how much you love to do that, but sometimes I feel like-”
“Don’t even finish that thought,” Harry cuts her off and his tone is sharp, calloused. “That’s not true.”
“You know, at first I was worried something happened when you didn't show,” Y/N continues like she didn't hear him. “But then I realized nope, you probably just forgot or couldn't get out of another meeting. Just like always.”
A look of sadness flashes across Harry’s face, which quickly transforms to indignant anger. “Don't throw this in my face, Y/N. You know how much I hate that.”
“So I’m supposed to be mindful of the things you hate, but you can't be mindful of the things I hate?”
“You don't get it,” he mumbles under his breath, growing increasingly done with the conversation the longer it drags on. “You're not in the industry. I can't just always leave-”
“Then blame it on me! Make me the bad guy, Harry,” she finally turns all the way around to face him completely. “The people you work with get to see you more than I do…the fans…” Y/N trails off, letting her unfinished thoughts hang limply in the air.
It’s quiet between the couple for no more than thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. Harry breaks it first - he always does. He inhaled a deep shaky breath, trying to call forward the breathing techniques his therapist taught him to use in high-stress situations. Right now counts as a high-stress situation.
“You’re right, angel,” the pet name slips off his tongue easily which comforts Y/N. Harry’s not as upset as she thought he was. He’s still her Harry. “That’s not fair of me, is it?”
All Y/N can do is shake her head, lower lip jutted out. She knows if she tries speaking she’ll start crying, and she doesn't want to cry. All she wants is for Harry to understand. Harry however, knows her too well. He knows the look she gets on her face when she's trying really hard not to cry and he knows she goes silent because she doesn't trust her voice not to come out shakey. He decides to continue talking.
“I should've called you and let you know I’d be late- or told you we needed to reschedule. I’m sorry I left you hanging, darling.” He pauses, selecting his next words very wisely. Harry knows his wife is sensitive. The last thing he wants is for her to think he's blaming her for anything. “...but it seems like this is about more than me missing our lunch. Which, again, I'm very sorry about. I'm taking you wherever you want for dinner tonight and I'll make you dessert when we get home. Let's talk more about this though, yeah?”
“You also have to be in charge of picking up after Hershey for a month,” Y/N responds with a small smile on her face. Hershey was the couple’s tiny brown poodle who was the cutest puppy in the world. “Thank you.”
“Mmm,” Harry hums, knowing his wife was trying to keep the conversation lighthearted since she hated confrontation. Since being with Harry her communication skills have improved tremendously since he was so good at it and wanted to talk about everything, but healthy communication clearly still didn't come as easily to her. “Talk to me, angel. What’s this about?”
Harry’s in front of her now, arms wrapped limply around her waist. He walks her backward until the small of her back hits the counter then he tells her to, “jump” so he can lift her onto the counter. Once she's situated he settles himself in between her legs and places his arms back on their place on her waist. Harry looks intently into Y/N’s eyes and she knows she won’t be leaving that spot until she tells him what's bothering her, so she just says it.
“I want a baby.”
Harry raises his eyebrows in quick surprise before breaking out in a wide grin- the kind that causes his nose to scrunch up and wrinkles to form around his eyes.
“You want a baby? W’ me?”
Y/N doesn’t return his smile, which quickly makes Harry’s turn into a frown.
“Why don’t you look happy?”
Y/N sighs, her eyes avoiding Harry’s. He gently places his index finger under her chin and pushes it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. He’s desperately searching his wife’s eyes, trying to figure out why she isn’t more excited about coming to this big decision. Harry has been ready for years of course, but he never wanted her to feel pressured.
“You’re never here, Harry. I don’t want to feel like a single mom.” Y/N looks down again and Harry doesn’t lift her chin back up this time. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. It’s silent for what feels like a couple minutes but is actually maybe only twenty seconds, the faucet leaking being the only sound heard throughout the whole house.
“Y/N…love,” Harry inhales a shaky breath, removing one of his hands from her hip to run his fingers through his curls. “I never want to make you feel like you’re alone. Not just with this, but…with anything.” Harry gently knuckles away a stray tear falling down Y/N’s cheek.
“I know you don’t mean to make me feel this way, H. I guess it’s just what I signed up for when I married a popstar, yeah?” Harry can tell Y/N is trying to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t like that he’s the reason for he feeling this way.
“You didn’t “sign up” for anything, love. I’m your husband and you’re my wife and we’re supposed to be there for each other through it all, good and bad.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something but Harry gently pinches her hip, muttering for her to let him finish. “I want a baby with you. I want everything with you, Y/N. I want to be here for everything. I’m going to be better about being here.”
“H…I love you and I know you’ll try, but you’ve said this before-”
“I’ll take a break, babe. Cancel everything,” Harry’s talking faster now, excitement about his plan evident in his voice. “We’ll focus on ourselves and start our family. Go out of the country and leave my bloody phone here, if you’d like.” Y/N giggles at that, which makes Harry give her a big, dimpled grin.
“Will it be okay? With Jeff and everyone?” Although Y/N’s sure people on Harry’s team won’t be happy with his sudden change in plans, she can’t deny how charming the idea sounds. She could already picture them at their favorite villa in Italy, the one Harry purchased as a wedding gift to her and where they spent their unforgettable honeymoon. In all honesty, she’s surprised they didn’t get a baby out of that trip.
“Let me worry about that. You just worry about buying yourself some new bikinis, yeah?” Harry places a lingering kiss to Y/N’s jawbone. “Perhaps a few things for me to rip off you too, hmm?”
✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿
hooray for happy endings :')
#harry styles#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles au#harry styles one shot#harry styles fic#harry
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Anthropological and philosophical analysis of Viktor’s story in Season 2 - Part I
Finally gathered thoughts that floated in my mind since Season 2 had ended. These will literally be my first posts ever, will be a bit chaotic, please be kind, I’m shy. But also very critical.
I’ll preface this by saying that I’m not a person with a disability. I cannot claim to know this experience, because I simply don’t. I love Viktor as a character and it so happens he has a disability, it’s something I always consider when engaging with his story. Besides, his story revolves around his disability since S1 Act 2 and he kind of falls into the trope of ‘disability as character motivation’, but he’s much more than that. And that’s what I want to explore in these posts.
My analytical approach is obviously influenced by my experience as an able-bodied person. I’ve had extensive courses on disability studies while at university and focused my bachelor’s thesis partially on disability representation in media (I focused on scars and ‘deformities��, something many Arcane characters have, but that’s perhaps for another post). To people out there who have disabilities and wish to engage with this post - please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely trying to learn more.
I want to stress that in my analysis I’m not saying Viktor is entirely ruined as a character by the writers or is bad disability representation. I analyse his story from the perspective of philosophical, cultural and social contexts, and through disability studies theory. I’m not an expert and certainly can't speak on behalf of people with disabilities, I'm talking as an anthropologist and enjoyer of storytelling and art.
Ok that being said, I’ll try to make it coherent and divided by topics, because these’ll be long posts. Some thoughts are a bit disjointed, I’ll be sharing some of my ideas for how Viktor’s arc could’ve been improved. Hopefully it makes sense as a whole.
TRANSHUMANISM & POSTHUMANISIM
Transhumanism as a philosophy and social movement originates from the notion that many people are forced to live worse lives than necessary and can’t reach their full potential. One of the most important thinkers of transhumanism Julian Huxley argued that application of science can prevent poverty, illness and change the world for better. He literally wrote that ‘the man can manage evolution’.
Viktor represents transhumanist ideology in a way that, in Season 2, he literally can’t refuse the job - he was forced the moment Jayce fused him with the Hexcore. Sure, he could have refused to use its power, now residing in his body. But the writers chose to disallow him that choice. So Viktor ‘heals’ Huck and begins his Jesus Era. Viktor later asks Singed if the doctor believes in fate, which is followed by Viktor declaring evolution has a course - superseding nature. This way Viktor exemplifies Huxley’s idea of what transhumanism is:
(...) whether he [man, as in human] is conscious of what he is doing or not, he is in point of fact determining the future direction of evolution (...). That is his inescapable destiny and the sooner he realizes it and starts believing in it, the better for all concerned. (Huxley, Transhumanism)
If the Hexcore was actually sentient and controlled Viktor, then I guess it’s the soul of Julian Huxley.
The same way Huxley's work was grounded in a desire to make the world a better place, so is Viktor’s. His dream of betterment of his people was the primary motivation of Viktor’s character, but it got hijacked by the magical mumbo jumbo of the Hexcore and Arcane powers in S2. His transhumanist ideology wasn’t developed organically, the story just jumps to act 2 and then 3 without proper explanation as to why he turned to this philosophy so radically.
Important to add, Huxley was a eugenicist. Kinda wild to take transhumanist ideas and write Viktor’s, a disabled dying man’s arc, the way they did. Viktor wanted to use technology to change the world, but writers said: ‘hmmmm, what if… magic?? And eugenics! because he has internalised ableism now!’ But more on that later.
Central question regarding transhumanism is who decides what’s an enhancement and what’s a limitation. The short answer is: it’s a personal choice, we can use inventions to improve quality of life if we wish. Yes, some things can be a choice, but in reality it’s kind of compulsory, because the society is built in a way that demands conformity.
Viktor changed himself instead of trying to change the world the way he intended to in S1. His arc was derailed from his initial will to act for the society that needed positive change. Progress for Piltover meant technological advancement in the name of scientific and economic gain. In Viktor’s transhumanist vision, progress is about extending the self - to live without suffering, to cure physical and mental afflictions of Zaunites. It goes beyond his motivation to cure his disease, his actions in S2 don’t fit his characterization in S1. This is why I believe inserting parts of his original League Lore into Arcane would have made an amazing story with transhumanism as background.
Good part of technology is that it gives us opportunities for different forms of embodiment. Embodiment, important in phenomenology and feminist studies, means how we experience ourselves as a living body that feels the world as we inhabit it - how we experience it in connection to us, simultaneously being influenced and influencing the world. There’re plenty of theories that tackle this concept, but let me go the short way.
Transhumanist philosophers talk at length about progress in relation to embodiment. Some critics ask questions about the ethical side: who’s gonna get to use the technology to enhance themselves? What about people who can’t afford technology used for the enhancement? How will technology influence the embodiment of certain people? Specifically, what does this philosophy say about disability?
I will talk more about disability in another section, but the transhumanists consider physical disabilities as something open to changes. Different technologies can be used as mobility aids, different advanced procedures could help in various ways improve the standard of life for people with disabilities.
But there still remains a question: what kinds of disability are considered in need of improving by technology? If technology changes a disabled person's body so they can function similar to able-bodied people, then is the category of 'disabled' even relevant anymore? Is there a definite line when it comes to influencing the body with technology? What kind of progress do transhumanist actually seek and for whom?
We don't hear Viktor’s stance on ideas similar to transhumanist ones, until his talk with Singed, but it's a bit convoluted and isn't developed well enough to be an interesting take on a very controversial and fascinating philosophy that is transhumanism. It’s only indirectly addressed at the end by Old Man Jenkins Viktor when he says ‘There’s no prize to perfection, only an end to pursuit’, meaning that the glorious evolution doesn't really have a destination, even though Viktor believed so.
The change transhumanists seek can never actually reach a final, perfect end - who and when will decide what the end of human evolution looks like? What is the ultimate, trans- or even posthuman form we’re supposed to achieve? Arcane seems to argue that nobody will ever be able to decide, even with godlike powers and knowledge.
Old Man Jenkins Viktor calls back to primary belief of posthumanism, which Nietzshe wrote about:
Man is not the effect of some special purpose, of a will, an end; nor is he an object of an attempt to attain an ‘ideal of humanity’ or ‘an ideal of happiness’ or an ‘ideal of morality’. It is absurd to wish to devolve one’s essence on some end or other. We have invented the concept of ‘end’: in reality there is no end. (Nietzshe, Twilight of the Idols)
Posthumanism is another philosophy that provides an interesting context for analysing Viktor’s arc in S2. I first focused on transhumanism, since his story originally involved using technology to change lives. But Viktor seems to mix transhumanism and posthumanism.
Posthumanism is more about getting rid of core values of humanism. it’s about going beyond what makes humans, well, humans, which is a lot of things (biology, culture, economy, science, politics, environment, religion, social relations ect.). Posthumanism states that humans aren’t really that special, and argues that there are many other creatures and things that are equally as innovative as humans. It’s a philosophy critiquing anthropocentrism. It dismisses the notion of humans as apex creatures that can control and bend the world to their needs and will. The will to extend ourselves and find power within us isn’t exclusively a human trait - all organisms and things on Earth have that potential. (Interesting, that in the destroyed Piltover Jayce saw, the flora and fauna still expanded at the top of the Hexgates).
Viktor’s story isn’t really about that, but it ties to posthumanism when Viktor declares that emotions clash with reason, humanity is a contradiction which causes destruction, so there’s the need to go beyond humanism. Viktor’s ideas about human nature aren't really posthuman. His thought as he was dying after Jayce's attack revolved around the humanist idea that humans actually have an unchangeable essence.
Posthumanism, as understood by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guatarri, states that there’s no essence of ‘humans’. There’s only the potentiality, which comes from an individual will to create oneself, apart from fixed rules of the world. Funny enough, Viktor speaks about similar ‘charge, potential, impulse', but I don’t think it’s in any way connected to Deleuze’s idea. The philosophy of Viktor in S2 seems all over the place with trans- and posthuman ideas underneath, but it's an interesting mix that I wanted to explore, even if only on surface level.
Deleuze is fucking difficult to understand, French philosophers are the demons that always kick my ass, but they had some good stuff to say. In 'Postscript on the Societies of Control' Deleuze claimes that society is made by machines, not only in technological sense, but also by different systems: social, political, economic, religious ect. Every system is a machine. In the case of Piltover and Zaun, the social and political machines categorize people and program them to inhabit certain identities and spaces. Human body is also a machine consisting of different anatomical systems. We are machines living in machines, the flow of information and experiences between us and the world is constant. In a way, even before Viktor tried to change everyone into machines, the world was already run by machines.
I also think that technological posthumanism is an amazing lens to analyse the usage of Hextech and its final destruction of the world in Arcane. Technological posthumanism states that humans use tools and technology as integral to our identity and functioning. Inventions are made by humans, but inventions also invent humans - we use tools, art, machines, that extend us, that make us. Humans don’t make technology because they’re free and rational, rather they’re free and rational because they make technology.
Donna Haraway says we're already cyborgs, because tool-making and technology is always a part of our evolution - we incorporate the world into our bodies. We use tools, but according to posthumanism, tools use us in some sense, like a parasite. Interesting that Viktor becomes literally a mix of flesh and machine, influenced by the Hexcore.
Going further, posthumanist thinker Bernard Stiegler writes:
(...) the pursuit of the evolution of the living by other means than life - which is what the history of technics consists in, from the first flaked pebbles to today, a history that is also the history of humanity. (Technics and Time, 1)
Evolution's course is always directed by technology and tools. Stiegler asks: ‘Who’ or ‘what’ does the inventing? ‘Who’ or ‘what’ is invented?.
Jayce and Viktor invent Hextech. Piltover, City of Progress, is made by the development of Hextech. Hextech invents Piltover’s identity, makes its citizens and government free, rational, innovative and progressive, in opposition to Zaun, which supposedly lacks these traits. Is it really Viktor who causes the calamity in the end? Or is it Viktor and Jayce’s invention of Hextech that caused the end of Piltover? Was it humans using technology, or was it technology using humans? Technology can be human’s progression in evolution (as Viktor represented) but it can be the destruction of the world (as Jayce saw in the apocalyptic Piltover). There is no predestined essence or course, there is only the potentiality.
Viktor’s arc with the transhumanist/posthumanist Messiah plot fits a subgenre of these philosophies which states there’s a possibility of a Posthuman God. It means that humans, no longer limited by nature, flesh and emotions, will be able to grow into a god-like state of intelligence. It’s not about ascending to a literal god like Viktor did, but more about posthumans being so advanced and intelligent that modern-day humans wouldn’t be able to comprehend it. It is tied to Nietzshe’s Overman ideal, but that’s another long story.
Summing up, the writers butchered Viktor’s character and did something typical for the general transhumanist discourse. That our problems are technological, not political and social, it’s about science that changes our embodiment, and we need this change because the world is unfair. But why is it unfair? Too difficult of a question for the writers apparently… I'll be dissecting it further below.
* Interesting to add, transhumanists of today go as far as suggesting we’ll be able to upload our minds into computers/certain devices and this way live forever. Viktor sorta reminded me about that with his astral plane self. There was a movie with Johnny Depp with this idea, Transcendence. This movie is bad tho (*Wendy Williams voice* Guess who’s jealous of Viktor Arcane? … JOHNNY DEPP!)
DISABILITY
In The capacity of contract Stacy Clifford Simplican distinguishes two ways of thinking about disability: medical and social. Medical model means that people have a medical problem when we compare their state to fixed diagnostic norms. The social model is about how society creates disability by making the world adjusted to able-bodied people, while disability is an exception to the norm, an anomaly.
What the social model explains is that the problem isn’t the disabled person’s body, the problem is that they didn’t have a chance to design the world that would accommodate everybody. Medical model is appealing to able-bodied people because it allows them to dismiss their anxieties connected to disability and the possibility of acquiring it. People would have to then face the fact that society is actually unfair, so the medical model allows thinking there’s a distinct difference between able-bodied ‘normal’ people and persons with disabilities. There is ‘us’ (able-bodied) and the Other.
The idea of a cultural Other is key in various theories, especially in post-colonial critical theories, disability studies, social stigma theory ect. It basically means that the dominant group considers everyone who’s an outsider or lacks certain attributes essential to the group, as inherently different, oftentimes meaning lesser, therefore considered ‘other than us’. The Other needs to be distinctly alien to the normative group or culture. In case of people with disabilities the line marking the difference is located in their bodies.
In season 2 Viktor literally crossed the line (haha see what i did there) by rejecting his disabled body and changing into the Machine Herald. By rejecting his embodiment, he wished to fit into the ‘perfect’ embodiment represented by the people of Piltover. However, I consider Machine Herald Viktor as the epitome of what Piltover society considers as the Other. At the end of S2, for people of Piltover the line between what’s worth saving and what’s dangerous yet again locates itself in the body of the Other. The body that originated from the embodiment of the disabled Zaunite.
Viktor’s body is central to his character. We see his embodiment is an experience of pain, struggle, not only physical (he feels his body eroding) and emotional, but also social, he’s a Zaunite in Piltover. He’s double stigmatised as an undercitizen and a disabled person. Theory of stigma tells us that problems disabled people experience oftentimes aren’t connected to the disability itself but to the unequal, negative approach, harmful representations and institutionalised practices that cause the stigmatisation. It all reveals itself in ableism. One of the most important authors of disability studies, Rosemary Garland-Thompson wrote at length about these topics, notably in Extraordinary bodies. I’ll be referring to her work a lot in this post.
Viktor changed his body in S1 and then again in S2, he became Machine Herald, what he thinks is ‘the most he’s ever been’. But Piltover still thinks of him as the Other, a threat - and we know that in their worldview ‘Zaunites’ equals ‘danger’. And here’s the thing - ‘disabled’ is a position you get in a concrete socioeconomic context.
Viktor’s Jesus arc and commune activities focus on ‘fixing’ people and allowing them to live on the outskirts, away from the stigmatising society. Paradoxically, he fixed Zaunites to be able-bodied, like Piltover’s society accepts, but Zaunites can’t join that society, they’re still on the outside. Arguably, they’re trying to create an alternative for the stigmatising society, a new ‘Herald’s vision’. But why does this vision involve getting rid of disabilities?
‘Overcoming limitations’ isn't really about transforming the body. As Abigail Thorn said: ‘You're not gonna fix homelessness by turning homeless people into inspector Gadget’. Arcane S2 Viktor took the wrong angle on the whole ‘helping the Zaunites’ thing. The show for sure states that. And that makes me sad and mad because it’s just.. idk stupid? Viktor as he’s established in S1 is fiercely intelligent, has very strong morals and convictions. He acts recklessly and crosses ethical limits only when it comes to saving himself from literally dying. I don't see how he would go from ‘In pursuit of great we failed to do good’ to complete opposite and being SO misguided in act 2-3 in the 2nd season. They character assassinated him so hard it’s almost unbearable. Still love him, but gods, look how they massacred my boy. Anyway-
Viktor’s disability makes him significantly different from the rest of the cast - as Garland-Thompson wrote, the figure of Otherness is a result of interpreting and giving meaning to bodies. It gives categories and paradigms, which then give us identities. By making Viktor a person with disability the creators had the responsibility of understanding that their writing has real life consequences. Representation in art and media is a means of identification for real life people who relate to Viktor’s embodiment.
Disability is not only a physical state of being, a form of individual embodiment, but also an economic one. It’s true for Viktor - he self-described in S1 as ‘a poor cripple’ - using the language of his oppressors, clearly to pinpoint how he’s perceived by the normative majority of Piltover. I’d argue this doesn’t tell us how he actually feels about his disability. We don't really get his thoughts on it. I see many people assuming he thinks of it as an imperfection from the start and point to S1 when he shies away from the spotlight and then more obviously in S2 Jayce basically confirms to the audience Viktor’s internalised ableism in The Speech.
But I’m not so convinced. Viktor in S1 strikes me as someone who hopes his work will talk for itself, so he doesn't crave the spotlight, but it absolutely could be argued that the reason he hides in shadows is to protect himself from the scrutiny of onlookers. It might be an argument for him thinking poorly about himself and Arcane is known for ‘show don't tell’, but I sort of… wish they told us?
Viktor talks about his disease and focuses on his incoming death, which is central to his character in S1 after act 1. Disability and actively dying are different things though, but in sociocultural contexts are often considered almost the same. It seems to me that the writers made such an assumption - treating Viktor’s leg and his disease interchangeably.
Viktor’s internalised ableism wasn't prominent, I'd say nonexistent, in S1, his focus was on preventing his death, not on getting rid of his disability. He experimented on his leg and tested its durability when running. Season 1 already established that it was the wrong choice (although the running scene is contradictory in its message because of the ‘victorious’ framing and music). Viktor changes his mind at the end of S1 and asks Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. Never, not once, in S1 Viktor declares that he wished to help people of the Undercity get rid of disabilities or that he wants his own to go away. He only speaks about his general health deteriorating.
But then we get Jayce saying Viktor ‘always wanted to cure what he thought were weaknesses; his leg, his disease’. Um no, not true? Viktor always wanted to invent things to make a change for the disenfranchised. He couldn't do so because of his terminal illness and Piltover’s politicians not giving a damn about Zaunites. We don't know how he feels about his disability apart from recognising it as a part of his social status as a Zaunite in Piltover. We get the scene when as a child he shows Singed his leg, meaning he can’t play with kids and is lonely. This could mean he’s either shunned or can't access places where kids play. That's an issue of accessibility and how disability is created by alienating disabled people. It’s not enough proof to argue that Viktor dislikes his disability to the point of wishing to fix it when he becomes an adult.
I argue that Viktor’s internalised ableism was forced onto him by the writers. This way they put the responsibility of dealing with ableism on the disabled individual instead of asking the real question: why is Viktor experiencing ableism in the first place? Why is it Viktor who has to bear the burden of injustice and feel bad about himself? Apart from the positive sentiment of ‘disability is a part of humanity and doesn’t mean you’re broken’, the message of the ending seems to be: 'it's sad you feel bad about yourself, you need to hear you’re valid and get over your internalised ableism or you’ll doom everybody, but we won’t be addressing systemic opression’.
Audre Lorde pointed out issues that stigmatised people face, especially having to be representatives of their marginalised position, having to use their intellectual and emotional labor to address oppression. I can’t agree that Viktor taking on the labor of realising his internalised ableism thanks to Jayce’s Speech is amazing writing. His humanity was denied by the oppressors so much he ended up rejecting it all together? The framing of Viktor’s motivation after becoming Machine Herald is extremely detached from his original character’s. I can’t- it seems like they made him self-loath and cause harm just because the final battle would look cool?
I like Arcane’s message that erasing disability is like erasing humanity and love wins in the end. At the same time it’s done at the cost of the disabled character’s entire arc and positions him as the villain to a society of able-bodied people. I don't vibe with that writing choice. If the writers had the guts and we didn't live in capitalism, maybe we’d get more seasons and something truly revolutionary.
Feminist scholars pointed out how people’s standpoints shape politics, how identity, personhood and body are cultural constructs that need to be questioned. Standpoint theory suggests that representation is always a political act and thus disability representation needs to be treated as such. I don't think Linke and others thought about it this way while writing Viktor. They created a great character though, so allow me to open my ao3 tab and look up canon divergent fics.
Because of Viktor’s arc in S2 becoming about having his autonomy revoked and his supposed internalised ableism, we unfortunately got an interpretation that Garland-Thomson notes as widely accepted - that physical disability is a part of lower social status and a personal tragedy. We could have had Viktor as a transformative example of a physically disabled person who exposes social institutions of power and questions the notion of othering as a rule that permeates the Zaun-Piltover conflict. For that to happen, it wouldn't be Jayce who affirmed Viktor as valid - it would be Viktor affirming himself.
And we know he had the capacity to do that. In S1 act 1 he’s self-confident and we know he got to Piltover thanks to his intellect and resilience. Why would he lose these parts of himself so radically in S2? I understand that he was severely depressed and that could change his perception of self when his health deteriorated. Yet, I believe in S2 the acceptance Jayce talks about could have come from Viktor seeing his own value. Garland-Thomson calls it 'speaking with one’s voice’. To be seen and accepted means having autonomy and possibility to speak about our embodiment with other people. We don't get to see/hear Viktor do that. He speaks of his mortality and deteriorating body in the context of disease, not disability. And he doesn’t really react to Jayce’s Speech.
If the creators wanted a really empowering story about a disabled character, they needed to address that. According to Garland-Thomson, the body is a text that needs interpretation by their owners. Giving meaning to his body, affirming it (maybe choosing to change it only to stop himself from dying) would mean that Viktor frees himself from symbolic and systemic violence, and rebels against fantasies and anxiety projected onto him by the normative society. That would have been based as fuck.
I ship JayVik, but it doesn't mean The Speech is all fine. Jayce might understand some of Viktor’s struggles but he’ll never understand him fully. It’s true that Jayce experienced horrors beyond comprehension, saw how his dream destroyed the world, he starved, had to reflect on his decisions sitting in a dark cave and injured his leg. Him acquiring a disability to parallel Viktor is a very important moment, yet it’s not the same as knowing Viktor’s experience of embodiment.
Jayce didn't live with a disability all his life in the society that considered it as something inferior. Jayce didn't live with despair and desperation of struggling to prevent himself from dying of an illness caused by the actions of an oppressive state. Jayce’s speech is emotional and important for his relationship with Viktor, and I did get teary eyed when he expressed how much he adored Viktor. But they lost me with ‘fix weaknesses, your leg, disease, and there’s beauty in imperfections’.
The Speech is sweet on the surface level but it rubbed me the wrong way, because not only it didn't make sense with Viktor’s arc in S1, but it also feels weird to say that disability and terminal illness are an imperfection in which there's beauty. Imperfection is a tad insensitive of a term in this context... Having Jayce - who was more privileged socially, essentially able-bodied all his life and acquired his disability only recently - say this to Viktor, is kind of an odd choice. I do see what they’re trying to say: such experiences shape us but they don't define us. That Jayce loved Viktor as a whole human being with every part as integral to who he is.
At the end Jayce frees Viktor from his loneliness. Lovely stuff and I like it on a personal level, altho the Speech was poorly worded. Narratively, it tells me that the disabled character needed another person to say he was all he needed to be from the start. But it ignores the social context of why Viktor was lonely. Jayces speech shifts focus from systemic oppression and inaccessibility to interpersonal connection he had with Viktor and the emotional side of it. It's possible to both establish a loving bond and acknowledge the discrimination Viktor experienced. But that didn’t happen in the story.
Viktor’s actions as written in S2 seem to stem partially from an immense need for acceptance and a wish not to be lonely. Of course he has Jayce in the end. My JayVik side is kicking its feet in the air and giggling, but when I look at it from a representation perspective it's kind of bad. Jayce is after all a privileged man who has never experienced life long marginalisation, chronic pain and despair of accepting his death when there's so much work to do for a good cause. And he might have understood how lonely Viktor was, how Jayce neglected his partner but still, Jayce cannot fully get it if it's not his lived experience.
Viktor is defined by his body by the unfair society he exists in and it's impossible for him to ignore it, because that's what shapes him every day. It's understandable he’d want to be healthy but I dislike the ‘Magic Cure for disability’ trope they went with in S2 when Viktor merged with the Hexcore. The trope is widely considered regressive and even harmful when it comes to nuanced disability representation. Viktor's case isn't as obvious, so I'm not trying to pass any finite judgement here.
I wish we knew if there were people with disabilities or sensitivity readers at any stage of the creative process of making Arcane.
I’ll be referring to the topic of Viktor’s disability in other sections of my posts, so it’s not really the end of this subject.
THE RADICAL OTHER
As I wrote earlier, the concept of the Other is extremely important in anthropology. There’s a more expanded and emancipatory theory that I'd like to touch upon - the concept of Radical Otherness.
In itself, this concept is disruptive. When we’re faced with the Radical Other, we’re confused. We cannot relate to them, cannot ignore them, our predisposed opinions and structures of understanding are being postponed. It creates a cognitive dissonance, forces us to change perspective, create space for the Other and look for Otherness in ourselves. It can also cause bigger fear and cause us to alienate the Other even further than we initially did.
Experiencing Otherness touches our bodies and senses without us having prior notice of it. This experience disturbs us, it calls on us, it asks us to respond and to react. German philosopher, Bernhard Waldenfels writes in Bodily experience between selfhood and otherness that people usually either welcome the Other as a guest or exclude the Other as an enemy. The Other is always transformed in a way that the normative society has disposal over them or they're available for the society's intentions. Radical Otherness, according to Waldenfels, is not available to anyone.
Viktor's disabled body is turned into a grotesque fusion of flesh and metal, then into an alien-like creature, not a cyborg which would be more in sync with transhumanist ideas of technological augmentation of the human body. The way Viktor looks in his god-like form is aesthetic but foreign.
What it means for disability visual representation is that Viktor either reinforces or rejects the sociopolitical relations that make the disability a kind of Otherness.
Interpreting Viktor the Machine Herald as rejecting oppressive notions, I’d say he symbolises what’s rebellious, exposing injustice and disrupting social order. He left Piltover behind and came back to cause a radical reinterpretation of the world. He looks absolutely different, strange, magical - and we know people of Piltover fear magic. But because he’s the villain and dies at the end, I'm more inclined to say the writers meant to show his transformation as a symbol of unpredictability, lack of stabilisation, anarchy - and that’s both dangerous and brave.
Viktor as Machine Herald can be read as embodiment of personal freedom by rejection of cultural uniformisation. But if it were to be true, he should have rejected conformity while still disabled or at least not transform with Singed’s alchemy. By the time we reach the last episode, his arc is a story of Piltover having to tame ,,the freak’’ as Garland-Thomson would describe it.
The freakiness of Machine Herald’s form is also an interesting choice, because it’s somewhat humanoid but unnatural. It reminds me of the practice of freak shows where people with unusual bodies and disabilities were displayed as freaks of nature, odd creatures. Able-bodied audience gawked at them and while looking in the face of the Others, they’d re-establish themselves as ‘the normal ones’. I hope you catch my drift and see how this is not a good look to have Viktor morph into an alien looking creature that all of Piltover fights in the end…
If I try to find positives in S2’s writing, I can speculate that Viktor becoming the Radical Other in an empowering sense would mean that he embodied an alternative to the status quo. Him leaving and in sense rebelling against domination of Piltover wouldn’t be an intellectual choice but a manifestation of his condition as a person. In this interpretation, his transformation is radical, it’s a positive marker of his individual story.
It’s still a story of oppression though - our Viktor doesn't save himself, Jayce does it for him. I’m not gonna be talking about Old Man Jenkins Viktor orchestrating everything to save himself by having Jayce sent on a mission to save main timeline Viktor. I’m focusing on the Viktor we got to know in S1. It’s beautiful to be seen and supported, the scene at the end was so loving, and my AroAce ass relished it. I love JayVik, yeah, though I think the message of Viktor’s arc being so centered on Jayce’s affirmation of him made the message a bit less complex. They’re soulmates, your honor, but they’re so codependent it’s really toxic yaoi.
Jokes aside, it would be amazing if Viktor chose to become the radical Other. He’d make an autonomous decision to use his status of the Other as the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to the system. The system that overlooked him and prescribed him the identity of an undercitizen, ‘an outsider looking in’.
His arc would be even more profound if he recognised his internalised ableism and chose to become the Machine Herald the way he did in the League Lore. In League, his practices aren’t entirely ethical either, but that's besides the point. His decisions were made out of dissatisfaction with Piltover’s corrupt academia and politics, and the moral duty he felt to aid his fellow Zaunites in the face of calamities and everyday hardships.
The Arcane version of the Divorce arc could’ve made JayVik more complex if they let Viktor express disappointment with Jayce’s decision to weaponize Hextech and Council’s lack of interest in the Undercity’s issues. Then the 'our paths diverged long ago' would be more inpactful.
The character arc is a mess but I tried to reach and look for sth more interesting. I think the Radical Otherness of Machine Herald is a compelling angle. Not what writers intended, for sure not, I don’t think they taught anything through that deeply. My take on Viktor the Radical Other is a bit surface level, but it's just one of many things I wanted to share here.
ENDING PART I...
It all could have been more interesting if Viktor wasn't influenced by Hexcore as we’re led to believe, because… this is cheap writing and yet again takes away his autonomy, which he was denied far too much in S2. The magical stuff took away from Viktor’s character and lost focus of his actual motivation.
I think what we got isn’t good enough, but I appreciate bits that can be read as more meaningful, that's where my idea for this 'essay' came from. I just wish the writers had the guts to let Viktor be angry, come back to Zaun, not do the cult stuff and just help people, join the rebellion, basically tell the Pilties: ‘I hope I confuse the hell out of you’.
That’s it for the first part of this analysis. Part 2 coming soon i guess.
literally me writing this fucking dissertation:
#viktor arcane#arcane#disability representation#arcane critical#viktor arcane disability#viktor nation... how are we feeling?#anthropology#philosophy#or sth like that#arcane season 1#arcane season 2#jayce talis#arcane meta#jayvik#transhumanism#posthumanism#disability studies#media analysis#zaunite viktor#save me viktor arcane viktor arcane save me#viktor league of legends#arcane criticism#media criticism#arcane spoilers#old man jenkins viktor#sometimes i miss academia but i'm never coming back#i'm going insane anybody want sth?
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Could you please write something about Chris or Josh with a virgin reader? How they'd react when they found out? How their first time would be like? Both of them strike me as virgins as well but idk🤷♀️
Yes, I also imagine both of them as virgins. Josh seems like he’s been all talk, no action. And Chris? Well, I feel that one is obvious. Anyways, I’ll do both in this post, and for the sake of the writing, the reader is the only virgin, not the guys. They’ve both had sex before. Just because it’s easier to work with. Anyway, enjoy <3
Chris
He’s not surprised when you tell him, he did not think you were, but the reveal gives him a little comfort as well. Why, you ask? Because he doesn’t need to match himself up to someone else. He’s confident in his ways, and that he can make you feel good, but at the same time, this guy will never stop being insecure, and that small part of it relieved him a little.
What he also does feel anxious about is the fact that he’ll be your first. And what do people say about their first time? Awkward, weird, nothing went as planned… He wants to make sure that your first time goes well, and that it was a good experience. “I promise, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy” “Yeah, yeah. But I’m gonna make you happy for another reason than that too”
If you are the VERY romantic type, he’ll set everything up. A nice dinner, candles, music etc. He wants you to remember this, and trust me, remember you will.
One of his goals is to drag out the foreplay as long as possible, wanting you to be drenched and needy for him. Better to go too slow than too quick. This makes the makeout session last way longer than necessary, and you’re starting to get impatient. “C-Chris, I need you now” “No, no, just a little bit longer” he whispers, hand in your hair, pulling you towards him.
It’s firstly when you start unconsciously grinding on his thigh that he finally understands how down-bad you are, and he starts working on your clothing. He’s fast and gentle with his hands, easily unclasping and removing your bra.
The cold air hitting your nipples while he admires you, hands groping and lips sucking. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault.
You guys move on, getting each other's clothes off, and him getting on top of you, fingers digging into your heat as you whimper. He continuously asks if you’re okay, if you’re in pain or uncomfortable.
“You sure you want to keep going?” “Y-yes” “I can stop if-” “I swear, I’ll kill you if you stop now” “Oh? well then” a smile creeping on his lips as he drags out his fingers.
He positions himself, using your juices as lube as he slowly moves up and down, getting ready. “Okay, we’re gonna take this slow, okay?” You nod, taking a deep breath as he fills you up, small moans leaving your mouth. He leans over you, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss, swallowing each of your sounds while pressing into you.
“How’re you feeling?” “Fuck, just give me a couple of seconds” you whisper, adjusting and comprehending. He smiles, nodding and spending the time kissing your upper body, everything from your lips down to your breasts.
After a while, you give him the signal, urging him to start moving. He obliges, always watching your reactions attentively to be sure you’re okay.
As the night draws to a close, you spend the night in his arms, sleeping and cuddling. Of course, when you were done, he had a glass of water ready for you, packing you deep into the sheets and caressing your hair.
Josh
Josh is not surprised that you’re a virgin. His suggestive comments here and there getting you so riled up that he only made the assumption. He does not feel that much pressure, only wanting your time with him to go well.
He can be really romantic, each touch he makes both attentive and calculated. When you’re making out, he’s respectful until you ask him not to be, causing a rougher man to grope and bite you. He still doesn’t go the full way, wanting to be careful and make sure that some type of trust is established before going to second base.
One day, you’re laying on his bed, a movie playing in the background when your attention turns to each other. This leads to a long make out session, clothes thrown across the room, but still not going further than your underwear.
You’re hot and bothered, wanting him to take you right now. You smile as you feel him growing hard beneath you, reciprocating that craving. Thighs around his torso, ass on his pelvis, you lean down, leaving kisses on his neck and asking. “Josh, I want you” “Right now? Are you sure?” “Yes”
He spins you around, making you gasp from your back hitting the mattress. His hands wander over your chest, going behind and unclasping your bra. You sit up a bit, helping him take it off, throwing the garment on the floor.
“And you want to do this?” “Yes, I do” “Right now” “Are you not up for it?” “Holy fuck, I’m holding back with every fiber of my being” “Stop holding back”
He watches you while pushing himself into you, making sure that you’re not getting hurt, and can stop at any time. He captures your lips in his, both of your moans filling the room every time you stop for air.
“Fucking hell, you’re so tight” You can only whimper in reply, feeling him fill you up, struggling to control himself as he wants to ravage you. He gives you time to adjust, letting you signal to him when he can start moving.
When you’re done, he holds you, praising you and asking how it was. He’s attentive and sweet, asking if you would like a bath or a shower.
#until dawn#joshua washington#josh washington#chris until dawn#josh washington x reader#chris hartley#josh washington x reader smut#until dawn chris#until dawn josh#christopher hartley#chris x reader#christopher hartley x reader#christopher hartley smut#until dawn christopher hartley#christopher hartley until dawn#chris hartley imagine#chris hartley smut#chris hartley imagines#chris hartley x reader#until dawn chris x reader#josh x reader#josh washington imagines#josh washington smut#josh washington until dawn#joshua washington x reader#joshua washington x reader smut#joshua washington smut
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I have posted a new hannigram fic ahhh! More plotty than I’m used to so naturally I am wildly self-conscious and worried about it hooraaaayyy! Please be nice, love you x
Means to an end
After the events of Mizumono (S2E13), Jack goes a little off the rails. In an effort to lure Hannibal back and save Will from himself, he kidnaps Will and fakes his death. His plan works, but not in the way he expects...
PREVIEW:
“What do you…” Will starts, then trails off. He can see it already, forming in his mind. Knowing Jack as he does, this all feels suddenly like deja vu. Like he should have seen it coming… “Why are you doing this?”
Jack looks bemused by this question, “You know why.”
“I want you to tell me. I want to hear you say it,” Will says, darkly.
Jack considers this for a moment, and Will can see in his eyes the precise moment he considers turning around and leaving Will’s request in the dead air between them. But then, pride prevails. Superiority in the face of a junior, the urge to share a clever scheme clearly too tempting.
“Will Graham is dead. Complications at the hospital, injuries too complex, you were beyond saving. Just another victim of the Ripper. And when Lecter sees that you’re dead, that he played a part in your death, he’ll come back for you.”
“And why would he do that?” Will asks, but it comes out weak, “He’ll either… Sense that it’s a trap and ignore it, or he’ll be disinterested. He tried to kill me Jack, why would he return if he got what he wanted? He has no reason to… To care about me. About that.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Jack chides, and something in that statement makes Will’s stomach twist in on itself, his chest aching fiercely.
“You don’t know him—” like I do, Will almost finishes, but realises too late that statements like that aren’t going to help his case.
“I know that he will want to be sure. And I know as well as you do that he didn’t intend to kill you that night. Even if he senses a trap, he’ll consider himself too clever to be caught. He will come back for you. To claim you, one way or another.”
Read more…
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Hello beautiful!! I hope you’re doing well!! 💗💗💗 Anyways, I was binging on all of your fics again cause they are just so addicting to read. And an idea popped into my head when I reread L$d with Paul and Embry.
This is what I had in mind. Rachel and reader are at her place beyond horny and frustrated. So wanting relief and eager to try something new, they go down at each other. As they are getting it on, Paul and Embry are on patrol. While they are on patrol, their heat suddenly arrives. Feeling desperate, they run to Rachel’s place as soon as their patrol is done. And they come home to a wild sight. But they freakin love it. Paul and Embry join in on the fun as Rachel and Reader help calm their heat down. Idk just a food for thought.
As always keep up the good work! Every fic you post is amazing!! Stay happy forever please!!
- 🪄 anon
hi lovely all is well ! thank you so much for the support and super kind words 😽💜 hope you enjoy :)
AN: for anybody who’s interested in reading : l$d part one l$d part two
lipgloss - reader x embry x paul x rachel
The sky was darkening as Embry and Paul rose up. You and Rachel rose up as well.
“I’ll be over Rachel’s. I don’t want to be by myself.” you say to Embry as he placed a kiss on your forehead and embraced you right before leaving out of the door.
“That’s fine. I’ll just come and get you when we’re done, alright?” he says to you and you nod. With that, Embry placed a kiss on your face and Paul tapped his arm to let him know it’s time to get a move on.
The soft smile you had on your face, disappeared as soon as he left, you sigh out.
Rachel points to the television at her place, “See? I so envy the girls who gets to be clingy to their man. I barely see mine.” she says and you chuckle, “Right.”
“I can’t wait until this lessens down. It seems like day by day, I see less and less of Paul.” she says, feeling a bit frustrated.
You shift so you’re face to face with her, “Yeah, that’s how it is with me and Embry. We don’t even have time to…Never mind.”
Rachel asks, “Have time to do what?”
“Nah. It’s a bit TMI.” you say as continue to watch the television.
“Y/N.” she says and you smile a bit, “Alright….It’s just that me and Embry haven’t had the time to be intimate. He’s too tired whenever he gets back. Only quick kisses and it’s like I’m about to go crazy.” you ramble.
Rachel slowly nods as she looked ahead, “I’m glad it’s not just me…I’ve never been in a situation where Paul didn’t want to give me head.”
“This is bad.” you comment.
“Super bad. I’m this close to humping someone’s leg like a dog.”
You laugh at this but you understood, you were in that same boat.
The series you two were watching went to a break, there was nothing but silence.
“So…How long do you think this will last?”
“Hopefully not long.” you say as you looked to her in horror.
“If it does,” she says and links her hand with yours, “Let’s forget about these stupid boys and get married ourselves.”
A grin appeared on your face, “Imagine..If we actually did.”
“I’ve never been with a girl so what do you think girls do when they’re married to each other?”
You shrug a little, “I don’t know.” you answer sheepishly, “Probably like hanging with your best friend but on steroids.”
“They have lots of sex. Maybe they’re onto something.” Rachel says with a slight groan.
“They give each other head. You’ll at least be happy forever.” you say as you both walk to the kitchen to place the empty dishes in the dishwasher. She bubbled out a laugh.
She looks to you as you’re about to sit down while she stands. You knew that look. She had an idea.
“Why don’t we…” she trailed off. You stare at her with a blink.
“Are you…About to ask what I think you’re about to ask?”
“Maybe?” she says before sucking in a small breath. She sits down next to you.
The series came on but neither was looking at the screen. You instead were looking at each other. Studying each other. Neither of you wanted to speak it out loud, but two hands were joined while Rachel caressed the back of your hand with a thumb.
Your heart pounded, for some reason you didn’t feel nervous. Little did you know, she felt the same way.
Faces were inches apart before closing in distance. It was very slow but lips eventually pressed against each other.
With a soft smack, you both silently thought it felt nice. You both lean in again to see how it felt again. It seemed as though the pent up emotions were pouring out. Soon, you slightly open your mouth to breathe but Rachel slowly took the initiative to slip her tongue in. You both sigh as you both hold onto each other. Warm pools flowed from between of both you and Rachel’s legs as it was exciting and new. You both kissed each other as if both lives depended on it. You both were so in the moment.
Lightheaded, you both opened hooded eyes before Rachel whispered out, “Should we…?”
“Maybe?” you whispered back. Without planning to, you both slowly rise in sync.
Standing in the bedroom that she shared with Paul, you looked at her as she looked at you. Slightly shaky but excited hands reach out and take a hold of her waist. She does the same before your mouths meet again. This time, you both were pressed against each other. You both were focused as this was something that you both were experiencing for the first time.
An intake of breath through your nose was taken as you felt fingers dip a bit in your pants. You both had your faces close without kissing, breathing in the same breath, but she slowly but carefully felt the wet mush that coated her fingers. It was sensitive. It had been a while.
“Let’s just do it.” Rachel whispered against your lips, almost desperately. She was completely vulnerable. You were completely vulnerable. You nod slightly as she lets out a soft but heavy breath as you let your fingers feel her warm wetness. She grabbed your hand and pushed it deep in her pants. It was as if she was relieved, relieved that someone was touching her. You were relieved that someone was touching you too.
Pants were shoved off and you join each other in bed, Rachel climbing on you to kiss you deeply. You both move your hips slightly as you both sensually dry humped each other as tongues met each other’s tongues again and again.
With a quiet moan, you felt her poked out chest under her shirt, her eyes slightly closed as she continued to rock her hips while sitting up upon you.
Her fingers rose your shirt up and helps you take it off.
Rachel leaned forward, pressing each other’s chests to each other as you both tasted each other’s mouths again. The movements were slow and sensual as you both were glued to each other. Your hands go to her naked back as she kisses your jaw and the side of your neck. Quiet sighs were heard from both of you.
Your fingers hit her underwear, your fingers slowly peels them down, she sits back and does the rest of the work of taking them off, leaving her naked before you. The sight was erotic as she then leaned forward over you, taking in a breast in her mouth. You lean your head back with a soft breath. Her wet tongue circled your hardened nipples as she caressed them, almost massaging them.
She lets her own hardened nipples scrape against yours as she captured your mouth in another wet kiss.
You peel your own underwear down, discarding then to the side.
Skin to skin, you both really moan as hands felt each other up while kissing.
Rachel was now on her back, she had no shame as she slowly cracked her legs open, revealing to you the glistening sight. Your fingers gently touch it, feeling the sticky but smooth substance.
“It’s like lipgloss.” you whisper and she quietly chuckled. She was silently excited but so were you.
Using your thumb, you softly pressed against her and circled it, watching her face slightly crumble from the sensation.
You just wanted to know what it tasted like. You put the thumb in your mouth to see what it tasted like and you hum out a sound of approval. Using your saliva to circle her sensitive nub. She slightly bit her lip as you sunk one finger into her. Her hips rolled and you worked your finger as she moaned out. You felt her hand touch your hand, signaling you to add another finger.
Pretty soon, she was fucking herself on your two fingers, twisting the sheets in her fingers as she focused with her hips.
Your fingers were coated after the small but intense orgasm. It was beautiful.
“You’re right. It is like lipgloss.” she whispered as she caught her breath and grabbed your fingers, taking the coated ones in her mouth. She cleaned them with her mouth before grabbing you back into a kiss, putting you right onto your back.
She used one swipe of her tongue on your opening that produced a breathy moan to escape out of your mouth.
Your legs got wobbly as she slowly took her time, licking and making out with your center, your hips lurched as she circled her tongue on your own sensitive nub. You saw stars and whispered out a “oh my god.”
You gifted her back with your own tongue. She held onto your head and the sheets next to her. Her moans were continuous. Her relaxed hips followed your tongue. You sucked her in as you ate her heart out, she whispered out your name like a prayer. She came, you didn’t care that her natural juices were spread across your face.
The patrol was boring, at least for Embry and Paul. They hadn’t seen any vampires for the time they’ve been out.
Embry felt something, something that was aching. He softly panted with his wolf mouth as he trotted through the woods. He was throbbing so much, it almost hurt.
Paul circled around a bit as he felt an aching sensation that wasn’t going away. His mind went to Rachel and how it’s been so long. He didn’t realize how much time went past as he thought back to the last time they were having sex.
“Paul man are you ready? I gotta get Y/N.”
Paul looked at Embry’s wolf. By the wild look, Paul knew he wasn’t the only one who was feeling in heat. Embry’s mind leaked out filling you with his puppies.
“Yeah, come on let’s go.”
Embry and Paul rushed to the home that you and Rachel were in. Pulling up their shorts, Paul opened the front door, he stopped in the doorway.
“What’s wro-“
“Shhh.” Paul says with a finger to his own lips, Embry froze, “You hear that?” Paul asks with a soft smirk.
Embry did hear it. Muffled moans filled the home but he figured it was whatever you two were watching and Paul was just being immature. Embry nodded.
Paul walks slowly through the home. Embry looked at the television that was running in the living room, nothing sexual was displayed, which made him confused because the noises continued.
Paul saw the cracked bedroom door, pushing it slowly open. His nose was met with a mouthwatering scent as his eyes darkened.
Rachel riding your thigh and knee, her eyes were slightly closed as your hands were glued to her chest as you massaged them.
You didn’t notice the presence of the two boys until you saw Paul lean with his head tilted, capturing Rachel in a kiss. She continued the buck of her hips as she held onto Paul’s neck, deepening the kiss. Your head turns to Embry who already has his shorts off, his hardened dick in his hand, slowly stroking himself.
Rachel moaned out with a high octave and Paul watched closely as she rode out her high. She flops next to you, trying to catch her breath.
Paul’s shorts were discarded and his dick bobbed with his movements as he hovered over Rachel next to you.
Embry followed his moments, except scooting you down to where your lower body is hanging off the end of the bed.
He sleeked himself against you as he leaned forward. You lean up to give him a kiss. You felt the bed rock, but Embry sunk into you, you both sighed out with relief. It’s been so long.
He pulls himself out, before sliding back in. It was driving you crazy as you tried to grab ahold of his arms but he was steady. His hardness allowing him to anticipate the next time he slid back in.
“Please Embry, please.” you begged in a whisper and with that he sunk himself deep as your legs were over his shoulders. His hips continuously snapped as you moaned out. His groan was quiet but firm as he continued to deepen his strokes. It was as if he was harder than ever before, his hand gripped the side of your hip, you gasp out the change in rhythm. You thought you were going to die by how hard you climaxed.
You lay back as your chest breathed up and down. Embry stroked himself as you noticed he was still hard as ever. You sit up, peek over to find Rachel riding Paul just like she was riding on your thigh.
Paul was staring up at her as if she was a goddess but he glanced at you, watching and you turn away. You reach forward and take a hold of Embry’s erection and sensually stroke him. His face went to the sky as he groaned.
You felt an open mouth kiss on your neck, finding Rachel at your side. She captured you in a kiss as you continued to stroke Embry.
One of her hands caressed your breast as you lay back, letting go of Embry. Embry instead sleeked against your moisture, as Rachel continued to eat at your mouth. She climbed on you, sitting against Embry’s hardness, her lips never detaching from yours.
You both moan into each other’s mouths as Embry continued to move, sleeking against both of you.
Rachel lets up, looking behind her, now moaning at Embry.
Your lips were captured but this time by Paul. You never kissed him before but you soon find that he had a talented mouth, his hand was groping your chest. You felt yourself be scooted away and you open your eyes, finding that Embry had Rachel against his chest as she had an arm around him, kissing him. Embry let her glide against his hardened flesh as his hands were greedy, feeling every inch of the front of her body.
Hot hands steered your chin away from that sight and his intense gaze is what’s in your eyesight. He kissed you deep as he pressed himself into you, both hands cupping the bottom of you as his hips were strong with deep strokes, your legs tightened around his waist as you cried out. His mouth then makes out with your ear. You were so far gone, you didn’t know what was what anymore as you blindly gripped his naked back.
As he pounded you from behind, gripping your hips so your arched back couldn’t move, you shakily gasped out at both the sensation and the sight of watching as Rachel rode Embry from behind, reverse cowgirl. She opens her eyes and softly smiled at you as she was able to lean forward, still riding him hard. She leans to bring you in a kiss. It was sloppy but still fulfilling.
Embry held you in his arms as he carried you out, starting the journey to the home you both shared. You were slumped and fast asleep in his arms. He peered down at you with slight amusement as he knew that you were worn out, the heated session did last for a long time. Him and Paul couldn’t help it, they did go on and on until they finally went limp. The aching between his legs was still there, but had lessened a lot. With a kiss on your nose, he made plans for the next time you opened your eyes.
#embry call#paul lahote#embry call smut#paul lahote smut#x reader#reader smut#reader imagine#smut with plot#smut#smut with feelings#fanfic#y/n#y/n imagines#x you smut#x y/n#wolfpack#embry call x reader#embry call x you#quileute
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ADDRESSING THE CLAIMS MADE.
Alright, let’s dive into this because I’m done with all the shade and the half-truths. I want to address every single claim that’s been thrown my way and clear my name once and for all. It’s honestly exhausting, but I’m not gonna sit back and let this slide without setting the record straight.
First things first: “the format. the exact. same. format. i’m talking down to the sparkle gif divider i put in all my posts.” Really? The format is the same? Okay, let’s get this straight. I took inspo from her page theme, yes, but I did not copy her writing. I’m 110% sure she used AI just like I did (Oh, and just so we’re clear, I even ran some of her content through an AI detector to make sure I wasn’t making baseless claims. And guess what? The same content she used as “proof” during this whole “clap back”? Yeah, it came up as AI-generated too and will be at the end of the thread. So, if we’re gonna throw stones, let’s not forget about the glass house.) That’s fine, but if she’s mad because we both got the same suggestions, that’s on the AI, not me. I adjusted what the AI gave me to fit my style and beliefs, and guess what? That’s MY version. But if the AI generates similar outputs for both of us, that’s not my fault. I adjusted it, made it my own, added my personal flair to it and adjusted based on my beliefs. The fact that we’re both getting similar results from an AI tool is honestly just how it works. Don’t get mad at me because we used the same resource. If you’re gonna use AI and get mad when it spits out the same ideas for both of us, please, that’s on you. We both used a tool to get a similar outcome. If it bothers her so much, maybe STOP using the same damn AI.
Now, she’s saying, “when i called it out…WITHOUT EVEN TAGGING her…she BLOCKED me…hello? what????” Here’s the truth: She NEVER communicated with me directly. She didn’t tag me. She didn’t come to me with any questions. She blocked me immediately, and then, when I saw that, I blocked her back. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to beg someone for a conversation after they’ve already cut me off. When you block someone, you’re pretty much telling them you don’t want to talk. So that’s exactly what I did. It’s not about being petty—it’s about respecting the boundaries she set by blocking me first. She didn’t give me a chance to explain, and honestly? Why would I disrespect her boundaries and keep trying to converse when she blocked me? guess what? I WILL NOT 💀. Like, she made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk—so what am I supposed to do, chase her down and beg? Absolutely not. I’m not about to run after someone who clearly doesn’t want any part of it. That’s just not the vibe I’m on. She blocked me, I blocked her back. Simple as that. Respect her space? Absolutely. Do I need to grovel for a conversation? No.
She claims everything is the same: “everything is the same. like, everything.” But again, we’re dealing with AI-generated content here. If the same themes and formats show up, it’s because AI is doing its job and generating suggestions based on common topics. It doesn’t mean I’m copying. It means we’re both using the same tool and getting similar results. AI is an incredibly helpful tool, and I used it to create something that spoke to me personally. She’s the one getting upset because we have similar outcomes. Like, what are you supposed to do? Stop using AI because it’s giving the same suggestions to multiple people? Doesn’t make sense. If it bothers her that much, she could always stop using it. Simple fix.
Then, she says: “why write about ‘parallel selves’ and just regurgitate what i wrote about parallel selves.” I’m gonna address this right now. The idea of parallel selves is not exclusive to her. It’s a concept that many people talk about, and if I came across the same ideas, it’s because they’re common themes in discussions about reality, identity, and multiple selves. She didn’t invent the concept of parallel selves, and the fact that she thinks she can claim ownership over that is pretty wild. Literally, parallel selves are a core concept in multiverse theory, which the majority of the shifting community believes in—like, hello??! I didn’t copy her thoughts, I expanded on a well-known concept that’s been discussed by many. If she wants to act like she invented it, fine, but she’s not the only one writing about it.
And her little passive-aggressive comment: “I could go onto this blog and think it was my posts. i did think it was my posts for a second there.” Oh, so now you’re flattered that my content looks like yours? Well, that’s funny because I didn’t steal your writing. I simply took inspiration from your page theme. But to act like I completely copied your posts? That’s a stretch. I’ve got my own thoughts, my own style. But you’re mad because you think I’m stealing your thunder? Sorry, but you can’t own topics. Everyone talks about similar things. Get over it.
Her next point, “if you’re gonna copy, just put an ‘IB.’” Girl, I didn’t copy. I took inspiration from your page theme—not your content. If I had copied, I would’ve credited you, but I didn’t steal your words. That’s not how this works. And if you can’t understand the difference between “taking inspo” and “copying,” that’s on you. Don’t try to flip this around like I’m the one in the wrong when I clearly didn’t steal your work. If you want to see real copying, look at how you’re calling out other people who do the exact same thing to you. You’ve done the same thing to others, and yet here you are, acting like you’re above it. Hypocrisy much?
She says: “i was fully prepared to just let it go. i saw the block and thought, fine, bury yourself in my copycat corner alongside with the other gals in there.” She’s acting like I care that she blocked me, but it’s her actions that are the problem. I wasn’t trying to start drama, but the fact that she decided to block me without communicating is what led to all this. And then she acts like I’m the one who’s in the wrong? No, sweetie, that’s on you. You blocked me without talking to me, and now you’re complaining because I didn’t care.
And her final line: “If you’re gonna copy, just put an ‘IB.’ it’s not hard. people do it with my posts all the time.” Well, guess what? I didn’t copy. I took inspo from a page theme. There’s a difference. So maybe instead of focusing on me, she should focus on the people who actually copy and paste her posts without crediting. I didn’t do that. I adjusted it to my own voice, and if that’s a problem for her, then maybe she should stop being so territorial over themes and start looking at the bigger picture: you use AI—what do you expect? AI is going to generate similar outputs for different people, especially when we’re all using similar prompts. It’s not some big mystery. I used AI to generate my own version, just like you did. It’s all about adjusting to make it your own, which is exactly what I did. So, let’s not pretend like I’m out here stealing your work.
Also, not to be disrespectful, but she doesn’t have anything pinned about not taking inspo from her theme? Like, how was I supposed to know? Genuinely, if she never expressed that on her page, I don’t see why I should’ve assumed it was off-limits. But for future reference, I’ll 100% be asking creators before using similar themes.
I’ve actually been doing beauty scripting on my TikTok since 2023, and I brought it over here because, well, TikTok might be banned in the US soon! So yeah, I’ve always been into beauty scripting content. The proof will be down below, and if it comes to it, I can link my TikTok page for proof. It’s something I’ve been doing for a while now. It gained a lot of attention, and I started getting tons of requests, so I kept going with it because people were really enjoying it. When I heard about the TikTok ban, I created a backup for my followers and continued posting the same content here on Tumblr for them.
Also It’s funny that you say this, especially when I see comments like, “I’m not asking for much!!!!!!!!! just a crumb of originality. a flicker of creativity that isn’t my own being paraded around in a bad disguise.” But, I’m curious… if you’re asking for originality, why is it that you rely on AI for your work? Seems like a bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?
In conclusion, I took inspo from her page theme, I tried to credit, but she blocked me before I had a chance to. So, I blocked her back. I’m not going to beg someone to talk to me after they’ve blocked me. And honestly, this whole thing is ridiculous. AI gave similar outputs, and we’re both working with the same tool. If that’s an issue for her, then maybe she should rethink how she’s using it. But please, don’t act like I’m the one in the wrong when I didn’t even steal her writing. It’s AI, the same concept, and if she’s upset by it, that’s her problem, not mine.
This is the last time I’m addressing this, and after this, I’m done. So keep that same energy, and move on. @hrrtshape. This is how you @ someone and make it clear if you didn’t know. You could’ve just said something directly instead of letting things spiral, but I get it. Some people like to throw shade instead of communicating. Anyway, we’re done here. Carry on.
SOME QUOTES I WANTED TO ADDRESS:
HER QUOTE. “i was fully prepared to just let it go. i saw the block and thought, fine, bury yourself in my copycat corner alongside with the other gals in there. i was ready to let her simmer in her little lurker shame. not my monkeys not my circus.”
MY RESPONSE. YOU blocked ME. You buried yourself in a block corner first, and then you want to talk about shame? You couldn’t even communicate before you went for the block button. If you were truly prepared to let it go, why even throw shade in the first place? We both know your energy didn’t match your words. Also, I don’t know what kind of circus you think you’re running, but it’s clearly full of miscommunication and assumptions.
Now, about the “copycat” claim. You want me to credit you for what? You’re out here using AI yourself. That’s not exactly original either, is it? If you’re going to get upset about similar outcomes, maybe step away from the AI for a bit—because, spoiler alert, it’s going to give similar outputs. That’s how it works, babe.
HER QUOTE. “I’m NOT asking for much!!!!!!!!! just a crumb of originality. a flicker of creativity that isn’t my own being paraded around in a bad disguise.”
Let’s talk about this real quick. You want creativity? Where was that originality when you let the machine / AI do all the work for you? The irony is off the charts. You want a “crumb of originality”? How about you start by not relying on AI to spit out the same ideas it gives to everyone else? It’s wild how you can demand creativity when you don’t even create from scratch. If you want something entirely unique, maybe focus on creating it completely on your own instead of expecting everyone else to somehow avoid overlapping themes. Just a thought.
HER QUOTE. “and if you can’t bring yourself to credit me, maybe go make your own ideas? wild thought, i know.”
MY RESPONSE. Girl… I’ve been making my own ideas, but let’s not act like you’re above it all. You use AI too, so the hypocrisy is wild. It’s not bad to use it, but if you’re gonna be mad about overlap, maybe don’t rely on the same tech that gives similar outputs to everyone. If you want everything to be completely original, start creating from scratch. Simple.
HER QUOTE. “when i called it out…..WITHOUT EVEN TAGGING her….she BLOCKED me.…hello? what???? you weren’t even following me, so why are you lurking so hard. the math isn’t mathing and it’s not just because i’m failing it. i’m flattered. in a ‘please don’t’ kind of way”
MY RESPONSE. First of all, when did this “call-out” happen? Because we’ve never even had a conversation, so what’s this about? You’re sitting here saying I blocked you after you called me out, but where’s the proof? When did that even happen? I didn’t get tagged, no messages, nothing. You’re lying, and it’s really giving “trying to make up a story” vibes. Maybe instead of lying, you should just learn to communicate with people before jumping to conclusions.
If that’s not true, please send me the evidence of you expressing your boundaries to me or even saying anything to me before I supposedly blocked you first. Because, as far as I’m concerned, we’ve never even had a conversation. I’m waiting. Seriously. Where’s the proof of me blocking you after you supposedly called me out? Because I’m not seeing it, and if you’re going to make these claims, at least back them up with something other than a made-up story. Maybe try communicating next time before jumping to conclusions.
And for the record, if you saw my posts, it’s probably because you were stalking my feed, not the other way around. Don’t flip the script and act like I’m the one who wasn’t communicating when you were the one who blocked me first. Like……
EVIDENCE FOR YOU ALL.
AI GENERATED CONTENT:
(These are just the ones I’ve checked so far, but if y’all want me to, I can check more of her posts, and I’m willing to bet they’ll come back with the same result. Again, I’m not saying using AI is bad, but when it generates similar ideas to others, you can’t just get angry about it. If that’s a problem, maybe try making your content from scratch instead of relying on AI for the same output. Just a thought.)
HER BLOCKED ACCOUNT:
(Also, here’s some proof. I just unblocked her and still can’t see her account. We’ve never even conversed at ALL before. How was I supposed to know I upset her or even communicate with her? Like, if you’re going to do a “clap back,” don’t be shy—@ me and stand on what you’re saying. It’s wild to me that she’s coming for me, but doesn’t even have the guts to face me directly. And honestly, that weird shit is what started all of this. Instead of coming to me with a real conversation, she blocked me then got upset when I did not care 💀, it’s just petty, passive-aggressive energy. If you’re mad, then say it. Don’t dance around it, because that just makes the whole thing look childish. If you wanna call me out, do it like an adult, not hiding behind your screen and acting like you’ve got all the answers.)
(I took inspo from your page theme, and I do apologize for that. Though, I think that apology isn’t really necessary on my part, considering how you handled this entire situation. The bottom line is, I didn’t know it upset you, and you didn’t communicate that to me. If you had, maybe this could’ve been handled better. But instead, you went straight for the block button without saying a word. So now here we are, and I’m just saying: clear communication goes both ways.)
HER ABOUT ME POST (TO SPECIFIC):
(I see that you’re serious about originality and no copycats, but I never crossed the line of copying your writing. I took inspiration from your page aesthetic, which I didn’t think was an issue since you didn’t specifically mention that in your “About Me” post. So, I didn’t know it upset you. And again, clear communication goes both ways. I think we could’ve avoided all this if you’d just said something instead of blocking me without any heads up)
BEAUTY SCRIPTING VIDEOS PROOF:
(This is my first beauty scripting post I ever posted, along with a few more receipts to verify. If this is not enough, I can 100% link my TikTok to back up what I’m saying. I never copied any of your writing, and I’ll stand on that. Let’s get this straight: I’m not out here stealing anyone’s writing or ideas. I’ve been doing this for years, and if you feel some type of way about it, that’s on you. At the end of the day, I’m doing my thing, and you’re the one mad about it. Keep the same energy. I’m not going to back down, and I’m not going to let anyone try to rewrite this narrative.)
(Also, I didn’t include all the slides of my first beauty scripting post because there’s a limit to how many photos you can add on Tumblr. I can either make a separate post or just link my TikTok if you’d like to see them for more evidence.)
#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifters#shifting antis dni#shifting blog#shifting community#shifting realities#shifting#shifttok
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Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 7: closer than this
When Jimin asks you to move in with him, your joy is boundless—a happiness too vast for words, spilling over like sunlight after a storm. The promise of shared mornings and quiet evenings feels like a dream unfolding before your eyes. Dinner with his family awaits, a warm gathering where love feels as familiar as the air you breathe. And then, in the soft glow of an intimate moment, he plays you a song—a melody born of his heart and written just for you. Each note weaves into your soul, filling it with a love so pure, you wonder if it’s possible to feel this much and still remain whole.
→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)→ Word count: 6k → Warnings + triggers: some kissing, a few heated moments, gentle neck biting (I’m so sorry), honestly it’s just fluffy filler. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: okay, so… confession time. I’m really not thrilled with how this chapter turned out. Like, at all 😩 But, the thought of rewriting it? Nope, not happening. So here it is, in all its filler-y glory. Cue dramatic sigh. Buuuut! Don’t let my self-doubt fool you—there are still a few moments in here that I totally adore (no spoilers, but trust me, they’re cute enough to make me smile despite my whining 🥹). Think of it like a tiny treasure hunt for the soft bits I actually love. So, while I’m over here talking down my own chapter (why am I like this?), I really hope you enjoy it anyway! And hey, if you find something you like in it, let me know so I can stop side-eyeing myself for posting it in the first place ✨ This whole story is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜
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Jimin stirs beside you, his body shifting under the soft cocoon of the blankets. A low, sleepy grunt escapes his lips, and your heart swells at the sight before you. Waking up next to him feels like a whispered blessing, a sacred ritual you never want to end. His face, slightly puffy from sleep, carries a boyish charm that makes your chest ache in the best way. His cheeks are kissed with a soft pink hue, and his plush, pillowy lips part slightly as he exhales. You can’t help yourself—you stare, memorizing every perfect detail.
He stretches languidly, his body unfurling with a contented groan, like a cat basking in the first rays of sunlight. His voice is husky when he murmurs, “Why are you staring?” His eyes, still heavy with sleep, flutter open to meet yours.
A chuckle escapes your lips as your fingers begin to trace the bare planes of his warm skin, your touch light as a feather. “Because you look so pretty,” you whisper, your voice sincere, tinged with awe. “So beautiful.”
His lips curve into a soft, sleepy smile, his blonde hair sticking out at wild angles, like a crown that refuses to sit neatly. “Mhh... so do you,” he replies, his voice like velvet, the edges frayed with tenderness.
You giggle as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, his touch sending ripples of butterflies through your stomach. The intimacy of it—his warmth, his scent, the gentle rhythm of his breathing—is almost overwhelming.
He pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck as though he’s trying to merge with you completely. “I love waking up next to you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your collarbone. “Won’t you stay in my bed forever?” His words are soft, almost shy, but they carry the weight of his longing.
Another giggle bubbles from you as you kiss the messy crown of his head, your lips lingering against the silken strands. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
The question hangs in the air like a melody, sweet and tender, as you wait for him to respond. You can feel his breath against your skin, the pause in his movements as he considers your words.
He shifts, burrowing even closer, his face pressing just on top of your breasts, as though he’s hiding from the vulnerability of the moment. But then his eyes find yours, dark and soulful, glimmering with sincerity. “If I say yes,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, “will you move in with me?”
Your heart leaps, the warmth of his question spreading through your chest like sunlight breaking through clouds. You shimmy down to meet him at eye level, your noses almost brushing as you gaze deeply into his soft brown eyes. “Minie,” you breathe, your voice trembling with affection, “yes, you silly fool.”
His lips curve into a radiant smile, one that feels like it could outshine the sun. Then he’s kissing you—long, deep, and full of a love so profound it makes your toes curl. His groan vibrates against your lips, a sound that sends heat pooling in your chest.
It doesn’t take long before the two of you are tangled in his sheets, limbs entwined, hearts beating in harmony. The world outside fades away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace, the sweetness of his touch, and the promise of mornings like this—mornings that now belong to the both of you.
“He did what?” Namjoon’s voice shoots up an octave, too loud for the serene intimacy of the tiny café. Heads turn, but he doesn’t care—he’s too busy gaping at you like you’ve just confessed to eloping with a celebrity.
You roll your eyes at his dramatics, stirring your tea with an exaggerated calmness. “He asked me to move in with him,” you repeat, your tone deliberately flat, though a small smile plays at the edges of your lips.
Namjoon sets his herbal tea down with an audible clink, his dimples peeking as he breaks into a mischievous grin. “Next thing you know, he’ll be asking for your hand in marriage!” he giggles, his voice bubbling with delight.
“Joonie!” you protest, slapping his arm playfully before crossing yours in mock indignation. “I’m in no rush.”
“But your ovaries are,” he quips, his eyebrows dancing with teasing mischief. The cheekiness in his eyes is almost too much.
You let out an exasperated sigh, shaking your head at him. “I don’t even know if I want kids,” you reply, your tone softening as you scold him lovingly. “And besides, Hwa-Young is cute, and she’s more than enough for me.”
Namjoon tilts his head, considering this with a playful smirk. “But wouldn’t you want his kids? His angelic face and your fiery stubbornness?”
Your jaw drops, and you narrow your eyes, feigning outrage. “Hey! Why are you calling me stubborn?”
“Because it’s the truth,” he says matter-of-factly, his dimples deepening with his chuckle. “But don’t worry, you’re cute stubborn. And let’s face it, you’d make adorable babies.” He takes another sip of his tea, entirely unbothered by your mock glare.
You groan, fanning your hand dramatically in the air as though you could waft the topic away. “Can we not talk about kids?” You’re trying to sound annoyed, but there’s an undeniable flicker of hesitation in your voice. You don’t even know if you want children—and truth be told, the thought kind of terrifies you. Yet, the image of a little human with Jimin’s angelic features and your fire… well, it doesn’t seem entirely unappealing.
Namjoon catches the shift in your expression, but for once, he spares you. “Fine,” he sighs theatrically, rolling his eyes so dramatically it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. Leaning over the table, he fixes you with a curious look. “Since you’re moving in with lover boy and all… does that mean your tiny house is up for rent?”
You blink at him, caught entirely off guard. It’s like your brain suddenly freezes, the gears grinding to a halt.
“I’m asking if I can rent your house,” he clarifies, shaking his head as though you’re the one being ridiculous. “You know, be your new next-door neighbor?”
“Oh,” you finally manage, your brain kicking back into gear. “You… you want to move away from the city?” You lean in now, your voice tinged with surprise.
Namjoon laughs, the sound warm and full of life, like sunlight spilling into the quiet café. “Yeah,” he says, his tone softening into something more thoughtful. “I just want to disconnect from everything—the hustle and bustle, the chaos, the noise. I want to wake up to birdsong instead of traffic. I think… I think it’ll help me finish my poetry book.”
Your heart softens at his words, and you can’t help the fond smile that blooms on your face. That’s so Namjoon, always craving a deeper connection with nature and himself. While the city has always suited your pace, the quiet rhythms of the countryside feel like a natural extension of him.
“I’ll call the property manager and ask,” you say warmly, your smile widening. “I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Thank you,” he beams, his face lighting up like the sun breaking through clouds. His dimples deepen, making your heart ache a little with how much you love this man—as your best friend, your constant. “See?” he teases, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “That’s why you’re my favorite person in the world.”
Jimin is scared, though he’s trying not to let it show. In less than an hour, his parents and Jiwoo’s mom will arrive for brunch, and the thought makes his chest tighten. He glances at you as you pace in the kitchen, nervously fussing over every detail of the spread you’ve been perfecting together. The sight makes his heart ache and swell all at once. He hopes—no, prays—that they’ll love you as much as he does.
You bite your lip, turning the skillet off and double-checking the table settings. Jimin notices how you’ve placed everything just right: the folded napkins, the sparkling cutlery, the colorful medley of fruits, pastries, and steaming dishes. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know,” he murmurs softly, stepping closer to place a calming hand on your back. “Just having you here is enough.”
You smile nervously, letting out a shaky laugh. “I just want to make a good impression. They’re important to you… so they’re important to me.”
Jimin swallows hard, trying to quell the nerves bubbling in his chest. He doesn’t say it, but watching you care so deeply about this moment makes him love you even more.
In the living room, Hwa-Young’s laughter fills the space as she plays on the Playstation, blissfully unaware of the tension in the kitchen. Somehow, her carefree joy is a small comfort. Together, you and Jimin finish preparing the meal and set the table, just in time for the doorbell to ring.
The sound echoes through the house, and Jimin feels his heart lurch. He casts you a fleeting glance, but you’re already heading for the door, a warm smile blooming on your face.
When you greet his parents and younger brother, it’s as if you’ve known them for years. You embrace them with open arms, your laughter light and sincere, and Jimin watches, stunned. Even Jiwoo’s mom, who is often reserved, pulls you into a tight hug, her warmth wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. Jimin’s chest feels lighter; seeing you fit so naturally into the fabric of his family almost brings tears to his eyes. Jiwoo’s mom has always been like a second mother to him, and the way you seem to melt into her affection makes his heart ache with gratitude.
Once everyone is seated, the room fills with the soft symphony of voices and clinking plates. For a moment, Jimin sits back, letting it all sink in. You’ve gone from nervous to radiant, seated comfortably beside his mother, the two of you chatting like old friends. His mother’s laugh is genuine as you share a story, and it’s clear—she already adores you.
Jiwoo’s mom, with her gentle smile, leans toward you. “Tell me about yourself, dear,” she says, her tone warm but curious.
You don’t hesitate. With a grace that Jimin finds utterly captivating, you share bits of your life, your interests, and even a few small confessions about your quirks and dreams. But it’s when you ask about Jiwoo—her childhood, her favorite memories—that Jimin feels his breath catch. You don’t shy away from her, even knowing the tender place she holds in his heart. You include her, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely want to. The depth of your kindness leaves him awestruck.
The meal feels like a dream, soft and golden with moments of laughter and connection. When you excuse yourself to the bathroom, leaving the table momentarily quiet, Jimin finds himself the subject of his family’s attention.
“Jimin,” his mother begins softly, her smile warm, “she’s so sweet. You’ve found someone special.”
Jiwoo’s mom nods in agreement, her gaze tender. “She’s good for you, Jimin. I’ve noticed—you smile so much more now.”
Hwa-Young chimes in with an excited squeal, her fork clattering onto her plate. “Y/N is the best! She tucks me in every night! I love her!”
Jimin’s mother raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Sleeping over often, huh?” she quips, leaning in conspiratorially.
Before Jimin can respond, you return, stepping into the warm bubble of conversation. You slide back into your seat beside him, your presence instantly grounding him. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer. His voice is soft but steady when he says, “She’s actually moving in soon.”
The room stills, and then it erupts into coos and approving smiles.
You laugh, your cheeks flushing as you glance at him. “I mean, I’ve practically been living here for weeks,” you admit with a shy grin, “so it just felt right to make it official. Plus…” You glance over at Hwa-Young and ruffle her hair. “With Jimin and Hwa-Young, it’s hard not to fall in love.”
The words hang in the air, warm and glowing, like sunlight filtering through a window. Jimin’s heart swells, the love he feels for you blooming like wildflowers in spring. Without thinking, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. The room fills with teasing laughter and gentle applause, but Jimin doesn’t care.
All he knows is that this moment, this day, feels like the beginning of something beautiful. As the brunch winds down and everyone lingers in the warmth of one another’s company, Jimin knows he’s made the right choice in bringing you into his world.
The thought lingers as the dishes are cleared and soft goodbyes are exchanged. One day soon, he’ll have to meet your family too. And while the thought might scare him a little, for now, all he feels is gratitude—for you, for this, for everything.
“Y/N! Can I take these bags for you?” Hwa-Young chirps, her small arms struggling to balance an assortment of your handbags. Her enthusiasm makes you chuckle, and you nod, watching as she wobbles toward Jimin’s house with the determination of someone far older than her years.
The move is chaotic, but in the best way. Living next door to Jimin has its perks—packing up your life doesn’t require boxes, just an endless supply of bags and suitcases. It’s not conventional, but neither are you, and this casual, almost whimsical transition feels perfect for the life you’re about to share with him.
Jimin and Yoongi haul your belongings back and forth with ease, their banter punctuating the warm afternoon air. Meanwhile, Namjoon is perched in the shade, savoring a rare cigarette. You glance at him, the curl of smoke winding upward like a whispered secret, and shake your head fondly. You’ll never quite understand why he still smokes, but you let him be.
When Namjoon finally crushes the cigarette underfoot, he joins the others, his broad frame adding strength to the effort. Together, they tackle the larger furniture, though you’ve already decided most of it will stay behind. Namjoon has happily claimed the bulk of it for his new place, and the thought of easing his upcoming move makes you smile.
By the time the last of your things is nestled into Jimin’s house—which now feels like your house—dusk has begun to settle. The fading sunlight bathes the world in shades of gold and lavender, a soft farewell to the day. There’s laughter in the air as Namjoon and Yoongi hug you goodbye, their embraces warm and lingering. They promise to see you in a few days when it’s Namjoon’s turn to relocate, and you wave them off, feeling the weight of the day slowly give way to a tender stillness.
With Hwa-Young spending the night at her grandmother’s house, the evening stretches before you like a gift, wrapped in quiet possibility. After a simple dinner, you find yourself curled on the sofa, enveloped in Jimin’s arms. His scent surrounds you—warm and soothing, a blend of subtle musk and something uniquely him. You nuzzle closer, pressing your cheek to his chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Jimin’s face, bare of makeup, is a masterpiece in its own right. The delicate scatter of his beauty marks catches your attention, and you trace them lightly with your fingertips, marveling at their perfection. He hums softly at your touch, his voice a low vibration that makes you feel entirely at home.
“I was wondering something, Minie…” you begin, your voice soft, hesitant.
He tilts his head, meeting your gaze with those impossibly deep brown eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, his voice rich and grounding, like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning.
You bite your lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “If you could… teach me a song? I don’t know how to play, but maybe…” Your words trail off, and you shrug lightly, suddenly shy. “Maybe you could teach me a few lines and chords?”
Jimin’s lips curve into a smile, soft and full of promise. “Of course,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Music isn’t just something you play, you know. It’s something you feel. And I think you’d be beautiful at it.”
His words settle over you like a gentle melody, and you can’t help but lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet. For now, the night belongs to the two of you, and the thought of creating music together—of learning something new in the presence of his boundless patience and love—feels like the beginning of something extraordinary.
He smiles, his lips curving into a soft crescent, then chuckles lightly, his breath warm as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “Of course I want to teach you, babe,” he murmurs, his voice feather-light yet rich with affection, though you can see the faint traces of weariness in his eyes from the long day of moving.
“I’ll just grab my guitar,” he says, rising with fluid ease. The warmth of him leaves you, and suddenly the air feels cooler, emptier, in his absence.
From the corner of your eye, you watch him disappear into the studio, his figure silhouetted by the dim light spilling from the hallway. When he reemerges, your breath catches for just a moment. His loose green pants sway with each step, the soft fabric clinging just enough to hint at the beauty of his form. The crisp white Dior shirt seems almost too perfect, offset by the delightful disarray of his blonde hair—tufts sticking out as though kissed by the wind. And the way he moves—it’s as if he’s gliding, his presence magnetic and unhurried.
He returns to the couch and sits beside you, though the smooth wooden curve of the guitar creates a small but noticeable distance between you. His fingers glide over the strings as he adjusts the tuning, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. Then he glances up, offering you a shy smile, his teeth grazing his lower lip. That small, endearing nervousness stirs something tender in your chest. Why is he nervous? He has nothing to be nervous about; he’s perfection in motion.
“I’ll just play you the chorus to this song I’ve been working on,” he says, his voice like a gentle murmur of waves meeting the shore. Then he exhales, his lashes fluttering closed as his fingers find their place on the strings.
The first chord hums through the air, resonant and warm, and when his voice emerges, it’s soft yet steady, like the golden hues of the setting sun wrapping you in an embrace:
“‘Cause anything you want me (I’ll be), right here where you call me (I’ll be). I could never let you go. Never let you go. Whenever you need me (I’ll be). If you believe me (I’ll be). I’ll never let you go. Never let you go.”
The melody drifts around you, tender and evocative, but it’s the words—the promise woven into them—that settle deep into your chest, filling spaces you didn’t even know were empty. His voice carries the weight of devotion, each note vibrating against your soul, leaving you breathless and tingling with emotion.
“That’s so beautiful, Minie,” you whisper, your voice soft, almost reverent. You reach out, your fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing over the blush that blooms across his cheek. His skin is warm under your touch, and the sight of his flustered smile makes your heart stutter.
He turns his face slightly, pressing a kiss to your hand before gently lowering it. “Here,” he says, passing the guitar to you, his eyes glowing with quiet encouragement.
The instrument feels unfamiliar in your lap, its polished surface cool and solid against your skin. The weight of it startles you—it’s not just the physical heft but the unspoken challenge it carries. You’re suddenly hyperaware of your inexperience, of how clumsy your fingers might feel against the strings.
You glance up at him, your nerves betraying you in the form of a hesitant smile. This is Jimin, you remind yourself—the man who makes music as effortlessly as he breathes. And now you’re supposed to attempt something so sacred in front of him? Doubt stirs in your chest, threatening to take root, but the soft warmth of his gaze stops it from growing.
“You’re doing great already,” he whispers, leaning in just slightly, his voice a balm against your nerves.
You take a deep breath, steadying your trembling hands. No, you won’t let the moment slip away. This isn’t just about learning chords—it’s about learning to create something together, to share in the beauty of the music that connects you both.
His hands brush against yours, warm and steady, grounding you in the moment as they gently curl around your fingers. He moves them with care, positioning them precisely on the neck of the guitar. “So, for the first chord,” he begins, his voice as soft as a lullaby, “it’s a C.”
His fingers linger for a second longer, ensuring your placement is perfect. “This one’s easy,” he adds, a playful lilt in his tone, like he’s sharing a secret meant just for you.
You chuckle softly, your fingers squeezing the guitar’s neck as you press into the strings. The pressure feels odd but exhilarating, like the beginning of something magical.
“Yeah, just like that,” he says, his hand retreating slowly, leaving a gentle echo of warmth behind. “Now, try strumming with your other hand.”
The first stroke of your fingers over the strings sends a vibrant hum into the air. The sound is soft yet resonant, a whisper of potential. You feel the vibrations ripple through the guitar resting on your lap, as if it, too, is alive beneath your touch. Your lips part in a joyous squeal, the chord ringing in the air like a small triumph.
“That’s great, babe,” he says, his face glowing with pride, his lips curving into a smile so bright it makes your heart flutter. His hand finds yours again, guiding you with infinite patience.
“For the next one, we’re moving into a D minor chord,” he explains, his fingers effortlessly coaxing yours into position. It’s a delicate dance, his hand shaping yours as if you were molding clay. You follow his lead, and when the chord finally sings out under your strum, you giggle, a delighted burst of sound that draws a wide smile from him.
Jimin’s eyes crinkle at the edges, disappearing into soft crescents of happiness for a fleeting moment. “Iiih! I did it!” you exclaim, and he laughs along with you, the sound as sweet and light as sunlight filtering through sheer curtains.
“Okay,” he says, his voice steady but encouraging, “the next one is an F chord. This one’s a little trickier.” His hands move yours again, tilting your fingers just so. “You’ll want to keep your pointer finger here,” he instructs, pressing it firmly but gently across the strings, “and the rest like this.”
You try to follow his lead, but the position feels strange, almost awkward. Your pointer finger trembles slightly under the tension, the strings biting softly into your skin. When you strum, the sound that emerges is uneven, a little raw, but not entirely unpleasant.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, like a balm to your frustration. His hand returns to yours, adjusting, steadying. “Try pressing down a little harder with your pointer finger.”
You take a deep breath, focusing, and strum again. This time, the chord rings fuller, more complete, like the first step toward harmony.
Jimin’s face lights up, a quiet pride radiating from him. “Yeah, like that,” he says, and the approval in his tone makes you blush, heat blooming across your cheeks.
He shifts a little closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. “So, the last chord is a G,” he says, demonstrating the positioning with his own hand. His fingers move with the grace of someone who’s done this a thousand times, yet his excitement makes it feel like the first.
“For this one, you’ll need to grip it like this,” he says, curling his fingers into position. You study the shape, then carefully try to replicate it on the guitar, your hand fumbling slightly. His hands cover yours once more, adjusting with infinite care, until your fingers find their rightful place.
“Perfect,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. The word feels like a spark, igniting a quiet confidence within you.
You strum, the chord blooming from the guitar like a sigh of relief, and your laughter spills into the space between you. The sound is rich and bright, a testament to shared effort and quiet victories.
“Yeah! That’s perfect!” Jimin exclaims, his face lighting up with pride. “It’s just those four chords for the chorus: C, D minor, F, and G. Then you just repeat.”
His words float around you, warm and reassuring, as you place your fingers back onto the neck of the guitar. Tentatively, you begin practicing the transitions between chords, your focus narrowing to the small, deliberate movements of your fingers. The strings bite softly against your skin, but you don’t mind—it feels like progress, like you’re molding music out of silence.
Jimin leans in slightly, watching your movements with that ever-present patience. “Yes, like that,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, laced with encouragement that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You can feel the pride radiating from him, and it fuels your determination to keep trying.
Once the placement feels natural, you decide to take it a step further. “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” you say, glancing at him with a tentative nod. You test the waters, strumming lightly while shifting between the chords.
He beams, his smile as bright as sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’re doing amazing,” he reassures you.
You laugh, a nervous edge to it as you glance back down at the guitar. “I wanna try to play it all. But, uh… I can’t sing to save my life,” you admit, a self-deprecating giggle slipping from your lips.
Jimin chuckles, shaking his head in gentle disbelief. “Don’t worry,” he says, his hand coming to rest lightly on your arm, grounding you. “Singing isn’t about perfection, it’s about heart. I’ll help you.”
His words send a warmth coursing through you, and you take a steadying breath, your fingers finding their place for the first chord. You strum, the sound trembling into existence, and tentatively sing the first line.
Jimin nods along, his expression open and encouraging, quietly cueing you when to switch chords. The music begins to flow, imperfect but sincere, and then, when you least expect it, his voice joins yours.
His angelic tone melts seamlessly into the melody, carrying the words with a quiet power. On the line, “I could never let you go,” his voice swells, wrapping around yours like a protective embrace.
Your heart stumbles, a warmth so overwhelming it feels like it might burst. Yet somehow, you keep going, despite the way his presence fills you with emotions you can hardly contain. His voice transforms your own, lifting it into something you barely recognize—something tender, raw, and beautiful.
The song comes to an end, the final chord vibrating softly in the air, and the silence that follows is almost sacred. For a moment, you sit frozen, your heart racing. Then Jimin bursts into laughter, his joy spilling out in radiant waves as he claps his hands together.
“That was so good, babe!” he says, his voice overflowing with affection. He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s as sweet as it is full of love.
You pull back just slightly, your cheeks burning as you glance away bashfully. “It’s only because you’re such a good teacher,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.
Jimin’s hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the warmth there as he gazes at you with eyes so full of love they take your breath away. “No,” he murmurs, his tone like a melody all its own, “it’s because you’re amazing.”
A blush creeps across your cheeks as you set the guitar carefully beside the coffee table. Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around Jimin, pulling him close, feeling the quiet thrum of his laughter vibrate through his chest. His giggles are soft, sweet, a melody only you are lucky enough to hear.
Your lips press gently against the curve of his neck, leaving feather-light kisses that trail like whispers over his warm skin. He squirms beneath you, his breath hitching as you teasingly flick your tongue across his pulse point. “Yah, babe, you’re tickling me,” he giggles, his voice breaking into a high, airy laugh that makes your heart flutter.
But you don’t stop—you can’t. His laughter is infectious, a sound so pure and intoxicating that you want to drown in it. You kiss him again, this time biting down softly, just enough to make him shiver. His hands respond instinctively, trailing down the curve of your body, settling possessively at your hips.
“Stop it,” he says through his giggles, his words lacking conviction as your lips continue their playful exploration. Slowly, deliberately, you move to his ear, your teeth grazing the delicate edge as you murmur, your voice a low, teasing purr, “Are you really sure you want me to stop?”
You shift your body against his, and his sharp inhale is all the answer you need. The heat between you is electric, his cock pressing insistently against you, betraying his words. For a moment, he struggles to form a coherent thought, his voice roughened by desire. “I’m so tired,” he breathes, his hands tightening their hold on you, “but maybe… we could take this to our bed, hm?”
Our bed. The phrase lingers in the air, heavy with meaning. You lean closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Our bed… I love the sound of that.” Your words are laced with mischief, and he giggles again, his expression glowing with equal parts adoration and anticipation.
You pull away suddenly, a playful glint in your eyes as you stand and dart toward your shared bedroom. “Catch me if you can!” you call over your shoulder, your laughter ringing out like a challenge.
Jimin doesn’t hesitate. He’s on his feet in an instant, chasing after you, his own giggles filling the space as he matches your energy. The two of you tumble into the bedroom, and before you can even attempt to dive under the covers, he catches you.
With a swift, graceful motion, he pins you to the bed, his hands firm but tender as they press you into the softness of the mattress. His blonde hair falls into his face, disheveled and irresistible, and his smile—oh, his smile—is radiant, melting you completely.
“Got you,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips as his hands roam your sides. And just like that, you’re undone, surrendering entirely to the magnetic pull of him, to the warmth and love that seem to radiate from his very being.
Namjoon sure does have a forest’s worth of plants and an entire library crammed into boxes. As you glance at the back of the moving truck, it’s clear that greenery and words are all he needs to thrive. The truck rumbles gently beneath your hands, and you’re at the wheel—because, honestly, you wouldn’t trust your best friend with something this large. He’s the poet, the dreamer; you’re the one who keeps the wheels turning, quite literally.
“So,” Namjoon begins, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine. “How’s the new place treating you?” His tone is casual, but there’s a knowing lilt to it as he lounges in the passenger seat, one hand draped lazily out the window.
You glance at him briefly, brow quirked. “Loving it. Why?”
A sly laugh escapes him, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “You’ve had this blush for weeks. Constantly. It’s kind of hilarious, actually.”
Your hand instinctively flies to your cheek, the warmth rising instantly as though he’s conjured it. “Really?”
“Don’t worry. It suits you,” he says, smirking at your flustered state. His gaze shifts back to the road ahead, but his words linger in the cab. “It’s a pretty glow. You look… happy.”
And you are. You’re glowing from within, lit by something you can’t quite name but feel everywhere—under your skin, in your pulse, in the way the air tastes sweeter since moving in with Jimin. You think about the small, everyday joys like the quiet hum of him composing with his guitar in his lap, the sound of Hwa-Young’s laughter echoing through the house, the way Jimin’s voice feels like velvet when he calls your name. Love has made everything brighter, softer, and sharper all at once.
“I didn’t realize,” you murmur, your voice low as the truck’s air conditioning tousles your hair. Outside, the August heat clings to the world like the last breath of summer, golden and slow, reluctant to leave.
Namjoon just smiles, turning the volume up on the playlist he’s put together. The truck fills with smooth, sultry R&B, the kind of music that melts time into a puddle. It’s the perfect soundtrack for the drive back—long stretches of road, the hum of cicadas in the distance, and the quiet comfort of friendship.
When you pull into the driveway, a sense of home wraps around you like a warm embrace. Jimin and Yoongi are waiting, their smiles as radiant as the sunlight that spills over them. You love how easily your boyfriend and brother have bonded, their connection as effortless as the summer breeze. Even though Amy has her chaotic moments, they’ve found a way to coexist, and it fills you with quiet gratitude.
As you park the truck, Jimin strides over to your door, opening it with a flourish like some kind of modern-day prince. You barely have time to step out before you’re pulled into his arms, his scent—a mix of citrus and something uniquely him—flooding your senses. He kisses your cheek, a soft press of lips that sends your heart soaring skyward.
“Missed you,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.
You giggle, your arms looping around his neck. It’s only been a few hours, but you get it. You missed him too, in a way that feels silly but utterly sincere. Instead of answering, you kiss him—gentle but full of meaning, hoping it conveys all the words you can’t find right now.
The next hour is a whirlwind of movement, laughter, and boxes. Together, the four of you carry Namjoon’s world into your old house, and it’s fascinating to watch the space transform. Where your life once lived, his begins to take shape—a fiddle-leaf fig in the corner, stacks of books lining the walls like bricks in a fortress of thought.
The move is smooth and quick, the kind of teamwork that leaves you all satisfied and pleasantly tired. By the time you’re done, the sun has dipped low, painting the sky in hues of peach and lavender. You gather around Namjoon’s newly claimed space, sinking into mismatched chairs to share takeout under the glow of warm lights.
As you eat, the atmosphere feels magical in its simplicity. Namjoon leans back, sipping his drink as he surveys his new domain, a contented smile playing on his lips. Yoongi cracks a rare joke, earning a laugh from Jimin, whose dimpled grin is enough to make your chest tighten with love.
You glance at Jimin, his face illuminated by the golden light, and your heart whispers what you already know: this is happiness. This is home.
→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere
→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12 @rinkud @allie-in-the-moon
→ Author’s endnote: okay, real talk—I have no idea how I feel about this chapter 😭 Writing it was like trying to run through molasses while wearing clown shoes. It’s giving very much filler energy, and for that, I am so, so sorry! (Cue dramatic violin music). Maybe it’s just me being in my feelings lately (shoutout to my emotions for being extra messy these past few days), but this chapter kinda feels… meh? Crappy, even? Ugh 😩 But! I’m really hoping the next chapter will be more chef’s kiss because I’ve already got some ideas brewing that make me excited again 🙌 Still, despite all my whining, I really, really hope you found something to love in this one 🫶 And if you did, please tell me because your comments might just rescue me from my writer’s spiral 😂
© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰
#jimin x reader#jimin fanfic#jimin fanfiction#bts jimin fanfic#jimin fic#jimin smut#park jimin x reader#bts jimin x reader#jimin x you#jimin x y/n#jimin x oc#pjm smut#pjm x you#pjm x reader#park jimin#park jimin fanfic#park jimin imagines#park jimin smut#bts smut#bangtan smut#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bangtan fanfic#bangtan x reader#bangtan fic
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I hate it when I headcanon a character who’s canonically a girl as a trans man and make ships of him and a character who’s canonically a guy and I refer to it as a gay/mlm/guyxguy/whatever ship and someone gets mad. Like omg let trans people have FUNNNNN. Why are queer headcanons and genderbends cool until they’re saying that the character is trans???
“OMGGG you’re so misogynistic I can’t believe you would erase FEMALE representation!!!”
and like half of the characters in the franchise are women, and a total of… NONE of the characters are trans men. Also, my headcanon doesn’t change the source material. If my stuff upsets you, you can block me and go engage with the source or maybe every single other fanwork, since mine is the only trans man hc for this character that I’ve ever seen.
or when people are like “WTF??? this is so transphobic!!! how dare you imply that a character who looks like that could be a trans man?!?! do you think that trans men are women or something??? she uses she/her, and you’re misgendering her!”
No, I don’t think that being a trans man makes you a woman or vice versa. That’s why it’s a headcanon, and the headcanon is that this character is actually a trans man and not a woman at all! You’ll never guess what pronouns most trans men had to use at some point in their lives, and you really won’t like it when you find out about pre-(or no-)transition trans men… or trans men who are in the closet… or trans men who don’t know that they’re trans yet.
“But the character is a kid!!! Saying they’re trans is sexualizing them.”
I’ve seen this one from other queer people. Like did you miss when all of the homophobes said this about your identity, or do you think that bigotry is only bad when it’s directed at you?
“Why would you say ‘testosterone could fix her’??? Are you trying to call her a delusional woman?”
Why would your brain even go to that first? This literally has to be a bad faith reading, because there’s no way that someone could see what I said and get this unless they were specifically looking for something to be mad at me for.
(Note for anyone unaware: “Estrogen would’ve fixed him!” was a meme going around at the time I said this. I’m not sure if it’s still super big, but this was a joke to the effect of that.)
“So girls can’t be tomboys anymore? You just wanna trans everyone?”
This is like actual real life transphobic rhetoric. This isn’t even just shitting on my headcanon, but in fact, sending transphobic hate to a trans man. Thanks 👍. Maybe you should go send JK Rowling another message about how much you loved her essay instead of bothering me.
#transgender#trans#trans man#transandrophobia#<- not all of it but the ‘it’s misogynystic to be a trans man!!!’ part is. esp because it’s something that people say about real trans men#is this inspired by a Tik tok about how making male characters women is empowering and making female characters men is misogyny?#(although that post was weirdly about genderbending gay ships? idk why that’s discourse going around 😭😭😭. I miss old fandom sometimes.)#not exactly. although the comments on it sucked. I’ve seen multiple variations of posts like that and all of their comment sections made me#feel like I was wading through raw sewage with how full of shit the commenters were.#I saw one violently threatening anyone who portrays a canon girl as a man (in stupid Tik Tok speak)#oh Feng Min… oh Hilda Pokémon… oh Y PokéSpe… you’re all beautiful young men to me#nonbinary hcs also get you that last one super hard#I haven’t seen as much of this about hcing canon guys as trans girls other than posts where op says ‘name a girl character who (blank)!’-#and then makes an addition that you’re an evil misogynist if you said a MALE!!! (even though Brock Pokémon is a transbian to me </3)#which icks me out so bad. omfg. like she’s a girl to ME!!! so maybe that’s why I’m naming her under a post about GIRLS!!!#I imagine that most of the reason for not hearing much about it is because these types of headcanons just… really aren’t common#so if you have a bunch of experience with headcanoning characters who are canonically men as trans girls and the hate that it gets you then#feel free to add on (and also please talk to me about your headcanons… there are so few of us. we need to stick together!!!)#it’s not derailing despite this post specifically being tagged about trans men#that’s just bc that’s all that I talk about in my original post#this post has been in my drafts in different forms for probably like months#long post#I guess#anyone remember a while back when someone on this app got violently mad that someone put a character (canonically a guy) in the m/m tags on#ao3 bc the guy was hced as trans in the fic#and the post was like ‘grrr the ao3 gender ship things are talking about GENITALS!!! not gender!!! I’m not transphobic though <3.’#so now to imagine what it’s like to hc a character who’s canonically a girl as a trans man just imagine that but it’s worse and also you’re#getting it from other trans people too 👍
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the sooner badboyhalo viewers realize he’s an unreliable narrator the sooner I’ll be able to sleep at night
#qbbh is unreliable he’s a little bit of an asshole he’s the worlds biggest hypocrite he’s self centered and in it for his own interests#he lies for fun he dishes out ‘pranks’ and ‘memes’ but cannot handle it when the role is reversed he needs things to go his way or he’ll#lose his muffins like#and I love it for him! his character can be frustrating sure but it’s fun he plays a good role!!#but bbh chat you are the bug under my shoe. be normal. learn what rp means for the love of god#media literacy! critical thinking! reading anything other than Twitter posts and hot takes please!#I’m once again seeing weird takes and it’s like man. qBad is so misunderstood. not for all the reasons you think though#he’s not misunderstood because he’s really in the right or good or whatever. he’s misunderstood because nobody understands his characters#views or intentions. i don’t think his character fully does either! unreliable narrator! please for the love of god!#I know I’ve made a whole other in the tags rant about this before but like it’s never been more applicable again#bad’s twitch chat be normal challenge level IMPOSSIBLE#and I don’t get why man. take example from the doozers w foolish. from jorge w bagi. Cellbit’s chat (for the most part) even#idk anyways#mcyt#qsmp#bbh#z speaks
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#kind of hate when students come back and they’re like ‘sorry I was sooooooooooooo bad in your class’#obviously I hate it if it’s just sort of a chance for them to just yap about how bad they were/glorify their bad behavior#but sometimes I hate it even when they’re sincere sksskjsjsjsj#like I know it’s a good thing and I should be glad but I’m not glad#I’m just like ‘fuck off’ (I do not say that. EVER)#but it’s just. ughhhhhhh#so much of the job is ignoring their bad behavior as much as you can#not like. not having good classroom management but just. in your own mind!!!! don’t give it all this power!!!!!!#I hate those posts that are like ‘why did my grown ass teacher have beef with a 12 year old’ because my loyalty is to the teacher#and it’s like. well middle school classrooms are war zones sometimes so give the teacher a break. but there’s a certain truth to that!!!!!#you can’t take the behavior seriously in your own mind. I think that’s it#so when they come back and they’re like ‘I was terrible for you I regret my immaturity’#I know it’s a good thing for them and probably inevitable for most of them (the being teenagers of it all) and I’m sure ultimately#that it’s a testimony to my class. but it makes me wince so much. because I set the tone so decisively and part of how you do it is just by#like. believing everyone’s having a great time. and kids being like ‘I was a monster from#the deeps of hell’ seems to contradict that#and always drives me to question myself even though I probably shouldn’t and i need to just chill#some of it is just my own vulnerability or insecurity#I’m hoping it lessens with time? because my first couple of classes of course that’s what was happening#because they WERE bad. and they were worse than they usually were cause they wanted to see if they could get away with it#and did they? I mean yeah probably a lot more than they should have bc I was brand new!#anyways I’m just rambling. but yeah I don’t like it.#like please just leave me alone.#(I hate most kinds of intake tbh. because I always have to do something with all of it—intellectually emotionally)#(I can never just rest. the mind is sorting and processing) it’s like when it comes to teaching#the more things I can shut my eyes to the better#I’ve come a long way with knowing what of the things my students say to ignore than I used to#bc actually they’re innocent babies who are just yapping! Cause they don’t know what else to do yet.
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i’m sorry i keep venting but i swear this is my lowest. and i don’t really have any other way to filter it out because it’s like it’s consuming me and i can’t get it out of my head and i don’t wanna relapse again so. tw for self harm, sa mentions and suicide (i’m not gonna do anything but things will be mentioned.
today has been absolute hell. i don’t know why but the ask from this morning has me all jumpy or whatever. i just feel sick. i dunno. i guess i deserve it. i deserve to feel this way. i deserve what happened to me because i hurt people. i don’t like to say i was assaulted because i was young when it happened (8-12y/o or so) and it just kinda feels like i don’t have a right to say that because it wasn’t that much. like my grandpa used to slap me on the ass. he touched my chest area once or twice but that was it. but he did that to a lot of people. and i dunno. i feel like i can’t call it assault because it wasn’t. he didn’t know what he was doing because he had alzheimer’s and was demented. i dunno. i wish he was nicer. he used to scream at me and my brothers a lot. he made us cry and hide a lot too. he wasn’t very nice. but he’s still family and i have to love him. and i thought i was over it but the stupid ask from this morning just had me like…i dunno. feeling weird.
i suppose i deserved it. if i told my family they would tell me im being a dramatic attention seeker. so i guess that’s what im being. but i dunno. i hate complaining about this stuff because it doesn’t do anything. but still. and the shit about my brother doesn’t bother me as much. he was probably joking around or whatever when he was touching my clothes. it’s blurry now. but it’s whatever. i deserve this all. i deserve it. and i keep telling myself that.
i relapsed last night. for the first time in about nine months. i had one of the worst mental breakdowns of my life. i was just stuck on the bathroom floor crying while i relapsed. it wasn’t that bad. i shouldn’t count it as s/h. it never broke skin. or well; that much at least. i don’t even know hat happened, i was just thinking for too long and i ended up spiraling. i thought about ending it last night while taking my meds because i was thinking about how easy it would’ve been. i deserve it. but i was thinking like…i dunno. running from this won’t do anything. so i guess i have to face it myself.
every time i hear my mom tell me im a loyal friend, or that im kind, or whatever, all i can think about is how many people i’ve hurt. and it’s just become my life now. i hardly sleep. i either don’t eat or i eat til i feel like throwing up. i feel like there’s no escape and i did this all to myself. i wish i could turn back time. i do. but i cant. i wish that i could tell my past self what a fucking idiot she was. i don’t want to keep fighting this. i wanna be happy. but i feel like i can’t do anything.
everyone says im just doing ‘good’. good in school, in clubs, in whatever. but good isn’t great. and i need to be great. i need to be exceptional. i need to be exemplary. i need to be the best. that’s always where my mind is at. and if i’m not the best, i’m nothing. and i am nothing. i will always be nothing. because i can’t get off my lazy ass to do anything productive so i either drown myself in work or i do nothing but waste time holed up in my room because there’s something wrong with me and i can’t turn it off.
i’m scared. but i deserve to be scared. i deserve all of this and all of what’s to come. i don’t even think it’s because of friend issues either anymore. i just finally woke up and realized how meaningless everything i do is. because i’m not a good friend. i’m not a good sister. i’m not a good partner. i’m not anything. i’m not the best and when i’m not the best, i’m nothing.
#vent#tw sa mention#tw suicide mention#tw self harm#tw self destructive behavior#tw vent#im sorry i keep venting#im sorry i haven’t done anything today#im at my lowest and i don’t know why#i think part of it is the birth control im taking#but i just feel like i don’t have the same motivation i did a week ago#i’m sorry for not posting today#i’m not in a good place#please don’t send any asks like that again#i know it seems dramatic to be all ‘boohoo my day was ruined by an ask’ but i don’t wanna relive any of the past rn#please
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