#< made this tag hopefully i caught all the posts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

secretsandwriting · 1 month

Note

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that.

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama.

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you.

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were.

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death.

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow.

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone.

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders.

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back.

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger.

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections.

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there.

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him.

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating.

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.”

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would.

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself.

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once.

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited.

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting.

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!”

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores.

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving.

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird.

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was.

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind.

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning.

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it.

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped.

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last.

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe.

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you.

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to.

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough.

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence.

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear.

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that.

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky.

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you.

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.”

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were.

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it.

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable.

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left.

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had.

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother.

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too.

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her.

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size.

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much.

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

#dc #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #fem reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #Damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #batmom #request #cipheress-to-k-pop

900 notes · View notes

lorarri · 2 months

Text

★ . . . 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌 , 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

summary , charles attends coachella for the first time and gets caught slipping for a certain k-pop idol who happens to be headlining

paring , charles leclerc x fem! k-pop idol! blackpink! reader

main masterlist | f1 masterlist | charles leclerc masterlist

blackpinkofficial

liked by charles_leclerc lewishamilton 123,989,863 others

blackpinkofficial Honored and excited to announce that BLACKPINK will be headlining coachella 2023. See you in the desert!🌵

Presale starts Friday, January 13th at 11am PT. Register for the presale now at Coachella.com

#BLACKPINK #블랙핑크 #COACHELLA #HEADLINER #ANNOUNCEMENT #YG

view comments

coachella 🖤💖

parishilton Can’t wait to see you girls perform!😍💘💘💘💘

user BIGGEST GIRL GROUP IN THE WORLD INDEED

user the biggest are back in the place where they made history

user WE'RE SO DAMN PROUD!!!!!!

user Slaying as always 💋

user y’all better let Y/N have her SOLO debut before then 😠 i want a proper solo stage for her

user #PinkChella🔥

user BLACKPINK IS THE REVOLUTION🖤💗🔥

user Y/NCHELLA COMING🔥 ⤷ user ROSECHELLA 🔥 ⤷ user LICHELLA 🔥 ⤷ user SOOCHELLA 🔥

view more comments

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc roses_are_rosie 672,787,898 others

yourinstagram so happy to finally announce my first (hopefully of many) solo project called 'solo' coming soon 🖤💖

view comments

roses_are_rosie 언니가 너무 자랑스러워!!! liked by yourinstagram

lalalalisa_m 사랑해 내 여자 ⤷ yourinstagram 너도 사랑해 베이비

sooyaaa_ 내 아기가 다 컸어 liked by yourinstagram

user it's here!!

view more comments

yourinstagram . 12hr ago

seen by landonorris thegossip and 40,990,974 others

charles_leclerc

liked by lewishamilton yourinstagram 92,787,898 others

charles_leclerc amazing weekend cheers lewishamilton for letting me tag along 🙌🏻

view comment

lewishamilton no prob man glad you enjoyed yourself liked by charles_leclerc

user ✨ hot ✨

user first we had lewchella now we have charlchella ⤷ user ik i'm loving it!!!

user liked by yourinstagram....

user who is this white man and why is he posting our queens?

user BLACKPINK IN YOUR AREA

user are my eyes faulty or did charles just post blackpink on his insta... ⤷ user girl it's one photo calm down ⤷ user no. cuz he just followed all of the bp girls and there offical account ⤷ user charles becoming a kpop stan was not on my bingo card for 2023...but I'm not complaing ⤷ user charles my boy what have you done ⤷ user fr i'm so scared for him now cuz those kpop girlies are scary af and I ain't trynna pick a fight with them 😭😭 ⤷ user same 😭

user this proves it hot people stan BLACKPINK ⤷ user 💯

user charles really fucking with fire ⤷ user yeah he does one thing wrong the BLINKS are gonna hunt him down and nails his balls to the walls ⤷ user I don't know about you but I'm backing away slowly ⤷ user same lol ⤷ user yeah I like being alive

load more comments

yourinstagram . 1hr ago

seen by charles_leclerc blackpinkupdates and 129,787,976 others

SKY F1 → CHARLES LECLER ON THE AZERBAIJAN GAND PRIX AND MORE

charles_leclerc

liked by yourinstagram lewishamilton 98,676,789 others

charles_leclerc Third in the main race today. Nothing we could have done more. Thank you for the support and see you in Miami 🇺🇸

comments have been disabled

scuderiaferrari

liked by blackpinkofficial yourinstagram 912,997,998 others

scuderiaferrari thank you to yourinstagram of blackpinkofficial for joining us in the paddock today a pleasure to have you and thank you for being our good luck charm 🖤💖

comments have been disabled

yg_ent_official . 12hrs ago

seen by charles_leclerc blackpinkupdates and 19,722,436 others

477 notes · View notes

highhhfiveee · 7 months

Note

mikey and his sunshine gf. need i say more

i haven't written much fluff about sweetgf!reader and dickheadbf!mike, but once again, i feel like this is them!

tags: sweetgf!reader +dickheadbf!mike, fluff, one moment of suggestiveness, mike curves his fuck buddy for the love of his life ♡ errors bc even though i proofread, i’ve been so fucking tired blegh

sweetgf is super sweet to mike, and i know it may seem like you just love breaking him down and making him whiny and desperate for you, but you would literally grab earth in both hands and give it to him if that's what he wanted.

you'd been in lots of relationships where you'd gotten fully invested, pouring herself in (foolishly and) wholeheartedly. they all ended with you in tears, disheartened and jaded with humanity. after your last relationship burst into flames over you asking for just one bouquet of flowers for your birthday, you'd never wanted to be with someone ever again.

that is, until mike.

you'd first seen him with a tiny, well-endowed blonde girl, standing in line for a comically expensive beer at a nearly saturday concert. they were one of your favorite bands, and something about seeing him there, sexy and brooding and taking up so much space in the crowded drinks line, fascinated you. he looked bored beyond comprehension, eyes shadowy under the dim overhead lights and arms crossed over his chest as his friend dashed up to the booth when it was their turn, her body wracked with the movement of conversation.

he'd stayed back from her, a feet or so of space between them as she ordered, holding up a peace sign to signal two beers and flashing her ID. the vendor had to have said something off-putting, because mike rolled his eyes, a deep scowl set into his face as his friend was handed the beers, looking off into the distance.

he'd caught your stare. you swore at yourself because how embarrassing was it for him to catch you like that? redness blossomed over your features, but you still couldn’t look away. you two maintained eye contact for a bit, just staring until a smirk creeped onto mike’s face. it was so small from where you were, but it still shined on you like a million suns. you returned his action with your own grin, all teeth and embarrassment, sheepishly looking down to the ground before your friend pulled on your forearm. you’d forgotten you were standing in the merch line with her, frozen where you’d stood.

“c’mon y/n! we gotta get our merch so we can get to our seats before they start!”

you two were up in the mezzanine, front row seats protected by metal railings. you were almost at the end of the row, two seats left beside you, and you wondered if anyone would sit there. the concert hall had started to fill up more post opener, and you felt the jitters of seeing your idols living and breathing in front of you creeping around under your skin.

you’d decided to put your merch on, sliding your arms and head through the respective holes. you met mike's smirk again when you'd finished, all of the moisture leaving your mouth. he was sitting in the seat beside you, his friend in the one at the very end. they both had their large beer mugs in hand, and you couldn't stop thinking about how mike could hold the monstrosity with just one, noticing that his friend needed both of her dainty ones. condensation trickled over his fingers.

the friend looked over at you with wide, friendly eyes, pointing at your shirt with a gasp.

"oh em jee, that shirt is so cute! i didn't even get a chance to look at the merch, the line was so long and i didn't want to miss the beginning of the show. how much was it?" she talked so quickly, not a single mistake made.

"$40," you mumbled, choking on your answer as you tried to shift your eyes away from mike. he'd begun sliding down in the seat, manspreading his legs. his knee grazed yours ever so slightly, and you worked hard to maintain your poker face. "uh, $40," you tried again after clearing your throat.

"sick! hopefully there are some after the show. thanks," the girl smiled at you, sugary and beaming with pink lipgloss, before leaning towards mike's ear and whispering something to him.

she'd giggled after, placing a hand on his thigh and a kiss on his cheek, and you'd concluded that she had to be his girlfriend, or at least someone he was seeing. it was disrespectful of you to keep staring at him, wondering how his hands would feel traversing every inch of your body. you finally wrenched your eyes away from him, focused on the stage.

once the show had started, everyone was on their feet except for mike, and maybe a few other people that felt the same way he did. he was watching with indifferent eyes, leisurely downing his beer. there was a better show right next to him; you, or rather your ass, in his face, shimmying around to the up-tempo pop punk. claudia, his date-fuckbuddy-whatever the hell, had tried so many times to get him to stand up, but he didn't budge.

he hated this kind of music honestly, but watching you having the time of your life, singing along to every lyric and note change, made him want to enjoy it with you. for you. you looked so happy, so lively, shouting words at your friend's face and bouncing along to amplified rhythms. your aura was so bright, and something about it made mike's chilly heart defrost.

after the band had done their "last" song, he'd whispered into claudia's ear for another beer. she'd bought his first one even though he'd offered to pay, and he decided that he would let her be as generous as she wanted to be. mike saw it as compensation, considering that fact that he'd had only come because she needed a ride.

she'd nodded enthusiastically, taking off after giving mike another kiss on the cheek.

he turned to you then, reaching up to poke at your shoulder. you glanced back at him, grinning shyly. "you caught me staring at you before the show. quite the coincidence that you and your girlfriend had seats next to us."

he shook his head, saying, "claud's not my girl, and yeah, i did catch you. no coincidence though. these were the seats on her tickets." he'd left off the part of the story where he'd seen you as he walked down the stairs of the mezzanine, asking claudia to switch seats because he "hated" sitting on the end.

his smile beamed through the darkness of the hall, adding to the brightness around you once the lights onstage came up once more. they don't make you turn away from him, and you were staring at each other again. he stood to his feet finally, pulling his phone from his pocket and shoving it your way. "here. give me your number and we can talk more about it later."

you took his phone into your hands dumbfoundedly, typing out your number as the first chords of the encore song vibrated around you. you'd filled out your contact, adding two eye emojis to your name, before giving mike his phone back with another shy smile. "yeah. i'd like that."

he danced with you for the final two songs. he didn’t think he'd ever had this much fun with someone other than abby.

claudia had run down the stairs after the house lights came back on, holding the new beer mugs to her chest. the moisture made her shirt cling to her boobs, and you could see all the eyes around that trained on her.

"beer for you," she mused, trying to hand it over, but mike raised his hand, declining. "it's okay. didn't want it after all."

claudia frowned, looking around at the masses of people moving out of the venue. "but mikeyyyyyyyyy, i missed the encore for it!" you shouldn't have liked that he sent her away so that he could enjoy the rest of the concert with you, but it ignited this feeling in you that you couldn't get rid of, warm and fuzzy in your heart and in your core,

"i'll pay you back," mike spat, unaware of your friend tugging at your arm again so that you two could leave and beat the traffic outside. you gave him a wave and a smile as you were hastily whisked up the stairs, and he'd winked back, a tiny, almost undetectable action.

mike was never one to text back on the same day he'd gotten a number. "later" was an ambiguous time to him, but this time, he felt compelled to send you a message once he'd dropped claudia off and let her down gently, a simple, "i just don't think we're compatible." he'd expected claudia to shrug it off, but instead, she screamed, cried, begged for mike not to reject her. it was sad to him, but confusing as well. they'd never ever been together, meeting on an app strictly for hookups.

"mike, please. i really like you. i want to be with you." how the two of you had gone from casual fucking to her thinking she was in love, mike didn't know, but he just blurted out a fake remorseful, "sorry" before pulling away from her house.

he didn't want to sit around wasting time. he had someone to text.

the rest was history, really.

you'd expected mike to be an asshole through and through. he was aloof in this way that you didn't think you liked, and he'd reminded you of so many people you'd been with before, acting like caring about someone with your whole being (or at least some of it) was a waste of energy and time, but he'd proved you wrong.

you'd told him about your relationship past, and he decided that he needed to change everything for you. he took you on consistent dates, rotating between your choices and his, listened to you talk about everything and nothing, carried you on his back whenever you wanted, genuinely comforted you when you cried; he even woke you up on your birthday with breakfast and a bouquet of flowers, adding an extra flower for every year.

he was a dickhead sometimes, ignoring you or giving you his pitiful, patronizing eyes when you said something flighty or annoying you with his childish gripes when he was irritated, but you always softened him up, smiling or laughing or eyelash fluttering your way into making him relax, making him sigh and nuzzle into you. he loved hugging you tight, feeling your energy through your skin, rocking you and your pastel dresses back and forth.

you were so brilliant, shining so brightly on him that he couldn't help but cave in. mike loved giving himself to you, servicing you in any and every way; you never went unsatisfied with him.

it doesn't take much for him to do anything for you, wanting to show you he cares, that he loves you. you were a delicate thing in his eyes, so perfect and celestial, a literal angel sent from heaven to be his. you and your gentle, loving eyes and soft, soothing caresses. you felt the same way, so deeply enamored with him in every way. he'd taught you so many things, so many things about yourself and your body, so many things you would only give to him. submission was shared between you, making you both soft for each other.

you couldn't believe that you two had made it this far, a few years in and still going strong, though mike had never really gotten better at fully communicating when he's upset. he tries his best, you know, but you can tell he's having trouble when he comes into the house from picking abby up. she runs past you, yelling hi on her way to draw in her room. mike just huffs as he takes off his jacket and moves around the living room, mildly sulking around.

you're painting your toes, and look up at his back with gentle eyes. "mikeyyyyyy," you chorus, watching how his shoulders slightly drop at your voice. "what's wrong?" he hated when anyone else called him mikey, but somehow, you always prodded at his soft spot, disarming him.

he faces you now, all pouty and irked and you make grabby hands for him, cracking a warm smile as he sits on the couch and scoots so you're in his arms and halfway in his lap. your perfume distracts him momentarily, and he inhales deeply, laughing as you swat him, trying to talk between your own giggles. "mikeee, stop. tell me what's wrong."

"my sandwich," his tone is exasperated, nearly a wail. he closes his eyes. "no sourdough."

"again?" you say, toning it with as much compassion as you could. you loved mike, but he was always disappointed by this sandwich. this place he went to never had sourdough apparently, and you believed it. you'd only seen him get it a couple times a month, joyous and cheery and the most excited that he'd finally gotten his favorite lunch treat. "why don't you do different bread again? which one did you do that last time?"

"rye, and it's not the same. not bad, but not sourdough."

"well, you don't have to let it get you down, baby." you stroke his arm, rubbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pressing your lips to his temple for a few long kisses. he sighs under you, his breathing even. "you'll get your sandwich. you always do."

little did he know that you meant you'd make it for him personally every day, using his card to get the ingredients every time you needed to restock.

you'd have it prepared in a ziploc bag for him, and it didn't matter if you were at his house, or your own; there wasn't one day since then that he hadn't gotten his sandwich on sourdough, and a cute little note with doodles and wishes and fantasies from you, signed with "i love you the most" in neat, swirling cursive, your name, and three hearts. he thought your sandwich was better by a mile.

you were one of his bright spots, his sun. his star.

hehe cutie origin story (i am so tired, so eepy). hope you all enjoy this one <3 i love this dynamic and i think they're so fun to write about.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fluff #faire's mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #faire answers asks #josh hutcherson #never let your fuck buddy distract you from meeting your wife #mike will take reader to a million nearly saturday concerts #only said that name bc of almost monday lmao #needed a band name and nearly saturday is kind cool idk

374 notes · View notes

cdragons · 6 months

Text

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter One

Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Aemond is delulu, tiny!Jace is delulu, Dark Themes, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the amazing support for this story's prologue, I did NOT expect so many positive reviews! I'm sorry this took so long, but I had a ton of applications and finals. But since I am on winter break, hopefully I will be able to upload more fics! Happy Holidays and big shoutout to @valeskafics, who continues to be the HOTD fanfic writing ICON that we all know and love! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

You have known your entire life that you were going to be one of the many seamstresses that serviced the Royal Family.

By the age of three, your mother would teach you how to begin your very first stitches, which soon shifted to learning the most complicated patterns of embroidery. You still remember the tears in her eyes as you presented the silk-woven handkerchief that had lovely little purple and blue flowers embroidered on the borders for her birthday. Your face flushed to an almost too bright red when she insisted on showing all the other royal seamstresses and tailors your first handkerchief. But it made you smile in remembering how big her smile was that week, as she was so pleased by how much you’ve progressed at such a young age.

When you were only six, your mother had begun to teach you how to properly extract the dye from beautiful flowers and the scales of brightly-colored insects. So skilled and nimble were your fingers that you even gave your childhood playmate, Aemond Targaryen, a thick green wool cloak with green and silver dragon embroidery. The cloak’s wool had been dyed by your hand with copious amounts of goldenrod and indigo flowers. You then carefully stitched silk to line the inside of the cloak to prevent him from overheating, as even the harshest winters in the Crownlands were hardly anything compared to the summers in the North. It had caught you off-guard in the almost too-tight embrace he locked you in, but you eagerly reciprocated as you could tell he appreciated the gift more than words could describe.

It was not just a gift for is name-day from a childhood companion, but also a way to reassure him that he will one day have a dragon. And even if the gods do not grant him worthy in their eyes, he would always be considered a prince worthy of the Targaryen name in yours. After all, there were not many princes that would willingly spend all their free time with a lowly seamstress’ daughter – even if the supposed seamstress that was your mother was so heavily favored by the Queen.

“Pearl,” came a voice with a tone far too serious despite its youth, “what are you doing in the Godswood?”

You lifted your head from old tome you were studying, only to see a young boy of only nine name-days, that stood as straight as one of the stone pillars that stood in the Sept of Baelor. His white locks nearly blinded you with how the sunshine seemed to reflect on them.

“Well my prince, as you can clearly see, I have decided to take advantage of this fine day to do a bit of studying of my own.” You lifted the near ancient tome on your lap to show him the title, Myths and Legends of the Jade Seas.

Whatever outwardly beauty the book possessed had long diminished, the spine was bent from the hundreds of hours spent looking through its contents and the letters were near faded to a dull grey as the pages yellowed from age. But the colors of the ink remained as vibrant as when they were first painted on the frail sheets, accompanied by beautiful imagery of magical dragons and elusive mermaids. The details were so fine and intricate that it felt as if you only needed to touch the ink in order to be transported into the stories. You remembered how you begged either your mother or father to read it to you every night, as utterly transfixed by the colors back then as you remained so now.

“You are more than welcome to join me, but if – and only if – you share one of those apples hiding in your knapsack.”

Finally showing an expression appropriate for his age, the young prince reached in his pouch to show two gorgeous apples – the skin was practically gleaming in the sun as your mouth watered for its taste. Aemond handed one to you as he sat by your side underneath the plentiful shade of the heart tree. Scooting over to make room on the overgrown root you sat on, you eagerly showed him strange text.

“Look Aemond!” you exclaimed as you shoved the book to his nose. “This book says that there were dragons in Yi Ti! Isn’t that amazing?”

Aemond looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads and five eyes. “How can there be dragons in Yi Ti? All the dragons save the ones in the dragonpit and the rocky shores of Dragonstone had perished in The Doom that sunk Valyria. Everyone knows that pearl.”

“These dragons are different! According to my kepa, Yi Ti dragons don’t even need wings to fly!”

The young prince rolled his eyes at that. “How could they fly if they don’t have wings? Even Carraxes the Blood Wrym has wings, and he looks like an overgrown red snake.” Honestly, his pearl could be so silly. “Besides, what would your father know? He’s a bastard from the Iron Islands, that’s nowhere near the Jade Seas.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “He heard so on his travels with Lord Velaryon and Prince Laenor! Apparently, these dragons use magic and live in the ocean. And they don’t even breathe fire! They make it rain and control the oceans!”

“…Pearl, I think you’ve been spending too much time making those dyes. The fumes must have gotten to your head.”

You openly gaped at your friend’s comment, completely in shock for how blatantly he dismissed you. It made you want to pound your fists on his person until he took it back. So naturally, you did just that.

“Aemond Targaryen, you take that back right now!” you shrieked. Although your actions told otherwise, the smile on your face showed that you took no true offense to his words. If anything, it pleased you to know that you could still make the stone-faced prince giggle as a boy should at his age.

“Never!”

As the two of you giggled and played, several pairs of wandering eyes spied and grimaced at the distasteful display. Although your friendship with the next generation of the royal family was no secret, much of the court disapproved of how highly the royal family thought of you and Prince Aemond’s friendship. After all, he was the second born prince of House Targaryen, born of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. By the time the Targaryen prince could toddle, great things were expected from him. From a very early age, he immersed himself in his studies befitting of a prince of Westeros. You, on the other hand, were only the daughter of a seamstress and a bastard knight who became a lord of a holding so minor that it had no name. You only skills were that you could make pretty dye, and stitch pretty pictures with a needle and thread.

But he always treated you kindly and defended you whenever his eldest brother decided to use you as his latest target for mockery. You were a precious pearl – his precious pearl – Aegon may be his brother, but he could never love Aegon as much as he loved you. True, your father being a bastard did you no favors in the Red Keep’s court, but Aemond would never tell you that himself. Instead, he openly acknowledged his bravery and commended his loyalty to the Crown. After all, how many bastards can boast that they saved the Lord Corlys Velaryon, holder of the Driftwood Throne, from a siege of pirates during one of the lord’s many voyages to Essos?

In turn, you always made sure to provide comfort and support whenever his brother and nephews decided to pick on him. Without fail, he would seek out your company – his eyes red and puffy, while his cheeks were wet from hastily wiped tears. You would take his hands and the two of you would venture out to the library’s more secluded sections. You made sure to pack whatever you have been working on with you. While you were glad that he came to you for comfort, it would do little good for either of you if you were to be punished for not completing whatever tasks your mother assigned you.

“Who cares if you don’t have a dragon?” you once asked him as the two of you laid next to each other, surrounded by books. “There are plenty members of the Targaryen line that did not have dragons, but they still lived out important lives in serving their family however they could. King Jaehaerys was considered a great ruler for how he served the realm– not for riding Vermithor. And even if you had a dragon, is that all you wish to be known for? Your grandfather, Baelon the Brave, was wise and beloved by the small folk for how he tried to make their lives easier. But all he is known for in history books is how he burned down Dorne with Vhagar.”

“Better to be known for a dragon than to disappear, not being known for anything – not even a dragon worthy of the Targaryen name.”

Sitting up against a bookshelf, you repositioned Aemond to lie his head on your thighs. Luckily the candlelight made the area dark enough so that you wouldn’t see his ears turning red. Instead, he buried his face in the soft cotton of your blue tunic as you stroked his soft silver white locks. Although his heart was beating erratically, your sweet scent along with your body’s suppleness was enough to take away any ire left in him.

“Stop that,” you ordered, “you will not be forgotten, don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes softening at his tense shoulders, you eased on the sternness of your tone. “Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.”

You pretended not to notice how tightly he clenched your dress as you ignored the how warm the spot where his hot tears grew.

As you continued to stroke his hair, Aemond made a silent vow that when he finally claimed a dragon, you would be the first person he would ride it with. He thought about how his bastard nephews would always try to take you from him, especially Jace, how he despised that boy. No, your touches would belong to him, and only him. Your sweet words and kind demeanor were his to cherish. You were his pearl – his pearl – and no one else’s, especially not the pretend Targaryen that was Jacaerys Strong.

Yes, it pleased Aemond to know that he was your best friend. But sometimes it frustrated him in how you refused to take him seriously as a man. For example, he once announced that when he claimed his dragon, he would finally be a noble dragon knight who would protect you from the most vicious of beasts. No matter how he insisted on his sincerity, you only rolled your eyes at the proclamation. You told him that you had no need for a knight, let alone a dragon knight. You had your dearest kepa for protection, and there was no finer knight in all the Seven Kingdoms in your eyes. So silly was his pearl indeed.

“Ashi’!” a new voice called out, interrupting the comfortable silence between him and his pearl. It belonged to the king’s eldest grandson, Prince Jacaerys Strong Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra. “Your mother is looking for you! She said that she needs your help with Mother’s clothes!”

“Alright!” When you stood from you spot, you made sure to brush away any dirt or debris left on your skirts. You gathered your mother’s book in both arms when you made your way to the prince. “But why did my muña not send one of her attendants instead? It would not have been difficult to find me. Everyone knows that I enjoy reading under the Hearts Tree in the Godswood during my spare time. Are you not busy with your own duties, my prince?”

Straightening his posture to appear taller, Jace did his best to sound as authoritative as his father had taught him. “I just finished my lessons for the morning, and I volunteered to escort you. Besides, I figured that it would do me some good in practicing escorting you. I’ll need to do it in the future when I am king after my mother.” His round freckled cheeks reddened to a rosy hue at that last part.

Not at all catching the terribly obvious implication, you shrugged off his words as you figured that he meant that he was using you as practice for whichever future noble lady he would court in the future. However, the suggestion was not at all lost on your friend, who was still sitting on the overgrown root, glaring at his eldest nephew with a fury that rivaled the Great Doom that sunk Valyria.

“Well, we should be on our way then. Come on Aemond, we should get going!” You held out your held for your friend to hold on to, but were quickly interrupted by the brown-haired Targaryen at the side.

“He can’t! I mean-” stammered Jace as did his best in thinking of an excuse, “-I’m afraid my uncle cannot join us. You see, um – his mother, the Queen, requested his presence in her solar.”

“I’m sure my mother won’t mind waiting for a few moments while I join you in escorting my pearl to her favorite friend, nephew.” This wasn’t a lie on Aemond’s part. While he didn’t like the idea in keeping his mother waiting for him, he despised the thought of you being alone with the Strong Knight’s eldest bastard even more. Besides, his mother adored you as if you were her own daughter. It would have gone without saying that she would be happy with her son spending time with her best friend’s daughter.

“But why would you want to risk it, uncle?” Jacaerys wasn’t going to let his selfish uncle hog all of your attention. You were his friend too! It wasn’t fair that he had find crumbs of your time and affections, while his uncle got to feast on your smiles and laughter. He had spent hours with the dragon keepers of the dragonpit to help him train Vermax, all so that he could finally show you how close he was in riding him! But you were always too busy comforting his stupid dragonless uncle!

Enough was enough. Jacaerys may have been a Velaryon like his father, but he was also a Targaryen like his mother. It was he who carried the dragon’s blood, and dragons took what they desired or felt what they deserved. And he desrved to be with you more than Aemond.

“It’s alright Aemond, we’ll talk more later! Let’s go Jace, we shouldn’t keep our mothers waiting any more than we have.” Grabbing his hand before walking out of the gardens, you weren’t able to see the younger prince throw a triumphant smirk to his uncle before once more facing you with the story of how Luke accidentally got egg in his hair.

Watching his literal bastard of a nephew walk hand-in-hand away with his pearl, Aemond Targaryen felt his fury grow more potent with each step. He hated that you called his nephew by his nickname, all while he had none. What’s worse was the fact that you allowed him to refer to you as “Ashi.” What a ridiculous name, only a lowborn such as his nephew would refer to someone as precious as you as something as study and simple like “Ashi.” You were a pearl – his pearl, in fact. A fact that he felt was important to emphasize as he watched your head being thrown back in laughter. His anger grew to an all-time high when he watched you ruffle Jacaery’s hair with abundant affection.

Not wanting to make a scene, he walked to his mother’s chambers in fuming silence. While her presence wasn’t yours, maybe he could think of a plan to get you away from his whore of a sister and her illegitimate offspring.

If worse comes to worst, he might need to recruit his sister to his cause. He knew that Helaena would especially be thrilled in receiving your presence. You were the only one besides your parents that did not treat his beloved sister like an oddity. If you were not with Aemond, you were often found stitching with the young princess. It seemed that you were the only person in the entire world that could get her to smile.

Such a sweet girl, his pearl. Someone so kind was not meant to endure the presence of lowly bastards – even if they did technically carry royal blood.

He needed to come up with something fast.

Translations:

“Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.” - “You’re brilliant. I’ve never met anyone else who can speak such fluent High Valyrian, especially at your age. You can solve problems that Aegon has trouble with during your lessons with the Maester. Aemond, you are my best friend. Don’t say that you will be forgotten.”

Tagging:

@valeskafics, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @nellychick, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @mckiquinn, @cvspians, @aemondslove

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd au #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x oc #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #reader insert

250 notes · View notes

alrightieaphroditie · 2 months

Text

goofy smiles | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ2.6k an *:·ﾟso excited to continue with this series! i swear, i love each new installment more than the last. writing this has also given me more joel ideas, so i have a few wips that i'm bouncing between too that i'll hopefully post soonish :3 this is slightly edited, but if anything jumps out please let me know! comments and reblogs are always deeply appreciated! check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ there's a dance night in jackson, and joel doesn't leave you hanging.

"i swear if we're late to this dance, i'm gonna be pissed." ellie's voice travels to your ears over the wind as she yanks you down the main street of jackson. in the distance, you could see that the patio near the tipsy bison had been set up once again; string lights crisscrossing their way overhead, with potted plants and wooden tables littering the sides, leaving the middle open as a makeshift dance floor.

you couldn't help but laugh as you picked up your pace, looping your arm through hers and continuing to head down the street. "ellie, hun. you're the one who requested i touch up your haircut five minutes before we were set to leave. i don't know what you want me to tell you." you knew defending yourself to her was pointless, though; once ellie had it in her head, that was it. if she thought it was your fault y'all were running late to the dance, then it was clearly your fault for taking so long to cut her hair.

as if proving your point, you heard her mutter, "as if that's my fault," under her breath while she ran her free hand through her now shorter locks. she had decided last minute that she wanted it cut just above her shoulders, especially with the summer heat already moving into wyoming. the look suited her, accentuating her sharp features while still making her look young. you were pretty proud of the job you did, regardless of if it made you guys late.

by the time you reached the fence line surrounding the patio, ellie had already pulled free from your grip and made a beeline to the far corner, where you could see jesse and a few other people mulling about. you watched them all comment on her hair, which made you grin; partly because of your skills, but mostly because seeing her fit in with this community brought nothing but peace to your heart.

satisfied that ellie was good, you glanced around the layout, taking notice of the tables that had been set up with food and drinks. it was near that table that your eyes came across joel, who was standing off to the side with tommy and another man. he hadn't noticed you yet, so you took that moment to take him in.

he was still wearing his work boots, having come directly here after helping rebuild something on the farm, and his jeans were lightly streaked with spots of mud and dirt. you had to admit that they fit him quite nicely, though, biting down on your bottom lip while seeing the way the material stretched over his thighs. a casual dark grey t-shirt clung to his upper body, and his hair was slightly messy up top, as if he had been running his fingers through it.

damn, did he look good. you had half a mind to drag him out of the patio and head back to your house.

you refrained, though. instead, you decided to make your way near him. the movement caught his eye, and as soon as those big brown eyes landed on your figure, a grin spread across his face. he patted tommy on the shoulder, his gaze never leaving yours, and quickly moved to meet you halfway. you gave tommy a finger wave when he looked over his shoulder to see where his brother went, all while grinning as you watched joel's hand reaching out when you got near, landing to rest against your hip.

"well, hey there, sugar. almost thought you were playin' hooky tonight." joel muttered, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek. he wasn't really one for the big public displays of affection, but he also liked to remind all of the other men in town that you were his. it was a balancing act that he excelled at. you could feel his thumb gently caress the curve of your hip, could feel his fingers dig into the material of the blue dress you had put on lightly as you stepped up closer to him.

"me? play hooky? i don't know where you'd get that idea from," you teased, leaning into his touch. it was no secret that you were more introverted than most people in town, choosing to skip out on the social events every once in a while, to stay home and read your books. truthfully, you only started going to these events more often to catch glimpses of joel after he first moved here.

you'd never tell him that, though. his ego was already too big with you around. "i'm late because ellie wanted me to touch up her hair last minute. she might be worse than i am with the whole time management thing." your voice was teasing, and joel's grin grew even wider.

"baby, don't shoot the messenger, but nobody is as bad as you are with the time management thing." he leaned down to kiss your forehead, chuckling to himself as you slapped his chest. his grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly, and you were reminded of your earlier thought of dragging him home and having your way with him. at that moment, however, your stomach decided to growl somewhat loudly.

the man at your side let out a snort as your face flamed with embarrassment. joel turned his body to the side, ushering you in front of him and began walking towards the tables spread out with food. "c'mon, misses always-on-time. let's get some food in that starvin' stomach of yours."

you happily obliged, slipping your arm around joel's back as you made your way to the refreshments. joel grabbed one of the plates, holding it out for you as you loaded it up with anything that looked remotely good. you made sure to get extras, too, because joel had a habit of snacking on your plate no matter where you were, despite him claiming to not be hungry every time. you grabbed a couple of the glasses that were set out as well, filling one with water and the other with the locally made whiskey joel liked.

he guided you to one of the tables, pulling out your chair with his free hand before gliding into the seat next to you. joel moved his seat ever so slightly closer to yours, his knee steadily brushing against yours as the two of you got settled. eventually, tommy and maria came to join the two of you, and you spent a good chunk of the night at that table; conversing about the future plans for jackson, commiserating with maria about how annoying the miller brothers could be, laughing at tommy's stories of the two of them before the outbreak.

sometime throughout the night, joel had slung his arm on the back of your chair, and you had moved to lean into his side, your hand resting on his upper thigh. his palm was planted on your shoulder, his thumb sneaking underneath the strap of your dress, occasionally gliding back and forth across your skin. he sipped his whiskey, and you noticed him checking on ellie every now and again, too.

tilting your head back, you took a moment to admire the man sitting next to you while his gaze was focused elsewhere. his skin was starting to get that summer tan again, and the hours of being out in the light had given his hair a few lighter streaks of color mixed in with the dark brown. his beard was growing in more fully too, though you could spot a few strands of grey peeking through here and there. the whiskey had warmed his cheeks, turning them light pink. for a brief moment, the suns setting rays hit joel's face just right, showcasing the different shades of brown within his eyes.

eventually, when the sun began to sink behind the mountains and the lights were flicked on, a few men crowed up on the side stage, each bearing different instruments. they started playing a chirpy tune, causing the crowd to holler in cheers as the dancing portion of the night started. tommy led maria away from the table, pulling her close and swaying her in the middle of the dance floor. it was always good fun, but tommy loved showing off his moves, so the couple was always at the center of attention.

you and joel sat comfortably together, your head resting against his shoulder as his thumb stroked away at your skin. joel has never been too big at participating in these events, happier to just sit on the sidelines and observe. you didn't really mind it either, as you weren't really a graceful dancer yourself and wanted to save yourself from potential embarrassment. so usually you two sat just like this, watching the community you've grown to love and accept as your own partake in the festivities.

joel's gruff voice interrupts your train of thought. "c'mon," he scoots his chair back, offering his hand towards you. with a shocked grin, you accept, letting him guide you from the table to the outskirts of the spot where people had gathered to dance. your eyes widened in surprise as his hands come to rest on your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

"joel miller, leading me to dance? you didn’t even make me beg," you tease, happily settling your hands on his shoulders, letting your fingers tickle the side of his neck. the begging was a tactic that wasn't totally necessary (joel would give you whatever you wanted the moment you asked for it) but usually, on the few chances you did want to dance, you had to rely on that method to soften him up.

"not this time,” he clicks his tongue, giving you a smirk. "although i will be havin’ you beg for somethin’ else a little later tonight, sugar."

your laughter rung out across the patio, causing joel to grin sheepishly as the sound drew more attention your way. his hands tightened in the material of your dress, and you had a feeling you would be paying for that brief moment in the spotlight later, but you didn't mind. the sky was filling with stars, lightning bugs floating around in the balmy night air, laughter spilling in with the music. you were surrounded by your friends, your family, and dancing with your man; you simply couldn't complain.

hours later, when the band grew tired of performing and most of the crowd had dispersed, it was decided that the night was over. joel had left earlier with ellie, who had managed to sneak a little too much alcohol that night and needed help getting back to his house, but you chose to stay and help maria and tommy clean up the patio. maria was packing up the rest of the food and taking trips to the tipsy bison every now and then, and you and tommy were on table cleaning duty.

you were in your own little world, smiling to yourself as you wiped down the tables and picked up the floral decor that maria had strewn about, feeling so content with the way that the night had gone. before he had left, you and joel had spent the rest of the night dancing together, hiding on the sidelines, talking about anything and everything. your feet were sore, and you knew joel would be complaining about his back later, but it was worth it to you.

"you sure have joel wrapped around your finger, don't ya?" tommy's voice pulled you out of your mind, causing you to jump a little at the suddenness of it. you both laughed as you righted yourself, cheeks flushed from his comment.

"well, i don't know about that. he's still a stubborn ass most of the time," you teased, helping tommy gather up the decor on the last few tables while you talked. he chuckled at your comment, taking a second to wipe down the surfaces before turning back to you.

"honey, he never would've stepped foot into somethin' like this before you. you're bringing him back to life." his face was serious, but his eyes - so similar to joel's - held nothing but mirth. you felt your heart stutter at his words, could feel the prickling behind your eyes from the impact of his words.

"i think i could say the same thing." your voice was quiet, fingers clinging into your rag at the admission. tommy nodded his head, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder as you wiped away the lone tear that strayed from your eye. it wasn't a lie, either. you were fine with your life in jackson before joel, sure. you had made friends, were easily accepted into the community. after so many years fighting to survive, you finally had a safe haven.

but you didn't know you were missing something until joel showed up. your relationship was rocky at the start; joel really didn't want anything to do with you, or any of the other members of the community. you couldn't blame him, after hearing his story. but somewhere along the line, as joel became more comfortable in town, you fell into a fast friendship that slowly turned into something more.

whenever you were with him, your soul felt settled; like you had finally found the other half of your heart. he brought a sense of calmness to you that you didn't think existed anymore, a sense of safety and security. he loved you in the way that you always dreamed about as a little girl, before the world turned; deeply, utterly, truly. and you could only hope that he felt the same with you.

"it feels real good to hear you say that about my brother. he doesn't talk much 'bout his feelings, but shit. every time you walk in his vicinity, he gets this goofy ass grin on his face. sometimes i don't even think he realizes he's doin' it, either. that speaks volumes, honey." tommy's fingers squeezed your shoulder once more before letting go, and you watched him gather up his bag of decorations and head over to maria. her laughter echoed through the night as he planted an obnoxious kiss on her cheek.

you let tommy's words settle into your mind, a rush of heady emotions flowing through your veins. you knew joel loved you, there was absolutely no doubt about that. but hearing that conformation from tommy, a man joel so clearly trusts and loves as well, was just everything to you. wiping your cheek once more, you move to clear off the last table, leaving your own bag of decorations by the entrance of the patio.

later, when you finally reached your house, you zeroed in on joel, who was finishing washing the dishes from lunch. without saying anything, you launched yourself on him, clinging to his back. your arms wrapped themselves around his middle, your cheek squished against his firm back. you could feel him chuckle, could hear him softly mutter, "what's this for?" while continuing to scrub away at the dishes.

instead of replying, you simply hummed, content against his back. that sense of security enveloped your heart, causing your eyes to fall shut as you tightened your grip around his waist. you heard him hum too, though you knew he was mocking you - he hated when you responded to him with sounds. he wasn't irritated, though. instead, he turned the water off, drying his hands on the towel you had next to the sink. he removed your hands from his middle, pushing you back slightly as he turned to face you.

joel moved your hands back around his waist, gathering you up in his arms. it was then, with his lips pressed against your forehead, your face buried in his grey shirt, his heartbeat steady in your ears, that you finally felt at home.

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

115 notes · View notes

pedroshotwifey · 9 months

Text

Joel Fucking Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (Can be pictured as either HBO or Video Game version)

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, Smut with a lil garnish of angst, kinda mean Joel, Borderline Dark!Joel, but consent is given at a point, one singular spank, rough piv sex, exhibition kink, slight humiliation/degradation, possessive behavior, enemies to lovers-ish?, reader is a menace but we love her, spit kink, anal play, this is pure filth and I'm not sorry

Summary: You and Joel Miller have been sworn enemies from the very start, both of you at each other’s other's throats since the first glance. What he can't know is that you have been harboring a stubborn crush on him this whole time---It’s not until he has you up against a wall that you realize he feels the same way.

A/N: Now that I have all of my one-shots posted, I'm going to start posting my ongoing stories as well as some new works. I'm almost finished with the Frankie Sex Pollen fic so that will be posted sometime this week. I will also be working on creating both a masterlist and a recommendation list, so hopefully that should be done soon too. Thanks for reading!

***

Today has been a shitty fucking day—no pun intended.

Not to say every day isn’t shitty here in the QZ, but this one really takes the cake. To start your fabulous day, you woke up an hour late, making you one of the last people in line to pick up jobs. When you got to the assigning station, you found that you had been left with two options for the week: janitorial service at one of the mess halls, and sewer duty—where you literally have to shovel shit. The only card left for the mess hall was an all-day shift. You took them both.

That's why you find yourself here now, below the city, finishing up sewer duty, covered head to toe in stench and sweat even though it’s the middle of winter. You’re pretty sure you are the last one down here; it’s been a while since you saw or heard anyone else. You aren’t surprised. You’re used to being the only one who cares enough to actually finish whatever job you were tasked with that day, no matter how repulsive it may be.

You don't take pride in much, but you are willing to admit that you admire that quality about yourself. You are a damn hard worker and you aren’t afraid to show it. You have no idea where it stems from, maybe your stubbornness, or possibly your inner perfectionist. Whatever it is, you find yourself often wishing that more people would have the same mindset. God knows it would make your life easier at the very least. In the time you have spent in the Boston QZ, you have only had the pleasure—or maybe you should say displeasure—of meeting one other like-minded person.

You became acquainted with Joel Miller within the first day of being in the QZ, which was about three years ago now. The first glance you got of him was as you were being hauled through the gates, lucky enough to have not been shot on the spot when a couple of FEDRA officers caught you hiding out in the woods. Your eyes met his before they met anyone else's, and he’d held your gaze, his expression anything but welcome, as if he were trying to evaluate you with one look.

By the looks of it, he had to be at least a couple of decades older than you, but that didn’t stop the heat that started to simmer between your legs at the first glance you got of him. When his eyes didn't leave yours, you took it as a challenge and forced yourself to keep your gaze on him until he was completely out of sight. You knew what you were doing, and so did he, both of you deciding on the spot that you would be enemies until one of you either died or left.

Sure, you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to piss people off before you made any allies, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. From the first second you saw that man, you knew that one way or the other—one of them being a heated feeling you chose to ignore—he would be trouble. As per usual, you were right. If you didn't know any better, you would have said that he was dead-set on following you around, bumping into you at almost every job you took. At first, you had been convinced that he had been doing just that.

The first couple of times it happened you considered it some stupid coincidence, some twisted kind of unluckiness. Granted, it wasn't every time, but it was more often than not, and that was more than enough for you. By the fifth or sixth time out of ten, you waited until the very end of the shift, until it was only Joel and yourself left working. You kept a close eye on him, and as soon as he started wrapping up, you cornered him. That had been the first time that you had ever actually spoken to each other instead of tossing nasty glances back and forth.

You had immediately gone to work with your rushed interrogation, demanding him to tell you why he was following you, to tell you what his problem was. The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was the way he had sat back, leaning on one leg with his arms crossed, his expression bored as he waited for you to finish. He said nothing until he was positive that you had nothing more to say.

“I ain't followin’ you, kid,'' he had said, his voice deep and more pleasant than you would have liked it to be. His tone was hard, as you had expected it would be, but the tangy southern drawl and depth of his voice took you off guard, an unwelcome heat suddenly forming between your legs—which only pissed you off more.

The stone-cold look in his too-pretty eyes only worsened the feeling, and suddenly you found that you weren't able to speak; you didn't even know what you had come up to say at this point. “Don’t fuckin’ bother me again,” he muttered and pushed past you before you could realize you had been staring.

***

“You just gonna fuckin’ stand there all day?” A much too familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into reality. Speak of the fucking devil.

“Just finishing up, Miller,” you spit, not bothering to look in his direction. You can hear him start to walk up to you but you ignore it, opting instead to actually finish what you had been doing. It only takes a few more seconds, and by that time, you can practically feel Joel staring a hole into your back, no more than a few feet behind you now.

He doesn't move, so you continue to ignore him and start walking to the ladder so you can get out of this literal shit hole. You only make it a few steps before you realize that he is moving with you, following at the same distance he had stopped at before. Your jaw ticks as you spin around on your heel, so suddenly that Joel almost knocks into you.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him as sweetly as you can manage, the fire in your eyes contradicting your tone. His own eyes narrow as he takes a step back, crossing his arms in his usual fashion.

“Maybe you should learn how to help yourself first before you go offerin’ it to other people, princess.” He says the name as an insult, and you have to bare your teeth to keep your composure.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean, old man?” You ask him, taking a step toward him. He doesn't back away this time, instead taking a step toward you in reciprocation. The two of you lock gazes and stare at each other for what could have been ten seconds or ten days before Joel breaks the trance and shoves past you instead of answering.

You just stand there and let him climb the ladder to the street above you. You can see right through him, the asshole wants a reaction, and you're not going to grant him that satisfaction—not this time anyway.

You wait for a few minutes until you can be sure that he's long gone before you grit your teeth and turn on your heel, walking to the ladder and hoisting yourself up. As you reach the surface you catch a whiff of yourself and scrunch your nose. You need a fucking shower.

***

The next day, you wake up in a sour mood, already dreading today's job—janitorial services. At least it's not scooping shit this time. You’re the first one there, as per usual. The hall is a mess after breakfast and you take a deep breath as you think about the fact that even after you scrub it spotless, it will be trashed again by the end of lunch and then again after dinner.

To top it all off, it's ridiculously cold in the room, the fire lit in the back of it not doing much to increase the temperature. You look down at your white cotton t-shirt under your flannel and find yourself wishing you had put a thicker undershirt on.

There aren't many people working with you on the first shift, only the usual other three this morning, not that you're complaining of course, it just means fewer people to get in your way. You keep your eyes to yourself most of the time, only looking at someone if they address you to ask for help or to comment on something. Before you know it, lunch has come and gone and you are preparing for dinner.

You notice halfway through that time that your friend is working the second shift, and she approaches you so you can work together for the rest of the time, though she only has the after-lunch shift. Rachel is a hard worker for the most part, though she likes to slack off a lot, but you appreciate the help while you have it. The two of you gossip and joke quietly until it's time for her to leave and time for you to sit back and wait for the dinner crowd to flood in.

***

It feels like a week has passed by the time the last person clears out after dinner, and you breathe a sigh of relief—you’re so close to getting back to your apartment and into your welcoming bed. You immediately get to work on sweeping up the trash that collected underneath the tables, eager to get out of here.

There are only two other people working with you this shift, which is weird because FEDRA usually has at least four people on each job, but you brush it off. They seemed to know each other and they blab amongst themselves as they work. At least the couple seemed like they were in the same mindset when it came to getting this job done, so you didn’t mind the fact that you are missing a crew member.

Halfway through your sweeping, you hear the door slam open, startling you and the couple that is now busy with taking leftover dishes into the kitchen. The chill that sweeps through the large room makes you assume it was just a gust of wind, probably blowing snow into the doorway.

Great, something else to clean, you think as you huff an annoyed breath.

When you turn to face the sound though, you find yourself wishing that the problem had been snow, but of course, when did anything ever go your way? The supposed gust of wind is actually Joel fucking Miller.

Your mood immediately sours and you have to fight not to roll your eyes as you watch him slink into the room and follow the couple into the kitchen. You hear the girl inform him that he was late—as if he didn’t know, or care for that matter. He only grunts in response. You don’t bother to stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. If Joel sees it, he doesn't say anything.

***

An hour later, Joel hasn’t bothered you, much to your relief. The only time you have to look up from your work is when the couple from earlier bids you farewell before they walk out the door. There is nothing left to do but scrub the tables, which you are doing now.

You only have two to go, and then you’re free for the rest of the night. Now that you're the only one left, the room is almost eerily silent, the only sound being the drip of water as you dip your sponge into the bucket and wring it out. After the table you are working on is thoroughly cleaned, you move on to the last one. It sits right next to the busted window, and you shiver as you walk past it.

“Cold, sweetheart?” The baritone voice sounding from behind you just about causes you to jump out of your skin, the bucket of water in your grasp suddenly spilling over your front. Of course, it was a huge fucking bucket, so it was enough water to coat almost your entire body.

The white t-shirt you have on under your thick flannel is soaked through so that it’s practically transparent. Dropping the now empty tub to the floor with a loud clang, you swivel on your heel to face Joel, who is leaning against the wall to his right, arms crossed.

If he sees the fire in your eyes, he ignores it as he smirks at you, obviously humored by your reaction—and likely by the fact that he can see your bra. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, every expletive or reprimand that comes to mind doesn’t seem to cover what you want to say.

As you stand there soaked in dirty, soapy water, you find that you can do nothing but stare. Your gaze is stuck on the man still standing in front of you, not a twinge of empathy in his own, which he has trained on you in return. You have no idea how long the two of you stay rooted to the same spots, staring each other down, but it must have been at least a few minutes because you can feel your body start to involuntarily shiver as your drenched form begins to freeze.

Of fucking course you had to have been standing right next to the broken, half-assed boarded-up window, and not by the fire that still rages into the chimney on the other side of the room.

The cool air sweeping in seems to trap you in its frigid grasp, threatening to turn the grayish liquid that covers you into ice. You can't help it as you finally move, bringing your arms up to cross over your chest in a feeble attempt to warm your rapidly cooling body and cover your exposed undergarment. You flinch as your arm presses the freezing fabric closer to your skin.

The action seems to break the invisible spell that had set over the two of you because Joel takes that as his queue to take a step back off the wall and lift his chin. The movement makes him look bigger and you have to lift your own to look into his eyes again. You can only hope he sees the fury that burns on your own. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor right now.

“You’re fucking joking,” you are the first to break the silence. The quiver in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that it was placed there out of anger. The asshole who put it there must know it too because you can see the way he swallows as if trying to rid himself of his guilt, though if that’s what he is feeling, he doesn’t show it any other way.

You can expect that the action will be the only sign of such a thing—if Joel Miller doesn't want to feel a certain way, he doesn’t, simple as that. You have never once met a man more rude, nor stubborn as the one currently in front of you.

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ funny,” he says, straight-faced with that stupid southern drawl that you have come to despise. You don’t reply as you continue to stare daggers at him, and you can't tell what’s making you shake more at this point—the layer of fucking ice about to coat your body, or the unmatched rage that brews in your mind.

Right now, you would place your bets on the rage, considering it’s actually starting to warm you up. The sight of Joel, arms crossed to mimic your own, still staring down at you like he's some fucking god, only fuels the feeling. Sighing quietly, your eyes shut as you try to calm yourself down before you say something you would really regret. It only takes a few seconds until you speak again, which might not have been long enough, truthfully speaking.

“That was pretty fucking shitty, even for you, Miller.” You manage to get the sentence out through gritted teeth, but it sounds strained. Anyone would agree that it sounds like you are trying your best to contain yourself, though it’s obviously a task you are struggling with. He says nothing, and his body gives nothing away, so you speak again. He knew exactly what was going to happen if he snuck up on you like that, and he probably didn’t even give it a second thought.

“I mean really, how fucking immature can you be? You really thought scaring me while I was holding a tub of dirty water was the best way to get my attention?” Your mouth starts to let words out before you can even think about what threatens to escape, and there is nothing you can really do but allow it to happen.

Your lips are moving far too quickly for your brain to comprehend at this point, your anger completely taking over. As hard as it can be to hold yourself back from an argument sometimes, you always managed—but this was the last fucking straw.

“And why the fuck are you even here? You obviously don’t have anything left to do.” Your voice is quickly raising but you doubt you could do anything about that even if you wanted to right now. Of course, it doesn’t matter how loud you get, you could probably scream right in his face, it never seems to affect him.

“Seemed lonely,” he says simply, shrugging and shifting off of the wall. He looks at your bewildered expression and decides it would somehow make it better if he elaborated, though you both know that he only does it to dig further under your skin.

“Never got anyone around, s’ all. Too fuckin’ stubborn n’ self-absorbed to make any friends.” His tone is condescending and nonchalant at the same time, like he is both stating a fact and trying to beat you down. You continue to stare at him as he finishes. This is a whole new level, one you wouldn’t even have assumed Joel would ever jump to.

You’ll admit it, he’s managed to find one of your most delicate insecurities, and he knows it, too. Even before the outbreak, you always had trouble making friends, your anxiety and general mistrust always got in the way. Every time you thought you were getting close to someone, you would push them away. It was your biggest fear, being betrayed by someone close to you—a worse fear, you decided, than being alone.

To this day, you have only ever let one person really get to know you. When you met Rachel during your first week in the QZ, she showed you a sort of open kindness that let you know she was a good one. You knew then, and you know now, that she would never do anything to hurt you in any way.

In the time that you've gotten to know her, she’s become the best friend you’ve ever had, and the only one you wanted. But she is only one person after all, and she can’t spend all of her time with you, so you find yourself on your own most of the time—and of course, Joel Miller, of all people, would pick up on it.

“You are such an asshole, Joel,” you spew out after a moment. “And you have the audacity to call me lonely?” You can't help the tears that start to blur your vision, so you ignore them as you continue to rant, your hands now flying wildly. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is starting to grow to the point where you feel like it will swallow you whole.

“You act like you’re so much fucking better than me! Who do you have?” Through your watering eyes, you can see the way Joel flinches slightly, and as much as it pleases you that you seem to have finally found a soft spot, it also eggs you on. You recognize it and think to yourself that he's a fucking idiot for pointing out the fact that you don’t have anyone in your corner when he has the same exact problem.

“Huh? You say I'm alone, and maybe I am, but I’ve never seen you with anybody.” Your vision starts to clear as you feel hot tears begin to streak down your already-soaked cheeks, allowing you to see the deep scowl set on Joel's face. It almost scares you how mad he looks, but it's too late to back down now.

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but it never comes. His silence only encourages you, and you know you probably seem immature as you continue to insult him, but it gets pushed to the back of your mind as you quickly realize it’s the least of your worries right now. Your tears are streaming freely at this point, your breaking point finally has been reached. The words are coming out faster than you care to stop them.

“You have no fucking friends, Joel,” you spit out. That one definitely struck a nerve, and you watch as he takes a step towards you, his face giving you a warning expression as if he already knows what you are going to say next. You know his history, and you know it's a bad idea, you know it is, but you say it anyway.

“You have no friends…” You pause, your brain subconsciously trying to talk you out of what you’re about to do. Of course, you don't listen. “...and you have no fucking famil-” you get cut off as Joels hand makes contact with your throat, his grip crushing your windpipe as he pushes you back until you hit the wall and lifts you onto your toes so you are looking into his rage-filled eyes.

He says nothing for a moment as he lets you struggle in his firm grasp, watching you writhe and try to gulp in air. The panic that courses through your body is almost paralyzing, sending a hot flash throughout your entire body as your brain catches up with what's happening.

You find yourself panicking even more when you realize that fear isn’t the only thing your senses seem to be overwhelmed with as his hand tightens around your neck. The wetness beginning to gather in your panties is suddenly the biggest problem you are faced with, an unwelcome feeling or arousal suddenly making itself known.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you feel your hands start to claw at the one wrapped around your neck, no doubt leaving raised scratch marks across his wrist. The man doesn't wince or falter though, as you struggle to try to pry his hand away. You can feel your mouth opening and closing, though you’re unsure of what you are trying to say. You suspect it's something along the lines of “Please”, but no sound comes out.

Eventually, after you realize that nothing is going to come from your struggle, you let your body fall limp, the only movement left is the tears that still crawl tauntingly down your cheeks. Though some of them may still be from the anger that had overcome you before you felt his large palm on your throat, most of them are now evidence of your shame.

Logically, you reason that there is no way for him to know what kind of response his aggressive actions pulled from you, but you can't help but feel like somehow, he can see right through you.

Upon seeing you submit, Joel lifts you more until you are close enough to feel his hot breath fan across your face. He loosens his grip enough so that you are allowed to catch a breath, but not enough for you to fall away from him. He starts to lower his arm, letting your feet hit the ground, but he leans his body down with your own so that his face stays less than an inch away from your own the entire time.

You know that realistically, he only had you in the air for a few seconds, but it felt like an hour with the fear—and unexpected lust—that was coursing through your veins. Though you are still trembling with the silent threat he delivered, you seem to be able to calm down a little as his hand loosens and slides around to the back of your neck, only holding you in place.

You stare into his eyes because you have nowhere else to look, and are almost surprised to see the array of emotions on display. You see anger, impatience, annoyance, a hint of restraint, but the one that seems to dominate them all is the one that takes you aback the most. You see in his eyes, what must be a reflection of your own.

Your mouth drops open again as you begin to place the look of longing and desire that burns in Joel's gaze as he stares you down, his mouth just centimeters from your own. You take a chance and allow yourself to look down at the way his lips almost brush yours, his own mouth parted as you both try to calm your ragged breathing.

You have no idea why you suddenly feel this way—well, you do, you just refuse to admit it. You hate his fucking guts because he is the only man that has made you feel something since before the outbreak. Every time you look at him, it is evidence that you are still capable of letting your guard down, that you are still weak.

You promised yourself the first time you understood what the potential problem with Joel Miller could be, that you wouldn’t allow it to become one. But this god-damned man makes it so fucking hard to keep that in check when he is staring at you like he wants to ruin you.

You feel his hand tighten around you again, and you snap your eyes back up to his, suddenly blushing as you realize that you have been staring at his lips for far too long. For once, you are at a loss for words, you have no idea what to say that might save your ass from looking like you had been doing exactly what you had. Thankfully, you don't have to wonder for long because Joel cuts right back to the chase, seemingly shaking himself out of his own thoughts as he speaks again.

“You want to try that again, little girl?” Fuck. How the fuck are you supposed to ignore the pit forming in your stomach when he says shit like that? You are too caught up in thinking of a response to answer him immediately, and he clearly doesn’t appreciate that as he shifts his position, pushing you back further into the wall behind you.

When he moves, you realize that one of his legs is slotted between your own, and your eyes widen as you feel how close his thigh is to your center—one little movement and you will give yourself away. You must be dripping at this point, and if he's not close enough to feel the heat coming off your cunt from where he stands right now, he will be if he moves any closer.

Steeling yourself, you opt not to speak as you bring your hands back up to grasp at his wrist again. Joel watches as you struggle to get a grip before he growls and uses his free hand to grab both of yours and place them on the wall above your head. Your eyes somehow widen even more and you want to shrivel up into a ball as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

You need to move now. You can't let this man see what he does to you, the way your body reacts to the way he so easily dominates you. You know that you have no time to plan anything out, so you do the first thing that comes to mind—you try to tug your hands out of his grip and you lunge to the side.

You’re not sure why you even attempt it, you know that it won't get you anywhere, but you do it anyway. Of course, he overpowers you once again, and nothing changes but his grip, both of his hands tightening as he leans in even closer to you. The new position causes his thigh to crush into your throbbing clit, and before you can stop it, a whimper breaks through your lips.

Nothing is said for a moment as you stare at Joel with shame, and him at you with a newfound amusement. You can feel yourself melting on the spot, and you let your head hang in humiliation, your eyes trained on the ground next to Joel, who is now smirking as he stares back at you. You feel his thigh crush into you again, deliberately this time, and you have to bite your lip and close your eyes in concentration so as to not give away any more sounds.

You hear Joel chuckle darkly above you, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. How are you supposed to resist this man when he sounds like that, when the rough denim of his jeans is rubbing you in all the right places as he begins to rock his thigh back and forth, making you bite your lip even harder. The hand on your neck suddenly releases its grip and you feel his thumb come to your mouth, tugging your bottom lip until it falls away from the punishing bite of your teeth.

“C’mon now, princess,” you hear Joel speak again and you can't help but moan softly as he sets his hand on your hip, starting to guide you across his firm thigh.

“You’ve given yourself away now, you ain’t gonna get outta this one.” His tone is taunting as he presses down on your hip, bringing you down harder against him.

The pressure on your clit is almost overwhelming with pleasure, and you find yourself moving on your own, beginning to chase the orgasm that has suddenly come within your grasp. You can’t help it with the way your wet jeans rub you just right and the firmness of his thigh is just enough to push the seam of them onto all the right places.

“F-fuck you, Miller,” you say, opening your eyes and bringing your head back up to look into his eyes, hoping the anger is apparent in yours. He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he moves his hand down to where your cunt meets his thigh, and places his thumb right on your clit, rubbing quick circles. The touch is all you need to send you over the edge, becoming a moaning mess under Joel’s body. He’s right of course, you want him to fucking ruin you. God, you hate it when he’s right.

He continues the circles on your clit as you come down from your high, riding you through it. When you are finally able to catch your breath, you look him in the eye to find him staring right back at you. His gaze is intense and full of want.

“You want me to quit, darlin?” You can tell by the way he says it, that he asks genuinely. He would stop if you said the word. As much as you want to hate him, you know that he is respectful enough that he wouldn’t do anything to that effect without your consent.

Joel may be an asshole, but he would never put his hands on a woman in that sense if she showed any sign of resistance. Though he didn’t seem to have a problem with wrapping his palm around your throat.

“I can give you more, all you have to do is ask,” Joel says after you don't answer him. His gaze is hungry as he waits for your consent, his eyes slowly tracing up and down your body, taking you in. When he looks back to your face, you nod slowly, watching as his already blown-out pupils seem to take over his irises.

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it, darlin,” he says as he brings his chin up to the side of your head, nibbling your earlobe and making you shiver.

“P-please, Joel,” you say, giving up the act. You know you want him, he knows you want him, and now you know he wants you, too.

“I need you, please.” At your signal, he doesn't wait any longer as he starts to pull you away from the wall, his free hand traveling back to the back of your neck, the other still grasping your wrists. Before you can figure out where he’s moving you to, your chest slams onto one of the tables, the force almost enough to knock the wind out of you. You had expected him to be rough, but not this rough… not that you mind. He’s clearly done with being gentle with you now that he has free reign.

“Jesus, Joel,” you say, throwing him a look over your shoulder as much as you can with your neck still being pinned down.

“You fucking mind?” You hear Joel chuckle behind you and feel him step closer to you, pressing himself against your ass and leaning over so that his chest is flush with your back.

“Nope, not at all.” His breath tickles your ear as he whispers into it.

“Now I'd be quiet if I were you, girl,” he tells you, his tone almost threatening. “Unless you want to wake the whole town, of course, cause now that I’ve started, I ain't gonna stop.” Your eyes widen and a whimper falls from your lips as he finishes his threat and pushes his top half off of you.

“Maybe you’d like that, huh, little girl?” he pauses his sentence to rip your pants and panties down in one fluid motion, making you cry out.

“Let the whole town watch me fuck you, show everyone who you belong to, who this cunt belongs to.” He knows you too fucking well, knows that you’re thinking about it now, salivating over the thought of someone walking in on you like this, your pants around your ankles, him, balls deep inside of you, taking what he wants.

“Dirty little girl, out here whorin’ herself out to me so quick. Slut’s just damn desperate for some good fuckin’ cock.”

You hear a sharp zip from somewhere behind you and you struggle out of instinct, pushing up on the hand holding you down. He ignores your protest and slams himself into you, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, giving you no warm-up or time to adjust.

You expected him to be big, but you weren't expecting this. He's fucking huge, stretching you out and reaching depths you didn't even know existed. You scream out at the sudden burning intrusion and Joel moves the hand that isn't on your neck to your mouth, silencing you halfway through the outburst.

The tears that fall from your eyes catch on the palm of his hand as he brings his cock almost all the way out before slamming himself back in, setting a brutal pace.

“Tha’s alright baby, Ima take good care of you,” Joel assures you through gritted teeth. “Make you feel real good creamin’ all over my fat cock.”

Your fingernails scrape the surface of the table once he releases your hands, scrambling for purchase as Joel slams into you without remorse. You’re almost surprised at how quickly you feel the knot in your stomach start to build back up, the pain promptly turning to pleasure as Joel brutally shoves his cock into your already-sore pussy.

The sounds of Joel's grunts, your muffled sobs, and the squelching of your cunt quickly fill the room, you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so cock-drunk on Joel. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is the way the head of his dick slams into your G-spot with every harsh thrust.

The way his dick drags against your walls makes you clench with every swift pass. That combined with the way his hips slap against your ass might just be the best thing you’ve ever felt.

Your body begins to go slack, your stomach and chest pressing harder into the table, you barely even register Joel's hand being removed from your mouth until you hear your unfiltered moans break through.

“Jus’ wait one second, darlin,” Joel's voice is strained as he talks. You try to nod back at him but find that it's a bit hard when your bones have melted. His pace never falters as he reaches down to where he pulled his pants down just enough to free his thick cock and heavy balls.

When his hand finds the open buckle of his belt, he tugs it through the loops and uses the edge of the table to fold it once before bringing it to your lips, pushing it toward you until you bite down on it.

He tells you something, by his tone it sounded like a command, but you can’t seem to make out the request. If you weren’t drooling before, you certainly are now with the taste of leather on your tongue. Joel smirks to himself as your moans quiet down with the help of the belt.

“There ya go, such a good girl holdin’ on t’ that for me,” he runs his fingers through your hair as you keen at his praise. He can feel your cunt tighten around him as your second orgasm approaches once again and he has to steel himself so as not to come right then and there like some teenager. Instead, he brings his hand down to touch your clit again, not with his thumb, but with his middle three fingers, rubbing up and down, immediately setting a furious pace.

The new sensation combined with the pistoning of his hips pushes you over the edge and you have to bite down on the belt so you don't scream as you receive the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. It's like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the white-hot pleasure almost blinding you, and the force of it almost pushing him out of your cunt.

You sob as you listen to Joel talk you through it, telling you how good you're doing for him, how you were made for him to stuff his cock into. His pace never falters as you gush around him, but he does push himself further into you so as to not be forced out of you.

The strength of his thrust is enough to surge you forward, the table screeching on the concrete floor below you as it too is moved forward slightly. After you come down completely from your high, he grasps your hands and tugs them behind your back for leverage, fucking down into you to chase his own pleasure.

“Goddamn, darlin, tight, young, little cunt, squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me.” His dirty words are almost humiliating as he throws them out, but you love every moment of it, the way you clench around his cock giving you away quickly.

“Oh, you like that, little slut?” he almost sounds surprised as he continues rambling.

“Filthy little thing, lettin’ some old man stuff his cock into your sweet little pussy. ‘F you didn’t take dick so good I would think you’d be a damn virgin.” You whine beneath him as much as you can with the leather between your teeth, a shameless request for him to keep talking.

“Yeah, you like that, huh, little girl?” He grants your wish, spewing more filthy comments every few thrusts. “Like bein’ told what a f-fuckin’ whore you are f’ me?” You keep, drooling on the belt trapped between your teeth.

Suddenly, you feel the large hand that was pinning your neck disappear, only to reappear on your ass, making your eyes widen as Joel quickly slides to your other hole, his thumb right above the tight ring of muscle.

Usually, you would want to struggle, but for some reason, the thought of Joel taking you there is something you find yourself wanting. He feels you squeeze around him again and he chuckles at your desperation.

“Now, you’re just full of surprises, ain't ya, princess?” He says, his voice even more strangled than it was before. It almost sounds like it should be painful for him to talk. He stops talking for a moment to allow his saliva to drip down and slide down your ass crack.

“You’d let me fuck you here, wouldn't you, little girl?” Fuck this man, you both know the answer to that.

“Put my dick in this pretty little ass?” When you don't object, you feel him spit on top of his thumb again before pushing it into you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes curl as he slides his thumb into you until he can’t anymore. The intrusion triggers your third orgasm, your body melting into the table as you press back into him. It’s less intense than the first two, but you are still fully consumed by the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

If you had been standing, you would have fallen to your knees. You’ve never felt so full in your life, the feeling almost overwhelming as he leans on top of you again, continuing to whisper filth into your ear. You can tell he’s getting close by the way he lets go of your wrists and tangles his fingers into your hair, slamming himself somehow even deeper inside of you.

“Tell me who these fuckin’ holes belong to, princess,” he spews out through gritted teeth, pulling the belt away from your mouth and throwing it somewhere off to the side.

“Who makes you feel good, makes these little holes feel good?” When you don't answer immediately, your unleashed moans and whimpers making it almost impossible, he uses the hand that’s not fingering your ass to deliver a sharp slap to your left cheek.

“Fuck, fuck Joel it’s you,” you practically sob as you tell him what he wants to hear, what you want him to hear.

“T-these holes are yours Joel, you make them feel so good, they belong to you, all yours,” you cry out frantically. Satisfied with your response, he rubs over the red spot on your skin before returning his hand to your neck.

“That's right,” he praises you softly and you soak up every word. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, knowin’ who she belongs to.” He thrusts into you half a dozen more times before his pace finally starts to falter.

“W-where do you want me, sweet thing?” As he asks you, all you can think is “fuck this man for being respectful with shit like that.” If he hadn’t asked, you probably would have shoved him away, but instead, you make another stupid decision—why the fuck not at this point?

“I-inside, Joel, inside me, oh my god, fucking c-come inside me,” you’re only slightly aware of how desperate you sound as you beg for his cum, but again, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. You let your cheek rest on the cool surface of the table and close your eyes, too exhausted to hold yourself up any longer.

You hear Joel groan and start to say something above you, but he cuts himself off as he releases inside you with a strangled moan, almost like he is biting down on his lip so as not to shout.

A stream of curses laced with your name spills from his lips as he twitches and pulses inside you. The feeling of his hot cum spilling into you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It seems like forever before he stills, practically collapsing on top of you, his cum dripping around his softening cock and down your thighs.

Despite his weight on top of you, you think you could probably manage to fall asleep there. Your body has never felt so spent and tired, every muscle sore in one way or another. Joel waits only a minute before lifting himself off of you, and you attempt to lift your head to follow his movement, only for your cheek to be gently pressed back onto the table by his palm.

“Jus' hold on a second, princess.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it makes your heart warm, but you can't resist the perfect opportunity to tease him as it presents itself.

“You’re happier after you get your dick wet,” you say with a small smile as you follow his request, letting your eyes close as you bask in the feeling of euphoria that’s taken over your body.

At your snippy comment, you expect him to scold you, or maybe to swat your behind, which is still presented for him. What you don’t expect is to feel his tongue on your spent cunt. Your body jolts and your eyes snap open at the unexpected feeling, your reflexes causing you to try to sit up again, only to be pushed down by Joel’s hand on your lower back.

“I said to wait a second, darlin’,” he says as he pulls away from you, his tone more stern now. He waits until you nod your head to return to your pussy, dipping into your hole and lapping up your mixed release. You shudder as his tongue grazes your overstimulated clit, but do your best to hold still for him.

After he seems to have gotten his fill, you feel him pull away again and stand up to lean over you. His hand suddenly grabs your chin, making you twist your neck slightly so that you are looking up at him. He keeps his mouth shut as he brings it to his own before squeezing your cheeks, making you open your lips, and drops his jaw open.

You gasp as you feel the combination of his spit and your cum mixed with his own slowly spill onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes open and locked onto yours as he keeps your lips together and lets the liquid drip into your mouth. When he pulls away, he replaces his lips with his hand, forcing your mouth shut.

“Swallow,” he commands. You obey without a second thought and let the substance slip down your throat. He smiles when he's sure you’re done and moves his hand, motioning for you to open up. You do, and he smirks as he sees every drop gone.

“Good girl,” he mutters as he lays back down on top of you, and you let your body rest on the table again, enjoying the feel of his body on top of yours. As the two of you stay there, catching your breath, you feel Joel's chest start to vibrate against your back in silent laughter. You furrow your brows and attempt to stand and roll him off you, but only succeed in the latter, your legs failing as if they were made of jello.

Joel stands back and tucks himself back into his jeans as you slump back down on the table, temporarily accepting defeat. You see him take a seat in the chair next to you out of the corner of your eye, his chest still rattling the slightest bit.

“What the fuck do you find so funny, bastard?” You slur your words, your tone is a lot less fierce than you had wanted it to be. He looks at you before answering, and you feel your both heart and your cunt clench at the almost adoring look in his eyes as he meets your gaze. Maybe the asshole will try to be decent for a moment, his expression promising.

“Looks like your gonna have t’ scrub this table again, princess,” he says, his tone toeing the line of playful. You feel your lips tug up into a smile as you recognize the fact that this is probably Joel being friendly. Or at the very least, he’s not at your throat at the moment—in a bad way anyway—so you’ll take it. Upon seeing your smile, he sits back further and allows himself a small smile of his own as he continues to watch you sink into the polished wood beneath you.

“Fuck you, Miller,” you say. You erupt into a quiet yet delirious fit of exhausted giggles, Joel following soon after with his own gentle chuckle.

“Might have t’ give me a second for that, princess.”

*****

Pt. 2 here

#joel miller #fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #bless this mess #the last of us #tlou #we likey?#exhibition kink #enemies to lovers #dark!joel miller

322 notes · View notes

medakakurokami · 11 months

Text

I finished over 100 visual novels, here’s a long post with some recommendations

Last month I hit 100 Finished VN’s over on the VNDB and I thought I’d shoot out some recommendations while the Steam Summer Sale is going on (even though some of these aren’t going to be on Steam)

I already have finished up some stragglers and caught some shorter titles so it’s up to 104 Finished, but all the better. I have been reading some VN’s since 2015, but it really became a hobby and a genre I was invested in during Covid lockdown in 2020. I had trouble getting into some of the popular titles, but a couple of games that were lesser known at that time really blew me away that year and I started digging more into the medium. I still have a lot to try out and other classics I’m still interested in trying, but here’s a top 10 I’m confident in recommending to most people, at least the kinda people that would follow this blog. A few of these recommendations are actually multi-part series, but hopefully accessible all around.

Planetarian ($10 on Steam and Switch, ~$5 on sale)

This is a very late entry onto this list but I think it’s an easy recommendation. This is a very short 2-4 hour visual novel that got a well received 2 hour movie adaptation in 2016, but it was strong enough that even while knowing the plot everything still hit hard. It is a story set 30 years after an apocalyptic event destroys most of the world, as a human junk-trader comes across a planetarium with a somehow-still-functional robot named Hoshino still performing her daily duties after 30 years without customers or coworkers. It can come across as a bit saccharine, but it is a quick, well made, and effective tearjerker.

Narcissu 1st & 2nd (Free on Steam)

Narcissu’s first two parts are pretty compelling stories to do with suicidal ideation within the scope of the terminally ill. Which is to say they’re also real tear jerkers, and pretty open about some harsh self-reflective emotions. They both have stellar endings, and can be quite immersive despite the very limited artwork (if the screencap looks weird, the game’s art exists within a narrow strip on the screen, with a sentence or two reading out the story underneath it). Maybe the least accessible on this list, but a $0 price tag makes it easier in some sense to get into.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni / When The Seagulls Cry (~$50 on Steam, $30 on sale)

Umineko you’ve probably already heard of, and here’s me recommending it. Umineko comes in two parts, on Steam referred to as the Questions Arc and the Answers Arc. Despite the split, the overall story follows the events of a certain day on Rokkenjima Island in 1986 as a family meets to discuss their inheritance and their family’s mysteries. Unbeknownst to them they are soon haunted, over and over again, by the revenant of the Golden Witch said to live in the woods of their family’s island.

I’m in the minority of preferring the Questions Arc, where well written and deeply human characters find themselves in deeply inhumane and nonsensical scenarios. The Answers Arc back seats some of that to start delving into an esoteric explosion of clues and backstories, and was still very entertaining even if I was more invested in the episodic stories than the overarching mystery. This may also be seen as inaccessible, $30-50 for a slightly older title and over 140 hours long on average playthroughs, but it is deeply absorbing.

Witch on the Holy Night a.k.a. Mahoyo ($40 on PS4 and Switch)

Mahoyo is me and Nasu’s marriage counselor, it really made me see the good in him. It follows a young witch co-habitating with her magic colleague and the puppy-like boy that unwittingly steps into their world at risk to his own life, just as unexplained apparent murders are witnessed in their town.

This could possibly be a higher level recommendation, though it was apparently intended to have sequels and you can somewhat feel that in the isolated feeling of its main conflict. Despite this, the game is definitely worth experiencing for its classy charm and extremely well made action sequences that at times make you forget you’re not watching a full anime film. It’s also a showcase of Nasu’s strengths in writing character interactions and comedy, and he finally lets Show take over and stops Telling you piles of mage society worldbuilding quite so often. It is also has some of the highest quality production value I’ve ever seen, second maybe to...

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon ($20 on Steam/Switch, less than $10 on sale)

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon is an explosive opera of art, energy, color, and of course music. It follows the orphaned Marco and her dragon compatriot Arco as they hunt for treasure across the cosmos, finding their way to Earth on the hunt for Marco’s mother.

If Umineko’s 140 hours seems steep, Marco has you covered with a quick 6 hour rundown of a rebellious orphan fighting back against her space alien menace to find her own sense of place and identity in the universe, along with ALL the friends she made along the way. If Mahoyo feels like an anime film sometimes, Marco actually just has fully animated FMV cutscenes that are fun as hell and have their own unique artstyle to the VN itself. Thousands of pieces of artwork and a 52-track OST fill the game’s short runtime with no cut corners and and overflow of passion from the devs. Honestly even if you don’t want to read it go buy it, it’s cheap and they earned it.

White Album 2 (You’ll have to be creative to find this one)

This is the only recommendation that’s currently only available in an adults only 18+ Rating for the English translation. That being said, it’s one of the few erotic VN’s that felt justified in its pornographic scenes. The story is split into two releases: Opening Chapter and Closing Chapter.

Opening is a short and powerfully delivered love triangle narrative following Haruki, Setsuna, and Touma as their hastily formed 3-man light music band falls into itself with feelings. It’s charming but gut wrenching and sweeps you into its drama very effectively before kicking you on your ass in the end.

Closing Chapter is a long and drawn out disassembling of their lives as they fail to heal from the wounds of the relationships seen in Opening. It, to great effect, takes the readers own experience with how fun and passionate the Opening Chapter was, and shows how trying to cling to halcyon days can make us so dispassionate about our present lives. Painful stuff! Good music, too.

The Princess, The Stray Cat, and Matters of the Heart 1 & 2

a.k.a. Noratoto ($40 on Steam for both, ~$15 for both on sale)

This is a very personal recommendation, and maybe one more easy to make on this blog where many of my followers might be receptive to sincere but slapstick ecchi comedy as art. Every route is highly different however and to me, some are pretty average for galge, while others stand out as amazing. The comedy writing as well feels like it was written by someone with actual comic writing experience, and not just regurgitating the usual ecchi manga jokes.

The general premise of Noratoto is the protagonist Nora, being transformed into a cat by Patricia the princess of the Netherworld, and he must reverse this curse via a kiss before it becomes permanent. A benign fairy tale premise, but one that somehow gives way to underlying stories about existence and finding purpose in families and where that leaves those without families or with abusive or divided families (it is from the same developers as Marco and the Galaxy Dragon, and the themes of finding identity without family match up very closely). Uniquely it is a visual novel written somewhat in 3rd person, narrated by a motherly voice as if the VN was being read to you as a bedtime story.

Like I said, it is dependent on route and some come across as your usual ecchi gal-game schtick, but some stick out, and if every route was as high quality as Nobuchina’s in the 2nd game, it would probably be my favorite visual novel.

The Original Ace Attorney Trilogy ($30 on most platforms, $10 on sale)

You’ve almost certainly heard of Ace Attorney already and have most likely played it. This is me telling any Ace Attorney fans reading that the original trilogy still reigns supreme (regardless of Turnabout Big Top). This is also me telling anyone who has held out on trying Ace Attorney to try it, and to start with the original trilogy.

Obviously this trilogy follows the Meme Man Himself, Phoenix Wright, as he defends the innocent and brings the guilty to justice acting as both lawyer and his own main investigator. While each case presents a unique mystery, the original trilogy has an underlying arc that reaches from beginning to end with a massive conspiracy that Phoenix has to breach to bring justice to the perpetrators and resolve the memory and regrets of his beloved mentor.

These games have some speedbumps as you may be banging your head against the wall trying to find the right evidence, but the experience that breaks through does so with gusto, succeeding on what it sets out to be: games that make you feel like you’ve brought justice to the world.

Utawarerumono Trilogy ($40/60 each on Steam, trilogy bundle $62 on sale)

Utawarerumono was my first proper visual novel, and it set the standards pretty high. I’ve posted about it several times in the last few years, and it remains one of my favorites. It is a labor of love on the part of the developers (the same developers as White Album 2), who developed the latter two games over the course of several years and have made this the spearhead of their company for the time being. Which makes sense, since it is about war.

The first game follows a masked man who is given the name Hakuoro waking up in a rural village with amnesia, confused about the strange population of beast-men living there. Despite not understanding his situation, his ingenuity brings the village prosperity. When the local lords try to put the village under their thumb, Hakuoro and the villagers are able to turn the tides against them. Their village grows into a kingdom as Hakuoro seeks the mysteries of himself and the world around him.

The latter two games pick up some twenty years after the conclusion of the first, and follow a man who is given the name Haku, waking up in the woods with amnesia confused about the... you get it. He is met by Kuon, a young girl on her way traveling to the capital of their nation of Yamato. Haku graciously accepts her help getting out of the cold woods, and decides to join her to the capital. As events play out, Haku finds himself under the direct command of the nation’s leader the Mikado, and carries out missions on his behalf as the nation continues to drag itself into war and conflict and Haku also seeks the truth of his identity.

These games are expansive in scope while still putting a large focus on the day-to-day lives of its characters. Around 100 hours across all three games it is impressive how much story it manages to fit in, but the pacing does bounce around between sweeping conflict and sleepy conversations. It is also in part, a strategy RPG game with the battles in the war being controlled by the player. These are decently made, especially well in the third game, but don’t ask too much of the player and the story remains the main focus and biggest portion of the runtime.

The House In Fata Morgana a.k.a. Fatamoru

($40 complete version on PS4/Switch, ~$40 main game + expansion on Steam)

I’ve gushed about this enough on this tumblr, I’ll keep it brief.

You are a formless soul who is led by the hand of a mysterious maid through the doors of a mansion on an unknown plane of existence. Through each door lies a story of the house in a different era, all following people bound together in ways that leave them cruelly and violently undone by the end of their stories. The connection between these stories, the mystery of the house and the supposed witch that resides within, and the mystery of You the wandering soul all slowly unravel in a bloody show of catharsis and soul. The game is dripping with traumatic poetic text, grating beautiful music, and all of its atmosphere geared toward being oppressive yet enticing. One of the best things I’ve read.

Honorable mentions:

Va-11 Hall-A and Endless Mondays get shout outs as some of the best Original English Language VN’s I’ve read, with cool artstyles and a mature cast they manage to be fun and relatable. Va-11 Hall-A delivers a great arc for its protagonist and Endless Mondays has great dialogue on the threat of automation of creative industries.

Grisaia Trilogy and Hatsumira are both absolutely raucous trilogies that are a lot of fun. Not wholly recommendable to all, Grisaia has some strong moments and a hilarious unique cast but is a mess overall (but we love Michiru). Hatsumira is a bit more consistent, a more stable and fantasy-oriented Grisaia.

A.I. The Somnium Files duology are detective games with highly divisive endings, but great comedy and characters that make them very easy to get through and enjoy the whole way to the end. It’s just a toss-up whether you’ll like that ending.

Sakura Wars games are finally being translated, and they are a great showing for anyone who wants to try some classic dating sim stuff but with some pizazz thrown in with the setting and mecha combat.

The Tears to Tiara duology by the same developers of Utawarerumono and White Album is also one to keep an eye out for. The first game's definitive version isn't available in English and the second game is stuck on the PS3 and no longer available digitally, but if they ever come out on Steam they are worth your time.

Nanairo Reincarnation and Kinkoi: Golden Loveriche are also two solid ecchi comedy galge. Both have surprisingly deep and genuinely heartbreaking underlying mysteries and conclusions.

I still have a lot I wanna read, Planetarian is the only Key novel I’ve read. On the docket are Labyrinth of Galleria, Little Busters, the 9 -nine- series, and Kara no Shoujo and White Album 1 releasing on Steam this year. Some classics I didn’t mention are Fate/Stay Night, Muv Luv, Steins Gate. Muv Luv I read Extra and enjoyed it, but never pulled the trigger on reading the rest, I may at some point on a whim. Steins;Gate I played through half of on PS3 and now my PS3 is in the closet, the VN is really good and has a unique atmosphere to the anime, buuuuuuut knowing the plot has made it hard to want to restart on PC or another console. Steins;Gate is good, if anyone is reading this far and hasn’t seen the anime or read the VN, do it.

#long post #i'll only tag the main ones #planetarian #narcissu #umineko #witch on the holy night #marco and the galaxy dragon #white album 2 #the princess the stray cat and matters of the heart #noratoto #ace attorney #utawarerumono #the house in fata morgana

389 notes · View notes

siconetribal · 2 months

Text

Put It On My Tab: Chapter 8

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning: Epiphanies, violence, crime fighting, and staffing issues

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

Sorry about the delay, I wasn't sure on where to go with the story for some time, and health problems started popping up more and more. Things are still hectic, but hopefully manageable.

Personal matters aside, I hope you all continue to enjoy. Thank you for all your support always.

A big shout-out to my friend who is a manager of a facility much like Citlalli. How you handle the various incidents that you do with such grace is inspiring.

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, here is a link to the other parts:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

It was moments like these that reminded him of the benefits of wearing his red helmet. The contents of his head remained intact and inside his skull at all times..

Holy shit, she was the barista at the counter! Red Hood quickly got back up onto his feet, bobbing to dodge a hook before grabbing the bigger guy's sleeve, yanking the guy forward to grab his head. A sickening crunch followed by a cry of pain was satisfaction to the vigilante’s ears. The lumbering giant fell to his knees, holding his face. “It wasn’t that bad,” he scoffed, waiting for his opponent to get back up. The clang of metal was all he heard before watching the crook fall face-first into the pavement. “Now that, that would be pretty bad.” He shrugged, looking up at Nightwing. “You know I had him, right?”

“Is that what you call being plowed into a brick wall? I swear, the lingo of the youth these days.” The elder Robin ran a gloved hand through his hair, looking down at the unconscious bodies littered around. “Two, four, I think that’s all of them.” He nudged his foot into the one on his right, watching the body roll over.

“Looks like it. Now we just gotta wrap ‘em up and drop ‘em off for the cops.” Red Hood motioned towards the street with his head. “I guess today wasn’t a total waste.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Dammit, I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner! This could’ve all been nicely packed and solved, stupid, stupid, stupid! He berated himself as they dragged the culprits to one of the nearby working lamp posts, tying them up. Clearly finding some Jane Doe of Gotham was not as easy as he thought, especially when he looked right at her and failed to realize it. His pride as a detective was bruised to a point that he was not sure if it would ever be restored. No way in hell I’m telling Grayson about that, I’ll really never hear the end of it. He glared at the guy with the broken nose. Once again, he was grateful that he wore a red helmet instead of a domino mask. His red cheeks and peeved expression was hidden to all except for himself as the two wrapped up for the evening.

Y/N lay crumpled and slouched on the old sofa of their apartment, exhausted and defeated. How many weeks had it been since all this started? How many more were left? She had just paid the first installment of the bill, a glorious moment, until she saw the damage to her bank account.

Life’s not fair, I get it, but this is cruel and unusual! She sighed for the umpteenth time, sinking into the old cushions a little deeper. He had to have noticed her, there was no way her attempts at anonymity were successful. Not to mention, he literally caught me falling! Ah, then there’s the stroke of genius Cici had. Really, a victim of Joker laughing gas? Now he’s really going to think I’m insane and refuse to pay! Then again, maybe he’ll pity me enough and actually pay? He did leave a sizable tip between the two of us. She forced herself to sit up straight and crossed her legs.

“No, get it together! You need to talk to him and explain the situation. I’m sure we can come to a reasonable conclusion through proper discourse! We’re both adults, and he clearly has a savior/hero complex because he did help me at the bar. I’m sure he can be reasoned with when he’s not inebriated or asking a billion questions.” She nodded to herself. “The real issue is how do I find him and prove I’m not some nut case?” Her pursed lips slid side to side as she tried to figure out a method to meet up with him again.

Citlalli had suggested she just turn up at Wayne manor or Wayne Enterprises. It was a tempting option, but with her luck, Y/N had a feeling she was going to be labeled as the new arm candy of the billionaire playboy and that was nothing but trouble. The last thing either of them needed was a horde of paparazzi hounding them or breaking into their rickety apartment and potentially breaking whatever they got their hands on.

Was Bruce Wayne handsome? Yes, there was no denying that. But handsome hardly scratched the “worth it” surface. Just look at where she was stuck now thanks to one of his adopted children. No, good looks did not make things worth it, like Citlalli always said. It only made matters worse. “And triple-y so when a Wayne was involved.” She muttered. “What if he never returns to the coffee shop? It’s been a whole month since then and nada!” She threw her hands up in frustration and slouched on the couch once more. “Doesn’t help that Arkham_Knight has been MIA, too! None of the quests are as fun without him. But he did say he’s going to be out of town or something about no gaming access. I wonder if kicking Wonder Boy’s butt is still on the table if he knew who he was.” It was so very tempting to just give in to the siren call, but she knew better than that. For starters, it would ruin the dynamic between the two of them and one or both of them would end up in jail for attacking a trust fund kid like him.

Her thoughts were broken by the clatter of her phone vibrating on the coffee table. Grabbing the device, she hit the green button on the outdated device. “Hey Cici, what’s up?”

“Hey chica, where are you right now?”

“At the apartment, sprouting on the couch like a potato, why?”

“Can you help me out, pretty please?” Y/N could hear the batting of her lashes through the phone.

“Hmmm, I dunno, I do have a pretty tight schedule between germination, wallowing in my financial crater, and staring out into the darkness.” Y/N tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she made her way into the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Oh, woe is you, so busy.” Citlalli scoffed. “Anyway, I really need your help! I just got word that Ryan had asked Stacy to cover his shift and she agreed. Neither of them confirmed that he would be taking up her shift today, and he's saying that he asked her but never agreed to pick up from her. Yes, it's stupid, and I’m going to have to sit these over privileged brats down and explain to them how swapping shifts work again. But, that's not the point! I need someone in today and I thought you may want to pick up some hours to save up faster. Are you able to?”

“Yeah, ok, I’ll head in. Thanks for the chance, I really appreciate it. You don’t worry your little curly head about this and just enjoy the weekend away with your family. Send me any open shifts, and I’ll cover where I can, cool?”

“Miha, you’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much!” Citllali quickly dissolved into heaps of praises and prayers in Spanish out of sheer relief before she finally hung up the call and texted the information.

Another Saturday night shift left unmanned because why would they honor the hours they said they'd work? Not like I can complain though, I’m hitting overtime now and that means more money for me to get these payments over with. She made her way down the narrow hallway to her bedroom, quickly getting changed into a simple black tee and jeans, with the café apron tucked away into her backpack as she locked up behind herself.

The shift had started out busy, the store filled with students and professionals burning the night oil fueled by caffeine and pastries. But as the hours slowly ticked by, the number of in-store customers dwindled down alongside the drive-thru patrons. The moon was now up in place of the sun, and no one really dared to be out too late in this part of Gotham. Only the foolish and desperate, like herself, remained at work because the company insisted on a 24-hour shop to help spruce the town.

Did she want to be out here at night? No. Was being at home in the apartment alone any better? No. At least there was surveillance here. Any trouble that could happen would be recording, and she would be safe, sort of. Shrugging off self-preservation, Y/N began to sweep the floors to pass the time. It was better than standing at the counter waiting for no one to come in. It was another dead night, nothing serious was going to happen.

50 notes · View notes

lexithwrites · 1 month

Note

omgg, I just saw the ship tags on your post, and now I can ask without being nervous! Maybe prongsfoot or rosekiller for the 6th promt? Thank uuu (just know I'd violently boop you if it was still an option)

no worries! im happy to try almost any ship (within reason haha) but imma try rosekiller for this one, i haven't properly written anything for them so hopefully its okay! thank you for messaging and please never be worried about requesting a ship! i'm always happy to write!

(quick lil tw for this one its not really non-con but there's a brief moment where barty 'struggles' he doesn't, he's faking, but just in case i'll add a little * so people know!)

6. “I can’t believe you just sucked me off in an alleyway.” “I can’t believe you let me.”

Evan's head whipped around when he heard another group of people come out of the pub, laughing and tripping over themselves from all the drinking, and then gripped Barty's hair a little tighter. He looked down at him, watching the ways his eyes welled up with tears, and smirked.

"Breathing okay, Crouch?"

From around his cock, Barty grunted and swallowed to make Evan gasp, but it also made him push him down further so his nose was nestled against his abdomen. Barty couldn't have been happier.

"You're gonna get us fucking caught." He hissed, rocking his hips and fucking the back of Barty's throat. It was beyond heavenly, it always was. "But I bet that's exactly what you want, isn't it? You want people to see a cock in your mouth, on your knees for me, covered in spit like a whore. So fucking pathetic."

Barty gripped his thighs and started bobbing his head, wanting Evan to finish so he could swallow his cum already. He'd been patient and waited all night, even when Evan dragged him into the bathroom to edge him. Now he just wanted his reward. He didn't care about getting off himself, but he wanted to taste Evan on his tongue. It's all he could think about most days.

Evan threw his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the people just down the alley from them as well as the sinful choking sounds Barty was currently making as he drooled and choked and gagged on his cock.

"Fuck—shit!" Evan covered his mouth and thrust harder, letting cum hit the back of Barty's throat. * Barty was scrambling for air beneath him, weakly trying to push him away so he could breath. They both knew he didn't care about breathing right now, but it was fun to pretend and struggle a little. *

When he was done, Evan pulled Barty back by the hair and made him get to his feet so they were face to face again, and he grinned at the fucked out expression on his boyfriends face. He was covered in his own spit and tears, eyeliner running down his eyes, and Evan cocked his head to the side. "You look disgusting."

"Just how you like me." Barty's voice was ragged and wrecked. "Put your dick away, asshole." Evan did, and then pushed some of Barty's hair back so it wasn't sticking to his forehead.

"Can't believe you just sucked me off in an alleyway." He murmured, leaning in to kiss him. Barty chuckled and licked into Evan's mouth so he could taste himself.

"I can't believe you let me, Rosie."

#mail #the marauders #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #rosekiller #alex writes things #my depraved boys

32 notes · View notes

vickyvicarious · 29 days

Note

(In order to not derail op's thread, and jic they've not finished reading the books, hope this is ok) The madness/mental illness discussion between Laura and Jonathan made me think about the in-between of Jonathan leaving the hospital and then being validated!

One thing is, pre-Hawkins death, Mina states to Lucy that Jonathan has been working hard, but that he is weak still and placid, and also that he has nightmares. It tells on them both, because Mina cannot get a full night's sleep due to him waking up screaming and she needs to soothe him. Journal aside, Mina says she is so worried about his nerves that she doesn't communicate with him about how tired she is herself. It reminds me of Walter wanting to protect Laura from distress.

Post-Hawkins death, Jonathan gets worse. "He says the amount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from clerk to master in a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone."

Not a very traditionally ''manful'' picture, but Mina never goes there. Still, he throws himself into work. Mina says her belief in him helps Jonathan believe in himself. Maybe Laura would have benefited from being believed in.

What prompts Walter to do something drastic is when Laura weeps in her sleep. What prompts Mina to break the seal later is when Jonathan faints in public and loses the memory of it.

The way Mina treats Lucy and Jonathan in illness seems equal. She keeps their secrets upon their request too. Walter and Mina take similar active roles for their spouses, though Mina isn't necessarily masculine for it.

An interesting imho comparison could also be when Mina chooses to consult Van Helsing while Jonathan is away for his first work trip and how they communicate throughout it, and Walter with the sisters.

Aside, when she asks Van Helsing to help Jonathan, he says, "I promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can—all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one." Van Helsing promises to make his life manly, though Mina had asked to make him "well again". So he kind of made it about gender, though it wasn't for Mina.

(I also wonder if we can call Jonathan ''cured'' really, as he doesn't actually return to his former self, but it'd get too long!)

(Tagging @animate-mush because the WIW substack has ended now, hopefully you're all caught up... but regardless no spoilers past where we were last week.)

Anon, you sum up my thoughts incredibly well: "Maybe Laura would have benefited from being believed in."

I think that is perhaps the most major difference between the recovery period for the two of them. Because while they both have remarkably similar symptoms, and both their spouses hide stuff from them for a while... when things come to a head Mina chooses to believe in Jonathan. Not just in supporting him as he goes back to work (which you're right, he has little choice about doing - an external gendered element there, where societal pressures/norms mean Jonathan kind of has to get to work and Laura is never expected to at all); Mina trusts Jonathan with information, with an important role in what follows.

There's obvious contextual differences. Jonathan knew he could access his lost memories and explicitly didn't want to unless it was necessary. He put the power to decide that in Mina's hands (and it was his request but still her choice to share in his ignorance until she needed more information). When she reads his journal, she's trying to better help him within parameters they have both agreed to. When she eventually tells him everything is true, she's trusting that this will be validating for him and help him heal, help him be more "well again" (though you're right both that he never returns to his former self, and that Van Helsing is the only one who brings gender into it with his assumption that Mina's looking to make Jonathan more manly).

Laura never had an equivalent - both in terms of a discussion with the ones leaving her out for the sake of her mental health, and in the sense of some record she knows she can fall back on. She didn't have a hidden journal when she was being drugged or in the asylum. Most of the information Walter and Marian gather is from other people.

I think there is a period where both Jonathan and Laura have information hidden from them for their own sake. And I don't think that was inherently wrong or anything; in fact I think it was somewhat needed. Jonathan got the chance to explicitly ask for that period of ignorance. We don't quite have any such dialogue from Laura, but the narration still tells us that there were certain topics that were very confusing to her or which she didn't like to linger on (and her experience with Mr. Fairlie even after getting out of the asylum can't have helped), and there's that scene where she says she will "try to get better", showing recognition of how unwell she currently is. I think they both need this time to focus on recovering, and their spouses/loved ones want to support them so they can do so. Again, the societal gender role divides them here: Jonathan has to work and in fact has to take on new/more challenging work, while Laura doesn't and can devote more time to rest and recovery. There's benefits and drawbacks to both of those, in my mind. Jonathan got support from Mina and reassurance that she (and Mr. Hawkins) believed in him, which was helpful. On the other hand, it stressed him out more and he was still suffering from his nightmares, etc. Laura got more time to take it easy without having other stress added on, which was helpful. But on the other hand, she didn't get the same level of trust and belief in her ability to, if not 'return to normal,' at least to be productive and helpful in some way.

Yeah, I'm talking about her drawings. I think that is where the big divide comes. Because when she wants to contribute and help with the household, Walter decides to lie to her and play-act that she is bringing in money. I get that he's trying to avoid letting her stress over money, but it feels so condescending. He's treating her like a child rather than being honest with her - right after she asks him not to treat her like a child. Maybe being honest would just be telling her that she's not well enough to work/that it wouldn't be safe, and that he has the money handled. Maybe they'd come up with some other way she could chip in. At least she'd be involved in the discussion as she clearly wanted to be. And while I don't think she would be involved in the hunting down different accounts or confrontations that follow at the end of the book any more than Marian was, I think they should have told her what was going on. That doesn't necessarily mean giving her all the nitty gritties especially if they're triggering to her; but giving her the chance to speak for herself, to add her thoughts, even to ask to be left out if she thinks she can't handle it. She never gets that. There's no reevaluation later on.

Both Jonathan and Laura were denied validation in a way that made them doubt their sanity. Jonathan's experiences were supernatural and he fears he lost his mind. Laura was lied to and gaslit about her own identity, outright told she was suffering from delusions. Revealing that the supernatural things he remember are real was validating for Jonathan in itself, even as he still had all the accompanying trauma. Laura's (official/public) validation isn't possible until after the villains are defeated and everything is over, which in a sense stretches out that middle period. Similarly, Jonathan getting the information leads right into him getting a change to assuage his feelings of guilt and seek revenge, which could be cathartic for him. Laura probably wouldn't have the same opportunities or even desire to do so, and so maybe looping her in wouldn't have been as helpful. But it feels cruel to me never to give her the option. After a certain point, it's no longer just trying to spare her from distress, but it feels like believing she isn't capable of handling any at all.

I guess that's what feels most gendered to me. Walter, and to an extent Marian too, don't treat Laura like an adult or an equal after her experience. This does happen throughout the book, but it gets so much more egregious after she's rescued from the asylum. Marian talks about women/is kind of treated like an exception to women in general, and Walter is leaving both women out in key moments. So given how women were typically seen as less capable, to me it feels somewhat bound up in that rather than just being about her specifically (I think she handles/is capable of a lot more than she's given credit for). Mina doesn't do really that, she doesn't really bring gender into her treatment of either Jonathan or Lucy in the same way. And while others in Dracula do, it's shown to be more of a mistake.

#dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #woman in white weekly #anonymous #replies #dracula meta #wiw meta #i'm so mad about the drawings lie okay

19 notes · View notes

teenage-mutant-ninja-freak · 1 year

Note

Helloo!!

I saw your witchy s/o post while looking into the tmnt tag and I'm so freaking happy someone finally wrote for a reader that practices witchcraft!!!!

If it's alright with you, and if you accept asks (I tried to look for rules but so far saw what you don't write) could I have the tmnt bois (especially Leo) with a witchy s/o that works with deities and dragons?

If not then it's totally fine! Hopefully Tumblr doesn't eat my ask so have a good day!

abso-fucking-lutely!!!! this is so fun and as a folk practitioner who works with deities this is right up my ally. If it's ok with you, I'm not gonna include dragons as that's not a practice I'm familiar with and I wouldn't want to get anything wrong. But deities I can do! I'll switch up the deities each time so there's something new with each of these as well.

Leo

"Can't, sorry, Loki said the vibe is off" you begin to leave the room and Leo is just following you like "What vibe? Who's Loki? Why is he telling you no?"

you're shuffling tarot cards and the fool pops out so you say, looking up, "I get it babes, please don't interrupt my reading like that, though" and Leo is so confused like "I din't say anything" and you just say "Not you, Loki"

eventually he tries to play into it like "Would Loki be ok if we didn't smoke cleanse the house today?" and you're just like "...yeah, I guess. But if you start feeling ill soon you'll know it's because he's pissed at you"

Leo does start feeling sick so you tell him to make an offering

he's never felt more stupid that when he pours wine into a glass on your alter but he soon feels better again and it freaks him out that it worked

"So he's a trickster god?" lots of questions like this and each time you're just like "Yes, he's a trickster, no he isn't going to hurt me, yes he fucks with me sometimes but it's all in good faith"

Raph

You wake up from a really bad nightmare

"I thought your Goddess was supposed to have power over dreams?"

"She does, something must be wrong"

you look in your offering cup and the wine has fucking moulded

"ah shit, it's mouldy. Better get her a new one"

after that you have peaceful dreams

you come home with a bunch of white roses and Raph is all "are those for me?" and you politely have to let him down and tell him they're for Selene

any time Raph has a bad dream you joke that it's because he's fallen out of favour with the Goddess for how he's treated you

fast forward to a time you and him get in a big fight and he has the worst sleep/dreams of his life for a week straight.

he comes crawling back to you practically begging you for forgiveness.

Selene gets a big offering after that

Mikey

You're clearing a space in his room for your alter since the two of you moved in together

"I need a large space, Hades like a big alter"

"What's he compensating for?" Mikey jokes

and you just shoot him this look like "Don't fuck around when it comes to him"

not even 10 minutes later one of his drums breaks

you're just like "serves you right"

you come in one morning with a cup of coffee and Mikey gets all excited like he's about to get breakfast in bed and you have to tell him that it's for Hades who likes his coffee black.

kinda freaks Mikey out when you hold a funeral for each of the dead rats you find in the lair but you have to remind him "I'm a death witch and I worship the lord of the underworld. What else am I meant to do?"

Donnie

honestly he mostly just leaves you to it

he's pretty good with his hands so when you told him you worship Artemis he made a clay stature of her for your alter

you told him he'll be in her good books after that

that night Donnie caught 10 foot clan soldiers

"well, she is the Goddess of the hunt... I told you she was happy with you"

He really takes an interest in your devotional activities

always asking questions about why you do that or the significance of this

#tmnt #witch series #witch s/o #witch so #witchy s/o #witchy so #deities #deity worship #witchcraft #tmnt x reader #tmnt imagine #tmntxreader #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt leo #tmnt raph

108 notes · View notes

bimrsadler · 1 year

Text

In Hot Water

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader/bounty hunter reader

Summary: You let Arthur go once but second guess your generosity when you find him in the saloon after a jail break. As he heads to the bath, you find that it might be the perfect opportunity to bring him in — or see where the night leads

Word count: 2,500

Warnings/tags: smut, mild fluff, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), d/s undertones, sub arthur, praise kink, dirty talk, language, enemies to lovers if you squint, arthur is a little shit but not for long wink wink

Notes: okay second time trying to post this, sorry it took so long but the format kept breaking when I added the read more, hopefully that’s fixed now. Anyway, my mind has a hard time not going to smut with this prompt lol so that's what I went for, tiny bit of fluff too. Thank you though! Fandom content has died down a bit but there's still some amazing creators around ❤️

The laughter and tall tales of boisterous men filled your ears, surrounded by a perpetual haze of smoke as you sipped your drink. You would recognize him anywhere, and all of the saloon became background noise as you did.

The outlaw stood tall at the end of the bar, stoic and minding his business, you watched as he kindly turned down the working girls to nurse the whiskey in front of him.

He left you with a “yes ma’am,” and a boyish grin on your last meeting after informing you’d let him go, but didn’t want to hear about any more chaos from the Van der Linde gang.

It was uncharacteristic of you to find sympathy for a bounty. The world was filled with bad people and those who hurt others — and Arthur Morgan had most certainly hurt others. But as you approached from the cover of trees and observed him putting bait on the line for the small boy beside him, your judgment clouded.

The world wasn’t black and white; you also knew this. There was tell of the gang operating with standards and you found enough reason to consider that perhaps some of them were only trying to get by. The scene witnessed at the lake certainly seemed to indicate that. Maybe it was better to give people a chance to change.

Jack (as you discovered was his name) was clearly enjoying his fishing trip with “Uncle Arthur,” and the only thing that could ruin that was you. Arthur ruffled his hair and complimented the necklace the boy had made for his mother before turning to see you. His approach was cautious — but polite.

He knew you were a bounty hunter and told Jack to keep playing while he spoke with you. You weren’t about to haul him in in front of the boy and maybe Arthur guessed this, but something told you it wasn’t right. Heavy emphasis was put on not being as kind if you heard of any more robberies however; Arthur indicating he understood.

Yet there he was, mere days after his cohorts sprung him from jail for “disturbing the peace.”

The bartender approached Arthur with the beer you ordered him and gestured your way. You winked and reveled in the faint “ah shit,” expression that came over his face with the realization of who you were.

“This you, Mr. Morgan?” The thud of your hand slapping his wanted poster on the wood of the bar caught a side-eye from customers nearby.

Arthur quickly grabbed and folded it in his satchel without saying a word.

“Thought we talked about this?” You placed a hand on your hip and raised your eyebrows while waiting for a reply.

“If I recall Miss, you said no robbin’,” a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t tell me no fightin’.”

Cocky sonuvabitch.

“I don’t like being made a fool, cowboy.” You ran your hand along the rope at your side.

“Never said ya were.” Arthur savored a drink before facing you with his hands on his gunbelt. “But that weren’t me,” he leaned in close enough that you could smell the beer on his breath, “it was Arthur Callahan.”

“Now,” he tipped his hat and grinned smugly, “if you’ll excuse me ma’am.”

Watching in disbelief, Arthur sauntered upstairs toward the bath, not once looking back at you.

A fool. You certainly felt it. In your two short meetings Arthur had made you feel a million things, all of them confusing. Enamored, curious, angry, and worst of all — flustered.

He was strikingly attractive and surprisingly gentle when he thought no one was watching. Even as he whispered sarcastic remarks in your ear, your heart raced with the thrill of a man like him being that close to you.

Whether or not he intended to, he charmed you. It was infuriating.

Marching up the stairs, you ignored the whistles of drunk men you’d normally put in their place. No plan had occurred to you but all you could think was Arthur had the upper hand and that just wouldn’t do.

A slight steam crept past the cracks of the wooden door as you knocked. “Need some assistance in there?”

Arthur took a moment to reply — from being caught off guard you hoped, “sure, sounds good.”

Hesitating, your hand hovering over the doorknob, mind racing with nerves. What happens next? He’s playing along, still not taking things seriously…

You clasped the doorknob and opened with as much confidence as you could muster, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hitch in your breath when you saw him. His broad shoulders rested against the back of the tub, well-toned arms gently grabbing the sides. You felt a warmth spread in your belly as you admired the water dripping down the curves of his chest.

You never expected to be alone with him unless it was while putting him in a jail cell.

Pushing down the unexpected desire, you crossed your arms and leaned against the door.

“Thought you was a bounty hunter Miss?” He cocked his head while running his bright eyes up and down your body, the drawl in his voice equally maddening and arousing.

The more he pushed, the more you wanted to bring him in. This back and forth was something you’d never experienced though, and much to your shame and surprise, it was fun.

You walked slowly towards him with authority. “Oh I am a hunter and you Mr. Morgan, Callahan, whatever you’re calling yourself — are the bounty. Seems you’re forgetting that.”

“Right now I’m just a man tryna enjoy a wash,” he asserted, but the nervous adjustment he made to the bubbles as you came closer did not go unnoticed.

Taking a knee beside him you leaned in and locked onto his icy eyes, “I could bring you in right now.”

“You could,” Arthur lowered his husky voice and taunted, “but I don’t think you want to.”

“Oh? That so?”

“Mmhmm. I’m as vulnerable as I ever been right now. You coulda drawn that gun on me the second you close the door,” Arthur adjusted to a sitting position, the heat of his face reaching yours. “But ya didn’t.”

Working quickly, your nimble fingers showcased one of your talents as you wrapped the rope at your side around his wrists in an intricate knot before cutting the excess.

“You’re right, you are vulnerable right now and let’s be honest; you coulda stopped me from putting this rope around your wrists…but you didn’t.”

Arthur was still now, save for his chest rising with heavier breaths. “Pretty good with that rope, Miss.”

“Oh I’m good at a lotta things.”

Before you could comprehend it, your lips were together and the massage of his tongue on yours sent your hips forward with carnal urgency. Patience was necessary though — your urge to frustrate and tease Arthur was just as strong.

Standing up you stripped slowly, showing each inch of you with drawn-out intent. He watched patiently, a dreamy and almost innocent look on his face.

His gaze turned hungry as you stepped into the tub, straddling his thighs so that you were just out of reach of where he wanted you most. Placing lights kisses accentuated with flicks of your tongue against the hot skin of his neck, you ran your hand down his chest, playing with the hair as you did.

His throat fluttered as he let out a soft groan, “you like that huh?” He nodded with his eyes closed in concentration as you continued. Your fingers danced tantalizingly between his bellybutton and manhood, teasing circles in the curls there.

“Bet you’ve thought about me a lot since the day we met,” you paused before wrapping your fingers around his base, stroking once to the tip. “Bet you thought about this.”

Your movement drew an unrestrained moan out of Arthur, making you wonder how pent up he was. “And what if I did?”

“Well I’d say that was pretty bad Arthur.”

“I…goddamn.” Arthur thrust into your hand with your quickening pace. “I am bad man sweetheart, you knew this,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

In your firm grasp Arthur was already twitching and fighting back expletives with each stroke, somehow forgetting that you were still in control.

“Well in my line of work bad men get punished,” you remarked before pulling your hand away and leaning back with a devilish grin.

Arthur’s chest heaved as he gasped at the sudden removal of pleasure, “guess that’s only fair…”

Leaning over him you ran your fingers through the darkened locks of his wet hair, breasts above his flushed face. “I think deep down you wanna be a good boy though, don’t you?”

He licked as lips as he stared up at you, “yes ma’am.” There was no hint of snark or sarcasm in his voice now, if anything the hushed tone of his voice came across as dutiful.

He leaned closer slowly, waiting for any protest as he hesitated. Receiving none, he took the mound of your breast in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue. The ache in your core was unbearable and composure crumbling away.

“Wanna use that smart mouth of yours somewhere else?”

“Oh I’d like that,” the water splashed lightly as Arthur lazily pumped his cock.

Standing above him, you placed your thumb and forefinger on his strong chin and tilted it upward. “No touching yourself. Understand?”

He nodded in agreement before inquiring, “can I touch you?”

You pulled him by the rope between his wrists to a sitting position as you placed your leg open on the side of the bath. “We’ll see…”

Arthur smiled up at you as he placed a tender kiss on your clit. His movements started slowly, testing the waters of what felt good and finding his confidence when you let him know.

He worked his warm and wet tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, moaning into your folds as you tugged his hair roughly. “Is that good darlin’?”

“Yes you’re doing so good — don’t stop.” He pushed his tongue in further as you writhed against his face, rolling bliss moving through your core as you fluttered around nothing.

Arthur pulled away enough to plead breathily, “let me touch you sweetheart.”

You stepped into the circle of his bound hands and moved them up to the swell of your backside before pushing his head back to your pussy. Arthur massaged your ass with needy squeezes as he lapped at you, his hips rutting in the water.

Letting out quiet gasps, you attempted to keep your sounds between to the two of you with trembling legs. “You’re gonna make me come…”

Arthur gazed up as your climax ripped through you, riding against his tongue until the last pulse of pleasure subsided.

Laying back lust drunk and spent, Arthur let out a satisfied exhale. “Have I… been forgiven yet Miss?” He licked his lips slowly with a sly grin.

Stepping outside of Arthur’s restraints, you once again straddled him; this time with the lips of your heat on the underside of his aching length. Dragging yourself unhurriedly along him you teased, “I think you’re closer…”

Arthur stiffened beneath you and let out an amused huff, “I’ll say I’m close…”

The joking and almost sense of comfort that Arthur had in your presence otherwise should have bothered you, but instead it brought your guard down. Here he wasn’t intimidating or angry and you couldn’t help but give him an unhurried kiss, smiling and stroking his short beard.

Arthur let out small moans as he instinctively rutted against your already swollen and over sensitive folds, gliding with your slick.

Kissing below his ear you whispered, “want me to take you inside me?”

“God yes…”

You rose to observe the disheveled and desperate man underneath you, face flushed red despite the heat of the bath being long gone. “Can you beg for me Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur stuttered as his deep voice cracked, “ca…call me Arthur, please?”

“Can you beg for me…Arthur?”

“Please take me darlin’, need ya so bad,” Arthur whined.

Hovering above him you teased the head of his cock with your opening, “yeah? You want this pussy Arthur?”

“Jesus…yes, please?”

You took Arthur deep inside of you in one swift movement before stilling yourself to enjoy the fullness. You both expelled gasps of needed relief, Arthur’s cock flexing inside of you with each word of praise you purred.

One hand grasping the side of the tub and the other planted on Arthur’s sturdy chest, you rode hard, Arthur sloppily trying to keep pace while bucking upwards.

With each slam of your ass against his thighs the sound of splashing water and skin on skin filled the small room, Arthur’s grunts growing louder and louder.

You noticed his wrists writhing and straining against the ropes, forearms flexing forcefully. “Shit…slow…slow down girl, I’m gonna…”

Halting your movements altogether, you kept Arthur from his release. He held his breath and shivered, control barely in his grasp.

“You did say to slow down,” you stated with feigned innocence.

“Said to slow down, not stop.”

“If I recall…what was it you said earlier? ‘you said no robbin’. Didn’t tell me no fightin’.’”

“Isn’t that right…,” you paused and squeezed around the hard length inside you, “…Arthur?”

“’m sorry sweetheart, promise I’ll be good for ya.”

Unable to keep yourself away, your lips crashed into his, gently nipping while you rushed to untie his binds. When they were loose enough, Arthur finished the job for you; pulling himself free with a growl as he wrapped his strong arms around you.

He didn’t feel like your bounty nor you like a hunter any longer. Whether you would ever see each other again or engage in your game of cat and mouse wasn’t of concern. In that moment all that mattered was the fingernails digging into your skin, the hot breaths panting against your neck, the pleasure and the closeness. In that moment you were just partners, lovers.

Arthur bucked into you with an iron embrace as you gasped into each others mouths, his breaths uneven and sharp. “Fuck…’m close…” He was a whimpering mess, volume increasing with each urgent thrust.

Cooing in his ear you clasped your hand over the gunslingers mouth, “come for me Arthur.”

Pulling his throbbing cock out, you brought his release in the same way you previewed it before, rubbing your slick heat along the sensitive skin until hot ropes spilled onto his stomach and dispersed into the water.

The teasing and taunting culminated into the wanted man shuddering beneath you; his neck exposed to you as his head tilted backwards, lips quivering into your palm with primal groans. His intimate noises were muffled but powerful — all yours.

The moments passed with a gentler embrace than you expected and the feeling of tender fingertips scratching your back. Anxiety washed over you in the realization that you wanted to see him again, to know him better and enjoy his company. You found yourself wishing he would just be cold to make it easier, but instead he joked that he might get himself in trouble more often if it meant seeing you.

Eventually the two of you quietly got dressed, occasionally exchanging flustered glances.

“Just so y’know, I am grateful bout what ya did,” Arthur spoke with sincerity. “Jack’s a good kid…and we do ride with good people,” he paused before adding, “…well some more’n others.”

“I’m just trying to make a living Arthur, same as anyone. But I try to be fair.” An ache was growing in your chest at the thought of what would come next.

Arthur moved closer to you, shirt unbuttoned and hat in one hand as he brought the other to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “Y‘know, the way ya carry yerself? You might make a good outlaw.”

"And you might be good as an honest man, Arthur Morgan."

#nsft #pls let me know if the format is weird or anything is cut off #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x bounty hunter #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic

169 notes · View notes

sophieinwonderland · 3 months

Note

Wishing for anti-endos to loose all their friends and spaces and to be ostracized does not help pro-endos. It makes anti-endos even more set in their beliefs. It makes people who are on the fence go "yikes, I guess the anti-endos are right". I'm firmly pro-endo and your recent post makes me want to take some distance. This isn't how we gain allies.

I know, these people suck. I know, it hurts to constantly be excluded and hated for the way our brains work or the reason why they work that way. I know, many anti-endos are too far gone and aren't people that you or I can reason with unless they decide to unpack their shitty beliefs.

But posts threatening them is not the way to go. They already see us as the enemy. We don't need to add fuel to the fire. Let's make sure people who are on the fence or who don't know much about non-traumagenic systems see us acting in ways that make them want to listen to our side instead of the fakeclaimers. Let's make sure anti-endos who are starting to rethink their beliefs feel like it's safe for them to do so and to start listening to pro-endos.

I'm sure this post is gonna get lots of interaction. But if it makes people less likely to read your studies, to listen to your arguments, to hear out the systems messaging you about their experiences? That's all for nothing.

I... actually think adding fuel to a fire can be useful sometimes. As long as you can keep it a controlled burn.

I'm counting on most anti-endos on Tumblr who would be scrolling through the syscourse tag already having me blocked. They won't see my post.

I'm counting on neutrals probably not following my blog or the syscourse tag either one. And most of those that do follow syscourse have already made their minds up about me.

I made that post for a very specific audience. One that doesn't actually need anyone to fuel its fire because they've built an entire community on seeking out systems to mock and attack. They already cherry pick the worst posts they can find to keep their friend group indoctrinated. So adding one more to the pile shouldn't matter to that specific group.

I don't think anything I say is actually going to make them hate the endogenic community more than they already do because they're surrounded constantly by people who will always reinforce that very generalized hate.

But I do think I can direct that hate they already have. Focus it as much as possible on one specific person. Me.

And the more they see me as a threat, (whether or not I am,) the more hateful they respond to me, the more their community will crack.

Users will be more likely to break their rules, making moderation in their subreddit more difficult for the unpaid mod team who will hopefully start rethinking how much of their life they want to dedicate to a hatesub moderating an angry userbase with nothing to show for it.

And while a slim hope, I'm waiting for them to be pushed far enough for Reddit to ban the whole subreddit.

So yeah. I don’t mind tossing as much fuel on the fire as possible if there's a chance their ableist hatesub burns.

Besides... I'm not actually saying anything untrue.

Plurality IS going to become more accepted. They ARE losing the scientific argument. And anti-endos and cringizens WILL lose friends and community support as plural acceptance spreads unless they're willing to change. A safe space for endogenic systems can never be one that houses anti-endos.

This is not a threat. This is a promise. It's a natural result of progress. And I'll do my part to accelerate this. But it's going to happen with or without my involvement.

I'm just making sure that when it does and they go looking for someone to blame because things have gone bad in their lives and their bigotry caught up with them, they'll direct their anger toward me instead of anyone else.

(Although maybe they can direct it inwards too since, you know, it was their fault for being bigots. But I think that would be too much to ask for.)

#syscourse

22 notes · View notes

softxsuki · 1 year

Note

So I saw that you had I tag I follow and immediately rushed over! So first and foremost...How are you? Are you drinking water daily? And I also wish you a good rest of days.

I was wondering since I rarely see this for Akatsuki no Yona. Like a Chubby reader. That's all. Like didn't they exist back then too?...

So basically Reader was Yona's personal maid, one of her most trusted friends like Hak and Soowon. So now they are apart of the group and basically feel out of place. She has a crush on Jae-ha but knowing he only goes for "attractive" women she doesn't act upon her feelings.

What happens next? 👀

Insecure Chubby!Reader Who Has A Crush On Jae-Ha

Pairing: Jae-ha x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: uh talking down about yourself, insecurities, lowkey suggestive at one point? but nothing crazy

Genre: comfort, fluff

Post-Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: In which you confess to Yona that you have a crush on Jae-ha, but he'd never like you back because you're chubby and he only goes for thin women. Little do you know that someone is listening in on all this o.o

[A/N: OMg hi...I KNOW I KNOW. It's been way over a year since you requested it. If you're still around, you're probably wondering what the heck this is as it's been long forgotten. I'm sorry it took me so long to write, I had it half written in my drafts all this time because I started second guessing myself and I really loved this request and didn't think I could do it justice. SO here's my completed version of this. I hope it's decent, and hopefully you're still interesting in reading it :'). Sorry if it's disappointing NFEKJFKAEF <;3]

It was night now. Months had passed since Yona ran out of her castle after her father's murder. Hak had saved the both of you from Soowoon’s revenge on her father as you would not back down and go to their side either. Yona loved and respected you, so you owed her everything, and that still hadn’t changed. You still refer to her as Princess, just like Hak, but the two of you were closer than ever–going beyond the friendship a personal maid and a Princess should probably ever have.

Owls hooted in the background and the sound of crickets surrounded you. You had all stopped for the night to set up camp, and were currently in your shared tent with Yona and Yoon. The young boy was fast asleep in the far corner of the tent, exhausted from running around all day, but you and Yona were wide awake from the excitement of the day–too pumped to even think about sleeping just yet. Giggles escaped your mouth at the girl-talk that was being exchanged between you both, then Yona began to blush as you asked her about her feelings for Hak. You had noticed the change in the atmosphere between them for a while now.

“He’s just…different from how I used to see him? Instead of just seeing him as that annoying kid back then, he’s more of a man in my eyes now… He said some uh, lovely things to me the other night and it just made me realize my feelings even more,” She hides her head in her hands, thinking back on the deep conversation she had with the raven haired man a few nights ago, but clears her throat and turns the attention away from herself, “What about you, Y/N? Seen anyone in any villages that have caught your eye? Or perhaps even someone among us, hmm?”

You could hear the slight tease in her voice at her question, she fully knew who you liked, but wanted to hear you say it yourself. After all, what fun is girl-talk if she was the only one dropping juicy information.

“Well…there is someone I like, but he’d never go for a girl like me…” you trail off, looking down at your hands.

“Jae-ha would love you, Y/N. You’re gorgeous, kind, and you have a heart of gold, I see the way he looks at you whenever your back is turned.”

“W-what? How did you know it was Jae-ha?” You ask bewildered.

Yona laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder, “So it really is him? I was just making a lucky guess, wow.”

You huff. Perhaps it was a little obvious since you always got nervous around him and ONLY him. The slight disappointment that graced your features whenever he spoke of a beautiful woman he ran into in town. The tiny sparks of desire to have him speak to you with those lovely words, but it would never happen.

“He was probably just wondering why I can’t be so open with him like I am with everyone else,” You sigh. “I know I don’t belong here. You’re gorgeous and way above my social status. The other guys in our group are all very attractive as well, I’m the only one who sticks out like a sore thumb, but I guess I just have to deal with it!”

You fake a smile, regretting a little that you opened up too much.

“Y/N, is that really how you’ve been feeling this whole time?” Yona asks, her voice now softer at your confession.

“It’s alright, really. I’m used to it by now, I don’t know why I suddenly decided to say that all right now. Everything’s okay!”

“No, everything’s not okay. Y/N, you are the most beautiful person I know. I don’t care if you think your extra weight makes you ugly compared to the rest of us, that doesn’t make a difference in my eyes and Jae-ha would be a fool to have that be a difference to him as well! Tell him how you feel! He would treat you like royalty.” Yona explains, a little enraged that you’ve been feeling this way all this time without her realizing it, “And I know we come from different backgrounds, but out here, we’re all the same. You and I are on the same level. You’re my best friend, and that won’t ever change! You are one of us, part of the happy hungry bunch! It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thank you, Princess Yona. You’ve been a great blessing to me and I’m so very grateful to be your friend,” You smile slightly, but it falls again when you think of Jae-ha. “It seems that Jae-ha only goes for thin, beautiful women though. I can’t imagine him directing those compliments to me when I’m the complete opposite of all those women…I- I guess I just wish he could see me as a beautiful woman despite my weight. Even if it was only for a second.”

Yona once again assures you that you are indeed beautiful and that nothing is wrong with you. She was a little lost for words on what else she could say to help you feel better, she just wished you could see yourself the way that she saw you–a beautiful woman, inside and out.

“If I’m so beautiful, then why won’t he look at me the way I want him to?” You shout in frustration, a little too loudly.

Your conversation is cut short though as the sound of shuffling is heard from outside the tent, along with the distant murmuring of the rest of the boys who were still awake, engaged in small talk.

“Will you both shut your mouths? I’m trying to sleep here. Y/N stop being a wimp and just confess to him already. You’ll never know until you at least try!” Yoon groans out with a huff, before light snores escape his mouth once again.

“He’s right,” Yona whispers now, not wanting to awaken the tempered boy again, “But I guess this can all wait for another day. Let’s sleep, it’s getting pretty late.”

You both yawn at the same time and laugh lightly to yourselves. Perhaps it could wait…

Sleep consumes Yona pretty quickly, but your mind is plagued with a million thoughts that keep you up all night. It would be a tough day tomorrow.

…

The next day, your journey together continues as you finish packing up the last of your camp and continue forward.

Yona and Hak had run up ahead of everyone else in the early morning to get in some more arrow shooting practice while the rest of you moved to catch up at a decent pace. You lagged behind a bit, lost in thought of everything you spoke about last night.

“Careful, wouldn’t want to run into a tree and ruin your beautiful face, now would we?” The sudden voice of the man you were thinking of, startles you back to reality along with the gentle touch of his arms around your shoulder, guiding you around a tree that you were seconds from walking straight into.

But all you could think about now was the presence of his warmth on your shoulder along with a word you had always longed to hear addressed to you–beautiful.

“Huh?” You ask a little frazzled, trying to control your breathing from his still present arms around you.

“You almost ran into the tree back there,” He smiles, now removing his arms from around your shoulders and awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

You both were now lagging behind the group who had finally joined back up with Yona and Hak. Yona sends you a quick thumbs up from afar, mouthing a ‘good luck,’ with a wink.

“Thank you,” you mumble to Jae-ha, ignoring Yona’s cheekiness, and continuing to walk to the rest of the group with your eyes glued to the ground. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t tell him.

You hear the man sigh behind you before firm arms pick you up bridal-style, and jump into the air as you let out a yelp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face into his chest from being so high up. You were surprised that he was even able to lift you, but I guess all the dragons were fairly strong.

Your heart was hammering in your chest–both from the sudden action of being in the air, but also from being in close proximity to your crush. You could hear his own heart hammering in his chest, probably from having the fatigue of jumping while carrying something heavy (at least that’s what you think, his heart is definitely pounding for other reasons).

You can hear the distant joyful hollering of Yona and Zeno from afar, praising the green-headed man for his bold actions, to which Jae-ha chuckles at. It isn’t long until you’re safe on the ground again, far enough from the group now to have some privacy together. Jae-ha sets you down as you timidly scoot away from him and sit on the grass, trying to calm yourself down.

“What’d you do that for?” You ask hesitantly.

“A little bird told me that you’ve been talking down on yourself, is that true?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you avoid his eyes. You physically couldn’t look him in the eyes, you were far too embarrassed. Where had he heard that from?

He takes a seat beside you, gently reaching for a strand of your hair and admiring it as he twists it between his fingers. You’re frozen in shock. What was going on?

His hand abandons your hair and gently grabs your chin to face him as his other hand wraps around your waist.

“And I’d love to know where you heard that I wasn’t completely infatuated by your beauty,” he teases.

Your eyes widen in shock.

“In fact, I love every inch of you, from the plumpness of your thighs to the softness of your stomach, your magnificent chest, and your puffy cheeks. You’re absolutely enchanting– a diamond among stones,” he continues.

“Your eyes, they outshine the beauty of any other woman in this land, you know why? Because they belong to you. I don’t care how big you think you are, but never talk like that about yourself again.” There was a certain sternness behind his voice now, as if he was really serious and hurt that you would think so badly of yourself.

“How did you-”

“I heard everything last night, Y/N. You have no idea how much self-control it took for me to not just burst into that tent and tell you everything right then and there. But I’m here now, and I can’t move forward until you know how much I love you. You’re beautiful and I won’t have you think otherwise.”

You were beyond baffled.

“All this out of nowhere? You’re always off fawning over all the beauties in town, but never at me. You’re just saying this to make me feel better, right? Well, it’s okay. I do like you, Jae-ha, but I don’t need your pity. You don’t need to like me back, I’ll be o-”

You’re cut off by the feeling of Jae-ha’s lips on yours. You can feel the emotion behind them as he was almost desperate to show you how real his feelings for you were. You lean into him, wrapping your own arms around him now, fully into the steamy kiss.

He pulls aways with a pant, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he laughs. “I hope you believe me now.”

“And to answer your question, I didn’t want to scare you off. I know how bold I can be, and a part of me loved watching you from afar, loving, admiring you in secret. It was exhilarating trying not to get caught,” he confesses.

Yona’s words from that night echo in your head of how she had seen him watching you a few times. He really did like you…

“I’m surprised you never caught my wandering eyes. We need to work on you being more aware of your surroundings, darling. What if it was some other man gawking at you, and not me? Not that I’d let that happen…but still.” There he goes again with his teasing.

You playfully hit him on the shoulder, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, “Shut up,” you mumble, very embarrassed by all his words. You still couldn’t believe it, it was like all your dreams became a reality over-night.

Was this a dream? Because if it was, you never wanted to wake up. You cuddle further into him, hiding the heat that was quickly rushing to your face. You were overwhelmed, but in a good way. His own arms slither around you in a tight embrace.

“This is real right? You’re not just saying all this?”

“Of course this is all real, darling. And I’ll keep saying it all until you believe it. You’re under my care now,” He whispers that last part and leaves a peck to the top of your head.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he confirms again, making sure you know it.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 1/24/2023

158 notes · View notes

xxlovelynovaxx · 4 months

Text

An uncharitable reading on a population of largely traumatized neurodivergent kids that I found, that I responded to assuming OP was acting in good faith to try and open a conversation on the subject:

(Plaintext: An uncharitable reading on a population of largely traumatized neurodivergent kids that I found, that I responded to assuming OP was acting in good faith to try and open a conversation on the subject:)

to be honest i generally dislike the term "gifted kid". when people talk about being an "ex gifted kid" it's usually just to talk about burnout, which isn't anywhere near unique specifically to children who were part of some local gifted and talented program. when people talk about not learning the skills they need as an adult, that isn't unique to being "gifted" as a child. this happens to most people.

i think what is actually happening is that, as a child being treated better than their peers, their self worth was determined on academic success and being seen as smart and clever. but people develop at different rates and have different skills and the sort of abilities, skills, or intelligence you need to use isn't consistent throughout your academic year. so they "fall behind" when actually they're just average and not particularly worse than most other people. what they didn't learn was how to not hinge their self worth on academics and being better than other people. and how to see everyone as equal regardless of academic ability. people get caught up in the idea of only being "good" if they can be better than others and get top results with less efforts. which is really insulting to other people's efforts. this isn't getting over being labelled "gifted" and moving on with your life. it's clinging to that label that has long expired, and using it as a reason for why you are not as good as you would like to be.

and it shouldn't be insulting to say so if you've truly let go of the idea that people who are good at academics are better. that being smart and talented makes someone better. i really wonder how you think people who were bad at academics growing up feel about people saying that they should still be better than them, because they were better as children, and being on the same level is the worst thing ever. the moralising of intelligence and grades is so deep rooted you need to really dig in to get it out

My reply

(Plaintext: my reply)

The thing is, this is not how we use it at all.

continued below the readmore, please make note of the content warning/trigger warning tags on the post. we added both cw and tw tags to hopefully have as many people's filters be able to catch it as possible

The label "gifted kid" itself we view as a form of violence forced on kids.

It's not being told you're only "good" if you're "better than others". It's being told your sole, entire worth is wrapped up in your personal academic performance. It doesn't matter how other kids do, because they're "smart in their own ways" and "even if they're not smart, they're good at other things". It's still violently ableist against severely disabled kids, don't get me wrong; the message needs to be that all people inherently have worth, not that everyone is good at something.

But it's not about anyone else's performance, really. It's about yours, and only yours. I remember telling my parents "but [friend] gets Cs" and their response was "[friend] isn't you". Other kids were allowed to not get perfect grades in school, but if I didn't, I wasn't just not good enough, I was no longer a person.

This didn't just lead to "being average". This led to being severely, likely permanently, cognitively disabled. The burnout and trauma associated with it has made me incapable of doing many of the things that even the average adult can do. While the extent varies, especially after several years in recovery, for multiple years I couldn't do elementary level tasks. I've wondered for a while now if it caused actual brain damage (not due to traumatic injury, but that's not the only thing that can cause brain damage).

I still struggle with extreme executive dysfunction, worsened by the severe burnout and subsequent breakdown I endured - not just to the point where I struggle to fill out disability paperwork and make appointments, but even to the point where I need a caregiver in order to do things like make food and so laundry, and to the point where I sometimes have to wear diapers because task inertia and executive dysfunction make me unable to move to get to the toilet.

(This is worsened by physical disability, but if I'm being quite honest, the primary ways the two intersect is that pain further worsens executive dysfunction as well as ironically my lack of awareness of my bodily needs - forgot the term for that specifically; as well as increases frequency and urgency of bathroom needs and both cognitive and physical effects of missing meals.)

It's not and was never about "other people's efforts".

It's also hard to understate the severe negative impact of being taught to hinge your entire self-worth on something you become no longer capable of doing. This is the precise type of withholding conditional love and support in early childhood development that can later cause cluster B personality disorders. It's not really even about what you can be "good" at. It's about being taught in your most formative developmental years that you, and only you, are not deserving of love or even life if you don't earn it.

I'm not "on the same level" as most others. I'm far below their level. I'm severely disabled, and the experience of neurodivergent burnout as a result of being treated as a gifted child is what caused a good portion of it. Even the subsequent abuse by my parents after dropping out of college was in large part for these reasons, and could be partially responsible for the development of my physical chronic illnesses, even.

I don't see those without "academic ability" as worse than me. Why would I? They don't have to earn their worth. They never have. They were always allowed to exist as they were, however they were.

The messaging I internalized, as I began to fail to meet the high requirements expected of me, and eventually became completely unable to meet even what are considered basic requirements for others, was that I was uniquely broken. That there was something fundamentally wrong with me that wasn't present in anyone else - that I was born tainted in some imperceptible way.

The only comparison that I did ever internalize was that I, and I alone, had not earned the right to be alive if I wasn't "the best". My intelligence didn't make me better than other people; it made me almost as good as a real person. The only reason it was even being celebrated at all was for how I could "help other people".

I had a duty to be a doctor or a scientist because since I had been born "smart", if I didn't use it, I was basically depriving suffering people of relief and was therefore evil. I was told, explicitly, repeatedly, that I owed this to the world because I was "gifted". When I became more profoundly neurodisabled, I wasn't actually incapable, or if I was, it was just temporary. I needed to "work harder" to overcome it. When "working harder" made me suicidal, while actively being abused, I was told I was selfish for wanting to take away what I could "give" to the world. When I wanted to do anything other than a STEM field viewed as directly benefitting humanity - even arts or social sciences or pure mathematics - I was similarly selfish.

Don't get me wrong, I despise the term gifted kid. To me, it will only ever be the phrase used to teach me that my only worth was in what I could do to advance science for humanity, and that anything less than that made me a selfish burden not worthy of life.

It's quite possible that the other people you've seen who were once labeled as such didn't experience the extent of trauma that I did. They might also lack awareness, having not fully unpacked it yet, or not be able to articulate it. I don't know.

But I do know the people who were labeled as such that I've spoken to have had similar experiences. Making it just about being "better" than others or being "average" or "the moralizing of intelligence or getting good grades" isn't just severely downplaying the trauma many of us have endured, it's wholly inaccurate to many of our experiences.

I'd also add - even in cases where it is about that - there's still a component of kids being taught during developmental years that being "better" is the only way to earn love, worth, and the right to live. Being taught you have to be "good at" vs "better than others at" something are two different things.

But even in the case of the latter, in order to convince a severely traumatized, formerly neglected or abused person that it isn't true... you have to lead with the fact that they are still deserving of love, have worth, and are allowed to live, if they are average or below average.

Because yeah, if you say "you shouldn't think of yourself as better than others because they have worth and deserve to be treated well, and you're hurting them if you do", all they're going to hear is "they have worth and deserve to be treated well, and you're hurting them".

Even setting aside whether they think being "better" means they deserve to be treated better, or if it's like most trauma and mental illness where they are far harder on theirself than anyone else and are horrified at the very idea of anyone other than them needing to earn worth and good treatment...

Blame and shame will simply be less effective at convincing them to listen. Being effective in convincing people to examine their internalized ableism and ideas around the moralization of intelligence is what affects material reality and helps make changes. I've been as guilty as anyone of simply ranting about how people treat those they view as "unintelligent", especially since entering that category myself. It's what feels good!

But I also think that addressing the concerns and fears of people who have actually been hurt is necessary in convincing them of your point.

I also think that the conflation of even seeing yourself as "better than" others and thinking that therefore others deserve to be treated as "lesser than" is wholly inaccurate. I mean, we have NPD, and we do sometimes think we are better than others in other ways (often either in highly abstract or highly specific ways - so just "I'm the best" "at what" "the best"; or "I'm one of the best knitters ever for figuring out fair isle knitting on my first try").

That doesn't mean we think that anyone else deserves to be treated worse than us - to the contrary, it only convinces us that everyone deserves to be treated with the fullest amount of kindness and compassion possible, because we want everyone to feel as good about themselves as we do, and to recognize how deeply inherently worthy of that feeling as we are.

Conversely, when we have crashes, and this is probably an even bigger factor in how we feel about every human being having inherent worth and deserving respect... we never, ever, ever want anyone else to feel even a fraction of what we feel when we feel we aren't good enough.

Because we rely a lot of words of affirmation and verbal reassurance, we find exactly what the people around us take pride in and then find every possible thing we can to compliment about it. We remind acquaintances and strangers we strike up a conversation with that they don't have to earn decency if it even comes up at all.

We even had a conversation with our abusive mother, who we've chosen to continue a relationship with due to marginally improved behavior, that being able to support them while her mom has dementia, is a privilege and joy, that she deserves all the kindness and support I can give, and that she should give herself the grace of rest and letting others help.

Mind you, supporting her is a struggle and sometimes one that I question if it's worth it, because she and my father are sometimes petty and mean in return, take me for granted, and take out their frustrations on me (likely as much because I'm one of the only people they trust enough to do so, weirdly). But I don't want the literal abuser that nearly drove me to suicide multiple times to feel unworthy of love or support or just generally not good enough.

(I don't judge others who do hate or feel indifferent towards their abusers. This is not an "I'm better than any other victims for this, because this is a conscious choice I am making. Ironically, some of how my parents continue to mistreat me is because of a lack of self awareness that they have a choice in how they engage with their parents too, even if it's one that they would only ever choose one way. But point being, this is to illustrate the full extent of what I mean when I say "I truly believe everyone has innate worth and deserves to feel worthy of life and kindness and love". I know plenty of other victims are capable of believing that while not being able to feel it towards their abusers - I'd even say many of us fall into that category of believing it but not being able to feel it emotionally towards our abusers.)

(Also, as a secondary note, we switched to "we" language specifically for our whole system to take accountability for our thoughts, beliefs, and actions here, not because I specifically am excluding myself from it in any way.)

I do think you're right about how a lot of people moralize grades and intelligence. It's something many of us had to deeply examine in ourselves.

I also think that it's a bit unfair, however, to assume that "former gifted kids" think other people are less worthy or deserving of love, support, and life in general if they are less intelligent, just because they've internalized those messages about themself specifically.

Trauma and mental illness don't work that way. They're rarely rational, and even more rarely focused on other people like that. Many "former gifted kids" specifically struggle with severe depression and anxiety.

One of the most common experiences of depression and anxiety is the mental illness convincing you that you are uniquely horrible for doing things, not doing things, or not being able to do things, that it's perfectly fine for other people to do, not do, or not be able to do.

The logic isn't consistent, because mental illness is not logical in the first place. It's even more illogical when those same ideas are further supported by adults treating your past self as uniquely bad for things they actively say and show are fine for others to do - because now you have "evidence" that these thoughts are true. You have to earn your worth because you are uniquely unworthy - you must even be worse than everyone else, because they don't have to earn their worth.

Being on the same level as everyone else isn't bad. It would be great to not struggle with self-esteem issues (the root and one of the symptoms of my NPD, actually) constantly trying to tell me that I alone do not have worth and am in fact a burden on existence just for being alive. I've spent years trying to convince myself "I'm not lesser than literally everyone else, even the most evil figures from the darkest periods of history. Everyone else doesn't somehow have some innate quality of worth that I wasn't born with and therefore uniquely have to earn. None of that is true."

(If this seems to contradict what I said about the symptoms of NPD highs, those are themselves a reactive overcorrection to that trauma to try and cope with the low self-esteem. The truth is, I'm not special. I'm neither uniquely bad or uniquely good. Thinking of myself as the best does help, as long as I manage it to avoid severe crashes, and it's not harmful. It doesn't affect the way I treat people, except perhaps in how it makes me wanna help others feel the same way. Thinking of yourself as "better than" others or "the best" is harmless unless it causes you to mistreat others, in which case the problem is still the mistreatment itself.)

And yeah, I'm not "as good" as I would like to be. I lack basic functionality, and it causes a lot of struggles and hardship in my life. It often directly or indirectly causes trauma.

I've cried in my partner's arms, terrified she'd want to leave me or would hate me or think I'm disgusting because I made a double mess in the bed while feeling too unwell to move, or because I wet the couch repeatedly as a reaction to processing sexual and related trauma. We live in abject poverty because I am incapable of working - due primarily to my neurodivergent disabilities, much more even than my profound physical disabilities - and that is a source of ongoing complex trauma. Another source of ongoing complex trauma is the reevaluations I have to spend the entirety of every third year panicking over the possibility of losing my entire meager income from.

I have to constantly field "advice", judgment, and questions from people convinced there is some part time job that plays to my strengths, when I spend between 50 and 90 percent of every day simply being disabled or recovering from being disabled. I am constantly fatigued, sick, in pain, dealing with panic attacks, flashbacks, dissociation, and a plethora of general symptoms of both trauma and chronic illness, and spend multiple hours a day either doing those things or resting after.

Most people seem truly incapable of comprehending the true extent of my disability - how I can talk and seem "normal" (even though doing so with most people can mean I have to recover for the rest of the day, or longer if I have to do so for longer than a few minutes); how going to a single store, even while using a motorized cart, two days in a row can leave me bedridden for several days and housebound for several weeks; how I seem eloquent and well-spoken and "intelligent" but even writing this post is making my brain feel like mush and it's entirely possible I won't be able to do anything at all for the next several hours at least.

I'm not saying all this to seem dramatic. I'm admitting - yes, I'm not "as good" as I want to be. I can't even do the things I enjoy most of the time, despite having what looks externally like "free time" and appearing "normal" and "functional" to the average person I interact with. I'm saying I don't judge anyone who also can't do the same things, but that doesn't make the experience of profound disability any less frustrating.

And yes, having been previously comparatively abled absolutely plays a part in that frustration, because I know what it was like to be at least average, if not in some areas moderately better than average. I know what it's like to exceed my own personal goals, not in comparison to anyone else, but the own measures I've set for my success. I know what it's like to even meet them. I know what it's like to meet only some of them, but to be able to at least work on the ones I didn't meet.

I know what it's like to be able to even try, to not be trapped silently screaming from both physical pain and emotional anguish in a body that's falling apart and it seems is actively trying to kill us half the time, where what little energy we do have becomes a choice between directing it at the few things we can still do that make us happy, or chasing down and begging doctors to stop being massively ableist egocentric pricks and actually do their jobs (or at least, not actively prescribe things that have a good likelihood of killing us via actively worsening one or more of our health conditions).

So I don't think, even for people who are now "average", that it's bad for them to mourn their own personal capabilities. It's still not even necessarily bad if they do feel it makes them "better than" other people, as long as they don't think other people deserve to be mistreated, don't mistreat other people themselves, and don't think people have to earn worth/the right to live. But it's also not always even about that, because being "good at" something in the sense that it comes easily to you, and then hitting a wall where you struggle with or are unable to progress further, while other people still do, is difficult!

It's difficult in sports, if you hit the limits of your athletic abilities but some of your peers start outperforming you - even if others don't, you probably joined sports BECAUSE you were competitive and wanted to push your limits, and finding you can't push them further is difficult. The existence of disabled people who can't do sports (like me, I am quite literally allergic to exercise; my MCAS causes exercise induced anaphylaxis) doesn't make it ableist to want to be good, or better than average, at them.

It also doesn't inherently mean you think you're better than nonathletic people or that nonathletic people. Some people do think that and treat people as such, advocating for the mistreatment of "physically lazy" people. That's both generally bad and very ableist. But that's an entirely separate issue from just wanting to be good at or better than average/better than others at sports.

Idk, to me, the experience of being a "former gifted kid" is not at all about any kind of pride or superiority complex or any of that.

It's about having love, support, sometimes physical needs, and being treated as worthy of life, all withheld on the condition of performance in academics, being treated as worse than worthless if you fail to perform, and internalizing that if you can't perform you're better off dead and even doing people a favor by destroying yourself so that you won't be a burden any longer. It's about the inherent violence of teaching a small child that they're horrible and selfish for doing things that make them happy, and that the only way they can earn the right to exist is to sacrifice their own feelings for the "greater good" of everyone else who is worthy of love and support.

It's about the combined isolation of undiagnosed neurodivergence causing your peers and often authority figures to treat you as weird and reject and mistreat you, while also having it repeatedly reinforced that you are uniquely unworthy of love and only by being perfect (or in some cases, performing better than others), can you even earn the basic decency and support and love they already possess being deserving of just by simply existing.

It's about the way that this trauma and neglect and often abuse is downplayed if not outright erased, how we are often blamed for the ableism and mistreatment that was perpetrated against us. It's about how despite acknowledging that most "former gifted kids" are neurodivergent, the fact that neurodivergence is typically disabling and that neurodivergent burnout often has severe, lasting disabling effects is brushed aside.

It's about how we're treated as abled or basically abled - mildly disabled but still retaining average functionality - when most of us simply don't have even that much ability or privilege. It's about how when so many of us are unable to work - many of us having been determined by the infamously ableist and gatekeeping disability divisions of our governments to meet their extremely stringent requirements of disability allowance, and many more pursuing it - we're still treated as basically "average", or as if it must actually be physical disabilities mainly contributing to that level of severity of disability.

While I'm using your wording, OP, I'm not saying you're doing this. I'm reusing it for lack of better phrasing, but this is what I have faced in general, repeatedly, from people and from society. These experiences are reflected in the accounts of friends who grew up having basic decency dangled over their heads to make them perform like little monkeys in the field of academics only to be discarded as soon as they couldn't dance anymore.

People do downplay the severity of neurodivergent burnout, the way depression, anxiety disorders, and personality disorders are directly caused by neglect and abuse that result from the expectations placed on "gifted kids"; that parents, family, and other important figures in child development making love and support conditional and withholding it in the first place, and berating and punishing the kid for the smallest of academic "failures" even IS neglect and abuse; and how this plays into the extremely high rates of complex trauma in neurodivergent adults.

They ignore how neurodivergent burnout is not simply burnout. They ignore how it causes extremely high rates of self-harm and suicidality and is often comorbid with depression as well as anxiety and trauma disorders. They ignore how it is heavily influenced by executive functioning, and how burnouts are usually progressive in severity and profoundly and often permanently affect overall executive functioning. They ignore how because of differential development, the vast majority of "gifted kids" are neurodivergent (though plenty of neurodivergent people are not gifted kids - neurodivergence can be significantly disabling at any age and for any given diagnosis).

They ignore how autistic burnout at least, and iirc to a lesser extent ADHD burnout, is an actual studied phenomenon acknowledged as serious and severe. They ignore how most other forms of neurodivergence can't be diagnosed at a young age except in cases of ableist violence being used to force "compliance", and are therefore less studying and also kids receive significantly less treatment for. They forget there's still a stigma of kids being "too young" and having it "too easy" to be depressed, anxious, or suicidal - and how depression and anxiety are treated as mental illness on "easy mode" by many people anyway despite being deadly.

Again, I'm not saying OP is doing any of this. This seems to be a vent post about their own personal experiences, which of course is going to only cover their own personal experiences and perspective.

But I am saying this. If your immediate thought is to say "it's not downplaying it to say that most 'former gifted kids' are just average people having to deal with not being better than the rest of us", you have several things to examine -

about your moralization of thoughts and feelings,

about your subsequent projection onto them of the idea that people thinking themselves better than others at a specific activity causes them treat other people as less worthy of respect and dignity as human beings,

about how you're not listening to and erasing the experiences of more disabled "former gifted kids" and basing your view of the majority of the community on a small minority that is most vocal precisely because of their privilege,

about how your anecdotal experiences are biasing you in general,

about how you may not be listening to what the people you're describing are even actually saying, but might be ascribing your own ideas of their feelings, motivations, experiences, and even material realities onto them,

and about how when people say "you don't need to downplay my trauma to talk about how bad yours/someone else's was", they're not even saying you can't ever compare the two, but they are saying not to assume what an entire group of people has gone through simply because you don't THINK it could be anywhere near as bad as your/another experience.

Because here's the thing. I actually agree that SOME "former gifted kids" are relatively privileged and dealing with comparatively minor setbacks in their own performance, and perhaps even comparing themselves to people they think are "less intelligent' in a way that is derogatory and possibly ableist to those people. I've met a few myself.

I think they still deserve a space in these discussions, especially when they are disabled, but I also think they currently do sometimes take up a disproportionate space - precisely because they are not even most of the subset of people considered "former gifted kids", let alone most neurodivergent/disabled people.

But I also think that "I think that what is actually happening" is carrying a WHOLE lotta weight in that post. I vehemently disagree that that is what is actually happening. It's a whole lot of assumption, projection, and judgment, about an experience I don't know if you claim to have, but one that is not accurate to the vast majority of the people who were labeled as "gifted kids".

And I think maybe you think the negative emphasis when people call themselves a "former gifted kid" is on the word "former", when actually, for most of us, it's on "gifted".

Former "gifted" kid. Yeah, right. Former neglected, mistreated, and abused kid, who was taught they were "gifted" with the responsibility to spill their last drop of blood to feed a bunch of thirsty vampires.

It's an entirely different kind of mistreatment from the kind that other neurodivergent and disabled kids go through. Those who get sent through the special ed track in fact endure a particularly awful kind of hell, one that even from an outsiders perspective does seem worse to me.

It's not saying "others didn't have it bad" or even "others didn't have it worse" to say "we had it bad", or even "we had it worse than you seem to think we did". My own little brother ended up homeschooled from third grade on due to his learning disabilities. My mother, by his own words, was never abuse to him (and I never witnessed such, she seemed to be a good teacher for him and a good mother to him) but I did see a small fraction of why he got pulled out of school in the first place, and it was horrific.

So I'm speaking from the heart when I say that all I'm saying is that both can be bad.

Even if one is always significantly worse (which, "at what point does actual abuse of gifted kids even become comparable" is a pointless and harmful argument, so I think "always is significantly worse" is probably not accurate either, but even if it is), it's still wrong to assume that because one is worse, the other is just basically easy.

It's wrong to assume that therefore only "xyz" ever actually happens to "gifted kids" because you've already established that they have it easy and so only easy things CAN happen to them. That's a logical fallacy (circular logic) and can cause you to reject every account to the contrary due to your own bias, and say there's no evidence otherwise because obviously, there appears to be no evidence when it keeps getting circle-filed.

One example I use, because people recognize it as "objectively one of the worst kinds of abuse" is my infant CSA. Other people are still allowed to talk about other CSA, adult SA, grooming, emotional incest, sexual harassment, and everything else within that category. It's all able to be recognized as significantly bad - even if you can put "degrees" to it, it's recognized by decent people to start at "very, very, very bad" and only get worse from there.

Though I will say, precisely because of downplaying certain types of sexual violence specifically, it took me so much longer to realize the way my adoptive mother groomed me about coming to her about sexual material in media and sexual thoughts and feelings, and how she exercised a chokehold over my sexual agency well into adulthood by means of this emotional control.

This is why I am so vehemently against downplaying ANY form of harm - because I, as a victim of the "more severe" harms, have been directly harmed by downplaying the "less severe" harms.

This post has dragged on long enough already. That's the compulsive hyperlexia, trauma around past (sometimes malicious, more often not) misinterpretation of my words as a neurodivergent person, the emotional flashback that initially occurred, and general PTSD symptoms causing me to try and explain exactly why I don't agree with the original post.

I'm open to an explanation of your own perspective, OP, but I'd also like to be clear that if you do just want to argue with me about the severity of trauma or frequency of significant trauma of people who are labeled "former gifted kids" - or about what you think I "actually" think, feel, or am saying - I'd rather you just block me. I would hold no ill will towards you over that, but that is a hard boundary for me.

I absolutely respect that my perspective is not one that you've previously encountered, and I admittedly neither have the studies nor the spoons to find them to back up where I talked about how prevalent mental illness and trauma are in contexts relevant to this conversation.

I am firmly against the exact kind of ableism and moralization of intelligence that the point of your post was to address. In that, we are very much on the same side, and it is... really grossly prevalent in our culture and society, both in abled/neurotypical and disabled and neurodivergent spaces. I absolutely agree that there are even people within the "former gifted kid" conversation that do this.

I also personally don't use that label because "gifted kid" and "former gifted kids" were labels forced on me, and forms of violence done to me. I have only ever used them in reference to other people calling me such.

I disagree that most people who do use the label actually think others are less deserving of respect or basic existence in general, or that it's even about other people for most of them at all. I hope you'll also consider what that label can mean for those it was used against, beyond just a "superiority complex" over people it was never about and who often weren't even a factor.

And we do agree that in either case, effectively fighting that ableism and stigma around (lack of) intelligence is the most important thing. That's the most important thing, I think.

Their reply:

(Plaintext: Their reply:)

it's not appropriate to bring up such personal traumas on someone else's unrelated post such as grooming. also sorry you're assumptions about me are wrong

also block me because i don't wanna talk to someone who is "proship"

maybe delete your reblog too. i'd hate for other proshit people to interact with me

My reply:

(Plaintext: My reply:)

Ah, so a label we use to indicate we are against harassment over fiction and against censorship is apparently enough to tell us we are not allowed to share our opinion on something that does affect us.

Also, personal traumas being used as a point of comparison, being directly related by a person who has experienced both, are not inappropriate. I tagged the post according to what I brought up that might be triggering, but my trauma from grooming is wholly relevant as something that, like my being treated as a gifted kid, was treated as less serious than other traumas I've been through in a way that seriously hurt me.

You don't get to start a conversation with an uncharitable and frankly somewhat ableist narrative about (other people's?) trauma and then define what trauma is palatable enough to be related for survivors themselves, nor what survivors are themselves morally "pure" enough to have a voice in the conversation.

Finally, it's on you to block if you do not want to interact further. I have blocked, but I will not delete a reply to a post I made about something entirely unrelated to shipping discourse, that never broached the topic of shipping discourse, because you don't like survivors being against something that is typically used to censor them talking anout their experiences.

Ironically, if you blocked me, it would make me unable to reblog this, AND unable to see your little comments about what you think are acceptable boundaries around what other people can discuss and what other people can believe when having an unrelated conversation with you at all.

Anyway honestly, I'm leery of making fun of reading comprehension because I think it can be really ableist. But clearly this is an example of the people who use the term "proshit" not bothering to actually read or even try to understand other perspectives. I will make a separate version of my reply and original context so people can further comment without getting harassed by OP or people they follow - don't worry, with OPs username redacted and everything - but weirdly, it's almost as if very few people who claim to be fundamentally anti-harassment will bother them when they wave a giant red flag saying "I do not use a label or interact with people who use a label that means 'we believe harassment is wrong'."

One of those groups is dangerous, and it's not the people saying "hey, don't tell other people to kill themselves because they can tell the difference between what's moral in real life and what's okay to depict and engage with in media".

Obvious statement to leave OP alone is obvious. They're already blocked, so they won't see this. They have a right to ask me to take down my response. I have a right to refuse. If they block me, it will no longer show up in notes, but if you wish to circulate my version, I'd suggest either blocking them first or doing it with the alt version I will put up. I encourage people to block OP for their own safety, more than anything, to avoid harassment, since it seems they may harass you if you interact and have views on shipping discourse they disagree with.

OP, you don't get to have a monopoly on the conversation on "former gifted kids", a subset of traumatized largely neurodivergent people, though, just because you find something to attack about anyone who disagrees with you.

I also don't know what assumptions I made that are wrong. That you may or may not have been labeled a gifted kid, which I acknowledged I didn't know? Or that you find effectively addressing ableism to be the most important part of this conversation. Because if it's the latter, you should be sorry, but I don't accept your apology. Care more about actual marginalized people being hurt than your moral superiority complex, be better, then maybe you'll have actually done the work of changing your actions to earn forgiveness.

If it's about something else - something I said I "hoped" you'd do or similar, I'm lost. Go learn what appropriate boundaries actually are and when you're just weaponizing therapeutic language to control other people somewhere else.

Oh and OP, if you block evade and see this: you can still block us on desktop. If you navigate to settings and blocked users, you can add our username to the field there to block us. It's a bit of an extra step, now that we've blocked you, but we don't mind helping you maintain a boundary that is your responsibility to maintain.

We have redacted OPs username to keep the larger conversation from reaching them. It is easy to find them due to our original response being kept up, but of course we ask that they be left alone, blocked at most. I would honestly prefer if people circulated this version.

Also, I'm now wondering if the "assumptions" in question were us saying "hey IF you think this, you PROBABLY need to examine these other things". We wouldn't be surprised. We also note that we neglected to tag grooming specifically on the original post, likely as a result of the exact problem of just categorizing it as a subtype of SA, which isn't wholly accurate. That's on us, and we have added the tag to this version. That is, however, why we had the "ask to tag" and "ask to tw" tags on the original post.

#ableism #neuroableism #suicide mention #cw suicide mention #tw suicide mention #burnout #“gifted kid”/“former gifted kid” labels #CSA mention #SA mention #cw CSA mention #cw SA mention #tw CSA mention #tw SA mention #grooming #cw grooming #tw grooming #ask to tag #ask to tw

21 notes · View notes