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katiexpunk · 2 days

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Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

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Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break.

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity…

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident.

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer.

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident.

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open.

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning.

++++

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right.

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise.

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to.

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really, but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips.

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.”

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled.

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess.

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center.

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room.

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this.

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his.

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him —

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his.

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now.

If it can happen, it will happen.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal.

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.”

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible.

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time.

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.”

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you.

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time.

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;)

Shit.

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted.

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy.

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea.

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him.

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job.

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod.

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk.

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it.

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard.

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth.

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way.

END

Reblog + Support Writers + Comment

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

Tagging some moots for visibility (lmk if you want to be removed if the subject matter isn't your thing. No hard feelings!) @endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre @morning-star-joy@theoasisofthings @chulopascal @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @morgaussy

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #breeding k1nk #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #joel miller #joel miller fanfic

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 3 days

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Sighting: wintersoldier!reader x simon ghost riley

The car hummed as they got closer to their destination. Ghost sat in the back, his eyes barely leaving the the car floor as he gripped his gun.

The ride had been tense and uncomfortably quiet. There was nothing to say, nothing to joke about as they made their way towards the beginning of getting the answers they all prayed for in last five years.

Ghost did everything to keep himself straight. He ignored the chest pains and the shortness of breath, the pit in his stomach and the nauseating bile in the back of his throat.

You were alive yet you were gone. Gone from the task force. Gone from him.

"Remember we need information." Price said firmly. "Capture only. We can't afford to mess this up."

They were going to get information about who they were dealing with. The people who you had been with were Russian and all signs pointed to Konni Group but they had to make sure. And in the process they could find out where you were, if you were actually with them.

Ghost still didn't want to believe it still. He refused to.

You wouldn't join the other side. Not you, not the woman who fought so hard against it, who fought with such fire.

Price parked the car in an alley away from the main building and they all filed out. They stuck to the shadows as they made their way to it, keeping their guns ready as they found an entry point.

Inside the building was supposed to be a hideout, a place that would have some kind of information that would connect them the group they saw in the video.

Price took point and Ghost followed.

The walk up the stairs was slow. Never in Ghost's whole career had he felt impatient in these situations. He was find with taking his time when he needed to but he wanted to get to the room as soon as possible. He didn't care if he got shot, especially since as they moved upwards they had to drop a few targets before they continued, because he just wanted to find you.

When they got to the top they could hear someone on the other side of the door frantically moving around speaking in Russian.

"Remember, capture not kill." Price looked at Ghost and he nodded.

Ghost pushed the door open and they rushed in guns raised.

"Wait, wait! Don't shoot." A man stood in the middle of the dimly lit room with his hands raised high. He looked distressed as he frantically looked at all of them. "I can tell you everything, they're going to kill me."

"Step away from the table." Ghost ordered, noticing the gun that sat on it.

The man moved away quickly, his hands still in the air until he stood in front of the windows. He shook violently as he glanced behind him and around him.

"You're here about the intel we stole right? I can tell you where we have it-"

"You could be lying." Soap barked but he shook his head.

"I promise I'm not! I'll tell you everything if you get me out of here. They're going to kill me."

Ghost glanced at Price and saw the hard look in his eyes. It was hard to tell if the man was actually telling the truth or if he was stalling for something. Even if he looked actually scared, Ghost wouldn't be surprised if he was just trying to not get shot.

"Gaz, secure-"

The window shattered and the man was shot in the head, his body falling to the floor before another shot flew through the window right at Ghost.

Everyone quickly scrambled for cover, two more shots hitting into the walls of the building before they were out of the sights of whoever was outside.

"I thought we only had to worry about the inside?" Gaz kept himself hidden.

"Someone called for back up?" Soap wondered but no one had an answer.

Ghost grabbed the nearest object and threw it across the room before it was struck with a bullet. He clenched his jaw, staying behind the alcove he tucked himself in as he thought up a plan.

There was a window to his side that lead out to a fire escape. He could climb to the roof, hopefully without being shot, to get a good angle of whoever it was.

"Keep 'em busy." He nodded towards the window and Price nodded.

Price shout out the light, blanketing them in darkness while Ghost opened the window. They moved about the dark and baited a couple more shots from the assailant while he slipped outside.

He climbed up quickly, ignoring the shots the continued to echo off the buildings. They were lucky whoever it was didn't have night vision on their scope.

When he reached the roof, he hid behind an air-conditioning unit and readied his weapon. He waited for more gunshots, knowing he'd get the best opportunity when they were busy.

A singular shot rang out and he whirred around, immediately looking down the scope and his finger ready to pull the trigger.

Then his heart stopped.

It was you.

You sat crouched on top of a roof from another building. You were looking down your own scope as you waited for one of the others to move to try to pick them off. You looked just like you had in the video, a mask covering most of your face save for your eyes.

Ghost froze, his heart pounding against his chest as he moved his finger away from the trigger. He would've shot you by now and would've killed you with one shot. The higher ups would've yelled at him to do it, he knows that they'll be pissed that he didn't.

You were an enemy.

But he couldn't.

He must've moved and caught your attention. He barely had enough time to duck behind the unit again before a bullet ricocheted off it. In the distance he could hear sirens, which meant time was running short.

In an instant, Ghost found himself wanting to leap across the gap to get to you. He shot up from his spot ready to do so but you were gone, leaving nothing behind as if you'd never been there.

"Ghost." Price's voice crackled over the comms. "You didn't take the shot."

There was an edge to his voice and Ghost merely stared at the place where you had been as if you'd magically reappear if he willed it.

"It was her."

Silence. That's all that was left.

TAGS ARE CLOSED!

A/n: not my best work honestly. next parts will hopefully be better i just wanted to get this out to get it over with

Tags: @bucky-lents @theweirdgeninistuff @igotchuuknj @rafaelacallinybbay @yyiikes @paintlavillered @tacticalanklebiter3000 @spicyspicyliving @cod-z @whiskytoast @soapscannonwife @bossva @agustdpeach @shinchanboi @catkatchuck @luluzinha444 @blush-haze @pepsicolacoochie @mercurysjoy @keiraslayz

#wintersoldier!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty

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witheredoffherwitch · 1 day

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Y'ALL CAN EXCUSE RACISM?

Let's get one thing straight: I have no part in this chaotic mess (infact, I have blocked all the accounts mentioned below), but it's grinding my gears how it's devolving into another petty fanfic drama: case 607. I know this drama is getting the attention for certain individuals who are demonstrating mean girl behaviour and gossiping about other writers behind their backs. However, I am solely focused on addressing the racist and discriminatory remarks made by these individuals in the leaked text messages.

For those not in the loop, there's been a huge drama in the fanfic community involving leaked text messages from a group chat of four prominent members. In these messages, two users - Fae and Bel - have admitted to sending hate anons and talking smack about other writers behind their backs. Two other members left the group after it was revealed that B tried to make amends with someone who these two, Em and Ange, don't particularly care for. As a move to clear their names, Em exposed all the texts, trying to prove that Fae and Bel are the real villains here.

But wait, there's more! In these same chats, Bel not only mocked fellow non-English speakers but also bragged about sending rat emojis to an 18-year-old Pakistani writer who was already receiving racist anons. While everyone is focused on getting back at these two women for being shady af, it's mind-boggling how Em and Ange are suddenly jumping on the anti-racism train.

These two ladies stayed in the same chat as a fellow Pakistani writer was driven away because of racism, knowing full well that one of their own was contributing to it, and said NOTHING! Zero discouragement, no condemnation - they only hopped off when things got personal.

So here it is… I've had it with all of you hypocrites. You praise and encourage these women at every turn, feeding their egos like they're the second coming of Beyonce. But let's not forget who's always stirring up drama in this fandom - hint: it's these same people with a sense of entitlement the size of a planet. The issue is groupthink and y'all have all jumped on the bandwagon. You're worse than HBO's marketing department because just like their shitty teams, everyone involved here SUCKS ASS. You don't have to pick a side because they are all petty, mean losers. Bel and Fae are facing the consequences of their actions, which they rightfully deserve.

However, Em's exposé on Bel's racism seems more like an opportunistic move and it's disappointing that so many of you are supporting it. It's a predictable cycle now; there will be a half-hearted apology, an announcement of a hiatus, and then tons of people will flock to their inboxes to shower them with praise and excuses. It's ridiculous! I know there are many who feel the same way as me but are afraid to speak up because they don't want to upset the "village elders" and risk losing their connections and engagements. It's a joke atp!

Instead of taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings, they will come up with a list of 10 different cyber crimes by others to divert attention from their own nonsense. These very same women have confessed to creating multiple fake accounts, secretly stalking servers without mods noticing, and constantly harassing individuals through anon messages.

Yet, we are supposed to consider them as examples of moral integrity and ethical behavior? 😒

#fandom racism #fandom critical #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd #asoiaf #anti hotd #anti hotd fandom #fandom drama #racism #daemon targaryen #hotd fandom #fandom bs

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devine-fem · 18 hours

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ion remember who said that but someone here said that bruce is a bad parent but he loves his sons and that's so true.

He's done bad things but he hasn't done them out of genuine assholery, like he genuinely cares but bro has no clue on how to deal with the kids emotions.

And that doesn't necessarily make him a bad person. Maybe a bad parent but he isn't some evil abuser like the other side of the fandom makes him out to be, and he isn't a saint who loves to shelter kids like a mother hen either...

y'all need to start allowing people to do bad things cuz they DO. Parents can be emotionally abusive or give a kid trauma without even realizing. And it's sad that for Damian we have to fit him into either A: Talia hits him and tortures him B: Bruce hits him or tortures him or C: they're both angels of parents 😭 or D where they both do it ig

Need Damian's trauma to be such that you cant exactly place the blame on someone, but it's there and it's bad. IDK IF I MAKE SENSE UGHHHH

No, stop. Imagine going from a world where you’re not allowed to become emotionally attached to anything and you’re proned to violence for survival. Then you go form that to an emotionally distant and neglectful father who has been proned to violence since his 20s and has you go straight into breaking criminal necks in yellow suits.

Mind you, the only person who thought it’s be a good idea to have Damian completely taken out of their lives as they were was Talia Al Ghul. She wanted to give him up to adoption in secret so he wouldn’t have to grow up in the league or with Bruce Wayne.

Imagine your parents love you to death but just that, it’s always to death: they can never just show you like a normal person what loves supposed to be. They always gotta show it differently and how confusing that must be for a child?

We simply do not ignore the bad things Bruce does to Damian like we do Talia but I do and I always will. The morrison run was too important to Damian’s story to ignore and City of Bane, etc was too important an event to ignore. Fortunately, we have cognitive thought and can determine what’s in character and that even bad actions doesn’t mean these characters just always had bad intentions. Damian will always be their baby boy, they love him so much but unfortunately… they love him in a way that accommodates for both their seperate missions… which is why he’s so between two worlds…

I truly couldn’t like Talia, Bruce and Damian if they were exempted from all bad action; it’s fun only when there’s complexity… I don’t read these comics for family feels anyway but I also take this things head on because well, they did them and it can’t be ignored how we wish it could.

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #batfam #talia al ghul #dc comics #asks

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yuri-is-online · 18 hours

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I hope im not the only one who finds it kinda annoying when people write mc/prefect as someone who doesn't have basic table manners just so they can be taught by riddle in riddle x readers, or if they're slovenly and ungraceful just so vil can chide and "fix" them in vil x readers, or any other incompetent reader/yuu x competent LI dynamics out there. I know readers are supposed to be "empty" and flexible for many kinds of readers, but it started to feel alot like self-depreciation for me.

I can't say I've seen too many fics with this specific set up, but there's a pretty good chance I ignored and forgot about them. I am more familiar with the Vil concept though, at least I think? But either way I think the issue you might be finding with these things is that they focus on Yuu's incompetence/inability to function as opposed to the potential for intimacy the scenario could create σ(￣、￣=)

This sort of feels like a weird point to bring up, but table etiquette and basic manners can sort of mean two different things. The type of manners you could argue Riddle would want to see expressed at tea/at an unbirthday party could be much more formal than Yuu is used to, which could make for a cute set up for a fic! Picture Riddle trying his best to teach Yuu about etiquette and finding himself having trouble keeping proper decorum, he wants to hold Yuu's hand so badly, he finds himself letting his finger brush up against the back of Yuu's hand while he tries to guide them through what fork to use... or Riddle trying to teach Yuu to dance and getting too caught up in how excited he is to touch them that he forgets to speak (,,>﹏<,,)

And with Vil, I think people like the concept of having someone dote on them and dress them up in expensive things, but there is also a fundamental misunderstanding of Vil's character that a lot of people have where they think he would see someone in basic sweats and assume they need to be "fixed." The main thing Vil desires is for people to work on self improvement and accept nothing less than the best version of themselves. He's not a Kardashian who wants everything airbrushed and the same, he even admits to being privileged in his upbringing and not understanding Neige's struggles in book 6, he's such a well rounded character, maybe the best in the entire game but back to the topic I am actually on-

Walking someone through a skin care routine or washing their hair, especially if they are having a hard time taking care of themselves due to injury or mental distress is something that can be so painfully intimate. People have different ways of caring for themselves and the VOLUMES it speaks to have someone learn and know your language of self love is sosososo important. Makeup is something Vil loves to express himself with, watching him pick out things to use on Yuu so he can express his love through his work shouldn't be about how he is "fixing" Yuu because that's not how Vil would see it. He is speaking to the beauty he already sees and enhancing it with his own, picture him slowly, deliberately, tracing a lip stain onto Yuu's lips and drawing out the process so he can experience what it is like to kiss them without breaching the delicate line his contract has forced him to walk. How he watches Yuu lick their lips later in the night and swears he can feels it; Yuu worries that they're doing something wrong when Vil keeps insisting on doing their make up because he's always so slow about it but really he just wants to place his claim on them in as subtle and intimate a way as possible.

or something i dunno this was just where my mind went

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland

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laundrypause · 2 days

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Think: Loscar as princes who are in line to take the throne of their respective houses and Oscar who is supposed to be the future king of the realm because he's already been betrothed to the Prince of the realm who is obviously going to one day be King but is harbouring feelings for Logan. Obviously Logan doesn't know of it yet because Oscar's an idiot but Logan also likes Oscar so in truth, they're both idiots.

In my head, Oscar's the Prince of House of Moon (honestly the houses names need more thought but let the literal names be placeholders for now), one of the most powerful houses in the realm. Known for their swordsmanship and weaponry, House Moon also holds one of the strongest armies, second to House Sun. House Moon's colours are predominantly black with purple and silver as complimentary colours. Oscar's the oldest of four children and the only male heir, making it his duty and birthright to next rule House Moon. Raised to rule ever since he was a babe, he's known and grown to learn nothing but to be the perfect King. One of the most talented swordsmen in the realm, he's only 8 and 10 moons when he's already managed to hold three victorious battles under his belt. Now, don't get him wrong, Oscar in no way is a violent man but when push comes to shove, he'll do anything to protect his house and the people he cares about. It's like how that saying goes, “Don't poke a sleeping dragon unless you want to face its wrath”. Fitting for the prince.

Logan is the Prince of House Forest (ik, it's a WIP). House Forest's colours are green, brown and gold. Not one of the realm's powerhouses, House Forest instead is known for its handsome craftsmanship and relationships with magical creatures. Don't be mistaken in underestimating House Forest though. As much as they are peace lovers, they are as much cunning. House Forest is one of the oldest houses, having been established before the War™ so they know a thing or two of fending for themselves during one. Logan is the youngest of two children but the sole inheritor to the throne after his brother's tragic death at sea. The stormy seas caused his brother to have gone overboard and before help could've reached him, he drowned in the rough waters. It is rumoured the sea beast, Drakolia, a huge sea serpent part of the House of Seas had something to do with the young Prince's death but House Seas denies any claim that they or Drakolia had anything to do with it and threatened anyone who dares say otherwise with treason and consequently, death.

And just for fun, Oscar's sword is called the Blood Moon. It has a cross guard shaped as a crescent moon and the blade has the various stages of the moon. Together with the Prince's blood and iron– the iron came from the summit of the tallest mountain in the kingdom where it's said it was the closest you could get to the moon– the sword was forged under the conditions of a lunar eclipse. Enemies claim that the sword gleams and pulses under moonlight but no one ever believes them, chalking it up to pure imagination or delusion. Rumor has it that the sword's actually alive, that it whispers to thieves who wish to steal it away from its rightful owner, making them do unspeakable things.

House Moon harbours a secret, actually a multitude of secrets but one of them is being the ones who killed Logan's brother. It was all apart of their plan, in the name of their thirst and greed for more power and sway over the realm. There were rumors that the king and queen of House Forest could not produce any more offspring so Logan's brother was to be the only child and sole inheritor of everything House Forest. Because of that, House Moon knew if they killed the sole inheritor to House Forest's throne, it would be easier for them to take over it or at least, weaken it to the extent that it'll make their path for power a smidge easier. Oscar wasn't even born when this happened but he did find out when he was 9 moons. It was an accident, truly. He was walking past his parents’ chambers, wanting to sneak out for a late night snack. What stopped him in his tracks was the mention of House Forest (at that point of his life, anything related to Logan made him stop). Curious, Oscar peeked into their study. Inside he found the King and Queen of House Seas, laughing merrily with his parents. Though, laughing merrily is quite inaccurate. No, they were snickering, vicious smiles plastered on their faces. They seemed to be quite drunk and perhaps that was why their lips were so loose at that instance, under the pretence that no one was near them to eavesdrop. What Oscar heard was basically an admittance to the two houses having a part in the first prince of House Forest's death. It was truly unlucky when Oscar had accidentally placed his weight too much on the door, causing it to fall open and him to unceremoniously plop onto the ground.

The second it happened, everyone in the room sobered up. Oscar was placed in a chair, his mother's arm tight around his chest, halting any movements he wanted to make. A mage was called upon and a spell was placed on Oscar, wiping any memory of what he saw that night from his memory. House of Moon would not let their secrets get out, they'd do anything even to the extent of altering their child's memories. Nothing was too far. Well, now Oscar wouldn't need to think about l his family had played a part in Logan's brother's death that took an enormous toll on his mother, leaving her heartbroken and bedridden for months before she could get back up again. Logan's mother now was but a shell of what she used to be back when his brother was still alive.

Logan might not have known his brother but he knew how loved he was. It truly was an act of God when Logan's mother learned that she was with child, years after her first child's death. House Forest painstakingly ensured that the second Prince was well cared for and no enemies would be able to even graze a strand of his hair. House Moon had grown a great deal during the last few years. They didn't need to kill Logan for power, no, House Forest had practically been left to ruin after the first Prince's death. House Moon's prospects didn't include House Forest anymore, they were in the big league now and when their Queen gave birth to the house's first prince, it was a no-brainer for them to betroth young Oscar to Prince Lando of House Sun.

#loscar #loscar fantasy au #if you couldnt tell this was inspired by hotd #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #loscar fic #loscar fic au #i love fantasy so much you dont even know

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