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linka-from-captain-planet · 2 months

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Florrickology, Part 1: The Thong That Launched 1000 Headcanons

My favorite thing to do as a background character fan is to co-opt things that were definitely not meant to be characterization by making them characterization.

Thus, I have looked way deeper than intended into every possible pixel, moment, and mention of my beloved Counsellor Florrick and developed the exciting new field of Florrickology to report my findings.

Obviously the first place I'm going is this fucking dress and how I use it to infer upon her the two sexiest characteristics a woman can have:

Unflinching vanity and a deep-seated, yet subtle, insanity.

This dress is more than a bit of an enigma because... why?

It really stands out because, while Larian gives players plenty of opportunities to sexualize their avatar and their companions, they don't really sexualize NPCs. Most women, like men, are dressed very modestly. Outfits that female NPCs wear are even often much more unisex than the equivalent outfits available to player characters (e.g. tunics that male PCs can wear may turn into tits-out dirndls on female PCs for no apparent reason, but female NPCs wearing the same outfit get a tunic). The only characters who are sexualized are presented as Sexy Characters, like Abdirak or Sorn Orlith or Orin or even Mystra and Mamzell Amira, who also wear this dress.

Mostly.

Florrick, despite being beautiful, a two-time damsel in distress, and a certified MILF, is not presented as a Sexy Character. She's presented as a no-nonsense, somewhat domineering, loyal-and-virtuous-to-a-fault fed. This is the only description of her in the game files (see img description), highlighting these bare-bones characteristics:

So... why? For this character whose appearance truly doesn't matter beyond being eye-catching enough to communicate her importance to the story, who has no even vaguely flirtatious dialogue and no implied sexuality or romance (even with the man she spends the entire game chasing!), and not even a weird torture porn moment which she has ample opportunities... why dress her like this? Why emphasize her body over any other similarly-prominent NPC like, say, Alfira?

My assumption would be that they did it to soften her to the average Redditmod McGamerbro because the story really is better if incels don't kill her for being "bossy"... if they didn't also code her as a middle-aged black woman and give her a custom face sculpt with a prominent nose, large jaw, and non-Western features, all famously accepted with no problematic reaction from this demographic whom Larian doesn't not cater to. In fact, as the #1 Florrickposter in the universe, I often see people say in tags and comments that they didn't even notice how revealing her dress is while playing the game. While racism is definitely at play (plus misogyny, rendering this middle-aged black-coded woman invisible, whereas a younger and white man in the same role would be ALL OVER THIS DAMN PLACE), it also speaks to just how discordant her outfit and explicit characterization are.

Now, this outfit does make a little sense on a glance and I think that's a big part of why it flies under the radar as well: she's important and presumably wealthy, so of course she wears this very posh and expensive-looking dress. She's a wizard (a fact everyone manages to glean on a glance, despite it never being stated and basically never being relevant), so of course she's wearing something obnoxious and purple. From the waist up, it actually looks like a pretty reasonable outfit for a person of her DnD class, social class, and occupation.

It's from the waist down where it gets out of hand.

But first, this isn't even Florrick's original outfit or face (which I'll talk about in another post), or the first iteration of her current outfit. Originally, she wore the ostentatious yet modest feathered peacock dress that eventually ended up on Lucretious (and took the thicc waist with it RIP). According to my research, there was a reason for this: it was too baller for Waukeen's Rest and kept causing crashes, so they had to put her in a less graphically-demanding outfit.

The original peacock dress sent the necessary "I am an important quest giver, engage with me" message, so why not just remove the cowl that was causing the issues? But instead, they changed her outfit entirely, keeping it eye-catching and posh (suitable for a big-city government official), but randomly making it super revealing (strange, for a big-city government official). Further, Florrick got a major va-va-voom upgrade between Sexy Dress v1 and final release, with a new dress model that makes it clearer that the front and back panels are sheer, subtly showing even more skin, and which unsubtly emphasizes her hips and breasts.

Based on extensive academic research using mods, I determined that the dress is what conveys the extra curviness (see img description in the left-most pic) vs her having a custom body sculpt (weak). Further, when viewed from behind, the dress pads out her ass, also making it look bigger and rounder than the standard body type 1 (see img description in the right-most pic).

What's more, if you look closely at the waist seam of the final version of her sexy dress, it looks like they went so far as to skew it to make her hips stand out even more when she takes the cocked-hip stance (which she seems to only stand in) and perhaps draw even more attention to her thong sticking out. Notice how the waist seam is even and straight across in Sexy Dress V1 above, but Final Florrick has it like 2 inches higher on her right, without fabric bunching to explain the different seam lengths. You can also see how the dress subtly pops out farther than her actual hips (and from the side view, over her lower stomach), giving her the impression of curves the standard body type doesn't have. They were very intentional with it.

Shockingly, I don't actually have much to say about her exposed thong in and of itself (it is what it is) except that I think it actually makes the outfit look substantially skimpier because it draws attention to just how high those hip slits are, compared to leaving the area blank so eyes gloss over it (even if that would imply she runs around commando all game). It's a small detail that drives home the overall design.

All this is to say, since this dress is only worn by 4 people* with Florrick being the first you see and by far has the most screen time, and it isn't lootable, it seems this outfit was developed intentionally and specifically to emphasize her body to make her look sexier.

*Florrick, Mamzell Amira (slightly different lower half), a random patriar at Gortash's inauguration named Lady Alia Durinbold, and Mystra

So, this takes us back to the question of 'why'. Why spend all this time and these resources fine-tuning this dress to make it as sexy and flattering as possible? Why put it on a character who has literally no reason to wear such a thing? Why put this dress which is nothing but nonsense on a character who's pretty much only characterized as being no-nonsense??

And this is also where the real tinfoil hattery comes in, as I doubt Larian really meant anything by it aside from creating a hot NPC for players with good taste to enjoy across all 3 acts.

But that's not what this nuclear caliber simp post is about; it's about overthinking shit because I love her and she is a main character to ME.

So, whatever Larian's intention, there's only 1 in-universe reason why Florrick wears this outfit:

She woke up that day in Waukeen's Rest, in the middle of nowhere a full tenday from the city, on her way back from literal hell to deal with yet another crisis, and decided to put it on. And continued to do so every day thereafter.

It's logical that she can't change right after being rescued since the inn is burning down presumably with her luggage in it, but why did she choose that outfit in the first place, considering she was travelling? She's been travelling for months; it can't have been her only clothing. Did she not have a Fist uniform? A pair of leggings? She runs right off after she's done talking; does she hike all the way in and out of the shadow-cursed lands in a thong and flat macrame boots? It doesn't even have any indication of cinches or buttons despite having all the logical seams and it's clearly tailored to fit her bananas hourglass figure, like there's no way she can just pull it on or step into it, so does she have to expend her valuable magic to wear it? Does she take the time to sew herself into it every day instead of sucking it up and wearing *barf* pants??? There are plenty of people around in Act 2 that could and would give her something more practical to wear, even if she did have a good reason to wear her original dress that day in Waukeen's Rest. Yet, she continues to wake up every day and put that outfit on. Even after returning home.

(In my head, the video game convention of every character only having 1 outfit is shorthand for what their "typical" outfit is, and they "really" have a wardrobe of similar clothing. So when I say she wears that outfit every day, I mean she has a couple of similarly-bonkers dresses in her bag and chooses to wear one every day vs something more practical).

So the simp's question isn't what Larian is saying about her by dressing like this, but what she's saying about herself by choosing to dress like this.

Clothing is self-expression. Look at the many analyses of the main characters' outfits. Larian may or may not have really meant anything by giving Florrick this outfit, but just as Astarion's careful mending of his shirt necessarily says something about him and his personality in the universe he lives in, so does Florrick's decision to wear flashy, revealing clothing.

It almost makes no sense... until you think about one of Florrick's explicitly-demonstrated characteristics:

Confidence. Over confidence. Hubris, even.

I'll have more to say about Desiré "Fuck It, We Ball" Florrick and her personality in another florrickology post, but the long and short of it is that this woman is not afraid of shit and sashays into every situation fully confident in her ability to charm or steamroll it to her liking. "She is used to getting her way", indeed. Her epilogue letter betrays a bit of self-doubt, but it seems to have been brought on by her perceived failures in relation to the player character's successes, so likely not her ordinary attitude. Whereas this seems to be her ordinary clothing, since she took it with her to Elturel and back for no apparent reason and chooses to wear it for no apparent reason.

She has nothing to gain from it, no one important to impress at least until returning to the city in Act 3. Otherwise, she's in bumfuck nowhere with her boss-friend and lackeys, or cursed!bumfuck nowhere with her lackeys and a bunch of vigilantes planning a war. While I wouldn't doubt that she has or might be willing to use her beauty and sex appeal to meet her goals (TadpUlder does, curiously, call her a "black widow"; is his tadpole capitalizing on stereotypes--could it be slut shaming her??, or is it referencing things that the shreds of Ulder's mind know she's done?), ultimately, there can't be a tactical explanation because there's nobody more powerful than her around 90% of the time.

She also doesn't flirt with anyone and nobody flirts with her (philistines). She has no mentioned spouse or lovers, nor any implied sexuality at all. The closest we get is Mizora saying "she misses the Duke" after Florrick's ambush in Act 3, the only time anyone implies she's on a crusade to find him because of romantic feelings and not duty, loyalty, and friendship... which means Mizora is probably just talking out her ass and belittling people, as she does.

So, combine self-confidence with the decision to constantly wear a sexy dress that shows off her body for no practical reason, and what do you get?

Balls-to-the-wall, unapologetic vanity.

(If it wasn't clear, when I call women "vain" I think they are objectively correct and this is a compliment of the highest order.)

Sure, maybe wearing this kind of outfit boosts her confidence and that helps deal with this unprecedented crisis and possibly the first self-doubt she's ever experienced, but this is evidently her usual clothing and she isn't usually dealing with those things.

So, she wears this intricate and revealing dress mostly she likes it and how she looks in it. This means she likes that it's revealing. She likes showing skin to literally no end except her own enjoyment.

Notice she doesn't really do her hair (it's shiny and neat, but not really styled) or bother with makeup (she lost the EA smoky eye in favor of a quick swipe of eyeliner). One may think that perhaps she isn't as confident in her facial beauty since she does have unique features, so she calls attention to her body instead, but she's so devoid of modesty that I can't help but assume she simply looks in the mirror in the morning, thinks "no notes" (correct) and moves on to pouring herself into her favorite skimpy dress. She's proud of her natural beauty, and she's not about to cover it all up with goop or fabric!! She never mentions it and nobody who knows her does; she's not trying to stunt on anyone or even attract other hot people.

She's in it purely for the love of the sport and, sexiest of all, herself. This woman doesn't think she's the sexiest creature in any given room, she knows it.

And she knows that being hot doesn't affect her ability to do her job and protect the city she loves. She doesn't have to cover herself up, doll up her hair and makeup, slap on like 400 pettiskirts, etc, to be taken seriously. It's possibly even giving 'malicious compliance'. She commands so much respect that even horny gamers don't notice her entire ass is one breeze away from being out.

The deep-seated, yet subtle insanity part has pretty much already been covered; maybe in her day-to-day life of attending meetings and walking all over everyone in Wyrm's Rock, it's not so impractical, but it's a completely insane thing to wear in any sort of crisis or outdoor adventure. That this woman is willing to risk chafing or being cold (womankind's public enemy #1 and #2) simply for the drip is delightfully nutty. There is not a single moment she appears in this game where this outfit would be reasonable.

She presents herself as a stalwart, serious, determined woman, but then squeezes into a dress so tight and precarious that it knocks off her Fleet of Foot speed boost, for literally no reason aside from being vain and lowkey kind of crazy.

Good for her!

#warning this is like 2500 words #florrickology #insane simp post #next post will prob be about her face and most just simping #bg3 #counsellor florrick #bg3 spoilers

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bohemian-nights · 11 months

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HOTD has a misogynoir problem and it’s the reason why the fandom refuses to see Rhaenyra as a “villain” in Nettles story

The HOTD fandom has divided itself along the lines of the two factions of the Dance, team black vs. team green as if they themselves are actual members of the teams they root for. The inability to see nuance has resulted in major disagreements between the two camps. However, there is something seemingly that the majority of fans irrespective of their chosen team will agree on.

When it comes to the Rhaenyra, Nettles, and Daemon situation, Rhaenyra is viewed as an unquestionable victim of equal, near equal, or in some cases greater status to Nettles.

Despite the fact that she is the one that orders Nettles to be executed in her sleep, she’s somehow a woman we should all feel sorry for and take pity upon because she just had a little “breakdown.” It’s really Mysaria’s fault because she told a “lie” that Daemon and Nettles were sleeping(according to Team Black). Or it’s Daemon’s fault because he “groomed” Nettles like Rhaenyra(according to Team Green).

To put it plainly, Rhaenyra’s victimhood is due to the fact that the fandom will not view a “white” woman as the antagonist of the situation when a “black” woman is involved. It does not matter that she orders the death of an innocent young woman for merely sleeping with her husband. It does not matter that she used classism and racism(before you say “Rhaenyra isn’t a racist,” go ahead and replace “low creature” with the “n-word” then get back to me) to justify murdering said innocent woman.

Her actions are labeled as a result of stress brought about by the loss of her children. Pinning or rather passing the blame upon others who are less sympathetic. Mysaria(who though white in the books is now half Asian in the show and book(s) she is both a foreigner and a prostitute) and Daemon(who’s a white man). The HOTD fandom will not see Rhaenyra as being in the wrong because they view her as an innocent white woman. This article details this assumption, particularly in this paragraph:

In the case of Nettles, who is a brown-skinned black woman, while Rhaenyra does not cry she does have a strong emotional outburst that fans sympathize with. Nettles is seen as a victim, but the woman who tries to perpetuate racially motivated violence against her is also seen as an equal(and depending on who you ask greater) victim. Thus her own victimhood and innocence is lessened.

As far as the “lie” and the “grooming” accusations go, that too can be blamed upon fans' inability to see past their own innate racial bias.

To these fans, Nettles is only an acceptable and likable character when they can put her into a specific box of characterization. That box being that she is unquestionably a child.

She could not have slept with Daemon because she’s a child(she’s his child or he sees her like his child). Or she was groomed by Daemon because she’s a child. She can not be competition, sexual or otherwise, to Rhaenyra because she’s a child. If Nettles is a child she is not a threat because who is threatened by a child?

(Note, this is the whole reason why fans will “fawn” over Rhaena and Baela, when they don’t ignore that they exist or when they are trying to prop up a dead deformed fully white baby, because they aren’t “competition” in that way since they are Rhaenyra’s stepdaughters. Plus they are “white” in the books).

Nettles is a child in their eyes even though by Westeros standards she is an adult:

She did not sleep with Daemon even though the text explicitly frames their relationships as being romantic and sexual(unless you consider it normal for a father to bathe with his daughter).

She was groomed like Rhaenyra(again bringing in Rhaenyra’s victimhood so as to take away from her crimes) even though she’s an adult and her relationship with Daemon is described in a different manner than Daemon and Rhaenyra’s relationship beginnings.

This:

Versus this:

The only similarities are the gift giving and even then the gifts are of a completely different nature with a different motivation attached to them.

Nettles literally was homeless prior to the Dance so Daemon gifting her clothes, a hairbrush, and a mirror was actually what she needed. Daemon gifts these items and his affection without getting anything in return besides her company.

Daemon’s most selfless acts are done for Nettles. When it comes down to it, he is even willing to lay down his life for her. He sends her away to save her life, the life of a bastard girl who is looked down upon by even her defenders (like Corlys who calls her dirty and ill-favored) at the expense of his own. Disobeying his wife and queen's orders in the process, thus if he is grooming her, he sure is going about it the wrong way.

Unlike Nettles, Rhaenyra was actually underage(14 seeing how she was born in 97AC and the events detailed here happen in 111AC) by Westeros standards when Daemon begins his “courting” of her.

(The last little tidbit also proves that Daemon can not be Nettles' biological father seeing how he was in the Stepstones from late 111 AC until 115 AC and since Nettles turns 17 in 130 AC she was born on Driftmark in 113 AC).

Keep in mind that many of these fans who call Daemon and Nettles relationship abusive, label it as grooming, or deny it exists will gleefully ship Daemyra or Alysmond while saying that they are #toxic couple goals in an approving manner, that they are an epic romance and are or are going to be the OTP of the show, or wanting to see them be a #power couple.

Daemyra is straight-up grooming and as established earlier, even by Westeros standards Rhaenyra was actually a minor.

As far as Team Greens ship goes, Alysmond has the same power dynamic problems Dattles(Daemon x Nettles). Alys is a 40+ year(s) old woman(she’s described as being at least twice Aemond’s age). While Aemond is 19 or 20 in the books and 16-18 in the show.

Aemond is a prince while Alys is a bastard and a wet nurse. When Aemond takes Harrenhal he kills her entire family while sparing her and taking her as his mistress or rather a spoil of war. The stuff of romance novels people. (Note, I do like Alysmond, but to say it’s somehow better than Dattles is a huge stretch).

What do Daemyra and Alysmond have that Dattles does not? All parties involved are white. Fans don’t mind or are willing to overlook and ship emotionally manipulative incestuous based relationships or questionable power dynamic relationships, as long as both partners are white.

Both sides of the fandom infantilize Nettles to give her a sense of innocence, of blamelessness to the circumstances that befall upon her, while at the same time protecting Rhaenyra’s innocence by giving them a shared “villain.” Usually Daemon(and in some cases Mysaria).

The fandom can only sympathize with her when they view her as a child because a black woman who is a victim of racial violence at the hands of a white woman isn’t relatable. It just shouldn’t be because Rhaenyra is innocent.

Ultimately Nettles is not viewed as a dynamic character who is worthy of a complete arc that includes a heterosexual (I imagine fans would cheer on Rhaenyra and Nettles being together a la “Rhaenyra and Laena” which many fans cared more about than Laena’s relationship that she had with her husband, the father of her two girls who she had a loving marriage with in the books) romantic relationship. Especially with someone like Daemon.

She has to be a child because otherwise if Nettles is seen as a fully sexual being capable of making her own decisions, capable of consenting to a romantic relationship with a man who wants her in turn, a man who is willing to choose her over his white Valyrian(Aryan) wife, a wife who in her anger and jealousy seeks to enact violence upon her as a result of said consensual impossible relationship, she disrupts the natural order of things.

This phenomenon of desexualizing Black women characters who are love interests isn’t new or unique to HOTD. In fact, it’s pretty common in fandoms and is born as a result of misogynoir. This article is on the character Nyota Uhura from Star Trek, but it mirrors what is happening to Nettles right now:

The whole blog is a goldmine on fandom racism, particularly fandom misogynoir. I urge you to check it out especially if you are going to “speak out” on Black female characters when you yourself aren’t Black(this includes other “WOC”).

And before you say, “But Bohemian people ship Nettles with Daeron or Jace so they aren’t trying to completely desexualize her nor do they care about her being with white men because both Daeron and Jace are white,” hold onto that.

While there are some genuine fans of these crackships(neither have any basis in canon and Nettles never even meets Daeron) most of these “fans” are doing so because they know that it looks racist to desexualize Nettles, the only in-canon black character, to the point where she’s the only one without a love interest.

Yes, both Daeron and Jace are white, but you need to look at who their characters are. Daeron has no love interest in book canon so Nettles doesn’t threaten any white woman’s desirability since there is none to threaten.

Jace does have an in-canon love interest(s), Baela. and Sara Snow. They might change it up in the show, but in the books, Jace and Baela aren’t really a couple for long since he goes to the North and meets Sara Snow who he may have married. Sara Snow is a controversial character.

Most fans either don’t believe she exists(and they think she’s Cregan) or they don’t want her to exist(the fandom has a classism and a bastard problem in addition to racism, but again I’m not getting into that today).

Daeron hasn’t even shown up on the show yet(so mostly book fans are invested in him)and while he’ll probably be popular I doubt he’ll reach Daemon let alone Aemond’s popularity.

Jace dies soon into the narrative(he might die this upcoming season). He’s pretty boring in the show and outside of him being one of Rhaenyra’s baseborn sons I don’t think too many people actually care about him.

People are comfortable with putting Nettles with characters like Daeron and Jace solving many birds with one stone while not really stepping on any toes(especially the toes of white women who they actually care about).

It stops people from shipping Nettles with Daemon, because he is too desirable to be with a black woman especially when it would impact his Valyrian queen, it gives Daeron a love interest, keeps Sara Snow from showing up, and keeps the racist allegations off fans back. They are the comfortable choices. They are the non-threatening choices.

So to wrap this commentary up, the HOTD fandom has finally found something which to unite both the Greens and the Blacks. Trying to pidgin hole black female characters into narrow boxes of “acceptable” characterization that desexualizes them which serves to protect white female characters, who they sympathize with, innocence and desirability. As always, nothing brings together a fandom like good old-fashioned racism repackaged as “caring.”

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mouseratz · 2 months

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mansplaining isn't just "guy talking to you for a long time" or "guy who's very interested in a topic". I'm sure some have interpreted it that way. it is "a very specific method of a man over-explaining to someone he perceives as a woman with the assumption that the woman cannot understand said topic/with condescension/assuming the woman is ignorant and needs to be lectured to on this topic".

I can see how it can be confused but it is a real phenomenon whether passive or intentional and makes the other person feel small & stupid (the condescension- it's a way of casually signaling the woman as below the man by assuming incompetency and lack of knowledge).

social situations can be super fucking hard to parse and some of these situations may not be black and white (ie, is someone infodumping or mansplaining? how could you tell? well that would depend on the context and the way the individual expresses themselves wouldn't it?...but this also functions to the mansplainer's favor, because it's far easier for most people to say "well, are you sure that's what you experienced?" it's a small enough slight that it's easy to go unnoticed and easy to be dismissed, and easy to doubt yourself. that still doesn't mean there aren't genuine misunderstandings, but it does explain why it's really irritating when people just dismiss the concept Entirely.)

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 months

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Sanjana Friedman: Solana, you actually had a really good tweet on this that kind of sums up how I feel where, I think you were quote-tweeting Mark, where he was talking about you know, this hypothetical situation where you have a company with 30 black women, and you decide you want diversity of perspective, so you decide to hire a white man. Is that, you know, should that be illegal?

Mike Solana: Right, he asks that, cause he asks that question to the rabbit, and he was asking it like, obviously it should be okay to hire the white man in this case because you want that diverse opinion.

Friedman: And you’re pointing out how like incredibly patronizing it is, and of course incorrect, of Mark Cuban to assume that like somehow 30 black women are all going to be this perspectival monolith, right? They’re all gonna have the same views on things and, you know, you can understand that like, white man is gonna have X opinion and black woman is gonna have Y opinion, and like you wanna have roughly equal representation of those two opinions.

I just think the only way out of this is litigation, I agree. Like, someone needs to basically take a company that’s proven to be engaging in racist hiring practices to court and basically get enshrined, yet again, that there are penalties for this, this kind of thing.

But on a basic sort of, what does this say about the people who are pushing these hiring practices? I think it’s just patronising and as we always say, it’s really racist. Like, why are they assuming that because of your racist sexuality you have a certain set of opinions it’s just definitionally racist.

Solana: Yeah, I wanna actually underscore that point that you just raised on the 30 black women thing. Because it is crazy that he said this casually out loud. He said, I mean Matt, pull up the tweet.

He is saying that if you have a room of 30 black women, you really only have one opinion there. And there is, there’s a benefit to your company in bringing in another “diverse" opinion. He’s trying to sort of turn this on the anti-DEI people, because his assumption is that the anti-DEI people are actually white supremacists, and they will see this and they will think, "oh wow, there’s a dangerous possibility there of 30 black women, like we better bring in a white opinion."

But of course, the anti-DEI people are like, that’s crazy that you think all black women think exactly the same, and that you said it out loud, and that you’re the one who is over here pretending that you’re anti-racist. It’s fucking bananas and I think it’s just, that stuff is definitely over culturally and now there’s really, really fascinating fight to save face.

Like, Mark is someone, Mark Cuban is someone who has, you know, put a lot into this conversation publicly and to just kind of give up and be like, okay you know the federal government is now telling me I am potentially at risk of litigation here, I better just back up and apologise for my racism and try and do better. Like, he’s really trying to just kind of just rewrite history here, and get to a point where, I don’t know, he hasn't just taken another massive L in what was really just like, I mean this was 24 hours straight, he wouldn’t let it go. But it’s been at this point I think months of this.

#Pirate Wires #The White Rabbit #Mark Cuban #Sanjana Friedman #Mike Solana #DEI #diversity hire #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity #equity #inclusion #racial discrimination #religion is a mental illness

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gingerylangylang1979 · 1 year

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About the Carmy x Sydney Ship and Race... Cause I’m Tired of Talking About It

This ramble is in response to the ask I sort of lazily answered here.

I get what Anonymous is referring to, I made a whole post about it, but I think my answer may come as a shock to many. After thinking more on a series of interesting posts regarding the ship lately that were very race focused and a bigger assessment of my own posts and what I see coming from all sides, I think everybody needs to take a deep breath and CHILL.

Yes, fandom can be extremely racist regarding Black women and BWWM ships. I know this. I’ve been a fan of several shows featuring both and have witnessed the bias and resultant shenanigans that ensue just because a Black woman is onscreen. We always get less grace, we are always the subject of intense scrutiny about our looks especially the darker we are, we have historically been marginalized and sidelined as the trusty side-kick, asexual, masculinized, made the default lesbian, made the butt of jokes. I recently had to stop watching a show and stop following an Instagram account because of both’s outdated reliance on punchlines based on stereotypes delivered by the white stars. We seem to have come far but we have a long way to go.

Sydney is receiving the same treatment I’ve seen with other Black female characters. I always go back to Michonne on TWD as a touchstone because that was the ugliest I saw fans get about a Black woman, especially one shipped with a white man, especially when the ship went canon. We only have one season so far. I haven't seen the anti-Sydney sentiments get as bad as the anti-Michonne sentiments but I have seen some really disgusting takes that I predict will get worse as seasons progress. Sydney gets a special flavor of scorn and dismissal that I see solely reserved for Black women.

That said, and I may make some enemies saying this, everyone who doesn’t want Sydney with Carmy isn’t racist. I think there are often conclusions that because the ship is BWWM every anti is a racist or has unconscious bias. The misogynoir weaponized against Sydney can exist and be acknowledged without making the knee jerk defense that it’s all race-based dissent against the ship. I would say a good percentage is but I have no way to quantify. I don’t know these people, I can’t read minds. Some opinions and motivations are obviously coming from a bad faith perspective but sometimes so are the categorizations assigned to any dissent. Some people just aren’t going to like the ship and it may or may not have anything to do with race.

I don’t watch Ted Lasso but I did watch the X-Files until I didn’t. Both shows historically have fandoms with anti-ship wars. All parties involved are white. I’m not trying to “what about” this but I think we have to have some perspective. Some people are just never going to want romance on a show, some people are just not going to want a non-platonic relationship between co-workers, some people are just not going to see what you see, some people are just not going to be fond of the pairing you think is only natural. Does that dismiss those that may be hiding behind those opinions? No. But assuming that is always the case is not healthy.

The truth that Sydney is the new hated Black woman on the block and not all dissent about her with Carmy is racist can both be true at the same time. And assessing that every anti is racist doesn’t serve the ship. Point it out where it exists but don’t make assumptions. I saw a recent post on another platform that basically just blatantly accused everyone against the ship as being racist or biased and while I get a lot of the points it just came across as bad faith and out of touch. I even backed up some of the points but the OP didn’t seem to get why the thread devolved into the chaos it did. Bad faith only makes one look foolish.

I think I’m coming into a place of my Black womanhood where yes I’m tired of the shenanigans but I’m also tired of focusing the anger on all corners of my life. I’m not saying I never want to talk about it, I’m not saying it won’t inherently manifest in spaces that should be safe, I'm just saying I’m deciding more and more where it belongs and how I react to things colors my experience.

Does it matter if biased people hate my ship? In the grand scheme of things nothing I say or present is going to change minds. The only thing that will change that is if they keep watching and start to see what I see. I can’t force that, I can’t diatribe my way to that, I can’t argue that. All the arguing and anger does is upset me who has bigger fish to fry. I can’t expect fandom and media to satisfy my needs for diversity, equity, and inclusion in the way I want. It’s just a bunch of broken people, just as broken as I am, expressing opinions and creating without personally thinking about me at all. I have to make the change I want, not expect it from others.

Maybe because I gave up judgment for Lent (hardest Lent ever) I’m just trying to reevaluate my expectations of others. It’s a struggle, I fail at it daily. But I know the place I need that struggle the least is on the internet with strangers.

So yes, the BWWM ship controversy can be exhausting but I’m not going to let it be. I’ll continue to engage in discussions that touch on those things but I’m not going to just sit over here seething at every anti-post and ruminating about racism. Sorry.

#the bear fx #carmy x sydney #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #fandom culture #misogynoir #unbothered

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whoreforharlow · 2 years

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Just to add to the discourse on Jack working with Chris Brown, and how that makes him look because he says he's a man who respects black women...

Both Ella Mai and H.E.R. are both black women featured on the album as well. On the list of who should not be collaborating with him, black women are at the top, black men second, and then white people. If black women are collabing with Chris Brown, after EVERYTHING he's done to us, my expectation that a white man would miss the opportunity to jump on the album is wayyyyy low. If a white man observes black women engaging and supporting Chris Brown, it's a solid assumption to believe that he wouldn't find any issues in it. Many believe "he's paid his dues" and have moved on from his negative behavior. Now, this is not at all an excuse, but it's more of an explanation. We can't hate the white man for not being in our corner, when black men and women can't even be in our corner. The most woke of them will only mimic our actions, and if we don't demonstrate the respect that we expect, they won't know what to do but copy what we do and how we view ourselves. If we pointing fingers, the black women on the album should be put on the hot seat before we ever look at the white man.

Also, this is an industry, and for him to pass up an opportunity to work with the biggest names would be a disservice to his career. Like for him to take what is quite literally personal moral stances against people who are problematic, he wouldn't get anywhere. Does he give up his dream of being a big shot legend? Because the reality is you can't reach the GOAT status that he's looking for, without playing the "game" set before him. Can we isolate and blame him solely, sure you can, but it's unfair to try one without trying all. He's unproblematic beyond calling himself an alpha, but who he associates with is questionable. Could he do better? Yes. Will doing better get him the results he wants? Not necessarily, or at least not in the way and in the time frame he's looking for.

I don't support the idea of overlooking wrong because everyone else is doing it, but tbh this mentality is SLIM in this world. Many will do wrong because EVERYONE else is doing it. Just as I said, it's not an excuse it's just an explanation. Would we all like for every misogynistic, colorist, homophobic artist to be canceled completely? Yes. But would that leave us with a very small percentage of the current mainstream media socialites? Also yes lol. Now realistically, we would have to really sit with ourselves and think about who do we listen to? Who are on our playlists? Even if they themselves are unproblematic, have they associated themselves with problematic people? Then by the logic we're using with Jack, literally all of our "faves" gotta go.

As for Anitta... to be completely honest, beyond her just being annoying lol, I didn't know anything about her. It wasn't until I saw people saying she was a racist that I knew she was, well, racist. From what I could see on Tumblr, A LOT of blogs didn't know, and found out from the Grapevine on here too. So with that being said, what can we assume that Jack knows about her? What do his black friends know about her to warn him about her? When I Google it, I saw stuff about 2013 and 2017... they met like this year lol. Again, not an excuse, but an explanation. From what I can tell, Jack doesn't spend time on social media to be reading up on the Anitta racism threads that span back almost a decade ago. Realistically, I doubt that he and his friends are researching the folks they hang out beyond their discography. Should he have someone on his team doing that shit for him?? 10000% because honestly being friends with Anitta isn't really something necessary for his image, if anything, bringing it down. I definitely think he's needs a black woman on his PR team, because as literally the most ostracized demo, we SEE everything lmao, can't get shit passed us without alarms going tf off.

Baby Boy is honestly on the denser side of the pound cake, and that's okay, I don't expect too much from a white man from Kentucky. But it's just that, I don't expect much. He's just trying to climb the ranks, play the game, and the only reason we're mad is because he's "supposed" to be the one good one... when in reality black men should be that for us black women. If we look for accountability, our own men should be held with more expectation and standard than a white man. I just don't like that we've elevated him to such a standard that he, as a white man, does not necessarily have to hold up. Take that as you want, but I said what I said. "I love black women", "I support black women", "I admire black women" are not conclusive statements, it's not solely black women that he's into. We're not the end all be all for him, that would be a FETISH lol. If he dates a white woman, that doesn't negate or contradict ANY of those above statements, but yall have contorted this man into a box that feels good, and will take it as him just pandering and capitalizing on black women. And before I hear "well he just talked sooooo much about loving black women, he obviously was pandering" HE TALKED ABOUT BLACK WOMEN BECAUSE HE WAS ASKED ABOUT BLACK WOMEN!!! Every interview he gets a black women question and he's gotta answer it lol, yall want him to say "I love all women" to that question? Yall would throw a fit at that too lol do I think he's capitalizing on black women, absolutely, but is that any different than what black men who literally rap the most disgusting stuff about us do too? NEITHER are correct, but yall just mad at Jack because we're letting a white man do it to us and not just black men and we feel a way about it. Welp, don't support his or any one else's pandering... its that easy. Black women are not dumb, we know what we're doing with these white men. We eat up any amount of attention because our own men won't give it to us, it's hard out here, and I do it too so I'm not judging. But there is an accountability that we need to take on. It's not just Jack.

#jack harlow #s has thoughts some times

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reasoningdaily · 1 year

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How Microaggressions Relate To Systemic Biases

Inclusion, like privilege, is invisible: we only notice it when we don’t have it. As a fully privileged White man, it is extremely rare for me to feel excluded, and when I first started working in the Diversity & Inclusion (D&I) space, it was not easy to recognize (or acknowledge) the telltale signs of the privilege that impacts virtually every aspect of my life.

As I embarked on my new career, I first began noticing some of the more blatant examples or racism, sexism, ableism, ageism, and all the other -isms that impact individuals because of various personal traits: the men who would never let women get a word in during a meeting; the Black women who were mistaken for servers and asked to get coffee for a business meeting; the careless people who parked in front of a curb cut that someone in a wheelchair needed to get to their home; I even witnessed police brutality at the expense of two young Black students.

But just as our sensitivity increases when we learn a new skill, it didn’t take long to start noticing more and more situations in which perfectly nice people—often inadvertently—said or did things that, while seemingly harmless, revealed a lack of caring or awareness about people from different backgrounds. These are often referred to as microaggressions, “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative attitudes toward stigmatized or culturally marginalized groups.”

I must confess that, when I first learned this term, I found it hard to believe that microaggressions could be as pervasive as some people suggested, or that they could really have a significant negative impact on those who suffered them. But as I heard stories from more and more individuals and read about the material, negative toll that microaggressions exact on their targets, I began to understand why it is so important to become aware of microaggressions and to know how to react to them.

Recently I had the opportunity to spend a couple of days at a large medical facility near New York City, accompanying a family member who needed a surgical procedure. While waiting in the pre-op area, our nurse, a White woman, was also helping a patient directly across from us, who happened to be a Black woman. After asking us several standard questions for the admission process, the nurse started the same procedure with the other patient. One of the questions was to confirm the patient’s address, which we overheard to be in New Rochelle. Next, the nurse asked for the name and address of the pharmacy. After the patient mentioned the pharmacy and gave a street address, the nurse asked “so, that’s in the Bronx?”

If you are not from New York, you may not realize that New Rochelle is a very affluent suburb just north of the city, boasting some of the most expensive real estate in the area and a high median household income, with about 65% White residents. The Bronx, although geographically close to New Rochelle, has less than 30% White residents, and ranks among the lowest in terms of both median household income and real estate values.

The nurse actually seemed like a nice, open-minded person, and I suspect she was completely unaware that she had said anything inappropriate. And if someone had pointed out to her the bias implicit in her comment, she probably would have shrugged it off as a simple mix-up. The fact that the nurse subconsciously associates Black people with low-income neighborhoods, does not mean that she is racist; but it does mean that she is unaware of her biases and of the negative impact that her careless mistake probably had on that patient. Would you want to feel insulted just before going into surgery? What other mistaken assumptions might the medical staff make based on the patient’s gender and skin color?

It is useful to ponder the relationship between the type of microaggression we witnessed in this specific context, with the staggering racial disparities that exist in America’s healthcare system. It is common to ascribe these healthcare disparities to “systemic racism,” but what is systemic racism? And what is the relationship between microaggressions and systemic racism?

I suggest that systemic racism is not a cause, but rather an outcome, and that microaggressions and other subtle forms of bias are the visible symptoms and, often, the cause of the disparities we observe at the systemic level.

Systemic racism is what we observe when we compare healthcare outcomes across the population and find, for example, that the pregnancy-related mortality rate for Black women in the U.S. is three times as high as it is for white women, a gap that increases with age and, perhaps surprisingly, with the level of education (the ratio jumping to a factor of five for college-educated women). But what causes these disparities in outcomes? In a recent video for the series Real Talk, Real Change, host Carlos Watson interviews a number of experts and people who have been impacted by racial inequities in healthcare. What is clear from the poignant experiences shared by Watson himself and by several of his guests, is that it is often the (consciously or unconsciously) biased behaviors of individual healthcare providers that leads to individual problems, which, aggregated across populations, contribute to the observed racial disparities.

Of course, there are other factors that contribute to healthcare disparities, such as the small number of Black doctors. But while increasing the number of Black doctors would be great, it would not eliminate the problem that exists today—and much of that problem arises from a lack of cultural awareness and appreciation that leads healthcare workers sometimes to be dismissive of Black patients, or to fail to understand some of the cultural norms that are reflected in the way Black people, and people of color in general, interact with the healthcare system.

In the two days during which my family member was hospitalized, we witnessed other examples of microaggressions and cultural insensitivity, targeting not just people of color, but women in general. For instance, in one case we saw two male surgeons react very dismissively to a female nurse’s concerns about some bleeding from a surgical incision. Although the issue was probably inconsequential from a clinical standpoint, the surgeons’ dismissive attitude is another example of microaggression that can have significant ramifications: making nurses feel disrespected can only have negative consequences on their ability to care for their patients or to speak up about other problems they may notice.

While these particular examples were in the context of healthcare, the same kind of reasoning can be applied to other contexts, including corporations. In any organization, microaggressions and other negative experiences have a deleterious impact on individuals. When aggregated across a company, we see these as systemic biases, such as women and people of color having lower promotion and retention rates than their White, male counterparts. Here, too, systemic biases are the outcome, not the cause.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t systemic biases in organizations, such as the way performance evaluations are performed, which can be prone to bias. But even in those cases, it is often the individual biases, when they are allowed to accumulate and impact individuals, that lead to the inequities we observe at the macroscopic or system level.

Failing to recognize that systemic biases are the effect rather than the cause is, in itself, very dangerous: managers and leaders can always shrug their shoulders and point out that they are not racist or sexist, that it’s the system. In other words, blaming systemic biases as the cause of disparities essentially creates an excuse for individuals to behave inappropriately, and it blinds us to the true causes of the disparities that plague so many organizations.

Only by learning to recognize microaggressions, acknowledging their impact on the entire organization, and putting measures into place to prevent these biased behaviors from impacting others, will we be able to achieve greater inclusion and equality in our organizations and in our society.

#How Microaggressions Relate To Systemic Biases #systemic biases

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destinyc1020 · 2 years

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I see some girlies are rooting for austin to be with a WOC but i don’t know if i see it 👀 maybe he would look good with some chocolate but i think he prefers vanilla with a little swirl 😏(white girls with tanned skin and brown hair/features) or filipinos since vanessa’s half filipino it never really dawned on me that v isn’t really considered as being a white woman i used to think she was hispanic

Idk which "girlies" you're talking about Anon, but I don't understand how fans (who don't even know somebody personally) can think they know who a celebrity would possibly date?? 🥴 Are you in the man's head and I just don't know about it?? 😅

I just find fans to be really presumptuous sometimes when it comes to things like this. "I don't know if I see it".... Well, it doesn't matter if you do or you don't lol.😅

Tbh, I never would have looked at Tom (a British man) and thought that he would date Zendaya, a black American woc from Oakland lol. But yet, here we are! 5 years going strong lol. 😂

People have to stop looking at people and making split-second assumptions about them. You can't just look at what someone looks like and try to assume that you know what is going on in their head or who they may be attracted to. And you can't even go by who people have dated in the past either.

My FIRST white bf looked NOTHING like the previous bfs I had ever dated in the past (they were all black), but he and I were friends for a while and we just CLICKED and he confessed that he had secretly liked me for a very long time, and so we started dating! BOOM! Plain and simple as that. 😂

People just click w/each other, and sometimes that's all that it is. 🤷 Sometimes it's also proximity and who/what you're exposed to. I don't think Tom would have even had the opportunity to date Zendaya, let alone even meet her if they hadn't been cast together in the Spider-Man franchise. Sometimes you are just exposed to different people and you and that person end up clicking and liking each other. Plain and simple. 😊 Let's not make it more complicated than it has to be lol.

RE: Austin...

Idk too much about him. All I'll say is that based on some of the interviews I've seen of him so far, he seems like a pretty chill, kind, down-to-earth type of guy....kinda shy...reserved, but very charming, and seems to also get along with just about everyone. He gives me the vibe that he could actually date a whole variety of different women...just judging by his body language and how he talks to people of diverse backgrounds.

Besides, imo Austin has already dated a "woc" for almost a decade.🤷 Vanessa is a woc imo.

But I will agree with you on one thing... He does look good with some "chocolate" lol aka black women lol. 😏😏

But then again, I like to think that we black women make EVRYONE look good though lol. 😉

Lemmeee stop before I get hate trashed in my inbox lol 🤭 🤭

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gaykarstaagforever · 7 months

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I did that post before about YouTube Music putting together a pretty lame Autumn playlist for like one specific woman they know. They also do one called "Ultimate Halloween Hits," and I figure it HAS TO BE better, right?

Note: before I even went into this, my assumption is that this is specifically "Halloween Party Music," because these always are. And fair enough, I suppose, though that immediately means there is going to be random pop shit thrown in that is only tangentially related to spookiness.

What's weird is they never call the lists Halloween party lists. And that is sus. Like, why are you being coy about it? Or does Halloween imply 'Halloween party' to the straights?

I don't know their world, and I am okay maintaining that.

Let's see what people with two kids want to hear while they're getting drunk dressed as puns and sexy skeletons or whatever!:

We start off strong, here. The top 3 are how you start one of these. The only problem is that Screamin' Jay Hawkins "I Put a Spell on You" isn't No. 4. That man singlehandedly invented gothic shock rock. Come on, guys.

Instead we get..."Everybody" by the Backstreet Boys.

...I'm going to need to see your math on this one. The key is 'tangentially related to Halloween.' This is...not.

Jesus.

"Black Magic" by Little Mix at least has that title, even if that is literally all it has.

"Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell is another staple. Fine.

I'll let "Zombie" pass because, again, title. Though if you actually know what that song is really about, it will inevitably kill the vibe.

"Running Up That Hill" is legally required to be on every playlist any white person or white person-programmed algorithm creates in 2023. So while it has nothing to do with Halloween and I find that mid song highly overrated, I begrudgingly accept that it must be here.

...I guess it was in "Stranger Things" or something, so is that the excuse this time? Did a face get eaten while it played? I disliked that show before disliking that show was popular, so I don't know.

Doja Cat is pretty scary, so that's okay.

Interesting that they went with Nelly Furtado's "Maneater" over Hall & Oates's "Maneater." I mean neither should really be here, but I guess they had to pick one.

We end okay, at least.

At least Jay Hawkins squeaked in at the end of the list of your 51 Halloween songs.

Guys.

Interesting choice of cover for The Addams Family Theme. They go Baroque with it a minute in. Interesting flex.

Now for the omissions. No Beetlejuice? No Tim Burton movie music at all?? (They have "Jump In the Line" by Harry Belafonte, at least, but...) No Rob Zombie? No The Cramps? No "Love Song for a Vampire" by Annie Lennox? No "Kiss from a Rose," the most late October song ever?

No Nick Drake? No "Black-Eyed Dog"? Hell, I would've taken "Pink Moon".

No "Tubular Bells." You didn't put the iconic music from The Exorcist on you Halloween party playlist.

No Toccata and Fugue in D Minor? No Hall of the Mountain King? No Mars, Bringer of War?

No "Hedwig's Theme" from Harry Potter?

No "This is Halloween"?????

That last one is kind of unforgivable.

Is this a rights issue? Do online playlists have to pay to group songs together?

I am honestly shocked Taylor Swift's "Bad Blood" isn't here. I mean, good, I hate that song. But still. It would have made more idiot sense than that Backstreet Boys song.

iHeart Radio is kicking your ass on this, Google. And I have to listen to local car dealership commercials in between songs on that.

#rant #youtube music sucks #google #halloween

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afr0-thunder · 7 months

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[Poor Chronicles Pt. 18]

*BEHIND STARBUCKS EDITION*

“How are you ‘poor’, but you’re almost ahead on ‘monthly expenses’…whatever that means?”

Why do people think poor means, “I live in a box.”? Are you fucking retarded or something? Like you are aware that they live the same life…just poor. You’re broke. Worry about that. How are you struggling with a $30K or more income?

Also, I’m not a dumbass. Fairly easy.

Contrary to this poor lifestyle, I was asked to go OT this week by turning my two of my last three shifts into doubles. Was not thrilled about these spontaneous decisions, but I still have a No “No!” policy. Still poor, just not poorer.

We’ve got a new regular. Her hair is red, so I was like “Thumpaz?”, then I was like “Can’t be.”. Wasn’t a natural red. Ass wasn’t like bongos. Hair still looked great. Ass still was fat. She works at Sephora from what I know. She’s a make up artist from what I hear. My African American manager and I did a joint effort on this information between today and yesterday. I got the first half. He got the second. She was a bit shy today. I was right next to him for the second part.

The amount of women that come in with their significant other and I have to ignore her attraction or flirting is outrageous. I’m just like “Bitch!”. Sometimes they just don’t notice, sometimes they moderately intervene. I just try to refuse escalating the intensity of the conversation. There was one today that had two babies strapped to their chests (one each). I was just like, “Ma’am this is not the time to explore your newfound interest in African American men…he’s watching us…”. The other was an older woman. She always knew about hers, this was just the revival. I was almost in tears because she didn’t know I was catching on. I noticed he hadn’t though. I was like, “Bro! This bitch is DIRTY. Please stop her.”. He did no such thing.

In another instance, the other night, it’s about 10:20pm. I see this couple. Woman closer to me, but east, facing west. Man further, to her side, also facing west. I’m coming from north. I notice she had an outrageous poke. We make eye contact. She literally faces him entirely and flashes me her whole ass. It was great, but I literally would commit suicide if I was white. That is hell equivalent.

THE DISRESPECT CONTINUES! My former favorite coworker asked about my background. He identified me as one of…THEM! He asked if I was fucking Puerto Rican and thought I was biracial. He then proceeds to ask if both of my parents are light skinned. Does it take two gingers to make a fucking ginger? I realized he’s a minor and may or may not have taken biology up to that point. He then goes on to (in shock) say “Really?” about 4 times when I tell him both of my parents are African American. I think he got scared because I was clearly pissed by this assumption and did not laugh with him until the last, “Really?” because otherwise my anger was going to show if he asked one more fucking time. He then went on to say our Puerto Rican coworker had an “afro” and said he would’ve thought I was one. I said, “I don’t consider that an afro”. After 2 minutes of silence I just said “Hair and Teeth…that’s the difference” and just moved on.

He later asked us (My African American manager and I) “Polo Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger?”. He was so uncomfortable when without hearing the other’s response first said, “Tommy Hilfiger don’t like black people”. He didn’t know what to say.

Back to my baby mommas. I’m getting one is Venezuelan. I never saw myself with a Venezuelan, but no bad bitch I know is going unfucked. Ironically there are a lot nearby my job and where I live. I saw a few at my laundromat as well. I’m also getting one of them is Chinese and her name is “Mi”. I also am getting that one is Mexican and she works for the fucking Chicago Police Department. Typical Mexican shit. Being a fucking OPP! One of my baby mommas… I’m also getting majority of them will not speak English (or very good English), so I’ll spend most of my time reading to them, teaching them to read in English or watching American film/television.

They got rid of one ingredient in my favorite chicken salad. It is one of my favorite ingredients, so I’ve decided to not only make some alterations to it, but also use it until we say farewell. I miss watching Christmas movies (not the typical ones like “Elf” though) and listening to Juice WRLD. These are terrible living conditions as far as occupying time goes, but oh well. I thought I would post this tonight, but Starbucks will likely be closed. I will have to check the week 4 and 5 NFL scores when I post. The Bears were up 21 by the time I checked and turned on the TV to them losing right after I got home.

Beth Behrs makes me want to impregnate her. That’s a fine white bitch.

I have been getting more ideas for my kids lately, they should be having a fun life. Enjoy it all.

Eagles vs. 49ers NFC Championship Game. Chiefs are pissing me off with these 23-20 field goal win games. Shit’s been going on for 3 seasons. Lamar Jackson…help…please!

- MH (2023)

[10/05/2023 - 8:24PM]

[10/08/2023 - 2:20PM]

#personal #poor chronicles #poor #poverty #life #lesson #life lesson #life lessons #guidance #struggle #chicago #2023 #LilMark #PUNKAssMark #afr0-thunder

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lycan-bytez-genuine-corner · 9 months

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you don’t have to experience the heightened levels of oppression that a black queer does. someone who is black AND queer are doubly harassed because of the color of their skin (something they also cannot change) AND their sexuality. i’m sorry you had to face homophobia in high school, nobody should have to experience that, but that was exclusive to you being gay. it wasn’t exclusive to you being gay AND white. can you imagine being harassed for being gay AND black??? can you imagine walking down the street and someone calling you the n-word because of the color your skin and then calling you a fag on top of that????? the idea of intersectionality is very real for black and brown queers and for white queers to act like asking you guys to acknowledge the white privileges you have shouldn’t be that difficult for you to understand. we sympathize with you for the oppression that you’ve faced as a gay man but why can’t you do the same for us when we have to live every day being black AND queer? that’s literally all they were saying and to derail a post that is very true like that, does so much more harm to black and brown queers in ways that i don’t think you understand. again, i feel like you were trying in good faith and that’s the way i’m coming to you but if you weren’t, then op had every right to block you because it is exhausting having to explain why being black and queer is dangerous in the world without white people telling us our experiences don’t matter.

I failed to keep this short so no one is going to read it but here it is after 7 revisions:

* If you feel the need to explain these things than I regret to inform you: I know. POC face outsized oppression for simply existing in America and they often times get silenced and shoved to the side. I actively aided in a local, small BLM rally and gave out water. I held a sign and that's all I did, because it isn't really my place to speak or advocate to others when the people who are directly affected should have that power instead. I've been to rallies and really internalize the fact that it isn't my place to speak, so I don't. That's why I said nothing that is close to undermining the struggles POC face, cause I've actively seen it and heard it from victims. I've seen and heard the terrible state of reservations in the US. But OP was undermining the struggles, and deaths of others on the basis of their skin which is a thing that nobody should be doing. And if you want to act like that didn't happen, their response I believe speaks for itself in it's entirety with a blanket refusal to read an inch of what I wrote. They could not give a singular fuck less about the struggles of others is the vibe I got and still have.

* I thought a lot about what to even post on this ask and on OPs post and made several drafts, but would delete them cause "It's not my place to speak" but when what I'm seeing is "The events I experienced don't matter cause of my skin color" I decided to post it. The only mistake I made is the assumption that the average person is capable of kindness, when really a majority of people are selfish and don't care about ANY issue unless it hits them directly, and I'm the weird one for actively caring about issues that don't affect me in the slightest. It's my bad for assuming there's any level of nuance online, any room for thought that isn't, ultimately, echochambers.

* The active statement I saw from OP read a lot closer to "White people who suffer oppression don't REALLY suffer" which actively carries weight for the oppressor by undermining any oppression as being acceptable as long as the victim is white. Can you get more oppressed than dead? Cause under OP's logic a dead white trans woman is actively less tragic than a living Black trans woman. That's not intersectionality and recognizing white privilege, that's victim blaming someone in regards to their race, because you're ACTIVELY minimizing the violence on a racial basis which not only defends the oppressor but actually minimizes the perception of white privilege, cause ultimately I'd agree with the economic, legal, business, political, religious, historical, healthcare advantages of white privilege but I think the line of that ends when someone is straight up murdered for being trans, is denied that opportunity to work because they married a man. Because if it's the EXACT SAME oppression, should it matter less cause they aren't getting pulled over at random by racist cops? Should it matter less cause they technically have a better chance at better funded education years ago as a kid? Cause white people DO get opportunities POC do not on a completely BS basis, but is that so strong that it's straight up acceptable to say that a white queer who gets fired for being trans, gets kicked out of their house as a 13 year old for being gay is just not that bad, and if they talk about that experience they are stealing the opportunity for POC to talk. Should white queers just never talk about any oppression they face, cause that's the read I've gotten from those I've known since I've been aware I'm gay. Is that really the message that should be internalized, cause that's what I read time and time again: If you talk about your experience you are directly harming POC so you need to sit down, shut up and just never talk about how you got beat for your sexuality because then YOU'RE the oppressor.

* This is the only time in my life I've EVER talked about the harassment i received from bigots IRL online, and I excluded a lot still because I get told to sit down and shut up on this. I want you to REALLY think about why I don't talk about it when I'll appear as a racist (Or an oppressor, you pick) cause I'm silencing others by just stating my own experience. The only people I've told about it IRL I can count on one hand, and the only post I make of it online I'm STILL downplaying it in an attempt to not suck oxygen out of the room for other voices SOLELY BECAUSE I'm white and therefore feel like I can't talk about it without silencing others who have it worse. The only reason I brought it up to begin with was that OP unabashedly undermined a thing that took a lot of years of my life to get over, and then when given that experience, basically told me to fuck off. That's not just a lack of kindness, it's straight up enough to make me depressed for a whole night and really attack the idea of allyship is worth it when the people who claim they care about this exact issue are just straight up willing to say that A experience doesn't matter cause of the color of someone's skin. That's the direct read I got, and I know I should try to be better and try to make sure people who are oppressed in ways I'm not get help and are allowed to just exist without fear of persecution, but I've never felt more slapped in the face than when I read that. Cause ultimately, nobody wants to be told their struggles don't matter. The struggles and oppression of POC I honestly rank as one of the most important issues facing society, cause it's criminal how many Black neighborhoods are treated as not important to upkeep, not important to give clean water to, not important to give quality healthcare to, let alone the sadistic violence committed onto those communities by those who should be helping them ala cops and government. It's fucked up beyond belief that having a Spanish or Korean last name can get your resume shredded when applying for a job, it's not right that Black people get discriminated against in home loans. These are horrible, deep issues and I don't need to tell you that, as there's endless amounts of Black people who are more educated on those topics who can explain it and tell you how they would fix it. It's not my place to do that speaking so I don't, but I never intended, nor think I did, undermine their struggles. However it's beyond screwed up that real people's real, horrific deaths don't matter cause of the color of their skin. After all, the oppressed person was white, so it's more acceptable and less tragic.

(As a tangent, you're downplaying what I experienced just as much as OP did, cause I'm not "Doubly oppressed" like it's some sick competition. I don't believe for a nanosecond that you're sorry for that either, cause again, I'm not in your immediate in group and therefore, as an other, my problems aren't really that important.)

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kookiecrumb · 3 years

Text

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

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yinses · 3 years

Text

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !!

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind. really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature.

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna blessings #sukuna ryomen

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

Text

Worth The Eternity: Dark! Bucky x Reader (Vampire AU + Mob AU + Soulmate AU)

This is for @cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge. Congratulations, keep slaying! I wrote this instead of studying, so pray for my paper please lmao.

A/N: This tired girl tried.

WARNINGS: something between dubcon and noncon present. Triggering, darkish themes.

Summary of sorts: Ever seen Hotel Transylvania 1/2/3? In this AU, mythical creatures exist and have soulmates and you feel a zing if you are blessed enough to encounter them.

"Boss, we narrowed it down to these core three suspects.” A husky voice, slightly muffled by the sack on your head, entered your ears and you had a hard time being calm.

You had been picked up from your office, specifically the basement of Oscorp Industries while entering your sleek silver car. A pinch in your neck and everything comically blurred. Next thing you know, you are waking up with your entire body sore, your muscles and joints screaming and begging for freedom from tight restraints. Your vision is black, as if you are staring into an abyss and your vision is filled with white and red dancing spots forming patterns, maybe from the hours of inactivity.

Muffled noises of protest and scraping of metal against the concrete floor entered your ears and you realized you are not the only one here held captive. You racked your mind for possible explanations but couldn’t come up with one.

You lived a very simple life, even as the vice president of Oscorp industries. No messing around, no rivalries with other employees, no butting heads with the seniors on the Director’s board. Was this a ploy against the company? Or a domination statement against the weaker species, the humans?

Lucky enough for you, you realized you would soon find out as the sound of a shutter opening and metal clanking noisily filled your ears.

“Took you long enough, Scott. Fill me in.” Another brooding voice reprimanded jokingly and a million goosebumps traveled the path of your skin as you involuntarily shuddered.

“Yes Boss. We tracked the missing sum to the account of this man on the left. He has fourteen other accounts under different names and nationalities, pretty hard to trace but not impossible luckily. This proved he is shady so he’s most definitely involved.”

“This ginger on the right, he made the suspicious call with weird words so we believe he pretty much passed the verdict, calling the shots with the codewords. He has had several surgeries, his face is fucking silicon at this point but his DNA showed us his true identity, Mr. Rumlow here is the Consigliere of The Midnight Moon.”

You sat and listened, piecing together whatever you understood. The pack/mob name more than rung a bell, it scared you shitless. You were quick to catch on, realising that you were caught in an inter species scruffle.

“This shit just got interesting folks. Alright, where does Miss Sexy Legs fit in all this?”

The pencil skirt you wore wasn’t the most modest piece of clothing to exist and the spaghetti straps blouse was a bad choice considering the sheer coldness in this warehouse, the temperature only seemed to go down with the entry of your kidnappers but it’s not like you knew this was going to happen.

You could only assume with your legs on display that you were the one being sexualised and talked about.

“We are not sure about her though, that’s why I said suspects. We have proof the call was made from her phone but the videos show her lending it to a creepy stranger at a café. It might be really good acting but it’s highly unlikely. We brought her in because in the transfer of the stolen cash, her account was an intermediary but it’s a good chance that she was tricked when her phone was borrowed by Mr. Rumlow. Also, she’s a human, you see?”

If it was you being talked about, you felt a jot of relief, just a smudge because at least they were aware you weren’t involved in whatever game they were playing. That didn’t necessarily ensure your freedom, but hey, you were willing to take anything at that point.

“That’s the sweet fucking scent I keep on smelling!” The leader exclaimed as if he made a great discovery, a cure for a pandemic or cancer you’d think. His gruff voice almost had a light, cheery undertone to it, too unlike of a man who was wronged and cheated and was close to murdering someone no doubt. These mobsters are always maniacs like The Joker.

“It sucks that you brought her here. She might not be guilty, but now she knows too much. She’d make a good blood bag though. Maybe I’ll just have a taste, who knows?” The ‘boss’ made a disturbing slurping noise and your heart stopped at his words, a tear almost escaping your eye.

Discussion about drinking blood? You were most definitely in The Vamps territory, your assumption about the inter-species conflict true. You had no doubt you were the weakest in this creepy space, the frailest here, most probably the only human.

“Show me the bastards’ faces.” Like the flip of a switch, the joking man swapped his personality and all but growled. You heard the ripping of cloth and a man gagging, his shrieks muffled. Another flurry of movements and another man retching on the fabric could be heard.

“Well, hello Mr. Rumlow. I must say, brown suited you better.” A horde of chuckles made you widen your eyes, even though only black still filled your vision, as you realised there were at least a dozen twisted, sick men in the room. The fact that they were silent as fuck till now only showed you how disciplined and regimented these soldiers were.

“This one has a pretty face, boss.” You felt the sack ripped off you, and your eyes closed with the sudden flooding of the lights. Your eyes sealed due to hours of inactivity and you kept them shut, afraid to face your tormenter.

A cold hand cupped your cheek and straightened your face that was trying to hide itself in your silky locks by curling in your own neck, the cool metal of rings and insanely icy fingers chilling you literally.

“Open your eyes sweetheart.” A voice called out behind you and you gathered enough courage to face your impending doom, the air as silent as the calm before a storm.

Your orbs opened and gazed into piercing sapphire blue eyes and everything behind this chiseled face blurred. You could swear a ring of pink and red passed over his eyes and you shuddered again, getting overwhelmed due to the eye contact yourself. This wasn’t the usual anxiety you felt while meeting new people, it was somehow both a pull and a push. An inviting comforting pull and a terrifying, ‘stay cautious' push.

You, a self-sufficient woman, who had been independent for as long as you could remember, suddenly felt half; incomplete in a way that you couldn’t fathom. You felt an attraction, a tug towards the man in front of you, and the absurdity of the thoughts and emotions that popped in your brain made you heave on the gag.

Your intellect couldn’t find a reason, your view on love and romance until now completely conflicted. You believed soulmates to be separate pieces of art that complemented each other when together; then what was this broken jigsaw puzzle sentiment you were having now?

Your wide eyes somehow managed to break free of his stare, panicking and looking around to observe, which wasn’t comforting in the least as men with guns and gadgets filled your vision. You were relatively unharmed in comparison to the beaten lads beside you, one with a bruised face and the other with a bloody one.

The handsome man, the Boss’s stare didn’t leave you through the entirety of your searching around, you were sure they saw you as a scared little rabbit, waiting out its inevitable death.

“Lost in her eyes, Boss?” The sideman cracked what he believed to be the funniest joke in existence, earning laughs of the horde of the soldiers around.

Your eyes went to the Boss’s face, surprisingly when his left your face to glare a nasty stare on his trusted man. His muscular form raised the forelimb, his hand signaling to stop, that effectively quietened the room to a pin drop silence.

With gentle fingers, the man took off your gag and yours lips quivered, throat too dry to make a noise though. You greedily gulped the air through your mouth for whatever reason, maybe just to move your jaw after hours of inactivity.

Maintaining eye contact was challenging, arduous to say the least. It seemed as if he could read you, find everything about you there is to find by studying the flecks in your orbs. His delicate hands, loosened the ties and you were now more so confused, along with the trepidation.

Just what the fuck was going on?

Bucky had almost lost hope, centuries on this planet and no one to love and cherish, no personal confidante, no soulmate. But good things take time, right? And in his opinion, best things take an eternity. He knows this now.

Expect the unexpected was the truest phrase, idiom whatever it was, in this moment. He had spent countless nights wondering about his soulmate, was she pretty? Ugly? Was she even a she or not? Dumb or witty? He made a lot of scenarios of how they’d meet, the kids, reigning together. He entertained the idea of her being from a different species, a nymph, an orc, maybe a werewolf?

And now that he found her, it was a revelation, a surprise honestly. After all optimism got evaporated, after traveling the dark tunnel for centuries literally, there she was, his beacon of light. Finding her was a wonder, and her being a human was astonishing, a possibility he somehow failed to consider, but he was over the moon cause there she was, right in front of him now. A beautiful, stunning lady in flesh and blood, human flesh and blood, with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. His zing.

He always liked humans, apart from the similar appearances the vampires shared with them, they were always docile and accommodating. In the last few millenniums, after the mythical creatures showed themselves to the world, the humans understood their place and tier pretty early.

They were smart to surrender and be peaceful as all the species came to light, clever to know that even with less numbers they could be overpowered and bloodshed was detrimental to all involved.

He knew he would convert you soon though, your lifespan far too short for his liking, and obviously, now that he found you, you were to rule together. For Centuries.

His happiness was over taken by the realisation that you were not in the most hospitable settings, you were tied and strapped, being preyed on by his men. He made quick work of the restraints, allowing you to breathe by loosening them first. Your scared, trembling form plucked his unbeating heart’s strings, but strangely enough, his brain found amusement and he felt smug. Seeing you tied up and trembling was definitely a turn on for him, noted.

After commanding his foolish men to stop giggling, he leaned closer to you, your aura comforting and intoxicating as he smelled your hair. A divine scent, an addictive one for sure. The goosebumps on your skin confirmed the reciprocation of his connection.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.” His husky voice, calming but imposing resonated in your ears, his hand tapping your cheek on the other side. Even though the private statement was whispered for you, the deafening silence made every person witness it.

He leaned back, his hands behind his back as he grinned, tone again light like earlier and commanded, “Get her out of here and cleaned up, tell Nat and Wanda, they’ll know what I mean. Then we’ll deal with these guys here, after the lady leaves of course. No scratch on her from this point forward or you’ll lose a limb. Proceed.”

All three of you, the hostages were going to get ‘taken care of’ but in different ways.

It had been over twenty hours for sure, you were abducted in the early hours of the morning and now the moon was out again, like one endless night. You remember being escorted to a sleek black car; your limbs ached but you managed to keep up. You tried to keep up with the car’s turns, trying to memorize the streets but your head was pounding and eyes were blurry.

You remembered being led to a suite in an expensive hotel like ones where your conferences were held, being taken to room and given towels to clean up. You didn’t change the dress when given another, the attire being a summer dress even shorter. A woman came a while later named Wanda who checked the forming light contusions and scuffed skin with hands so delicate, as if you were precious cargo. You were, you just didn’t know.

You didn’t eat anything they provided and after hours of conspiring and overthinking, you heard sturdy footsteps. Since your arrival, only women bothered with you, probably the ones the leader sent. But these were heavier, harder.

The door opened and you glanced up to find the leader who demanded your locking up in this fancy place, his eyes travelling on your form sat up on bed, as you mindfully pulled your skirt down. You were anxious the entire day, dreading your future but nothing was like the restlessness that ran through you in this person’s presence.

Maybe it was the fact he was a vampire, or the leader of a Mob or maybe both, but whatever it was he intimidated you, alarmed you, even though you’ve had only two encounters including the present one. You were smart to be scared, he looked at you like, like you were something to eat, your mind told you.

“Hey.” His raspy voice caught you off guard, not having heard a single syllable out of the women the entire day, your questions being ignored the entire time.

You stared at him warily. Your mind having a myriad of emotions and thoughts. You didn’t want to trigger him, besides the place being armed well, he was a vampire, a beefy one at that and you would be stupid to try anything. Shouting and making a scene was no good either, your best option being the lamest one: to talk it out. You refused to become a willing blood bag.

You let out a long sigh, surprising him somehow, “Look, I have money, resources in the business sphere, information, what do you want? I know I got caught in this by accident, but I’m willing to do a lot of things to get out. Name it and I’ll do my best.” You said with your ‘business deal’ voice, the wise, guiding leader voice from your office.

For some reason though, the man found it hilarious. He slapped his hand on his chest, his boisterous laugh echoing. It wasn’t that good a joke if he believed it to be one. Men, ever so condescending.

“Humans, ever so gluttonous. I don’t want your money, precious.” His term of endearment didn’t fall short to your ears, but you had larger things in play here than a sweet nothing.

“I have other things to offer, name it.” Within your moral sphere, of course.

“You still don’t get it, do you? And you humans boast you have everything figured about us.”

He neared you and you leaned to the inner area of the bed, refusing to get cornered to the wall if things escalate and wanting to have the option of running away, probably in vain though. With each step he took, a new shudder ran through you because of the closing distance between your bodies, it getting triggered in unexplainable ways.

You didn’t need to say words to prompt him to explain, your scrunched eyebrows already doing that mission. “You should feel it too, you know? The goosebumps, the bewilderment in your insides, you’re intoxicated by my very presence too, aren’t you?”

The more he neared, your breaths quickened visibly, his words becoming truer. Your skin heating, mind losing a bit of consciousness. His presence didn’t affect you to this extent in the warehouse, but now? You were putty, almost incapable to think. You tried to roll over to the other side but your plan failed because he caged you with his bulky hands on your shoulder, body diagonal across yours. With how slow and out of it you were, he didn’t even need his heightened speed to trap you.

“Oh, it’s kicking in, isn’t it? The realization, the surge of love and lust? To be held and cherished and be full of me?” He smirked at your trembling form, your chest heaving and weak arms trying to push him off.

“I’ve read humans feel flushed, hot, so let’s get you out of these scraps, yes?” He slid off the thin straps while you mumbled a very unconvincing ‘stop’. Both actions were pretty pointless because he wouldn’t stop, you both knew that and also, he ended up taking the top off over your torso the normal way.

Your hands barely managed to land themselves on his wrist to pull them off, but the foolish limbs ravished in the feel of his cold skin instead. It was like a high you had never experienced and your body wanted more. It was already addicted to the feel of this stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

He unzipped the skirt, your pathetic body no longer even fighting him as he rambled on. “Among us vampires, well not much to tell but we’re all freezing cold when we find our ‘zing’. Like every normal day. Except for the inability to think and the need for their mate’s blood, of course.”

He came back up to kiss you, his body now in line with yours as one hand held your cheek and the other groped your breast. You had an out of body experience, feeling disgusted for reciprocating the kiss but also wanting more of that, more of him.

He trailed down your neck to your collarbone and you gasped for air, your thoughts incoherent. He kissed between the valley of your breasts, removing the bra sometime in between as you heaved. He wanted nothing more than to rest in those swells for an eternity.

As soon as cold air hit your nipples, one was being sucked while other was being pinched. The nameless stranger alternated between licking like a kitten and sucking like a baby on the breasts. Your rational part felt gross but the dominating side was the one experiencing delight.

He kissed down the sternum, to your bellybutton and then hovered above the thin, flimsy underwear. His hands slid down your sides, down the curve of your waist and hooked themselves at the cloth’s side, pulling them down in a swift motion.

Your legs quaked, trying to close themselves but one muscular arm on your thigh was able to hold them off, throw one away from the other. He leaned down and you were pathetically still under his muscles, your lower limbs either not daring to move or not wanting to.

You wrapped your hands around your torso to hide a bit of yourself, but did that really matter in the larger picture of the events unfolding right now?

You closed your eyes, tears already escaping since minutes ago as you tried to accept the reality of what was happening. A cold sensation on your little button caught you off guard; an infinitesimal fraction of time later, an inhale reached your ears.

You looked down, opening your eyes to find the man smelling you, his Grecian nose poking through your folds and taking in sniffs of your intimate part.

“Please sto-”

“The scent at its source, so fucking divine. I want a taste.” With that, your sentence got interrupted by his words and then by his action as his tongue licked away. It sucked on the bead, delving in the cavity there pretty fucking deep and he slurped away like he pretended to do when you were blindfolded.

Your back arched like a gymnast, hands that were folded across your chest clawing at your own skin, leaving marks behind. His hands were hooked around your thighs and they threw your legs on his shoulder some point in between. When he thrusted three fingers at once, an audible wheeze left your lips, your noiseless gasps now hoarse ‘Aah’s and you could feel him smirk.

There a also a lot of teeth involved with his razor sharp canines that appeared out of nowhere during this and when he thrusted his fingers particularly hard with his teeth nibbling on your sensitive bud, you shamelessly let go of the inside flow.

It felt humiliating and mortifying, your body glowing with the aftereffects of descending into bliss while your mind wanted to cry. Your soul was surprisingly content with what unfolded, at peace. You hated the diversity of emotions you felt, revolted to find even a bit of positive sentiment at your assaulter’s actions.

While your inner monologue happened, the man got up and out of his clothes painfully quick. You tried to sit your up, feebly trying to escape but ineffectively so. Your eyes couldn’t meet the handsome stranger’s nor did you want to see him naked and removed him form your eyeline, making you get caught off guard when his hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you down, finishing the small distance you managed to crawl up.

His hands left their place as he kissed his way back up your flushed skin, from the swell of your ankle to the swell of your stomach. He licked away the drops of blood around the crescent scratches left by your nails under the intense ecstasy he forced upon you. Then he continued his journey from the swells of your chest to the swell of your cheek, taking you in a fiery, needy yet affectionate kiss.

Your surroundings blurred a second into the kiss, mouth and skin hungry for his touch alike. A thrust had you painfully gasp as you were stretched unlike ever before, impaled to a depth unlike ever before. He kissed away your tears that continued to spill on command of your ashamed mind and leaned back to look into your eyes, a pretty pink passing over them for a fleeting second.

His blue orbs bore into yours and you almost believed he loved you by the intensity of his gaze. At this moment in time, nothing but you two mattered, connected and finally together. How you got here didn’t matter, how unwilling you were didn’t matter. This felt right, felt necessary and was worthy of everything you went through. The rational part seemed to die the instant you two physically connected and somehow, everything and nothing made sense.

But you felt complete.

Your lips captured his of their own accord, and you both smiled into the caress of your lips while he began thrusting, one hand on your waist, the other supporting his weight. Out of breath, he leaned back, still thrusting though, and gazed at you. “Scott back there, he called you pretty, that’s practically an insult. The way you look right now, you’re much more than beautiful. You’re ethereal, my Zing, the loveliest in existence.”

His genuine words tugged at your heart. For some reason you believed him, had confidence in his feelings. Your foreheads connected as he quickened, his hand caressing your skin, the cool against your warm skin soothing. It didn’t take long for you to let go again this time; your previous resolution already dissolved. He neared your ears and whispered, “I want you to scream my name. It’s Bucky.” You nodded absentmindedly, chasing the high.

One particular thrust paired with his canines piercing your skin made you cry out “Bucky!” and you felt him smirking in your neck, lapping the blood. You wilted in bliss and your eyes closed, warmth filling you minutes after. Your eyes were dazed and you felt ‘Bucky’ shift, removing his towering frame from you, a goofy smile on the chiseled face.

With mind free of the aforementioned disapproving thoughts, you checked out his handsome face. It was like you saw him in an entirely different light now.

He gave you a quick peck, his hands cradling your face and he spoke with the utmost sincerity. “You are worth the wait, precious. No measure of time with you will be long enough. But we’ll start with forever to compensate. I’m never letting you go.”

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