#insufferable and loathsome | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theoldsports · 17 days

Text

SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

1K notes · View notes

iceunhie · 5 months

Text

[6:21 PM.]

you hate dr. ratio. you hate him; he's pompous, narcissistic, disagreeable, utterly intolerable. you can't tolerate him at all. out of the numerous possible reasons why you despise him though? its how he never fails to get you all up in a bind about him.

mhie's notes: i got l+ratio'ed by dr ratio insert laughing emoji anyways reader is so me (we're haters /silly)

If someone would ask about who in the Intelligentsia Guild is the number one Dr. Veritas Ratio hater, chances are someone from said guild will promptly give them a shake of the head, a pat on the back, and direct them to none other than you.

The reason why?

"Well, isn't it obvious? He's an asshole!"

It's no secret to anyone in the Guild, actually, scratch that— to anyone in the universe that you absolutely despise the dark-haired genius that is Dr. Ratio. Loathsome man that he is, you've never enjoyed just how biting his words have been to fellow members of the Guild have been; would it kill him to be just a little more encouraging to them?

It doesn't help that he's horribly attractive, and he knows it. It's how most of the members in the Guild get tricked into entering one of his 52 lecture courses in his various academic programs at the premise of being able to be taught by his oh-so-radiantness, only to absolutely end up getting their self-esteem crushed into stardust. What's more, he can get away with it! Despite his notorious reputation for being a strict and short-tempered teacher, people still flock to him in droves. It's irritating, annoying.

"Did you think that this subject would be a mere place to ogle at me? That's the very picture of idiocy."

It's totally annoying to you because of that, and not because there's this sickening churn of discomfort in your stomach whenever a colleague of yours fangirls over him, no. You were most definitely just irritated because he was just that insufferable, and not because something about his well-kept hair and sharp eyes didn't draw you in like a moth to a flame, nope. Definitely not.

And you most definitely hated him solely for the fact that he was just a genius who prided himself above others, and not how he sometimes, rarely, once in a blue moon at that, lets his more amicable personality traits slip beneath the no-nonsense facade of his. How sometimes, he would often sigh at his students, voice still chiding, as he would reluctantly teach them another lesson. How he would smile, a genuine one, not like a sarcastic and lifeless smile of his - when his students would complete their task flawlessly and thank him profusely.

How sometimes, you can't help but be awed at how diligent and just how much he does want his students to succeed, as hard on them as he is. How he doesn't want them to go down the path of 'ignorance,' so he makes up for it by brutally scolding them and bringing them up from their slump. How no matter how challenging he may seem, he relishes in the pride he feels to be able to help others pass on and gain knowledge.

He's a complete enigma to you, and yet you can't help but feel drawn to him anyway.

So if someone would ask about who in the Intelligentsia Guild is the number one Dr. Veritas Ratio hater, ten times out of ten, that title would go to you.

Oh, you definitely hate him, alright. Definitely.

#mhie's spirals #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #honestly hate him so much (i wanna kiss him so bad)

543 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 7 months

Note

Okay so not an ask more of a Headcanon based on observation and the character he is based on, but I see Honest Fellow as someone who would both idolize/emulate and resent the rich. By his design his clothes, while they pay homage to Honest John with the patchwork pantleg and the misding pinky tip on his one glove seem very well-kempt, on top of that his hat and cane are practically emaculate that cane alone couldn't have been cheap though I wouldn't put it passed the sly fox man to have either swindled someone out of it or stole it from them outright. Point is I'm getting wants to be a rich man but hates the rich people vibes.

All of that is set-up for my headcanon that if he ever had a S/O you can bet he would get them jewelry and expensive clothes. Basically just adorn them in finery he had acquired through whatever means (cough, likely stolen or purchased with dirty money, cough) and proudly have them stand by his side. The thought to use them as a pretty little lure to catch even bigger fish might cross his mind, but I doubt he'd ever use them like that. Personally, I feel like he'd be to possessive to do that even if his darling wanted to help like that, after all what if he let's them go off alone and someone tries to take advantage of his poor darling? He doesn't think they're weak or foolish per say but who could protect them better than him? I think he'd have a difficult time even leaving them alone with Gidelle (only 90 percent sure I got that right), of course he trusts Gidelle, well as much as he can truly trust anyone anyway, but he's the brains of the outfit and unless he's personally by his darlings side he won't ever be truly assured something won't go wrong.

Let's say that darling isn't quite so understanding or compliant, his possessive side would certainly get worse. He can't leave them alone for one second qhat if they try and sneak off. Perhaps to save his pride he'd be a bit delusional, they're just a sweet little naive skittish thing that doesn't know any better, possibly they've never known a love as deep and unshakable as his, it's only natural there would be a learning curve for them and who better than he to teach them? I highly doubt he'd ever use physical punishments on his darling, probably doesnt like punishing them as he thinks they are just still learning, but that doesn't mean he won't find other ways to punish them if necessary. I do think if they actively tried to run he wouldn't waste a minute getting something along the lines of a necklace with a chain, something fashionable but functional as a reminder while they're learning, if that reminder isn't enough though he might go for a bejeweled pet collar and leash. If all else fails isolation in a secure location with him as their only source of human, or well beastman, contact would certainly allow them to see how much they needed each other. Whatever he has to do to make them understand it'll all be worth it later once they're settled and he can spoil them like they deserve.

TLDR: Honest Fellow would love to lavish his S/O in (possibly ill-gotten) finery and would actively and proudly show them off on his arm. Everyone can look and admire, but only he is allowed to touch.

This has got to be the most effort anyone has ever put into something they sent in my ask box!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Okay so right off the bat let me say that YES!! This is canon I don't care what anyone says.

I can see him as "wanting what they have" but "not wanting to be them". Essentially he wants the ability to give his darling the best of everything. Yet still ultimately preserving his own "personality". Like you said Fellow hates the rich. They're insufferable, self-absorbed and loathsome, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't crave the glitz and glammer.

Now I can kinda see Fellow only really interacting with his darling at first to use her as bait. Winning her over with expensive gifts and pretty cloths (all from dirty money ofc) and sure darling does start to fall for his tricks. But here's the thing, the moment his darling begins to show the tinest interest in him Fellow FALLS HARDER!! All of a sudden he doesn't want ANYONE near his darling! Just him only him. Sooner or later his darling will start to feel suffocated, she'll be desperate to get away from him. Forsaking the pretty presents and charming "boyfriend" for just a moment of freedom. But Fellow's a sly fox, always one step ahead. He knows how to ensnare his darling before she's even run away.

Overall Fellow will lavish you, treat you like a queen, getting you anything you desire (through underhanded means) but you'll never be allowed to leave him. Forever trapped by his side on the island of pleasure…

Quick question is Fellow meant to be the same age as the third years or is he older??

#fellow honest #fellow honest twisted wonderland #fellow honest x reader #fellow honest x you #yandere fellow honest #twisted wonderland #twst #twst halloween #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere x you #yandere aesthetic #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #yandere twst #twst x reader #twst fellow honest

217 notes · View notes

ninhawesome · 9 months

Text

How I be drawing Arturo despite him being the most insufferable loathsome character ever.

(But for real though I couldn’t think of much for him to wear so he prob looks a bit boring.)

#fangan #fanganronpa #danganronpa fangame #drdt #danganronpa despair time #despair time #arturo giles #veronika grebenshchikova

280 notes · View notes

targcrazies · 6 months

Text

Moonless, Dark Night Pt. 7

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!Strong (half Targaryen) Words: 3.6k+ Warnings: Violence and Graphic Descriptions, Emotional Distress, Mature (ish) themes, Mentions of Self-Harm and Su*cide, Adult Language, Incest.

This chapter has spoilers from the actual Fire & Blood storyline

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Sansa’s limbs have gotten heavier in the span of a fortnight. Her face looked unlike anything she could recognise as her own in the mirror. Her eyes were almost all lilac, no hint of her pupils whatsoever. Her beautiful, Targaryen-Aquiline nose had become fat with fluid like her fingers and feet, and her hair fell like rain. She felt so unlike herself that she could not recognise herself in the mirror. She wondered how her husband loved her at all.

Aemond had been spending the last two weeks pondering the aftermath of the battle. His boundless confidence made him insufferable, the certainty of his own survival to himself seemed baffling to Sansa. This was the mistake that Aemond made, repeatedly. Underestimating the Black faction was always a rather stupid move to make. He never seemed to even begin to fathom the fact that Rhaenyra was not only fuelled by her lust for power, but she was geared to navigate toward her birthright, the legitimacy of it was what strengthened the fortitude of her and those in support of her cause. Aemond also remained in denial of Daemon’s prowess, his cunning. Daemon was no simple man, he was not someone who could easily be toppled over like a checked King on a chessboard. Daemon was mighty, not only in his qualities, but also in the web of connections he had built around himself. Aemond was only a boy, not even twenty. Daemon could have sired him and fed him to his dragon thrice before having another son his age.

Sansa had accepted the fate that she was to be widowed, that she was to be the woman with a child in her arms but no support around her. Her child will grow up fatherless, a thought that caused her insides to turn and twist among themselves. Despite having lost her parents young, she felt blessed to have had their love and blessings in her infancy. Unlike Aegon or Aemond, she had no weight of expectation and conniving plotting on her shoulders. She was never made to think of three boys her age as her enemies, she was never made to fret over the aftermath of her uncle’s demise, she had never been required to think of the ways she’d be totalled and torn if the side she opposed ever ascended the throne. She had begun to think, at the weight of all the thoughts that had begun to burden her mind, that she was only a cowardly pacifist. Whilst her allegiance always lied with Rhaenyra, she could never resoundingly proclaim her support. She sequestered herself in a corner of her lavish bedchamber after her nephews passed. She loathsome upbraids were almost always met with a desperate and distressed eye, a face full of despair.

How many times had he told her that he never intended to kill her? She had evidently lost count. She could not begin to even consider how his “accidental” kinslaying could supersede, in terms of deserved sympathy, what happened with Luke. Luke was a darling boy, so sweet and gentle, yet so fierce and brazen when it came to his loved ones. The eye he took was never even to defend himself, but his older brother.

Jace would have made a terrific King, that was much known by everyone. He was strong yet tender, strict yet merciful, devoted yet temperate. His strengths lay in his ability to strike the chord and achieve golden mean. His devotion toward his mother and stepfather, his love toward his brothers, and his unconditional forgiveness toward anyone he knew loved him. Sansa loved him, she loved him very much. She loved his pug nose, his brown hair and eyes, the smile that was so reminiscent of her dead brother.

She had visited the day Viserys was born, not so much a plump and stout child, like his older brother, Aegon. However, his Targaryen descent effortlessly lit up the room. He had his mother’s hair, the slight golden shine in silver.He was a jolly child even as a newborn, his eyes sparkling, as if, in cognizance of his surroundings. He was beautiful, a sight to behold and cherish. Rhaenyra smiled at the child’s face and kissed it so gently. Daemon huddled all the kids around so that they could coo and marvel at the baby. Dragonstone was a happy place then, seven bright children running around, studying, training, and giggling among themselves. All of that was gone now, much of the happiness had managed to get grounded underneath the rubbles of the vanquish caused by this horrid, miserable war. Dance of the Dragons, they called it. Sansa laughed, her dragon had gone someplace she would never reach. Half of her soul had perished, the rest was mustered in some state of sustenance.

The night before Aemond had planned to fly to face Daemon, Sansa rapped gently on the door. They were then situated at some debilitated estate of some great lord. The estate had little to no arrangement for her comfort, and while Aemond insisted she lived with his brother in hiding, at least until she had birthed their child. She refused, knowing that the days she spent with him would be his last. She’d rather suffer with him than live in comfort knowing she was not beside him during his last days.

“Come in, Sansa.” His voice poured with concern and love, and when she opened the door to find him, his head was perked up, his gaze met hers in warmth. “You needn’t seek permission, dearest.”

“Thank you,” she wet her lips with her tongue before closing the door behind her. One of her hands rested on her hip, the other on her belly, as she made her way slowly to her husband. He took her hand in his, kissing the back of it. “How have you been?”

“How have you been, dear wife?” He enquired, “I’ve been thinking of you. Tomorrow shall be a big day and I’d like to come to you after I’ve killed our uncle, covered in the glory of it.”

“How do I stay here, on my own, husband?” She sat beside him, “I’d rather come with you.”

“Don’t be silly, Sansa. I will fly you to where my brother is, he has a number of men tending to his needs and will happily accommodate you.”

“The last time I met him, his mind was preoccupied with the Milk of the Poppy and he cared so little that he felt like a wholly different person.”

Aemond threw his head back in laughter, “I am sure that regardless of the state of his wretched mind, the King will happily receive you.” He cupped the side of her face with his hand. “I don’t want you to worry about inane matters.”

Sansa kept her hand on his, her grip laced with love, “Don’t you think I’d love being a coddled Lady Princess surrounded by well-mannered ladies? I would love it all, but when I have none of it, there’s little for me to do but worry.”

“You truly do not insist I take you with me to watch as I crumple our uncle to the ground and feed him to Vhagar?”

“I have witnessed no other glories of yours, so this might be my one chance.” She rested her head on his shoulder, “Please, Aemond, this is a request. Vhagar is large, so I shall be comfortable. And given you are determined to decimate our uncle, I believe I will have an escort ready, so it shan’t be a problem.”

He sat quietly in deep ponderance at the proposition. Not only was she making a request, she was challenging his daring. If he truly believed that he’d be able to finish off his uncle, she knew, he’d comply with the said request to instill confidence. In her and in himself. She knew him that much.

He agreed, and her surprise was evident in her eyes. She knew he was easy to prod and convince this way these days, but she hadn’t realised how much. She smiled at him sweetly, kissed him above the eye that was not there, and bade him good night.

Sleep was the deadly stranger that night. She twisted and turned and so did her child. She’d often rest her hand on her belly and pray to the Mother to grant her a daughter, so that she’d never have to have a boy eager to claim the throne, eager to reign on the disastrous scraps that were to clearly remain following the war. A daughter might desire so as well, yes, but what example was there for her to remain following the precipitated terror that’d engulf every human without a cock? Rhaenyra had lost three of her children to the war, an unborn lost to it before it even sprung to its full rhythm. Was that not frightening enough?

When her eyes finally tired of their ceaseless wandering, the sun had begun to rise. She chose to pay no heed, turn her back to the source of light and sleep until awoken. She knew Vhagar’s grunts and roars would awaken her, that Aemond would have come to seek her good wishes even if he were to turn back on his word.

The day went by slowly, dreadfully. Aemond ate little, resorting to feeding any beastly, grainy find to Vhagar. Sansa ate as much as she needed and yet she felt sick. The sun was particularly bright that day, the grass golden and the water blue, so blue. Sansa put on a robe and followed her husband outside. He had begun to feed a rabbit whose neck he had shortly before twisted, watching Vhagar roast it in a little spoof of fire before devouring ravenously. Aemond patted the dragon all over, kissing her every once in a while. Sansa often underestimated the bond those two shared. They were similar in nature even, surreptitious and quick to anger. He loved her more than he loved himself. Vhagar had given Aemond the confidence and belief in his own self that formed him into the person that he is. Aegon at times would poke fun, saying that the “old crone of a dragon” was nothing in comparison to his beautiful Sunfyre. Aemond would sneer, not feeling a need to retort. Vhagar was Vhagar, a scrap of history that overtook such a legacy. Sansa often found herself staring at the mighty dragon, enthralled by the magnanimity of it, almost cowering before it at times.

“Do you not miss Verasys, wife?” Aemond asked, “I can’t even begin to fathom how very protective he’d be of you had he been here. Father used to say the dragon would cover aunt’s belly with his neck whenever she found him.” He smiled at her wistfully, his eyes finally averting from the dragon.

“Verasys was my soul, of course I miss him.” She said quietly, watching Vhagar let out a loud burp as she settled down after the last of her several meals. “You did not let Vhagar hunt today, I suppose to save energy-“

“Why did you release Verasys?” He interrupted, his voice soft, kind, almost sad.

She stared quietly at Vhagar, her nerves steely but her eyes welling, “I did not want to fight Rhaenyra.”

He nodded quietly, “Have you ever wondered what it’d be like if you had? The war would be over sooner, we’d be in such peace.”

“I’d rather have my child on my own than live and die a traitor.”

“Darling, you speak like one.”

“You kill like one.” She said breathlessly, retreating inside the ruins they called home, exhausted from the back and forth.

“Will you hate me after I kill our uncle today?” He called out to her.

She did not turn, her steps faltered and her heart panged against her chest, “No, I’ve no longer in me to care. Do what you will.”

“It’s what I have to, wife. I do not relish in the joyous aftermath of spilling blood.”

“Tell that to the people you’ve massacred.” She turned to look at his crouched form, “I will go inside. We should start soon for Harrenhal.”

———————————

How the sun rained upon the earth! Gentle, light, almost calming. Sansa was wearing a nice-looking gown, for she knew her uncle would be doubly livid if she were to be dressed in tatters. Aemond wore his usual; shiny black leathers with all his straps and saddle.

“Wife, you may choose not to go still. I shall be back before it’s dark.” His confidence befuddled her, yet she was so used to the befuddling she shook her head and walked outside. He helped her upon the dragon and as she touched her scales, she wondered if this would be the last of her hundreds. If Aemond were to die, it’s likely that Vhagar would die with him. Meleys passed alongside Rhaenys, Vermax alongside Jace, Arrax alongside Luke. All of it still stung so much.

He helped her position between his legs, she apologised for the inconvenience she caused. In her head, those were the last words she was saying to him. She wanted them to be kind, if nothing else. A man aware of his impending demise at least could anticipate it better, she thought. She did not want to be the one to tell him that he was flying to his death, so untimely. It broke her heart. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

Sansa could spot her uncle Daemon when they drew closer. He looked unkempt, scrawnier than ever, and almost exhausted. “That’s the last you’ll see of him, wife. Do so to your heart’s delight.”

When she finally descended the dragon and met Daemon’s eyes, she found the pupils dilated, his lips agape. “Sansa,” he breathed out, “I was hoping I’d see you, but I wasn’t certain if you’d be able to make it given the… the rumours.”

“Uncle…” she murmured, her lips quivering as she fought back tears.

“You look so much like Visenya when she was with you. You’re her spitting image.” Daemon looked behind her, at her husband, “I shall speak to my niece in private before we put an end to this.” He extended his hand toward her and she took it. Both their backs were turned to Aemond as they spoke quietly to ensure he couldn’t hear.

“Uncle, you have every reason to flail him. But, I beg you, please make it quick.” Her eyes had begun to spill.

“Forgive me,” he said as he hugged her with his left arm, “Forgive me, Sansa. And, forgive Rhaenyra.”

She cried quietly as his chin rested gently on the top of her head. “I do have something for you, but you must promise to only see it after… after we’re done.” He handed her a scroll, “You mustn’t look at this now. And, don’t reveal its content before this war has ended. Can you promise me that?”

She nodded vigorously through the tears, placing the scroll inside her cape. “Will you bring me with you, uncle? After this? My child will never have a claim to the throne, I promise-“

“I had initially made arrangements to have the scroll sent to you, or if you make it here, to have you escorted to a place you may find safe. You needn’t worry of that.” The confusion in her eyes caused Daemon to look away, his eyes landing upon her husband. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Vhagar and I flew all around before we saw you here, in your sorry state a few days ago.” He leered, “You were a fool to come alone.”

Daemon’s grip on his niece loosened, his arm still securely placed upon her shoulder, “Were I not alone, you would not have come.”

“Yet you are, and here I am.” Aemond sighed through his wide, obnoxious smirk, “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

Sansa’s head shot to look at her uncle. He was never one to endure anything even akin to a slight, let alone one made one actively, to the legacy he had carved himself. She noticed that her uncle looked little like himself, such less spirit, vigour, and unbridled rage.

“Uncle, don’t do anything foolish.” She very quietly muttered to him so that only he could catch onto it. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, before gently shoving her to the side, making his way to Caraxes, the only aspect of him that looked like himself.

She walked to her husband, “Good luck, husband.” She muttered, before pulling him down and kissing him. “One last time,” she thought, “It better be good.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his own hands hold onto her. When she parted, she looked into his eyes, “I love you, Aemond. I have always loved you, only you. Even when I have despised you so, even when I wished I had it in me to avenge Luke with my own two hands, I loved you. If only I didn’t love you so, I’d not bear the pain I bore for you.”

Aemond stared at her, agape for a moment, “My dear wife, you believe I am to die.” He surmised, “I shall prove you wrong.”

—------------------

The sky had never been set so ablaze. The water had never been diluted so by blood that there was little water left. Sansa had tried to walk away, hastily, when they crashed down. The last thing she remembers making out was Vhagar having bitten into Caraxes’s neck, and Daemon’s figure jumping onto Aemond. The rest of it all is an ominous, smoky blur. It all happened so fast. So unfathomably fast.

Sansa steadied herself on her feet and walked forward. God’s Eye boiled raw, the heat simmering and bubbling in giant, angry clots of blood. “Uncle?” She called out, “Aemond?”

Caraxes had begun to slowly crawl to the shore, his body torn to shreds. He gave out a gruntled cry, breathing his last as his eyes gave life away. Sansa walked close to the corpse of the dragon, touching his face as she began to cry. All had been lost. She had lost her husband, her uncle. Their families had lost so many of their dragons that she could not bring herself to count. Their legacy had begun to wither before their eyes and they had little to do than strike more of it off the grids.

Aemond was so young, she thought, barely twenty. He was a dead father to an unborn child, a dead husband to a widow just as young. What was she to do? Where was her place in this world? None of the questions could possibly be answered. She was left alone by a river then reeking of murderous blood. Her child was due in a few weeks and she swore to herself, if she gives birth to a boy, she’ll put it in a basket and let him get taken by the waves of the Narrow Sea.

She had begun to walk all around the shore, looking for someone, anyone, to help her find passage. But the sight must have scared everyone so, not a single human was around. The scroll in her hand was dry as she had shielded it with her life, but she could not stop the water from her hair and face dripping on it. She gave out a shriek in sheer frustration, throwing around her arms in anger.

Just when she thought she’d rather throw herself in the lake and die with her uncle and husband, a shadow as large as night loomed over her, before the shriek of a dragon resounded throughout. The dragon, she noted, was dirty almost. No, the dragon was not dirty, she realised, its hide was just the colour of mud.

“Sheepstealer…” she quietly murmured to herself as the dragon landed before her. The dragon rested his body on the ground, huffing out and letting his eyes laze.

The girl who hopped off the dragon was small, almost as small as Sansa herself. However, she was scrawny, her eyes the colour of her skin and the fine leathers she’d worn almost a size too big on her. “My lady, I am Nettles. A dragonseed.”

“Nettles?” She let the name roll off her tongues, trying to recollect any memory that could support the person before her.

“Prince Consort Daemon gave me a job before he came here. He wanted me to make sure that I escorted you, on my dragon, to King’s Landing.”

“I can’t go to King’s Landing.” Sansa yelled out before realising, “The Queen mayn’t forgive my child. I need to go elsewhere.”

Nettles smiled, shaking her head gently and spreading her arms, “Anywhere you feel safe, my lady. I am here to serve you, as per the Prince’s last wish.”

“Dragonstone.” Sansa breathed out, without missing a beat. “Escort me to Dragonstone, please.”

“Has it fallen, my Lady?” Nettles asked quietly, her lips parted in surprise.

“I wish I knew.” She confessed, “All I know is that Dragonstone is the only place where the people know me and will keep me safe.” She refused to admit that her brother might be there, not to a Dragonseed. She wanted to give birth to her child and make sure the child got to live.

Nettles helped her up the dragon, ensuring that she was secured well and apologising every second even at the thought of doing something wrongly. Sansa kept quiet mostly, trying not to let her loneliness bubble up in her chest. When the dragon took off, she rested her head on the younger girl’s shoulder. “I’ll sleep for a bit. Awake me when we are close. It’d be better to not get too close to the castle itself. We should stop, preferably behind Dragonmont.” She drifted off to sleep as she finished her sentence, and only awoke in her bed on the island, the scroll secure beside her.

#game of thrones #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen x cousin!reader #aemond one eye

40 notes · View notes

violettelune · 7 months

Text

i haven’t seen anyone really talk about this but i want to start the conversation a bit.

i wanna talk about black nancy and based on the information we know so far about her character/backstory, it’s so obvious that johnny’s pretty much a mama’s boy.

and knowing that the relationship is just that much impactful, it is loathsome. (this is coming from the perspective of someone who’s both a woc and the eldest daughter/child.) i have met some mothers like this for guys i’ve dated. they’re all the same—insufferable as fuck. i’ve seen many establish already that nancy’s definitely the type of mother to think no girl is good enough for johnny, which is a statement i strongly agree with.

from what i’ve heard of nancy’s dialogue altogether, leading up to this—dare i say, it’s so triggering. by all means, i feel that me feeling this way personally compliments the writing and storytelling the devs have done. like yes, this is the 1970s and the dynamics/expectations were definitely more reserved back then.

but i’ll be fucking DAMNED if some woman like nancy talked down on me like girl… be so fr right now!

i wanna see the dynamic explored where johnny “falls in love” with someone (victim or not) who doesn’t take shit from anyone in the slaughter family, ESPECIALLY nancy. like they pull some shit like grace does in “ready or not” where they (possibly) end a whole bloodline, starting with nancy since she’s the biggest goof.

#tcm game #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny slaughter #black nancy

47 notes · View notes

atinyjules · 1 month

Text

Opposites Attract Ft. Park Jisung - ch 4

A/n: So I will not be updating any of the new series I started. Which includes the jeno, mark and upcoming hendery series because some loathsome fool couldn't keep her words to herself.

Anyways ✨️ I am excited to update this one after quite a while.

So here it iss✨️

Lianna's

It was a Saturday so I only went to practice for our team performance since the duo and waltz performance practice were only on week days. So after our practice was over just me and Sua were heading to our usual cafe for lunch since the others already had plans and Sungchan didn't feel like coming.

After we reached our favourite cafe we sat down and ordered our usual.

"So, how's you leg?" Sua asked with concern making me smile.

"It completely healed over a month ago. Chill." I said making her slap my arm.

"But still! As a ballet dancer, your legs are the most important part of your body. Besides, even during practice Madam Cha kept reminding you to take it slow." Sua said making me nod and throw her a reassuring smile.

"She's just being precautious because the Winter Solstice Ball is a big deal and I'm taking part in it too. But don't worry, my legs are back to how it was." I said making her sigh.

"We're just worried for you. You're our star dancer after all." She teased making me groan.

"I'm not, Seeun and Yuki are." I say earning a scoff from Sua.

"You are, it's just that you came back from your break so you're still getting used to being up on your feet again. Hey...isn't that the boy from Neo? Your partner." Sua stopped mid conversation to point at someone.

"Where?" I asked as she positioned my face towards the direction she was looking at.

"The waiter serving that table." I looked closely to see Jisung.

"Oh, Jisung?" I say as she nodded.

"Yeah, what's he doing here?" Sua questioned.

"Part time maybe?" I say as she nods.

"Probably." She said and after a while the both of us sat awkwardly when we realised he was bring our orders. He must have noticed us since he tried to hide his face.

"Thank you." Me and Sua said in unison as he lightly bowed and scurried away.

"Neo didn't have practice today I suppose. Although, he'sa lot more timid then when he's with his friends." Sua said as we began to eat our food.

"He's always been shy and timid though. We went to the same institutions till we were in middle school." I said making Sua choke on her drink.

"Wait...you and Sungchan have been best friends since you were kids and went to all the same schools until he went to Neo for a bit so was Jisung part of the circle as well or?" She asked in a hushed tone making me nod.

"Yeah, Sungchan andJisung were quite close as well so they ended up going to Neo together but I don't know what happened after that. One day Sungchan just cameover and told me that he was joining Seuli." I said as Sua furrowed her brows.

"How did he join if he did hip hop?" Sua asked as I looked at her, confused.

"You don't know? He's been doing ballet since he was little because his mom wanted him to do it but he grew more interested in hip hop so he learned hip hop as well and ended up going to Neo because he liked it more than Ballet." I said as Sua nodded.

"Ohh, I did not know that. Sungchan is a great and funny person to be around and hang out with but he doesn't really tell us anything about his childhood or interests." Sua said as I nodded.

"Yeah...he wasn't like this but I know for a fact that something definitely happened in Neo. "

×××

Jisung's

"How's your waltz partner?" Hyeongjun asked me as he sat next to me on the bus while on our way to Seuli.

"I don't...I guess she's okay." I said as Hyeongjun let out a frustrated wail.

"Ask me how my partner is." He said making me chuckle.

"How's your-" before I could even finish the sentence, Hyeongjun cut me off.

"The WORST! Oh my goshhh! She is sooooo insufferable!" He complained making me laugh.

"That's bad?" I asked as he nodded and pouted.

"I can't bear her! Doesn't help that her stupid brother always has his eyes on me!" He continues blabbering.

"Sounds fun." I say in a joking manner earning a while from him.

"Jisunggg! Ya, aren't you my bro...help me! Your partner seems nice, ask her to tell herfriend to chill out!" He said making me shake my head.

"I'm not doing that, I barely even talk to her." I say as he keeps pleading me.

"Yahhh, Jisungie! Don't you love me?" I cringe at his aegyo and push him away from me.

×××

Jisung's

After changing into my practice wear I headed to the studio where all the Seuli students were already present doing some stretches.

"Morning." I turn to see Sanha who entered at thesame time as me with his water bottle.

"Morning..." I said in an unsure tone making him pat my shoulder before heading to his friends. I look around to find a certain figure but felt disappointed internally when I couldn't spot her.

"Bro, you good?" Hyeongjun asked as we walked to a corner.

"Yeah...why?" I asked as he shrugged.

"No reason. Is it just me or are the Seuli students very quiet and calm today?" He questioned making me nod as I looked around to see all of them rehearsing or in simply just in their own world.

"This is how they are in a daily so you don't need to worry." Me and Hyeongjun abruptly turn around to see the owner of the voice. A tall and slender boy with a soft visual smiled at us.

"And you are?" I asked as he widened his eyesand bowed.

"Oh! I'm sorry, my name is Park Seeun. I'm one of the dancer of Team Seuli." He said with a smile.

If I'm not mistaken, he's the one who went to France.

"I'm Hyeongjun and this is Park Jisung....I'm sorry but I never saw you." Hyeongjun said as he nodded.

"I was injured really bad last year at a show so I was resting. And after I healed and began practicing I started going on competitions again so I couldn't really attend class too regularly." He said and smiled when Hyunsuk called for him.

"Oh, I gotta go!" He said and waved before running up to his friend.

"He totally doesn't know about the rivalry." I said as Hyeongjun nodded.

After a while the teachers came and we began warm ups. I couldn't help but wonder where Lia was although all the girls of both Neo and Seuli were missing.

"Madam Choi...where are the girls..?" Sanha asked when we heard giggles from outside making Madam Choi chuckle.

"Ma'am can we come in?" Seunghee popped her head in with a smile and when given the permission all the girls entered the studio wearing long tulle skirts making all the boys watch them in awe.

"How do I look?" I saw Lia twirl around infront of Seeun and Sungchan who who clapped.

"So pretty!" Seeun chirped earning a look of approval from Sungchan.

"It suits you." He said making her smile and wave bye at them before making her way to me.

"Good Morning Jisung." She said in a sweet way as she stood next to me.

"Morning..." I could only mutter as Madam Choi clapped to get our attention.

"Okay now, settle down. In order to really get into character the girls were giving light tulle skirts so that they can get used to dancing in a long dress." She said after which we began classes.

"Are you just gonna pretend like you don't know me?" I was taken aback when Lia suddenly spoke up while we practiced.

"W-What?" I stuttered making her sigh.

"I get that the last time we met was in middle school but can you not treat me like a complete stranger? Makes me feel like an idiot." She said, the last bit coming out in a whisper.

"I...I'm sorry...I just thought that you wouldn't want to talk to me." I said making her pinch me after the music stopped.

"Ow..." I muttered.

"Of course I want to talk to you! We literally used to have lunch and play together." She said making my face go red.

"Oh.."

"So does that mean we can be friends again?" She asked as I smiled softly.

"Sure."

Chapter 5

That's it for this chapter!

I hope you liked it ♥️✨️

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated ♥️✨️

#kpop fluff #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop masterlist #kpop ff #nct dream #kpop fics #nct #nct dream masterlist #nct dream fluff #nct dream jisung x reader #nct x reader #nct dream jisung #nct dream jisung x fem oc

6 notes · View notes

izzyspussy · 1 year

Text

actually you know what. literally YES we are supposed to be ""handwaving"" away where the real stede bonnet's wealth came from. in the exact same way we're supposed to be ""handwaving"" the fact that the real blackbeard was white and a rapist, and that bonnet, blackbeard, and hands were all under 30 at the time our story is taking place.

when engaging with fiction the conventions of the genre are important and should directly inform your interpretation.

historical fiction is fictional. the conventions of the genre are that creators cherry pick aspects of their chosen time setting to create an environment and and aesthetic to be the delivery method of something else.

when you start reading or watching or listening to a piece of historical fiction, the set up and exposition will tell you where to expect inaccuracies. it is your job as an audience to either accept them or if they're unacceptable to you to find something else to enjoy. write a scathing review if you must, tell your friends you don't recommend it, make something yourself set in the same time period that has different inaccuracies instead (because it won't have none), etc. but pointing at an inaccuracy in a piece of historical fiction that formally introduced itself in the beginning and asking what it's doing there is quite silly.

of course stede bonnet, fictional character, doesn't have slaves - or at the very least it would be tonally jarring and narratively ineffective to show him doing so in this particular work. he is here to be an insufferable silly little guy who is coming of age at 46 and romancing a pirate on the jaunty high seas with benny hill music metaphorically playing in the background. it would have to be a completely different story, and he a completely different character, to put that particular historical accuracy in.

romance is also fictional. the conventions of the genre are that conflicts and/or the relevant consequences thereof are primarily interpersonal, that it is fun and/or sentimental, and that there will be a relatively clear cut happy ending. there's almost certainly some aspect of wish fulfillment fantasy.

romance is one of the genres that is most adherent to its conventions. all romance is the same at its most basic level, and that is a feature of the genre for its fans not a bug. the leads are attractive and lovable. characteristics that in real life might be unattractive and loathsome - like, for example, extreme wealth - but that would be attractive if only they could magically exist without any of the real world things that make them suck... will be present as things that are attractive by necessarily removing the real world things that make them suck, because it's fiction and you can do magic there. the characters are created to be endgame love interests from inception. they simply won't have qualities that make them impossible for the other one to love. they are not real people who have to meet by chance and make a relationship work with effort, they were formulated in a lab to be in this relationship with this person forever. yes, even when the characters are based on people who were real. in some cases (like this one), especially then.

stede bonnet, fictional character, would not fall in love with a rapist. therefore blackbeard, fictional character made to be a love interest to him, cannot be a rapist. blackbeard, fictional character, would not fall in love with a slave owner. therefore stede bonnet, fictional character made to be a love interest to him, cannot own slaves. this has to be true for the story to remain a romance.

(or i suppose you could write a romance romantic narrative between bonnet, slaver, and blackbeard, rapist, if you really wanted to. it wouldn't qualify for the specific genre of RomanceTM though, and it would be niche as hell if it had any audience at all, and there certainly would be no benny hill music metaphorical or otherwise. see? this is something else now, practically unrecognizable from what we started with despite having the same historical setting and characters.)

comedy, unlike romance, is one of the genres most versatile and least beholden to convention. however, it still has to be funny. of course, dramatic relief in comedy is just as important as comedic relief in drama, but the primary goal of comedy is to make the audience laugh. and while there are not many conventions other than that, and a skillful enough comedian really can find a way to explore any topic in a way that's funny, a romantic comedy must necessarily also follow the rules of romance - or else it is not a romantic comedy. it can't have jokes in it that ruin the romance.

and tbf, recognizing as an audience that a detail or topic that would be true and relevant if this were all really happening isn't necessarily true or relevant or is just never going to come up in a work of fiction for reasons inherent to that particular work is not ""handwaving"" those things away. those things are not there, in this thing. and if you want to think about those things in the context of this one specific thing that doesn't have them, that's what fanfiction is for. but it's an added thing, not something that is missing from the source or that is being ignored by the creators or other audience members.

#jack facts #i've made a similar post that was much shorter and much more sarcastic before but how bout we try again #idk man part of critical media consumption is first knowing what kind of media you are consuming #reading process #to tag or not to tag lol #ofmd #like. ''this horror movie was so fucked up and scary. one star.''#''lead was rich but didn't commit wage theft. and there wasn't an epilogue about how they broke up three months later. so unrealistic.''#''why do they keep breaking into song that doesn't make any sense''#etc etc etc

45 notes · View notes

myheadsgonenumb · 11 months

Text

Shining a Light on the Truth

prompt: Shine

@jilymicrofics

Lily sat at a table in a quiet corner of the common room, surrounded by scrunched up pieces of parchment and empty bottles of ink. She frowned, and scratched her nose with her quill, as she read back the last few sentences she had written: We hide from the truth, never saying his name. “You know who” we say. And the truth is, yes - we do know who, and we know what he does, only we dare not say it aloud.

She was trying to write her editorial for the latest issue of her school magazine (Sabrina 13: The Monthly Mag for The Modern Magic Miss) and she wanted it to be hard hitting, to make waves and stir up trouble. She was going to shine a light on the war raging out in the wider Wizarding World and make her fellow teenagers sit up and take notice; make them care about what all this meant for her fellow muggleborns, and for all of them who opposed the Dark Lord.

She just needed to find the right words. And for that she needed to be able to concentrate.

Only… the loathsome Potter was sitting just across from her, near the fire, being his usual raucous, insufferable, arrogant arse self. And she couldn’t concentrate on her writing because his mischief and mayhem was forcing her to sit and watch him instead. She didn’t know quite how long she had been staring at him. Seething. She was definitely seething.

Her frown deepened. The firelight was glinting on his glasses. She tutted. The glare was off-putting. It made it difficult for her to sit there and stare at him. Hating. She imagined crossing the room, and ripping off his glasses, so the light from them no longer dazzled her, and glaring into the depths of his hazel eyes.

And just look at his hair; the way it stuck up all messy and every which way in the back. She imagined herself grabbing his head, and flattening his stupid hair down by running her fingers through it, glowering into his hazel eyes the whole time - naturally.

And his mouth. Did it ever stop running? Laughing, joking, talking incessantly. She imagined herself stoppering it … with her own lips. Just grabbing hold of his idiotic head and shutting him up by pressing her mouth against his in a heart stopping, passionate ki…

Sweet MERLIN what was she doing? She shook her head, and looked away (blushing furiously and hoping no one would notice). She had let her thoughts run away from her … Again.

Word Count: 428

#jily #lily evans #james potter #jilymicrofics #shine

18 notes · View notes

synthient · 1 year

Text

Not to be Our Beautiful Hellsite/Their Loathsome Twitter brained. but tbh, I have reached a point where tumblr is pleasant and bearable 99% of the time, and twitter is insufferable, so it is pretty funny to watch its users try to blame the insufferability on Tumblr Tenderqueer Adult Steven Universe Fans or whatever. everyone over here is infodumping about cartoons and singing kumbaya; the call might be coming from inside the house

20 notes · View notes

isfjmel-phleg · 11 months

Text

May 2023 Books

The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier

I really liked this one! The style felt classic, the atmosphere was intriguing and eerie, and the plot sucked me in.

Moongarden by Michelle A. Barry (reread)

This one is kind of sort of a sci-fi retelling of The Secret Garden, and while I like the concept, I didn't love it the first time I read it. The reread helped me pinpoint why: the arcs and themes of the original were absent. There's a prickly heroine and a secret garden (of sorts), but the emphasis of the narrative is not on healing from emotional neglect, or even healing in general. It's a fairly standard tale of a girl who is frustrated by having to live up to her parents' lofty expectations and who comes to realize what her true talents are, along with some dystopian sci-fi conflict. Despite the interesting concept of the world, it feels like a bland version of a tale that's been told many times.

The Well-Wishers by Edward Eager

Light and fun in the typical Eager style.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny--Detectives Extraordinaire! by Polly Horvath (reread)

My youngest sister read this one years ago and some of its details ended up in our bank of references (smartcars driven by rabbits in platform shoes! The Marmot ordered the most expensive thing on the menu! it makes sense in context). The reread reestablished that it is indeed hilarious, albeit odd.

Anyone but Ivy Pocket by Caleb Krisp

Goodness knows I love insufferable literary children. But I couldn't stand rude, brazen, self-centered, grandiose Ivy. I could understand where her behavior comes from, but that didn't make it any less painful to read about. The fact that she is a maid and acts like that made the behavior difficult to swallow; although the story didn't seem set in any particular era, it seems intended to be vaguely old-timey, and in those days a smart mouth from the domestic staff would never have been tolerated. But what made her particularly difficult to like was that she is utterly incapable of character growth, the thing that makes insufferable literary children endearing rather than loathsome. Someone like that could function as a minor character, but in a protagonist that just doesn't work.

Going Postal by Terry Pratchett

My first foray into this series! I enjoyed it, although I was frequently confused. Not sure that I'm ready to return to the series soon, but this one was indeed amusing.

Home by Sarah Prineas

...I had to look up this title in Goodreads to recall what it was.

The Mysterious Case of the Allbright Academy by Diane Stanley (reread)

I read this as a teenager and recently picked it up at a library booksale out of nostalgia. It may not be Great Literature, but I still found it entertaining.

Marianne Dreams by Catherine Storr (reread)

I had a hankering for this book and others like it again.

Noel Streatfeild's Holiday Stories by Noel Streatfeild

The highlight of this one was the short story that included Harriet and Lalla from Skating Shoes / White Boots, whom it was a pleasure to encounter again.

The Hollow Boy by Jonathan Stroud

The second book in this series dragged for me, but this one restored the breezy pace. The characters and prose continue to be delightful.

Mystery of the Hidden Hand by Phyllis A. Whitney

Not one of her stronger mysteries. I had to look this one up to remember it.

Complete Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde by Oscar Wilde

These vacillated between heartbreakingly beautiful and wow-I-am-not-on-board-with-this-philosophically.

Bellwether by Connie Willis

I loved this one more than I expected. It spoke to me. It's a brilliant examination of how our lives and decisions are influenced by inexplicable fads and what it takes to get out of that mindset and I know putting it like that doesn't do it justice but it's just really good. I even liked the romance. (And this has nothing to do with the story itself, but it's set in the Denver and Boulder areas and the protagonist goes to my old town to buy a McGuffin, and that makes me irrationally happy.)

I also read various Wonder Woman 1987 comics specifically dealing with Cassie in order to get a sense of her background. She's a supporting character and gets less development than she does in YJ 1998, I think. And she's the only child on that team who does not have a heartbreaking backstory. Good for her. Somebody in this group has to be kind of normal. Why not the girl who has superpowers because she talked the actual Zeus from Greek mythology into giving them to her.

#random personal stuff #@lady-merian I read another of those books feel free to ignore

13 notes · View notes