#instead of the focus on WHITEness + individualism
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Okay, you finally mentioned someone I'm actually mutuals with. Good job.
You've been sending me asks like this for months now, accusing various people of holding a specific political position with zero evidence.
And when I say months, I mean months. You literally started sending me this stuff in February.
And here's the thing, you're accusing people of supporting something I know they don't. You're incapable of seeing nuance in anyone's opinions or text, and instead of actually working to stop the thing you claim to be fighting -- you're instead going after powerless individuals instead of making an actual difference in the world. The fact that you've focused enough of your personal energy to stalk my blog -- a person who makes podcasts, writes fiction, and is generally just trying to survive as a queer person in a swing state -- is a remarkable waste of everyone's time.
You've defined things in black and white terms, and I don't think you fully understand what they are. Take this energy and focus it on the places that might make a difference, instead of harassing random people on the internet. Repeatedly harassing individuals not involved in the actual decisions you're fighting does nothing but push them away from your cause.
You fucking moron.
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black women have been grappling for decades with the fact that they organize with + live alongside + love men who are both given only conditional access to male privilege AND wield violent, structural power over them. they have generated libraries worth of compassionate theory which engages with the destructive impact of misogyny on men, the way in which being seen as a Real Man is conditional for marginalized ppl, the dangers of separatism + the importance of leaving nobody behind. these are not new ideas + they are absolutely necessary ideas for moving towards total liberation.
however, most foundational black feminist/intersectional feminist (in the tradition of angela davis) theorists have discussed these concepts without: minimizing or erasing the concept of misogyny, falling back on lesbophobic stereotypes (ugly man hating dykes!), repeating antifeminist propaganda (not all men!), abandoning a focus on structural power + material impact, engaging in bad faith identity politics which silo identities (tokenizing some while ignoring others, constructing weird hierarchies of which oppressions 'cancel each other out'), or individualizing oppression/identity/power (things which happen TO us + AROUND us, not within us).
respectfully, these theories of feminism which include + acknowledge men's pain are already happening- there's a reason those aren't the theories/practices you're exposed to. these theories often do lack trans voices, but you aren't adding our voices to these stories. you are creating a new theory of oppression built on a foundation + critique of white neoliberal feminism + based largely on anecdotal experiences in predominately white communities. you are replicating all of the flaws of white feminism.
#im just. so tired#all of the compassion + nuance + solidarity u are looking for is there in black feminism#but u guys looked at white feminist theory + decided it was the focus on WOMEN that was the problem#instead of the focus on WHITEness + individualism
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one reason (white) queer people misuse the term homonationalism is that they see queerness (or whatever you want to call it) as naturally disaffiliated with the US empire. so they understand homonationalism as a divergence from a natural mutual antagonism between queerness and empire. they talk about homonationalism as if it's an exclusively "normie gay" project, and as if it's a divergence from, rather than a consequence of, the overall trajectory of western lgbtqia+ politics. ironically it’s that self-exceptionalization by the queer, on the basis of their queerness, that imbricates them in homonationalism. they produce themselves as a homonationalist subject, and reproduce homonationalism, every time they articulate their queerness as individualized freedom. and Puar actually anticipates all of this in her original theorization of homonationalism in Terrorist Assemblages, and that's why it really helps to go to the text instead of osmosing queer theory solely through tumblr posts (esp when tumblr is so white and the queer theorists are not):
"Some may strenuously object to the suggestion that queer identities, like their 'less radical' counterparts, homosexual, gay, and lesbian identities, are also implicated in ascendant white American nationalist formations, preferring to see queerness as singularly transgressive of identity norms. This focus on transgression, however, is precisely the term by which queerness narrates its own sexual exceptionalism.
While we can point to the obvious problems with the emancipatory, missionary pulses of certain (U.S., western) feminisms and of gay and lesbian liberation, queerness has its own exceptionalist desires: exceptionalism is a founding impulse, indeed the very core of a queerness that claims itself as an anti-, trans-, or unidentity. The paradigm of gay liberation and emancipation has produced all
sorts of troubling narratives: about the greater homophobia of immigrant communities and communities of color, about the stricter family values and mores in these communities, about a certain prerequisite migration from home, about coming-out teleologies. We have less understanding of queerness as a biopolitical project, one that both parallels and intersects with that of multiculturalism, the ascendancy of whiteness, and may collude with or collapse into liberationist paradigms. While liberal underpinnings serve to
constantly recenter the normative gay or lesbian subject as exclusively liberatory, these same tendencies labor to insistently recenter the normative queer subject as an exclusively transgressive one. Queerness here is the modality through which 'freedom from norms' becomes a regulatory queer ideal that demarcates the ideal queer. ... I am thinking of queerness as exceptional in a way that is wedded to individualism and the rational, liberal humanist subject, what [Sara] Ahmed denotes as 'attachments' and what I would qualify as deep psychic registers of investment that we often cannot
account for and are sometimes best seen by others rather than ourselves. 'Freedom from norms' resonates with liberal humanism’s authorization of the fully self-possessed speaking subject, untethered by hegemony or false consciousness, enabled by the life/stylization offerings of capitalism, rationally choosing modern individualism over the ensnaring bonds of family. In this problematic definition of queerness, individual agency is legible only as resistance to norms rather than complicity with them, thus equating resistance and agency.
... Queerness as automatically and inherently transgressive enacts specific forms of disciplining and control, erecting celebratory queer liberal subjects folded into life (queerness as subject) against the sexually pathological and deviant populations targeted for death (queerness as population). Within that orientation of regulatory transgression, queer operates as an alibi for complicity with all sorts of other identity norms, such as nation, race, class, and gender, unwittingly lured onto the ascent toward whiteness. ... To be excused from a critique of one’s own power manipulations is the appeal of white liberalism, the underpinnings of the ascendancy of whiteness, which is not a conservative, racist formation bent on extermination, but rather an insidious liberal one proffering an innocuous inclusion into life."
Jasbir K. Puar, Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times (2007)
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I want to talk about something. I want to talk about ableism in fandom. And sexism in fandom. Oh, and racism in fandom.
Mostly though, I wanna talk about how the discussion about these things often gets derailed because people don't understand what trends and typical behaviors actually are.
Whenever a Person of Color, a woman, someone disabled, someone queer (or an intersection of any of these groups) points out that certain fandom trends are bigoted in some shape or form, half the replies seem to be "but they are my comfort character! Maybe people just like them better because they are more interesting!" or even "people are allowed to have headcanons!" - the very daft even go for a "don't bring politics into fandom" which is a personal favorite because nothing exists in a vacuum and nothing is truly apolitical. But alas~
What most of these replies seemingly fail to understand is something very, very simple: it's not about you.
You, as an individual, are just one datapoint in a fandom. You are not the trend. You do not necessarily depict the typical behavior.
When someone points out that there is racism in fandom, that doesn't mean every fan is racist or perpetuating racist ideas*. By constantly mentioning your own lack of racism, quite often, you are actively derailing the conversation away from the problems at hand.
When someone names and describes a trend, they don't mean your headcanon specifically - they mean the accumulated number of headcanons perpetuating a harmful or outdated idea.
I am not saying this to forbid anyone from writing fics about their favorite characters or to keep anyone from having fun headcanons and sharing their theories and thoughts - quite the opposite actually. A critique of a general trend is not a critique of you as an individual - and you're going to have a much better, and more productive, time online if you can internalize that. If you stop growing defensive and instead allow yourself to actually digest the message of what was pointed out.
I am saying this to encourage some critical thinking.
Allow me to offer up some examples:
Case 1: A DC blogger made the daring statement that maybe Tim and Jason were such a popular fanfic focus because they are the only two undeniably white batboys. Immediately someone replied saying "no, it's all the fun traumatic situations we can put them in!". Which is an insane statement to make, considering the same can be said for literally ANY OTHER DC Batman and Batfam character.
The original post wasn't anything groundbreaking, they didn't accuse anyone, didn't name any names... but immediately there was a justification, immediately there was a reason why people might like these characters more. No one stopped to take a second and reflect on the current trends in fanfiction, no one considered that maybe this wasn't a declaration against people who like these characters but a thesis depicting the OVERALL trend of fandom once again focusing on undeniably white (and male) characters.
(don't get me started on the racebending of white characters in media that has a big Cast of Color and the implications of that)
Case 2: A meta posted on Ao3 about ableism in the Criminal Minds fandom caught my attention. A wonderful piece, very thoughtful, analyzing certain characterization choices within the fandom through the lens of an actually autistic person. The conclusion they reached: the writing of Spencer Reid as an autistic character, while often charming and comforting, tended to be incredibly infantilizing and at worst downright ableist. They came to that conclusion while CLEARLY stating that the individual fanfic wasn't the problem, but the general fandom trend in depicting this character.
Once again, looking at the replies seemed to be a mistake: while many comments furthered the discussion, there were quite a few which completely missed the point. Some were downright hostile. Because how dare this author imply that THEY are ableist when they write their favorite character using that specific characterization.
It didn't matter that the author allowed room for personal interpretation. It didn't matter that they noted something concerning about the entire fandom - people still thought they were attacking singular people.
Case 3: I wrote a fic about abortion in the FMA(b) fandom (actually I've written a weird amount of fics about abortion in a lot of fandoms, but alas) and I got hate comments for it. Because of that I addressed the bias in fandom against pro-choice depictions of pregnancies. I pointed out that the utter lack of abortion in many omegaverse stories or even mpreg or het romances, painted the picture of an unconscious bias that hurt people for whom abortion was the only option, the best possible ending. The response on the post itself was mostly positive, but I got anon hate.
(which I can unfortunately not show you since I deleted it in the months since)
And I'm not overly broken up about it, but it also underlines my point: by pointing at a general problem, a typical behavior, a larger trend... people feel personally attacked.
This inability to discuss sexism, ableism, racism, transphobia, etc in fandom without people turning defensive and hurt... well, it damages our ability to have these conversations at all.
Earlier I said YOU are not the problem - well, i think part of this discussion is acknowledging that: sometimes YOU are in fact part of the problem. And that's not the end of the world. But you can only recognize yourself as a cog in the machine, if you can examine your own actions, your own biases, your own preferences critically and without becoming defensive.
And, again, this is not to keep you from finding comfort in your favorite characters and headcanons. This is also not to say that I am free of biases and internalized bigotries - I am also very much a part of the system. A part of the problem.
This is so you can comfortably ask yourself "but why is there no abortion in this universe?" or "why are my favorite black characters always the top in my slash ships?" or "why do I write this disabled character as childish and in need of help?" - and sometimes the answer is "because I am disabled and I want comfort", and that's fine too.
There is no one shoe fits all in fiction. There is not a single trope that captures all members of a group. There is no single stereotype that isn't also someone's comfort. No group is a monolith, no experienced all-encompasing (or entirely unique).
There is never a simple answer.
But that doesn't mean you should stop questioning your own biases, your own ideals.
Especially, if you grow defensive if someone points out that a certain trend you engage in might be racist. Or sexist. Or queerphobic. Or fucking ableist.
*this does not mean negate the general anti-blackness perpetuated by most cultures as a result of colonialism and slavery
#criminal minds#dc#batman#racism#fandom racism#fandom#fandom discourse#sexism#fandom sexism#ableism#fandom ableism#discourse#fma#fmab#abortion#abortion rights#pro choice#opening up a discussion about having discussions
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Math for Aviators | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: It's your fault that Bradley finds math so sexy now. When he surprises you by sneaking into one of your lectures, he gets rewarded with a little time alone with the professor after class.
Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut
Length: 2400 words
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Check out my masterlist
"See you two at the Hard Deck later?" Nat asked as Bradley climbed into the Bronco after work.
"Nah, it's my wife's late night on campus," he replied with a smirk. Calling you his wife had such a nice ring to it, he had all but stopped using your first name around his friends. "I'm gonna drop by. Maybe take a peek at her calculus lecture."
She rolled her eyes in response. "Tell your wife I said not to forget about brunch on Saturday."
"I'll let my wife know."
He zipped out of the parking lot, still in his khaki uniform, and headed across town to San Diego State University. If there was one thing Bradley never thought would get him going, it was math. But you made it outrageously sexy with your PhD and your slutty little math tattoo.
The fact that Bradley never got to attend one of your lectures during your first semester teaching in California felt like a crime. He'd wanted to, in the worst way, but your classes ended by six o'clock every day last term. But this time, you taught level four calculus on Thursday evenings.
He parked and headed toward your building, smiling as some of the college aged girls looked at him as he strolled past. If they thought he looked good in his uniform, that was nothing compared to the fuss you usually made over him.
Bradley followed a kid holding a skateboard into the mathematics and computer science building and turned left. He was only four minutes late for your class as he followed skateboard kid inside the lecture hall and let the door close softly behind him. The room was quite cavernous, but there were only about forty students in attendance. You always claimed you preferred the smaller classes so you could spend more time getting everyone where they needed to be individually.
When his eyes met your body, Bradley almost moaned. You were leaning over the long table at the front of the room taking attendance, and you were wearing a white blouse tucked into that wool skirt he liked. Even your loafers looked cute. One of his favorite pastimes was picking on you for your east coast wardrobe, but holy shit, the professor look did things to him. Or maybe it was just you.
As you called out names, Bradley realized he was just standing in the back like an idiot, so he walked up a few rows and took an aisle seat.
"Francis?" you asked, and a girl who looked extremely disinterested raised her hand. "Luca? Alex? Did I miss anyone?"
When you looked up, your eyes found Bradley's almost instantly. The softest smile graced your lips, and Bradley desperately wanted to run down to where you were standing and kiss you. Instead he just winked, and then you were opening two additional notebooks on your table.
"Before we get started, just a reminder about my office hours," you said, your voice projecting beautifully. Bradley had to adjust himself in his seat, because you were speaking right to him. "I'm always available to spend a little extra time with you should you need it."
He was well acquainted with your office and the way your voice echoed off the walls when he made you scream his name. He would make it a point to join you for some office hours again soon. But right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy how much smarter you were than him.
"If you recall last week, we talked about the theorems of Green and Stokes. Let's focus a little more on the Green theorem. This is simply the relationship between the macroscopic circulation around the curve C and the sum of all the microscopic circulation that is inside C."
Bradley was already breathing a little heavy. Holy shit. Was he actually married to the smartest person in the world? It fucking sounded like it. And then you ran your fingertips gently along the side of your neck, and he sat up a little taller in his seat. But so did skateboard kid who was sitting in front of him. Bradley glanced around the room, and it looked like all the twenty something guys were hypnotized by you. The looks of open adoration on their faces as you turned toward the white board to work out a problem reminded him of the way he used to stare at you when he was twenty one. If he was being honest, he probably still did.
As you worked out the problem and bent at the waist, Bradley needed to adjust himself again. And when you turned to see if anyone had a question, you looked directly at him as you touched your neck again.
"She's so hot," skateboard kid whispered to the guy next to him.
"Yeah," he grunted in response. "She's like extra hot today."
Bradley leaned forward, grinning and softly said, "That's my wife."
They both turned around to look at him briefly. Skateboard kid nodded in appreciation, and the other guy said, "Well done."
And then Bradley settled back in his seat and watched every move that you made. When you wrote out another equation in your tidy handwriting, you made the variables spell out B-E-E-R-B-O-Y. Every time you glanced at him, your fingers were touching your body somewhere that he was familiar with. He was itching to get his hands on you.
It was an hour and a half of pure sexual tension, and Bradley knew you were enjoying yourself. Knowing he was sitting in the lecture hall seemed to be making your voice a little breathy. You were throwing out terms like "gradient, divergence curl, line and surface integrals, and differential equations" that were making him hard. This was foreplay at its finest.
When you ended your lecture with some reminders about your class schedule, you had your hands on your hips, and your diamond ring was glittering on your hand. Bradley smirked as a line of students, mostly male, formed in front of you once you dismissed everyone. And now he understood why you got home so late on Thursdays. Because all these guys had a crush on you. On his wife.
Bradley was semi hard, and you kept glancing up to make sure he was still there. He wasn't going to go anywhere, you must know that. When you were finally helping skateboard kid with whatever question he fabricated just to have a chance to stand next to you, Bradley glanced down at his lap. Maybe you'd let him have some private office hours right now.
When the lecture hall was finally empty, save for the two of you, Bradley watched as you continued to tease him. You didn't glance to where he was sitting at all as you packed up your bag. And when you erased the board, he could tell you were standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look extra enticing just for him.
"Professor Sugar," he groaned, rubbing himself through his khaki pants.
You glanced at him over your shoulder with a devilish look on your face. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to my lecture?" you asked quietly, but he could still hear you perfectly.
Bradley grunted. "Got dismissed a little early. Just thought I'd surprise you."
"Did you learn anything new?" you asked, grabbing your bag from the table and heading his way.
"Nothing new," he replied. "Just a refresher course on how smart and hot my wife is."
You smiled as you set your bag down next to his seat. "I love it when you call me that." Then you came to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down to kiss him gently. Bradley let you tease him with feather soft kisses for a minute before he was aching inside his pants.
He ran his rough hand along your pretty neck and asked, "Can I join you for some office hours? I really need them, Professor Sugar." When you giggled against his lips, Bradley wrapped his muscular arms around you and palmed your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a squeal.
"Beer Boy!"
"Please? I'll be your top student, Baby. Better than that loser with his skateboard."
"You know, I'm starting to suspect that Luca might have ulterior motives for taking my class again this semester."
Bradley chuckled as he pushed your skirt up your thighs a few inches. "Yeah. His ulterior motive is your ass." Then he lightly slapped said ass as you raked your fingers through his hair and straddled him in the auditorium seat. "I know you can feel me, Sugar," he whispered. "Office hours? Or are you gonna make me wait until we get home?"
But instead of responding, you just rubbed yourself against him. If you weren't wearing panties, he would have a pretty, little wet spot to show off as he walked back to the Bronco. You tugged harder on his hair so his head was tipped back, and you kissed him a little rougher.
"I'm in charge in the lecture hall, not you. And I say no visit to my office."
Bradley groaned as you sucked on his neck, and he muttered, "Making me walk back to the Bronco hard?"
"No," you whispered, and his cock throbbed. "I'm going to suck your cock right here." Your smug smile as you pulled away from his neck left him blushing, he could tell.
"Right here?" he asked, but your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper, and he lifted his hips in the seat so you could yank his pants down a little bit.
"Mmhmm," you hummed against his lips before you walked to the back of the auditorium, leaving him sitting there with his hard cock out.
"Sugar?" he whispered, covering himself with both hands as he craned his neck to see where you went. You flipped the lightswitch next to the door and peered out the small window into the hallway, and then you strolled back to where he was sitting. Bradley let you take his hands in yours and set them on his thighs as you knelt on the floor in front of him.
You looked so pretty, your skin illuminated by the soft lighting shining around the perimeter of the room. Your eyes were bright and mischievous as you looked up at him and kissed the precum away from his tip. Your pink tongue darted out to clean your lips before gently swiping the underside of his cock, and Bradley had to grip his thighs to keep from thrusting. Because it was clear you were going to take your time right now.
"You are so hard, Beer Boy, you're absolutely throbbing."
When you took an inch or two between your pouty lips, Bradley's head tipped back. "I love math," he groaned. "It really gets me going. And I love your smart mouth."
You hummed around his length as you took another inch and swirled your tongue. Then you pulled him out with a soft pop, his head snapping back up to look at you. "You're such a good student," you whispered. "Top grades. Teacher's pet. Big cock."
"Fuck," Bradley grunted. "I'm coming to your lecture every week, Professor."
You smiled as you gripped him in one hand and licked up and down along the underside of his cock until he could feel your saliva dripping down his balls. He ran his thumb along your cheek, and then you took him deep so he could feel himself there. He groaned your name as he tapped the back of your throat, and you gagged for him. It was so fucking pretty the way he made your eyes water.
If you weren't concerned about getting caught, then he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He'd be lying if he said the idea of a public blowjob wasn't adding to his arousal. Hell, he thought the way you and he went at it in the college library study room was hot, and that door had a damn lock. So this was next level.
Bradley grunted in the quiet room, and the acoustics made the sound carry. You were bobbing along his length, making obscene little noises, and he just couldn't take it anymore. His hands found the back of your head, and after one thrust, your moans echoed around the room.
"I love that sound," he growled, slowly fucking your face as you sucked on him. You kept eye contact with him as he started to come undone, his hips leaving the seat as he wanted more of you. Now you were gripping his thighs, ready to take his cum like a champ. He was there. He was right there. One more tap against the back of your throat. All your saliva dripping onto your blouse. It was everything.
He knew you already knew it, but he grunted, "I'm cumming," as he spurted into your mouth and down your throat. Gripping the back of your head, he fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts until he slumped back akwardly into the seat with a long groan that filled the room.
When you withdrew him, his cock was messy and you were grinning as you stuck out your tongue, showing off his load. "Gorgeous," he whispered with a smirk, watching you swallow him down before licking his softening length clean. "I love being the teacher's pet."
You giggled as you helped him get tucked back into his khakis. "I only suck the dicks of my students with the highest grades."
"Hey now. You're my wife. You better only be sucking my dick," he rasped as you stood up in front of him and shrugged.
"Then you better keep getting top grades, Beer Boy."
Bradley was obsessed with you. He quickly wrestled his belt into place as he followed the sway of your ass up to the auditorium doors. "I can't wait to see that skirt on the bedroom floor when we get home," he said as you pushed the door open. And there stood the janitor, about to enter the room to clean it. "Shit," Bradley grunted, still fiddling with his belt.
But you just waved and said, "Goodnight, Herman," as the janitor smirked at Bradley.
He didn't even bother with his belt after that. He just took your hand in his and walked with you to the Bronco, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you once your skirt was on the bedroom floor.
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This was written to celebrate the birthday of the lovely @mak-32 ! Beer Boy and Sugar wouldn't even exist without you, Mak! I hope you have the most wonderful day! Thanks for your help and the banner @beyondthesefourwalls
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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster fanfic#rooster x you#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster x reader#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw x reader#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#math for aviators
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just desserts | jjk
jeon jungkook x reader (f)
genre: one night stand; neighbors; set in the summer cause i miss it dearly.
rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)
summary: jungkook is your next door neighbor who you have only crossed a few words with. however one hot summer day theres a city wide blackout and strangely enough, he shows up at your door w brownies. . and other delights.
warnings: crush culture; mentions of lack of confidence; masturbation (f.); foul language; naughty thoughts; penetrative sex; unprotected sex (wrap it up); dry humping; oral (m. receiving); praise; sub-ish jk!; jk has a huge dick;?brief mention of seokjin and joon; oc is very hørny for jk basically; those fucking gifs of jk w his long hair and glasses inspired this so thank you jeon jungkook; edited but excuse any mistakes please.
word count: 6,3 thousand words
posted: monday - january 30, 2023
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A sixth floor walk up in the middle of the scorching month of July was certainly not fitting on your basis of an ideal home. But after your extensive apartment search always ended with high-priced, rodent infested corners New Yorkers often mistook for apartments, you were happy to shake on the deal for this studio apartment with Seokjin without having to break your piggy bank or burn a staggering hole in your pocket.
“When is the elevator going to be fixed, Seokjin,” you fanned yourself as beads of sweat adorned your white tank top.
“That’ll have to be when I finally win the lotto,” he guffawed from behind the plexiglass square standing between you and his office.
“Very funny,” you mumbled, beginning your journey up the stairs. He didn’t hear you though, instead his focus remained on whichever drama he played on the television.
Kim Seokjin, was the name of a superstar—or so he says. He claims to have attended the Juilliard School for about two years, with dreams of becoming the newest face of Hollywood and all of their high-priced productions. When Seokjin’s dad fell ill, he couldn’t keep up with the demands of keeping so many residence buildings open, he had to close more than half his buildings and just like that, financial strains created a hurdle the size of Mt. Everest in the life of Seokjin. He was left without his dreams, without his father and taking care of a building where the rent was too cheap to gain a profit, making just enough to cover the mortgage.
Normally, you weren’t so exposed to details of your landlord’s lives, but Seokjin was different. He was also your friend.
“I put water bottles around the halfway mark. The last thing I need is a lawsuit over a dead body,” he yelled up as you barely made it to floor two.
“How considerate. I’ll try not to die while you’re on the clock,” it was too hot to continue your journey up. . too hot to form coherent sentences. You just wanted to make it to your apartment and sit in front of the fan for the rest of the day.
“That’s all I’m saying,” you heard.
Once your foot met the landing on the third floor, your eyes desperately scanned for the promise of beverages Seokjin had informed you of, but the small table set-up on the other end of the hallway was completely empty. Leaving behind only the particles of dust and pure oxygen to inhale. Fuck—you actually felt like you were going to pass out. Just three more floors.
You wanted to yell down a snarky remark towards Seokjin but you figured that required too much energy you simply did not have.
Moving to New York was a decision you had made impulsively after feeling like you had overstayed your time in your parents house post-high school. You averted college at all costs because it just wasn’t for you. Lectures seemed like a bore and professors were individuals being paid to legally torture their students so you joyfully averted that nightmare all together. Your immediate option was to get a job, but after many places began getting closed down back home, you found yourself job hopping as a means for survival.
It was not convenient, so you boarded a train to the city that never sleeps in hopes of never looking back. . And you haven’t since setting foot here eleven months ago.
“Just one more floor,” you uttered to no one in particular but the patchy silver handrail and the chipped white walls.
Your apartment was now in your line of vision and the only thing standing between you and the black steel door were just ten sets of stairs. Walking into the building your body was glistening with a thin layer of sweat but now you were drenched, your top was sticking to your skin and the thick beads of dampness rolled down your body like the condensation on soft drinks from fast food places.
Heaving with exhaustion you took a seat on the very last step of the sixth floor, finally you made it but you just needed a minute, just a single minute to catch your breath. The fucking heat was unbearable; intolerable; irregular, you could have sworn the sun inched closer and closer to planet earth as the day progressed.
Initially, you hadn’t heard as much as the squeaky hinges on the door frame, you were too divulged in your suffering from the days heat. Not to mention, your eyes were closed and you were too focused in a state of cooling down before hiding behind the thin walls of your apartment.
“Are you ok?” His voice became trapped in the muggy air surrounding the two of you. The bass in his tone never ceased to make your knees turn to jello, to make your toes curl and to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.
Was the heat not enough suffering for one day?
“Oh,” you cleared your throat, “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”
“Yeah, it definitely feels like we were shipped straight to hell today.”
“I don’t know, I think hell might be cooler than this,” he chuckled lightly—you’re foolish stammer and poor excuse of words enlightened him. The sun was still beaming brightly but you swore you saw stars after he had serenaded you so sweetly with the sound of his infectious laugh.
“I think you might be right,” he locked his door and walked past you on the stairs, “have a good day neighbor.”
“You too, Jungkook,” you called after him as he began his way down the unfortunate set of stairs.
Sometimes, you felt as if you’d been blessed as the main lead in the plot of a cheesy rom com, but after today the idea was really cemented in your head. Ok, look. . Jungkook was your hot neighbor, like very hot, unearthly hot, like he was handcrafted by God himself, kind of hot. Furthermore, only you and him resided on the sixth floor, living in a pair of tiny apartments right beside one another. Although that was all you had gathered so far, besides his name, it was enough to fill your head with delusions and daydreams of the man your eyes loved to gawk at every chance you got.
You read him very well, like the everlasting pages of your favorite novel. His silky hair was long and inched over the nape of his neck, he wore specs that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose accentuating his big doe eyes. Though his features seemed soft his aura was borderline the complete opposite—a silver hooped piercing sat in the right side of his rosette lips while tattoos peeked right out of the sleeves of the white button up he usually wore.
You closed the door to your apartment, removed your shoes and hung your keys on the flathead thumbtack pierced into the wall by the front door.
The apartment felt even more scorching than the bustling sidewalks. After opening all three of the windows you were bestowed to have between your room and the living room, you turned on your fan and walked into the bathroom to draw a much needed cool bath. Stripping off your sweaty clothes, you stepped into the tub. For a minute, you were immersed in the utter silence floating around you—all your ears detected was the distanced whirring fan all the way from your room.
Behind the back of your eyelids, the world was dark and your thoughts brought you back to your encounters with Jungkook on the stairs just moments ago. Your interactions with the boy were usually extended to a whispered, ‘hi’ or ‘hello,’ never as prolonged as it played out today.
In your thoughts, Jungkook strolled by day and night, as you embraced every look, every utterance, every single time he brushed his hair back using his slender fingers. He was the cultivation of your desires and the reason why your heart strummed against your chest a bit harder the days you saw him leaving around 12PM every afternoon.
It baffled you how he always managed to look fucking good every single day—even during the hottest days of the summer, while you looked like vile beast he managed to look so perfect.
. . So fucking perfect.
The faint tingles traveling through your body, caused your skin to form goosebumps. The pulsation of your clit is what really began driving you to clouded thoughts to imagine his hands against you. You imagined the pads of his fingers to be soft mimicking a delicate velvet fabric and while you crumbled under his touch, he would murmur the filthiest of words against your ear.
Those ministrations could be enough to have you coming hard—he wouldn’t even have to fuck you. Shit, even looking at him was enough.
Being away from all of the toys you safely stored in your nightstand, you grabbed the detachable shower head and adjusted the water pressure, prepped your feet up on the rim of the tub aiming it in between your legs in an inevitable attack against your clit.
Your head lulled back in sure bliss as you fed your carnal desires, the only thing missing was him.
“Fuck—” How you longed for him to have you in this position, so sensitive to his sinful doings; so aroused for him. It was like a hunger your fingers, toys and this stupid shower head could not satisfy.
The vibration of his name dripped from your lips like a chant and you felt that bubbling fervor form in the pit of your stomach. Spurts of pleasure rushed out of you so intensely you were overwhelmed by the explosions of fireworks as soon as your orgasm erupted.
When your breath had settled and you finally felt like you could stand, you opted for a quick shower, rushing to get into your pajamas and plopped down on your bed right in-front of the fan for a nap, having your dreams quickly invaded by him.
Work sucked on Monday afternoons.
All you ever did was stare out of the ticket booth at the movie theater as the few customers who despised the weekend rush came in. Besides, there was rarely anything to occupy your mind with on slow nights like this. You had already sweeped and your co-worker, Namjoon was surveying the screening rooms for any shenanigans the younger crowds could possibly be rattling up.
You always left that up to him—he was the more intimidating one between the two of you anyway.
“Room 5 is a wreck,” Namjoon announced his entrance into the lobby, “I’m gonna go clean up.”
“Walkie me if you need help,” you tapped the walkie clipped onto your belt buckle and he nodded, grabbing the broom and a few rags.
Your stomach grew irritated as you continued golfing down copious amounts of candies but the truth was you were starving and had no time to eat breakfast this morning; let alone make something to bring to work to eat for lunch.
Namjoon was a film major. He was the spitting image of a cliche by the way—his parents wanted him to become a doctor but that wasn’t his passion so he ran away to the city and began trotting up the golden stairs to his dream. You wished you had even an ounce of his determination, he knew exactly where he wanted to go and how to get there while you still stood at the base of the mountain of your life. . unbeknownst on how to tackle it or which way it was to begin your way up to the summit.
There was nothing you had a passion for and quite frankly sometimes you were utterly clueless as to what your purpose was in life.
Had no dreams and no goals to strive towards; nothing extraordinary you expected to blossom in your future. There was nothing, nothing and more nothingness occupying the hours of your days.
“My child,” Seokjin walked in through the glass door, he looked like he'd been chilling in an oven.
“Seokjin,” you narrowed your eyes in his direction, “what are you doing here? I thought you never left the air conditioner in your office plus don’t you hate the movie theater?”
“You’re absolutely correct. The dimmed lighting here is horrid and I deserve better than that. .”
“Of course, you do.”
“But,” he leaned over the counter, “I saw your little neighbor boyfriend leaving the building today and I was fucking gagged.”
“Trust me, Seokjin. I know how good he fucking looks in that white button up. I’ve lived it.”
“No,” he squealed, “He had a black short sleeve shirt today and—”
“Spit it out, bitch.”
“He has a full fucking sleeve,” he squealed.
“No. Fucking. Way.” The pauses in between your words were not placed for dramatic effect—you were in fact attempting to paint a detailed mental image of that sinful man.
How unfair is it that he gets to walk around us mortals with our average looks while he exudes such grand flawlessness.
“Looks like someone owes me fifty bucks.”
The bet. . you had completely forgotten about that.
“I'll pass it over on Friday once I get paid.”
“I told you,” he began, “once a man gets one tattoo they’re usually covered in them.”
“Yea, but he has this soft look to him, you know?” you shrugged, “I thought he might have had a few. But a whole sleeve?”
“Jungkook is a walking juxtaposition.”
“I suppose he is.”
Seokjin sat on the counter emptying a handful of sweets into his palm, “what are you doing eating all of this candy anyway?”
“Uh,” your thoughts were still filtered towards Jungkook. You wanted to see him so bad, “I’m starving and just waiting on Namjoon to finish cleaning room five so I can go on my lunch break.”
“Namjoon as in the buff hottie with the deep voice?”
“I guess.”
“Room five?” You nodded.
“I’ll take one ticket for whatever the fuck you guys are showing right now.”
“Didn’t you say you hated it here?” You printed a ticket to. . you looked down, to the latest minion movie and ripped off the top half, “you complained about the lights or something.”
“Can you just give me a ticket? I need it to execute my master plan,” he rushed your actions in cutting the ticket you had printed, “besides you owe me for coming all the way down here with vital intel about your secret crush.”
“I owe you nothing. I’ll be paying half a hundred for that by the end of the week, remember?”
“Consider this,” he snatched the ticket from your grasp, holding it beside his toothy grin, “your down payment.”
Before you could form a further argument, Seokjin vanished from in front of you and sprinted down the main hallway to screening room five.
The best thing about your job were the designated days off you had throughout the week. Tuesdays and Fridays were yours to enjoy and while today was Tuesday your schedule was still jam packed with an abundance of errands to complete come the early morning.
You had paid your utility bills, finished your laundry, cleaned your apartment and even set out poultry to defrost by the time you made it back home. It had been a very productive day.
Your last stop was the grocery store.
Oftentimes, you’d wander aimlessly, losing yourself in each aisle wondering about how the better half lives, how much better life would be if you didn’t have to keep incessant reminders of your weekly budgets stamped to the back of your head.
How much easier life would be if money wasn’t such a big determinant in the choices we were forced to make in our day to day lives.
Oh, how much easier life would be.
You only grabbed the essentials for the next couple of weeks including—rice, greens, fruits, water, milk, meat, and a variation of breakfast options.
Temptation roamed in the air as you headed out of the cereal aisle you were face to face with a bakery section where an unhealthy amount of baked goods were sprawled out—practically blaring out your name. All of the delicious delights made your mouth water and you couldn’t help but gravitate deeper and deeper, guided by the aroma of the sweet desserts.
“Neighbor?” It was his earthy voice, the same one you’d only heard vibrate among the walls of the tiny hallway of the sixth floor the two of you shared.
“Jungkook?” You looked up from the brownies and your eyes met his figure, in the same clothes you usually saw him leave his apartment. It was his work uniform, “You work here?”
“Is that judgment in your tone I hear?”
“N-no,” You stammered. Was he fucking with you? He had to be fucking with you. “Of course not. I would never judge—”
“I was just playing, neighbor.” Phew.
“I always come here. How come I haven’t seen you before?”
“I’m usually baking in the back. I was just coming out to set these down,” he held up the dozen cupcakes sitting inside the boxed packaging.
“You bake?” Hopefully, you sounded more stunned than judgemental because you were i. fact stunned.
“I’m an aspiring pastry chef. I go to culinary school,” Jungkook, your beautiful, doe eyed, tattooed, pierced neighbor was also a baker. Ok.
For some reason that made him so much more attractive.
“I would not have been able to guess that even if I tried,” You mentally kicked yourself at the lack of filter in your words. You weren’t trying to offend him and hopefully he does not take it as such.
He chuckled—that’s a good sign, “People tend to simulate that very reaction but you can certainly knock on my door if you’re ever craving something sweet. I promise they are amazing.”
Craving something sweet?
Your thoughts traveled back to the enticing thoughts you possessed a few days ago while you took a bath, the vivid image of the water pressure against your cunt and the pure desire to have him near made you dizzy. And now he was near, just a couple of feet away.
A wave of warmth traveled through your extremities, the pulse on your clit turned to an overbearing throb, you wanted to rub your thighs and alleviate the feeling. But you remembered where you were, in the middle of the grocery store and Jungkook still stood right before you. Nevertheless, you tried to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs; dampening your panties.
“I practically poured out all of the basic details of my boring life. I think you owe me at least something about you.”
“There’s not much to tell,” you shrugged, “but I work at the movie theater down the street if that piques your interest at all.”
“It does. I love movies.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there before.”
“Well, if I’m honest I haven’t gone in a long time but that’s only because work and school keep me pretty busy.”
The lust streaming through your body doubled to make your heart beat with fondness and you grew endeared in the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up when he talked about his aspirations to become a baker.
“You’ll have a free ticket waiting for you whenever your schedule clears up.”
“Promise you’ll join me when I decide to go.” His words carved themselves into your brain like a permanent tattoo, just as those decorating his arm. The fluttering feeling in your abdomen heightened as a result of the dithers, without being aware of it, that is the effect Jungkook had on you.
“As long as it’s on a Tuesday or Friday.”
“Deal.”
“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”
“See you, neighbor.”
Thursday was the worst day of the week so far.
Technically you were supposed to be at work, it was already 4:00PM, but instead you were still home. Even just sitting down in the muggy atmosphere of your in the miniscule space, you were doused, staining your clothes with sweat.
You were not willingly suffering at the lack of mercy the scorching weather subjected the city and everyone in it to, unfortunately the power had gone out. And while usually you had the luxury of a fan to cool down, today you had nothing.
Your windows and front door were left wide open in an attempt to cool down the place and still you felt as if you were sitting inside a fucking oven set to hightest temperature. There was no use.
“Neighbor.” Jungkook called out lightly knocking on the opened door.
Jungkook? Not Jungkook again when you looked like an absolute wreck.
“Hey Jungkook,” he stood at the door frame, a wide grin painted on his lips—he held a to-go box in his hands, “you can come in.”
“Do you want me to shut the door?”
“Sure,” you gave in, it’s not like it was actually doing anything. Besides, the last thing you needed was one of the crazy residents from the lower floors coming to bug you.
Jungkook took a seat next to you on the couch, he wore a sleeveless top exposing all of the ink embellishing his skin, every line, every curve, every word was so intricate and seemed so unique to him.
“I didn’t know you had these many tattoos,” a small fib was a price to pay to not seem like a weirdo, “did any of them hurt?”
“Some did,” he pointed at his tricep, “mainly these and a few others but I have a high pain tolerance.”
“Well, they’re beautiful,” you scanned his arm some more. It was truly like a mural embodying the beauty of art, “were you a singer?” you signaled at the microphone sitting on his forearm.
“I guess you could say that,” he adjusted himself on the couch, his nylon shorts rode up his thighs and you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the way your eyes glanced down constantly. Jungkook didn’t notice though, he was too busy averting eye contact and scratching the back of his head, “My highschool friends and I used to make music. We recorded a mixtape.”
“I need a link to this mixtape. . like now,” You laughed hysterically.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
“Ok, ok,” Again, another surprise from the man you thought you had all figured out—every single day he surprised you more and more, “were you like a vocalist or a rapper?”
“Vocals mostly. I did try rapping once though but I sucked so badly they scratched it off the track.”
“At least they were honest and didn't let you crash and burn in public.”
“You should’ve seen me though. I thought I was the shit.”
Jungkooks giggles were everlasting as he recounted the many times their parents grew exhausted of kicking them out of their garages for their disturbances in the making of their great musical legacy.. He filled the room with vibrance. The longer you sat in the presence of Jungkook the more you were exposed to the colors that made Jungkook, Jungkook. Of course, you were intrigued by the phosphorescent hues allowing them to inch you closer in his direction. Wanting him to spare no details in the adventure of his life.
“What’s that?” you pointed at the packaging box beside him on the arm rest.
“Brownies,” he handed you the box, “I saw you eyeing them when you were at the bakery but you didn’t buy any. So, I figured I would bring you some.”
In your mind, this was his way of saying he was thinking about you—that’s what you chose to believe anyway.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. Besides, I wanna see what you think of my baking.” Jungkook’s eyes were bigger than usual behind his specs, he fidgeted with the hem of his shorts.
If only he knew, the actual taste of the brownies would hold no significance in your criticism. You would love them anyway simply because they came from him.
“How about we have one together?”
“Yeah?”
You nodded, “let’s go to my room. There’s two windows in there and I’m literally about to pass out from heat stroke out here.”
The two of you sat by each one of the windows, the box of his remaining six hand crafted sweet delicacies sat between the two of you on the nightstand.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
“1, 2,” the two of you held the chocolaty dessert up to your mouth, “3.”
Even after just one bite your taste buds were enamored.
“What do you think?”
“They’re amazing, Jungkook. You’re an amazing baker.”
“You can call me Kookie, you know.”
You nearly choked after taking another bite, hurdling into a coughing spiral, “that’s so fitting. Kookie the pastry chef.”
“Forget I said it,” he shook his head, laughing.
“Wait, no,” you loved the soft tint of pink dusting his cheeks, “that could be the name of your future shop.”
“Kookie’s Cookies.”
“Kookie’s Cookies,” you confirmed, “and I wanna be credited for the idea too.”
“Better yet, you’ll be my business partner.”
“That’s not a good idea. I’ll eat everything and you’ll just end up bankrupt,” your eyes were set on the congested sidewalks outside your window—everyone was out likely catching a break from their scorching apartments but here you were melting away all at the expense of being in Jungkook’s company just for a bit longer.
“I wouldn’t mind as long as you’re with me.”
Those eight words sent your mind into a spiral, head first into the rabbit hole of your fantasies. You couldn’t really make out if he truly meant what you thought he meant.
“Jungkook. .”
“I mean it.”
“Please don’t make me believe there could actually be something here,” Your voice was low and your thoughts were a scribbled mess. There was not a single coherency in your being at that point in time.
“I’m not lying,” your name tasted saccharine on his tinted lips—much like the brownie he had baked for you, “I like you.”
“Jungkook. .” was all you could muster.
“I’ve liked you from the moment you moved into the building.”
A single strike of thunder traveled down your spinal cord, you felt paralyzed in that moment and his sweet sweet words just continued looping inside the walls of your skull.
You were malfunctioning; shocked.
It’s astonishing how oblivious and just plain stupid human nature can make a person. For the past months, you had concealed the schoolgirl crush you developed on Jungkook and convinced yourself that there was absolutely no way in hell he could like you back.
Your insecurities had deceived you and now you sit here after so long with a thumping beat in your heart, giddy with excitement and lowkey wanting to slap yourself for not having noticed earlier.
“You like me?”
Obviously, he just fucking said that. He nodded.
“I like you, too.” You finally said out loud.
The temperature continued to rise in the small bedroom and between the two of you the heat became unbearable. With each passing second, you could feel the streamline trickles of your sweat cascading down your temples; your entire body matter of fact.
If eyes were the windows to the soul then Jungkook’s chocolate gaze was compelling.
And they were calling out for you so loudly.
“What happens now?” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
“Can I kiss you, Jungkook?”
You caught on to Jungkook’s mannerisms and body language rather quickly within the past hour. For example, he was pretty straight forward with his words yet whenever he spoke his fingers fidgeted with a random object as a distraction, this time it was the black beaded bracelet sitting on his wrist.
He nodded yet again.
Your heaven resided in the comfort of Jungkook’s thighs. You realized it the moment you straddled him. The rich smell of sandalwood was a scent unique to him, so earthy and rich. It was the only thing you ever wanted to smell for the remainder of your time on earth.
After raking your hands through his soft hair you tugged at it a bit, guiding his face up towards you.
“If you want anything from me. You’re gonna have to use your words, Jungkook.”
“You know what I want,” his eyes traced the corners of your lips down to the intricate details, “just kiss me, please.”
There are an abundance of perfect scenarios in life. For one there was the idyllic scene of snowfall on Christmas day; the legendary creamy combination of cookies and cream; then, there was the way your lips danced against Jungkooks, composing a choreography so intricate and beautiful only the two of you could execute it.
You were in a haze, entirely stupefied and addicted to his soft and warm lips. Then, his hands snaked around your waist as he guided you back and forth on his lap. His covered erection rubbed against your clothed slit in a pace so slow, it was agonizing yet delectable. Jungkook pulled away, continuing to lead your movements against him. Your mouth remained agape and you couldn’t help the sounds escaping your lips.
You wanted to pinch yourself, you’d only ever dreamt of this. Was this all a fabrication of your dreams? You hope it wasn’t, it felt so good.
“God, I’ve always wanted to have you like this.” His voice was husk and he spoke in between grunts.
If today was dictated as your last day on earth, you’d die being the happiest woman.
His warm breath fanned your sweaty neck. A tickle ran down your back but you focused on the knot forming at your abdomen.
“I’m so close.”
“Let go for me.”
His commands were sweet like candy and the utters of his guidance to have you crumble on his lap were all you needed to send you over the edge.
“You were so good for me, darling.”
“Call me that forever.” Your knees were sore, your voice was hoarse and you were sweltered from head to toe but you craved more, you grew wetter just imagining what else could arise from this encounter.
“Darling?” You nodded. “Jungkook?” He hummed lightly, opening his eyes and lifting his head from where it rested on the wall.
“Are you tired?”
“I just had a long day yesterday.”
“Can I help you unwind?” your lower lip now tucked under your teeth, “can I touch you?”
“Please.”
Your hands tucked under the hemline of his shorts and underwear. The way you illustrated Jungkook in your dreams was close to what you would imagine a modern Greek God to look like and you quickly realized that was the case when his shirt lifted revealing that he should be the one on display in museums instead of those silly little statues.
Your chin rested on his shoulder, while your hand moved up and down the length of his cock. You couldn’t see it, not yet. But he felt so big in your palm.
The hushed moans and curses leaving him fueled you to maintain at the same pace. Your lips found themselves leaving wet kisses on his already dampened neck.
“Please—please don’t stop,” He was a stuttering mess, his hand was gripping the window still so tightly his knuckles turned white. Hypnotized by arousal Jungkook began meeting your movements, enraptured by his desire for release.
“You’re not being a very good boy, Jungkook,” you whispered in his ear, “besides I thought you were tired.”
“I’ll—I’ll be so good I promise,” he continued fucking himself into your hand.
Jungkook whined as soon as you released his cock from your grip. Instead you tucked off the pesky fabrics covering his lower half, with his help of course, your theories were proven to be correct. Jungkook, your hot neighbor with piercings and tattoos also had a pussy destroyer in between his legs because of course he did.
“There’s only two rules baby.”
“What are the rules?”
“You have to keep your hands to yourself and no coming until I say so. You got it?”
“Yes, darling.”
Opening the last drawer on your night stand you pulled out one of your vibrators and held it up for him to see, “is it ok if we use this?”
“Mhm.”
You shoved it in your pocket for later.
Taking him into your mouth, you began swirling your tongue in circular motions around the head of his cock. His labored pants were hushed and almost inaudible, you would’ve missed them if the two of you weren’t in complete silence.
Licking up and down his shaft you focused on pressing your tongue on the tip, as your hands began working, pumping him where your mouth couldn’t reach. You bobbed your head up and down occasionally, allowing the head of his cock pop in and out of your mouth. Slurp noises began invading the atmosphere around the two of you along with his whimpers. Your pace was fast and there were traces of your saliva coating his length entirely.
“Fuck darling,” his hands were reaching to grasp anything in his path but instead he ended up knocking everything off your night stand. “Y-Your lips were made to be around my cock. You know that?”
Jungkook’s praises were treats for your ego and you made sure to devour them in their entirety. He was a pleasant mess; his hair stuck out in all directions while his lips were swollen and vibrant with a scarlet hue as he kept biting down on them harshly. His glasses were slightly fogged and there were traces of saliva sitting on the corner of his mouth. All you wanted was to continue seeing him lose himself at your mercy.
You reached into your pocket and turned on the palm sized stimulator—you placed it against his balls before hitting the on button, setting off its vibrations. His head fell back and his hips buckled forward, causing you to gag around the majority of cock.
“I’m gonna come,” he cried out.
If anyone would’ve told you having Jungkook’s dick in your mouth would be this heavenly, you would live on your knees in front of him forever. Pleasuring him at every hour of every day but today you had different plans and once again he let out frustrated whimpers as you removed your mouth from around him.
“No—no, darling you’re fucking killing me. I need to come now,” he sounded desperate, “It hurts so bad. I need to come.”
“Don’t worry baby. We’re getting right to that,” you placed a kiss on his forehead.
“Did you bring any condoms?”
He shook his head, “I wasn’t exactly expecting things to go down this route.”
“Are you. .?”
“I’m clean. Are you?”
“I am.”
There was a timid breeze coming in through the opened window, it was enough to cool you down just a bit, well as cool as you could be without a fan.
Bouncing on Jungkook’s dick was even better than having him in your mouth. Sure, you loved the way he became a stuttering mess with the teasing of your tongue but having him deep inside of you, you felt like you were in your own heaven. On a deserted island somewhere with nothing but the swift breeze coming from the palm trees and his touch on your skin.
“You take me so well,” he whispered in your ear but you were too busy consumed by your own pleasure. Hyper focused on the way his hands dug into your waist; the way he swiftly pushed his cock in and out of you.
The sounds of your skin slapping against his blared through the room, as well as your profanities and his words of praise just as before.
Your nails dug into his shoulder as you felt a build up of tension tightening in the pit of your stomach, causing you to arch your back. Seemingly, the way you clenched around Jungkook he seemed to have noticed you were extremely close.
“Come for me darling,” with each word he buried his dick deeper into you.
It was a blissful paradise painted on the back of your eyelids as Jungkook continued to mold your insides with his dick, he was careful but rammed into you with such force, your voice was strained and you couldn’t hold it any longer. You finally came as sights of the beeming sun behind your closed eyes blinded you entirely.
“Come inside of me,” you managed; even more sweaty than how you began, absolutely tired and completely out of breath.
He chanted strings of your name as finally filled you up.
“Please come over more often and bring all of your brownies with you,” you were pressed up against him as he hugged your waist, placing a soft kiss on your head.
“How about we begin by going to that movie tomorrow?” It was so funny to you how Jungkook had practically just split you in two and now he was back to being soft spoken.
“It’s a date.”
It was now Friday, the power was finally back on around the city and Jungkook followed through on his plans to take you to the movies. The only problem was when you approached the theater you spotted your nosey landlord standing in line right beside Namjoon. “Before you say anything, Seokjin. Please just shut the fuck up.”
“You always think the worse of me,” he placed his hand on his chest, “all I was going to say is my Cupid’s bow is to thank for the two of you finally getting together.”
“In that case, thank you Seokjin,” Jungkook said.
“Don’t thank him.”
“Actually, please do. But the next time yall fuck in my building please keep it down. Just like the walls, the floors are also thin and the fifth floor did not appreciate your day of passion.”
“Seokjin, please go back to your own date,” you hissed, hoping no one else in line heard his little rant, “pretend we’re not here.”
Jungkook’s shame sat in his now red tinted cheeks, you peppered kisses on them to ease him.
“See, they can’t even keep their hands to themselves in public,” you heard Seokjin whisper.
This is going to be an interesting date.
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a/n: this was pretty fun to write but supposed to be out on my birthday a couple days ago but i couldn’t meet the deadline sadly but please enjoy and disregard the smut scene if it’s bad. I tried lol my brain just wasn’t working 100%.
thanks for reading. comments, likes, reblogs and messages are always appreciated. let me know what you think ;)
#bts#bts smut#bts imagines#bts reactions#jeon jungkook#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook x reader#jungkook x y/n#jungkook drabble#very brief mention of seokjin x namjoon#bangtan sonyeondan#jungkook x you#bts jungkook smut
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svt maknae line as your bf hcs
pt 2 baby!!
svt x f!reader, all fluff
wc: ~2.1k
read the hyung line ver
minghao
☆ takes you out on artsy dates (museum hopping, painting, decoden, brunch at a boujee cafe, etc.)
☆ takes candid photos of you every chance he gets. he uses them as reference for his art later and as a small pick-up when hes feeling down
☆ he understands the need for individuality in a relationship. although he loves you and you feel the same about him, he makes it clear that the two of you dont complete each other, but instead compliment each other
☆ hes not as openly affectionate around others, but he makes sure you know that hes there by rubbing your knuckles, walking close enough so that your shoulders brush, and leaving a small kiss on your head after each hug
☆ loves to dress you up! he thinks you look great in anything, but he especially likes how the clothes he picks out look on you. youre like his personal fashion model and he loves it
☆ hes super sweet to your family. he shows a lot of respect towards them and they take him in as if he was their long-lost child.
☆ he is brutally honest. he tells you exactly what he thinks and offers suggestions on how to fix things. although he still comforts and reassures you, he also tells you the truth and helps you accept reality
☆ he loves to make you tea! you two even have designated tea time where you both wind down and just talk about life for a bit
☆ the type to ask what youd like for breakfast at night and wake you up with the heavenly smell of his cooking
☆ while walking home from your favorite cafe with freshly-baked pastries, he stops by a local flower shop. when he gets home, he prepares the bouquet in a pretty vase and leaves them on the counter. they remind him of you, and he cant help but smile at the surprised look on your face when you wake up to see the flowers blooming in your kitchen
mingyu
☆ loves the way you look in his clothes. his favorite look on you is when youre in your pajama shorts and one of his big white tees
☆ super clumsy (but its endearing!!). he always finds ways to drop your things, but the sad puppy eyes and string of apologies leaving his lips make you forgive him every time
☆ he. loves. kissing. at the beginning of your relationship, he spent nearly half the time he had with you with his mouth latched onto yours. your friends said he looked at you like he wanted to eat you. he mellows out as time goes on, but the passion from the honeymoon stage of your relationship still lingers
☆ hes not afraid to show everyone that youre his girlfriend.. all the time.. anywhere.. he always shows his affection for you as if no one else was around
☆ the type to bury his face into your neck and hug you from behind all night (he wont let go until you “say the magic word, ‘please’”)
☆ hates that he loves it when you tease him. you think hes so cute when he gets flustered or upset, and although he tells you to knock if off and whines for you to stop messing with him, he secretly loves it.
☆ always shoots you a good morning text! if hes really feeling it, he’ll even send a selfie of him in bed, barefaced, with his hair all poofy and messed up from rolling around in bed
☆ hes a big softie normally, but an even bigger softie for you. he’ll bend over backwards to make you happy, and he never wants you to stop smiling
☆ a bit of a himbo, but it only makes him cuter. he always says dumb stuff that makes you laugh or trips over himself trying to impress you.
☆ gets the warmest, fuzziest, most mind-boggling feeling whenever he thinks of you. his friends always tease him about it (“you look like a real life heart eyes emoji. can you stop thinking about her and focus?”)
seokmin
☆ the most ‘boyfriend’ boyfriend to ever exist. he asks his friends to take photos of him when hes away. he sends them to you and captions them “look! its like we’re on a date <3”
☆ laughs the loudest when youre around. he finds you hilarious and loves your sense of humor
☆ gets drunk and sends you these long, drawn-out text messages where he expresses his love for you and how he wants to marry you. he gets super embarrassed when you tease him about them them the morning after
☆ he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him. every time you meet his gaze, his eyes are full of adoration, and a bright smile accompanies them.
☆ loves to pick up things that he knows you like while hes out shopping. he fills his cart with your favorite meal kits, frozen desserts, and even texts you photos of things asking if youd like him to buy them
☆ loves to surprise you with his strength. sometimes you forget just how buff he is due to his loose-fitting, boxy shirts. he loves picking you up randomly and laughs when you yelp in surprise and smack his arm while telling him to put you down
☆ shares everything with you! his clothes, his food, he even clears out one of his dresser drawers for you
☆ always sets up these really elaborate comedic bits with you. he knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you first played along
☆ he loves your hands. hes always messing with them, holding them, massaging them. he just loves your hands so much and especially loves seeing them when your fingers are entwined with his
☆ when he introduces you to his family, they all latch onto you immediately and basically adopt you. they adore you, and hes so happy that they approve of you he accidentally writes your last name as his instead of your own
seungkwan
☆ hes your best friend, and thats what makes your relationship so great. he knows you like the back of his hand, and you return that sentiment equally
☆ when he officially introduces you as his girlfriend to his family, his mom makes a comment about how he wouldnt stop talking about you for months. she adores you (sometimes, seungkwan even thinks that she loves you more than him)
☆ hes great at comforting you and empathizing with what youre going through. he hates seeing you cry, but knows that its needed. he holds you for as long as you need him to and listens to your problems just like you do for him
☆ hes extremely protective of you. not in the sense that he goes overboard and makes it weird, but in the sense that he doesnt want you to get hurt and he’ll confront anyone who he knows has bad intentions towards you
☆ he doesnt put up with your crappy friends’ bullshit. he sees right through them and makes an effort to tell you immediately how he perceives them, but he doesnt force you to follow his advice
☆ on his days off, he wakes you up with kisses and breakfast in bed. when you move to eat, you realize that hes already cut everything into bite-sized portions for you
☆ he peels the rind off of the tangerines his mom sent him before placing them on your plate
☆ although he loves you and wants to stay with you forever, he has no plans set up for the future. he simply wants to stay by your side for as long as he can, and hes willing to do whatever youd like to do in the future with your relationship
☆ he loves it when you call him “kwannie”, he thinks its adorable and feels his cheeks heat up each time
☆ he takes you out on the most romantic picnic dates and always stresses on planning ahead. he brings extras of everything and checks the weather app feverishly to make sure your dates dont get ruined by a drop of rain
vernon
☆ he cracks jokes at you with a straight face and it breaks you every time. he smiles afterwards and stares at you with love in his eyes
☆ he uses cheesy pick-up lines on you even though youre already dating. he loves how you cringe and get all shy, especially when he does it in front of your friends
☆ the two of you spend hours laying in bed and just talking. you talk about anything and everything, and you both end up sleeping as the sun rises
☆ you love his face, and he knows it. hes handsome. he always stares at you and likes watching you fumble whatever is in your hands or trip over yourself like a teenage girl every time he does
☆ he loves at-home dates. hes always wanted to cook a romantic meal for you, but he settles for ordering takeout since he cant figure out the meal kit in your freezer
☆ hes a bit of a blanket hog. the two of you giggle and thrash around the bed on most nights while fighting for the blanket
☆ the type to not question you much when you tell him to do something. if you told him to drink a mysterious liquid, he would. he trusts you completely
☆ you provide each other a sense of safety. you feel safe in his arms and he feels safe in yours. emotionally and physically you both allow each other to sleep soundly.
☆ he buys pairs of beanies whenever he finds cute ones so that he can match with you
☆ he loves to think about the stupidest hypotheticals with you and daydream about alternate realities (he bets that he’d still be yours in all of them)
chan
☆ hes your biggest fan. he loves hyping you up and reassuring you that youre more than enough, that youre beautiful and that hes so glad youre his girlfriend
☆ when he confessed to you, his exact words were “can i be your boyfriend?” instead of “will you be my girlfriend?” because he thought it was too cliché
☆ he loves it when you watch him dance. it makes him go 10x harder than he normally would. after practice is over, he drags you onto the dance floor and pulls you in for a hug, laughing as you whine about how sweaty he is
☆ his eyes are shining when he introduces you to his grandma. the two of you spend the evening talking with her and sipping on hot teas while she makes the tastiest stew youve ever had
☆ his favorite nights are those spent with you. lights off, on the couch with you on top of him and feeling you pressed close against him while the newest episode of your favorite kdrama illuminates the room. (he honestly cant remember what its about, and neither can you, because you both end up kissing and cuddling through multiple episodes)
☆ youre his partner in crime. you spend a lot of time plotting ways to tease his hyungs and end up agreeing to a lot of wild antics that end with the two of you being chased down by a pouty seungcheol
☆ he gets extremely silly around you. for some reason, having you around boosts his confidence, and he cracks more jokes and is way more extroverted in your presence
☆ the first time he heard you crying in bed, he turned you to face him and asked you what was wrong. he held you close, his face inches away from yours, and told you that everything would be okay. you fell asleep in his arms, with his hands running through your hair and the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep
☆ he put his photocard in the back of your phone case as a joke. every time he sees it, his cheeks get hot, but he cant quite tell if the blush is from embarassment or endearment (“you still havent taken that out yet? …no! its not a problem at all!!”)
☆ he lets you style him, even letting you do his hair and makeup. he says you do a better job than the makeup artists at work. he puts on a show for you afterwards, putting on his model face and letting you host a mini photo shoot for him
a/n: finally finished writing this! tbh i went a bit out of order when writing all 13 members, so this should have been out way earlier than the hyung line one, but.. yeah! hope this is good :> happy 17th heaven release day everyone!!
#seventeen#svt fluff#svt x reader#minghao x reader#mingyu x reader#seokmin x reader#seungkwan x reader#vernon x reader#lee chan x reader#minghao fluff#mingyu fluff#seokmin fluff#seungkwan fluff#vernon fluff#lee chan fluff
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you are unfixable.
rafe is a possessive individual. obsessive, controlling. but you love him, right? so you surely must obey when he tells you not to do something, thats what he expects and thats how it will be. you're his.
warnings: abusive relationship, toxic boyfriend, possessive and obsessive behaviour, side jj x reader, domestic violence
(not mine gif)
the air felt scary inside his car, you were quietly staring at the window, not even breathing properly, scared of how your boyfriend would react. the silence made you even more anxious that if he was yelling instead.
no music, nothing. just the sound of the wheels.
till he broke it.
"what were you two even talking about? huh?"
"i told you, rafe, he just tried to have a normal conversation!" you said clearly annoyed.
he glanced at you.
"i already told you several times, i don't want you talking to that guy!" he almost shouted. his face looked red. his tone was harsh, but he tried not to scream yet.
"rafe...this is crazy! please, see things how they really are, i'm your girlfriend! it is not like i would go out there flirting with anyone else, i love you!"
you wanted to cry at how angry and sad you felt.
"i- i know, but..." he nodded his head, staring at his own hands "i know jj likes you, okay? and i just want to make sure he doesn't think he stand a chance with you"
"what are you talking about?" you furrowed your eyebrows. jj and you were never close, but whenever you had the opportunity to talk, it was something nice, fresh. he was a good company. you were sure he never saw you as anything else than a possible friendship.
"i see how he looks at you... the same way as i do, y/n" you breathed heavily. rafe wasn't just dramatic, he was THE drama queen himself. "don't give me that look!"
"what look?"
"the one you're giving me right now! like...like i'm crazy or something!" his eyes were full of tears, he was holding the steering wheel with a tight grip, his hands looked white.
"look" you said, trying to calm down . there was a brief moment of silence, you were thinking about the right words. "i've been thinking a lot about it, and... rafe, i'm not being healthy for you. our relationship is not healthy for you."
his eyes went wide, knowing what you were about to say. his heart beated so fast he considered he would might have a heart attack.
he knew it. he knew he was a fucking freak, but he couldn't find a healthier way to cope. he was totally, completely obsessed with you, he felt like throwing up by the mere thought of life without you. he knew it was far more than love, he knew it was sick.
"you need to focus on yourself by now, you know? try to stay clean, go see a therapist, take care of your mind and soul-"
before you could finish, he raced the car again. but this time, much faster than before.
"rafe, slow down!"
he kept going faster and faster, till the point where you were almost crying.
"RAFE! STOP!"
he didn't. and thats when you grabbed his arm, desperatedly trying to make him stop.
"please, please rafe, stop right now!"
you were so scared. it was a dark road, you could barely see anything in front of you.
he stopped.
you were breathless. your heart felt anxious, remembering the times where your dad used to fight with your mom and race the car, exactly like this, and threat to kill you and her.
rafe grabbed your wrist on his arm, tightly. "look at me"
you stared immediately, scared for your life. for some reason, you had jj in mind. would this ever happen if you were with him instead? what about the calm, fresh love you always wanted? this wasn't life. love wasn't supposed to be this dark. what if you had never met rafe and were close to jj instead?
of course he was also up for some trouble, but clearly not as extreme as your boyfriend.
"i love you more than i even love myself. but that doesn't mean i will let you hurt me like this and be just fine" he then cupped your jaw. you couldn't hold your sobs anymore.
"i can't live without you, baby, i'm not even phisically able to do it... so you're gonna be with me for the rest of my goddamn life, you get it? i'm gonna marry you soon and we're gonna leave this piece of shit of island, and it's gonna be just us. none of those filthy friends you have, none else but me and you." he tapped your head with his fingers, he didn't blink during the whole time he was saying this. staring at you dead in the eyes. "i'm not joking when i say that i would kill for you, and that including you, baby. you're not gonna leave me, ever"
"i wish i never met you" you cried. immediately regreting, but your emotions were speaking louder.
the slap was so hard you felt like your face and ear was burning on fire.
"we're gonna wash that little pretty mouth of yours once we get home."
#rafe x you#dark rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#drew starkey#outer banks#obx fic#dark rafe
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Astarion x Tav || sickfic
can you keep me close? (can you love me most?)
synopsis: her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "you're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.
an excerpt of 'cause my love (is mine, all mine)
word count: 1435
pairing: astarion/tav
other tags: f!reader, bard!tav, half-elf!tav, hurt/comfort, sickfic, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, the usual at this point, song inspo: someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic
ao3: here
concept: sickfic!!
Tav isn’t really sure what’s happening.
Actually, the whole past twelve hours have been a little blurry—memories and movements kept blending themselves in a non-cohesive way, she kept forcing her limbs to move but they would trail sluggishly behind, and she isn’t sure where she is right now.
When she feels something cool on her forehead, she finally startles.
Her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. Then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "You're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.
Ah, naturally. She had never expected to receive her very own angel. It seemed more likely that the gods would send an eerie, skeleton-like old codger, draped in tattered robes, who would speak in cryptic riddles to assist her, or a dream guardian that, in reality, turned out to be a peculiar, haughty tentacled creature with aspirations of dominating all other races in the world with mind-controlling parasites.
She squints and blinks repeatedly until Astarion comes into sharper focus. He's seated in a chair, legs crossed, arms folded, and appears quite displeased. She vaguely recollects a caregiver mentioning bringing some medicine, and fervently hopes that her current company isn't the result of that promise. After all, her companion is one of the last individuals she wishes to see right now.
The situation is rather embarrassing. She's cocooned in blankets that are overly warm, her hair is in disarray, she can't quite manage to open her eyes completely, and her muscles are protesting, urging her to remain at rest. She's determined not to let Astarion witness her in this state or feel sorry for her.
Her first instinct is to apologize, especially under his scrutinizing gaze. Instead, she insists, “I’m dying. Can’t you be a little nicer?”
“Oh, goodness me. Perhaps I’ll just leave you to suffer this horrible affliction alone,” he offers, hand on his chest in mock offense as he gets up, pretending to leave.
“Good. You don’t need to take care of me—”
She reaches out for her hat and makes an attempt to rise, but Astarion places his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her back onto the bed. His touch, once more, carries a soothing coolness, alleviating the hot discomfort and muscle soreness. "Oh, no, no, no. Absolutely not. I am not suffering another heart attack because of everyone’s favourite idiot again," he admonishes her, and she blinks in surprise, as it almost seems like he's expressing genuine concern for her.
“I’m not everyone’s favourite idiot,” she protests, weakly, even as he presses her back into the mattress to lie down.
“No, but you’re mine.” He says, perched on top of her. He's leaning above her now, effectively pinning her to the bed. He senses her slight movement beneath him, though it's hard to discern if she's merely shifting or genuinely attempting to break free, given her frail state.
Nevertheless, he gazes down at her from above, her hair splayed across the pillowcase, her face flushed, eyes half-closed, disheveled clothing, and heavy breaths. He realizes the position he’s in and releases her quickly, flustered. He hides this by opting to fetch a drink of water from his waterskin for her.
“You—you could have said something, you know.” He continues, smoothly. “Before it got this bad.”
“You had other things on your mind. Didn’t want you to worry about me,” she mumbles, but Astarion detects the slight slur in her words. He lifts the glass to her lips, eyes lingering on its shape, and she takes a sip of the cold liquid, letting out a soft moan of relief.
“Don’t want you to get sick, either.” She adds, snapping him out of his reverie.
“Thinking your companion is going to die after they randomly collapse is very worrying, so you know.” Astarion chides, putting away the waterskin. “And also, I’m far too dead to contract such a simple illness. Dalyria says it’s from exhaustion—something you’re suffering from more than me, for once.”
He’s really sure that she’s dying now. She does not retort, and against all odds, it seems that she actually managed to fall asleep again. It makes sense to him that her sickness might be getting slightly worse. When he first touched her forehead, it felt scorching to the touch, and she's now buried beneath several layers of blankets, almost swallowed by the bedding.
Astarion takes in the sorry state of the room. There's a soiled towel nearby with remnants of vomit. He observes her shivering, her clothes clinging to her body, drenched in sweat.
Astarion sets out to gather some supplies—more towels, additional water, and some rations. They were running low on food, but as long as she could sustain herself, he wasn't too concerned.
He watches her as she drifts in and out of consciousness, noting her increasing confusion, likely due to the worsening fever. She mumbles about things he can't quite make out as he settles with a book to keep her company while he monitors her condition.
He glances up from the pages periodically as she rests on the makeshift bed, wrapped in old, dusty blankets. Astarion stokes the nearby fireplace to provide warmth, even though she appears to be sweating profusely, so he's unsure if it's the best idea.
She did seem to be relieved by his touch, though. To check on her condition once more, he reaches out and gently brushes her hair to the side to touch her forehead. She initially flinches, and he moves to withdraw his hand—until she grips his wrist. It’s a feeble hold, but she keeps his hand pressed against her face.
He realizes he doesn’t feel repulsed by her actions at all. It’s true, she’s using him—quite literally, as some sort of relief—but it feels like she needs him in this moment. He can’t pretend not to like the thought of being needed, even wanted by her.
He wonders, as an extension of that line of thought, if he would be okay with kissing her. Reflecting on his past experiences with the drow, he remembers the familiar, lingering disgust and self-hatred that typically arose. However, Tav doesn't evoke any of those emotions within him. His hand drifts, and his thumb traces her bottom lip gently. It's not smooth or plump; it's dry and cracked. Somehow, that makes it feel more authentic, and the question lingers in his mind.
But he doesn’t need that. He can get physical affection from anywhere. He just… likes this. That’s all it is. That’s all it has to be, right? This is rarer—he wouldn’t give this up for the world.
So he doesn’t allow his thoughts to wander beyond that.
But seeing her reluctance to let him go stirs something within him. It’s a tug at the depths of his chest, an undeniable ache. Well, if he could be of help to her like this, then who was he to deny her? After all, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared moments like this before.
He proceeds with caution, making every effort to avoid disturbing her as the bed slightly dips underneath his weight. He pulls the blanket over both of them and he draws her near, and she emits a soft sigh as her arms instinctively encircle him, warming his chest.
In the absence of a clock, Astarion loses track of time as he remains in bed beside her. He devotes most of it to observing her, running his fingers through her hair with a gentle touch. It's an act one might do with a lover, although she remains unconscious. He could murmur tender words, and she would remain unaware. Even if she happened to hear, he suspected her current state of mind would prevent her from retaining the information. No, this is for his own solace, and he finds it strangely comforting.
#astarion romance#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#fanfic#bg3#writing#astarion headcanons#astarion x mc#mutual pining#astarion fic#astarion x reader#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x dark urge#sick fic#mahoufiction#sickfic#fic ideas#writing prompt
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finally did a full painting of my boy from ffxiv after playing him for years! I started this sketch back in 5.1 after the big azem reveal but never finished it, so the pattern from the top was supposed to be the main thing for the piece.
veloce is a calm, quiet, simple cat, but in battle he is savage, ruthless, and forceful. he was a paladin and he prefers physical and close ranged combat, and after he learned both white and black magic, he became a red mage instead.
his rapier is his old paladin sword fused with some essence of nidhogg that he ripped out of nidhogg out of rage during heavensward, when he lost his first true friend who he felt connected to and was overtaken by anger for the dragonsong war. his focus is his crystal of light; after his meeting with fray taught him that the dark dregs of his mind exist because they are there to protect something/someone, the colour of darkness now embraces his crystal of light and aids him in battle.
despite nidhogg’s rage and influence, veloce’s savagery was always his own, and he had always been heavy handed in battle no matter who/what he fought, unexpected by those who knew him in normal everyday life as a reserved individual. he uses his sword a lot more than he casts, his melee attacks are less precise/elegant than standard red mage attacks and more forceful like a paladin’s, and his aggressive fighting habits sometimes gets him in trouble as a red mage when he forgets that he’s not as durable as he was before with a shield and heavier armour.
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thanks for reading and come fight me in game in crystalline conflict or in the duel arena!!
_________________
Amongst Us | Carciphona | Instagram | Twitter
#art#ffxiv#red mage#rdm#azem#velocexiv#veloce#shilin#okolnir#2023#illustration#miqote#fr though i love dueling pls fight me#i miss the read more option so i can spam without taking up someone else's timeline space
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Representing Biracial Black South American Experiences…Through a White/Asian Mixed Race Character in Europe
@colombinna asked:
I have a YA story that's in very early development - pre-alpha, if you will. For now what I have developed is the characters: one of the MCs is a biracial asian queer girl (her dad is thai-american and japanese, her mom's white), she has a medium/dark brown skin, and lives in a very white context in a fictional European country. The contact she has with her extended family is limited to phone calls and regular visits because her dad moved from the US to said fictional European country.
I'm a biracial black queer girl myself, living in a very white community in South America, my extended black family also lives in a different place, and I'm taking a lot of my experiences of being not white and queer whilst living in white communities into her story (the feeling of not belonging, the impostor syndrome, standing out as one of the only POC kids in class, etc) and thinking back to what I've heard asian friends and classmates say about their experiences in the same school/community context as mine. But I want to know how different her experiences as a dark-skinned asian girl would differ from mine and my friends' in a similar context (white community, small number of other asian people - and POC in general - in the social circles, and limited contact to her extended family), and what experiences could make sense if the character was biracial black like myself, but won't if she's biracial asian.
Why not write a biracial Black girl if those are the experiences you want to represent?
This MC is straddling, like, 3 different cultures. Having multiple immigrant identities in not-Europe is not the same experience as being Black in South America; while both are complex minority experiences, there are too many differences in intersections and histories to compare. Not to mention, it really depends on what European culture(s) you’re basing your not-Europe on.
I think you’ll find that the written result will ring much more genuine and rich in depth if you either translate your experiences more directly or pick a more narrow focus, instead of assuming that there is a universal for racism and colorism against biracial people that is transferable across contexts. Because there isn’t. There can be overlaps, but if you’re looking to cover the entire range of What It’s Like in general, it won’t work.
This isn’t to say that people can’t use other identities to write about specific experiences of their own, but in this case you need to think about what story you want to tell and what your reasons are. Marika’s commentary will go more into when and how this can be done effectively.
Also, if the point is to make her a dark-skinned Asian, as a white/asian mix myself, I implore you: why must you make her 1/4 Japanese and 1/2 white? Even with the Thai ethnicity thrown in, Thai people very much range in skin tone and have their own domestic issues with colorism. It’s not impossible for dark-skinned examples of your MC’s ethnic makeup to exist, but still I don’t recommend it for two reasons:
It's going to make researching people whose experiences fit that much more difficult. Most experiences of colorism, othering, and other forms of discrimination that mixed white asians tend to face are completely different from mixed race asians who tend to have darker skin & features.
There's enough Japanese & white mixed Japanese rep in the Asian rep sphere as is. Consider that this individual could be mixed Asian (not Japanese) with something else (not white)!
But again, think over your motivations. I’ll spare you the copy/paste of our Motivations PSA, but re-read it and consider. Why do you wish to write a mixed Asian character to tell the story of your experiences as a mixed Black individual instead of a mixed Black character? What does it add to the story? Is it an effective vessel for the experiences you want to convey?
~ Rina
I think Rina brings up some good points here: I’m not hearing a lot of specificity in your query. As you doubtless know firsthand, the more intersectional and complex an identity, the more of a chance the identity may come with unexpected baggage and nuances that fly in the face of what is common sense for less intersectional identities. This can make writing such characters challenging just because there is so much choice on which identity themes to emphasize.
I once spent about 15 minutes explaining to a person the thought process I used to determine when I could wear jeans depending on which country I was living in as a mixed race person who is perceived as different things in different places. It might seem trivial, but it’s actually very important to me for the purposes of identity, safety and gender presentation, so I personally think it’s interesting. But will my readers think a character’s multi-page internal monologue on whether or not to wear jeans is especially compelling? Does the writer-version of me want to research the version of myself musing on my specific jeans conundrum to that extent? Or do I want to talk about other things related to attire a lot of other people would relate to? I think those are all YMMV questions, but hopefully, they provide some perspective that will help you be intentional about how you might want to tackle something potentially very time-consuming.
When I say intentional, I mean that when covering a complex identity with which you are peripherally familiar, it will always be more effective and easier to use it to tell a specific story extremely clearly than to be extremely broad in scope and try to include almost everything about your own experiences, especially because some of those experiences might not be as relevant for your character’s background as they are to yours.
One of my favorite childhood picture books is written and illustrated by a Nikkei writer-illustrator team. The book is titled Ashok by Any Other Name (link). The story features a desi child growing up in the US who wishes he had an American name his friends and teachers wouldn’t think was strange. It covers how being othered for his name makes him feel, and how he copes with that feeling. Speaking as someone both Japanese and desi, I think through the plot device of names perceived by the majority of Americans as foreign, this book aptly shows how many immigrant/diaspora creators are capable of relating to the pressures of assimilation experienced by other immigrant, even if the creator, the audience and the story’s subject’s backgrounds all don’t completely overlap 100%.
There will be aspects of your Blackness, mixed identity, skin color, sexuality and living in a local community lacking diversity as a member of many minority groups that you will find resemble/ resonate with the experiences of mixed-race, Japanese individual in a Europe-themed setting, and I think any story that leans into those themes will be considerably easier for you to research. In other words, instead of asking us “How does my experience differ?” I would approach this issue by deciding what narrative you want to show about your own experience and then research the specific contexts within which your desired story overlaps with elements of mixed-race Japanese experiences.
- Marika.
#japanese#mixed race#biracial#black#black woman#asian women#multicultural#multiracial#pov#identity#representation#asks
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desolate: part ii {aemond targaryen x reader}
word count: 2.6k
parts: one | two
warnings: 18+. smut. angst. proceed with caution.
note: all grammar mistakes are my own. this is a part 2, but will not be too confusing if you haven't read part 1. thank you for reading <3
Aemond blinked awake as the morning sun peeked through the curtains of his chambers. His sleep was usually short and interrupted as his constant edge made him easy to wake. Not last night, though, with you beside him. Within himself he couldn't make out why.
He thought about the last time he slept in the company of someone else, a woman. He cringed into himself when he realized it was his mother. The time was years ago. He was a smaller, younger. He had a spell of nerve pain during dinner and fled to his room. Alicent followed not far behind him. Where he would usually slam the door shut and lock it behind him, he neglected to then. With his hand cradling the left side of his face, he begged her, yelled at her, to leave. He was glad that she didn’t. She drew shapes on his palm until he fell asleep. He woke up to her still in his room asleep in the chair beside his bed. He apologized to her that morning. She told him not to, not for that.
He shook the thought out of his head and instead focused on how he couldn’t witness the sunrise this morning as he usually did. He slept for longer than usual. He turned his head down to finally look at you bundled beside him, back still to his chest.
Your words from last night racked through his mind as he studied the side of your face. He thought about the reasons why you would want more attention from him. He didn’t think himself good company to keep, not good enough for someone like you. Yet, here you were.
Shortly after his waking, you awoke as well. Still admiring you, he saw you begin to stir in your sleep. Shit.
When he saw your eyes begin to flutter open, he instinctively pretended to be sleeping again and then slowly blinked and opened his eye as if he were waking with you. You shift beside him and he sees you looking up at him.
“You stayed,” you smile lightly.
“Yes,” he responds, “However, Criston is expecting me in the training yard.”
Your face falls.
“Uh- but I’m sure he can wait,” he sputters trying to fix his misspeaking.
You roll your eyes and push his arm off of you.
“You have not one romantic bone in your body, husband,” you lift yourself from the bed and stand up, “don’t let me stop you from going about your day.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Stay with me.”
“Well, I have plans with Helaena, so it seems we’re both busy,” you move to the window to open his curtains. He uses his hand to shield his eye from the brightness.
“I can cancel on him and I’ll clear my meetings for the day,” he says to you.
“Very sweet, but no need as I will not be canceling my plans for you, husband,” you respond as you begin to make your way to the door.
“Will you be back here tonight?” he calls out behind you.
“We’ll see,” you respond with your back to him as you exit the room, the door closing behind you.
The only semblance left of you was your scent in his sheets.
── •
Later that night on his way back to his chambers, Aemond stops himself from the urge to go to your room and ask you to sleep with him again that night. He did not want to rush you. He moves on his path to his own room.
Once he enters, he is surprised to see you on his bed.
He stops in his tracks.
“Should I see myself out?” you tilt your head at him with a glint in your eyes.
“Of course not,” he responds and you notice his eye raking your body. You were wearing a white linen night gown tonight. Lace detailing decorated your neck line.
He moves to undress himself and get ready for bed.
“I can help you,” you jump up from the bed and approach him. You push his own hands away from his belt buckle and unclamp it for him. You focus on the individual notches on his tunic as he looks at you. Once you notice his gaze, you hold yours with his.
“Are you doing this because you want to fuck?” he chimes.
“You can interpret this however you want, husband-“
Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist, turned you around, and bent you over the bed so your stomach hit the mattress. You could feel him lift your gown until-
“Wait! Hold on!” you chime in, pushing yourself from the bed and turning to him, “be gentle at first!”
“Why? That is not effective.”
“Yes it is! It is about feeling everything.”
“I’m not good at gentle.”
“I could teach you.” you huff out of breath.
“And where did you learn about gentle sex?” He raises his eyebrow.
“Where did you learn about sex in general, husband?”
His face falls for a moment, “This isn’t about me.”
“But I-”
“Tell me how you want me to make love to you as you say.”
“... Well, I do enjoy reading.”
“You do.”
“I have read in the novels that we have the option to undress each other first,” your eyes avert away towards the conclusion of your sentence.
“Oh. Are those the kinds of texts you've been reading all this time?” there was amusement in his expression now.
“Wha- No!”
He throws his now unbuckled tunic to the nearest chair and begins fumbling your gown, “I am not judging you. Arms up,” You did as you were told and he pulls your gown over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.
“Okay,” you move to grab his hand and pull him to the bed, you both sit on the edge of it.
“This is the part where … you kiss me and touch me softly,” you then closed your eyes and waited intently for him to make the next move.
He nodded, though, you couldn’t see him. A small smile crept on his face. He didn’t know what part of you to take in first: the silliness of the sight of you waiting for him with puckered lips or the hardness of your exposed nipples. He licked his lower lip in anticipation.
His hand reached to turn your face towards him, press your mouth in a kiss. Then your a kiss to your chin. Then your neck. Then your collar bone. He pulled away for a moment to meet your eyes with his.
“Don’t stop,” you whispered.
He pulled you in for a harder kiss this time before guiding you further onto the mattress and positioning himself between your legs. He continued his trek of planting kisses all across your chest. The feel of his lips in tandem with his breath on your torso made you shudder.
His mouth moves to your breast and pauses there before suckling on the flesh, then on your nipple. You gasp at the sensitivity. For a moment he stays there and then shifts to give attention to your other breast. You reach your hand to run your fingers through his silver mane. You couldn’t tell who was more pleased in that moment: you or him. You smiled as a content hum escaped his lip. Undoubtedly, it was him.
You could feel his hands pull at the hem of your underwear. He only unlatched from your chest as way to better free you from your garments. He threw them out of view. You saw him sit for a moment to take in the view of you. He caught sight of your glistening center.
“Look how ready you are for me,” he says under his breathe.
You nod.
“Tell what they do next in those stories your read, my eager girl,” he teases.
You nudge him with the side of your foot and he laughs.
“Do you touch yourself while reading these novels, eager girl? Who do you imagine in place of your hands?” he says as he drags both palms along your inner thighs.
“Please,” you manage to say.
“Please what?”
“Touch me more.”
“Where?” he tilts his head.
“You know where,” you urge him.
“I’m afraid I don’t-“
You grab his hand from your though move it closer to your center.
“Ohhh, you mean here,” he taps your aching cunt and you hiss.
His traces his fingers along your slit, gathering your wetness along with it. He pulls his fingers away to examine the dampness you’ve left on his fingers. Your jaw drops slightly as you watch him bring them to his mouth, licking them clean. He hums at the flavor.
You watch as he adjusts himself onto his stomach and leans his head onto your inner thigh. Then he looks at you.
“May I taste you?” he says.
Mouth still partially hung open you respond with a breathless, “Yes.”
He proceeds with a long drag of his tongue across your cunt. He collects the wetness at your opening and gathers it to your clit. He rotates between swirling his tongue and suckling on the bud, eliciting moans from you pouting mouth. You grab at the sheets beneath you.
His tongues coaxes whimpers to escape your mouth as he continues his attack on your clit. Periodically moving back to your core to collect the nectar he has extracted out of you. He treated it as his prize. His reward for making you feel so good. You would blush at the joy he is deriving from this act if you weren’t so lost in the bounds of your own pleasure. Your clawing at the sheets and bucking hips into his face only came to him as greater signs to keep going.
He groaned into your cunt. He basked feel of your fingers entangling in his hair, tugging at his tresses whenever his nose bumped your bundle of nerves in that perfect way. He ignored the painful throb of his cock and bucked hip hips to relieve the pressure.
“I love making you feel good, my love, give it to me please,” he briefly pulled away before continuing to coax your peek out of you.
His tongue continued to lap at your cunt. He was diligent. Desperate for you to finish on his face. You barely heard his encouragements as your head rolled back deep into the pillow. Your back arched offed the bed as your legs flailed beside the sides of his head, overwhelmed with pleasure. He kept you pinned to that position for him as that rush of heat surged from your center and the through your whole body. Culminating, in a moan from you that echoed off the back wall of his chamber.
He pulled away, lips puffy and eyes glazed over. He sat back up on his legs and looks down at the now prominent outline in his pants. He looks at you still in recovery from your orgasm and reckons you’ve had enough. He begins to crawl to lay beside you.
“You’re done?” you pout at him.
“I reckon that you are finished, my love,” he smiles at you.
“I’m not not without you. I want you to finish too.”
“You think you can take me now?” he questions.
“Yes I can,” you nod at him and try to look more composed.
He finally removes the rest of his garments. You try not to react as he releases himself from his trousers. This wasn’t his first time revealing himself to you, but you still found it awe inducing how he managed to fit you.
He adjusted himself between your legs. He grabbed ahold of himself and teased his cock at your entrance. You were still sensitive from the work from his mouth. He dragged himself along your slit until eventually sliding himself in. Both of your jaws dropped in unison.
“Fuck,” he hissed, “so ready for me.”
His pace starts with a slow rhythm. With hooded eyes he makes sure you’re adjusting to him nicely. He revels in every single sound his thrusts elicit from your lips. You pull him in to kiss you, muffling your own moans with his mouth. He feeds on them. The pace was torturous for him, but you were right, he somehow felt more of you this way.
Aemond moved his hand to massage the meat of your thigh. Then lifting it over his shoulder for a deeper penetration. You gasped at the fuller feeling. Your pleasure drowned out the tinges of pain that came from the new angle. You clawed at his back in desperation. The feel of your nails digging into his skin prompted his thrusts to become more harsh. He groaned in your ear, you knew for sure he wanted to go faster.
“You can give me more. I’ll take anything you give me,” you whimpered in his ear.
He wasted no time. His thrusts became sharp and unrelenting. His hips colliding with yours at a rapid velocity. Again and again sheathed himself deeply inside you. His pelvis bumping against your already swollen clit. Your moans drowned out his occasional grunts into your neck.
He then sat straight up making sure to keep his cock buried inside you. He gripped your hips and moved them in tandem with his thrusts. His groans became less strangled and more desperate you knew he was chasing his own orgasm. You didn’t think you could meet him there, some how he knew.
“Need you to hold on for me, Issa jorrāelagon.”
“I can’t it’s too much, not again,” you protested, but you didn’t want him to stop.
“On my cock this time, please? For me?” he begged.
His thrusts in this position persistently hit that same spot inside you. He moved his hand to where his pelvis met your clit and began to work at your nub with his thumb. You knew you weren’t gonna last for him as your legs began to shake beside him. He gripped your waist harder with his other hand and you could feel him losing his rhythm, but his strokes became more cruel.
Your weeps halted as your breath caught in your throat. Your climax overtook you violently. You shoved his hand away from your clit. Your pleasure was harrowing. Your mind couldn’t take it, but your body betrayed you.
He rode out your orgasm in a chase with his own. His groans became more shallow. His hips were ruthless and his mouth hung agape. You both yelped in sync as he came so hard you saw white. HIs final thrusts, as he now held himself above you, were sloppy. He was ensuring you were taking all the seed he had to offer you.
He then collapsed onto your chest, cock still sheathed inside of you.
“You think a baby will lay this time?” you chimed.
You felt his cock twitch inside you at your words.
“Don’t go getting me worked up again, wife,” he voices, “but yes, I think it will and if not we will try and try again,” you could feel him grin against you.
You giggle and run your palm over his back. He eventually releases himself from you, but continues to lay his head on your chest. You two stay like this for a while before he interrupts the silence.
“I’d like to be in your company more from now on if you wouldn’t mind,” he mentions.
“I’ll allow it,” you say and he laughs at your response.
He laid like that with his head resting on your chest for the rest of the night. You would fall asleep before him and he followed soon after content with the sound of your beating heart coaxing him to sleep.
── •
tag list: @castellomargot @svtansdaddyx @brie-annwyl
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#smut#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen one shot#aemond targaryen imagine
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(article from sept '22)
[Jasbir K. Puar] further distinguishes between disability and debility: disability might be a political-relational identity, while debility is a process. One is debilitated by repeated exposure to harm and violence – a wearing-down of the body and mind throughout one’s life. This could look like the mercury accumulating in the bodies of Indigenous peoples whose water source has been polluted, or panic attacks due to daily encounters with racism in education, health care, and justice systems. What this tells us, Puar says, is that “it can be productive for the settler colonial state to keep some populations alive but in a space of continual, perpetual injury.” And the scale of debility is enormous: in 2016, the World Health Organization estimated that as part of the Syrian war, 30,000 Syrians were being injured each month.
“Disability,” Puar continues, “becomes the [way] institutions exceptionalize injury or the non-capacitation of a body.” This means that institutions view disability as something out of the ordinary instead of the inevitable outcome of living under oppressive conditions, and they place onus on the individual for being disabled, rather than on these oppressive systems for disabling the individual.
Though a minority of disabled people live in the Global North – the wealthy, imperialist countries like the United States, Canada, and those in Western Europe – Puar notes that Global North disability rights advocacy tends to focus on disabled people attaining equality more than halting and holding accountable the systems that produce disability throughout the rest of the world. She writes that disability rights advocacy asserts “that disability should be reclaimed as a valuable difference […] through rights, visibility, and empowerment discourses […] rather than addressing how much debilitation is caused by global injustices and the war machines of colonialism, occupation, and U.S. imperialism.”
In other words, Global North disability rights appeal to the state to protect mostly white and wealthy disabled people. But Puar reminds us that disability and disablement can be a purposeful goal of the state. In contrast, a disability justice framework helps us understand that the safety of some disabled people in the Global North must not come at the expense or production of disabled people in the Global South. Disability justice, a movement founded by racialized people, explicitly denounces imperialism and recognizes that, in the words of disability justice collective Sins Invalid, “Disabled people of the global majority – Black and brown people – share common ground confronting and subverting colonial powers in our struggle for life and justice.”
#the article does talk of palestine and mass disabling by israel hence why i found it topical#there was too much to quote#disability justice#palestine#m
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(Im)proper Meeting Part 2
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Characters: Angel Dust, Lucifer Morningstar
Lee!Lucifer Ler!Angel Dust
Note: Now it makes sense to add tickling.
Update 2/17/24: I might add/fix this up at some point. I always was impatient writing these particular parts because I like to get to the fun parts. I'll try to keep in as much as possible, I just need to 'polish' some of it so I can stop thinking about this like I made a mess of a fic XD
---
Lucifer felt very comfortable this morning. Not that he's not ever comfortable, but his pillows are extra soft today and he slept through the night without waking up and possibly never going to sleep from restlessness or nightmares. Maybe both.
He did not wake up, once.
And he didn't want to start now, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow and smacking his lips.
A sharp intake of breath makes him freeze. Since when can his pillow breathe? He forces his eyes open and is greeted by white instead of red. He doesn't have a white pillow.
Lucifer reluctantly detaches his face from the fluffy white cushion to get a better look at what he's holding.
"Mornin', cutie" Angel mewls.
Who in hell's name is this!? How did this sinner end up in his bed!??? Did they-?
"WhaaaAHHH! WHO ARE YOU WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, IN MY BED? OH MY GOD WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING DID WE? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY S-Mmph!"
One hand is placed over Lucifer's mouth while the lower set of hands cup his rosey cheeks, guiding his face towards Angel, eyes blown wide in his panic
"Deep breaths, doll." Angel's breaths are exaggerated as he stares into the smaller man's eyes. Lucifer follows his breathing, and though it took a few minutes, he began to settle down. His body is still suffering the aftershocks, frame trembling as he continues to stare at Angel Dust with severe unease.
"First things first, we didn't fuck so you can rest easy," THAT got Lucifer to breathe properly and sag all the way down on the bed like a puddle. Angel snickers, "Second, you can be pretty convincing to get someone into bed with you just by being adorable. Very cuddlebug material."
Lucifer covers his face in shame, ears flushed. " I am so sorry, I shouldn't have forced you like that, I never sh-ack! Hehey!" The shorter male yelps as his side gets a sharp poke, immediately throwing his hands down to shove the appendage away.
Angel noticed the reaction but needed to focus on important matters."Ya' didn't do no such thing. I jus' couldn' say no to a precious face like this~" He grasps Lucifer's cheeks and squeezes them. The blush returns full force and the man squirms in his hold. "And I got to sleep in the most comfortable bed with the softest sheets to boot, so it's a win-win on both parties, baby!"
Lucifer grumbles and Angel can see the remnants of sadness from last night shimmer in his eyes. The Porn Star frowns, then remembers what he did earlier and grins.
"Ya know, I can't help but notice how jumpy you were when I got you on ya' side." He sees the panic in the King's eyes and his grin widens.
"Y-You startled me is all!" Lucifer pulls away from Angel's hands. He doesn't look the sinner in the eyes, fidgeting. "I...," He swallows, "... haven't been in physical contact in a long time. I mean, uh... I-I..." He mumbles and Angel leans forward.
"What's that?"
Lucifer goes red again. He just can't stop blushing today! "I'm sensitive okay? Its been so long, I'm not used to touch."
Angel looks at Lucifer with a soft smile. "Well, maybe I can help with that."
Lucifer's eyes widen. "I-I don't think that's necessary."
"Not what you're thinkin', hun." Angel chuckles, edging closer to the nervous fallen angel. His smile turns mischievous. "This is 100% vanilla."
"What do you me-" Angel's top set of hands scuttle along Lucifer's sides. "Wait waitwaitwaitwaitwaihahahait!"
"Ohhh so the King of Hell is ticklish." Angel creeps his nails up higher and pokes at each individual rib, causing the shorter male to curl forward, trying to cover himself. "Ah ah ahhh," Angel's bottom set of hands find their way to Lucifer's exposed hips and presses the pads of his thumbs against the soft thin skin. The shrill laughter that comes out is almost enough to stop the assault as Lucifer jerks at the sensation, bucking and thrashing on the sheets.
"Ohohoho my gAHahahahahad nohohohoho I cahahan't!"
"Already tappin' out?" Angel lightens his touch and brings out his third set of arms. He uses his top set to grab Lucifer's flailing arms and presses them above his head. The middle set of arms gently drag up his sides, pushing up Lucifer's shirt. The shorter male seized at the feather light touch to his sensitive skin and squeaks with each nail that drew patterns at the sides of his tummy.
"Dohohon't!" He wiggles around and cries out when Angel teases his belly button, drawing circles around it. "STAHAHAP!" He squeaks out, unable to keep the desperation from his voice, cheeks pink and eyes popping wide open.
"Don't stop?" Angel cooes, "So you like it when I dooo this?"
A shriek emits from Lucifer when Angel plunges his finger in his navel, wiggling rapidly. Pin prick tears appear at the corners of Lucifer's eyes, back arched as he kicks a pillow across the room. "NO!" He did not like that, he wanted to yell that out too to get his point across but squeaky laughter is all he can muster as he bucks and kicks about.
"Okay, okay I'll go back to this then." The wiggling stops and Lucifer drops on the mattress with a whine "That betta'?" The smugness in his tone has Lucifer thinking about setting the archnid on fire if he had enough mind to concentrate without that damn finger sending him into panicked fits of giggles.
"NohohoHOHO!" The King cries out.
"You gotta make up ya' mind," Lucifer hiccups before a shriek comes out when Angel wiggles his finger again.
It felt like an eternity to Lucifer before his laughter goes silent. That's when Angel slows his assault, removing his finger from the bright pink area all around Lucifer's navel, pretty much petting Lucifer's belly. Which is miles better than what he endured a moment ago.
He doesn't know how long it's been but he's not going to complain getting free belly rubs. He should tell the sinner to stop and leave his room this instant, but his tongue proceeds to poke out between his upturned lips in a form of contentment. He was a weak man to receiving affection.
"Holy shit," The Porn Star places a hand over his mouth, unable to contain the starstruck look on his face at the King of Hell practically melting under his touch. He's released Lucifer's arm a while ago, but the smaller man never moved them from where they've been pinned. He's practically stretched out, welcoming every bit of attention he got. It isn't long until a strange rumbling sound draws Angel's attention. He felt it, in the King's chest where one of his hands lay. It could be him just hearing things but his fingers are vibrating where they rest. He is! The King is... purring!?!?
Angel stops altogether, stunned as Lucifer's stirs from his trance, face pink from exertion, hair stuck out in all directions from tossing and turning in his laughter induced state.
Lucifer peels his eyes open and tries to glare at the Spider Demon, but he's too relaxed to work his best growl that comes out to be a whine.
Angel snickers, "Is that your way of asking for more, shortcakes?"
"..."
"Oh my God, you're too precious-"
"Shut. Up."
#hazbin hotel tickle#hazbin hotel#lee!lucifer#ler!angeldust#my writing#writers on tumblr#sfw tickle#tickling
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I find it interesting that the most controversial/widespread posts have been those relating to physical appearance/visual medium. Lbh's hair and body type and sqq's eyes. I wonder what's the underlying cause for this. Maybe because people get attached to designs they feel more protective of them? Just a thought.
Oh, I would say this is absolutely the case. Visual design choices are, after all, often symbolic reflections of parts of individuals' own selves in some way, or of other things that are important to them. Artists will also spend a lot of time and thought on creating their designs-- and in some ways, visual media and written media are also quite different. You don't need the visual contrast so much in a book, but you do need it more when it's pictures, because characters with good contrasts are pleasant to look at together.
I actually think the donghua designs create a sort of contrast too-- both by SQQ's lighter eyes to LBH's, but as well as with the broader silhouettes, where SQQ has flowing robes and hair and LBH's silhouette is tighter. Also in general, the black robes of adult LBH vs the teal & white. Western stylization just focuses more on body type+hair texture silhouette diversity, while eastern stylization is more about the clothing and hair-styling silhouette, in a broad generalization, so it's only natural that when people create their designs, especially for a media that is only written, like SVSSS before the donghua or official cover art came out, that they will draw influence from the background of their own culture in creating these designs, in addition to their own experiences.
It's difficult too in my position, because while I genuinely want to take a neutral look at trends and history and patterns and cultural influence as a scientific sort of examination, there are so many instances of attacks on character designs, which make both the artists and designers and the people who like those designs feel bad and just isn't productive, even if criticisms are genuine. Things should be talked over civily, without bashing, because a space where people are belittled and attacked is not a space where people can learn.
Anyway, everyone has reasons for their designs. Sometimes these may be rooted in stereotyping or westernization, but other times, they're based on personal reasons and don't actually have those roots. It's not my or anyone's place to declare, definitively, that someone is stereotyping (of course, there are some instances when things are very very obvious and that's a different story), I only try to explain what things i can so that people are then able to examine things for themselves. I do think it's everyone's own responsibility to look at their own biases and think about where their portrayal choices are sourced from, especially when engaging with a culture that isn't one's own. But I don't want people to get into a justification loop, because that's not going to help anyone-- just to honestly take a look at the why of things. Sometimes there's subconscious biases, sometimes it isn't about that. I don't know peoples' own experiences, so I'm not going to say what it is or isn't.
In the end, accountability is something that is definitely needed in sensitive areas like westernization or stereotyping. However, accountability is not dogpiling on someone. Instead, it's personally being open to consideration, to change, and to growth-- and we'll never have that in a hostile environment. People need to focus more on holding themselves accountable, and less on holding others accountable-- we all have unconscious biases. It's part of existing in any culture or environment, and it's a life-long process of examining them and growing in experience and knowledge. And I hope to contribute that knowledge wherever I can, and use what platform I have to foster that sort of gentler environment, where it's not about making people who genuinely didn't know things feel bad, but where it's okay to be wrong, and to learn and grow.
It's up to an individual to examine themselves when they hear new information. That doesn't mean everyone needs to change their designs to conform with Chinese beauty standards-- which have plenty of issues of their own, and shouldn't be taken as more "morally correct!" It's just so that as many people as possible can have as much information as possible, so they can make the best and most informed judgments and decisions they can about their own viewpoints and thought processes.
But yes, even saying all this, I can perfectly acknowledge that fan-designs of beloved characters hold a bit of their creator's heart. While creators can be imperfect, the experiences and emotions and care that these designs stem from is still genuine, and should be treated with gentleness and understanding.
No matter if someone's viewpoint is erroneous or just different from yours, it's important to remember that every person on the internet is a real, human person. Fandom culture can be so notoriously toxic-- and it's high time that people remember each other's humanity, and treat one another with compassion and understanding. That's the only way to create a better fandom space-- and ultimately, a better world.
#answered#psa#this got very very long#i was actually going to make a whole post of my own on this#there are a lot of important things to consider#but most importantly we are all people#all enjoying something together#all existing on this planet and in the end we want to be happy and live and be treated fairly#and when getting caught up in fandom wank or anything else really#this can get forgotten#there's a place for anger and a place for calling things out#but if a gentler option can be just as effective there's no reason not to use that#better to take the time and understand than to lash out incorrectly#long post
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How would Danish highschools and unis change after the influx of Black students? How would policies and attitudes and curricula evolve to be respectful of the new arrivals' culture? What expectations would a Danish girl face, from her friends, parents, and authorities? What would the average Danish girl's social life be like?
How would life look like in the Africanized Denmark I described here?
Education
Curricula would evolve to be more respectful of Black culture, as you say.
For example, history classes would take on a more comparative perspective. Instead of just studying Danish history, students would learn that while their ancestors were burying their kings in mounds of dirt, Egyptians were building the Great Pyramid of Giza.
Physical education would also change. The focus would shift from seeing physical activity as a component of well-being to seeing it as a requirement for sexual attractiveness.
Danish gymn classes of today are big on communal activities, teaching students how to be part of a team without the competitive focus of American phys ed. The purpose of the exercises aren't to "get in shape" as much as to give students the sensation of using their bodies, resulting in little more than a pair of healthy blushing cheeks.
This would all change in Africanized Denmark. Now the focus would be on being the most attractive version of yourself that you can be.
For the guys, this would consist of muscle-building exercises, like weight-lifting and push-ups. Mostly for the Black men, of course, with white guys being encouraged to take on the role of spotter.
The atmosphere would be very masculine, and (Black) students would be allowed to decorate the locker room with their favorite pin-ups.
For the girls, gym class would start with an individual weighing in front of the entire class. Weight losses would be commended, and girls would be warned not to become "chubby".
This would be followed by strenuous exercises designed to make your tummy tighter and your butt bigger. The only cheeks blushing would be those on your backside as you went through your twerking exercises.
Critical Race Theory would also play a central role in the curriculum. Students would be encouraged to explore the historical roots and contemporary manifestations of racism. This would include exploring and apologizing for subconcious racism among the Danish students themselves. I've written more about this here.
Expectations faced by Danish girls
Danish girls in particular would be expected to extend their hospitality to the new arrivals.
Posting pro-BLM material on your social media profile would be expected and considered the bare minimum. Likewise attending anti-racist rallies. As our dark-skinned guests are greeted at the border, Danish teens would be marching and chanting in protest of police brutality against Blacks.
There would also be an expectation of dating the new arrivals. As a single Danish girl you would be expected to be on at least one dating or hookup app, advertising your desire to welcome a Black man into your bed.
This pressure would especially be felt by those girls blessed with a big booty. A bona fide PAWG in a relationship with a Danish guy would be accused of "wasting" her body on a white guy when a Black man would enjoy it so much more.
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