#;;there's so much to discuss with this One short

[kurooh]

SILK LINGERIE !

⊹₊˚. NANAMI’S BDAY 2025 — something comes up at work, and kento’s stuck at the office until the early evening on his birthday, of all days. you’ve promised to celebrate his birthday, so he expects something simple, like dinner and some presents . . until he walks in to see you on the table, a gourmet meal and gift wrapped in lace.

warnings: 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, modern! au, marriage, lingerie, oral, dirty talk, lots of foreplay, mating press, breeding kink, squirting, discussions of pregnancy & kids, creampie, gojo slander. wc / 4.5k

xoxo, juno: happy birthday to kento ♡

everything has fallen into place.

dinner sits hot and ready in covered pots atop the cooling stove, and a finely decorated cake hides away in its box in the very back of the fridge. it’s a vanilla beauty from his favorite local bakery, replete with fruits adorning the surface of it like gemstones. fresh, airy mousse fills the inside of the cake and adds a new layer of flavor to the celebratory dessert.

Today 6:49 PM Lots of traffic, heading home

kento had sent the message a short while ago, and yet, he’s still not home. it’s a good thing, though, because you’re able spend the extra time making sure that everything is flawless. you’re perched atop the dining table, silk stockings snug against your skin as you readjust your body for the thousandth time.

the idea is rather racy—kento will walk in after a long day and see you, splayed out on the table in a sexy position and draped in lace. knowing him, he’ll drop everything and flush a bright red. there’s absolutely nothing that can get under his skin in the way you do.

you try getting on all fours, arching your back as you do so. it’s simple, and far too forward to be the kind of surprise you’re going for. this production must appear to be brilliant and well thought out, especially since you had scratch your entire initial plan once he got the notice to come into work today from his boss! it was more expensive than it should’ve been to cancel dinner reservations and day bookings, but so what? if kento had to work eight hours on his birthday, of all days, you could still make today a great one without all of the extra amenities.

just acting out the various positions gets your heart racing. he’s only ever taken you on the dining table once, and that was when you’d first moved in together. you’d been joking around, saying something about christening the place, and he took you up on the offer. it was only last year, not long after you’d gotten married. so much has changed since then—buying a new house, paying off debt, and being designated as the hosts of the annual christmas party. (gojo was the most insistent, just to annoy kento.) even so, you’re still like newlyweds, overcoming challenges and having sex very regularly.

on your back with your legs open? no, you think, you’ll wait for him to put you in that position. there are traces of his aftershave and cologne hanging in the air that act as an olfactory aphrodisiac and get you thinking about how his hands would feel along the curves of your body. kento’s not even there, but his effect on you is palpable; your thin panties are getting wet at the thought of him.

how does he plan to fuck you tonight? would he bend you over the table and pound at that spot inside you that makes you dizzy? what if he decided to carry you to the bedroom, in the same way he carried you down the aisle, and take you on the new, clean sheets? you’d be covered in love bites and marks given in the heat of the moment by the time you’re in the shower with him. one of his hands would be between your thighs, under the guise of ‘cleaning up’, when he’d come across the evidence of too much passion.

that half-guilty, half-horny expression would wash over kento’s face, and he’d end up on his knees, happily making up for it.

you’re too damn wound up. every bone in your body and every thought in your head is begging you to do something about it, to finger yourself open to better prepare for being split apart—but you can’t. you won’t, not when you know how much foreplay means to your husband.

keys jingle in the lock.

as the rotor is turning, you’re scrambling to get into position. your knee bangs against the table right when the door opens, and you school your face into a small smile, swallowing down the pain. his hand is on his tie when he turns his head, eyes landing on you.

even after a long day of work, kento looks a little more delicious than he did when he stepped out the door this morning. exhaustion digs lines between his brows, pulling his entire expression into one of neutrality—but there’s a fire in his eyes when he takes you in, looking over you like he can’t believe you’re real.

in an instant, everything else is unimportant. he lets go of his tie and takes a few slow steps closer, eyes crinkling at the corners as he confirms that you are, in fact, real. you’re very much real, although he’s wondering if perhaps his wife has ascended to her true form as a goddess and is awaiting an offering.

he can smell sweet perfume, and the dinner on the stove buried somewhere beneath it.

“hi, kento,” you giggle, like you’re not the reason he’s about to lose his mind. you even wave your fingers at him, your feet kicking idly in the air. god, you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing to him—and you haven’t even touched him yet. you’re laying on your belly, chin propped up on one fist; just past your arm is a dizzying amount of cleavage that’s barely held back by a lacy bra. in his entire life, kento has never once looked twice at anyone’s feet, but now he’s thinking a little more about yours and how tight the silk is around them—what, has the spirit of gojo gotten into him?

“hi, sweetheart,” he must immediately clear his throat to prevent his voice from cracking; his slacks are quickly filling out with all seven and a half inches of his cock. “is this—is this for me?”

your voice is hot enough to make him melt. “it is your birthday, ken. also known as my favorite day of the year.”

bathed in the warm overhead light, kento is standing over you now. despite having been in them all day, his clothes remain smooth, pressed in place by meticulous ironing. he looks good, professional, but you’d much prefer them in a heap on the floor. he looks nothing short of handsome when he laughs, a small smile playing on his lips.

“favorite day, hm? is there any specific reason as to why?”

“i can think of a few,” you purr, now sitting up and on your knees. seeing the lace move with your body as you scoot closer and reach out your hand is just the right amount of tantalizing for tonight. the lace and silk is tight against your skin, yet so delicate it’s nearly splitting at the seams. your palm presses against his abdomen; you can feel the warmth of softened muscle through his dress shirt. “for starters, i get to take care of you.”

light and playful, your fingers trail up, up, up until you get ahold of his tie and pull him in close. you’re almost at his level, and still, even when you’re kneeling on the tabletop, he still manages to be a few inches taller than you.

the spotted tie coils around your fist as you reel him closer, leaning in as if you’re going to give him the kiss he’s been waiting for all day.

“take care of me?” kento echoes, chasing your lips when you draw back, “i thought only one of us could receive the ‘princess treatment’, as you call it.”

your other hand slides into his hair and ruins the neat style of the gel, setting the blonde strands free from their hold. “don’t get me started on all of the gifts i’ve been dying to give you.”

“you got me gifts, angel?” kento feigns surprise, his hands spanning your waist. he’d said there wasn’t a thing he wanted, but you still took it upon yourself to figure him out. “i thought i told you i only wanted to go out to dinner and that i’d be satisfied just spending the day with you, my love. why would i want any gifts when i have you?”

you’re close. close enough to share the same breath. close enough for your voice to be nothing but a whisper against the corner of his mouth.

“i know,” you say, tongue darting out to lick at his lip, “but it’s been torture keeping all of them a secret since april.”

with a rueful chuckle, kento squeezes at your hips and makes you giggle. “okay. are you going to kiss me or are you going to go on about how long you’ve been waiting for my birthday?”

“i think i’ll give you that kiss now, ken.”

after the longest of eternities, his mouth finally meets yours to make good on that kiss he’s been waiting for. it’s simple and easy, as if it’s been done a million times before—his lips are soft, warm, and slow as they kiss the air out of your lungs. finally, once you’re faintly begging for more through gasps or quiet whines, kento’s mouth opens against your own. his tie has momentarily gone slack in your grip; your fingers curl in his short gel-slick hair, pushing him for more.

something in the air shifts and grows a few degrees hotter when you breathlessly open up for him, eyes falling shut. you were supposed to be the one taking care of him, but it seems like it’s quite the opposite when his tongue is sliding against yours, all loose and languid.

you nudge him back, knuckles swathed in his tie. “k-kento, that’s not how this is gonna work. don’t distract me, i have a plan.”

“what, i can’t kiss my wife?” kento murmurs, eyes hooded. “i know you’ve got something planned for me, but it is my birthday. and as the birthday man, i say i want to have my cake and eat it now.”

“birthday man?” you sound incredulous, or maybe you’re just trying to distract him from unwrapping your hand and leaning you back onto the tabletop. he thinks you look very pretty—it’s nothing new, he thinks this everyday and tells you more often than not—tonight, dolled up just for him and full of plans to make his day a great one. “you sound like a clown introducing themselves at a kids’ party. why not just call yourself the birthday boy?”

kento laughs, loosening his tie as he stands over you. “i’m going to be thirty-five this year. i’m pretty sure that ship sailed five years ago.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to your collarbone. slowly, without a single shred of haste, kento begins to pepper kisses along your skin. they’re mostly chaste little pecks, with the occasional nibble and lick combination thrown in when he descends further down your body. he’s drawing it out now, deliberately making you ache for his touch, the relief you’ve only been craving the entire day.

you get a hand in his hair and bite your lip, “kento, do not do this to your wife. if you keep me waiting for more than five seconds from now, we won’t be cuddling tonight.”

please. nine times out of ten, you’re the one who always reaches out for him first. kento trails the tip of his tongue down your belly, just to make you squirm; it’s about time to get down to business once he’s at the ribbony waistband of your panties.

“you’re so impatient, angel. you know i’ll take care of you regardless of how long i make you wait.”

kento drops to his knees before you can retort anything. even though he pretends to be a little exasperated, you know how important the banter is to him—it is the overture to undressing, the setting of a match to a flame. going back and forth is what really keys him up, gets him more excited than anything else.

with his large hands, he spreads your legs and pulls you to the edge of the table for easier mobility. his ring finger twinkles, the silver of his wedding band catching the light. now that kento’s positioned comfortably between your thighs, you’re sitting up on your elbows and watching to see what he’ll do next. instead of tugging your panties down your thighs, he holds your gaze and raises a brow.

“now, this is my kind of mess to come home to,” his thumb presses at the soaked-through fabric and drags along your clothed slit. “is this all from waiting for me, sweetheart? or did you get impatient?”

there’s so much slick in your panties that the fabric is tight against you, making the outline of your pussy very visible. too fast for you to notice, his eyes flick downward, and he sees you clench at the question. more deliberately, his thumb rubs at your clit; you inhale sharply, brows scrunching up.

“yeah—yes. i just couldn’t stop thinking about you, ken. the whole day, i’ve been waiting for you.”

the images flash in his mind, coming together like a movie reel—his pretty girl, his beautiful wife, thinking only of him the entire day. he thinks of how god damn wet you must’ve been when you slipped into the lingerie, sprayed on his favorite perfume, and did your makeup. you put in so much effort, and here he is making you wait, when he should be making you cum.

no more teasing, no more build-up.

kento’s already pulling at your drenched panties, taking great care not to rip them. you’re a gift, but the lacy wrapping isn’t like paper; he’d love to see you wearing this set again, especially on your anniversary. he tugs them to the side, and a moan of relief bursts out of you—just having your pussy exposed to the air is nearly orgasmic.

“if only you could see this pretty pussy right now,” kento actually moans, sliding a thumb through your messy folds, “i’ve never been so thirsty, angel.”

your cheeks are hot, but you spread your legs wider. “so drink up, then.”

“oh, i will,” he pulls his thumb back, and you swear you see his hazel eyes darken at the sight of your sticky arousal clinging to his skin. “is that supposed to be another one of your challenges?”

you clear your throat, feeling slightly more confident. your hand finds its way into his hair again, and is much rougher than last time—the diamond encrusted band of your matching wedding ring drags against his scalp, and his spine straightens. “it’s an order, kento.”

the authoritative voice, the feel of your ring, the usage of his full name? my god, are you trying to make kento explode and stain his slacks?

right then and there, he forgets about his work pants. they’ll end up in the wash anyway, especially since he’s already kneeling on the floor with them. without making you wait a second longer, kento pushes two fingers inside of you and curls them just so you moan and tug at his hair harder. they go in without any resistance, thanks to how soaked you are—he’s pissed he didn’t get home earlier, if this was the state that you were in.

kento’s tongue finds your clit. he flicks the tip of it over the sensitive bud, like he always does before getting down to business, and then he flattens it for you. it feels both silky soft and rough as he licks your clit, only increasing in speed when you moan, wiggling your hips closer. he builds a steady tempo, focusing on pumping his fingers in and out, deep and hard.

“fuck, ken,” you let out a pitched whine, voice breaking on his name. “just like that, please.”

that lets him know that he’s doing something right—but he already knew that he was, judging from the twitching of your thighs and the strained sound of your breathing.

kento’s a very generous man, but even more so as your husband. he doesn’t just get between your thighs to prep you for something bigger, or because you ask him to, but simply because he needs to. constantly, he finds himself craving you, his favorite meal. his ideas of fine dining are a) your pussy or b) freshly made garlic bread. so, what does he do when that sweet tooth in the back of his mouth is acting up?

he spreads your thighs and devours you, licking and slurping up everything you have to give him, and even then, he’ll keep going for more. aside from his persistent thirst for you, kento genuinely can’t get off if he hasn’t eaten you out first. it’s a problem—his pleasure is yours, and going without it is nearly unbearable.

you tug at his hair, insistently pushing his face down. “more, ken. ooh, ‘m so close.”

the wet squelches of your cunt finally make their way to your ears, and god, it’s filthy—you just clench up, pushing impossibly closer. his fingertips are hitting a particularly sensitive spot deep inside of you, each thrust making you see more stars than the last. your jaw drops with every wanton moan falling from your lips, and you’re starting to work your hips forward, rolling them against his fingers and tongue.

hot tears sting in your eyes, a few of them racing down your cheeks and falling onto the lace of your bra. it’s just so much, all at once—your stomach’s twisting and the heat inside of you is now sweltering, running your temperature up like a fever.

“k-kento, baby,” the way you say his name makes his eyes roll back, “nghhh, oh my god, ‘m gonna cum.”

tight as a vise, your thighs squeeze around his head and pull him in. kento’s out of breath when you cum hard all over his fingers, but he just keeps licking until you squirm away, whining from the overstimulation. he’s not trying to be lewd, but it certainly comes across that way when he sticks his fingers into his mouth, sucking away all of your sticky cum. it shines on his lips until he stands and you pull him in by the collar, kissing it away.

you taste bittersweet and a little bit like candy. perhaps this is why kento’s always buried between your thighs, and coming back up with a debauched kind of smile on his face.

“i’m all yours, ken,” you say softly, breaking the kiss to look him in the eye, “so do what you want with me, please.”

a sharp inhale; his nostrils flare slightly. “sweetheart, i—don’t, don’t say that. you know what that does to me.”

you smile teasingly, just to egg him on. you’ve already made quick work of his belt, which dangles loosely at his waist. “of course. that’s why i said it.”

“you—” kento shakes his head in disbelief and huffs, trying his best to come up with a response when the blood flow has diverted from his brain and is going straight to his cock. “you’re just impossible.”

he’s working on divesting himself of his stupid slacks and dress shirt—there are so many pointless buttons that he nearly rips it open—when you start positioning yourself on the table. silk and lace weave around your body in intricate patterns, but some of the lingerie pulls tight in different places, practically begging him to tear it off.

then you start up again, voice smooth and sweetened. “how do you want me, ken? like this, or like thiiiis?”

you’re first on all fours, and then you’re on your side, lifting your leg up to show off the mess between your thighs. this pussy of yours is definitely going to be the death of him one day, he swears.

“tell me, which was the best position for babymaking?” kento’s sliding his dress shirt off, finally letting you see his arms. veins span the length of his lean forearms, but it’s his biceps that always draw your eyes first. thick muscle flexes and ripples under his skin as he stretches, getting ready to hold you in place. although he’d asked you the question, he already knows the answer.

“so that’s what you’ve been waiting to do with me,” you’re now flat on your back, legs spreading so that he can stand between them, “i knew you didn’t show me those articles for nothing.”

“i might’ve been trying to get you thinking more about it,” kento presses your thighs to your chest and pulls you to the edge of the table, “we’ve already talked a lot about it, though. i think we’ve got plenty of time to keep thinking about it, hm?”

“are you sure this isn’t just a fantasy?” you’re both having the kind of conversation that should definitely not be taking place during sex, and he’s running the tip of his cock along your pussy.

he chuckles, rubbing the precum on his tip against your already wet clit. “definitely not just a fantasy, sweetheart.”

“kento, i already said i’m all for it—” you gasp as he pushes inside, slotting his body over yours. this position is probably going to rip your silk stockings, especially with the way your ankles are dangling over his shoulders. “—ooh, fuck—but i haven’t stopped taking the pill yet.”

“then we’ll practice,” kento groans, fingers intertwining with yours, “but right now, i just want to focus on you.”

he fits inside of you like a puzzle piece. a really long, thick puzzle piece, at that—his cock’s a tight fit, but goddamn is it worth the stretch. the new position also seems to work wonders; being folded up like a lawn chair makes you feel like you’re one step closer to finally being full.

“okay if i start moving, my love?” kento’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip, like he’s trying to hold onto his restraint. he really, really wants to fuck you like he has no idea what the word respect means, but he’s holding himself together.

“just put a baby in me, kento.”

it’s only practice, but fuck, that lights the hottest of fires under his ass. before long, kento’s developed a harsh rhythm, one that fills the dining room with the clap of skin against skin. he fills his lungs with air and delivers desperate thrusts that hit your sweet spot every single time—the twitchy squeezes of your cunt around him make his knees want to give out and buckle.

“you’re so good, kento,” you sob out a moan, body rocking with all of his movement. your tits have been bouncing so much that they’ve spilled out of your bra; if he were flexible enough to lean down, he’d start sucking on your hardened nipples. “oh my god, you’re so fucking deep.”

kento nods frantically, feeling the sweat gather at his brow. he’s breathing too hard to respond, all of his energy going into making you scream. he wants you to know how grateful he is to you for going to such lengths for his birthday, even with such short notice. “a-angel, i want you to know,” he grunts, pausing to inhale, “you’re so beautiful like this.”

an intoxicating medley of cologne, perfume, and sweat curls in the air between the two of you. there’s so much happening at once that you only catch the second half of his compliment, but you still smile at him, your face fraught with insatiable desire and some love. you’ve got those hearts in your eyes when you’re looking at him, and the sight makes his own skip a little faster.

“i want you to fill me up, ken,” your voice makes his name sound heavenly, like it’s some kind of sacred prayer. “please, i want you to make me yours.”

“you already are,” at this point, he can barely breathe anymore. kento put a ring on your finger and shares a joint bank account with you, and yet, you’re still begging him to make you his. everything so far isn’t enough, but with a swollen belly, everyone would know what you’d both gotten up to. gojo would finally stop with the play-flirting at get-togethers, and a kid equal parts you and kento would be toddling about the house.

“you know what i mean, ken,” the table’s rocking under all of the movement, but both of you are too wrapped up in one another to hear it. “show me how much starting a family means to you.”

when you’re talking to him like that, kento thinks he could do just about anything. feeling the frantic kick of his heart against his ribcage, he lets out a groan, feeling his orgasm creeping up on him. “it’s all i can think about,” he manages, chest heaving as it works to breathe, “hngh, fuck—fuck, i just want to make you mine forever, angel.”

you can barely answer him, your lips constantly rounding around either gasps or moans of his name. despite the overwhelming noise of your bodies, you can faintly hear yourself sobbing—in fact, you’re nodding too, spurring on his fantasies and daydreams.

there’s a seething pressure building up deep in your gut. desperate to get rid of it, your stomach twists; impending euphoria pounds through your body, steady like the crash of waves on the shore as the tide comes in.

“k-kento, there’s—i can’t hold it, fuck, ‘m gonna—”

you can’t even finish your sentence before you’re cumming hard, pussy abruptly squirting waterfalls all over your husband’s abs. with the extra slip and slide of your cum, it doesn’t take long for him to follow behind you. kento’s hands squeeze yours tight, and he’s gasping, babbling out unintelligible promises to breed you, or something along those lines.

you feel the throbbing of his aching cock against your cervix first—then you can feel the hot spurts of cum as he fills you up, groaning and crumpling on top of you like he’s just been sucker punched. beneath you, the table creaks unsteadily, warning you that it’s meant for sitting at, not sitting on.

it takes some time for kento to straighten up, his flushed face slick with sweat and dry at the corners of his mouth from having eaten you out earlier. he looks so dazed when his eyes meet yours, but he smiles, small and cute. he unfolds your legs from your chest and wraps them around his waist instead, so he can pull you into a hug.

“thank you, sweetheart. for planning so many things for my birthday. for being in my life. for being the person i have the privilege of waking up to every morning.”

your fingers trail lightly along his muscular back, descending down his spine. “happy birthday, kento. i love you, and i wish i could say more, but i’d be giving away everything i wrote in your card.”

he presses a kiss to your face, chuckling as he lifts you up. “we’ll take a shower first, then have dinner. i’ll read it afterward, when we’re having cake and—”

there’s a loud smash as the legs of the table give out from under it, and the whole thing falls onto itself in a pile of polished wood.

you burst into shared laughter, and kento corrects himself with a smile. “shower, then dinner on the couch and a movie. i’ll read your card while you feed me cake, sweetheart.”

[hxhhasmysoul]

Are we now policing what people get moved by "using a formal tone when discussing a specific topic". The response is spot on, I dare say. I'm not sure what age group is the most represented in the user base but it doesn't matter. Both writers and readers hone their taste and thus their preferred writing style throughout life at their own pace.

What may be banal to you, OP, may be novel and eye opening to others as, and I will allow myself to say something truly obvious and banal, they are at a different point in their art appreciation journey and your experiences, journey and context* are not universal. 

There is no shame in being moved by art, any art. That's what art is for, to move, to exist in that moment when it's perceived by others. While OP may have devoted more time in their life to acquaint themselves with less popular titles, not everyone has and there is no shame in that either. To make some more banal observations:

We all have only so much time and we prioritise it how we need or in ideal situations want to.

As long as we’re alive, our relationship with art will morph. 

Outside of western canon I will mention the Pillow Book by Sei Shounagon. It’s a work of aesthetics as it is a work of meaning. I don’t find all the insights in it deep but I find the work supremely beautiful and enjoyable purely as an aesthetic experience and then there’s the added level of meaning. I read some other nikki and they also had this aesthetised quality, though Pillow Book hits different for me because I subjectively feel the author much more than the others. 

As someone who beta reads as a hobby, I can share my experience of that. Editing, for me, is an exercise in removing my ego and trying to best serve the author and their work. That means meeting them where they’re at, helping them pull out the most out of the style they currently use even if it’s not to my personal taste. Recently I was beta reading for a zine and one fic just felt like it wanted to go the full aesthetic route. Like it needed to become this short vivid snapshot full of descriptions that are there more to paint a picture than to convey ideas. Some of it was purely beautiful and moving in that sense and there was no deeper meaning to it apart from the fact that beauty was being experienced by coming in contact with the surface level of the text. And I’m sure not everyone experienced it the same, not everyone resonated with this kind of beauty enough to have an experience at all. But some did and that’s a job well done. To continue my banal insights, no art is for everyone and art that is not for us has committed no crime, we do not need to justify our disinterest. 

Another experience I will share is of there being a period in my life of working with small film festivals, reviewing films and watching like 80% of what was being released in my country regardless of how niche it was. Including watching quite a lot of so-called “arthouse” cinema and indie films. What I’ve learned from that is: “rare” means “rare” ; it has no bearing on quality. Some of those texts* were truly interesting on many levels. Some of them were: I went to film school and read philosophy 101. But while I found the latter tedious, especially after seeing so many of them, I know others resonated with them. To each their own.

In my country secondary school is this semi-prison, where I was locked for 6-9h a day with the same people without much variety, because I was assigned to a class which was made up of particular people. And I remember there being cliques based on interest and in those cliques there were these internal rules who was looked down on and why. Some of that was based on art (in the widest sense of the word) people enjoyed. Things like: we’re all listening to this music now, reading these works now, watching these films and those who don’t, those who don’t know them, those who don’t see how great and deep they are? Those are the other, the lesser, the unwashed and uneducated masses who “keep latching onto writing that has the superficial signifiers of depth and quality while lacking them on a deeper structural level“. Those who don’t understand and are unfit or too lazy** to understand. 

Some of this mentality continued into higher education.

What the two experiences I described above, and several others, gave me was the freedom to thankfully mentally leave my secondary and higher education and move on with my life. 

Tumblr users yearn for good writing; well used language that conveys a meaningful message. 

I will also allow myself to communicate my point in a more understandable manner, as formal and bitchy passive-aggressive and condescending seems to be the tone of this discussion. 

The fuck you know what “Tumblr users yearn for” or consider as “good writing”. Citation fucking needed on both these fucking claims. You want to do an understated “ad academia” with this “deeper structural level” shit?  Where’re your statistical analysis bitch (gender agnostic use) of “Tumblr user yearnings” and the corresponding literary analysis of examples of what they perceive as good writing mapped to the “yearning” statistics. What methodology did you use to come to these conclusions? What was your framework? May I chance a guess that it was your subjective observation of a tiny snippet of Tumblr that you experience in your daily usage of the site filtered by your bias to see only the examples that confirm your opinions? 

__________________

*I identify as a linguist, contexts is everything, everything is text

**see point one in my list of banal thoughts above, plus fuck me classist and ableist much. maybe a little intersectional leftism to spice up your analysis, some stepping beyond your comfort zone, expanding that methodology?

Tumblr users yearn for good writing; well used language that conveys a meaningful message. And yet your average tumblr user's idea of "good" writing is very secondhand. They know roughly what it looks like, what it feels like, but not really what it is. So they keep latching onto writing that has the superficial signifiers of depth and quality while lacking them on a deeper structural level

Just think of the prose that make tumblr users say "these lines go hard". All the poetry that tens of thousands of users treat like the most moving thing they've ever read. So much of it is nothing more than excessively elaborate and ornate writing (often with some crude Bathos thrown in) used to communicate ideas that are painfully banal or plain incoherent. Juvenile word spittle shaped in the mould of half remembered quotes from Shakespeare or Melville or Milton that most of this site just eats up because they don't care for any media beyond pulp-quality commercial works and the fanfiction derived from them.

We don't even need to touch on the painfully Anglocentric nature of this site's userbase because it isn't just ignorant of media in other languages, but of most works in English itself. And there's little point blaming the US* education system because even confined to the chauvinistically narrow body of work placed within the accepted "Western Canon", it's not difficult to find writing that "goes" much "harder" than Seven Deadly Sins Squidward

*where the majority of this site's userbase is from

[karaeilish]

⌗ DON'T RESIST. OPEN UP ━━ b. eilish

⭑ pairing :: soccer player!billie x fem!reader

⭑ GENRE :: smut

⭑ SYNOPSIS :: sometimes, just sometimes, billie has to let out her anger after a bad game on her babydoll. . .

 ⭑ WARNINGS :: g!p billie . anger issues . oral (b receiving) . deepthroat . shallowing .   ⭑ WORD COUNT :: 1,3k

billie was the type of person who was so immersed in her work and dependent on it that, the slightest loss or mistake was dealt with by smashing her knuckles against the wall or throwing a football at a teammate while screaming ‘moron!’ she didn't know how to accept defeat or at least react to it adequately. football was her life, her passion from the moment she could walk. she was the captain of the team, she was a champion in school, she beat every guy at any age and on any team. she was the best and everyone, every damn well knew it.

she was a total asshole, never had great grades, but she got away with it simply because no one played football like she did. her confidence could burn down entire cities, charisma oozing through her skin. maybe that's what made you fall in love with her. like dozens of other girls at your school. and as much as it fed her ego, billie had a way of making everyone feel that she belonged to you, you belonged to her.

back to football, for billie, every missed goal was a tragedy, a whiplash to her self-esteem, to which she reacted very, very badly. even though the likes of billie rarely lost, everyone had bad days. and today was one of them.

the stands are packed, the warm air is blowing on your face as you watch your girlfriend play with rapt attention. she is completely filled with motivation and energy, her eyes are shining, sweat is running down her face, but every look she gives you is filled with joy, love and something like ‘look at what i can do’. her favorite blue shorts hang low on her hips, an oversized jersey with her number and last name on it, giving you a perfect view of every movement of her biceps and triceps that makes your stomach do a thing. billie knew the effect she had on you, and couldn’t help but feed her ego.

she never missed an opportunity to wink at you or lift the hem of her jersey to wipe her mouth off her forehead, really just showing off her abs to you and the other girls. of course, in reality she was looking for your attention.

the game was going well, billie took the first goal, sending the football straight into the goal and earning a lot of screams and applause. her mood was serious, her hands sometimes shook from adrenaline, the blood boiled under her skin. billie was sure that another victory was already in her hands.

but her flirtatious mood lasted exactly until the first missed goal. the smile slowly slid off her face, replaced by an eternal frown. instead of air kisses, curses and discontent flew from her lips towards everyone who was within a few meters. then they missed the second goal. she didn't wink at you anymore. it was bad, very bad. the game ended 2-1 in favor of the other team, and unlike her teammates, billie took it in the most negative way possible. exactly what you expected. the veins in her arms were bulging with anger, her hair was disheveled, her teeth were almost grinding under the pressure of her jaws. oh, she was angry.

her steps heavy as steel, like an angry father, like your death, coming straight at you, pushing through the crowd of girls who were eager to squeal and talk to her. she needed one thing. you.

"baby—" as she approaches, you try to start a conversation in a softer tone, but billie doesn't let you say more than one word, grabbing your wrist and silently leading you out of the stands, down an empty path, toward the locker room, which you know will be empty for the next 20 minutes while everyone discusses both the win and the loss.

her fingers dig into your skin, tugging so hard you can barely keep up with her pace. the door slams shut behind you and the next thing you know, your back is hitting the metal lockers. it doesn't hurt, more about billie's presence, looming over you like a hungry animal. her hands are on the sides of your head, wild blue eyes staring right into yours. you want to, but you can't bring yourself to ask. billie speaks first.

"you love me, right?" she asks almost softly, falsely tenderly, her fingers tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. you swallow hard, nodding your head a few times, not breaking eye contact.

"that's right, good girl," billie smiles, tapping her fingers against your cheek a few times, stepping back to sit on the bench, her hands reaching for the elastic of her shorts.

"come here, doll" she points her eyes straight down the honeycomb of her wide-spread legs, you tense up but move towards her, positioning yourself at her hips, feeling the tension. billie pats your thigh and you get the hint pretty quickly, dropping to your knees and sitting back on your heels. you look up, watching billie's hands, her deft thick fingers working on the laces of her shorts...

she lazily pulls her shorts and boxers down her legs, letting them hang at her ankles. her cock is hard, hitting her stomach, precum has formed on the swollen tip, slowly dripping down. your eyes are glued to the veins running along the thick length, pupils dilating, tongue darting out to lick her lips.

"open your mouth, baby" she whispers and you slowly, hesitantly open your mouth, barely separating your lips. this is not what she asks for.

"come on doll don't play dumb" her hand wraps around the base of her cock guiding it to your lips rubbing her arousal over your lips, over your cheek slapping it a few times. a blush spreads across your face; arousal, humiliation.

"don't resist, open up" suddenly, in a brief moment, all her false sweetness is gone. her left hand comes up to your hair, grabbing it roughly, practically pushing your face towards her cock. you have no choice but to open your mouth wide enough to accommodate her length.

"mm—!" you close your eyes, ignoring the stinging tears as her tip hits the back of your throat with every rough thrust. billie doesn't need you to move your head, she pushes you down onto her cock on her own, hips bouncing up, making you gag. her head throws back in pure ecstasy, dirty moans escaping her lips, nails digging into your scalp.

"fuck, so perfect," billie almost growls, her legs shaking, betraying her arousal. you relax your throat, trying to breathe through your nose as your lips wrap tightly around her length, feeling every pulse under your tongue. saliva drips down your chin and onto your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"i would fuck that mouth non-stop—fuck!" billie's body contracts and she abruptly pulls your head away from her cock, grasping the base with her hand, jerking herself off until her eyes close tightly and several ropes of sticky, thick cum fall onto your face, staining your lips, chin, cheeks. you were a mess. to her.

"oh shit" billie tries to catch his breath, finally letting go of your hair and allowing you to take a deep breath, still feeling it in your throat.

"you look so beautiful, doll. it would such a shame to not to take a photo."

♱ tags :: @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld, @peytonneilish, @clairrehwart, @emi-inspace, @ilomilobabyy

[seat-safety-switch]

Out of all the many chores that are required to maintain your rapidly decaying body, I hate haircuts the most. Maybe you expected differently. Dentists, for instance, are widely despised by the general population. Not so: dentists have cool tools, and sometimes they don't notice when you pocket a few of the small ones while their backs are turned.

Barbers just use one or two tools, really. Sure, there's a lot of different kinds of brushes and gels and goops and stuff, but it's not relevant to me, the guy who just wants to be followed in the supermarket by concerned social workers less often. As a result, I end up being alternately bored and terrified while some dude I paid way too much money to removes most of my hair.

Terrified, you ask? Scared... of the barber? Well, not so much the actual hair removal. That's whatever, although I certainly have had the odd missing ear-tip or overenthusiastic scissor action to look back on unfondly. No, what I hate is the small talk. For someone as plainly awkward as myself, it's always a game of wondering if it's rude not to keep the conversation going.

Let me give you a great example. Last week, I was in getting my hair shortened. The barber, a guy named Jim although that's certainly just one of his aliases he knows to dodge any reprisals from sub-standard haircuts, wanted to talk about soccer. We had a short discussion during which it became obvious I know nothing at all about soccer, and then the pause. The long, awkward, pause of disappointment.

When cops try this shit on me, I know not to talk. We have a natural predilection, our species, to try and fill any empty space in conversation with anything that comes off the top of our heads. For the police, that's usually in the form of a confession, an inconsistency, an admission of knowing a little bit more than your rehearsed testimony of a few minutes earlier. With the barber, who knows? We are of the same class. Not saying something might make his workday worse, and then we fall out of solidarity with another. We are divided by the bourgeois monstrosity above us. Crisis ensues.

I decide that I must say something.

"Do you like Plymouths?"

The ensuing conversation is not particularly great. It turns out that Jim, like many others, has confused Plymouth with Pontiac. Trying not to point this out in the middle of his conversation about the Plymouth Cavalier – itself still wrong, even more so – is nearly more than I can bear. I've grit my teeth so much I'll have to go to the dentist next. At least he doesn't expect much conversation out of me while he's trying to jam three hundred dollars in labour into my mouth.

[kedsandtubesocks]

seasons of you (year 1 - summer)

Farmer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: your first summer in the valley arrives with new faces & a brewing heat - one that could ignite you and Joel Miller for better… or for worse

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, slow burn vibes, reader is a new farmer & has a family but no physical description, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is in his early 50’s), handyman!Joel, discussions of death (car accident), brief light angst, wound tending & blood imagery, in classic SDV style reader passes out in the mines, secret softie!Joel, short scenes of alcohol consumption, nickname usage, spicy themes, major yearning, allusions to smut, protective!Joel, some good old sexual & romantic tension

word count: 6.7k

a/n: *spongebob narrator voice* 100 years later… wow thank y’all so much for being patient & I apologize for how long this took! If you’re still here reading this - know you’re the true magic of this AU! Special thanks & love to @julesonrecord @eupheme @probablyreadinsmut @burntheedges for giving me the boost to continue… now let’s head back to Pelican Town yeah? [stardew AU series masterlist]

After rushing to plant as many new seasonal crops as you can, then trying to get some fishing done, the arriving summer heat drains you fast.

Feeling like an exhausted blur, you head home early. Grabbing your water bottle, about to take a sip, it accidentally slips from your hand and bounces away -

Into the small cemetery.

You’ve passed by this spot plenty of times. But you realize you’ve never really been inside. Entering to grab your bottle, you now stand among those who have left this world and passed from the valley.

The jug had rolled to a stop by one of the graves. A striking beautiful soft gray marble headstone with a butterfly engraving, curiously you take a peek at who rests here.

Sarah Miller.

Beloved Daughter.

The dates are unfortunately rather close. She died heartbreakingly young.

Then you fully process the last name.

Miller.

You wonder if this Sarah could possibly be related to the Miller Family in town. Thinking about the possible loss Joel and his family faced with this passing brings a haunting heaviness.

You pay your respects. It’s not much, but reaching into your bag, you place down the sweet pea flower you had foraged earlier this morning.

The radiant purple blooms rest peacefully on Sarah Miller’s grave.

Her name sticks with you for the rest of the week.

Mid morning, coffee in hand as a peace offering, you stroll to the Miller farm. You’re decent friends with Joel now. So maybe, foolishly, you believe you can possibly find out more.

Reaching the edge of his homestead, you’re surprised to spot someone new.

Sharp features and inquisitive eyes, the girl fiddles with the mailbox hammer in hand.

You’ve never seen her around before. Sensing your staring, she looks up.

“Woah, you’re new.” The girl chirps surprised. “Wait…are you the farmer who took over the old fart’s place?”

“That old fart was my grandpa, but yes,” you smirk, amused.

“Oh fuck, my bad.” The new stranger mutters. She places the hammer on the mailbox and walks over to greet you.

“Everyone said someone had moved in, but I thought they were all fucking with me. Glad to see they weren’t.” She grins, extending her hand out.

“I’m Ellie.”

Joel’s Ellie. His daughter.

Eagerly shaking her hand you introduce yourself. Ellie explains how she’s here for the summer.

“Just for a bit. I might head back to campus early, who knows.” Joel’s daughter shrugs.

“Can’t stand being around all the sheep and your dad again, huh?” You tease.

“He’s making me do my own laundry and fix shit! What kind of legal guardian is he?!” Ellie demands dramatically upset making you laugh.

“Don’t be shit talkin’ me.” Joel’s voice interrupts with an annoyed huff.

Instead of his typical flannels, he now wears a grey simple t-shirt that sits amazing on him. His thick built forearms are fully exposed, and you have to force yourself not to stare. Sweat already darkens the shirt’s collar adding a handsome hard working edge to him.

Joel nods to you, and you nod back.

“I brought coffee.” You gently wave the to-go drink container as proof, and he mumbles a grateful thanks reaching for it.

You ignore how immediately Ellie’s gaze flickers between you and her father.

“You wanna come inside for some breakfast? Think we still have some pretty decent leftovers Joel didn’t manage to burn.” She swiftly offers while her father scowls at her, betrayed.

You happily accept the offer.

Watching these two interact illuminates the house with new life. That emptiness you swore you sensed in spring now has been brushed away revealing the home’s soul.

Ellie’s laughter and Joel’s eased presence transforms the place into a welcoming sanctuary. They both radiate summer’s light.

Spending most of the morning listening to Joel and Ellie trying to out embarrass the other with stories they tell you is a gift. Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much.

By the time you leave the Miller home, you realize you didn’t get to ask about the mysterious Sarah Miller.

Passing by the graveyard, you spot the sweet pea blossom still sitting on her grave staring back at you.

- ☼ -

Tending to your crops takes a toll. So gathering a spirit of adventure, you jump into the mines. There have been a few close calls, but the rewards are worth it. Heading deeper in the mines does quickly exhaust you though.

The saloon becomes a haven when you need a cool place to sit after your nights in the underground.

Friday night here dazzles with most of the town filling the warm cozy space. You sit at the bar knowing you should go home, but you’re too tired to move.

“Doin’ okay, sprout?”

The familiar drawl and nickname -

Revitalized instantly, you sit up seeing Joel slide into the barstool beside you.

“Just tired.” You reply with a sleepy grin and thumbs up.

“Then head home.”

Last season you would’ve thought this was Joel shooing you away, mean and annoyed. But the softer tone, the concerned edge, melts your heart faster than ice cream in this summer blaze.

“I just sat down, I don’t know if I can get back up. Gus might have to just let me sleep on the countertop.” You joke.

Behind the bar, Gus barks a laugh.

Joel’s lips fight against a smirk. He orders you a tea, pays for it, and you graciously thank him.

“Enough to perk ya up before headin’ home.” Joel explains.

You and Joel chat, catching up. He’s busy with the farm, fixing AC units with Tommy, and now keeping an eye on Ellie.

“Great to have her back around the house, but lord she can be a pain in my ass.” Joel sighs.

“Spoken like a true father who’s teenage daughter is entering the adult world.” You snicker into your tea.

“No kiddin’.” He huffs, but it’s wistfully fond.

Loud laughter cracks through the bar. Clustered in the corner of the saloon, Tommy Miller proudly slams his cards down on the table. The others sitting alongside him groan. His poor wife rolls her eyes.

“Come on, should head out before Tommy tries to scam us into playin’.”

“I’d only have squash seeds to bet.” You mumble.

A laugh breaks from Joel, wild and beautiful. You wonder if maybe you imagined it. But the way your body feels like an electric current just jolted through you…

He laughed.

Joel truly laughed, brilliant with the force and rarity of a shooting star on a clear summer night’s day.

Tired and exhausted as you are, you savor every step with Joel. But walking down by the river towards his home, your eyes flicker to the familiar sight.

The cemetery.

Sarah Miller’s name flutters up again, a faint butterfly quietly returning.

“So hey…” you begin cautiously, slowing your walk to a stop.

Joel’s eyes sparkle curious in the dimly lit street.

“I noticed… There's someone named Sarah Miller here. Just wanted to ask if maybe she’s a relative of yours.” Delicately, you bring the topic up.

The soft look over Joel’s face shatters then steels up alarmingly fast.

A flash of a sharp watery glare is the last thing you see before Joel turns on his heels and storms away without saying another word.

“Wait… Joel, Joel!” You panic and follow him.

Apologies spew from your mouth. Seeing Joel furiously rush further and further from you feels as if you’re literally watching him slip away, a breeze you can’t catch now.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked anything!” You plead.

“You’re right. Y’shouldn’t have.” Joel suddenly says sharp over his shoulder, and it freezes you. A hard frown is cemented across his features.

Standing in the crossroads where the path divides into the woods, his homestead, and then your farm, a turbulence swirls around a riptide threatening to sweep you under.

Joel finally turns around to stare at you. Even under the dark night’s shadows, a thick raw hurt coats him.

You sound like a broken record apologizing over and over, but you don’t care.

“Enough.” Joel snaps, his voice cracking with the force of a thunderstorm striking fast.

“Just go home.” His words bite sharp, leaving without giving you a second glance.

You’re left standing alone in the dark path.

The next day you walk past the Miller home hoping to see him. The place looms vacant, almost warning you to not come any closer.

Later you drop by the saloon trying to find Joel. Instead, you discover his brother leaning against the bar’s countertop discussing something with Gus.

Tommy’s warm eyes twinkle with a knowing look. He waves at you to join him.

“Guess he told you.” You mutter.

“Oh yeah.” The younger Miller brother jokes lighthearted.

“Sarah is still… is a touchy subject for him.” Tommy now adds, softer.

That’s when he tells you.

Sarah is Joel’s first and eldest daughter. She passed away in a car accident.

“Joel tried to stop the bleedin' as much as he could, but… She died in his arms.”

The story rattles your soul. Tears cloud your eyes, and a terrible weight clogs your throat. How could you be so foolish to ask?

“Don’t worry,” Tommy eases, patting your shoulder. “He likes ya too much to stay mad.”

You can’t even linger on Tommy’s words.

Earnestly thanking him for telling you, you make an internal promise to be more considerate.

Joel Miller is still quite prickly.

But you’re realizing he might also just be a man composed of layered labyrinths you want to respect. Someone who keeps himself reserved from the world because he’s held together by an aching love, filled with deep caverns you can’t dare explore yet.

So you throw yourself back into the mines to explore those and to take your thoughts away from a certain handyman farmer.

Arriving midday, you’re surprised the mine shaft elevator chimes alive.

Ellie stumbles out, covered in soot. You notice her hand presses against her arm.

She’s covering up a cut, but blood continues to trickle out. You immediately rush out calling her name.

“Oh hey,” she grins wearily, tired and exhausted.

Sitting Ellie down on the ground, you slide your backpack off to grab the first aid kit.

“M’fine.” She wearily waves you away.

“If you don’t let me check your wound I’m calling Joel.” You order.

Ellie groans dramatically but surrenders her arm. Thankfully the cut doesn’t appear deep. She reminds you so much of her father - obstinately determined, stubborn down to the bone.

You even tell her that.

“Nah, don’t wanna be like that hard ass.” She snorts while you disinfect her wound.

Her words are dismissive but affectionate, very Joel-like.

“Didn’t know you came down to the mines too.” She notes.

“I try too.” You answer Ellie and wrap her arm.

This should last till she gets home or can get to the clinic tomorrow.

You walk Joel’s daughter home. She pouts the entire way demanding she can manage without you.

“Aw come on, I’m not that annoying.” You joke.

She chuckles, relaxing more. You ask about her classes, how she likes college.

“Yeah it’s good…” she trails off, her tone distant, faintly a bit dreamy.

“…meet anyone cute?” You ask, and her eyes snap to yours panicked. But then she looks away, her face threatening to crack into a grin.

“Oh yeah, you met someone.” You tease, and Ellie scoffs.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” You reassure her.

“And I won’t tell Joel, promise.”

She doesn’t answer for a while, until she mutters a quiet thanks.

It’s soft, precious and heartfelt.

Arriving at the Miller farm, Ellie thanks you again.

“Could’ve made it home by myself,” she stubbornly says with defiant narrowed eyes.

“But…it was nice to have some company.”

Smiling, you agree with her.

“D’ya wanna come inside? I’m sure Joel won’t mind seeing you.”

Thanking her for the offer, you decline politely. You need to leave before her father pops up. Waving goodbye, you wish Ellie good night.

The luau arrives the next morning smacking you in the face.

You had forgotten all about it and now scramble to find anything to bring to the potluck.

The secret cart merchant, who drops by in the woods, once sold you a bottle of wine. You’ve been saving it for a special occasion, but out of desperation you grab it. Alcohol is always a hit at parties.

The waves crashing, the sea breeze, the seagulls chirping, all ease you briefly. The set up transforms the shoreline impressively, colorful and classically summer.

You spy Marnie stirring a soup pot near a camping stove.

Who would be wanting soup at a beach potluck?

After setting your wine down among the delicious spread of food, you greet familiar faces. Keeping your distance, you notice Joel chatting with Pierre under the shade of the trees.

Of course he looks ridiculously good in cargo shorts and a breezy t-shirt. You shouldn’t be this distracted over a man’s knees showing, and you hate it.

“So what did you bring for the soup?”

Wanting to grab a few tasty appetizers, Ellie’s surprised voice jumps in besides you.

“Wait… soup?” You turn to her confused.

Then realization hits you.

Mayor Lewis had mentioned it in his letter. Everyone brings a vegetable or meat to add to the soup. It apparently symbolizes the town coming together to make a beautiful harmonious melting pot.

And you instead just brought wine.

You curse distraught under your breath, and Ellie snickers.

“Joel kinda figured you might’ve forgotten… so here.”

She suddenly hands you a mystery bundle wrapped in crinkled butcher paper.

Inside, a beautifully grown cauliflower.

Joel saved these for you to add to the stew.

Your eyes, confused, search Ellie’s face.

“They’re not bombs.” She laughs louder.

A rambling mess of thanks tumble from you.

“Hurry up! Go put ‘em in!” Ellie nudges you with a grin.

Marnie smiles excited when you hand her the cauliflower.

Joel had saved your ass.

You want to thank him now, but Mayor Lewis swoops in to introduce you to the governor who stopped by. The two old men of course rattle on and on about your Gramps.

By the time you hope to find Ellie, to see how her wound is doing, or even search for Joel, the entire Miller family have vanished from the beach.

Next morning, your melons are ready to harvest.

You gather two of your best and bundle them into a grocery bag from Pierre’s.

Thanks for the cauliflower - hope you two enjoy these sweet summer treats, stay cool!

Signing your initial with a smiley face, you leave the note with the bag then head off.

Of course you don’t forget about Joel’s other daughter.

All the sunflowers you’ve planted are beautiful, but they overwhelm you with their rapid regrowth. So you’ve been happily leaving plenty of extra blooms on Sarah’s grave, wishing her peace where she is.

This time you place a poppy flower alongside the sunflower on her gravestone.

Leaving the cemetery, a sudden soft breeze tickles your face, alleviating the heat.

- ☼ -

Willy urges you to sign up for the upcoming Trout Derby. When you argue how you aren’t even a good fisher, he shakes his head.

“You got a rod? That makes you an angler. And... between us, I’d think it’d make your grandpa proud seeing ya there.” Willy knew how to talk you up.

So when you show up to the derby, like a scammed sucker fishing rod in hand, he chuckles.

There are more people than you expected, many of them strangers from out of town. Now you understand the disoriented reaction everyone in Pelican Town had when they first saw you move in. It is oddly amusing seeing outsiders in your valley now.

Shying away from the crowds, you stay by an isolated spot of the river. You try not to get competitive or frustrated by the event. Yet, you haven't caught a single trout with a golden tag.

“Looks like you could use some help.” The voice is new, smooth and curious.

The man approaching you is around your age. A stranger. He smiles, but it doesn’t comfort you.

“Nope, I’m fine. Thanks though.” You nod.

“Your rod is cast too close.” The guy comments. “I don’t wanna correct your form, but these river fish are in the deeper parts of the water.”

He rambles on, for what feels like forever, about the dynamics of river fishing.

You fight against a frown. Of course this guy wants to show off his fishing knowledge to a stranger he just met who doesn’t want to speak to him.

“Good to know.” You nod polite again not wanting to agitate this man.

“Here, I can show you-”

You tense up when he steps closer to you, his hands reaching for yours. You’re ready to yank your rod back and walk away.

“Ain’t fishin’ suppose to be quiet.”

A sharp twang shatters the moment.

Behind the stranger Joel stands, tackle box in hand and sturdy fishing rod slung over his shoulder. Unwavering with a steeled scowl, he stares down the younger man.

“Hey man, I was just showing her -”

“Don’t think she ever asked for your goddamn help.” Joel cuts the guy off.

“Shit, grandpa…calm the fuck down.” The guy scoffs walking away.

The stranger glances back to throw you a nasty glare as if this is your fault.

You want to chase after this guy and smack him repeatedly with your fishing rod. But it’s worth seeing the loser cower when he walks by Joel.

Joel Miller really is a beautifully intimidating force of a man. In another life, you could almost picture him, shotgun in hand, protectively walking around the perimeter of his home - the most powerful sight.

The thought doesn’t scare you but instead unwraps a fondness in your chest.

Maybe this is what living on the farm does to you…

Joel doesn’t say anything but stands besides you. Probably wants to make sure that jerk doesn’t come back.

You’re still shocked he’s staying though.

“Thanks…” you speak first, cautiously.

“Was gonna handle him myself, but I appreciate the back up.” You sigh, a bit stubborn.

“Oh yeah? What? Didja think that mean ass glare of yours was gonna scare him away?” He mocks.

“No. I was gonna threaten to stab him in the eye with this.” You say wiggling your fishing rod.

A bright burst of laughter rapidly escapes him so fast that Joel turns his face away to cough and compose himself.

“So… catch anything good?” He smoothly recovers.

Feels like it’s been so long since you talked to him like this. You’ve missed him, hate just how much you’ve missed him.

“No,” you sulk defeated, and Joel hums.

“Y’know… that jackass was kinda right. You’re castin’ too shallow-”

You snap your face to him, scrunched up and annoyed. Joel immediately snickers.

He stays fishing besides you the rest of the event.

“Never got to thank ya for treatin’ Ellie’s wound. She told me about it.” He says while twilight begins painting the world golden.

Joel has never looked more beautiful, as if he was born to be basked in the sun’s warmth forever.

“Of course, glad I could help. She’s a good kid.”

“Uh… yeah, she is.” A soft fond tone emerges, reserved for those he holds precious in his heart.

Before you or him can continue this chat, something tugs at your fishing line sharp.

You’ve been trying hard to catch one of those golden tagged trouts. You pouted when Joel casually caught two.

Determined, you fight with the fish. You mentally blame Willy for charming you into doing this stupid event.

“Alright come on, sprout, come on y’got this.”

Then Joel’s voice flutters low and close by your ear. It takes you a moment to realize he’s curled against you, like he wants to be right beside you close as he can. He even abandoned his own fishing rod.

Ignoring your rapidly beating heart, you simply try reeling in this damn fish.

Suddenly the line yanks back. The fish flaps out of the water.

A gold tag shines attached to its tail.

Triumph and pride overtakes not just you but Joel.

You cheer excitedly.

“Atta girl!” And he yells just as jubilant.

A few people nearby shush you and him, but you don’t care. Maybe it’s just the emotions overtaking you, or the exhaustion of summer wearing you down, but you throw your arm around Joel for a quick hug.

You’re probably going to regret this tomorrow or even later tonight, but right now you're feeling on top of the world.

And when Joel gently slides one of his strong arms around you, lightly embracing you back, it’s more precious than any gold tag on a poor fish.

- ☼ -

This morning on the TV the fortune teller ominously predicted today would bring awful luck. Now, you wonder if you should have listened and just stayed home.

Fatigue anchors your body beyond belief, and your legs shake.

You’ve never felt this bad. The baking summer heat burns into your bones, and exhaustion from the mines crash into you with full force.

You try to head back to the mine shaft until your vision goes fuzzy. Then an abyss swallows you.

Someone yelling your name wakes you up.

Wearily your eyes open.

The familiar dark musky earth smell tells you you’re still in the mines. But your head rests against someone’s thigh.

“Come on, sprout. Wake up.”

The words galvanize you, and instantly you shoot up fast mimicking a parsnip in spring.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Joel snaps.

So it is him. You weren’t just imagining it.

Joel’s steady large warm hands rest on your back and shoulders, keeping you steady.

“What happened?” You croak out confused. He kneels besides you while his eyes scan every inch of you.

“Found ya passed out.” He mutters, and your heart drops.

You passed out?

Joel apparently discovered you by the lift and quickly brought you to the surface.

“What… were you doing down here?” You ask curious.

“Been tryin’ to do a sweep of the mines when I can, especially now knowing you and Ellie….” He explains but his voice trails off.

When your gaze returns to him, Joel now focuses on checking your head for any wounds.

You reassure him that you’re fine. His familiar scowl only intensifies.

Steady, unwavering, his hands become a guiding force helping you up. Gingerly, Joel draws you in to lean against him. He smells of the earth, faintly of his laundry detergent, and sweat.

Wonderfully comforting, it’s so very humanly Joel.

Outside the mines, the soft edges of the sky blend into the dark night. You didn’t realize how long you had been underground.

“If I was younger, I’d rush ya home.” There’s a joke in his words, a jab at his age and how he’s slowing down. You hate the bitterness lingering in his voice.

You’ve had discussions about his age before. Your mind flashes back to spring when he tended to your hand. It feels like ages ago now.

“I like you just the way you are now.” You blame the possible concussion for letting those words slip out.

“Y’mean old as fuck?” This could be his attempt to cheer you up or just be self deprecating.

Whatever it is, you don’t want to entertain Joel’s age as a problem or burden because it isn’t.

You even tell him that, speaking truthfully in the humid summer air.

“Being older isn’t a burden…Age is precious.” You assure.

A strange chuckle like scoff escapes Joel.

“Besides, I feel like I’m the real burden here.” You admit, sighing frustrated.

“Seems like you’re always taking care of me.” A hard edge leaks into your tone.

“You’re not, trust me. And… y’take of me just as much.” Joel replies back quick.

“Please, I don’t,” you scoff.

“Yeah you do…more than you know.” His mumbled tone is hard to read, yet his words still ignite a warmth through you.

Finally glancing back at him again his eyes, staring ahead, appear distant and unreadable.

He doesn’t say much for the rest of the trip.

Back home you don’t expect him to follow you inside especially after showing him you can confidently move on your own now.

Yet this stubborn ass man steps into your kitchen.

As the local handyman, Joel has been inside your home before. But right now, this feels different as if a new version of him is here.

Especially one who moves around your own house like he knows the place. And you realize he does. Joel probably even knows this place better than you do, thanks to your grandpa.

“I’m sure Gramps appreciates you making sure the bugs in the mines didn’t eat me.” You mutter dryly.

Joel snorts as he grabs an ice pack.

“Yeah well, sometimes I think about how you’re just as fuckin’ reckless as he was.”

“I’m not.” You scoff, but quickly hiss when Joel places the cold compress against your head.

“Knew it. Must’ve hit your head real bad on the fall.” He diagnoses.

“Or maybe the ice pack is just too cold.” You say flat.

Joel gives you a dead unamused stare. Ordering you to hold the compress to stop any potential swelling, he goes to grab a glass of water now.

“I don’t need a boss in my own home.” You mumble.

“You’ll wear yourself out… tryin’ to do so much.” With his back to you, he speaks ignoring what you said.

“Your gramps was the same damn way, recklessly tryin’ to do everything, prove whatever he could.”

A silence passes.

“Y’dont…you don’t gotta push yourself. You’re…you’re doin’ just fine.”

For some reason his words make your chest collapse, like he’s the force of an ocean ripping you wide open.

You quietly thank Joel when he hands you the water.

Joel is surprisingly chatty, commenting on how you’re making the place feel more like your own. And while you appreciate and enjoy getting to talk to him, it’s getting late.

“You can head home now, Joel.” You tell him.

His eyes only narrow more unconvinced.

You reassure Joel you’re simply going to take a shower then head to bed.

“I’m not going to run back to the mines, I promise.”

“And what if ya pass out again, huh? No one’s here to know.” Placing his hands on his hips, he argues back, his accent growing thicker.

“I’ll be fine.” You almost laugh at how annoyed and extra grumpy he looks.

He doesn’t budge.

Joel instead heads to your sink and now begins messing with the faucet. Even opens the cabinet underneath the sink.

“Thought I heard it earlier… but your pipes don’t sound too good.” He nods.

“Are you serious? You fixed it last season.” Your eyes narrow suspicious now.

“I am.” Joel confirms deadly moving down to crouch under the sink.

“Go, take a shower. I’m just gonna take a look.” He adds dismissive.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff.

From under the sink Joel waves you off, like you’re the one bothering him.

Now in your bathroom, the shock of passing out and the slight fright you had fade into a hyper awareness.

Joel is in your house while you shower. It shouldn’t affect you this much. But the way your heart races, you worry it will run out of your chest.

You take the fastest shower in your life and grab the most acceptable pj’s that don’t have holes. Stumbling back into the kitchen, Joel continues working under the sink fiddling away at whatever he’s doing.

“If you break my sink I’m not paying you to fix it.”

He chuckles at your demand then slowly lifts himself up and out from the depths of the cabinet.

Like the handyman he is, Joel rattles on about the pipes and maintenance stuff that flies over your head. Then he finally looks at you.

Rich soil eyes flicker wide, shocked a bit. You swear his mouth drops open ever slightly.

You almost want to make a joke to ease whatever is brewing.

Joel however clears his throat then averts his face down. He quickly speaks up first.

“I’ll… uh head out.”

You walk him to the front door, now dreading to see him leave.

Joel finally stares at you again, letting himself simply take you in as you do him.

“Take care.” His voice sounds hoarse as if it got snagged on something.

“And I mean it, you need anything…fuckin’ call.” Then his tone clears up, becoming more direct and composed.

“Take the day to rest, y’hear? Don’t do anythin’ crazy tomorrow.” He insists.

“Fine, Doctor Miller.” You grin, and Joel rolls his eyes.

“Thanks again, Joel.” You add, heartfelt and grateful for this grumpy farmer.

“Anytime, sprout.”

In the glow of your porch light, you think he could be an angel, one whose wings maybe fell off when he landed onto your farm.

“Let me know when you make it back safe.” You tell him.

A moment of confusion colors Joel’s face until he nods, remembering. Then you watch him head into the night.

Beyond the edge of your farm, the lights flicker from inside his home.

True to your promise, you wake up the next day deciding not to do much besides water your crops.

You just didn’t think Joel would show up to make sure you stay true to your word.

He sharply yells out your name. You almost get whiplash turning around so fast. He’s not alone.

Ellie waves, and you wave back smiling.

“What happened to gettin’ rest?” He sighs exasperated, catching you guilty with a watering can in hand.

“I had to water my blueberries.” You reply truthfully.

Ellie holds back a laugh when Joel pinches the bridge of his gorgeous nose.

“Still don’t have sprinklers, huh.” He now comments surveying your farm plot.

“Not yet.” You’ve been wanting to get one, just haven’t had the time.

“Notice you didn’t have them before.”

Of course he did.

Unbeknownst to you, these two came with an agenda.

Apparently Joel saw something wrong with your fence and dragged his poor daughter along to help him fix it.

“I think he just wants to get out of the house. You know how restless old people can get.” Ellie nods with faux sympathy, and Joel barks at her to quit standing around.

You and her share a few amused looks before she returns to assisting Joel. Eventually he shoos her away, stubbornly wanting to finish up everything by himself.

Now Ellie wanders around the clusters of crops filling your yard.

“You have so many!” She says in awe.

“Those melons you gave us were fucking amazing! So... if those blueberries come in again, you know where to find us.” She whispers playfully like a mob boss trying to schedule a hit.

“Ellie.” Joel chides her walking back from the fence.

Ellie rolls her eyes and her father scoffs, now leaning against your porch.

You think about how natural and eased Joel looks here, as if the house believes he’s the extension of its warmth, a missing piece returning to its place.

As thanks you offer to treat them to ice cream in town.

“Uh, hell fucking yeah.” Ellie jumps at the offer. Thankfully Joel doesn’t turn it down either.

The ice cream hits the spot.

As always, your attention goes to Joel.

His gaze isn’t focused on anything. Mouth open, tongue out, he licks a huge swipe across the soft serve.

Watching him lick and lick, he moves to suck top part of the ice cream off. The noises, the sucking sounds, the soft serve catching against parts of his lips and mustache making them glisten…

Your throat feels dry, and you force yourself to blink away dazed.

Ellie cautiously says your name.

“Dude watch out, your ice cream.”

You didn’t even notice the treat spilling down your hands. Panicked, you immediately try stopping the damage, licking at the mess as fast as you can.

You’re now fully embarrassed. Ellie jokes how you maybe still have a concussion. Joel shushes her.

Suddenly her cell phone goes off, saving her from any more trouble. Eagerly she thanks you again and scurries away.

You wonder if it’s that person she met at college.

Now it’s just you and Joel, and your damn embarrassing sticky fingers mess. Out of panic you lick up your hand, hating that you didn’t grab enough napkins.

So you just give up on the sweet treat and throw it away before the disaster gets more out of hand.

Joel has gone classically Joel Miller type quiet.

There’s a strange clouded hazed look swirling in his eyes, like summer storms wish to form there. He swallows hard enough that his Adam’s Apple bobs. It’s unbearably hot.

You and him now awkwardly agree to head back.

With a half wave he tells you to rest. He doesn’t even fully step onto your porch, and you’re okay with that.

The heat has made everything sticky in many different ways.

Later that night your mind is filled with Joel, imagining him carving out a river with his mountain shoulders between your legs as his lips dive into you. You dream wondering how he tastes, wanting to swallow him and all the sounds he makes.

The slurps, the way his lips moved, everything Joel clouds your head while you give into a sticky messy release.

Sighing, you realize you need to sort through this new heat brewing in you for Joel Miller.

In your mail the next day, you find a letter and package from a certain grumpy farmer.

Eagerly you yank open the box. Inside sits a sprinkler.

Don’t push yourself

-JM

Proudly, you place the sprinkler among your crops and carry his letter, his words, tucked safe in your pocket.

- ☼ -

While summer had arrived in a blaze, wild and fierce, its end unfolds with a gentle goodbye.

Already, you brace yourself for autumn's arrival.

“It’s gonna keep you busy.” Maria had said when you chatted with her at Pierre’s earlier this week.

Everyone’s been telling you to savor these last few days of summer before fall comes. So your focus shifts to the mines, or fishing when you can.

“Don’t forget about the migration.” Willy reminds you.

The moonlight jellies.

They apparently make their journey here only once, always on the last day of the season.

“It’s beautiful. You definitely should try and see if you can.” Caroline had suggested dreamily.

Now, approaching the beach, the breeze feels cooler.

Summer’s end is here.

You’re surprised at the turnout. So many already line the shores and pier. You hate how your eyes only search for one person.

You spot Tommy and Maria, along with their sweet son Benjamin, and happily greet them. But no sign of the eldest Miller.

Soon enough Ellie arrives, and you warmly welcome her.

“And your grumpy dad?” You ask casually if he’s coming.

“Nah, not his thing.” Ellie answers cryptically with a casual shrug.

You nod, deciding not to press the topic further.

Small talk instead flows easy. Ellie tells you how she leaves back for college early tomorrow morning.

“I’m surprised Joel hasn’t tried keeping you here more.” You comment.

“Oh fucking trust me, he almost did.” Ellie snorts. “But he’s getting better at letting me leave and shit.

Your mind thinks of Sarah. That type of tragedy can change an entire person, you don’t doubt Joel is a bit overly protective of his second daughter.

Your heart hangs heavy.

“You know… “ Ellie’s voice draws you out of your thoughts.

“Don’t ever fucking tell him I told you this, and if you do I’ll make your life hell.” She threatens.

Definitely Joel’s kid.

“But I’m glad you’re here, I mean… at your gramp’s place. Glad to know Joel’s got someone nearby him again.” Ellie’s eyes glaze over, a daughter worried about her father not needing to say more.

“Plus…it’s funny hearing him say you’re the new pain in his ass he’s gotta keep an eye on.” Her eyes now twinkle amused as she grins.

“Trust me, I’m the one grateful he’s here.” You admit.

Ellie elbows you, smiling wider.

Then small excited gasps arrive, and suddenly the attention shifts.

“They’re here.” Ellie announces.

Soft lights bloom in the waves. Lovely angelic clusters float in from the sea.

It’s unbelievably magical, summer’s last dream.

You don’t know how much time passes. The jellyfish have you hypnotized. With Benji asleep in his mother’s arms, Tommy and Maria decide to head back early. Ellie joins them.

You wish her well back at college and hope to see her again if she comes back to visit.

“Will do,” she salutes.

Halfway across the pier, trailing behind her aunt and uncle, Ellie turns around to give you a final goodbye.

“Hope you and that old fucker don’t flirt with each other too much. Remember he’s got sheep to take care of.” She beams, suggestive and playful.

“Ellie.” You can’t help but chide her now. Even Maria and Tommy turn around shushing her.

She walks away looking smug and prouder than ever.

You exhale shaky hoping nobody heard her too much. Now you linger on the pier for a while, watching the last of the jellyfish float among their kind.

You spot one lone jellie, drifting among the waves.

Another suddenly glides through the water, moving closer to greet it. The two float together, twisting within the sea.

A loving and ancient dance.

The pair then blend into the cluster of dazzling light.

This becomes the best way to end your night.

At the beach path’s edge leading back to town, you faintly see a silhouette in the dark.

The closer you get, the more defined the figure takes shape.

Those broad gorgeous shoulders… you’d know them anywhere.

Under the night sky, Joel is a beautiful and comforting presence.

“Ellie told me to stay and wait, said she was worried the jellyfish would get ya.” Joel explains immediately greeting you.

“Well that was pretty considerate.” You grin, warm.

The walk together with him is slow, eased and syrupy.

“So how were the glow blobs? First time seeing ‘em, how was it?” Joel asks.

“Glow blobs,” you laugh at his word choice.

But you tell him how lovely the whole thing was. You’d never seen anything like it and were glad you could.

“Yeah, s’pretty great.” Joel agrees.

Quietly strolling by Joel’s home, you and him show no intent on stopping.

“This…used to be Sarah’s favorite, seein’ all the jellyfish come in.” He reveals gentle.

The air cracks open, soft and raw. You don’t want to disrupt this sacred step.

“I can see why. It’s beautiful.” You say, grateful at the glimpse of knowing more about this precious soul.

Joel returns to the silence.

“You’re the one who’s been leavin’ flowers at her grave… ain’t ya?”

Your heart sinks. Did you unknowingly cross another line?

You’re about to apologize, explain how sorry you are for overstepping.

“Sunflowers... those are-” Joel admits through a thick voice that snags for a moment while he collects himself.

“…those were her favorite.” It’s the softest admission, another piece you hold tenderly in your heart.

“Thank you for letting me know more about her.” You earnestly tell him.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you when ya first asked about her.” He says, more mumbled.

“Y’just… caught me off guard.”

You nod completely understanding and still apologize for asking without comprehending before.

“Appreciate that.” He mutters, rather sincere.

Your farmhouse arrives faster than ever.

Now it’s just you and him standing quietly here under the season’s last summer night sky.

Joel’s eyes stay focused on you. They remind you of the sea, filled with depth and soft lights, like Sarah’s sweet soul continues sparkling in them… just like the jellyfish she adored.

“Happy last day of summer, neighbor.” You smile.

“Happy last day of summer, sprout.” Joel mutters, his sleek grays gleaming like starlight under the soft porch glow.

In the dark, the flickering of his house light becomes the perfect farewell to the season.

[yurrrsssss-ghoul]

I gotta ask where do you find all this Damian hate or Talia hate cus I personally haven't seen any. My tumblr experience in this fandom has been over all positive. Everyone I've seen seems to like every character. I have came into with hate about any character actually when I think about it. Genuine question. So where are you guys getting all this from? Cus from my perspective it looks like you guys are looking for it.

Oh! And always I don't understand the hate for wfa. It think it's cute and fun but I understand it's not everyone's cup it's just the energy gives that you wouldn't like me because I like it...

(you came across my fyp and I got curious that's all this really is. Not trying to be rude I promise.)

Hi!

This is going to be a long post, so scroll down for the short answer.

First thing you need to know about me, I am a huge al-Ghul Family fan! I prefer Damian to the rest of the Batkids, Talia to Bruce and Ra's to any other characters. Second thing you need to know is that these characters, unfortunately, are often used as props to upvote other characters in one way or another, even at the cost of their own character assassination.

One thing I'd like to clarify, I do not actively seek out anti or hate comment of my fav characters--- in fact, I actively stay away from any variations of 'Bad mom Talia al-Ghul' or 'anti Damian' or 'Creepy Ra's al-Ghul', etc. etc. across any medias (tumblr, Twitter, ao3, TikTok). As we all find out later, everyone has a way of putting those kinds of element in any other tags.

The following examples I've provided are solely for illustrative purposes only. I do not condone harassments of any kind, and I do not encourage anyone to find these people unless you enjoy the kinds of contents that they produce:

As you may have realized, these aren't necessarily hate content, just people butchering my favorite characters for their blorbos to hug.

The first three images are being joking that Ra's would get on one knees for Tim, making Damian the butt of the joke, etc. The fourth picture is just?? Impromptu tag because why is Talia in it even though it's specifically about Bruce and Selina? Is she the ex? What.

This is literally a response from my own post where I make a satirical joke. Like. They come to my blog.

I applaud you for being able to curate your own internet experiences according to your preference, however it's a bit difficult for people who likes characters that are, for whatever reason, the punching bags for the fandom's favorite. The cause of trauma, as you will.

I can't escape it, because it's a popular notion that the al-Ghuls are the bane of everyone's existence within DC fandom spaces. That Talia drugged and raped Bruce (retconned), that she sleeps with Jason (also retconned), that Ra's is insane about Tim and obsessed with him (he talks to him, like, twice) and Damian is a feral Arab child that needed to be civilized.

I could scroll TikTok, came across a video that featured Talia in it, and the comments are filled to the brim with people saying bs like, "Remember when she SA'd Bruce?" or "Errmmmm do people forget that she cracks Jason like???". I decided to expand my repertoire and check the tags that aren't exclusively 'Damian Wayne-Centric' on ao3, and two scrolls in that boy was being put at the stake for being Robin or leaving Robin. Ra's al-Ghul is the victim of his own tags.

Regarding WFA, I have a sort of mixed-feelings about it; don't get me wrong, I recognize that comic to be fandom-pilled than it is a canon material. To me, WFA is as canon as 'Nothing Butt Nightwing' comic, or even Harley's Scratch and Sniff comic.

It's there for people in the fandom to enjoy, but not much of a canon material that you can refer to when discussing the depth of a character--- however, it's still not free from criticism as it also convey certain messages, and it's particularly bad considering that most (if not all) new fans either stayed loyal to that comic or only read WFA.

WFA is a comic that specifically made to indulge the fans, a complete fan-service if I ever see one, where they delve into popular tropes being thrown around in the fandom so they can garner more viewers.

Again, at the great cost of my favorite characters being butchered.

For example, episode 13 of WFA: Stupid Traditions.

Because of course, why would Talia who gave Damian Goliath (and should be canon in universe considering Goliath has made a few appearance in WFA) allowed Damian to have pets? Why would she allowed him to form meaningful connections with lowly beings like animals, even though both came from LoA who's notoriously known to be an eco-terrorist organization that protects the environment and whatnot? Preposterous!

I know it's not exactly an attempt of butchering Talia, but it's the implication. The sub context. Readers are meant to read that and goes, "Oh, poor Damian! He doesn't know how his birthdays should be celebrated because of his evil Arab family! Thank God his good white family is here to save him and lets him behave like a child that he should be!".

But in canon, this is how Damian's birthdays were celebrated when he was at the Waynes:

Either alone or Bruce flat out forgot.

It's the same element when Damian suddenly told Lizzie that Ra's used to lock him in a box without food and water and left him in the desert for seven days in the Trinity Special.

It's meant to invoke some sort of reaction from the readers without no real thoughts being put to consider how this might affect Ra's image and character as a whole. It particularly sucked considering this comic was written by Tom King. A.k.a the war criminal.

I've had similar conversations with many people asking why I hate characters like Tim Drake so much, and my answer is the same; I don't. I enjoy his character, but it's how people characterize him that made me annoyed. Not to mention how, again, my favs are butchered and assassinated to smithereens for him, and I suppose it's the same thing with WFA as well.

People who exclusively read WFA believes that it's canon, thus creating a problem where they thought fanon things are canon, even though it really isn't. They advocate that it's canon and they choose to disregard the actual canon materials, saying that the BatFam is this cool, loving bunch when these mfs cannot be in the same room without blood being shed.

Still, it's cool if you like it. I just wouldn't recommend it to other people, especially new fans, as their first comic.

TLDR; No, I didn't actively seek out hate content of my favs. Them being the universe punching bag is just a popular trope to curate the 'bohoo this poor white man' content, so I can't exactly escape it. No, I don't hate WFA, I just don't like it much. I can enjoy the Slice of Life but ehh. Don't treat it as canon or become your basis understanding of the characters and their relationships with other people, because it's inaccurate.

[taxideermied]

Why Discourse? A Short Essay

Read time: 2-3 mins

Periodically, someone in the otherkin and/or therian tags stands up and declares that there should be no more discourse. That we need to leave it behind. We should all touch grass and get along. We should certainly stop spending so much time fretting and arguing over words and their definitions.

Before I get into why I disagree with this stance, I want to be clear that I absolutely understand where this position comes from. I’m not contemptuous. There is a great deal of petty nonsense on this site that gets labeled as serious discourse, and it’s highly unlikely that whatever intracommunity conflict is going on in the nonhuman tags is the most importantly thing in someone’s life. It’s annoying to see if you don’t want to engage, and it’s also pretty hard to block out. The community probably would be better if there wasn’t so much discourse, but that would necessitate nothing left worth discourse-ing.

And that is the exact trouble. There remain myriad problems that trouble the community, and in all likelihood there will continue to be problems. To reject discourse is to reject the illumination and discussion of these problems. And I don’t mean the sort of “X is a bad person because I said so” conversations that pop up every so often, I mean the very real racism, ableism and sanism that continue to haunt this community. If talk of these problems, too, is labeled as “discourse” (which, let’s be honest, it is) then calls to stop discourse become pleas to maintain the status quo.

Community is not a static object. It is molded. Its pliability is evidenced by the lamentation of differences between the therian communities on here (tumblr) verses TikTok verses Reddit verses the forums of old. These communities are shaped by the individuals that inhabit them and their beliefs (among other things). Discourse is one of the ways we shape our communities for the present and for the future. It’s partly how we decide what is and is not acceptable discussion, behavior and comportment within our ranks. Without it, there is no way for individuals to speak their mind about the state and direction of the community.

For example. Let’s say someone coins a new term. And let’s say the community likes this term. They use it, it’s helpful. That’s great. But maybe that term has an ahistorical or appropriative basis. Or maybe individuals are going to other members of the community and saying “you’re not X you’re actually [new term]”. Should the affected members of the community not speak up? Sure, in the scheme of life and the “real world” it’s easy to say “who cares?” It’s just one term. But what happens in two years. Or five, or ten. When no one speaks up and this happens again and again, and more and more of the community is wedged out by various issues that go uncommented on? Who does that serve when the issues that drive people out are all but guaranteed to be reflections of the biases that exist in our human societies? What will the community look like when nothing but the hegemony is reinforced?

I’m not trying to say that every topic of discourse is equally merited. A lot of it is inane and immature and straightforwardly unhelpful. But some of it isn’t. Some of it will dictate what the community is like for years. Dismissing all discourse as equally useless is chucking the baby out with the bath water.

I can understand if over the course of this essay I’ve made it seem like discourse is of singular importance to me. Contrary to what it seems, maybe, I do have a life offline. But I have not been shy in discussing my long time issues feeling welcome in the therian community, and so I’m invested in making this a space where no one has to bounce off it as many times as I have. One way I can do that is by pushing back against beliefs that have ostracized myself and my friends. The problem, or perhaps the beauty, of therian spaces is that they’re pretty singular. There are furry communities or other adjacent social groups, but I found if you’re nonhuman, you really want the opportunity to be in community with other nonhumans. And certain beliefs and practices can make that difficult for some and leave them with nowhere else to go. From what I’ve heard of other websites, the tumblr therian space is amongst the more accepting, and if someone is pushed off here, it’s unlikely they have anywhere to turn but personal blogs or journaling sites that don’t offer much in the way of connection. Discourse is the one way I, with my limited reach and energy, can change a few hearts and minds on the issues in this community that affect me.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that discourse is not just “discussion I don’t want to see.” “There should be less discourse” is discourse. Any discussion of community reform is discourse. Any back and forth of opinions between individuals is discourse.

I’m not saying you have to like it. I’m certainly not saying you have to participate. You are entirely free to plug your ears and close your eyes to discourse and I will say you’re probably wiser and stronger willed than I am. You are completely free to live your grass-touching life how you’d like. But please do not call for the end of discourse entirely. Please do not act like discourse is the worst thing someone in this community can do, or that it’s “what’s wrong” with the therian community on tumblr. I think it’s fair to say you don’t like it, but it serves a purpose.

[aramblingjay]

my thoughts on tog 2 (SPOILERS AHEAD!)

overall: it was lovely to see these beloved characters back, they opened a lot of doors to explore in fanfic and i have no doubt the talented writers in this fandom will deliver, but the movie was too short and too packed with retcon lore drops

-can’t believe we waited so long just for that, i feel they missed that the characters were the beating emotional heart of the first movie and thought we wanted a mediocre action flick instead

-feeling very vindicated about my joe as fire, nicky as ice headcannon. it always seemed so clear to me that joe was angry at booker in a fast, explosive way but nicky is the one to be afraid of. the one who believes strongly in consequences for actions and atoning for crimes and would accept his own sadness at booker’s exile as a kind of necessity rather than do anything to break the terms of booker’s punishment. ofc it’s joe, the big softie, who would break first. my favorite bit of character work in the whole movie pretty much

-where was joe and nicky’s discussion about all this?!!! joe lied to him! nicky caught him in it pretty quickly but joe lied! i want to watch them have a mature, emotional conversation about it the way only two people who have known each other for 900 years can. i wanted conflict and resolution, not just one (no matter how beautiful) scene of nicky declaring his love for joe and Head Bonk TM

-i did really enjoy nicky’s simple but no less beautiful than joe’s Van Speech declaration of his love. and the Head Bonk. oh, the poems i could write about the Head Bonk

-what happened to nile?!!! she was the beating heart of the first movie and she was just. there in this one. they did her so dirty, she was a weapon more than a person

-all the lore retcon and random exposition was wild and unnecessary. one of the things i loved about the first movie is how consistently and interestingly they painted the world. the dreams were fascinating and added world building insight in a thoughtful way. now there’s tuah and discord and nobody dreamed of them?! andy kept tuah a secret ALL these years from the closest people to her in the world?! nile and discord have some birthmark that makes her a destroyer?! there was potential to do something interesting with quynh being back and they ruined it. what is this

-i loved the ending scene with andy and quynh. gorgeous. beautiful. soft. my immortal wives. the rest of it… there was not enough time and weight given to the emotional significance of that reunion, the complicated conversations they would need to have, the fact that joe and nicky also lost quynh and just got her back… none of it. i have read fanfics that did it so well and brought me to tears and in the movie i was just sort of. bored

-booker. booker booker booker. killing off a suicidal character in a self-sacrificial way and claiming that’s a good ending. seen that one before. didn’t like it this time either. made all the worse because there was no reconciliation between booker and the boys, barely a conversation even. and he didn’t have to die there, so it was just a stupid suicidal sacrifice rather than a meaningful one. wtf

-the ending was stupid. what a waste of 1hr 45mins just to resolve nothing and set up a sequel we probably won’t get. just. UGH. remember when movies actually had a completed coherent arc and plot and not everything was a desperate corporate cash grab?

-i did not want more of the movie necessarily but also it was too short. nothing happened. another 30 mins of runtime and maybe we could’ve seen some actual conversations, more team as family moments, more tension instead of action with no real stakes or drama, more character development. instead we got this

however, i can’t wait for fandom to get their hands on the bones of this movie and fix it in ways that will bring me to tears

[tarnishedxknight]

Hearing that Wanda had been through a lot and that she wanted to make sure that people who caused pain to others didn't get away with it, Xenos had made up his mind right then and there. He was going to be loyal to Wanda. He was going to befriend her, take care of her, and protect her to the best of his ability. Not only because she'd been so kind to him and had set him free when he'd needed that help the most, but because she was a good person who deserved to feel safe and cared for.

And Wanda was so good to want to use her power to help others, too, he thought. It was something that certainly gave Xenos pause, for he'd been trying to hide away since he was trapped inside a human body. He'd wanted to avoid humes, not help them. Maybe he should pay close attention to Wanda's example and use his power to make the lives of humes better from now on.

Thought their rest had been short-lived, Xenos was wide awake when Gabranth stepped into the room. Adrenaline, fear, and anticipation kept him alert despite how exhausted he was just a few hours ago. He didn't know what to make of the man silence or his pacing, however, and wondered if maybe it had been a mistake to try and tell him what happened. Could Wanda have been wrong about him? Soon, though, Gabranth began asking questions, looking like perhaps some wheels were turning in his mind. Xenos was fine with answering a few questions if it moved things along, but when he turned to leave, it left Xenos confused.

Gabranth stopped when Wanda asked him to wait, sighing and turning to face her. He really should've known that it wouldn't be so easy to just leave the room like that. The problem was... he didn't have good answers to her questions, or at least ones she'd want to hear and would accept. He had to try, though, because he realized she was not likely to let it go until he at least addressed her concerns.

"Because it involves his son, and by interfering with Dr. Cid's research, you may have unknowingly placed His Eminence in grave danger," Gabranth said. "There are things you do not know, Wanda, things we have not discussed with you yet because you were settling in. But by... freeing this... being... from Dr. Cid's laboratory, you may have disrupted research done at Lord Vayne's behest, research he wanted kept quiet. And if what he says is true," he looked to Xenos before looking back at her, "and there is another Occurian watching all of this... then Vayne may already know Xenos has been freed. That may force his hand on certain points of his agenda he was previously content to wait on."

He couldn't say it outright... that Vayne wanted to replace his father, possibly through assassination... because it was highly classified information, but Gabranth had come as close as he could for her benefit. "Allow me to speak to His Eminence alone first, given the sensitive and dire nature of this political web you have unwittingly involved yourself in. I know he will be appalled to learn of what has gone on in Cid's lab, but he must also be very careful in dealing with his son. As must I. Let me go alone first. If His Eminence wishes to speak with either of you, and I suspect he will, I will return for you. I will send someone in the meantime to stay with you, lest anyone attempt to recapture Xenos. Someone I trust very much."

Wanda's request that he return once he was free to take his leave caught Gabranth off guard for a moment, but he nodded. "I will, either to bring you to His Eminence, or to apprise you of what has been said." To the extent that I am free to disclose it. "You have my word." With that, he was off.

Xenos... was not sure how that conversation just went. Was he going to do something about all this, or was he going to report to his emperor and have him recaptured to keep the prince happy? Xenos' brow furrowed in confusion, but when Wanda reached out her hand, he slowly closed the distance between them and took gentle hold of it. "Good? He is... going to help?" he asked, concerned about the worried expression on her face. "Mm-hmm..." he replied, nodding. "I am alright. Nervous... but... alright."

"Who are you? I do not believe we have met." (for Xenos because reasons)

It had been Gabranth's duty to show the Emperor's new sage around the palace and the capital city, helping to familiarize her with important locations she may need to know during her stay. If she was to assist His Eminence with war strategies and grant him advice on what direction to take the Empire in the future, she would need to know what was going on there. Thus, one of the stops on their tour was the Draklor Laboratory.

The Laboratory was a massive seventy-floor building within which all sorts of research important to the Empire was conducted. Everything from airship design, to weapons development, and magical pursuits were studied there, and at some of the topmost floors were the offices and lab of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa, known by most as Dr. Cid. He was not only the head researcher of Draklor Laboratory, he was also the chief writer of science, technology, and magical policies for the Archadian Imperial Army, which funded the Laboratory. Dr. Cid was also one of Vayne Solidor's main go-tos for secret nethicite research serving the prince's agenda.

Gabranth took Wanda up to Dr. Cid's offices, but the man was not there. This was typical, for Cid was always something of a free spirit, and he often went out in search of materials for his experiments. He took Wanda on to see Cid's laboratory anyway, explaining to her that this was where the Empire was attempting to safely study the effects of nethicite. Even as he said it, though, he scarcely believed his own words. Cid was anything but safe. If rumors were true, and Gabranth had at least some evidence in support of them, then Cid's might was slowly beginning to slip. Regardless, Gabranth gave Wanda a superficial look at the lab, for she mostly just needed to know where it was, in case she needed to talk to Cid at some point, and not so much its intricate inner workings.

When she seemed to stop by a rather ornate looking set of double doors - doors with a strong magical ward for a locking system - Gabranth was soon tasked with explaining that, no, Cid did not experiment on living beings. His research was mostly chemical, magical, and technological. He wondered why Wanda would fixate on the doors and ask such a question, but none of his spies or his own reconnaissance had indicated that Cid was experimenting with live creatures. "It may be a storage room for nethicite or other highly dangerous magical components," he explained, feeling the Mist within him stirring, and not just because of the magical lock on the doors. In his mind, that was the only explanation that made sense.

Oh, but there was a living being inside the room, and he was quite tortured, frightened, and sad. His emotion was so thick and heavy, it came off him in waves to one who was even mildly empathetic like Wanda. Even through a magically locked door, the imprisoned and enslaved being Xenos gave off a heartbreaking and desperate amount of suffering that permeated the room and even beyond it. His magical power also branched out into his surrounding environment, even magically bound such as he was.

When Wanda returned later without Gabranth, that same energy and emotion was apparent the moment she got within the near vicinity of the doors. For someone with magic as unique and versatile as Wanda, the magical locking glyph placed on the door was certainly no match. Once the doors were unlocked and opened, a sorrowful sight met her eyes.

The room was bare, sterile, with no sign of warmth or kindness. A marble floor, two pillars made of a different type of stone, and a man kneeling between them, slumped where he sat, a mess of chains tethering him to the pillars. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of linen pants and a tattered cloak, the hood of which was draped over his head. His wrists were shackled, connected to chains that were rooted in the stone pillars on either side of him. Those shackles were then also chained to a third shackle around his neck. Small glowing glyphs of warding, suppression, and control glowed on each of the shackles.

When Wanda entered the room, Xenos slowly lifted his head, feeling her presence even if he hadn't heard her first. Her magic was significant, he could feel it, but he didn't know who she was. Was she here to hurt him? Probably. Everyone else here was. He shakily rose to his feet and backed away slowly, until the chains pulled taut and he couldn't go any further. Trembling and a bit folded in on himself, Xenos stood there, clearly afraid of Wanda.

He was very lean, probably too thin for a man of his height. And there was an unnatural blackness to his hands and feet, continuing up his arms and likely his legs too if they could've been seen under his pants, until it brightened into a bronze skin tone. Red glowing eyes could be seen peeking from underneath his hood.

Her question, though... was strange. Usually people just came in and started ordering him around, inflicting pain with magic if he did not comply. They didn't usually want to chat with him, or ask his identity. Did she not know who he was? Was she not told? If she didn't know, then why was she here? Maybe she wasn't here to hurt him after all.

Xenos slowly moved to one of the pillars, his left arm being harshly pulled in the direction of the other pillar by the short chain even as his right hand softly touched the pillar before him. He huddled against the stone, partially obscuring himself with it, feeling safer when he wasn't standing entirely out in the open. "Xenos..." he answered her, his voice a raspy whisper from lack of use. "I... am Xenos..."

[ducktracy]

I NEVER POSTED THIS WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH

ok i drew this back in September 2022 when i was doing a passive rewatch of every Porky and Daffy short in chronological order while i was working--drawn because i RRRRREEEALLY love how accepting and often enabling the early Porky is with the early Daffy’s hysteria. there's something genuinely sweet and funny about Porky just sort of chalking him up to his esoteric, silly little friend (esoteric, silly little friend is causing horrific atrocities). especially refreshing in an age where modern material seems to completely reduce Porky's tolerance for Daffy's screwiness (but a bit understandably so)

[idreamofneonsheep]

Can't stop thinking abt arcane s2, specifically the alternate timelines episode where jayce goes through it and ekko does science.

By the time we'd reached that episode, my sibling and I already disliked the season and were just watching it to see if it managed to get any better later on.

So we were chilling, making fun of this or that and wondering why the pacing was so strange when we started seeing the telltale signs of romance between ekko and powder/jinx. Now, my first thought was "really???" because I'm a hater of 99% of romantic pairings in media and don't find it enjoyable to watch/read. My second thought was "wait wait wait, hold up. explain how this timeline hopping works Right Now."

And thus the alarm bells starting going off as my mind worked overtime to try to figure out how this works. Is this timeline more like an illusion than a concrete world, where the people there will cease to exist when heimerdinger and ekko leave? Did the ekko and heimerdinger of this world get swapped with the ones we've been following? Are our guys in the bodies of their counterparts?

I would have had these thoughts regardless, because I quite enjoy overanalyzing media. The reason the alarm bells were ringing was because, depending on the answer to those questions, the romance between ekko and jinx/powder gets questionable.

As the episode continued it became clear that our ekko (ekko1) was very different from the ekko (ekko2) the people of this new timeline know and expect (which makes sense). To be clear, at this point, regardless of how the timeline hopping works, the romance is Very Uncomfortable. Ekko1 and ekko2 are clearly different people/characters. They could be likened to identical twins, really.

So. We're watching the episode. I'm crocheting a far too long single chain because it's all I know how to do. Sibling is judging me for my single chain of weird, sad brown yarn.

Dance scene comes up. We mock it, as we do with things we find strange, unnecessary, and annoying. The lingering sound of alarm bells is fostered by dread as we watch powder think she's hanging out with her pal ekko2 in a romantic way. The dread grows and the bells clang as we realize "they're going to kiss".

They kiss.

We sit for a moment, silence creeping in as the bells start dying. The episode plays on.

We look at each other.

The episode is finished in disappointed and disgusted silence.

Perhaps my horror was more visceral than my sibling's, as this episode has certainly not stuck with them as it did me, but I just. Whatever cute relationship stuff the creators were going for was ruined Immediately.

Powder kissed someone because she thought they were someone else, and there was nothing done to correct that assumption or apologize or anything. Ekko1 kissed powder while she thought he was ekko2 and that just feels gross and awful to me.

Now, was ekko1 thinking of it like that? I seriously doubt it. Were the creators thinking of it like that? I also doubt it.

But sometimes I just sit and think abt how powder didn't know that it wasn't ekko2 she kissed until ekko1 dipped out of ekko2's body to go back to his own timeline. What did she think about that? After the confusion, what feeling came next?

So yeah, this episode of arcane s2 is on my list of Horrifying Romances, right there with 50 first dates

[ima-ghost-art]

Fic/ comic idea I've been thinking of,,,,

Leo taking a journey Odysseus style to see Jason one last time in Elysium, I'm thinking Hazel and Frank to complete the trio!

On their journey, the group come across various ghosts, some they recognise, others not so,, like old foes (Octavian), gods (pluto/Hades, Persephone & Thanatos) famed heroes (Odysseus (I have BIG ideas for Ody and Leo talking) Zoey, Beckendorf and Selina), and even familial ones (their mother's, Sammy and Grandma Zhang)

Before it all comes to a head and they find jason, sweet sweet Jason, who when he sees them can't help but beam. Hugging his dear friends with everything he has. When he hugs Leo, tears brimming in their eyes, they can't help but choke on their words as they can't help the painful emotions that it took walking through the underworld to reunite.

Before they have to leave, Jason makes Leo promise on the river styx that it should be a long long time before they see eachother again, he was not allowed to go sacrificing himself so carelessly, and instead live a long happy life

[fictionadventurer]

"If the structure of your world ever evaporates, I will still be here."

I think The Q might contain one of the greatest declarations of friendship/love ever.

[aroaessidhe]

2025 reads / storygraph

Unbury The Bones + Boneless

urban fantasy mystery novella series

a grumpy vampire with the uncontrollable ability to see people’s skeletons who helps people out with magical problems

they’re assigned a werewolf partner, and they investigate a mysterious magical attack, while the werewolf really wants to be friends with them, if they’ll just let down some of their barriers

nonbinary aromantic MC

[todayisafridaynight]

i’m pretty surprised that you can be in a fandom without really checking the tags regularly for new content or discussions that’s pretty impressive

ive got twitter for that and twitter has shown me enough as is

[poetryqueer]

planning document must be going well I just said the words “explaining the endurance of Platonism could be the life I’m living” to myself. Alone. At 2:30am. Because yeah. Could be.