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abbytism · 10 days ago

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WISHBONE — a. anderson

SUMMARY: Everyone in town seems to catch Abby’s attention but you, and you can’t help but wonder why in a drunken haze. Little did you know Abby has to stop herself from taking you exactly how she wants you every time she sees you, but you’ll see soon enough.

GENERAL WARNINGS: no-outbreak!au, AFAB reader, smut (in part 2), drug use (marijuana), r! and a! are both faded in this, jealous! abby?, endless flirting, some angst, reader cries because of abby, abby babies reader, lots of fluff, a lot of ooey gooey feelings from both reader and abby, some alcohol consumption. I’m a florida girl who wrote this totally imagining countryside florida and cuntry ass! Abby. I love it. I won’t stop with Florida Cowgirl Abby now… i’m addicted… Lmk if I missed anything!

PAIRINGS: Abby Anderson x Afab!Reader

WC: 5.6k

A/N: Ahhhhh!!!! I had so much fun writing this, I randomly just couldn’t sleep for like 2 nights in a row and I’ve been wanting to actually sit down and write this for so long but I’ve had so much writers block lately :( But anyway! I’m back and better than ever. Please send me a bunch of requests for some characters you want to see me write for!! Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy this, reblog, and like!! :) Leave any thoughts 🩶 Pt. 2 coming soon <3

There was a curse put on you.

Or at least that’s the theory you and your friends had convinced yourselves of, because you’d dreamt of her every night for the last four months without ever muttering a word to her.

Abby Anderson was a paradox.

She had moved to your quiet, quaint little town six months ago with a group of friends, and the second she arrived, she had two girls on each arm. She was worse than the men you had grown up around, persuading and enchanting the misses to go home with her in two seconds, with nothing but her Cheshire grin and an offer to make their night better than their man at the bar could. The countryside wasn’t exactly full of women-loving ladies, but that changed when Abby arrived.

Her and her stupid braid and her stupid boots.

Her stupid, big arms that you had seen beat everybody at the bar in arm wrestling. That you had thought of late at night when you were alone. Her stupid, thick thighs that helped her keep her spot as the number one bull rider in your town, mechanical and real. Her stupid, yet perfect, smile seemed to make its way to every pretty girl in town but you.

You were not jealous-

“You’re so fucking obsessed with her,” interrupted your best friend, Jesse. You had spent weeks trying to convince Jesse that you had not planted this lavender plant just because Abby told him that she had one of your fresh lemon-lavender muffins and loved it. But you both knew it was a lie. Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes and turned around from the beds of your Lavender garden to face him. “What do you want?” You huffed, smacking your gloved hands together to let the soil fall away to the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your amazing best friend who managed to get you the best shot with the girl you’re not-so-secretly in love with?” Jesse scoffed, following behind you as you put your gloves up in your work shed and opened the back door of your house to the kitchen.

You weren’t sure what was more annoying, the fact that Jesse was right, or the fact that your heartbeat had already started racing before he even told you what he did. “A shot?” you repeated, trying and failing to keep your voice level as you rinsed your hands in the kitchen sink. “With Abby?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re catering the VFW fundraiser this Saturday, right?”

“Uhh.. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to this year?”

“She’ll be there. And I signed you up, so you have no choice.”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Abby goes to VFW fundraisers now?”

“She happens to be volunteering. I signed her up.. she was talking about how she wants to ‘give back’ or whatever.” Jesse made air quotes. “So I figured why not. But giving back is just code for; she’ll be standing behind the beer table all night, flexing her arms and smiling like a goddamn wolf.” You cursed under your breath. Because yeah, of course she’d be there. Of course, she'd be charming old war vets and making every bisexual girl in town drop their drinks and their panties at the same time. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered to Jesse, wiping your hands on a towel. “And you’re gonna wear that blue sundress everyone likes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

“I am not.”

“You are. You look hot in it.” He was already walking away. “I’ll see you Saturday, lover girl.”

*:·

You hadn’t seen Abby in person since that mechanical bull contest last month, the one where she’d beat the record and high-fived everyone except you, even though you’d made damn sure to stand in her line of sight the entire night. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were just thirsty, and the beer tent was in her direction. That you just happened to be wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks. But you saw it. The way her eyes had skimmed all the pairs of legs filling the room. The way her smirk faltered just slightly when seeing you, before she turned away. Like she wasn’t expecting you to look like that. Like she had to collect herself. You told yourself it meant she was out of your league.

You told yourself that again now, standing in the backroom of the VFW hall with a tray of cornbread in one hand and your heart clenching like a fist in your chest. Because Abby was here. And she was dressed like a real cowboy, not the ones you see in TV, wearing jeans slung low on her hips, boots scuffed, hair braided like always. And that same goddamn smile on her face– but this time, it was for you.

You didn’t see her right away.

Too many people, too much chili, and your hands were full, juggling trays and napkins and people trying to kiss your cheek and ask if you’d brought the peach cobbler this time. But she found you. Of course she did. You were in the back hall, crouched beside a cooler, trying to fish out a bottle of water without knocking over the stack of BBQ trays, when her voice found you like a spotlight. “You always work this hard, Angel?” You looked up and there she was. Abby Anderson, arms crossed, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Braid slung over her shoulder. Grin a little too smug for someone who just watched you almost faceplant into a bag of ice.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” you replied, trying not to sound winded. Or affected. Or like your brain short-circuited at the sight of her in that stupid tight shirt. Or at her harsh voice calling you an angel. “Yeah,” she said, her smile tilting. “I’ve noticed.” She offered you a hand. You stared at it for a beat, then took it. And maybe she pulled a little harder than necessary. Maybe you stumbled. Maybe your palm fit into hers in a way that made your pulse skip.

“I didn’t know you volunteered for stuff like this,” you said once you were both upright.

Abby shrugged, looking around the hall like it was a new world. “First time. Figured I'd give it a shot.” You quirked a brow. “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.” There was a beat, then she added, quieter, “My dad used to take me to these shelters. Animals mostly. We’d clean kennels, feed the strays. I hated it when I was ten. Thought it was gross.” She smiled to herself. “But he loved it. Thought it mattered.” You said nothing at first. Just watched her. Something shifted behind her eyes when she talked about him– soft, unguarded, like a part of her was still that kid with too-big gloves and a grudge against wet dog smell. “He still does it?” you asked gently. She hesitated. “No. He died a couple of years ago.” Your heart thudded. “I’m sorry,” you said. She shrugged again, but it didn’t have the bite it had before. “It’s alright. I think he’d like this. All the weird old men and canned beer and baked beans.” She glanced down at you. “You?”

You blinked. “What about me?”

“What brings you to the land of lukewarm hot dogs and raffle tickets?” You smiled quietly, sad. “My parents used to come every year. My mom was known for her cornbread. My dad thought he was a grill master.”

“Was he?”

“Not,” you laughed. “But he loved it. They both did.” Abby’s expression shifted. “Are they…”

“Gone,” you said softly. “Car accident. A few years ago.” Silence. “I don’t know… I get you, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.” You expect her to nod and move on. To say “sorry” the way people do when they want the conversation to end. But she doesn’t. She tells you more about her dad, Owen, and how he used to drag her to all kinds of things when she was little. How she hated it. How she pretended she hated the circus and festivals when in reality it was her favorite time of year, and how she pretended she didn’t cry when they left the old dogs behind.

“Now I volunteer ‘cause... I don’t know. Still makes me feel like I’m still doing something with him,” she says. Her voice is quieter now. A little rough. Your heart catches. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur. She shrugs. “You never asked.” That makes you flinch. Because you had, or tried to, in your quiet ways. You’d lingered near her at events, tried to catch her eye at the bar. You’d smiled once, and she hadn’t smiled back. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until she looked at you.

“What?” she asked, head tilting. You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… kind of funny, I guess,” you muttered, giggling. “What is?” You looked down at your hands. “I always thought you hated me.”

There it was. Out loud. The thing that had pressed like a bruise behind your ribs for months.

Abby’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the smirk. Gone was the teasing edge. She stepped in — not close, but closer. Enough to lower her voice. “I don’t hate you,” she said, and her tone made your throat tighten. “Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered. “You’ve talked to everyone else in this town but me.” “I was trying not to,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe herself. “Because when I talk to you, it’s… different.” “Different how?” Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again. “You make me forget how to be smooth,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that.” You stared at her. And suddenly it all made sense. The glances. The way she avoided you. Not indifference — fear. Not disinterested — nerves. You weren’t the only one who felt it. You never had been.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but someone called her name. Someone from the beer table, waving a clipboard. She sighed. “That’s my cue,” she said, stepping back. “And hey…” You looked up. “That peach cobbler’s gonna be hard to beat,” she said, mouth twitching. “But you just might be my favorite thing here.”

You froze.

She smiled, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with your cheeks burning and your heart somewhere near the floor.

Later, you passed each other throughout the night like magnets that never quite touched. In the kitchen, her hand brushed your back as she reached for a crate of cups. You swore you felt it long after she walked away. She smiled at you during cleanup, towel over her shoulder, and you nearly dropped the tray in your hands. You brought her a piece of cake during a lull. She said thank you like it was sacred. You’d bonded. Somehow. Through grief and food, and that thing that always sat quiet and unsaid between you. By the time she found you alone in the kitchen, just you, the peach cobbler, and the hum of old country through the walls, it felt inevitable.

“Hey,” she said when you crossed the kitchen threshold.

It was soft. Curious. You froze mid-step. “Hey,” you managed. She stepped closer, eyes skimming over you. That dress suddenly felt like a terrible mistake and also the best idea you’d ever had. “You made the cobbler?” she asked, gesturing to the pan you were setting down. You nodded. “ And the chilli.” Abby’s smile widened. “You’re dangerous.” That made your breath hitch. You busied yourself with the foil. “You’ll live.” She hummed low in her throat, and god, even that sent heat straight down your spine. For a second, it was just the two of you in the narrow kitchen, the hum of country music floating from the hall, the muffled voices of townspeople laughing over beer and barbecue. Then Abby leaned a hip against the counter and tilted her head.

“You don’t talk to me much,” she said.

You blinked.

“You don’t talk to me much.” She grinned. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.” That did it. You looked up– fully, directly, heart in your throat. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Abby shrugged, that cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re really pretty when you get all flustered. And you don't look at me like everyone else does.” You swallowed. “I don’t?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside you. “You look at me like you see me. And you don’t run.”

You should’ve run. Right then. Out the kitchen door and down the gravel road and straight back to your garden.

Instead, you said, “You don’t scare me.”

And that made her smile for real, wide and bright and terrifying in its own right. “Good,” Abby said. “Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for months.” Her hand brushed yours, knuckles grazing like an accident. Like she was testing something. And maybe she was. Your breath caught, eyes locked on hers, something tight and burning coiled behind your ribs. “You have it,” you said, voice soft and certain. Abby’s smile faltered, just a flicker. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like you had caught her off guard for once. She stepped in again, close enough to smell the cedar in her shampoo, the salt of her skin. You could see every freckle, every line, every notch of her jaw as it clenched and unclenched.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured. “Slow shit. Talking shit.” You tilted your head. “You’re doing fine.” Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because her hand was already reaching up, slow, careful, and then hovering there, palm open beside your cheek, not quite touching. And right before you leaned into it, right before your lips would’ve met hers, warm and sure and all-consuming, the door swung open.

“Cobbler’s out?” someone shouted from the hall. You jolted back like you'd been electrocuted. Abby’s hand dropped to her side. The moment was shattered, suspended in the thick, charged air between you.

“I’ll uh– I’ll take this out,” you mumbled, grabbing the tray. Abby didn’t say anything as you left the kitchen.

But you felt her eyes on you the whole way out.

The almost kiss wasn’t sudden. It was the echo of something already decided. It had already started hours before, with soft confessions and shared ghosts. With laughter in the hallway and your knees brushing under the drink table. With the way she looked at you like you weren’t just another girl at the bar. You weren’t. And she wasn’t just some crush.

Not anymore.

*:·

You don’t see her for the rest of the night.

Which, honestly, feels like a personal attack considering how hard it is to breathe after what just happened in that kitchen. You tell yourself you’re grateful for the space. For the break. For the time to cool down. But then you catch yourself standing on your tiptoes near the beer tent, pretending to grab an extra napkin just so you can see if she’s there. You pass the dessert table twice. You even circle the raffle booth, slow and casual, scanning the crowd for her braid, for her arms, for that crooked, cocksure smirk.

Nothing.

She's gone. Or she’s hiding. Or she’s just too busy. You’re trying not to overthink it, truly, when you catch Jesse near the old jukebox in the back, already nursing his third beer and chatting up a girl who graduated high school last summer. You cut in without apology.

“She almost kissed me,” you hiss. He chokes mid-sip. “Jesus. What?” You drag him away from the dancefloor, behind a row of folding chairs no one’s using. “In the kitchen. Right before that idiot from the aux hall came in looking for cobbler.”

Jesse blinks at you, stunned. Then his mouth splits into a slow, gleeful smile. “No fucking way.” You nod. “I’m serious. She said she’d been trying to get my attention. Said she liked how I looked at her.” He whistles low. “Damn. Okay. Big moves, Anderson.” You’re still buzzed with the tension of it, skin prickling from the almost of her hand. Jesse grabs your wrist and grins. “I told you the dress was a good idea.” You laugh despite yourself. Slap on his arm. He catches your hand in return and spins you in a ridiculous mock waltz, and you're both giggling by the end of it, flushed and tipsy and dizzy from everything.

You don’t know that Abby sees it. From across the tent, from behind the beer table she’s been stuck at for the last hour, handing out plastic cups and watching the girl in the blue dress laugh with someone else. You don’t know how her jaw clenches when your fingers stay on Jesse’s arm. How her eyes narrow like a warning shot.

She doesn’t know Jesse is your best friend. That he’s a brother. That he’s the reason she got to see you at all tonight.

She just sees red.

The rest of the night passed with slow agony. You search for her again once it gets late, but she’s nowhere. And by the time you help clean up, your feet aching and your brain spinning from what-could-have-beens, it hits you, she never came back.

*:·

The days drag.

At first, you think it’s a coincidence. Then you think maybe she’s busy. Then, by day four, you realize it’s avoidance. She doesn’t come into the co-op where you work on Tuesdays. Doesn’t ride by the stables on Thursday night like she usually does. You pass by the gym on purpose Friday morning, sunglasses on, pretending to check your phone, and nothing. No sign of her braid. No sign of her boots. And no text. Not that you expected one. But still.

By the weekend, you’re restless. The buzz from the kitchen moment has curdled into something bitter. Something tight in your throat. So you get dressed. Something stupid and short and flirty. Jesse raises his brow when you meet him at the bar and says, “You’re spiraling, huh?” You are. Obviously. And it’s going okay, kind of. The bar’s crowded and the music’s loud, and you almost forget about her for a second. Until you glance toward the pool tables.

And you see her. She’s standing against the wall. Wearing the same fucking jeans and boots and expression that made you stupid in the first place. Only now, she’s got her arm wrapped around someone else’s waist. A girl. Blonde. Laughing at something Abby just whispered in her ear.

Your stomach drops. Abby leans in closer, hand skimming the hem of the girl's shirt, thumb slipping just beneath it. It feels like being slapped. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Just that the cool air outside stings your skin, and the walk home is slow and silent and awful. Jesse catches up to you on the porch, says your name three times before you look at him.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “You’re crying,” he says softly. “I said I’m fine.” You light a joint on the back steps. You don’t even offer him any. He stays until you tell him to go.

Three more days pass. You tell yourself you're over it. Over her. Then Ellie shows up at your door with that look on her face. “Abby’s a dick,” she says, pushing her way into your kitchen like she owns the place. “You want me to fight her?” You raise a brow. “What?”

“I saw her. Saturday night. With that girl.” You exhale slowly. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. You cried.” “I was high.” Ellie crosses her arms. “You were heartbroken.” You glare. And then you laugh. Not a real one, something mean and dry. “She didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not. But she wanted to. That’s what makes her an idiot.” You wave her off, already reaching for your lighter. Ellie sighs and disappears down the hallway. You’re halfway through your second joint when there’s a knock at the door. Not polite. Not soft. Someone is angry. You open it expecting Ellie again, maybe pissed that you locked her out. Maybe Jesse is coming to check on you. But it’s her. Abby Anderson. Leaning on the frame like she’s not shaking. Like she didn’t wreck you last weekend and disappear. You blink slowly. “Seriously?” you say. Abby looks like hell. Hair loose, dark circles, eyes bloodshot. Her voice is rough when she speaks. “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend.” You blink again. “What?”

Your stomach flips. You blow out the smoke slowly. Of course, it’s her. You don’t say anything. You just open the door slightly more. Abby stands there looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen her. Hair loose. Face tight. She shifts like she might leave. Then she looks past you, into your living room, and frowns. “You high?”

You take another drag. “What do you want?” “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend,” she blurts. You blink. You grab your lighter and hit your joint again as you watch her quizzically. “At the fundraiser. Jesse. I saw you laughing with him. Thought– fuck.” She scrubs a hand down her face. “I thought you were into him.”

“You ghosted me,” you say flatly.

She winces. “I know.”

“I waited days.”

“I know.”

“Then I saw you with that girl.”

Abby looks at you like it physically hurts. “I was pissed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” she snaps. “I don’t do this��feelings. This shit. I’m not good at it.” You scoff. “So you made me think I imagined everything.” She’s quiet. You shake your head, stepping back inside. “You should go.” She follows anyway. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Too late.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You blink at her. Abby steps closer. “Since the day I moved here. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t flirt. Didn’t pretend.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that now.” She’s in front of you. Her voice was low. “I’m saying it anyway.” You push past her, but she catches your wrist. You don’t shake her off. You should. “I hated seeing you with him,” she breathes. “It made me crazy. I didn’t know what to do with that.” Your heart is pounding. “And that night at the bar,” she says. “I didn’t even touch her. Not really. I just wanted to see if it would make you jealous.” You stare at her. “That’s fucked,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I was pissed. Jealous. I thought I’d fucked it all up before it even started.” You’re silent. Just watching her. Holding the door half-shut. Then she says it. “I haven’t seen you in days and it’s driving me fucking insane.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Poor you.”

“I thought about coming here a dozen times,” she says. “But I figured I blew it. Then Ellie found me.” You stiffen. “Ellie?” Abby nods, jaw clenched. “Cornered me outside the gym.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“She called me a coward,” Abby says quietly. You lift a brow. “She said I made you cry.” Your stomach drops. “I didn’t know. I swear. I thought you were just mad. That you hated me. That it was over.” She exhales, like it hurts to admit. “But when she said that, when I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t stay away.” You stare at her for a long moment. Then turn, walking back inside. You don’t invite her in. But she follows. Because, of course, she does.

Ellie had found her that morning. Cornered her between the bench press racks, fury on her face and fire in her voice. “You are a fucking coward. Abby didn’t look up. Kept unwrapping the tape from her fists, slow and tight. “You broke her,” Ellie had said. “She cried. I watched her. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her look like that.” Abby had frozen. Ellie kept going. “You don’t get to play with people like that just because you don’t know what you want.”

“I wasn’t playing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ellie spat. “All that tension, that pining bullshit.. then you ditch her and grope the first blonde with two legs?”

Abby had looked up, finally. “I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh, congrats,” Ellie said, voice dripping with venom. “Medal’s in the mail.” That one stung. And when Ellie finally turned to walk out, she left one last blow. “She waited for you, Abby. She believed in you. Don’t show up again unless you mean it.”

Now she’s here. You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, joint between your fingers, ashtray full. Abby hesitates by the door before she walks in slowly, like it might detonate. You offer the joint without speaking. She takes it. Inhales. Sits beside you like she’s afraid to touch anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Finally, you say, “I thought you didn’t do feelings.” “I don’t,” she says. You glance at her. She looks ruined. “I don’t,” she repeats, voice low. “But I do you.” Your chest caves in a little. She passes the joint back. You take it, hands brushing. “You hurt me,” you say softly.

Abby nods. “I know.”

“You didn’t even try to explain. Just vanished.”

“I panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

You take another hit. Hold it. Let it burn. Then you ask the thing that’s been rotting you from the inside out, “Was it just flirting?”

“No.”

“Then why her?”

“I wanted to forget,” Abby says. “And I thought if I touched someone else, it’d dull it down. Make it easier.”

“Did it?” You smiled at her condescendingly, a hint of disgust written on your face. “No.” Her voice cracks. “It made it worse.” You stare at her. She’s not even looking at you–not really. Just on the carpet. The joint. Her hands. “I’ve never wanted something slow before,” she says. “Never wanted to earn someone. But you..” Abby turns, finally. Meets your eyes. And it’s like her whole face shatters as she looks back down at the floor in shame. “You make me want to try.” That breaks something in you. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, Abigail! You can’t even fucking look at me! And you think you can just show up after fucking with my brain like that? Did you know that I’ve liked you since the day we met? Did you?” You scowled at her. She shut her eyes and winced at your voice rising out of frustration. “I didn’t know that.” She mutters, grabbing your wrists and trying to get you to relax, and maybe even listen for once.

“But what I do know is that I can’t let go of you, fuck, I dream of you and every corner I turn there’s something or someone there to happily remind me of your existence. Do you know what it’s like to see the one girl you’ve had an interest in, touching a guy who looks at her like she hangs the sky with her existence? Do you even comprehend the beautiful and amazing woman you are? Do you comprehend that when I saw him there… touching you… I just lost it. I thought I lost it all before it even started, sweetheart.” She inches closer. You don’t stop her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night,” she says.

“How close you were. How soft you looked. How bad I wanted to fuck it up because I knew it’d matter if I didn’t.”

“You still fucked it up,” you whisper.

“I know.”

The silence is so loud it buzzes. She presses her forehead to yours, gently and slowly. “Let me try again.” Your hand finds her jaw. And you kiss her. It’s smoke and apology and everything neither of you could say right. She kisses like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like she’s trying to make up for every hour she wasn’t here. You climb into her lap. Her hands grip your thighs, your waist, your spine. It’s different now, not rushed, not wild. Still desperate, but quietly. You whisper against her mouth, “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “You do. More than I know how to handle.”

“I cried.”

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

You want to scream. You want to hit her. You want to kiss her until your mouth aches. Instead, you say, “You’re a fucking idiot.” She exhales. “I know.” And then you’re kissing her again. It’s rough and messy and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. Her mouth is warm and desperate. Her hands are everywhere. You back into the wall, teeth scraping, fingers in her hair. She groans into your mouth like she’s been starving. She lifts you without warning, and you wrap your legs around her, letting her carry you across the room, and slam you onto the couch. Her mouth trails down your neck, biting, bruising. “You don’t get to fuck this up,” you whisper. “I won’t,” she breathes. She pulls your shirt over your head. Her hands tremble. You don’t say anything. She kisses your collarbone. Your ribs. Whispers something about missing you so bad it ached. She kisses you again. Slower this time. Like she’s not running. Like, she finally gets it. Like, she finally wants to stay. And just before the rest of your clothes come off, before the night turns into everything you both tried to avoid, she murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.” You freeze. And then, slowly, your mouth finds hers.

Not an answer. But not a no. Not even close.

Your legs are still bracketing her lap, your knees pressed to the outside of her thighs, but the weight of everything, the silence, the confession, her... has you trembling. Abby’s hands haven’t moved since she cupped your face, her thumbs now motionless just under your jaw, as if she’s afraid you’ll fall apart the second she lets go.

Maybe she’s not wrong. Because you are falling apart, tears slipping down your cheeks without asking permission, your breath catching, your body caught between heartbreak and want, grief and the dizzying, terrifying bloom of hope. You try to laugh, but it comes out watery and thin. “God,” you whisper, wiping under your eye. “I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” she says immediately, firm, low. “You’re- fuck. You’re everything.”

And there it is again, that softness in her voice. That look in her eyes is like you’re made of something sacred. Like you are the thing worth protecting. You lean forward before you can think too hard about it, pressing your forehead against hers, breath mingling between you. Her braid brushes your arm where it falls over her shoulder, and you feel her chest rise beneath yours. You grab the braid, tugging softly at the hair tie before her hair fell out and slowly unravelled itself.

Abby looks at you wholeheartedly, running her hair through her hands to make it sit better. You smile at her, “I love you with your hair down.” Abbys hums, almost as if in agreement, before wrapping pieces of your hair around her fingers. “I don’t know how to say it right,” you whisper. “But I need you to know.” Abby blinks. “Know what?” You let your fingers trace down her jaw. “What you mean to me.” Her breath hitches. She doesn’t speak. So you show her instead. You kiss her. Not desperate, not rushed, but deep. Intentional. Like you want her to feel it in her lungs. Like it’s the only language you speak anymore. Her hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like she’s anchoring herself. You can feel the tension coiled in her, the need just barely restrained. But she’s waiting. For you. You pull back, just enough to look at her. To memorize her face, how wide her eyes are, how vulnerable she looks, mouth parted, skin warm beneath your fingertips.

“I want to give you everything,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her throat bobs. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt softly. “If you’ll let me.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to stretch tight, breathless between you. Then, finally, Abby nods. You tug her shirt over her head, slow, careful, and your fingers follow the path of the fabric as it lifts away. You let your palms map the stretch of her shoulders, the strong slope of her arms, the curve of her waist where muscle meets softness. She’s flushed. Breath heavy. But still watching you, eyes burning like they’re memorizing every second. “God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, and you mean it like a prayer. You lean in and kiss her collarbone, the edge of her jaw, the scar on her shoulder that you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hands cup her face, smooth back her long hair, touch her like you’re trying to say I see you. I want all of you. And Abby, who never lets anyone touch her first, who never sits still for this long, closes her eyes and lets you.

You undress her slowly– your fingers reverent, your mouth never far from her skin. There’s no rush. No frantic pulling. Just quiet gasps, lingering kisses, the kind of touches that feel like worship. And when you finally press your forehead to hers again, bare and tangled and aching with something far too big for words, you whisper, “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to give.” Abby exhales like she’s breaking.

“I want you to take, baby. I want you to take whatever you want or need from me. I want to give you everything, too. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Abby presses gentle kisses onto your shoulders and collarbone as you keep your hands fixated on her neck and face.

“I want you, Abs. I’ve always wanted you.”

A/N: ahhhhh i hope you guys enjoyed this first part!! please like, leave future story suggestions, comment, reblog!! and follow if you’d like :) sorry if some of it has typos, i proofread but not the best…. anyway the second part with all the goodies should be out VERY SOON! if you want to be tagged, comment and i’ll add you to the tag list for this fic! 🫶

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hyewka · 11 months ago

Text

𝙗𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙮 𝙨𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙢 | c.bg

synopsis: wanting to try a new sexual route with your boyfriend but not knowing how to approach the situation drives you to beomgyu—your best friend since the dawn of time, under the rule of what you call a buddy system.

warnings: sub!gyu, dumbification, basically infidelity but they don’t really fuck, butt plug

tags 🏷️ @b3omitus @beomiracles @bambammtori @jakeslvt @subby-men-forever @iijustread @strwbrryjaem @rikiwaify-blog @yyeonzi @skz-smut-reader @kyuuuie @fairfootedflekk @badwicht @handsomejin25 @itaehynz @soobabby

No matter what angle you look at it, it’s weird. You wouldn’t even think of asking for a favor so indecent if it wasn’t—well if it wasn’t him. And maybe that’s the blaring problem.

“What’ya thinking ‘bout?” Beomgyu muffles, mouth stuffed. You quirk your lip, kicking him under the table. "Don't talk with food in your mouth idiot."

He immediately shuts his mouth, but doesn't miss the chance to retaliate and return the kick, only he aims poorly and hits the table leg instead.

You snort, suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. It takes you right back to when your biggest problem was hiding a bad report card from your then-overbearing parents and trying to find knock-off drug store products to cover your gross pimples.

A simpler time when all you saw was your best friend across from you, wedged into the booth at Shake N Shack, stuffing his mouth with fries, sauce on the edge of his lips as he rants about some latest absurd conspiracy theory he had stumbled upon online.

“So?” he pulls you out of your reverie, looking up at you once he’s finished chewing. His eyes dart nervously between you and his plate as he swallows the last bite when you keep silent. “Why’re you really here? You haven’t been around much lately.”

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. "I can't just visit you for old times' sake?"

He exaggeratedly winces. "Damn, already demoted to a nostalgia trip?”

You sigh, feeling a pang of guilt despite the lightheartedness in his tone.

You know Beomgyu— like the back of your hand, like the way your favorite song plays in your mind, you know how he hurts and how he likes to cover it up. Ever since you started dating Youngjae, you’ve completely abandoned him, and so his words hit harder than they should.

“You know what I mean,” you mumble weakly.

“Do I?” he replies, tilting his head. “Last I checked, people don’t usually show up at someone’s door at ten-thirty PM during a thunderstorm just to reminisce for “old times sake”. Are you here to drop some kind of plot twist on me? Did you kill someone? Is this an alibi visit?”

You let out a frustrated groan—leave it to Beomgyu to be as annoying as humanely possible as you try to get him to forgive you for your sins. "No, I didn't kill anyone. I just…I’ve been caught up with y'know like...everything and-”

You pause, glancing at your feet as you try to find the right words, the ones that make this moment make sense. You’d gone over this moment in your head a thousand times, but now, in front of him, it all seems so much harder to say.

“And?” he prompts.

“And in the middle of all the stupid exams and projects, I had this epiphany. Like, holy crap, when was the last time I actually saw my best friend? The one person who gets all my dumb jokes, who knows all my weird habits, and somehow still puts up with me.”

His face visibily softens and he nods slowly, picking at the crumbs on his plate. "Epiphany took a long ass time.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Without thinking, you stand up from your seat and walk over to him. He looks up just in time for you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. It only takes him a moment before he completely melts into the embrace, his arms circling your waist. “I missed you, you dork,” you whisper into his hair.

He leans into you, seemingly satisfied. “That’s all I get?” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your shoulder, but there’s no mistaking the smile in his words. “A quick hug after you’ve been ignoring your best friend for, like, forever?”

“You’ll get a little present later, besides you love me too much to stay mad.”

He nestles his head against you, his grip around your waist tightening just a bit. “Yeah, I really do.” he murmurs.

The Buddy System.

You don’t know if that rollercoaster is any good? The Buddy System. Beomgyu can go on it and tell you if he thinks it’s possible for you to ride without throwing up right after. Beomgyu’s feeling squeamish over that plate of food? The Buddy System— you’ll try it out for him and accurately determine whether it’s gyu-gestable or …not. Years of practice has had you know exactly what his picky habits can allow him to consume.

Those are the more normal instances you’ve used it, there were other peculiar times like when Beomgyu asked you to test out the temperature of his bathwater—with your elbow, like you were checking a baby’s bath. He stood there, fully clothed, watching you as you leaned over the tub, dipping your elbow into the water with the seriousness of a professional thermometer. “Too hot,” you’d say, adjusting the faucet until he gave a nod of approval.

Actually, now that you’re really going over every instance you’ve used it, you think all of the weird ones were Beomgyu’s doing.

Like the time when it was the summer of senior year, the last summer before you went off to college, Beomgyu had recurring nightmares and was convinced that if you fell asleep holding his hand, you’d somehow end up in his dream and could “fix it” from the inside. You tried to explain that dreams didn’t work that way, but he wouldn’t budge. So, there you were, two grown teenagers, lying in a dark room, hands clasped like some kind of paranormal experiment. It didn’t work, of course, but Beomgyu insisted he slept better knowing you were “on the job.”

So therefore…asking this of him would just…even it out, right? Right?

Beomgyu sits up abruptly, causing the carefully arranged pillows to collapse around him, and a few stuffed animals to topple over onto his lap. His eyes are wide, and his voice cracks as he practically yelps, "What?"

Holy shit, who are you kidding.

“This was the little present?”

You shift uncomfortably in the small, now even more cramped space, suddenly wishing you could burrow into the pile of blankets and disappear. “It’s weird, I know, like really weird and it’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought—”

You take a deep breath. “I just—I want to try it with him and—I don’t know, maybe it won’t feel good and-"

“You thought I’d be the one to—” he waves the box around, his voice higher than usual, “—to test this out for you?”

“I mean, buddy system, right?” you offer weakly, your confidence crumbling completely. “We’ve done other things for each other… not like this, but…” your voice trails off as you fidget with the edge of the blanket beneath you.

Beomgyu just blinks at you. And in the long, awkward silence that follows you realize how absurd your request sounds. Hey, can you try out this butt plug for me because my faith in this relationship with my boyfriend is so fragile I’m afraid I might ruin it completely by doing the normal thing of suggesting and exploring different ways of pleasuring each other? Don’t forget that it’s a butt plug! I’m asking you to insert something up in your ass. Up your ass.

The fairy lights cast soft shadows on his face—he’s staring at you, but you’re too caught up in your embarrassment to notice the way his gaze lingers just a little too long, or how eventually, his expression softens.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Does he know you’re here?”

You freeze, caught off guard. “Who?”

“Your boyfriend,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Does he know you’re here? With me?”

“Uh, no… he doesn’t,” you admit, shifting uncomfortably again. “I mean, it’s late, and I just wanted to see you. It’s not a big deal, right?”

Beomgyu swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the stuffed bear in his lap, which seems to be staring back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Yeah… right. No big deal.”

The silence stretches on, thick and awkward, until finally, he lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okay,” he resigns. “This is, hands down, the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me to do, but… yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

You blink again, not expecting him to actually agree. “Wait, seriously?” A huge smile breaks across your face as you lean forward, your excitement palpable. “I can’t believe you’re actually saying yes! Oh my god, Gyu, thank you! I thought for sure you were going to think I was crazy and—”

But then, almost as quickly as your excitement flared up, it dims slightly, and you glance at him with a more serious expression. The guilt’s creeping up. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? It’s been a while since we’ve hung out and I mean, I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you or anything—”

"Are you holding a gun to my head?”

“No, but-"

“Then I’m fine,” he says, though his voice softens as he adds, “Seriously, it’s okay. I’ll do it. Who cares.”

You pout looking at your best friend because for the millionth time in your life, you feel that familiar warmth in your chest at the reassurance that no matter what, Beomgyu’s always there to back you up.

“You’re the best, Gyu. You don’t even know it yet, but you’ll probably be responsible for our wedding,” you say, sighing dreamily, “I’ll make sure to shout you out.”

Suddenly, his expression changes. He frowns deeply, and before you can process it, he grabs the nearest plushie—a soft, squishy bear—and hurls it at you with a grumble. “Yeah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Your mouth falls open at the bear hitting you square in the chest. The audacity! But before you can even think about launching a counterattack, Beomgyu is already on the move.

In one swift motion, he snatches up the pink box, waving it above his head like a white flag of retreat, quickly scrambling out of the fort, the pillows and blankets collapsing behind him in his rush to escape.

You take back everything nice you’ve thought of him thirty seconds ago.

Beomgyu’s cheeks are a bit pink when he comes back twenty minutes later, and you notice it when you look up from your phone, where you’ve been meticulously studying the app’s settings. He looks uncharacteristically bashful, avoiding your gaze as he settles back in with you— the fort looking almost as good as it did before Beomgyu nuked it and ran away.

“Did you put it in?” you ask, trying to gauge his reaction.

He glances at you briefly before quickly looking away, the blush on his cheeks deepening. "Yup. Lubed it up pretty well."

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "Did you really, or are you fucking with me?"

Beomgyu's response is immediate, and a little too defensive. "Do you want me to show you my asshole or something? I have it in!"

"God, okay!" you say in exasperation, throwing your hands up in mock surrender.

Your mood takes a complete flip as you grin wickedly, wiggling your phone, the app open and ready. "So... ready for the fun part?"

His eyes widen slightly, and you catch the way his breath hitches as he realizes what you mean. His cheeks flush even more as he swallows hard. "Wait, you're not actually gonna…”

There isn’t any incentive for him to lie but you still don’t fully believe him. You’ve heard that first times have guys struggling a little, he’d be a lot more fidgety than he is now. You narrow your eyes as you glance from your phone to his face, experimentally turning up the setting to its highest volume, just to see if he's really telling the truth.

The reaction is immediate. Beomgyu's eyes widen in shock, and blood rushes to his cheeks, turning him a deep shade of red. His whole body tenses as he grips the blanket beneath him, his breath hitching.

"Hey! Turn it down! It—it-fuck!" he stammers, his voice strained and breathy as he squirms in place.

You quickly dial back the intensity, watching as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to recover. You didn't mean to push him that far, but now there's no doubt in your mind that he wasn't lying. He really did go through with it.

"I didn't think it'd be that intense," you say, genuinely concerned. "Are you okay?"

He hangs his head low, nodding.

You can't help but giggle at his reaction, though you feel a little guilty for pushing him so hard. "Sorry, I just had to make sure."

He gives you a look that's somewhere between a pout and a glare, still clearly embarrassed. "Well, now you know. It's definitely in, and it's definitely working."

You ruffle his head. "Alright, I won't push it any further. Just let me know when it's too much, okay?"

Beomgyu groans, his voice dropping a little, betraying a note of something more than just embarrassment. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?" he mumbles, mostly to himself.

You ignore him, grinning as you observe him, slowly turning up the vibrations to a slow, steady hum. “Notes? How does it feel?”

Beomgyu stiffens, his eyes widening as the first wave of vibrations hits him. "Oh... my god," he squeaks, his voice shaky and a bit breathless. "This is... this is so weird."

You narrow your eyes. “Bad weird or good weird?”

He looks at you, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, as if he’s not quite sure how to articulate what he’s feeling. “It’s just… weird, okay? Full. Like, not bad but… not normal either. It’s… it’s like—ugh, why are you making me explain this?”

You fold your arms, deciding to push him a little more to get the information that you actually want. “Is it, like, ‘I can get used to this’ weird, or ‘please stop this right now’ weird?”

Beomgyu huffs, clearly flustered. “I don’t know! It’s… kind of both? Like… it’s weird, but maybe kind of good? I don’t know!” He’s squirming now, obviously uncomfortable but not entirely hating it either.

“So…you’re saying you’re into it?” you tease, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin, wiggling your brows playfully.

The words slip out before you can fully think them through, the playful energy between you both making it easy to forget the boundaries that normally exist. Especially considering that you have a boyfriend of seven months waiting at home.

You’re too far gone to care.

His eyes widen even more, his blush deepening as he quickly shakes his head, shuffling away from you a bit. “N-no! I mean… not like that, I just—” His voice trails off, and he swallows hard, clearly struggling to find the right words.

You bite your lip, gradually increasing the intensity, curious. His expression tightens, and a soft, involuntary moan escapes his lips before he can stop it.

"Okay, okay, that's... that's enough!" he says, his voice a mix of panic and something more, his breathing coming out in quick, uneven gasps as he clearly tries to hold himself together.

Interesting.

A slow smirk spreads across your face, “Just a little more,” you coax. “You’re doing great.”

“Fuck, stop teasing me!” he whines, but his voice is breathier now, and there's a definite edge of something more in the way he looks at you, his pupils slightly dilated.

You watch him, the way he tries to keep his mouth in a thin line, a façade that crumbles the moment you notice the way his left leg shakes— you’re intrigued. You've never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so out of control—and it's both unsettling and fascinating. If there’s a possibility this is exactly how your boyfriend would act with something up his ass, you’d spend hundreds on a collection.

You clear your throat, realizing its been silent for too long. “So?”

He’s fast to catch on. “I—I don’t hate it. I think it’s hitting my prost—holy shit, d-did you just turn it up again?”

You hesitate, your gaze shifting away from his. “No…” you mumble, the lie unconvincing even to your own ears. The accusatory stare he gives you is impossible to ignore, burning through your feigned innocence.

Eventually, you give in, sighing in defeat. “Alright, only to a different rhythm. Is it worse? Should I—”

You pause abruptly when you see his reaction. Beomgyu’s eyes tightly screw shut, his jaw clenching and for a moment, you worry that you’ve pushed too far, that this time you’ve actually overstepped. But then he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“If it was worse, you would be pure evil but uh—no, no, it’s okay. It’s… better.”

You can’t let the genuine relief washing over you run its full course because you feel a spark of something more exciting running down your spine. You gulp— the hot, stuffiness of the fort becomes increasingly unbearable by the minute. “Better?”

He nods, though his movements are slow, deliberate, like he's testing the waters before fully committing to his answer. "Yeah... better," he repeats, his voice more certain this time. His eyes flutter open, and a cute, determined face replaces the more bashful Beomgyu you were getting pretty comfortable playing with.

For the second time tonight, an awkward silence overtakes you both and he leans back against the pillows, fiddling nervously with the drawstrings of his hoodie, his fingers picking at the fabric as if trying to find some distraction.

The silence stretches on until suddenly, Beomgyu moves. Without warning, he starts to pull at the hem of his hoodie, yanking it up and over his head in one swift motion.

“Whoa, whoa, what’re you doing?” you blurt out as you watch him toss his hoodie to the side, leaving him in just a thin undershirt. You’re completely caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the sight of his flushed skin and tousled hair making your heart, for the first time, race.

For …Beomgyu.

He looks back at you, sheepish. “It’s hot,” he says simply.

You blink, still processing. “Yeah, but…” you trail off, realizing you don’t really have an argument. The air’s pretty darn thick and stifling.

“Okay, fair enough,” you say finally, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. “I mean, it is pretty warm in here.”

“…Right.”

You’re acting weird. Even Beomgyu’s noticing. You’re losing the upper hand.

“Uh, th-there’s another setting,” you stammer, quickly looking down at your phone in your hand, avoiding his gaze. “Wanna try it out? To see which one feels better.”

He hums in approval, his response casual, almost nonchalant, like he's confident nothing can catch him off guard.

But that confidence doesn’t last long.

The second you make the switch, his body jolts, a gasp slipping out before he can stop it. “How…how is it?” you ask anyway.

Beomgyu’s response is more of a whimper than anything else, his lips parting as he struggles to form coherent words. “It’s…oh god…it’s—" His voice catches in his throat, and it happens again. Loud and unrestrained. This time, it’s unmistakable.

Beomgyu's eyes widen in horror as the sound leaves his lips, his hand flying up to clap over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle any more noises. His cheeks flush a deep, burning red, and you can see the sheer embarrassment etched into his expression as he tries to hide his face, mortified by his own reaction.

You didn’t plan this. Not at all. But you cannot for the life of you even get yourself to feel an ounce of guilt for the way your underwear uncomfortably sticks to your heat.

Your gaze drops lower, and there it is-the clear strain in his pants, “Uh…Gyu…?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flicker back up to his face.

Your mind is spinning, caught between disbelief and the sudden rush of arousal that floods right to your lower abdomen.

Beomgyu doesn't respond immediately. He's too busy fighting his own body, his breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His hand remains firmly over his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut as if he's trying to will himself to disappear, to erase the moment that just happened.

It's overly dramatic, of course-classic Beomgyu, always a tinge extra when he's overwhelmed. But instead of finding it annoying like you might have at any other time, it strikes you as incredibly…endearing.

The way his reactions are so genuine, so unguarded, makes him seem almost innocent in a way that tugs at your heart. He looks like a confused, flustered puppy than anything else.

The way he's covering his mouth, is almost comical in its futility-especially when another small, muffled whimper slips past his fingers. “Beomgyu,” you call out, your voice soft but insistent. “I need you to look at me.”

"I-I can't—" he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to form coherent thoughts. "This is... it's t-too much..."

You tilt your head, “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No! Just... I don't know..." he breathes out, his voice strained, as if he's not entirely sure what he's asking for. “Please.”

Something stirs within you, and before you know it, you’re moving closer to him, reaching out your hand to rest on his arm—you think it’d help comfort him. But he only takes that opportunity to bury his head in your neck a few seconds later.

Your heart pounds in your chest but you try to not give it any more attention. You’re supposed to be here for your friend.

“You’re doing so well, Beom,” you whisper, your voice steady and reassuring as you gently rub his arm. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s just us here—you can let go. It’s just me.”

A soft, almost cute whimper escapes him as he nods against you, his breath warm against your skin.

Beomgyu's eyes flutter shut, and you can tell your words are having an effect on him, his resolve crumbling with each passing second, the twitch in his pants making it clear he’s barely holding on. “It’s okay,” you reassure.

Maybe it’s not. But you technically weren’t doing anything physical—it’s not wrong on your behalf, right? But as you rub your thighs subtly, trying to relieve something, that guilt is just as incessant.

You watch the way Beomgyu’s hand moves—hesitantly at first, as if he's not sure what he's doing or if he should even be doing it. But then he turns his head up to look at you, and you’re once again, caught off guard. His eyes look like they’re searching for something, focus shifting from one place to another. And you’re left feeling like you’re under a microscope, until it seems like he found what he’s looking for because his fingers finally brush against the waistband of his pants.

“Are you—are you sure this is okay?” he asks softly. And you nod. Almost too fast.

Maybe you should close your eyes. If not for the respect of the relationship that you’ve completely forgotten of once you had Beomgyu in your arms, at least for your best friend’s pride.

Actually, you don’t think he minds. If the strangled groan that comes out his pretty lips were anything to go by. He fumbles for his hard, aching cock, flinging it out and stroking it furiously almost the second he gets his hands on it and your eyes only manage to widen at the sight.

For lack of better words, you gawk.

“It’s not disappointing or anything, huh?” he tries to joke, but his breaths too strung out, too gone for even that.

Your mouth dries. Far from it.

This is the one time your boyfriend comes to mind in a while, and its not favorable. Beomgyu’s not bigger—he’s not small either, but that’s not your focus—rather the pearly bead that bubbles atop of the tiny slit, the head a deep pink, the way its veins pulses as his pace falters at your silence. That small bead of fluid oozing down his shaft, tracing the lines of the delicate veins. The curves, every little detail. He’s perfect. More perfect than you’ve ever seen.

It seems you took way too long for Beomgyu’s liking and self confidence so he looks elsewhere, “Is…it?”

You blink, almost forgetting your predicament, lost in your admiration of him. "No, no, of course not. It's—it's pretty," you reply, your words tumbling out in a rush as you try to reassure him.

But instead of calming him, your words have the opposite effect. His shoulders shake, and suddenly, he's burying himself back into your shoulder, his hand completely abandoning his cock. "H-hahh-" he pants, his breath hitching as he begins to hiccup, overwhelmed by his emotions.

“Are you—are you crying?”

“You just called my dick pretty,” he seems to sob a bit more at that, soaking your shirt, feeling the dampness spreading across your chest. “You hate it. It looks bad.”

You're at a loss for words, completely thrown by his reaction. You struggle to pry him off you, your hands gently but firmly gripping his shoulders as you try to pull back just enough to look him in the face. "What?! No!" you exclaim, your voice rising with urgency. "Pretty means pretty. Fuck, don't cry, it's perfect, Beomgyu. It looks perfect, I swear."

His hiccups slow as your words sink in, and you can see the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He sniffles softly, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand, his breathing gradually becoming steadier. As the emotional intensity lessens gradually, you with no control of your own, redirect your attention to his poor cock. It’s rock hard. He looks like he needs some soothing so you think to do the sensible thing. The…right thing?

Beomgyu lets out a small, shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite everything that's just happened. "Man... I think this plug’s really messed with my vulnerability or something," he jokes weakly, his voice still wavering as he tries to regain his composure. “Had me crying pretty fas—"

His rant pauses at a hilt. He meets your gaze as you fully wrap your hand around his shaft after he just witnessed you quickly spit on your palm.

He doesn’t question it. At all. In fact, the moment your hand’s on him, there’s no hesitation in the way he spreads his legs wider, his pants responsively moving down to pool around his ankles.

A soft, whiny sound escapes him, and he leans into your touch, his eyes drooping, face contorting cutely. “O-oh…I…I..”

“Shhh, I got you pretty,” you whisper. His cock’s soft to the touch, and wet. When you glide your hand up and down, even slowly, it makes an unpleasantly wet, dirty sound.

He’s very reactive to the endearing nickname that feels almost too natural slipping out of your lips of all people. “P-pretty..” he repeats, sighing, almost dazedly. A complete goner.

You squeeze him and he lets out another needy, low moan and wraps his arms around your waist. Your heart pounds at how clingy he is, it feels like it’s about to burst. "Ahhh...f-fuck…” He moans against your neck, a highly pitched sound only a woman could make, feeling a trail of saliva traveling down from the corner of his mouth.

You almost cum untouched at the sight of him, at the pretty, almost perfectly described as heavenly sinful sounds he’s making. A sheen of sweat has formed on his forehead, his hair damp at the edges, and it somehow makes him look better.

His body tenses beneath your touch, you can feel the warmth of his skin, the sweat slicking his brow, and the way his breath catches in his throat. Then, suddenly, he lets out a choked cry, his voice breaking as he bucks his hips just slightly. The movement is involuntary, desperate, as if his body is moving on its own, seeking out the final bit of friction it needs.

And then it happens.

Beomgyu gasps sharply, his body going rigid as he reaches his peak. He shudders violently, his chest heaving as he shoots strings of his load, the warm, sticky fluid spilling out. You react quickly, instinctively guiding the release towards him, watching as it lands all over his tummy and a bit on his chest.

You're struck by how quickly it happened—how you'd only had him in your hand for a few seconds before he came. His chest heaves, his breathing ragged and uneven as he slowly comes down from the high.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of his breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady himself.

Finally, he looks down at the mess on his stomach and chest, a soft, almost sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And for whatever reason, that has an effect on you. He looks so endearing in this moment—his lips slightly parted, his lashes brushing against his flushed skin, his hair perfectly tousled and falling over his eyes—

You're completely lost in the sight of him, practically mesmerized by how perfect he looks and your mind starts to drift until suddenly his voice breaks through your thoughts.

"Did you hear me?" he asks. "Doofus, turn it off. It's starting to make my asshole sore."

Your romantic daze shatters like glass.

Blinking rapidly, your face transforms into a shocked scowl, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. "Wait, what?" you stammer.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at you, clearly expecting a response. But as the moment stretches on, your brain lags behind as you try to process what he just said.

Then it clicks.

"Oh, right!" you gasp, fumbling with your phone as you quickly find the app and turn off the plug, mortification creeping up your spine. What an absolute bust.

a/n: well well well. in the first draft he was made to eat his own cum but i felt maybe this fic wasnt the one for that😊😊 Unfortunately for some, fortunate for others🤔 anyway tell me how u enjoyed beomgyu getting his ass stimulated in a poorly made fort lol

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #sub!idol #txt x reader #sub!gyu #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours

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blond3ang3l · 11 months ago

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Eren is a geek lover. He absolutely is enamored with you. Watching your lips with every word you spoke. The way you got excited telling him about every single new detail of the things you got interested in. Eren worked hard as a famous rnb singer, long days in the studio trying to perfect his songs. Then having to perform when he literally had the WORST anxiety known to man. It always felt like someone needed him and was on his ass about something.

But he did it all for you. For moment like this were he could come home and listen to you tell him. About the things you’ve watched in your huge list of video essays that you had in a playlist on YouTube. How you lit up telling him different facts from how the dating game killer had a coworker that also happened to be a serial killer and he didn’t know to the conspiracy theory of the 27 club, no matter what you said it always made you so happy and seeing you all giddy and stimming while you talked to him made him so content with his life.

…and his dick very hard

“I know cotards syndrome, Koro, Diogenes, fregoli, hypochondria, pica, capgras, boanthropy, apotenmophilia, kulver bulcy, ekbom, erotomania, Stendhal. Pics is like one of the more well known. You know that show my strange addiction that we watch together? Yeah so like those people who eat the random shit like the lady who ate rocks- omg that reminds me!”

Erens ass was not listening one bit. He was watching you, watching your body. You guys had been apart for a little over a month so could do a very short tour in another country and he was sick as fuck that he couldn’t bring you. Everyone knew it too. His attitude fucking sucked that trip. He was antsy, his anxiety was through the roof, he snapped at everyone, overall he fucking hated it. But now, sitting here with you he finally felt at peace.

You were sitting on his lap, yapping his ear off. His eyes couldn’t help but wander to your legs which lead him to notice you were wearing his boxers. The way your thick thighs filled them out compared to his own, he couldn’t resist grabbing them. Grabbing them led to groping them, which lead to him sneaking his hands under the boxers you wore that just so happened to be his. This caught you off guard and stopped your sudden rant with a small gasp. He chuckled and slipped two fingers in his mouth covering them in his saliva before slipping them back under the underwear.

“Cmon baby, keeping telling me about the little videos.”

He had to have been joking. No way was he just gonna pretend he wasn’t teasing you. Like his finger wasn’t circling around your aching hole.

“Go on I’m waiting baby. Keeping telling me bout what you learned.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes you knew it would get you no where. This wasn’t a new thing, eren was always so needy. It was always worse after a tour. Even if it had only been a relatively short one.

“Okay well like I was saying, erotomania is something that a lot of celebrity stalkers have. Especially kpop ones. It’s when someone genuinely believes they’re in a relationship with a celebrity. Remember that girl that literally would follow you to the airport? That crazy bitch probably had it.”

Eren couldn’t help but bite his lip as he listened to you go on. God you looked so fucking good. Your hair looked so good. He was so glad he got you your own personal stylist so you never had to worry about needing to go to a shop or someone else’s house. You smelled so good too. That vanilla body oil you used was just fucking irresistible. He didn’t know whether he liked that one or the strawberry poundcake one more. Either way it only made him want you more.

He slowly slid a finger inside you, watching your face contort as you tried to keep your composure. A deep chuckle erupted from his throat. He missed seeing your face. Facetime wasn’t enough. Having to sneak off to the bathroom to jerk off to pictures and homemade pornos wasn’t enough for him. He needed to see you. To feel you. He slid his free hand up your shirt, groping your chest as he thrusted finger in out and of you.

“R-ren, fuck. Cmon baby, how am i supposed to talk while you’re doing this.”

Your whines only made eren smile as he thrusted a second finger inside you. He watched you as you threw your head back while crying out. He was enjoying every second of teasing you. You were so impatient and he knew it. That’s why he catered to every need you had. You hated having to wait and tended to be bratty when you did. So he made everything about you. Whatever you wanted you had. But this time he needed to be selfish. He wanted to watch you come undone first. And that’s exactly what we’re doing.

Your tight grip on his shoulders told him everything. Your nails were digging deep into his skin as you pushed back against his fingers. You didn’t want to admit it but you missed Ren so much. Your fingers and toys didn’t compare to what he could do. How he could prolong your orgasm by teasing you. He could feel you leaking all over his thigh, his boxers now all sticky along with his thigh. He slowly slid his fingers out of you causing you whine.

He didn’t feel bad at all. It was about him this time. He gripped your hips dragging you along his thigh, making it even more of a mess. You hid your face out of embarrassment. It was too much at how he could make you a whiny mess. No other man could do this to you but him.

You couldn’t help the small noises that fell past your lips as you grinded against his thigh. Eren shivered feeling your warm breath against the side of his neck. The way you tugged at his hair he knew you were close. He could read your body like a damn book.

“Cmon baby, almost there. Let me see you.”

“F-fuck ren, I cant.”

Eren wasn’t having that at all. You couldn’t what? You were gonna disobey him? No chance in hell. He gripped your jaw forcing you to look at him

“You telling me no baby? I could have sworn I said I wanted to see your face. I’ve been gone for a long time and you think your whining is gonna stop me?”

You loved moment like this when Eren suddenly got serious. He was…well he was very off Standish which came off to mean as others. But he babied you. The moment you told him no thought after he told you to do something? It was like a switch flipped in him. His tight grip on your face was only turning you on more which made you rut against his leg faster.

“You’re gonna be good aren’t you baby? Gonna cum for me like a good little whore?”

You eagerly nodded as you bit your lip. You could only cry out his name as you came all over his thigh, making a mess in his boxers. Eren kept his grip on your face to make sure you maintained eye contact the entire time. A smirk creeping on his face as you came.

“There you go baby, let’s go get you cleaned up..”

———————————————————————

@merakidoll Eren fic just like I promised🫶🏽

———————————————————————

Based of a conversation with my boyfriend where I literally was going on about mental illness during my rant about the many video essays I watch

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oddyseye · 2 months ago

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I honestly wanna know ur opinion on this person’s post. They claim to be a “classicist” who has read the Odyssey and the Iliad but post this shit 👇

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/732354140801482752/i-hope-i-dont-come-off-as-rude-by-responding

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/775558500525948928/you-all-need-to-accept-that-many-people-who-have

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/775867799335747584/genuine-curiosity-where-does-it-say-that

You already know I ran to my keyboard like I was being chased by the Erinyes when I saw this absolute brainrot of a post.

First of all, “classicist” my ass. If you are out here ignoring context, cherry-picking translations, and casually accusing Odysseus of cheating based on vibes rather than textual evidence, then you are a classicist the way my left sandal is a philosopher.

Second of all, I’ve talked about this before. Loudly. Repeatedly. Aggressively. And yet people like this keep crawling out of the academic slime pit thinking that quoting “ceased to please” in English means they’ve uncovered some buried truth the rest of us are too dumb to see. Spoiler alert: they have not 1. Odysseus Having Sex With His Prizes In The Iliad? WHERE. Is. The. Evidence. There is zero indication Odysseus ever slept with his war prizes, let alone that he had a “young pretty” one Agamemnon wanted. In Book 1 of the Iliad, Agamemnon threatens to take Odysseus’ “geras” (prize), but it’s a bluff, a tactical flex to reassert dominance after losing Chryseis. Nowhere does it say she’s young, pretty, or even exist beyond the threat. It’s entirely plausible Agamemnon’s yap is based on Odysseus being seen as non-threatening. A safe choice to insult. You think he’s marching into Achilles’ tent right away? No, he’s poking at the guy who might let him.

And also, let’s not forget that later tradition gives Odysseus Hekuba as a spoil. Hekuba. An elderly woman. So your lil’ theory about him going for nubile war prizes? Wrong. Not everyone was out here chasing teenage concubines.

2. Calypso And “Consent” (Or The Myth Of It). I have ranted about this:

https://www.tumblr.com/oddyseye/777098689028177920/i-want-to-know-your-opinion-on-people-who-think?source=share

Long story short:

(For proof, read the post itself).

This person said “I’ve read it in Greek.” Cool. So have I. And the Greek is not on your side, boo.

3. Circe Was Also SA. The only reason this one's debated is because people keep squinting at the text and thinking “well, they seemed okay after.” Stockholm Syndrome isn’t consent, babes. Circe turns his men into pigs. She is a witch. She uses potions. She beds him the first night as part of a power transaction. It IS complicated, but it is NOT romantic. And what mortal can say no to a goddess who just turned his bros into livestock?

I translated the speech of Hermes myself:

πῇ δὴ αὖτ᾽, ὦ δύστηνε, δι᾽ ἄκριας ἔρχεαι οἶος, χώρου ἄιδρις ἐών; ἕταροι δέ τοι οἵδ᾽ ἐνὶ Κίρκης ἔρχαται ὥς τε σύες πυκινοὺς κευθμῶνας ἔχοντες. ἦ τοὺς λυσόμενος δεῦρ᾽ ἔρχεαι; οὐδέ σέ φημι αὐτὸν νοστήσειν, μενέεις δὲ σύ γ᾽, ἔνθα περ ἄλλοι. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγε δή σε κακῶν ἐκλύσομαι ἠδὲ σαώσω. τῆ, τόδε φάρμακον ἐσθλὸν ἔχων ἐς δώματα Κίρκης ἔρχευ, ὅ κέν τοι κρατὸς ἀλάλκῃσιν κακὸν ἦμαρ. πάντα δέ τοι ἐρέω ὀλοφώια δήνεα Κίρκης. τεύξει τοι κυκεῶ, βαλέει δ᾽ ἐν φάρμακα σίτῳ. ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὣς θέλξαι σε δυνήσεται: οὐ γὰρ ἐάσει φάρμακον ἐσθλόν, ὅ τοι δώσω, ἐρέω δὲ ἕκαστα. ὁππότε κεν Κίρκη σ᾽ ἐλάσῃ περιμήκεϊ ῥάβδῳ, δὴ τότε σὺ ξίφος ὀξὺ ἐρυσσάμενος παρὰ μηροῦ Κίρκῃ ἐπαῖξαι, ὥς τε κτάμεναι μενεαίνων. ἡ δέ σ᾽ ὑποδείσασα κελήσεται εὐνηθῆναι: ἔνθα σὺ μηκέτ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἀπανήνασθαι θεοῦ εὐνήν, ὄφρα κέ τοι λύσῃ θ᾽ ἑτάρους αὐτόν τε κομίσσῃ: ἀλλὰ κέλεσθαί μιν μακάρων μέγαν ὅρκον ὀμόσσαι, μή τί τοι αὐτῷ πῆμα κακὸν βουλευσέμεν ἄλλο, μή σ᾽ ἀπογυμνωθέντα κακὸν καὶ ἀνήνορα θήῃ. "Where now, unfortunate one, are you wandering alone through the hills, without knowledge of the land? Your companions are there in Circe’s halls, confined like swine in crowded pens. Have you come here to free them? I do not think you yourself will return home; rather, you will stay here, just like the others. But come, I will save you from these troubles and protect you. Take this good herb and go to Circe’s halls—it will guard your head from the evil day. And I will tell you all of Circe’s deadly tricks. She will prepare a potion for you and mix drugs into the food. But even so, she will not be able to bewitch you, for this good herb that I give you will prevent it. Now listen closely: when Circe strikes you with her long wand, then draw your sharp sword from beside your thigh and rush at her as if you intend to kill her. She, terrified, will urge you to lie with her. At that moment, do not refuse the goddess’s bed, so that she may release your companions and take care of you. But make her swear a great oath by the blessed gods that she will not plot any other evil against you, lest she strip you bare and render you weak and unmanned."

ἡ δέ σ᾽ ὑποδείσασα > "She, being frightened …" In ὑποδείσασα, the participle is feminine singular, agreeing with Κίρκη, and still carries that base meaning of shrinking back. However, depending on context, one might stretch it to mean something like:

"flinching"

"recoiling"

"shrinking back"

"hesitating"

"drawing back in surprise"

She is not necessarily cowering or submitting in the way a powerless person would but rather reacting with alarm, possibly in shock or surprise. The gods and goddesses had immense power, so their "fear" would not look like human cowering. It is more about a momentary acknowledgment of danger. Her reaction is more about the shock of Odysseus not playing by the usual rules (as a guest, a mortal, or a person who is absolutely not supposed to be a threat to her) and being forced to confront his aggression directly. Hermes even says Circe will demand to sleep with him:

Odysseus later also goes to the palace of Circe “with a heavy heart” right after being told by Hermes he has to bang her, sooo...

Oh, and while we’re at it?

NOTHING—I repeat—NOTHING in the actual Greek Odyssey says that Odysseus and Circe slept together more than once. No line. No implication. No “oh but they were together for a year so obviously—” No.

So she swears an oath. He eats. Then we get ONE. BED. SCENE.

That’s it. That’s the whole sex.

We don’t get a montage. We don’t get “many nights passed in delight.” We don’t even get a participial phrase implying repetition. Just one time. After that? They feast. He stays. She gives him advice, he chills, the men are healed. But sex is not mentioned again. Not even alluded to. He’s not crying, sure, but he’s not exactly lusting either.

Although my GOAT Chapman does have an amazing take on this:

^ My own old rant on what Chapman said about this scene!

So...why were they there for a year, besides what Chapman claims?

Because Circe was helpful as hell.

Girl had knowledge. Girl told them how to survive Scylla and Charybdis and gave detailed sea maps before Google Maps existed. They didn’t stay because Odysseus was bewitched by the ✨thighs✨. They stayed because he was recovering and she was prepping them for round two of Hell Voyage.

4. “I’ve read the Greek” Is Not a Personality Trait! Congrats on reading a language most of us study out of sheer obsession and spite. That doesn’t give you a free pass to twist the meaning of compulsion, ignore centuries of scholarship, or act like everyone else is a moron for acknowledging sexual violence in antiquity. You are not revolutionary. You are just loud and wrong.

Fidelity in Odyssey isn’t about who Odysseus slept with, it’s about who he stayed loyal to. And he stayed loyal to home. His oikos. And Penelope is the representation of his oikos.

#the odyssey #greek mythology #odysseus #greek texts #homer odyssey #homer

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peachdues · 7 months ago

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Work has been kicking my ass the last couple of weeks, so I haven’t really had time to write. This is all I’ve got for y’all right now 🤍

Lovers of Compass!Sanemi and Reader discussing books, rejoice. They’re still a couple of fucking nerds (no matter how horny)

It’s almost one in the morning when your phone buzzes.

A message; one from the only person you text, who also happens to be your favorite. On your screen is a picture of the front cover of the book you’d given Sanemi before he left the day before; beneath it, the chat bubble signals he’s sending a follow up.

You caught up yet? Sanemi’s text reads.

You toss your own book to the side, straightening up in bed. Though no one is around to see, a smile unfurls across your lips and your thumbs hurry across your phone’s keyboard.

How far are you?

Sanemi’s reply is instant. Halfway. Can’t finish tonight but I’ve got a few things I need to discuss right the fuck now.

You glance at the time. It’s nearing one-thirty, and your alarm is set for six. Dragging yourself out of bed after less than five hours of sleep is a kind of stupidity you know better than to indulge.

You hit the call button anyway.

Sanemi picks up on the second ring. “I’ve got five minutes,” he warns, voice low, like he’s wary of being overheard. “So if I hang up all of a sudden, it’s ‘cuz of work —“

“Hi to you too,” you tease, settling back against your pillows.

A pause. “Hey there, beautiful,” you can hear his smile even through the phone. “You okay?”

“Better, now that I hear your voice,” and you can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed by the cheesiness of the admission. Texting him is one thing; hearing him, actually hearing that wonderfully gravelly voice of his soothes a tension in your limbs you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying.

He’s okay. He’s unharmed — safe, even. For now, that has to be enough.

Sanemi’s laugh comes through the phone as a staticky exhale of breath. “Normally, I’d ask what you’re wearing, but I’m dead fuckin’ serious — if they don’t win this war —“

“Which battle did you get to?” You sit up, wracking your memory for the approximate place Sanemi has reached in his book. “Did the cadre reunite?”

“No, half of ‘em are still across the fucking continent.”

“Ohhhh, yeah. Okay. I know where you are.” You tug at a loose thread on your comforter. “I can’t say anything. You’ll just have to keep reading.”

“God dammit,” and you imagine he’s rolling his eyes, maybe even glaring down at the book in distaste. “Shit’s got me stressed the fuck out. I don’t know how she’s gonna wrap this up —“

You giggle as he launches into a rant over loose plot ends. Squaring the mental image of your boyfriend — the one currently ranting about the various loose plot ends to still be tied up in his current read — with the one you know must be sitting in some alley or warehouse, waiting to do things he’ll never speak of, feels impossible at times. But here, for this small moment, Sanemi isn’t a Hashira. He’s just a boy, spouting off theories and guesses as to his book’s ending with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Here, there are no orders to leave, no bruised knuckles or bloodstained hands he has to scrub clean in your bathroom sink.

It’s just you and him; your Sanemi. Your wonderful, gentle, sweet Sanemi.

“Ah shit,” he cuts his impassioned tirade off with sigh. There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, but it’s too muffled to be distinguishable. “‘M gonna have to go —“

Just like that, the moment ends and the smile you’d been wearing slides from your face.“Oh.” And you hate how small your voice sounds. “That’s okay — I’m glad I got to talk to you for a sec.”

The rustling stops. “Me too,” Sanemi says softly. “Fuck, I miss you.”

This is the part you hate most; the part when he has to stop being yours and go be theirs, no matter how much you know he doesn’t want to.

Your moments with him are pennies to the hours the Corps gets to demand. As long as they keep their claws in him, this will always be how your moments with him end: in abrupt, hushed voices, Sanemi’s shoulders sagging with a guilt he shouldn’t have to feel.

You grimace. This forced distance between you is bad enough, and you don’t want him to feel worse than he likely already does. You knew what you signed up for by telling him you loved him. You can’t be mad for getting exactly what you’d known to expect. And besides, your ire is reserved for the Corps and the Corps alone. Sanemi doesn’t deserve it. You can’t leave him on your sour note.

He’ll be yours again soon enough, even if only temporarily. That has to be enough, for now. Better to give him something to look forward to, rather than reminding him — and yourself — of what you’re both currently without.

“If you still wanted to know — I’m wearing your shirt. Only your shirt.” You smirk. “A thong, too. The lacy green one.”

A favorite of Sanemi’s, as he’d mentioned a handful of times. One that always set his eyes wide, made his tongue flick out to wet his lips.

Your distraction works. A strangled groan crackles through the phone. “You’re killin’ me, woman.”

#sanemi shinazugawa #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny x reader #kny fanfic #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa x reader

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colorfulwastelandvoid · 4 months ago

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As we grow together…

In honor of Valentine’s Day (I thought it was yesterday lol) I want to quickly talk about MelJay that isn’t a rant.

MelJay oh MelJay, I believe that it is the classic Jaded x Idealist trope (my personal fav).

Jayce is the bright eyed idealist who sees the world in such bright and vivid colors that he is blinded to the more dark parts of it. He believes in magic and in the common man’s ability and desire to do good that he didn’t reckon with the more selfish part of humanity ( or whatever they call themselves in Runeterra) and what they would do with such power. The recklessness of blind ambition or the damage endless progress does to people or a society exemplified through him.

Mel on the other hand is a child of war and pilgrimage. She tells Jayce she knows war. While I dont think Ambessa made Mel pick up swords of fallen soldiers like Mel’s grandad did Ambessa, it is clear from the Mel’s motion that she knows death. She is banished from her family for her “soft spined idealism”. She is made unworthy for her compassion, her heart. She does try to prove that the fox can win out, that diplomacy can whether through violence but it is clear that this rejection weighs on her and she hasn’t really moved past it. She shuts herself off from most except Elora. Scared and angry, she constantly feels less than.

Then Mel and Jayce meet. Two people defined by their ambition. In the time skip it’s implied they shared little moments of yearning; stolen glances, little touches.

It’s quickly established that Mel is at the very least intrigued by Jayce and his ideals. It’s not until the night of the Opera show that we see how much Mel is inspired by Jayce.

“ The Medarda’s usually only take from the world. It’s not often we are in a position to give something back”

Jayce quickly retorts that he couldn’t have done any of it without her. They kiss and the relationship soon blossoms. Like in one of my other posts I believe that it’s in MelJays quieter moments that their relationship is the strongest. Jayce seeks Mel out whenever he is in moments of uncertainty. He truly believes in her and respects her. It’s where we get one of his famous lines in the series.

“ Nothing feels impossible when I’m with you”

We see this look of shock in her face that she quickly recovers from. We then get her saying one her famous lines of not facing things alone. It is clearly geared toward Jayce making sure Viktor isn’t alone in what they think are his final moments, but I also took it as her longing to belong in relation to her family.

Mel is constantly trying to protect Jayce and his Hextech dream not only because she loves him but because it’s a dream that she once had. It is through her relationship with Jayce that she starts to see the beauty and strength in the idealism she was once shunned for. Hextech is Jayce’s dream but he makes time for her. He is constantly reaffirming her and the best parts of her. Jayce grows as a more level headed man and as a leader who understands humility. The jaded becomes hopeful and the idealist becomes more realistic.

This is a personal theory of mine but I like to believe that the only person Jayce actually helped by using Hextech and being himself is Mel. I also do believe that Jayce falling in love with Mel is the only thing he may of had full autonomy over. That is so cute to me.

Ps “quick” my ass. Happy Valentine Day for real this time. This feels like a more in depth post of what I already said in previous, but I’m too lazy to scroll and check. Sorry if it is.

#goldenforge #onlymeljay #jayce x mel #mel x jayce #meljay #jaymel

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balrogballs · 13 days ago

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Hi hi hi! I just finished reading The Sword Tree and I'm still unwell about it so I hope it's okay if I rant in your ask box for a sec. I'm South Asian and the bit about celebrian saying there's more to their national diagnosis of sea-longing hit so close to home because the rhetoric around returning to valinor is so similar to partition where the rhetoric was (and remains to this day at least in pakistan) that all the Muslims of the subcontinent WANTED to go to Pakistan because they wanted a Muslim homeland. Which is just - patently untrue as evidenced by the fact that MILLIONS of Muslims chose to remain in India and doesn't take into account any of the hundred of reasons people actually chose to migrate, the threat of violence being not least amongst them. The way returning to valinor is framed as this glorious homecoming when really so many of the elves would have been fleeing from violence, would have been going because they had no other choice, because it was that or fade is soooo ASHDHSGS it drives me insane. But at least now I can think of celebrian taking them to her forest so yay <3 thank you for that

You’ll have to excuse me nerding out being a complete freak and writing a whole ass impromptu 1500 word meta essay at midnight in the hour since you sent this though, because this ask scratches a good 100% of my brain in a wonderful way + I have a lot of THOUGHTS + it touches on some non-fiction stuff I was preparing for Mereth Aderthad… so thank you very much ily as you can see here I am just as unwell 🥹🙏🏽🫶🏽

I’ll put the actual content under the cut since it’s long, but it may be interesting to anyone else keen on my silly meta/theory ramblings re: postcolonial South Asia, Tolkien elves, Valinor, Indo-Pak (obv a thematic comparison rather than a direct equation since the circumstances, cost and setting is entirely different), slow violence and the diction of genteel exile… plus, Frodo comes into it at one point!

Forgive me if I repeat myself here because I’m not sure how long you’ve followed me so idk how much Balls Lore™️ I’ve dropped btw… so I’m not religious but my paternal side (who we’re culturally closer to as a family since my mum’s side don’t really practice their religion/culture) are actually Indian Muslims from Kerala, which was one of the v few Indian states that had both a high Muslim population yet saw almost no northward movement towards Pakistan, partly bc it was so far south and the people don’t speak any of the Indopak “border languages” but also because there wasn’t much communal violence or structural discrimination (relative to the rest of the country, I mean…) so life was at the time not particularly hostile or difficult for Muslims in Kerala, at least on the basis of their religion (caste is a diff story though 🥲).

And so people just stayed, because, as you say, they COULD. Because why the fuck would you choose to leave the place you were born in, trek across the entire subcontinent and face unspeakable violence, if you had literally any other choice!!!

And your point about “glorious homecoming” is also super interesting to me especially in the context of the RSS/Indian RW’s “Musalmanon ko donon sthan, Pakistan aur kabarsthan’ (Muslims have two places: Pakistan or the graveyard)” chant, by now a vicious majoritan sentiment which simultaneously contradicts their other unhinged viewpoint, aka “Pakistan technically belongs to India”. And that kind of diction is in turn echoed and mirrored from the Pakistani side, where anytime anti-Muslim violence breaks out in India, the PK broadcast media/politicos begin their “we told you so tee hee we told you you should have come here, who asked you to stay in India? 🤪” world tour like they’re talking about children who dropped their ice creams 🥲

Which is unsurprising of course, considering India and Pakistan have spent nearly 80 years constructing their national identity as the moral and civilisational antithesis of the other one… ie Pakistan as a “sanctuary from Hindu majoritarianism”, India as a “secular (lmao) republic against Islamic theocracy”… and like w Valinor and Middle-earth, these imaginaries are less geographic than mythic (thinking about Eärendil’s journey here, or Tuor just… as a concept sksksk): each land continuously reifies itself by casting the other as failed or impure, and the rules of performance and belonging keep shifting…

The very structure of Valinor's inaccessibility aka requiring divine permission, reserved for the select, where rules can be broken only if the divine powers will it to me resonates w how citizenship & belonging are gatekept in the subcontinent and how those with hybrid or marginal identities (like Ëarendiil) are often asked to prove their fidelity to the nation (“choose elves or men”) in ways the majority never is, as if access to the country of your birth was a conditional gift rather than a birthright.

And I’m thinking again about the Peredhel choice, and Elwing and Eärendil being forced to choose to belong to either men or elves at great cost, quite literally punished for hybridity, and for stepping foot in Valinor as the “wrong kind”, the kind who aren’t allowed to enter… and this punishment lasts for several generations of their line, right down to Arwen… so again that “homeland” projected not as a shared horizon of peace but as a fantasised ideal purified of the other’s existence…. an unsoiled homeland that can only keep moving forwards by erasing those whose identities speak to entanglement...

And with “Indo-Pak”, that metaphysical distance between Valinor and Middle-earth is reenacted as militarised borders and cultural opposition... each made from the blank spaces in the other’s mirror. And so in India, much like for other minorities in Pakistan, or former East Pakistan prior to the liberation of Bangladesh… those who don’t fit the moral geography of Partition ie religiously intermarried families, religious minorities, borderland communities, secular dissidents, queer folk, etc, are not only excluded from nationalist narratives but seen as aberrations, or intruders… India must inversely reflect Pakistan, and Pakistan must inversely reflect India, because if they don’t, then neither country can be said to exist.

And yes absolutely, for ME elves (ie Elrond for instance) the “return” is not some triumphant homecoming, the journey West is sorrowful and final… less a political return and more an admission that Middle-earth, the “contested space” so to speak, can no longer sustain the presence of its most wounded or burdened beings. Eg Frodo’s departure, like Celebrían’s sailing, being a spiritual evacuation rather than a physical one, not in itself necessary for healing, but because healing is no longer possible where the wound was made… like, the tragedy of people needing to convalesce from their own country is just 🥲

and I think the ending of the Return of the King showcases this splendidly: by ending with a *departure* from ME rather than an *arrival* in Valinor. And that’s what makes it tragic to me, bc in Tolkien’s world, the sailing to Valinor marks the end of the narrative for the reader, but in South Asia, this desire for purified homelands continues to regenerate new forms of violence…

What I’m trying to say here is, I assume you haven’t read my India AU (Prayers to Broken Stone) since I remember you mentioning the sea serpent one was the first Maedhros and Elrond story of mine you read, which is why I am EXTREMELY shook (in a good way aka I am insanely impressed, whatever our souls are made of yours and mine are the same etc etc) at how you’ve hit the nail right on the head when it comes to a major undercurrent of Prayers, which I don’t think I’ve even mentioned explicitly on Tumblr either—the overarching thematic parallel between the fading of elves and the postcolonial trajectory of the Indian Muslims who chose to stay because they wanted to, where the opportunity for a “glorious return” to an unknown land is no opportunity at all, and is in fact nothing but a great and violent sundering. Like that is the main thematic framework there, far beyond any positionality-politics about the Noldor and the Sindar or whatever. Just including a bit from one of the chapters which I think illustrates exactly what I mean (context, this is set during the Emergency following the Fëanorians as a Malayali Muslim family, where Maedhros is a former freedom fighter).

———

I wanted to convey in the fic how in post-independence India, Muslims were not formally expelled, but their political + cultural + historical centrality was increasingly made to fade, ie transformed from participants in the national story to spectral reminders of an undesirable past… thinking about that alternate LOTR ending where Sam talks to his daughter Elanor about Celeborn staying alone in Lothlorien, and her calling it “terribly sad”… artefacts/relics/remembrance etc etc…

+ in Tolkien, fading is often accompanied by a refusal to speak of the past. Sam, after Frodo’s departure, speaks little of the Ring or of what was lost, or with Celebrían, the narrative has nothing to add about the year between Cel’s capture and torture, vs her sailing, ie what it was like to make the decision to sail after the act of violence. Similarly, in India, public discourse around Patrition + postcolonial antiMuslim violence is marked by silences, half-truths, and amnesia (similar to how the Bangladesh War of Liberation is taught in Pakistan, from what I hear from a cross-border friend…). And this silence is absolutely not accidental but functional: they allow the nation to perform coherence by concealing rupture.

Eg just as the memory of Frodo’s pain is only buried under the peace of the Shire and never truly gone, the memory of communal violence in India is buried (quite literally sometimes, thinking about Babri masjid…) beneath the rhetoric of secularism, progress and unity. IE like Maedhros realises in that snip above where he “loses” his name, India tells itself that it must forget the past in order to survive the future… and in doing so, renders certain kinds of survival indistinguishable from death 🥲

So yes, I absolutely think it’s exactly that “violence of belonging”, where to belong fully often requires the erasure of the other, where even the sacred return is structured by exclusion. Ie the “offer” of “returning” to an imaginary, idealised and ultimately inert “homeland” is more a euphemism for removal, or a horizon made visible only through loss.

The political grammar of “sundered” states require a sort of continuous re-inscription: new Others, new exiles, new purity tests. and in both Tolkien + postcolonial India, gesturing the “fading people” towards a redemptive “homeland” doesn’t signify the endpoint of suffering and victimisation, but rather serves as its ongoing justification. Eg is it homecoming or is it exile? 🥲

Hope my very incoherent midnight thoughts make sense! You really put my brain on speedrun mode jsjsjsjxjd this is the fastest I’ve run to answer a meta ask hahaha. And I also wanted to say thank you so much for leaving all those fantastic comments on my fics, I normally respond in bulk because I’m only logged in to AO3 on my desktop, but I just wanted to say they have TRULY been making my week…

#ask balls #tolkien #the silmarillion #lord of the rings #balrogballs writes #lotr #lotr meta #silm meta #prayers meta

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justarandomguyintheworld · 20 days ago

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Alien Stage new Mizi Comic Analysis!!

Long ass, scene by scene analysis for funsies.

1-7: Mizi is crying over Till when Sua walks over. She leans down and looks at her with hollow eyes. It’s super creepy, horror-like, and very reminiscent of older Vivinos works (like My September).

Sua is dead, but she’s ALWAYS haunting the narrative. I feel like ‘Sua’ here is just the voice and face Mizi gave to her own internalised guilt.

8: ‘Sua’ asks if Mizi feels like a waste. I think this could refer to two things.

1: Mizi was unable to save anyone. She couldn’t save Sua, Till, and even Hyuna died because Mizi insisted on coming back. Mizi failed. She survived, but everyone she cared about is gone.

2: A more metaphoric/real world meaning behind it is the homophobic reason. A lot of LGBTQ people (usually conventionally attractive ones, and mostly lesbians), are told they’re a ‘waste’ because they can’t ’have children’ and ‘benefit society’. And when it comes to lesbians, it’s because a man can’t have her so she’s a ‘waste’. Now, the alien stage world isn’t like ours, but there’s clearly still lingering societal norms. For example, the next few slides.

9: Here, it fades into a flashback with Mizi and a blond classmate (I’m gonna call him Luke). I’m not sure whether ‘Sua’ calling her cunning is her own thought, or Luke saying it, but I’m gonna assume it was just herself.

I think that these societal norms are still instilled in humans, even though earth is long gone, because the aliens need the males and females to ‘breed’ and make new ‘pets’. So, in my theory, they were likely taught in school about how men and women are ‘supposed’ to be together.

Any small connection between them is a way for the aliens to get more pets and is highly encouraged. It’s also because having the alien stage competitors form strong relationships with each other provides for a lot more drama that I’m sure the viewers eat up.

10-13: Here, Luke starts criticising her about her closeness with Till. Mizi, however, assumes it’s about Sua because that’s who she’s closest to. The scenes of Sua show how exhausted she is, and how she’s being paraded around like a doll. Mizi also mentions a fight, which gives a lot of depth to Mizisua. It’s not as wholesome as a lot of ppl thought it was, and they’re actually super messed up. Like. Super.

14-17: Then, Luke reveals he’s actually talking about Till. Mizi is immediately amused because she has never considered him in that way at all.

She says they’re just friends, but Luke interrupts her and claims guys and girls can’t be friends. From his blush/smile, he’s definitely ramping up to a confession.

He says how guy and girl friends are always destined to fall in love and ‘mate’. Mizi is obviously confused and is hearing this for the first time. After all, she’s never had these feelings for guys (lesbian). Luke mentions how he’s a guy, who’s her friend (wink wink, nudge nudge), probably about to say they should ‘mate’, but Mizi interrupts him.

18-22: Mizi calls it gross, which is absolutely correct. The notion that guys and girls can’t be friends without falling in ‘love’ is extremely heteronormative and homophobic. Unlike what a lot of people thought, homophobia and social norms DO exist in alien stage.

Of course, Mizi is naturally friendly. But she doesn’t have those feelings for any of her male friends. But then, he slaps her. And he looks SCARY. Mizi is just as shocked as the reader is.

I’m guessing he was hurt that she called what he said gross, implying that his feelings are gross or wrong. He feels like she owes it to him because they’re friends to reciprocate.

23-26: Mizi is horrified. Luke goes on a rant about how she’s aware of what she’s doing- leading them all on. It ’must be nice, right?’ for her to get love with her prettiness and her ‘smile’ so ‘easily’. He claims she knows how he felt, that she knows she has a ‘bunch of idiots’ circling her.

This whole thing is a very rape culture, victim blaming type thing. It’s the same thing a lot of men do- assume they’re entitled to a woman’s affection/body just because she exists.

In alien stage, love is the downfall of everyone. Sua died for love, Ivan died for love, Till died for love, Hyuna died for love. Mizi, who everyone loves so much, has so many people who are willing to die for her.

That’s how she survives. Luke knows this. To an extent, Mizi knows this as well. Maybe the ‘face’ she puts up is a subconscious defence mechanism. A way to survive. Humans are all about connection, and it’s the most powerful thing they have.

I don’t personally agree with this, but an interpretation I’ve seen is that Mizi IS intentionally manipulating people to ‘use’ them, but she never thought it would work at such an extent (Sua dying for her, Till staying for her).

Continuing on, Luke is blaming Mizi for his feelings, for not reciprocating. He also might be realising the kind of relationship Mizi has with Sua.

27-32: Luke calls her disgusting and filthy. Again, rape culture. Basically slut-shaming her just because she’s pretty and has so many guys after her. He feels like she owes him something for the feelings HE has.

Mizi cries and apologises, but she’s still smiling. She’s still wearing that ‘face’ of kindness. She apologises again and again, even though she doesn’t even know what she did wrong.

This may be the first time she’s realising the ‘face’ she uses for safety can hurt her or can be seen through. I don’t think Mizi ever intentionally manipulated people. I think she was just friendly because that’s who she is. Though she has darker things inside that she hides, hence the ‘face’ of innocence and cheeriness.

And then Mizi runs off to see Sua- the one person she’s closest to, likely the only one she’s shown her other faces to. She runs away, smiling and crying, because she really doesn’t understand.

Why did she have to get hit? Why is being kind so wrong? Why does she have to have feelings for Till? But slowly, she’s starting to believe that it really was her fault she got hit. She led him on.

Since she doesn’t reciprocate all of these guys’ affection like you’re ’supposed to’ she must be using them and leading them all on, just like Luke said.

33-35: Now she’s with Sua, her love. We can see how quickly she’s changed- back to being cheerful, kind and innocent. Her ‘face’ is up for Sua, because she knows that Sua likes her like that.

Sua likes her brightness and innocence. She even makes excuses for Luke, taking the blame for his actions. She says how happy she is just to be with Sua. Even after all the turmoil she went through, she’s performing so she can stay loved. So she can stay safe.

Even here, she’s hiding the half of her face with the bruise on it. Shes not showing her whole self right now. Because everyone only loves the performance she puts on. Sua, of course, notices this.

36-38: This next part we witness Sua being her amazing toxic self. She’s not those others that Mizi has to put a face on for. She’s different than them, and she needs to remind Mizi that she’s the only true one. Despite Mizi’s happiness, Sua can’t agree.

She’s exhausted from her Mother taking her around and keeping her busy, probably showing her off like a trophy. Her eyes are hollow with bags under them. The only reason she kept going was to see Mizi again. She talks about how hard it is, saying that at least, Mizi doesn’t have to go through it.

Sua then purposefully repeats Luke’s words- “Must be nice, right?”

She’s provoking Mizi, minimising Mizi’s pain, making her drop the facade. And Mizi does.

39-43: And then the slap. It almost feels like it’s happened before between them- sua provoking, Mizi snapping. The important part is that their first reactions are to smile. Their full faces are now revealed. Sua doesn’t seem horrified, she seems happy. Elated, almost, like the look Ivan gets on his face. She wanted this. She wants Mizi to let that face drop, to be her true self in front of her.

And Mizi is smiling too, because it feels good to let that out. But she starts crying. Obviously. She just hurt Sua. But Sua forgives her immediately, hugging her and smiling behind her back.

They need each other. Sua wants to be everything to Mizi, even if she gets hurt in the process. They’re extremely codependent (love them). And Sua comforting her even after she dropped her facade just reinforces the belief that Sua is the one person she can rely on.

Remember Mizi’s ‘face’ is from the belief that “everyone will like me as long as I’m pretty and friendly. If everyone likes me I’ll stay safe”. We have to remember how messed up this world and the characters are.

44: Here, ‘Sua’ is talking again. I believe that it’s really just Mizi’s survivor’s guilt and self hatred manifesting in the form that would hurt her the most- her beloved saying these things to her.

Mizi believes that Sua thinks she ditched her. Mizi believes that everyone’s death is HER fault. It’s her fault they were in love with her (as Luke said), she’s filthy and disgusting.

She tried to make it right by saving Till, tried to prove that a connection with her can be a good thing, but she couldn’t.

All she did was solidify what she started believing after Sua’s death- loving her (Mizi) gets people killed. And when people fall in love with her, it’s her own fault. So thus, she MUST be the ‘evil’ thing. A curse that gets everyone close to her killed.

She ‘ditched’ all her other friends just to survive. She’s calling herself selfish, convincing herself it was her fault all along. She’s truly starting to believe in her own evilness and selfishness, starting to think that she really did manipulate all of those people and used them to survive.

45-50: Here we have Mizi with Till. It starts off all cute, Mizi being playful with Till. At this point however, after Luke’s words, I do think Mizi holds resentment towards Till for his feelings for her.

She asks him if it’s hard not to like her. He says it’s something he can’t control- which might lead Mizi to think it’s something SHE’S controlling, because she really doesn’t understand the feelings men and women are SUPPOSED to have for each other.

She can’t reciprocate the feelings of any of these guys, even Till who’s a close friend. Once again, this feeds into the belief that she’s ’broken’ somehow, that her love is a twisted thing and she’s just manipulating these people.

51-53: “Because you’re pretty”. Ouch. Once again, someone likes her for something she can’t control- her appearance. From Mizi’s face, we can see the flicker of disgust again, the resentment against Till.

Is she supposed to stop being friendly so she doesn’t give the wrong idea to guys, just because she’s pretty? Does she really owe these guys something because of how they feel about her, even if they don’t truly see her?

Till here is just awkward, but I do think he likes Mizi for more than just her prettiness, she’s also ‘pretty’ on the inside. If he could articulate this, then maybe Mizi could have changed her views on the ‘grossness’ of the feelings guys have for her.

But once again it’s drilled into her head- “people like me because I’m pretty. They can’t control their feelings, so it must be my fault somehow.”

54-55: Here we see Mizi’s maniacal laughter (she’s scary asf in this comic 😍). In a flicker, her face is back on.

Last time she dropped her mask around someone other than Sua, it was Luke. For the briefest second she spoke her mind and called his logic ‘gross’ instead of smiling and agreeing.

It caused her to get slapped. To get hurt. She’s learnt better now. She can’t be her real self around Till, because then he’ll see the ugly parts of her, and he’ll hate her. She’s the one who led everyone to believe she’s perfect. It’s her fault when they’re hurt and disappointed if she can’t live up to those standards.

So instead of dropping that mask, she laughs as a default reaction to most things- even when slapped -because that’s just what she’s used to. Her true face is always hidden.

56-58: Now, finally, ‘Sua’ turns into Mizi. She’s been talking to herself this whole time. “You figured you’d use whatever you could, huh? Just so you could make it out alive on your own.” While a lot of people interpreted this as Mizi being fully self-aware and ACTUALLY using everyone the whole time, I don’t think that’s the case.

I think this is Mizi’s survivor guilt and self-hatred speaking. As she’s thinking back, she’s trying to rationalise it all.

Sua hid the truth from her, yes, but it’s hard to remain innocent in this world unless you choose to be ignorant. I think Mizi knew more than we thought, but still less than everyone else.

She was aware that horrible things were happening, she was an adult of course, but she kept her eyes closed and her ears shut. Sua likes her innocent and naive. She’d rather be needed by Sua than know the truth.

So she never tried to figure it out. She’s blaming herself for her own ignorance, for ‘playing dumb’, when she knew there was more to it. She ‘played dumb’ and they died because of it.

As she thinks back, everything seems like her fault. Sua died for her. Till died reaching for her. Hyuna died after she insisted on coming back. Everyone’s love and care were wasted on her.

“Feel like a waste?” She does. But Mizi’s only fault was being ‘pretty’ and ‘friendly’.

She had too much love to give- Her obsessive, worshipful love for Sua. Her coming back for Till because he was her friend. Hyuna followed Mizi to save Till because Hyuna cared about her.

All these lives were wasted on her. So clearly, she must be the evil thing.

She must’ve stringed all those people along- using them just to survive. (Even though this isn’t true, as she risked her own life to try to save Till, she’s twisted her own actions into something selfish.)

These are her thoughts about herself. She’s convincing herself of her own evilness. Because now, with everyone dead, it’s much easier to blame it on herself than on them.

She manipulated them into loving her enough to die for her. She did this all just to survive, to stay safe. Because that’s easier to believe than to think that them loving her, something beautiful, could result in things so horrible.

Love isn’t the problem. Her dead friends aren’t the problem. It’s her.

59-63: And then we get those words ‘I’m so proud of you’. It’s mocking. Everyone is dead, you’re alone, congratulations. You’ve used them and now they’re dead, you evil thing. Good thing you were naive, good thing you were pretty, you survived because of it. I’m proud of you.

And then she walks away slowly, turning away from herself and disappearing. Till slowly fades in her arms, but she has nothing more to say to herself. They’re all gone. The person she was is gone.

“I’ve seen your true face, the back of your head, if you were walking away, keep walking.” A quote from Richard Siken.

For the last time, her old self is running away. Like Luka’s blue tipped fingers and his fake personalities, Mizi’s blue tipped hair parallels it. With it now cut off, she has no reason to pretend. And that long haired Mizi, with the kind ‘face’? She’s done her job. Kept Mizi alive all this time. And now she’s leaving. Because Mizi can’t keep herself hidden anymore. (Future crash out).

All of the grief from Sua’s death onwards is manifesting now, into this ugly, bitter, self-hating thing. She’s always run away- run to Sua, run away from Luka, run away from the truth.

Her true face is the back of her head. She’d rather face the wall her whole life, live happily and be oblivious, than know the truth. Which is why she hates herself. Because she knows that, deep down, she would’ve done anything to keep Sua’s love for her. And now she’d do anything for Sua to come back.

She regrets it all. Regrets them ever loving her. Because if they didn’t, maybe they could be alive. She doesn’t believe herself to be worthy of so much love and sacrifice.

“I’m proud of you.”

You’ve managed to use and seduce all of those people.

You’re sitting on a pile of bodies but you’re alive.

They died when you should’ve, so it’s your fault.

Mizi is truly alone.

Extra tidbits:

Ivan: It’s interesting that Ivan isn’t in the pile of bodies, or in this comic at all. I really do think Ivan was one of the only people Mizi could relax with- there were no strings attached, just friendship.

He would NEVER like her like those other guys did. WLW/MLM solidarity. He was her best friend, and the one death she doesn’t blame herself for. He died for someone else, so he’s not in the pile of bodies. It’s also interesting how people say Ivan is ‘I want to be a girl’, but I kinda think that Mizi is the one who’s more like ‘I want to be a boy, so loving her is correct’.

We’ve never seen Ivan worry about homophobia or societal norms, probably because he just doesn’t care- unlike Mizi.

Comp-het, homophobia, lesbophobia + real life links: Even though no one saw it coming, this comic draws clear lines to those things. Male/Female ‘love’ is the norm and is even encouraged. Any male and female with a close relationship are ‘bound to mate’. As a result, M/M and F/F are clearly weird and probably considered ‘unnatural’. These are of course, very real life things.

And I think Vivinos is also making a statement to all the bisexual-Mizi believers. Even though Mizi’s only strong feelings have been towards a girl, people still assumed she ‘should’ have feelings for boys, specifically Till, just like Luke did. (MiziTill, MiziLuka ppl are all just Luke). It’s clear homophobia, erasing Mizi’s feelings and prioritising what’s ‘correct’.

Mizi also experiences some form of conflict with comp-het. The feelings she’s SUPPOSED to have for these guys she feels for Sua. She’s fully accepted her love for Sua, but others around her don’t truly understand it. Maybe she doesn’t understand it herself either. She just knows that no guy has made her feel like Sua has. And that’s not ‘right’, especially because she HAS male friends she should be ‘falling in love’ with.

Idols: Alien stage is a big metaphor for the idol industry. Here, it’s a clear parasocial relationship. Mizi is an idol, she has to keep her relationship private, lest her fans riot like Luke did. Luke’s confrontation with her is like a fan finding out their idol isn’t who they imagined them to be.

And Mizi has to put on this face as an idol, just to be loved, even if they’re loving a fake version of herself. As a result, she feels isolated and alone, starting to believe that her true self is lesser and worse. That she’s manipulating all of these people with her perfect, fake self.

People don’t want raw and real, they want perfect. If she fails to live up to those standards of perfection, then it’s her own fault and it’ll result in her crashing and burning. (Like an idol’s career).

Mizi possibly trying to avoid ‘responsibility’: Mizi’s true face only comes out with Sua. When Luke said a male and female friendship can never last and they’re ’bound to mate’, maybe the disgust Mizi felt scared her as well.

From then on, her mask is even firmer. Maybe she believes that if she keeps the mask, if no guy loves the ‘true’ face, then she will never be bound to them because their love for her is ‘fake’. By never being herself around these guys, she has no risk of them getting too close and having to copulate. This way, she can stay with Sua.

Her true self: I think that her ‘true face’ is only really known by two people in the anakt garden. Ivan and Sua.

I’m 100% sure Ivan is the only one who doesn’t fall for that ‘face’ of hers, firstly because he’s not attracted to her in that way (gay), and secondly because he’s one of the smartest/most perceptive characters.

He knows she’s pretending, and he doesn’t/can’t like her in that way. As a result, he never idolised or had those entitled views of how she ‘should’ act, which is why she feels so comfortable around him. (So sweet).

I don’t think Mizi knows that Ivan sees through her, however. I think she’s just grateful he’s ‘normal’ to her (unlike others who fall for her so easily).

Sua is very complicated. She definitely knows Mizi’s true face, but she is also one of the people who initially fell for it. That’s why Mizi keeps it up in front of Sua.

But Sua’s love goes deeper than that- she finds comfort in Mizi’s ‘face’, but she does want Mizi to show her true self around her as well, likely to keep Mizi dependent. After all, Sua has no reason to keep going aside from Mizi’s light.

This might be a hot take, but I think that’s also why Sua sacrificed herself in the very first round. I think she would’ve done it whether or not she was versing Mizi- she doesn’t wanna live in a world where Mizi’s light is dimmed, which it definitely would be once Mizi learned of The Horrors (tm). Sua was always meant to die first, no matter what. ‘She’s been dead since the beginning’.

Circling back- Sua is also different because she’s a girl. Mizi can return her feelings, and Mizi falls for her first (as we see in My Clematis). Note how in My Clematis, Mizi’s view of Sua is so wholesome and soft, showing off a puppy love when the reality is so much darker. Mizi idolises/depends on her perfect view of Sua, just as much as Sua does to her.

Just like everyone else, Sua DOES put Mizi on a pedestal. But with Sua, there’s also a lot of other things mixed in. She feels superior to Mizi, maybe even envious of her innocence and ‘easy life’. It’s twisted. Mizi is below her, but that innocence is what puts her above everything. It makes no sense, really, which is why they’re so complicated.

Sua, to an extent, does think Mizi of dumb and easy to fool. Mizi, I think, also does let herself be fooled so Sua will love her forever. Because Mizi also puts Sua on a very high pedestal (my god, my universe). Sua is her everything. So she’ll play dumb so Sua can protect her. So Sua can still find comfort in her.

But Sua wants to prove she’s not like the others. She doesn’t love her just for her face. She’s different than them. Her love is true. Even when she’s slapped, she’ll hug and love Mizi just the same. But at the core of it, her love is very selfish. When she needs it, she’ll encourage Mizi’s kind face. When she needs it, she’ll draw out Mizi’s true face.

Ivan sees through her face and treats her like normal.

Sua sees through her face, but still finds comfort in it.

#alien stage #alnst ivan #alnst till #alnst mizi #alnst sua #mizisua #alien stage mizi #fan theory #analysis #media analysis #New comic made me feral #I love Mizi #I love toxic Mizisua

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demonslayerunhinged · 10 months ago

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Unhinged rant >:(

Demon Slayer fandom discourse

I want to start this by saying, I know that Demon Slayer isn't an explicitly queer manga/anime because Shōnen Jump, but I believe that Demon Slayer is for the queers and has lots of themes that we can identify with like love, acceptance, loss, guilt and strength.

Despite what these stupid, smelly, ignorant, power-scaling, non-ass-washing, Cheetos-dust-snorting, once-a-month-showering, dude-bros would have you believe, Demon Slayer isn't just another battle Shōnen anime/manga, it's a love story and about the perseverance of the human spirit and if that doesn't speak to the queer experience then I don't know what does.

Plus, I don't know how Gotogue-sensei is as a person, but I think the fact that she managed to make one of the kindest mcs in shōnen speaks volumes about her disposition. I don't think she would be one to reject queer fans identifying with her story so well.

In these recent times, it seems like everything is going to shit, the world is slowly regressing into the dark ages destroying decades of progress and trying to distract ourselves from all this by engaging with the fandoms we love is hard because everything seems to cater to cis, straight, white men.

To be honest, I created this blog mostly out of spite, but I also wanted to carve out a tiny space for myself where I can talk out of my ass and not have some decrepit reddit dude bro go all 'well, ackshually ☝🤓' on me, and I'm happy to have met so many like-minded people.

So, I've compiled a list of answers to the common types of nonsense drivel these fuckers post in response to shipping and queer discussions and theories about Demon Slayer. You can copy and paste whenever and wherever you encounter these black holes of ignorance and stupidity if you want.

In the Taisho era, there were no gay/queer people: This is one of the dumbest statements I've ever heard, and the fact that it's a really common response really shows how we've failed as a society. Queer people have existed for ages all over the world, Japan has an extensive queer history. Demon Slayer is based on samurai culture and samurai culture was really, really, really, really, really, really, really gay. Sure, it had rigid roles, but that doesn't make it any less queer. A quick Google search would go a long way to nourish that dried-out, shrivelled husk you call a brain. Go read a book you walking condom ad, your parents and education system have obviously failed you.

It's forcing sexuality into the story: We literally had a whole season dedicated to the mcs going to the 'entertainment district', we have a sexy man with three wives who talks about 'loving' them all equally, we have the abundant male fanservice, one of the mcs talks about women on the daily, we have a boy who eats demons and is horny shy around girls all the time, we have his brother who exposes his tits because he's proud of them, we have a demon who was essentially a sexual predator that targeted 16-year-old girls and ate them, the main villain shape-shifts into a woman to 'get' information as a Geisha, we have a girl who literally lusts after almost everyone she meets but yea no lets not force sexuality into it 🙄.

I don't care: Okay cool, but I value your opinion as much as I value the shit I took this morning.

It's who they are as a character that matters: Sexuality is a part of a person's character. Your sexuality defines your experiences, decisions, options and outlook on life. That's why you as a straight man can be so ignorant.

It's forced*(I really hate this one): Honestly, fuck you. Why is it that you only think something is forced when it doesn't revolve around you and your experiences? You guys are fine with tons of anime/manga that sexualize women and girls to an insane degree even when it doesn't make sense, but that doesn't stop you from consuming and glazing the hell out of the authors, but when we talk about including queer characters suddenly it's forced? Your existence is forced, and you can just eat shit.

I don't like it: Who the fuck do you think you are dictating how other people consume and interpret the media they consume? How about you go hump your smelly, cum-encrusted anime body pillow.

Men can be touchy/emotional with each other without it being gay, it's just our western standards: No it isn't the majority of shipping activities and works come from Japan, which wouldn't happen if it was just part of their culture. We're not stupid, we know men and boys can be friends without it being sexual, and we know when a friendship is just that, and then we know when two guys are straight up pining for one another.

It's not canon/the mangaka didn't explicitly state it: They can't because of Shōnen Jump, so a lot of them pass off information about a character through subtext, metaphors and allegories. They also don't have to, things don't have to outright stated or 'canon' for them to make sense and if you need them to be so for you to understand or enjoy the story then a moment of silence for your head since it's without a brain.

It's not common: Despite Shōnen Jump, there are lots of mainstream anime/manga that have queer characters: One Punch Man, Hunter x Hunter, Dr. Stone, Windbreaker, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Naruto, Gintama, Dragon Ball Z, My Hero Academia, Fairy Tail, One Piece, Attack on Titan, Tokyo Ghoul, Jujutsu Kaisen, Chainsaw Man, Blue Period and that's not to talk of the ones with queer subtext like I dunno ALL Sports anime/manga to ever exist!

Why do you look for LGBTQ in everything?: It might be hard for straights to understand but growing up queer and looking for a connection causes us to develop what we call a gaydar that helps us identify characteristics, mannerisms, features and vibes from a person that screams 'ONE OF US! ONE OF US!'. It's only natural, and our gaydar doesn't suddenly turn off when we're consuming media, especially when it's media that we love and hold dear to our hearts. It doesn't matter if the mangaka inserted these characteristics intentionally or not, that doesn't stop us from picking up on them, and why should it?

Shipping is stupid: So is power-scaling, but that doesn't stop you assholes from making thousands of posts, creating YouTube channels and sharing content about it and cramming it down our throats. It's even worse because it's from grown-ass men.

The characters have no chemistry/they hate each other: A lot of queer ships have more chemistry, history, interactions, personality and development than a lot of 'canon' straight couples. It's literally a trope in media that all a man and a woman need to be in a relationship is to be in close proximity to each other, then their relationship goes on to be drier than salted crackers in silicone packets scattered in the Sahara desert. Well, I guess you can't blame the creators, you write what you know after all.

I know this is a lot and I know how angry I sound right now, but I'm so sick and so tired of all these guys who are as useful to the human race as pieces of freshly shat out dog turds that have been thrown in the grass by the sidewalk in a hot summer afternoon, who can't see past their lice-infested neck beards trying to make something as colorful, interesting, joyful and queer as anime and the fandoms fit their own boring, stupid and misogynistic worldview.

In Conclusion, Demon Slayer is amazing, horny* and unbelievably queer.

*I'm talking about the male fanservice btw :)

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