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sarahreesbrennan · 3 months

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Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. I prefer to leave my anons open since not everyone has a tumblr, as @neil-gaiman says it’s an internet backwater, but a lovely one for those like myself who enjoy an essay about fictional characters! Still I will close my inbox to anons if I must. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

#bookblr #discourse #in other lands #long live evil #les mis #carmen maria machado #writing

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crimsonred-hi · 3 months

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Age Gap - Headcannons

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x younger!Reader

✨Before your dating✨

• When you too meet, your would be a smaller musician who is his new opening act. And he would be friendly, but I think he’s a bit scared of anyone much much younger than him, he’s definitely scared of gen z because of how manic they all are. He would assume your like that too.

• He wouldn’t be very flirty with you like he is with everyone else, being dreadful aware of your gap in age. But when he starts to loosen up around you, he would give compliments on your performance.

• He is an incredible help.

• He teaches you things about the music industry and how it works, who to stay away from. If you’re very naive about that stuff he would probably try and protect you at all costs.

• Like, the man walks you back to your hotel room while on tour because he’s genuinely scared of you getting bombarded by people.

- he also holds onto your arm or elbow as he walks you back, not wanting to lose you.

• He’ll make jokes about your being young and naive, calling you things like ‘Bambi’ and ‘fawn’ just to emphasise that your a baby in his eyes (not really a baby, but a creature to be protected).

• He’s rather protective. You, him and his band go on nights out sometimes, you tend to be approached by other men, and Andrew (being the spectacular gift to women from god he is) will protect you.

• He thinks your too naive to notice when these men are sketchy, your not, but you let him ‘protect you’ because it makes him feel useful (and all men like being useful).

• This need to protect you is kind of how Andrew figures out he’s catching feelings. Alex one day makes a comment about Andrew ‘being soft’ on you and about how Andrew calls you so many pet names.

• Andrew tried to deny there pet names, he didn’t win that argument.

• After one that conversation, Andrew starts overthinking about the situation, you’re so much younger than him and he’s noticeably soft on you. What are people gonna think of him, it’s kinda weird in his head, and the more he thinks about it the age gap seems to feel larger.

• It gets to the point he’s not even talking to you because he’s over thinking it.

• You have to corner him in a room to get him to speak to you. “Andrew, why aren’t you talking to me?” He tries to deny that as well, but fails when he figures out you’re not dense.

• It doesn’t take a lot of persuasion for him to spill his guts to you, telling you every feeling he has. He was too emotional to realise that he’s just told you he’s into you.

• You have to calm him down before you say anything to him,

• And just as your about to talk to him your called onto stage. Really horrific timing.

• After the show, Andrew is filed with adrenaline, so on the adrenaline high he pulls you away from everyone. And you can figures the rest out.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #the hoziest #hozier imagine #hozier my beloved #hozier oneshot #unreal unearth #hozier fluff

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sweetiecutie · 11 months

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Valeria Garza sugar mommy hc’s

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem! Reader

Warnings: mdni, sugar mommy/sugar baby dynamics, age gap, a liiiiittle bit of angst but it’s all good, smut, it’s proofread a few times but I’m dyslexic so there prob will be mistakes lmao😭

In my mind Valeria is a raging lesbian. She always knew that she was attracted to women, but still gave a few goes to relationships with men. And, needless to say, the only things she got from those were trauma and deep disappointment in men. I can’t tell about her relationships with Alejandro for sure - were they platonic or romantic - but I kinda feel like he was the final straw for her. After whatever happened between these two, even an idea itself of being together with a man repulsed Valeria.

So when she laid her eyes on you - pretty little thing, all giggly and bubbly, looking up at her with those adorable doe eyes - Valeria knew that she just had to have you at any cost.

At first she was very subtle with her advances - she wanted to make sure that you were into women as well, to avoid yet another painful disappointment. And she couldn’t exactly ask you straight - that could’ve freak you out and scare you away - last thing Valeria would want. It took a pretty long while - for Valeria’s great dismay and frustration - for a perfect opportunity to finally come. And when you, giggling and blushing, confessed that you were indeed interested in women - Valeria felt giddy. Just perfect.

After this rather informative conversation between the two of you, Valeria finally decided to bring to life her plan of courting you. At first it was very confusing for both you of you. Mostly you. Here she is - this insanely attractive older woman, being genuinely interested in your company, asking you out for coffee or just a ‘girls night’ every once in a while, and you didn’t know how to feel about it all. Valeria was playful and flirty, all the fleeting touches on your shoulders or thighs that made you tremble, your fingers brushing while handing something to each other, longing stares that were a bit too long to be brushed off and it wasn’t long until you developed a crush on her. And rather huge one, I’d say. “But did she actually feel the same? Was she interested in you the way you were in her? Or was she just playing around, like a cat with a trembling mouse, before throwing you away once she got bored?” - these were the questions buzzing loudly in your head, and you didn’t know what to do.

You’ve been fighting your feelings back - ignoring butterflies flaring in your stomach whenever Valeria called you, or stupid smile stretching your lips at the mere thought of her. Your “little crush” turned out to be stronger than you initially thought it was, and it scared you. So, to avoid your heart being broken, you decided to take this whole situation into your own hands. And by that you meant ignoring Valeria until your feeling for her disappeared.

And oh baby, was she annoyed by that. Once eager and happy “Of course, sushi night sounds just great” from you was replaced by “Sorry, but uni really has me in a chokehold, gotta lots of work to do”. This lasted for nearly a month before Valeria’s this thin patience finally snapped - she had to do something about it.

She decided to visit you late in the evening (so that she was sure you were home, to avoid possible frustration by you being absent). Banging on your front door she waited patiently for you to open it, listening to quiet scurrying on the other side.

Soon tentative “who’s there?” came from you, your voice sounded so small - scared, even - not waiting anyone this late of an hour.

- It’s me, hermosa. Open the door, - she said as calmly as she could manage, jaw set tightly and nostrils flaring as adrenaline was rushing through her veins.

You cracked open the door, peeking out to make sure it was actually her, before opening it fully. Valeria felt her rage fading slightly at the sight of you - hair all disheveled and up in a rushed bun, skin flushed and soft from hot shower, small silky bathrobe you had on gave her a pretty sight of your plushy thighs.

You were relieved to see her at your door and not some creep that could put you in danger. But the look of annoyance etched on her pretty face made you gulp nervously, whole body tensing as you could clearly feel a not so pleasant conversation quickly approaching.

You stepped aside, letting Valeria inside your small apartment. She made her way to your living room, stopping in the middle of the room and looking around, not saying a single word. You lingered behind her awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

- Sooo, would you like some coffee? - you started tentatively, playing with your thumbs to busy your hands with something.

- The fuck is happening, Y/n? - Valeria asked harshly, turning around on her heels to fully face you.

- Pardon? - you asked, your eyes widening at the sudden aggression in her voice.

Valeria sneered at your lost expression, looking at the wall behind you and inhaling deeply through her nose, trying her best to control her rage. This woman had a short temper, and you perfectly knew it, internally preparing yourself for a shouting marathon. You watched Valeria close her eyes, taking another deep breath, before saying in a eerily calm tone:

- You’ve been avoiding me. For a month now. Why?

Oh. So she did notice.

You stood there, like a deer caught in the headlights, as Valeria looked expectedly at you.

- So? - she pressed, cocking one of her dark eyebrows as silence went on for far too long. You gulped, trying to swallow a heavy lump constricting your throat, your waterline burning with bitter tears.

- Because I don’t know how to feel about you, - you uttered quietly, your voice small and weak, trembling ever so slightly. You tried controlling your breathing in a weak attempt of calming yourself down, not to let hot tears fall down your cheeks, especially in front of her.

- The fuck is that supposed to mean? - Valeria barked, making you wince slightly. She regretted it immediately, taking yet another deep breath to cool down, waiting patiently for your reply.

You hesitated. Should you tell her the truth? Or you could use an excuse of being busy with your studies, it seemed like it worked perfectly with Valeria. Or so you thought, anyways.

It was now or never - at this point, after you avoiding her for several weeks and this exact conversation happening, your relationship with Valeria would never be the same. So you decided to rip the bandaid off in one harsh move - painful at first, but it’ll be way easier in the future.

- I have feelings for you. Strong feelings. And I decided to end it before it got way too out of hand.

Ringing silence fell between the two of you. Valeria looked at you dumbfounded. Wait, what? Did you just confessed to her? That means that you actually, actually, liked her back?

Garza just stared at you silently, and you felt sick to the bottom of your stomach. You couldn’t control your tears anymore, feeling them flow down your cheeks freely. You quickly turned away, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, angrily wiping salty tears away. Anger was bubbling inside of your chest - this is so stupid, stupid, stupid!

You heard footsteps behind you and suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, Valeria’s warm body pressed against your shuddering back, molding against you. She rested her forehead against your shoulder, rubbing her face against soft material of your bathrobe, arms squeezing you a tad tighter in a hug.

- Princess, you don’t know how much I wanted to hear you say it, - she murmured against your skin, inhaling a lungful of your sweet scent. Your head snapped to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Valeria.

- What..?

In a swift move the turned you around, warm hands resting on both your cheeks, thumbs wiping your tears away. Before you knew it her plump lips were slotted snugly against yours, sending electric shocks running up and down your spine, electricity tingling on your fingertips. You gasped softly before she broke away, leaning back just enough to have a proper look of your flushed pretty face. Without fully realizing what you were doing you leaned forward, once again meeting her lips with yours, arms wrapping around her shoulders to keep her as close to you as humanly possible.

So that’s how relationships between you two started. You two never actually settled sugar mommy/sugar baby dynamic, but with the age difference and all the money Valeria had from running a cartel?? Baby, you get whatever you want.

Valeria literally spoils you rotten - any jewelry, expensive makeup or clothing piece you may want - you most certainly get it. She also loves to take you to pretty locations like Italy, Spain, Jamaica - you name it. Your vacations never last long due to her work, but it’s enough to make some amazing memories together. But spoiling also goes to some extend - you want another car? Cariño, you already have three new pretty sport cars in garage - the answer is a firm NO.

And speaking of work - Valeria wants you as far from it all as well. It’s most likely you don’t even have any idea of what she’s doing for life. You guess that it’s something illegal - considering all the conspiracy and amount of money Valeria makes. But you don’t think too much into that; Valeria wants you away from all this dark business - so you do just that.

Valeria has a pretty tight schedule, not always having time for sleep, not saying anything about time to spare for you. That means that when she does have free time she expects you to be right there with her, no matter what you were previously occupied with. College? - Skip it. Family gathering? - Babe, you see them pretty often anyways, now get your precious ass over to her. Of course it annoys you as well sometimes, but Valeria genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with her behavior so you have to patiently explain to her that you can’t always come to her at her smallest whim, causing pretty nasty arguments by that.

Valeria is very possessive. Whenever you extremely one of your friends that you’re really close with? God, it just turns some switch inside of her - her smile disappears, jaw clenching slightly and her whole body goes a bit rigid. She wants you all to herself, she wants you to only think about her and no one else. She knows that it’s wrong, that she shouldn’t feel this way, but she simply can’t help it! You are so smart and kind and pretty and charming - it’s hard NOT to fall for you! It takes lots of reassurance from your side to soothe Valeria’s pointless worries, proving over and over throughout the night that she’s the only one for you, the only one that can make you feel so loved and needed.

Valeria definitely gave you a cute golden choker, inlaid with lots of pretty gemstones. She loves seeing you wearing it - not only it goes well with most of your cute outfits; “mommy’s princess” engraved on the inner side of it translated onto your skin prettily, staying there for several minutes - bare sight of it makes Valeria’s mouth water, fingers twitching with want.

And speaking of sexual activities - I’m a firm believer that Valeria is a dom. Hard or soft - depends on her mood and your behavior. But this woman just doesn’t know how to bottom, not that she wants to. She loves her pretty pillow princess, loves to do all the work for you, having you at her complete mercy. You tried switching roles a few times, but every single time Valeria ended up pinning you down, absolutely ravaging you with her tongue, fingers or strap (or all together👀)

She’s VERY into pet play. Varelia absolutely adores tugging on the leash, making you whimper and ordering you around. Loves seeing you humping her leg like a desperate little pup, being so polite asking your mistress to finger your tight hole<3

Loves loves LOVES making you squirt!!! And don’t have any doubts, you WILL squirt with her! This woman just know how to make another woman cum in a matter of minutes. And all the cute sounds you make? God, it drives Valeria absolutely crazy!

Loves receiving sloppy slow heads. You sitting in between her spread legs, so desperate to please her. Your big doe eyes almost rolling back into your skull, tongue delved deep inside her pussy as you lick and lap at her seeping cunt, nose nudging her clit. Valeria buried her hands into your hair, tugging you towards herself, nearly choking you on her cunt.

And can you guess what Valeria’s favorite activity is? Scissoring you absolutely stupid early in the morning, her clit rubbing tightly against yours, your juices mixing, running down your thighs and ass. And make sure to give her a show, massaging your bouncy tits, pinching these perky nipples. Best way to wake up imho🥰

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Writers live off your feedback, give us some love and appreciation🩷

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vexingwoman · 7 days

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genuine question regarding the "women are female people" post. trying to understand the radfem mindset because I don't agree with y'all on most things, but I understand your need to find safety and acceptance within the patriarchy's oppression/danger. I am female but not a woman. I was never socialized as one either. I feel like biological socialization piece goes out the window in my case. Biologically yes, I am female, but socially no one, including myself, would ever view me as a woman or place me through the same social oppression that women face, nor will I experience or have experienced any of the good parts of womanhood. I feel no desire to, because despite sharing the same biology, we are not socially the same. I feel like, in this experience, theres a stark divide between the social category of "women" and biological category of "female." What is your take on this, I'm curious?

The crucial issue here is that you’re conflating women and femininity. You say there’s a difference between women and females, when you instead mean there’s a difference between feminine women and non-feminine women. You believe women are socially constructed, when you instead mean femininity is socially constructed.

The only way you could think that your non-conformance to femininity indicated that you were not a woman, is if you believed femininity was innate and inseparable from women. This is not only an unabashed display of bioessentialism, but a reinforcement of the same sex-based roles and sexist stereotypes that gender ideologues purport to be defying.

In case you don’t know, the concepts of femininity and masculinity were created solely to enforce female subjugation and male domination (elaboration here). Therefore, nothing is more misogynistic or in direct contradiction to the radical feminist goal of gender abolition than claiming women are defined by the very social construct created to subjugate them, rather than by their biological sex.

I’ll be honest, I feel increasingly irritated and hopeless every time I receive these messages of “I’m not a woman because I don’t conform to society’s sexist, outdated idea of what women are.” How can you not see how backwards it is to believe your conformity to a demographic’s harmful stereotypes is what determines whether you belong to that demographic? In what other circumstances is this ever the case?

This is a genuine question: why is it so hard for you to acknowledge that you’re a gender-non-conforming woman? Why must you go through all these mental cartwheels and act as though being a woman is contingent on how others view you, or how you socially conduct yourself, or what degree of oppression you face? What benefit do you see in defining women by the social construct of femininity (hierarchical, prescriptive, arbitrary) rather than defining them as female (non-hierarchical, descriptive, concrete)?

Much of my frustration stems from the knowledge that radical feminists and gender ideologues actually hold similar views on the concepts of women and men, until they diverge at one crucial, irreconcilable point:

Both radical feminists and gender ideologues acknowledge the existence of regressive stereotypes attributed to the sexes. But where radical feminists seek to remove the stereotypes from the sex, gender ideologues instead, quite stupidly, seek to remove the sex from the stereotypes.

In short, I still consider you a woman completely deserving of access to women’s spaces, because being a woman does not, and should not, have any other prerequisites other than being an adult, a human, and a female. There are not, and should not be, any behaviors, aesthetics, feelings, or non-biological characteristics that determine whether you’re a woman. There are no gendered brains; there are no gendered souls. Being a woman is an innate, neutral, and non-prescriptive reality, no different than having freckles or brown eyes or hooked noses.

#radical feminism #answered asks #gender critical #radblr #trans ideology #trans

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genderkoolaid · 2 years

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So I read this interesting post from the MensLib subreddit, about how men's issues are always blamed on men themselves and never on society. The post itself as well as the comments are a very good read in digging in to antimasculism & the ways in which feminism has failed to critically examine men's suffering under the patriarchy. For example (all bolding by me):

Here again, the problems predominantly affecting women are addressed by changing society, while those predominantly affecting men are addressed by changing men (or by telling men to change themselves). The difference is not that one approach is right and the other wrong; they are both 'right' in the sense that they highlight genuine issues, but the approach to men's problems is more superficial. When dealing with men's problems, we focus on the immediate cause, which is usually the men's failure to cope with mental strain ("he should have gone to therapy", "he should have learned to open up more"); in contrast, when dealing with women's problems, we focus on "the cause of the cause", and try to remove the systemic social issues causing the mental strain, rather than telling the victims what they should have done to better cope with it.

I think this is a great point, and something we really need to tackle. OP also goes on to talk about self-repression, comparing girls avoiding sexual harassment and boys avoiding bullying:

Boys (and men) are notorious for repressing their emotions. They have a good reason: in boys' peer groups, a failure to control your emotions is almost as shameful as a failure to control your bladder; it is a sign of weakness, and any sign of weakness makes you a target for bullying and ridicule. So boys learn to wear a permanent mask of aloof toughness to avoid inadvertently revealing any sign of weakness or uncontrolled emotion, and many keep this habit into adulthood. It is generally well recognized that suppressing emotions is unhealthy in the long run, but it seems to me that the commonly proposed antidote is misguided: boys (or men) are told to "just open up more and be vulnerable" or to "learn how to cry", as if their reluctance to show emotions were some kind of irrational emotion-phobia, rather than a perfectly reasonable, perhaps even necessary, defense against the ridicule, contempt and loss of respect that society inflicts upon those who can't keep their emotions in check in the proper "manly" way.

It's something we don't really question in mainstream feminism. Women's issues have a societal root, and men's issues are issues that men put on themselves, and therefore men just need to fix it themselves and change.

And while yes, we all have a responsibility to unlearn harmful societal teachings, just saying "men need to fix their shit" doesn't help anyone. I've been annoyed for a while at how people will react to men suffering under the patriarchy with "UGH they need to go to therapy", as if

Needing therapy is a sign of failure or a bad thing, and someone not going to therapy when they need to is them being an asshole on purpose and not potentially a sign of them not feeling safe enough to go to therapy, feeling too ashamed, not having enough money or time, etc.

Individual men getting individual therapy will solve the societal problems of forcing boys and men to repress their emotions and view themselves as only valuable if they can perform manual labor and have a lot of sex with women. It's a problem that is only perpetuated by men themselves and if they just stopped doing that, then the problem would disappear.

No self-respecting feminist would ever react to a woman obviously suffering from the patriarchy with "ugh, she needs to go to therapy and fix herself." Yes, therapy would be helpful most likely, but that's not going to actually fix the underlying cause of her issues. So why do we, as feminists, think that "men just need to fix themselves" is an okay response to societal suffering under the patriarchy?

Who does this help? Who benefits from us ignoring these issues? Why do we assume that men's experiences under the patriarchy are so one-dimensional and that we have no responsibility for unlearning our societal biases around men and masculinity?

Someone in the comments also added this quote from the "perpetually relevant" I Am A Transwoman. I Am In The Closet. I Am Not Coming Out essay by Jen Coates:

Have you noticed, when a product is marketed in an unnecessarily gendered way, that the blame shifts depending on the gender? That a pink pen made “for women” is (and this is, of course, true) the work of idiotic cynical marketing people trying insultingly to pander to what they imagine women want? But when they make yogurt “for men” it is suddenly about how hilarious and fragile masculinity is — how men can’t eat yogurt unless their poor widdle bwains can be sure it doesn’t make them gay? #MasculinitySoFragile is aimed, with smug malice, at men—not marketers.

And then another commenter left this (and referenced bell hooks' work on men!!):

"Do you agree that we tend to approach women's problems as systemic issues, and men's problems as personal issues?" Yes, and there's even a name for this: Hyperagency. Individual men are assumed to be immune to systemic pressures because the people at the top of the hierarchies generating those pressures are also men. "And if you do agree with that, do you think this difference in approach is justified, or do you rather think it is a case of an unfair bias?" It's pretty clearly not rooted in reality. The idea that billions of ordinary men aren't beholden to the social constructs under which they were raised is just plain silly. I'd blame the empathy gap, but honestly I feel like it's more than that. Patriarchy hyper-individualizes every struggle a man faces as a way to shield itself from critique and gaslight ordinary men. The motivations there are readily apparent. However, we see the same blind spot appear even in more academic Feminist spaces (taking for granted that "Feminist" spaces on social media are hardly representative of the cutting edge of Feminist thought). bell hooks once postulated that some Feminist women are deeply afraid of acknowledging how little they understand about men, let alone taking the steps to broach that gap.

Another person explained hyperagency by saying "Every single individual man is a hyper agent who is just expected to bootstrap his way out of the patriarchy through sheer force of will."

#m.#antimasculism

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blog-name-idk · 2 months

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The Plot Twist | 04

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 4: "You like Pac-man, right?"

"How dare you!"

You’ve just finished entering the final character to G0d$l@yeR_69 when you look up from the post-game leaderboard screen.

"Pardon?" you ask in confusion, slightly alarmed by the speed in which a masked man is walking towards you and the Pac-man machine. Even with the mask, the exaggerated furrow marring the man’s forehead is more than enough for you to discern that he is less than pleased. You square your shoulders, in case you need to defend the precious apparatus. Well, that and protect Lee-ssi, but mostly the Pac-man game.

"You're G0d$l@yeR_69?" the man squawks, voice irate. He gives you a once over and bristles further. You can almost imagine his fluffy hair rising like the feathers of an offended bird, and he… kind of sounds like one, too. You struggle to stifle your snicker when he gestures broadly to your grown stature, incredulous even as he finally discerns to himself, “You’re not some pint-sized punk!”

“And yet here you are, humbled all the same.” you respond haughtily, dusting off the imaginary lint off your burgundy dress. “Based on your reaction, I take it you’re ‘Jin the PacMan God’?”

You pause.

Wait.

Jin?

In fact, this offended cockatoo of a man actually looks… familiar. Broad shoulders, nice eyebrows, and –

Your blood pressure skyrockets as you realize exactly who is yelling at you. Unfortunately, your temper rises faster than your self-preservation.

"I'm sorry, BTS Jin is the same stupid kid who calls himself 'Jin the PacMan God?'" you blurt before you can stop yourself. "What self-respecting adult wastes so much time on an arcade game?"

He raises an eyebrow at you with a pointed stare, and you shrug. You don't fit into that category. You certainly don't respect yourself.

"A grown woman calls herself G0d$l@yeR_69?" Kim Seokjin jabs in return, crossing his arms, now looking more sulky than angry.

"Well, it's accurate to lore," you retort with an uncaring flip of your hair, doing your best to look bored rather than reflect the panic beginning to clog your throat. His genuinely offended gasp would have made you laugh if you weren't currently running through the possible exit routes in your head.

And then Jin says, "Well, you must be cheating!"

The egregious accusation dispels all thoughts of escape from your head. Your pride and integrity as a gamer have been insulted, and you narrow your eyes at the self-proclaimed pro-gamer before you.

You’re fully prepared to defend your honor.

It's on.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Jimin doesn't get it.

How could he be unlucky enough to get sidelined a second time in a row? He wasn't even late this time! But because there had been more men than women (a bit heteronormative for his tastes, but that's the current state of most official speed-dating events), he and a few others had to wait aside for a rotation. And then somehow, everyone had already decided to pair up before he even got to meet anyone!

Perhaps it's karma and he's being punished for telling his Jin-hyung that he sort of kind of definitely looked like a certain pink Moluccan bird species when he was all riled up and red-eared.

With a sigh, he leaves the building, shoulders slumped. He can't quite bring himself to call Jin yet, and so he decides to walk aimlessly for a while. Perhaps some fresh air will cheer him up.

It's a bustling street, and he nervously brings his mask up higher on his face lest he be recognized. No one seems to be paying attention however, and the people going about their daily lives remind him that despite his woes, life goes on.

An arcade catches his eye, and he shrugs to himself. A few rounds of killing zombies or racing fake cars will take his mind off things. It's a school day, so it's unlikely the place will be packed.

When he walks in, he hears a familiar screech, accompanied by the sound of a boot stomping on the ground.

"Yahhh! How did you do that?! That's not fair!"

What is Jin-hyung doing here? And what is he yelling about?

Curious, he follows the voice past the shopkeeper who looks torn between concern and amusement, to where Jin is ranting at someone obscured by his frame.

A p(r)etty sigh.

"I'm sorry this is so difficult for you to get through that coconut haircut of yours, but has it occurred to you that I'm just better?"

Huh, that voice is also familiar.

"That’s just prepos–"

"...Hyung?"

The voices cease as the two arguers turn to look at Jimin, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

You look particularly lovely today, with a form-fitting burgundy dress that shows off much more soft-looking skin than the business or lounge attire you wear on the rare occasion he actually sees you.

And his Jin-hyung, next to you, all rose-colored cockatoo.

It's more than enough to set Jimin off-balance.

"Oh! Hi, LN-ssi!" he hurriedly squeaks, cursing his voice for cracking. What are all his voice lessons even for?

At least you can't tell his palms are suddenly sweating. Your eyebrows rise and Jimin realizes you never did tell him your name, that he just saw it on your mailbox and it stuck in his brain. Oh no, do you think he's a stalker now?

"You know this phony?" Jin cries, oblivious to the internal crisis his dongsaeng is currently experiencing.

Jimin's brows crinkle. Phony?

Your head whips to his hyung at his words, your eyes narrowing.

"I believe you saw proof with your own two eyes," you say icily, though your gaze has a fire that makes Jimin gulp. "Maybe you should get them checked? Sometimes they can fail with old age."

Jin's jaw drops, and as a constipated sound of outrage leaves him, you take the opportunity to brush past and march to the exit. Jimin, still confused, steps aside automatically to let you pass and you give him a reluctant nod.

"Jimin-ssi."

As you leave, Jin turns to Jimin to demand answers, but he barely hears it over the fluttering in his tummy.

It's the first time you've ever addressed him by name.

"You like Pac-man, right?" he asks, smiling brighter than the sun.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The twelve-year-old boy opens his hand, revealing hard candy wrapped in shiny, yellow paper.

You accept his offering, sure your own face is radiant enough to power all of Gwangju. You can't say you have strong feelings for the buttery treat, but you do for the little boy who fills your days with laughter and sweet memories. You could spend forever playing with him at the park by your houses…

Except your parents get the brilliant idea of starting their own restaurant in Seoul. You are heartbroken when the decision to move is made, but you do your best to support their dreams, even if it comes at the expense of your only friend.

Out of sentimentality and denial, you save the shiny candy wrapper, holding it when you're sad, as if it's a talisman that can ward off the lonely ache in your chest. It's hard being the new kid in a big-city school, and though you present your mother's strong facade when your new classmates tease you about your satoori, it hurts. You have to be strong.

After one particularly bad day, you decide to drop into the local arcade, because all it will take is one smile from your appa to disintegrate your cracking veneer. You're a big girl, basically an adult at a whopping eleven years old! You're not a baby anymore, you just need some extra time to set yourself right.

You weave through the attractions, passing racing games and claw machines when something catches your eye. A familiar yellow character smiles at you from a game cabinet, and for a moment you feel like he is still there with you.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You walk up to the Pac-man arcade machine with newfound resolve and a sunny smile to match.

“Sometimes I wanna drop by Gwangju,” Jung Hoseok begins, taking his seat at the dining table next to Taehyung, “But then I remember they already demolished the playplace from my childhood and think, huh, maybe not. Thing is, they sold really good tteok there.”

“Pan-fried tteok?” Taehyung leans back, remembering the taste of his own favorite rice cake flavors from Daegu. “My hometown had that, too.”

“Sometimes the cart owner-ahjussi would give us candy with our orders. I miss it a lot.”

Hobi's eyes take on a wistful look, and Taehyung pats his shoulder.

It must have been some really good candy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Honey! I'm home!" you call, setting your briefcase on the floor as your husband rushes up to you wearing a cute apron that has nothing on his sweet face and sweeter smile.

"I just finished dinner," he says, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek that makes your chest fill with the glow of a million fireflies.

"What, mudcakes again?" you ask fondly. You thread your fingers with his, uncaring of the dirt on his palms, giggling at the pout on his face.

"You said they're your favorite!" he complains petulantly, though he doesn't pull away.

"They are," you agree, squeezing his hand in yours reassuringly. You beam at him, and his cheeks turn pink. "If it's something you made, it's my favorite."

You're suddenly tugged towards him and you squeak in surprise as wiry arms crush the air out of your lungs.

It's great to be back in Gwangju, away from all the insanity happening in Seoul. You can finally relax and live life rather than constantly look over your shoulder in the fear of running into another member of BTS.

"You're my favorite," he mumbles into your hair, and it's the happiest you've felt in your entire nine years of existence.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck you, fate! You're taking a break.

You knock on the old, familiar door, and it opens to reveal a kind, lightly lined face that breaks into a huge smile at the sight of you.

"Halmeoni!" you announce happily, stepping into your grandmother's arms and hugging her fiercely. She hugs you back just as hard, squeezing you with her deceptively spindly limbs as you melt into a hold that feels like childhood.

"We've been waiting!" she replies cheerfully before ushering you to the living room and calling your grandpa to come greet you. The house is the same as you remember, a comforting echo of days past.

"Oh! We ran into that boy you used to play with at the store earlier!" your grandma says just as you pick up your cup of tea. "The one you used to play house with!"

You laugh, thinking fondly of your childhood friend. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he had been your soulmate, rather than a group of the seven biggest idols in Korea. Or perhaps not – the things that are so simple to children don't always translate to adulthood, and those memories hold an untainted innocence that you wouldn't trade for the world.

You bring the cup of homebrewed tea to your lips, only to choke at your grandmother's next words.

"I invited him over for dinner!"

You stare at the twinkle in your suddenly menacing grandmother's eyes. In just one simple sentence, she has transformed from the kindly, loving fixture of your youth to yet another cruel, scheming matchmaker. Truly your mother’s maker. Leaving Seoul might have saved you from idol-related phenomena, but clearly not from your family's attempts at grand (and great-grand) children.

Instinct drives you to your feet and you grab your purse, tripping over the rug as you rush to the door.

"I have to go," you call over your shoulder, uncaring of the baffled expression on your grandma's face.

"But you just got here?" she says in distressed confusion, and your stomach fills with guilt at the sadness in her voice. "We haven't seen you in so long, dear."

You still, hand on the doorknob and so, so close to freedom and safety. Eventually, you sigh, shoulders slumping as the resolve trickles out of your body.

"Never mind, I'm going to take my stuff upstairs," you say in resignation, grabbing the carry-on still by the door and carting it to the guest room. The wallet feels extra heavy in your purse, and when you're safely within the confines of your room you sit on the bed and pull it out.

You reach behind the ID card in the plastic slot of your wallet and feel the soft, crinkly edges of a fond childhood memory.

You like Pac-man, right?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hoseok still remembers the smile on your face whenever he gave you the extra candy he would get with his tteok in the park. As well as the thinly hidden devastation on your face the last time he saw you, and you told him your family was leaving for Seoul.

Despite him being older, he had always admired your courage and tenacity, the way you would charge head-first at the things you wanted. Your unwavering support whenever he was feeling down or uncertain. During hard times as a trainee, he would sometimes picture your determined expression and feel an extra spark of energy.

He really isn't sure what to expect, or even if he's in his right mind, coming to dinner to see his long lost… friend? Play-spouse?

Would you even remember him?

The door opens, and Hoseok's heart jumps at the sight of you. The tentative smile on your face fades into an expression of utter shock, and he belatedly remembers exactly who he is.

"Wh–what the–I–" you stammer, looking just as mortified as Hoseok feels. In his ruminations of childhood, he had completely forgotten his present state of being and how it might impact new encounters. "Can I help you?"

"Y-Y/N?" he asks tentatively. To his bafflement, you flinch as if he had screamed at you.

"How do you know my name?" you ask, stepping back with your hand on the door. You look five seconds away from slamming it in his face, and despite his misgivings, Hoseok's heart sinks. For some reason this cold reception feels worse than if you were a saesang.

"I'm… I'm here for dinner?" he says tentatively, proffering the seonmul he brought. The expression on your face is so reluctant that for a moment he takes a whiff of the bag in case the pastries from the most expensive bakery in the area have somehow gone bad.

With a spark of panic, Hoseok wonders if he accidentally went to the wrong address. The house is familiar, and you look similar to the little girl he remembers, but perhaps he's just let his hopes affect his memories. Why else would you look so shaken, other than a strange man showing up out of nowhere?

"But you're… you're not–"

"Y/N, what's taking so long?"

Relief fills him momentarily as your grandmother comes behind you, though it's tempered by the way you haven't relaxed.

"But this is… this isn't…" you stammer, face pale as you look between Hoseok and your grandmother. It hits him that you probably don't remember his real name, as you had been too young to pronounce it correctly when you had first met.

"You used to call me Hoba," he says with a smile, realizing that this is why you must be so confused – you've recognized him as Jung Hoseok of BTS, and thus not your playmate from so many years ago. "It's nice to see you again."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

This cannot be happening.

Not only is the smiling boy from your fondest memories Jung Hoseok of BTS, but he just somehow had a break in his schedule the same weekend you're in Gwangju, and he ran into your grandmother at the supermarket? You left Seoul to get a break from these ridiculous situations and not to end up having dinner with one of your soulmates!

What kind of contrived, unimaginative bullshit is this?

"These are for you," Hoseok tells your grandmother with a formal bow, offering the pretty, pastel pastry box you had refused to accept earlier. She beams approvingly while you pinch yourself. Hard.

Through the pain in your arm, Jung Hoseok is still standing in your entryway, a sunny nightmare you can't wake up from. The old wrapper, once a magical talisman to ward off gloom, is lead weight in your pocket.

"Um," he begins awkwardly, looking bashful. It is not cute. He is not cute. "And this is for you."

He holds out a fuzzy yellow ball you immediately recognize, and you stare at it in shock. Your chest is doing something very funny, like tachycardic arrythmia. Yes. Hilarious.

Hoseok evidently takes your silence as disapproval, and wilts like a flower deprived of light. "Uh, sorry, you probably don't like Pacman anymore…"

"I do," you reply faintly, reaching forward to take his gift. Only to be polite. That's it. Certainly not because his dejection makes your insides roil with guilt. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, looking only marginally relieved by your lukewarm response. "Oh! You dropped something."

He dips low to grab something, and to your horror, your wallet is open –

"Wait, is this–"

"I JUST LIKE THE CANDY!" you blurt in a near scream, feeling your entire body light on fire. This would be humiliating in the best of situations, and Jung Hoseok discovering you kept the wrapper from an old candy he had given you, like a sentimental loser, is decidedly NOT the best of situations.

His resulting smile almost blasts you off your feet, and you wonder if overexposure to sunlight can lead to cardiac arrest.

“Y/N-ah,” Jung Hoseok says, tentatively, but with soft affection. It is more devastating than you could have ever imagined. “I missed you too. Have you been well?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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solurae · 8 months

Text

four eyes (more to love underneath the frames) : prologue

nerd!miguel o’hara is the talk of the town and i wanna put my own spin on it :D sooo expect a little bit of everything hehe :DDD - HAHA AS I WAS WRITING THIS I REALISED I GOT TOO INVESTED SETTING THE SCENE SO I MIGHT MAKE THIS A SERIES! i’ll just say this is a prologue hooray

IF YOU WOULD LIKE A SERIES PLS INTERACT!!! FEEL FREE TO ASK TOO TO SHARE YOUR MIGGY THOUGHTS AND I WILL HAPPILY INDULGE US BOTH :3

a distinct pair of black, rectangular glasses were adjusted by miguel’s middle finger before it glided across the pages of notes he wrote from the lecture for his genetics class. a class that you both happen to share, but neither of you knew that yet.

miguel o’hara - a man so deep in his books that he might as well be the dean of the dean’s list - payed no heed to anyone or anything that could hinder his focus. the furrowing of brows indicated further analysis rather than the annoyance towards second year business majors. no, he wasn’t the annoying, stuck-up person who would ask more questions than give answers. he thinks they’re wasting their time anyway. he was always the last person to leave the lecture theatre. miguel would be huddled by the professor, covering the whiteboard with punnett squares or outlining control variables for the next lab.

he was only person in your genetics class that had a real chance of passing the course, the scowls of your peers and your friends could attest to that.

you wouldn’t say you were on the same boat as everyone though, your friends were always nagging you to help them but you couldn’t even figure out how you understood some of the content. this specific course was an integral part of your degree and the best chance of impressing the school, you had to give it your all.

you would be lying if genetic sequences and chromosomes weren’t the only things you had memorised. you loved the hue of brown locks that would shine from the tall windows of the theatre, the curls which your eyes would follow forever if he happened to sit in front of you. the pout of his lips as he’d scratch his hair in response to a lab practical that didn’t make sense, only for him to make sense of it hours later.

his eyes were red. it was his most defining feature, and a key factor to why - to your advantage, if you really think about it - people steer clear of o’hara. as much as it increases your chances of befriending him, let alone being with him, your classmates and other students weren’t so quiet about their dislike for the irish-mexican spectacle.

he’s so quiet. too quiet.

he looks like a freak! look at his eyes, bro. what is he some fucking vampire or something?

no wonder he’s on the dean’s list because he isn’t on anyone else’s for sure.

god he’s just so…

weird.

miguel was extremely fit, which was what confused a lot of people when they found out he wasn’t a copy-paste jock that still thinks they’re in highschool like most men of his stature were. his build put them to shame regardless. after being bombarded by women and men of every cohort - only for miguel to ignore them or coldly decline - word spread like wildfire and soon enough people were disappointed that the former heart-throb of first and second year turned out to be a major loser. some people would go out of their way to show how much they don’t like him, and these are people miguel’s never even spoken to. they would “crash” into him walking across campus, try and trip him over and even go as far as sitting on the other side of the room if it wasn’t so clear already.

but he didn’t mind. he was always at the library, the lab or the cafeteria closest to the lab anyway. it bothered you to see him alone and quiet unless he had a question or an answer, you genuinely wanted to be friends with him.

but as the story goes, it’s always these type of men that have a part of themselves they keep under wraps. you just know that there’s more to his brooding and stoic nature, the carnelian shades of his eyes lured you closer as opposed to keeping you away.

you decided to do honours for two reasons: a better resume and the fact that miguel unsurprisingly decided to do it too. you had a thesis in your head and you had all year to test it out.

miguel o’hara was more than just some nerd and you were gonna need more than glasses to prove it.

🩷 — PART ONE!

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darylas · 2 months

Text

Chapter 2 - It’s Only a Paper Moon

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

Bucky is realizing that your performance doesn't end when you leave the stage, but he's determined to see what lies under the mask.

1.8k words

Warnings: Language, Smoking, Bucky being a little shit

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

You stood outside the officers' club, slouching against the back wall and using one hand to massage your cheeks. Before joining the American Red Cross and moving overseas, you’d never realized just how sore one’s face could get from smiling all day long. How tired one could become of the sound of their own false laughter. Never appreciated just how valuable a quiet moment alone could really be.

Your days at Thorpe Abbotts had quickly grown monotonous, though you supposed that rehearsing and performing with the band multiple days a week made your experience a bit more unique than the other volunteers’.

For you, the most difficult part of the job was not waking up before dawn to prepare doughnuts and coffee for the airmen, though you were counting down the days until your next morning off.

It also wasn’t the fact that you and your fellow ARC girls were nothing less than amateur psychiatrists, offering a comforting and listening ear to soldiers who were fresh out of combat to process their violent experiences. You felt that you had become quite adept at keeping your attitude from being too bright, thus seeming uncaring, or too sympathetic, which might evoke even darker emotions from the soldier. Thanks to these revealing conversations, you came to know a lot more than you anticipated about the horrors of war.

It certainly wasn’t performing in front of large crowds; you had always been good at that.

No, for you the most draining aspect of your job was moments like this one, the moments between musical numbers. Making small talk, smiling at all times, laughing at the same joke you’d already been told at least thirty times as if it were the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Truthfully, it felt like a much grander performance than anything you’d ever done on stage. Ever since you were a child, you cherished your alone time and preferred genuine, intellectual conversation to what felt like pointless small talk. At this point, the mask you wore during these moments seemed to be plastered to your face at all times. You would never reveal this to the men, of course. This was why you were here, to give these brave men a piece of home and to raise morale.

Of course, while ARC girls were expected to attend parties and socialize, they were not required to accept every invitation. While most of the men were harmless and polite, there were some who you would prefer to avoid interaction with altogether. Major Egan being one of them.

You had always been one to trust your instincts about a person, and something about the major kept you at a distance. For one, he was full of himself, or at least he seemed to be. You supposed that was not uncommon in young officers with higher ranks. For another thing, word spread among the women fast enough for you to know that a dance with John Egan often didn’t end once the music stopped. You had no interest in being anyone’s conquest of the month.

Right now, you knew you had a few minutes before your next number. You had been able to sneak out for a moment with the rather poor excuse of needing some fresh air to boost your lung volume and vocal control. You took out your sad little lighter and a cigarette from one of the packs of four rationed to each soldier. This pack was gifted to you by a young private who said he didn’t smoke. Fresh air, indeed.

You flipped open the lid and thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times with no flame. You kept trying, but the damn thing still wouldn’t light. “Oh for crying out loud, you goddamn son of a b-”

“Need a light?”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky watched you transform before his eyes. Your posture went from slouched to straight-backed; your expression from one of annoyance and frustration to unnervingly neutral. You could certainly teach a thing or two about standing at attention to many of the airmen under his command. He had to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier.” While it was impressive, it was not the reception he had been hoping for.

“Major Egan,” you said. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he replied, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket. “And you can call me Bucky.” He ignited the lighter.

You glanced at the flame and then back at him gratefully before lighting your cigarette. “Thank you for the light, but if you don’t mind I would prefer to continue addressing you professionally.”

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me John. Mind if I have a smoke with you?” he asked, already taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth.

Bucky noticed a slight pause before you replied, “Of course not, but wouldn’t you rather join everyone else in the club? From what I gather, you’re often the life of the party.” You looked toward the door.

Bucky grinned. “I don’t know about that. Since you started singing here, I’d say you’ve earned that title yourself.” He leaned against the wall next to you, though you were now standing straight. “‘Sides, I see too much of those guys as it is. Trust me, you’re much better company.” He winked.

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and said “You’re too kind,” then gave him a close-mouthed smile. You looked away and tapped your foot absent-mindedly to the muted sound of the lively music coming from inside. Bucky took a drag of his own cigarette. You remained quiet, the tapping of your foot on the gravel and the muted jazz tune being the only sounds for several seconds. Bucky frowned. Every other Red Cross girl he interacted with made small talk, asking him questions about his home town, listening excitedly as he talked about baseball. Hell, you had more to say to your dead lighter than you did to him.

It appeared that flattery was not the key to unlocking your clearly well-protected personality. It didn’t convince you to dance with him the other night, and it certainly wasn’t working now. He scoffed to himself. Buck would smirk and say that he should’ve asked Bubbles for advice before making another attempt with you.

He could give up. Accept the fact that you clearly didn’t like him, go inside, and have a drink with the boys.

Or he could try something else. Something Buck would call him a loony for even thinking.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “Don’t, uh, don’t they interview you Red Cross girls? Before you can come overseas? I thought the ones that got sent over here had to have killer personalities or somethin’.” He glanced toward you while taking another drag.

Your brow furrowed and you turned your head toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

There you are.

“Aww, you don’t gotta beg me, sweetheart. It’s okay, I get that not everybody is cut out for this.” He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette. “I just find it odd that you made the cut. I was under the impression that the competition to get this position was pretty fierce, but maybe there are fewer girls gunnin’ for it than I thought.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, keeping a serious expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes and slightly cocked your head to the side. “I expect you to apologize for that, Major.”

Bucky nodded quickly and tossed his cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt beneath his heel. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the wall once again, this time facing you. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. You do seem a little tired.” He looked at you sympathetically, then glanced down to watch you bite your bottom lip. Miraculously, he was able to tear his gaze away to look you in the eyes again, not wanting to miss your reaction.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, you looked away and disposed of your cigarette. “Thank you again for the light. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the door.

What the hell was that?

He must have inadvertently spoken the question aloud, because you abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. He started to apologize for cursing at you, but instead he said, “You’re not gonna say anything? Not a ‘how dare you?’ Not gonna call me a goddamn son of a bitch? Or do you just save that fire for your lighter?” You continued to watch him silently. “I guess you also save all the laughs and dances for every other guy here.” He pointed hard with both index fingers to his chest. “But me? Oh, lucky me, I get nothin’.” He stopped talking and looked at you with anticipation, both of his brows raised.

You finally shrugged and said, “I suppose I’m just too tired,” then started again for the door. Bucky forced himself to unclench his jaw and pry his feet from their current spot. He hurried to beat you to the door and hold it open for you.

You muttered a quiet “thank you” as you walked through, but before you could get far into the crowded room, Bucky was once again by your side.

“You know, I got a theory,” he said, his voice a little brighter than it had been just moments ago.

Whether you had meant for him to or not, he heard you let out a huff from your nose. “Oh, please,” you said under your breath.

“I told you, you don’t have to beg me, sweetheart.” He continued. “I think you know that if you dance with me, you’ll realize I’m not such a bad guy,” he said, leaning in quite close to you but giving you enough space to back away. You didn’t. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.”

You didn’t blush or move away. Instead, you maintained eye contact as the band began playing It’s Only a Paper Moon. You responded with that polite, cryptic smile that was beginning to drive him nuts, and said softly, “I guess we’ll never know.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before making your way toward the microphone. The crowd cheered eagerly as they saw you approach. You beamed at the crowd and began to sing.

Say it’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

You motioned to the crowd to sing along with you for the next line, a silent command that everyone except Bucky obeyed wholeheartedly. For once, he was the only person in the room not singing.

But it wouldn’t be make-believe

If you believed in me

As the band played a brief interlude, you said into the microphone, “Wow, you all sound fabulous. I’m not sure why they’ve got me up here. Heck, they aren’t even paying me.” The crowd laughed and remained enraptured with your performance. As burnt up as he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t help hanging onto every note. As he watched you sing and smile and joke, he had one thought run continuously through his mind.

Just who the hell is this woman?

A/N: This one's for my fellow masking introverts. Yeah so Bucky decided to use kindergarten tactics on reader. Next chapter, he pushes her off the swings. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

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tommyspeakycap · 8 months

Text

shopping

jay loves you so much he actively enjoys being dragged around dress shopping

jay halstead x reader tooth rotting fluff x

“What do you think of this one?” You ponder, running your fingers over the fabric of a dress in the millionth store you’d dragged your boyfriend into. You had left the finding of a dress for your friends wedding pretty last minute and so far, despite the fact Jay would attested you looked drop dead gorgeous in every single one of them, you were still declaring that you hadn’t found one that looked good on you.

“Why don’t you try it on?” Your boyfriend suggests, attracting your frazzled attention to him. When your eyes land on him there isn’t an ounce of annoyance towards you. Men notoriously hate doing things like this, following their partner around shops. Jay’s missing the game today, he’s probably knackered from working constantly and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was thinking of elaborate ways he could kill you and make it look like an accident right now just like many men stuck shopping with their partners have done in years gone by. Boyfriends before him to you and other women across the country have moaned and groaned the entire way around, asking repeatedly when you would be done and genuinely considering leaving you there.

Jay had not murmured so much as one complaint.

Jay Halstead is probably the best boyfriend in the world. He drove you here, he reacts with the same adoration with each and every dress you walked out in. Your boyfriend - not probably - unarguably, is the best boyfriend in the world. Only whilst you’re trying on a million dresses will he fiddle about with his phone, but the second you emerge to show him, his phone immediately goes away so he can direct his full attention to you again. He even carries the dresses you’re going to try and will lift them out of your reach when you try to protest. The only thing he’s threatened you with so far is that he would rip one particular dress clean off you and have you in that dressing room if you weren’t careful.

Ever the gentleman, Jay Halstead.

You had never had a love like this before.

All of a sudden you’re overcome with guilt, a frown falling onto your face. On duty or not, your boyfriend is a detective immediately a frown of his own appears across his beautiful features, concern furrowing his brow as he notices your face falling. “Baby,what’s wrong? You’ll get something. And besides, you know I think you look amazing in all of them.” Jay soothes softly as he takes a few steps towards you in concern at the sudden sadness written across your features. “No it’s not that,” you sigh, “You never get time off and today you have and i’m dragging you around half the stores in Chicago. I’m so sorry Jay, we can just go and i’ll come back another time.” You hurry to grab the other two dresses he was holding for you and stuff them back onto the rail they came from while Jay simply stood still and cocked an eyebrow.

“Jay?”

“Are you finished?” He taunts, prompting you to furrow your brows. “Am i finished wha-“

“Do you really think i would rather be anywhere else right now?” He asks, almost incredulously as if he cannot believe that you would ever even consider the fact he would want to be anywhere other than with you. “No matter what we’re doing, i’d always rather be with you. I mean what kind of man would complain about watching his hot girlfriend trying on hot dresses all day?” Jay reaches up to cup your cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over the soft surface. “Seriously honey, I’d spend the rest of my days doing this if i got to do it with you. Now let’s get you that perfect dress so i can rip it off you in two weeks eh?”

You snort a laugh, cheeks flushing bright red. “Oh detective Halstead, you are so getting some tonight.”

~~~

“Okay, okay, okay.” Jay hears your voice and finishes off the text he was sending. “What about this one?” He casts his eyes up to you and back at his phone to lock it quickly, but the device nearly actually slips right out of his hand as he attempts to do so. His head snaps back up to you as he stuffs it into his pocket. “Woaaah my god.” He breathes, eyes wide as you blush under his gaze. “Jay…” you trail off, crossing your arms over your chest. Jay has loved all of the dresses so far, so this reaction you assume is just over exaggerated because he wants you to feel good.

If only you could see inside his mind. It’s like some kind of primal alarm has gone off. Jay feels himself building up a little sweat as he blinks a few times to confirm that you are really stood in front of him, really his girlfriend and really that fucking hot. “Seriously, (y/n). I literally don’t have words. If you don’t chose that one we are definitely getting it anyway.” His face is as serious as it is when he’s at work, eyebrows raised to add to his insistence. “This one is my favourite,” you agree bashfully. It is very obviously your boyfriend’s favourite too. The brunette is doing his thing where he’s become a little bit lost, like someone’s reached inside him and spun his head.

He had very effectively been knocked from the unshakable hardened police detective and reduced to a boyfriend who’s adoration for his girlfriend beams right out of him. It’s as though love hearts have appeared in his eyes, heart fluttering at the sight of you giving him a little twirl. Jay’s mouth is dry, his stomach flipping.

The only thought in his mind is that he wants this forever. Your silly little ever-so-slightly timid showing off of outfits, your blushing grin when he compliments every little thing about you, his spinning head, his thumping heart and the knowing he is the one who gets to take you home; all of it. He wants it forever and only with you. He wants to spend all of his forevers totally enthralled by and entirely speechless because of you.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at the register?” Jay finally speaks, trying not to trip over his own words. You nod with a giggle, making a show of swaying your hips a little extra because you know he’s watching you walk away. One of Jay’s favourite cheeky little phrases to recite comes to mind as you do so, and you know he’s muttering it to himself know. ‘I hate it when you leave but i love to watch you walk away’.

You’re quick to change back into your own clothes, aware Jay is waiting for you and if left alone in a shop too long he will find something to buy for you that is more expensive than you need or start to worry you’ve been the victim of a spontaneous changing room hostage situation. “Any luck?” The older lady manning the dressing room asks you sweetly, immediately forcing a big cheesy grin onto your face at the thought of Jay’s reaction to that dress. You’d had quite a lot of luck recently, you thought. You had gotten lucky with Jay, and you knew that better than anyone else. He was the love you had dreamt of and had been almost certain you’d never find.

“Yep, think i found the one.” You reply, holding the dress up for her to see. “If you don’t mind my saying.” She begins softly before casting her gaze out onto the shop floor to spot Jay before she turns back to you, “I really think you have. He’s one of the good ones.” Jay is just stood there, holding the bag with your new shoes in one hand and your coat tucked under his other arm waiting patiently for you to return so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders and press that kiss on your temple the same way he always does to greet you. Her lips are tugged into a genuine smile. “Brings back your faith in love a little. We don’t see many as good as him.” She adds quietly, watching your eyes cling to the man you love so much. “I don’t think there are any like him.” You admit sheepishly. When you meet her eyes again it’s like she can see right through you. Had you not been so wrapped up in him, you might have humoured the idea that people even outside of your circle can actually tell you Jay were just meant to be.

“I best not keep you any longer, he might burst.”

Despite her joking, you both know the tall brunette doesn’t like being away from you. This lady does not know you and nor does she know Jay, but just by observing for mere moments the way you interact with each other, she knows what everybody knows when they see you together.

How truly and deeply in love you both are.

These moments with him, mundane and boring as some might see them to others, are fleeting for you and Jay. His job keeps him as busy as any job really could. He doesn’t get to come shopping with you as often as he’d like, and Jay is nothing if not hyper aware that he does not always have the luxury of time to treat you how he believes you should be treated.

If anything, he spends a significant amount of time worrying and beating himself up about the time he doesn’t get to spend with you. He’s conscious of the fact that he doesn’t ever get to whisk you away on weekend getaways in case his job needs him or that he doesn’t treat you to fancy dinners as often as a man with a simpler job may be able to. He doesn’t always have the time to hold you in the mornings or fall asleep by your side. Jay Halstead will beat himself up until the day he dies about the fact he cannot shower you in his love the way he wishes he was able to.

In the very same breath, you make sure every worry and fear he has ever had about not being enough for you is squashed before he ever even thinks it’s showing. He is far from insecure about your relationship, but he is nothing if not aware of the fact you are deserving of someone who has more time for you.

To you, it is the mere fact that he makes time where time literally doesn’t exist that matters most.

Whether he has half an hour of a lunch break or no time at all, he will always find a way to make sure he’s texted you, ‘I hope today is treating you well baby. Love you x’. Every day, without fail. When he misses a dinner he will scramble in that front door all puppy eyes and more broken hearted that you could ever be that he’s missed it, with flowers slightly damaged from how quickly he tried to get home and grovelling apologies you accept in the form of a gentle, love soaked kiss on his lips. His apologies are always accepted. How could you ever hold a grudge when you can see his pain in those pretty blue eyes. On your worst days, he will find a way to wrap his love around you tight enough to squeeze all those broken pieces back together. How could you ever be angry when he tries so hard, you know the effort he has gone to in order to stop work from consuming his life the way he once did as a younger, single man. He is there, present or not. He is always there and you know he loves you because he shows you in ways even you haven’t come to fully know. When a case hits a little to close to home he’ll crawl into bed in the middle of the night and he will not let you go. When he knows you are fast asleep safe in his arms, he mumbles about how nothing will ever harm you so long as he’s around. In the time you do get to spend together, you feel so much love that it could last you a lifetime.

You never ever want to be without Jay Halstead.

“You know how much i love you, right?” You mumble softly with your head tucked into his shoulder, waiting in a patient and comfortable silence in the line to pay for your dress. “Course. Why do you ask?” Jay mused, tilting his head a little to look at you. “Dunno, just wanted you to know it’s…a lot i guess.”

“You guess?” Jay teases, jostling you playfully against his side. “You guess?”

“Jayyyy,” you whine, swirling yourself out of his grasp. Your boyfriend throws his head back with a loud chuckle, eyes crinkling the way they do when he’s genuinely happy. Only you can make him smile that way. “I’m trying to be sweet!” Your protest makes him laugh harder.

Before you could even get your phone on the card machine to pay, Jay had already done it and was thanking the man behind the desk. You were pretty much stood guffawing at him, highly displeased that after a day of being dragged here there and everywhere, he was now paying for the clothes you needed. “Now i’m trying to be sweet.” He retorts. “Come on pretty girl,” he rolls his eyes playfully at you, “Lets get out of here eh?”

You always fear you don’t remind him enough that you love him more than words could ever say. Jay on the other hand couldn’t believe such a ridiculous thought could ever come from such a smart woman. He feels your love every single day in every single way.

With your fingers linked together, you and Jay strolled off towards his truck. Jay has this weird feeling in his gut today. He hasn’t been able to put his finger on it all day. Only when he looks over at you in the car, one hand in yours and the other on the wheel, that this feeling is contentment. It’s peace. Just the feeling of total relaxation for the first time in his life. It is you. You are his peace, his lifeline, his home. No matter where you are.

And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, brought on purely by the little box wrapped in tissue paper and buried under some of the clothes you had bought. Being a gentleman wasn’t the only reason Jay had insisted on carrying your bags.

He was going to propose tonight.

And then he was going to spend forever loving every single little mundane moment you get together for the rest of his life.

#jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead x you

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months

Text

No Escape

Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader

Mephistopheles x Haarlep/f!Tav/Reader

⋆˙⟡♡ 18+ Dark Content

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: Haarlep is once again captured and under the control of the archdevil Mephistopheles. The devil mocks Haarlep's previous attempt to flee to live freely, suggesting a more twisted form of punishment this time… One that even you could feel.

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I’ve been working on this for the past couple days now. Enjoy xoxo

4k words & Based off my thoughts on Haarlep’s background

The dank alleyway was silent save for the skittering of rats and the distant echo of merriment from the nearby taverns. Haarlep moved like a shadow, their footsteps muted, their breath a quiet whisper against the chill of the night. They were seeking you, for they had grown bored waiting for you to return to them.

Before they could sense the ambush, their instincts screamed a warning. Shadows shifted, and figures emerged from the dark. Before Haarlep could react, strong hands grabbed them, and a sharp pain shot through their wrists. Looking down, Haarlep saw the glint of enchanted metal magical cuffs, designed to suppress their powers. They could feel their heart race; it was rare for an incubus of their caliber to be caught off guard by a mere human.

Haarlep swished their tail, a last attempt at defense, but it was like thrashing against the winds of a storm. The incubus’s assailants were prepared, unfazed by the creatures feeble efforts. Haarlep's eyes flashed with irritation, yet they knew better than to let fear take hold. Instead, they summoned the smooth, confident demeanor that was their trademark.

“If you wanted to get rough with me, a simple whisper in my ear would have sufficed-,” they began, their voice low and teasing, but the sentence was abruptly cut short. A calloused hand clamped over their lips, the stench of sulfur and filth assaulting their senses. Sulfur?

“Quiet, you revolting creature! Your kind don’t belong here, preying on our women and men, especially the hero of this city! We’ve seen ya hanging around her!” the ringleader hissed.

Haarlep's eyebrow arched. Preying on you? The very idea was laughable. It was true, they originally wanted to be your cruel master, but the tables had turned so delightfully. You were the one who had ensnared the incubus with your charms, your boldness captivating them in a way few mortals ever had. And though they’d never admit it aloud, they didn't mind this reversal of roles.

The thought was a spark of warmth against their growing concern. There was a dangerous edge to the situation,a tone of finality in their captor's voice that couldn't be ignored.

“Time to take you back where ya came from!”

The words struck a chord of genuine alarm. Haarlep's eyes widened as they realized the full extent of their intentions. The smell of sulfur, these humans being prepared, it wasn’t Grazzt who had summoned for them… Their original home, the Abyss. But rather Cania, the eighth hell, a frozen wasteland, a place of punishment and exile for their kind. It was the one place they dreaded above all after becoming “free”.

A snap shattered the stillness, and a portal yawned open, its glacial glow casting foreboding shadows. The gateway to their dread stood gaping, an icy maw ready to swallow Haarlep whole.

The air in the grand chamber was icy, a stark contrast to the spark that usually dances in Haarlep's eyes, now dulled by the grim realization of their predicament. Forced to their knees on the marble flooring, the relentless cold crept into their very marrow, a chilling reminder of the unforgiving nature of Hell's hierarchy.

Before them stood Mephistopheles, the archdevil of Cania, whose mere presence seemed to leech the warmth from the air, "Well, well, what do we have here?" Mephistopheles purred, his voice the embodiment of malevolence, "My lost little debaucher.”

Haarlep's silence was not by choice; the fabric gag in their mouth stifled any retort they might have conjured. Their glare met the eyes of Mephistopheles', as the devil's hand cupped their chin, forcing them to maintain eye contact.

"My lap has been quite cold without you here," Mephistopheles murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Haarlep's jaw with a feigned tenderness that belied the cruelty beneath. "Tell me, after my son's demise you came back here, did you not? Why only tease me and the others in my court if you were just going to run away and never come back for a visit?"

The cruel indentations of Mephistopheles' talons etching into Haarlep’s flesh forced a muffled grunt from Haarlep, the sole utterance they could manage against the gag. The searing mark was a relentless testament to the infernal dominion the archdevil held over them, a dominion Haarlep had once slipped from and now found themselves ensnared within again, tighter, more inescapable.

"Ah, but I should hardly chide you for your pitiful attempt to flee," Mephistopheles sneered with a sadistic curl of his lip, "It was my own amusement that saw you freed from my grasp, straight into the embrace of that lovely woman."

As Mephistopheles' hold constricted, a warning clear in the increasing pressure, Haarlep understood that the path to freedom would be far more treacherous this time. Their prior escape had been a mere twist of fate, a rare moment of chance they had exploited with your aid. Now, beneath Mephistopheles' relentless scrutiny, amidst the icy desolation of Cania, and with you absent in Faerun, the scales of fortune were grimly tipped against them...

"Perhaps I ought to exact a cruel reprisal for your transgression," Mephistopheles pondered, his claws delving deeper into Haarlep's flesh. "Yet, why waste such a delicious opportunity for my own entertainment?"

The acute slash of rending skin was all too familiar for Haarlep, a scorching emblem of their profound powerlessness. Mephistopheles' voice was thick with malevolent satisfaction as he coaxed forth the blood, a scarlet symbol of Haarlep's forced submission.

"Did you really think I'd allow you to go play house with the little hero?" Mephistopheles taunted, his grin wide, "Though who could blame you, you're such a simple creature. She's such a pretty thing, and her lifestyle is quite easy now, the perfect prey for you."

Haarlep ached to retaliate, but as they gathered their thoughts the air thickened with magic, and a metal collar snapped viciously around their neck. A short chain attached to it materialized shortly after, a representation of Mephistopheles' dominance. The sudden yank brought Haarlep's face crashing against the devil's foot, the impact a brutal punctuation to his enchained existence.

"I wonder how her flesh feels, how her body trembles when experiencing the most wonderful of orgasms," Mephistopheles speculated with a vile sneer, pressing his foot against Haarlep's lacerated cheek, grinding their head into the cold marble, "You have tasted her form, yes? Of course you have, all you do is take whenever you find discover a shiny new toy.”

Haarlep’s mind raced, seeking a sliver of opportunity, but the cuffs held firm, cutting into their skin even as their muscles strained against them. The bulging veins in their arms were a testament to their futile attempts, a visual chorus to the anger boiling within. Mephistopheles had always been a master of manipulation, playing with his subjects like a puppeteer with marionettes.

Incubi were creatures of persuasion and deception, and Haarlep had been among the best. It would take all of their cunning, all of their guile, but they were not devoid of options.

The command though that slithered from Mephistopheles' lips resonated like a death knell through the grand, sinister hall, a decree that stripped away the last remnants of Haarlep's autonomy. "Transform into her, my pet. Why should a mere incubus and my son be the only ones to savor such delights?" The devil's smile was a ghastly exhibition of his vile victory.

As Mephistopheles' claws sank into Haarlep's hair they were yanked from the ground. Haarlep's face was a canvas of conflict; rage and spite warred with a sadness so profound it bordered on mourning. The incubus longed for the past, a time when they were more than just a pawn in the infernal realm.

With a casual display of his infernal might, Mephistopheles transported himself and Haarlep back to the expansive, ebony throne that symbolized his ruling. There, he sat with an air of regal entitlement, his smirk a silent yet eloquent expression of mastery.

"We'll leave that makeshift gag around your mouth for now, her whimpers are all I need," Mephistopheles declared, a sadistic pleasure evident in his tone. His hand gently brushed Haarlep's cheek in a mock caress, a vile parody of tenderness. "Reveal the one who felled my wretched offspring, her form revealed in its entirety. I am eager to witness what will draw forth her screams.”

Was this the crux of it all, the reason Haarlep had fled with the assassin of the archdevil's son? How Haarlep had plotted Raphael’s downfall, seizing the chance when fate led you to cross paths...

As the cuffs that once bound Haarlep were removed, it was clear that their confinement was far from over. The true shackles were not of iron, but of the consequences that disobedience would entail.

Haarlep clung to the notion of causing the archdevil even a fraction of the agony the incubus had inflicted upon others, but they knew well that such a powerful being's soul was beyond their reach, beyond consumption.

Mephistopheles' patience frayed, and with a violent jerk of the chain, he forced Haarlep's gaze back to his own. "I don't have all day, incubus. If you don't do this I will force it upon you and then go claim your little play toy for myself."

In that moment of despair, Haarlep's resolve faltered as they grappled with the enormity of their situation. With an unusual heavy heart, they conceded to the will of the archdevil, understanding the grim cost of defiance.

A dance of black embers encircled Haarlep, a prelude to the dark magic that would transform them. The air crackled magic, the scent of brimstone a bitter fragrance heralding the change. And then, in a sudden conflagration, Haarlep's form shifted, the masculine lines of their body melting away to reveal the delicate, familiar contours of your own.

There you were, in all your likeness, a spectral mirage crafted from the incubus's flesh. It was a sight that would have filled any lover's heart with dread, even a chaotic demon such as themself. For in that moment, Haarlep was both present and absent, their own essence cloaked beneath the visage of the one they sought to keep to themself.

Mephistopheles leaned back on his throne, observing the transformation with a gleam in his eyes, a delight that only a creature of his malevolence could savor. Haarlep, now wearing your flesh, was a sight of haunting beauty.

"You do wear it well," Mephistopheles cooed, his voice dripping with a sickly sweetness. His fingers traced the air, as though he could manipulate the very soul of the illusion that Haarlep had become. "Now let us see if the performance is as convincing as the appearance."

Haarlep, despite being coerced into this vile charade, held onto a sliver of control. They would play the part.

Mephistopheles, gestured with an air of impatience, "Proceed," he commanded, "let us indulge in the fantasy that you are her. I want to savor the illusion before I partake in her."

Haarlep moved, each motion deliberate yet hollow, an echo of your grace, a puppet's dance with Mephistopheles holding the strings. They mimicked your mannerisms, wiggling your hips and tracing your stomach with your fingers.

The archdevil's laughter filled the chamber, a sound devoid of joy, empty and cold. "Yes, this will do," he mused, his gaze never leaving the figure before him.

Haarlep's performance continued.

“Come now, you can do better than this now.” The arch devils grin never ceasing, "I know this form quite intimately, dear Haarlep. I've watched her in the throes of ecstasy, seen the way she writhes and begs for release," Mephistopheles taunted, his lips broadening as he saw the pain written on the incubus's features. "And you… you've had the privilege of making her body sing with pleasure."

Their mind raced with thoughts of what would transpire when Mephistopheles’ has his way, the memories of times long past seared in Haarlep’s mind… How Mephistopheles would pass them around between the devils, a new plaything for them to use and abuse. Every thrust came a new beating, a new spiked whip… Even Demons have their breaking point...

Then the memories from just the other night come flooding into Haarlep’s mind, a night of ecstasy and tenderness, your soft wonton moans lingering in their ears still, the warmth of your skin, the sweet taste of your lips... The sound of your gentle breathing, the scent of your hair, and the comfort of your embrace... it all felt so far away now… The feeling of freedom…

In the beginning, your relationship with Haarlep was a mere play of games and lust, but as time spun its narrative, an unexpected bond had taken root. You bestowed upon them the gift of freedom, a gem of inestimable value for a creature shackled by the chains of servitude. Love, an enigma to beings such as Haarlep, had become the cornerstone of your existence together. Those nights enshrouded in their warm wings were not just moments of passion but sanctuary, a sacred space where you were not a master, prey, or a source of sustenance, but a cherished lover.

Yet those cherished moments would soon become tainted, marred by the touch of an imposter. Your body, the sanctuary you had entrusted to him, would now be defiled, sullied by the archdevil's depravity… And you would feel it all…

"Now then," Mephistopheles purred, rising from his throne. "Show me how she trembles."

…

The silence lingered, and then the first blow fell. A brutal backhand, a strike so hard it left the incubus reeling, staggering backwards and collapsing onto the floor, his face stinging from the impact- Your face stinging from the impact… Haarlep knows you felt that…

And you did, as you walked the market with Karlach you felt a sharp slap against your face, leaving you momentarily stunned as the pain flared up, forcing a pained whimper from your lips. Karlach had immediately stopped in her tracks, concern written across her face as she asked what happened, to which you gave a quick response, saying it was nothing. That Haarlep had probably irritated Astarion once again while in your form.

With Karlach pacified, you continued your walk, the ache in your cheek never fading. Yet you still couldn't shake the sensation that something was wrong, a cold dread settling in the pit of your stomach…

Your fears were confirmed when another wave of pain came crashing down, the feeling of a foot striking your gut as you doubled over, gasping for breath. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, a lump forming in your throat as the full extent of the situation became clear.

The archdevil snarled, "Don't make me repeat myself," the fury in his eyes a warning of worse punishments to come.

Haarlep's fingers curled against the floor as they steadied themself, struggling to their knees, your knees. The aches of the blows still lingered, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the heartache Haarlep was facing… Was this how Graz'zt felt when Tasha had left the Abyss finally all those years ago?

Haarlep couldn't stop the peculiar wetness that was beginning to stream down their face… Tears? The incubus’s eyes widened, tears? Reaching up they touched the foreign liquid they’ve yet to ever experience… Looking down at their wet finger another tear cascaded down from their- your eyes…

A mocking laughter cut through the silence, the archdevil sneering in response to Haarlep's tears, "My, how sweet. The vulgar incubus cares for her. Perhaps I will go fetch for her, keep her alive and have her watch the fun," he taunted, relishing in the incubus’s misery. "Or, perhaps not. I can’t help but to wonder how she'll fare after she feels me ravage you in her image. If she’ll ever be able to touch you again.”

Haarlep knew that was coming, the words he dreaded to hear... How long will he be trapped in this prison of his own creation?

“She’ll discard you like the object you are and you’ll have no choice but to come back here, the Abyss surely won’t take you back after being in my care for so long.” Mephistopheles chuckled, the incubus would never escape his grasp…

Mephistopheles stepped closer, his eyes dark with lust, the heat radiating from his skin a palpable energy. He reached out, his touch almost gentle, his claws running over the curves of your body, over the fabric of the shirt, and the skin underneath. There was a gentleness in his touch, a strange tenderness, as his fingers traveled lower, slipping between your thighs…

Karlach held onto you while your body shivered as foreign hands traveled over your body. The sensation of your legs being spread…

“It’s the fucking incubus! I told you not to bring that thing back! You can’t trust those-“

“I-it’s n-not… Ah!!-“

With a sudden ferocity, Mephistopheles seized the front of Haarlep’s shirt, yanking them forward and slamming their back against the ground, ripping the shirt in the process.

A gasp escaped your lips as Haarlep hit the floor, the shock of the impact momentarily stunning you. Your back ached from the impact, leaving you breathless as you felt someone straddled your waist, their weight pressing down against your hips. You could feel whos ever arousal it was roll their hips against yours…

Karlach looked you over, “Champ??”

Your breathing quickened, “n-no… something’s not right… H-Haarlep, he’s using my body, b-but-“ A piercing scream erupted from you suddenly as you simultaneously grabbed your neck. It felt like someone had taken a chunk out of your flesh… And that was exactly what had happened.

Mephistopheles looked down at Haarlep, the incubus’s blood dripping from his jaws. It had been so quick, so effortless, the ease with which he'd ripped into your flesh was chilling, “Mortals are so fragile, aren’t they? I’m surprised you haven’t broken her yet yourself. I remember how rough you can get, dear Haarlep.”

The sharp pain was all that filled Haarlep’s mind as they felt the blood pooling around your body, the wound on their neck throbbing with agony… "Such a lovely thing she is all bloodied, wouldn't you agree?" Mephistopheles didn’t wish to waste anymore time, he needed to feel you, and wished to know what made you so special. He leaned down, his hand grabbing a hold of Haarlep’s ankle and pulling their limp body towards him, their blood smearing across the obsidian floor.

Your head was spinning, and you couldn't focus on anything but the pain and the fear. It was surreal, a waking nightmare, the agony, the feeling of violation and helplessness. Another blood curdling scream filled the air, your knees buckling causing you to collapse to the dirt ground. You felt something large enter your body, ripping you open with a violent force. The stretch was so painful, and you could feel something warm begin to trickle down your thighs, but it wasn’t your arousal, it was blood… But it wasn’t actually coming from you… It was coming from Haarlep, from them using your body…

Your nails dug into the dirt beneath you as you cried out, your whole body trembling, a single word escaping your lips, a plea, a prayer, a name, Haarlep!

Karlach stayed by your side, her arms wrapping around you tightly as she held you close, “the fuck is happening!?” You could only respond with a pitiful whimper as you felt a cold sweat breaking out over your entire body, the pain becoming unbearable. The sounds of your cries echoing throughout the city.

The archdevil thrusted into Haarlep relentlessly, each thrust bringing with it a new wave of pain and a fresh round of blood. Mephistopheles growled as he continued to ravage the incubus, his hands gripping their hips, your hips, hard enough to bruise. Haarlep's body jerked with every motion, his blood painting the archdevil's cock crimson as he tore through your delicate flesh, his claws digging into the incubus' skin as he held Haarlep in place. It was as if the archival was trying to fuck through Haarlep, “I never had such an exquisite mortal before,” Mephistopheles laughed as he looked down at the incubus, his voice tinged with delight, “she really is to die for.”

Mephistopheles leaned down to grab hold of one of your nipples, and twisted it. And with each brutal thrust he’d pull on the delicate little bud, hard enough to force Haarlep off the ground slightly.

Your screams had ceased, the shock of what was happening finally overtaking you, the pain had become too much, and everything was becoming blurry. You felt sick, nauseous, and dizzy. Your heart was beating so fast, and your vision was growing dimmer, “…c-can’t… p-please…” your eyelids began to flutter shut as the searing pain in your chest and cunt began to consume you… “H-Haarlep…” Before death's cousin had you surrender to it, an image of your beloved incubus flashed before your eyes…

Haarlep felt the tip of the archdevil's cock slamming into your cervix, each impact tearing more of the flesh surrounding their entrance, the blood now completely covering their thighs.

The pleasure the archdevil felt was intoxicating, the ecstasy of feeling the lifeblood flowing out of the incubus through your delicate flesh wrapped around him like a vise. He was reveling in the power he wielded over both Haarlep and you, to reduce such a stubborn and defiant creature as this incubus to a quivering mess of blood and tears.

Haarlep's eyes never once shut, instead it watched and felt your body get thrown around, your body, soaked in ”your” blood... The feeling was something Haarlep couldn't quite describe... your insides, just completely and utterly ruined…

Your body was limp in Karlach's arms as she watched over your unconscious form. Rage plastered on her face as she gently carried you back to your home, "Please, Gods…”

The night continued like this for what felt like hours, you’d awaken only for pain to wrack your body. Your body quaking, your throat destroyed from the constant screaming. Your knuckles were white from how tight you were clinging to Karlach, but the barbarian didn’t seem to mind, she remained with you, holding you, comforting you. Until finally you felt a torrent of stranger's cum fill Haarlep, fill your abused cunt. You felt so full and warm despite nothing actually being there… Your eyes barely open while drool spills from your mouth…

Haarlep wreathed beneath Mephistopheles, at the feeling of the archdevil releasing into your body. The stretch was almost unbearable, the heat of his release a searing agony as it burned through Haarlep, seeping into their very core…

As you clung to Karlach and sobbed, your breathing was but a faint rasp, as you said with the last remaining of your energy, "Wh-where’s Haar-Haarlep…”

Karlach laid you down so she could fetch a potion for you to drink, when suddenly a figure materialized before her on the floorboards. It was Haarlep in your form… Unmoving with their eyes closed.

The tiefling woman reached for her great axe but before she could dismember the creature her eyes caught sight of their battered body, their tear-streaked face and the wounds on their neck along with… She looked away as she was met with the mess below Haarlep’s waist… “Hells…” She said softly.

Karlach could only look back at you, her heart heavy with the realization of the truth. She moved towards the fallen incubus and carefully picked them up, the bloodied mess staining her clothing as she made her way back towards you. She placed them down beside you, their eyes slowly opening as their hand rested upon your cheek.

She couldn't help but notice the way Haarlep’s thumb gently rubbed against your skin, and the way they used up their last strength to shift back to their true form so they could envelop you with their wings. Karlach's heart was filled with anguish as she saw Haarlep curl themselves around you, their embrace protective, shielding you from the cruelty of the world...

But it was too late, for you had already experienced the full wrath of that cruelty, and the incubus feared that you would never be the same after such a cruel night…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #haarlep #mephistopheles #haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #raphael bg3 #tw dark content #tw noncon #tw.dark content #tw.noncon #bg3 smut #tav #karlach #haarlep the incubus

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dizzycheetah96 · 2 months

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i’ve had this post in the drafts for like two months but with the release of poor things on hulu has come an uptick in really really bad poor things takes so here I am clocking in for the poor things discourse!!

while art is obviously subjective and can be interpreted like literally however you want blah blah blah etc. etc., I think a lot of the criticisms of poor things are pretty surface level and in the name of like performative anger and not genuine criticisms. will be addressing and commenting on the two biggest criticisms I’ve seen:

1. poor things portrays the born sexy yesterday trope

ultimately I think the film does enough to subvert the trope, and actually utilizes the trope as a vehicle to subvert it. what I think poor things is really doing is critiquing and commenting on how men seek out infantile and docile women as a means to exert control and assert their own self importance. these men then become disillusioned when said women gain intelligence, perspective, and experiences that don’t center them.

godwin, max, and duncan all sought to control bella in some way. they sexualize her, view her as an object, property, and an experiment. at the beginning of the movie, prior to bella leaving god’s house and exploring, we do get a bit of the traditional born sexy yesterday trope. but bella being who she is, she wanted more and she wanted to explore the world, grow, etc. this fundamentally changed the way these men interacted with her, and they were no longer infatuated by her innocence and curiosity, but saw her as threatening and something they needed to reign in and control.

first, when bella asks to leave the house and see the world, she is met with pushback from both godwin and max. when bella expresses her frustration, godwin fucking chloroforms her to get her to stop talking and fighting him. this pattern continues until bella leaves.

we saw this to an extreme with duncan. he noticed that bella was gaining intelligence and perspective, was threatened, and resorted to locking her in a trunk and literally fucking kidnapping her as an attempt to regain control. but after that, she continues to learn and grow. she meets new people who introduce her to philosophy and reading and intelligent conversation. this essentially brings duncan to his breaking point and he begins to mentally deteriorate.

2. all the sex was super gross bc bella developmentally had not yet reached the age of consent

people not grasping that bella having sex with all these men is SUPPOSED to make us uncomfortable is baffling. the depiction of this kind of relationship cannot be equated with endorsement. I actually think it was important that the audience know that at the beginning of the movie that bella had the brain of a child because it allows us to see how much duncan takes advantage of her. it also just further hammers home the critique of men preferring underdeveloped infantile women they can control, rather than independent intelligent women who challenge them.

I don’t necessarily have any problem with the movie depicting that bella enjoys having sex. discovering sexuality it is an ordinary part of adolescence (when she first starts masturbating I’m assuming she was like 12-14 developmentally) and ultimately what makes the lisbon scenes with her and duncan so uncomfortable is that we know that he knows he’s taking advantage of her. I do think it was intended to be uncomfortable for the audience to watch. she does not have the knowledge and understanding to know that the dynamic between her and duncan is very very bad, but she gets there eventually. I can’t fault her for in the moment not realizing what was happening to her.

but this is where my personal criticisms come in — once bella does learn how these men took advantage of her she does not fight back against them like I wanted her to. she isn’t outraged, she doesn’t tell them how violated she feels. duncan does get his comeuppance (which was hilariously played by mark ruffalo) but I think that max and godwin got off too easy. especially max who agreed to marry her when developmentally she was a child. I just don’t think she should have been so quick to forgive them.

I also just want to take a moment to discuss the common critique that “it’s so obvious this movie was made by a man like duh this is how men perceive what female empowerment is” etc. etc. this was actually addressed by emma stone in a conversation she had w olivia coleman — emma was a producer on the film and really feels like people are taking away her agency in deciding how to tell this story. she was an integral part in the production of the film, no one was demanding her to portray bella in a certain way, and ultimately what we see on screen is a product of her involvement in the filmmaking process. by reducing this to being a movie about how men perceive women you are completely removing and invalidating the women that actually had a say in how this story was told.

tldr; idk like obviously you can think whatever you want about it, but just don’t mistake depiction for endorsement and understand that sometimes the point of the movie is to make you feel uncomfortable. stories and narratives in fiction are complicated bc people are complicated!!!! we are messy and difficult and exploring certain topics in a fictionalized world allows us to better understand the world we live in. sanitizing ourselves of engaging with this kind of material will only hurt our ability to analyze and form opinions about contentious areas of life.

#poor things #*sigh* I am once again poor things posting #emma stone #yorgos lanthimos #poor things ily

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odinsblog · 11 months

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In the darkest chapter of German history, during a time when incited mobs threw stones into the windows of innocent shop owners and women and children were cruelly humiliated in the open; Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a young pastor, began to speak publicly against the atrocities.

After years of trying to change people’s minds, Bonhoeffer came home one evening and his own father had to tell him that two men were waiting in his room to take him away.

In prison, Bonhoeffer began to reflect on how his country of poets and thinkers had turned into a collective of cowards, crooks and criminals. Eventually he concluded that the root of the problem was not malice, but stupidity.

In his famous letters from prison, Bonhoeffer argued that stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice, because while “one may protest against evil; it can be exposed and prevented by the use of force, against stupidity we are defenseless. Neither protests nor the use of force accomplish anything here. Reasons fall on deaf ears.”

Facts that contradict a stupid person’s prejudgment simply need not be believed and when they are irrefutable, they are just pushed aside as inconsequential, as incidental. In all this, the stupid person is self-satisfied and, being easily irritated, becomes dangerous by going on the attack.

For that reason, greater caution is called for when dealing with a stupid person than with a malicious one. If we want to know how to get the better of stupidity, we must seek to understand its nature.

This much is certain, stupidity is in essence not an intellectual defect but a moral one. There are human beings who are remarkably agile intellectually yet stupid, and others who are intellectually dull yet anything but stupid.

The impression one gains is not so much that stupidity is a congenital defect but that, under certain circumstances, people are made stupid or rather, they allow this to happen to them.

People who live in solitude manifest this defect less frequently than individuals in groups. And so it would seem that stupidity is perhaps less a psychological than a sociological problem.

It becomes apparent that every strong upsurge of power, be it of a political or religious nature, infects a large part of humankind with stupidity. Almost as if this is a sociological-psychological law where the power of the one needs the stupidity of the other.

The process at work here is not that particular human capacities, such as intellect, suddenly fail. Instead, it seems that under the overwhelming impact of rising power, humans are deprived of their inner independence and, more or less consciously, give up an autonomous position.

The fact that the stupid person is often stubborn must not blind us from the fact that he is not independent. In conversation with him, one virtually feels that one is dealing not at all with him as a person, but with slogans, catchwords, and the like that have taken possession of him.

He is under a spell, blinded, misused, and is abused in his very being. Having thus become a mindless tool, the stupid person will also be capable of any evil – incapable of seeing that it is evil.

Only an act of liberation, not instruction, can overcome stupidity. Here we must come to terms with the fact that in most cases a genuine internal liberation becomes possible only when external liberation has preceded it. Until then, we must abandon all attempts to convince the stupid person.

Bonhoeffer died due to his involvement in a plot against Adolf Hitler, at dawn on 9 April 1945 at Flossenbürg concentration camp - just two weeks before soldiers from the United States liberated the camp.

—Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Theory of Stupidity

#politics #dietrich bonhoeffer #republicans #theory of stupidity #donald trump #dunning kruger effect #pedagogy #stupidity #germany #conspiracy theorists #mob mentality #interesting #ethics

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rthko · 4 months

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i'm not a gaylor, couldn't care less about that woman, but ngl that thread got me thinking. do you think it would be fair to posit that classic pop fandom presumes heterosexuality from the female stars it consumes? the figure of the diva specifically feels very straight woman centered, the only exception i can think of being maybe lady gaga. well i guess everything presumes heterosexuality from everyone, but it does feel slightly different in this case imo

I think it's a fair observation. A lot of gay men, starting in childhood, strongly identify with women in media. As kids without known queer friends or role models, who knew we didn't relate to most other boys, we often thought of ourselves as more similar to girls. I obviously can't say this is universal among gay men but it's common enough that, for example, I can talk about how badly I wanted to be Anne Hathaway with a group of like minded gays and no one will find it unusual. Others will even chime in with the women they wanted to be! And I think this sort of identification often comes down to identification with women as desiring agents (making it easier to express attraction to men) and as siblings in abjection. Like, the boys are mean to you? Us too. Let's play house at recess about it.

I make it sound very adolescent, and that's where it seems to start, but it's also because there's no guarantee it will turn into any sophisticated friendship or political affiliation with women. I think diva worship, fag/hag relations, and anything similar are morally neutral. It can speak to genuine interest and support, or it can be a patronizing charade that refuses to relate to women beyond an expected shared attraction to men. I can't say that diva worship is any one thing because it can come from a place of genuine respect for a woman's artistry and be a symbolic outlet of gender expression or a parasocial mess.

Lady Gaga is herself an interesting example because yes, she is bisexual, but that doesn't really come up in her diva treatment. But the example of Taylor Swift, as discussed in the thread you're mentioning, is also unusual. The accusation, for the unacquainted, is that gay men aren't sympathetic to "Gaylor" because they want her to be straight so they can give her the diva treatment. But, and I mean no offense by this, that's not really the reason most people like her. Everything about her public image is too personal and "relatable" for her to fit that larger-than-life mold. Clearly that works for her, clearly that has yielded results, but personally I find her most interesting when she knows she's delivering a fantasy. If this seems like a superficial way of viewing art, I would counter that treating an artist as a detached patron saint of glamour and obsessing over every detail of their personal life are two sides of the same parasocial coin.

I think the ideas that are really in conflict in the "Gaylor" vs "Hetlor" debate (and for the love of God come up with a more tasteful name for the latter) is not really whether Taylor Swift is queer or straight. I'm sure you'll agree that not being onboard with Gaylor does not mean someone has a specific investment in her heterosexuality, because most of us don't really care. The conflict is between two different ways of relating to art. Rather, it's about relating versus resonating. Even if Taylor Swift is gay, hardly anything about her life, as might be explained by her wikipedia page, is relatable. But maybe one resonates with the pressures of having to please everyone, to the dehumanization of men's "Madonna-whore" complex towards women, to heartbreak, to dancing it all away. And maybe one specifically relates from a queer perspective. Go for it! It's unfortunate that Creep by Radiohead has a bad reputation, because I and a lot of other queer people find it really resonant. I don't get crushes on straight guys like I used to, but when I did it was humiliating! It wasn't the prospect of their rejection that hurt, but the idea of being repulsive and looking in from the outside at a world you will never belong to. It speaks to a queer perspective, but I don't have to wonder if this was intentional or if Thom Yorke himself is gay to see it.

I think, memes aside, the Internet is excessively cruel to Swifties. Even with Gaylors, I feel for their need to identify with an artist they feel feel expresses an underrepresented point of view. No, James Somerton, a handful of children's cartoons does not prove that lesbians are winning the representation war. But I also want to say to them that, a perceived lack of representation aside, no one is forcing you to speculate about this woman's sexuality. If she is just as straight as she claims to be, that doesn't have to ruin your queer readings of her work. If a straight woman sang the words "you can want who you want; boys and boys and girls and girls," and it came from the heart, good for her.

This was all very characteristically meandering of me and only kind of answered your question. I agree that a lot of gay men's interest in women is stunted by the expectation that they could only bond over shared attraction to men. I think gay men owe queer women the world. I also just don't really think this applies to the Gaylor thing. She is, as far as anyone knows and as far as she herself has stated, a heterosexual woman. That said, I do agree that the lesbian diva is an under-explored archetype that I'd love to learn more about.

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