#well in any case time to see how poorly this all ages

[kooldewd123]

actually i don't think i've ever put my thoughts out there about why i'm on team sequel for plza so i might as well throw them out into the ether before it all becomes moot in less than 24 hours:

i feel like people generally agree that pokemon z never coming meant that gen 6 never really got to reach its full potential. obviously, plza isn't going to fix those games, but i would love to see them take another crack at that setting to see if they can't learn from their mistakes and elevate the characters and plot concepts from xy that people have been lukewarm on in the past. like, i don't really care in the slightest about trevor, tierno, and shauna, and i know i am absolutely not alone in that. i would love it if this game could make me care about them. or with zygarde, it'd be cool to see how it actually winds up tying into the present-day story, since i assume whatever plotline they spin with it will be in some way inspired by the scrapped plans from z. and on a more selfish note, a sequel set entirely in lumiose city sounds like the perfect opportunity to do more with emma, one of the most underappreciated characters in the franchise.

so, like, mechanically, how is this game gonna work? how are they gonna fit an entire pokedex into a city environment? what seems like the most logical option to me is that over the course of the game, as we help develop lumiose city, we're gonna be doing stuff that brings pokemon in, like building parks and such, so that by the end of the game, we'll have created a city that wild pokemon of all shapes and sizes can comfortably live in. that... doesn't really sound like present-day lumiose city to me. sure, humans and pokemon live together, but it's not notably more well integrated than any other city in the pokemon world. i think it may feel a bit discongruent if the lumiose city we create in the past doesn't line up with the lumiose city of the present. (again, this is all based on my assumption of how the gameplay progression will function with basically no evidence as of yet, but it feels like a fairly safe bet to me?)

with what little information we have, it's generally assumed that this game will be based on the haussmann renovation, a public works project from the history of paris. one of the neatest connections we have that ties this together is the fact that the haussmann renovation was roughly contemporaneous with the start of the meiji restoration over in japan (which is what pla was based on). which is actually pretty cool! it means that a plza set in the past will be taking place at either the same time as, or slightly before, pla (depending on how much game freak wants to smudge the years around). and honestly, i don't have a problem with this on its own. i think tying the games together like that through real-world history is a lot of fun. my main concern is that i don't entirely like setting the precedent of legends games taking place specifically in the mid-to-late 19th century. one of the big things that immediately made pla stand out was how novel and unique its setting was, and i would like to see future legends games continue to try new things like that rather than settle into a specific era.

with all that said, i will still be excited for this game no matter which time period it chooses. i'll welcome a new cast, i'm sure they'll find a way for the progression to make sense for the time period it's in, and two's not a pattern when it comes to things like this. it's just super fun to engage in this sort of speculation when we have so little known for certain and so much excitement for more.

[sinsandsweetness]

“consequences” - part 4 of PICK YOUR POISON - (a dads best friends love story)

part 1, 2, and 3

pairing- (Rick x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, age gap, smut, needy + desperate reader, sneaky sex, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, light choking, mutual pining, cream pie, poorly proofread. wc 3.9k

notes- i know this took forever, so thank you all for the patience. i rewrote this like three or four times because i just wasn’t as happy with it as i am with the first three parts. i’m pretty happy with it now but I feel it isn’t as playful as the first three. regardless, please tell me what you think:) comments and reblogs are always incredibly appreciated and your feedback means a lot to me <3 enjoy!

3 weeks.

That’s how long it took you to break him. Since that day up in your room, during the barbecue. When he was insistent on showing you how much better he could take care of you than anyone else could. 3 weeks from then is when you finally broke him. And who’d have thought it’d be in your own home, with your dad passed out on the main floor. Unaware of the downright filth happening upstairs in your bedroom. Filth that if he ever found out, would send him into cardiac arrest. Though you’re always careful, and to you, the risk is definitely worth the reward.

But it’s not like you haven’t had a couple close calls. Stolen kisses and flirty glances can’t go unnoticed forever. Your father hasn’t ever said anything. Even when he can see Rick’s hands on your waist, lingering a minute too long. Or the way you always sit right next to him. Pressed up as close as humanly possible. Practically in his lap. Well... sometimes actually in his lap. Your father’s not stupid. But, he’s also not exactly the most confrontational man. And he’s never actually caught you. There’s been no real confirmation of his suspicions. Until today that is.

After a long day of work at your dads construction site, Rick arrives at your house before any of the others. Freshly showered with a case of beer. It’s just you and him in the kitchen. Making small talk as he tries to pretend there isn’t a band of tension pulling the two of you closer and closer with every meaningless question.

“Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, chopping up some vegetables on a cutting board. Glancing up at Rick who can’t seem to look you in the eyes. Distracted by the tiny little outfit you have on. A skirt, despite the brisk weather. A tight, fitted long sleeve that’s pushing your breasts together in the most enticing way possible. No bra. Clearly. And then there’s the best part. The part he keeps glancing down at while licking his lips and taking in a deep breath. Your thigh highs. White knit thigh high socks that make him want to pin you up against the counter and fuck you then and there.

“I uh- your dad told us to come for some drinks,” he looks up at you again, this time you’re leaning against the island, brushing your hands together to dry them off.

“So… where’s my dad then?” You ask, stepping even closer to the man. Too close, you realize at the hitch of his breath.

It’s been a really long 3 weeks.

“Uh- I imagine he got sidetracked. I know Maggie was looking for him. Probably caught up in conversation.”

“And Shane? Daryl?”

“On their way.”

“Hmm.” You hum. You’re right in front of him now. You can smell his cologne and the shampoo he uses. Damp curls forming at the base of his neck. Casual black jeans on, and a simple grey tee shirt. He places the case of beer right next to you on the counter, stepping in close so he’s pressed up against you. Trapped between his warm body and the cool marble.

You stay like that for a moment. Both of your minds going back to the night last week that you snuck out. To what happened in that truck. But more importantly what didn’t happen. What you’ve been praying would happen for weeks.

Finally he leans in, pressing a sweet little kiss to the corner of your lips before dipping lower. Breathing in your perfume.

“Missed you,” he admits into your neck. The warmth of his breath sends little pinpricks down your arms.

You breath in a quiet gasp when he kisses your neck. Warm, soft lips making their way down to your collarbone. His hands on either side of your waist, planting you against the counter.

God, you want him so bad it hurts.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him up so his lips are forced against yours. Kissing him with the same fervor and necessity that had been building all month. Since that very first kiss in your dads garage. Since that day at the barbecue when Rick took you upstairs and showed you how much better he is at making your legs shake than Shane. Since the pool party, the day you were a complete tease and they all knew it. When Rick decided to take you down to the pool shed and teach you a lesson. You had no idea fingers could even feel that good. But Rick’s do. Everything Rick does, feels good to you.

And then, there was the night last week. The one that both of you have been thinking about every hour since.

You’d snuck out your bedroom window just to see him. To go for a drive and park on the side of the road. You kissed him til your lips were swollen and your panties were soaking through.

You know he’s wanted you from the very start. When he first met your dad and started coming over. Well before you’d ever kissed him. Showed interest in him. But that night, it hit him. How much he wants you to himself. How much he loves being alone with you. Just you. But no matter how tempted he may have seemed, he still refused to break the agreement. He still wouldn’t fuck you.

Yet.

“Rick-“ you gasp against his lips as he pulls you up onto the counter, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Skirt riding up to expose your lacy panties. You can feel him against you. How badly he wants you. How hard he is for you. How hard he’s been every night since the night you snuck out to see him. Touching himself to the thought of you, wishing he’d just fucked you then, on the side of the highway in the dead of night. Just you and him and the stars acting as the only witnesses to your risky little love affair.

“Want you,” you say against his lips, his hand starting to gently wrap around the front of your throat. His other arm pulls you in by the waist so you’re completely flush with his chest.

“Want you so bad,”

But before he can mumble a response into your mouth, both of you hear the garage door open. You both freeze. Eyes going wide, you slide off the counter, immediately pulling your skirt back to an appropriate length. Rick rubs a hand over his face, turning the other direction. Giving you a moment of privacy to get yourself situated and to deal with the tent in the front of his jeans.

Your father walks in first.

You can't even look at him. Blush so very apparent on your pretty face as you look down at the cutting board, pretending to be occupied with the assortment of vegetables. Daryl and Shane head straight for the fridge. Only giving you a smirk of acknowledgment as their gaze is darting in between you and Rick.

Your father notices. The way you won’t look him in the eye. The way Rick is nervously running a hand through his hair and how his eyes keep darting over to you. He sees it. He’s not stupid. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t say anything. He just stalks over and slaps Rick on the back with a, “thanks man, really needed this after the week we’ve had.”

Rick nods in agreement, taking a sip of the bottle your father just handed him. Rick looks over at you. Something unspoken behind his eyes that you can’t quite make out. Yeah, it’s been a long week indeed.

You don’t stay downstairs long. When Shane and your father start getting all loud and rowdy in the living room, the empty bottles of their fifth beers being knocked over onto the hardwood as their play fight begins, that’s when you decide to head upstairs with a quick wave, “g’night.” Rick is the only one who catches it. Nodding back at you as you climbed the stairs. Watching you sway your hips with every step. Skirt so short that the bottom of your ass cheeks are on full display.

You try sleeping. But every time you close your eyes you see Rick. That night in his truck. Straddling his waist and unbuckling his belt. The way he kissed you so deep. Filled with so much lust. So much need. You’d never felt that before. And even though he told you exactly how bad he wanted you, he didn’t have to. You could feel it. With every touch. Every kiss. That’s why it surprised you when you tried to go all the way and he still wanted to stop you.

“Not like this. I can’t- I'm… we’re not doin’ it like this.”

“Why?” You were out of breath, still trying at his belt but his hand came down to stop you, firmly calling your name. Grabbing your full attention to his stormy blues.

“We’re on the side of the road for christs sake. It should be- fuck. We should be at home in a real bed. Not sneaking around in some beater pickup in the middle of nowhere-”

“Rick-”

“No.”

“This is perfect.” You tried to assure him.

He sighed and pulled your forehead against his, catching your lips before mumbling, “You’re perfect.”

“I want this. I want you.”

“I know. And you have no idea how badly I want this too. But I can’t. I just- we can’t.”

He still made you come. Regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t fuck you. He wasn’t going to let you go home without a proper orgasm.

But you needed more. Needed him.

And now, laying in bed, reliving the scene in your head with your hands trailing down to your panties, you’re soaking right through. Your stomach doing backflips at the memory of his hands roaming your body in the dark.

With a frustrated groan, you sit up. Fuck. A cold shower is what you really need.

You get up and open your bedroom door, immediately met with the sight of Rick on the top step of the stairs. He’s got his index pressed to his lips when he sees you. Telling you to be quiet. Hush.

He’s smiling behind his hand. Dropping it as he reaches your bedroom door. He brings his arm up to the doorway, leaning on it. Other hand sporting a half empty bottle of beer. You wonder how many he’s had.

“They’re all passed out on the couch aren’t they?” You ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. Arms only inches from his chest.

“How’d you guess?”

“Well… it’s quiet, for one,” you turn around and head to your bed, sitting down and waiting for him to follow.

He does.

“And two… you’re here.” You say.

“I am.”

He sits down. A quiet moment passes and he takes another swig of beer before placing the bottle on your nightstand.

“Y’know, if you really don’t wanna sleep with me, you should probably stop inviting yourself into my bedroom. It’s sending some pretty mixed signals.”

He chuckles at your comment. “Mixed signals huh?” His hand goes to your leg, tracing the band of your thigh highs. You’re no longer wearing your skirt. Just panties, socks and an ex-boyfriend's baggy tee shirt.

“Yeah,”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing about you, sweetheart,” his hand makes its way up your thigh. His palm is rough against your smooth skin, the attention sending a jolt straight between your legs.

“How so?”

“Shane? Daryl?” He says it like it’s obvious. You fooling around with the other best friends.

“That’s different.” You look up at him now, the tiniest scowl on your face.

“How so?” His tone is soft but it’s clear he’s mocking you.

You open your mouth to respond but something stops you. Deep breath. You’re looking at his lips now. And he knows it.

“I wanted you, y’know. They’re fun and all but…“ you swallow. You need Rick. From the very start it’s been pretty obvious that you like him best. Always sitting next to him, as close as you can get. There’s just something different about Rick. The way he makes you feel. The way he was so quick to claim you. How he’s possessive and attentive and so insanely infatuated by you. It’s just… different. You can’t explain it.

“But what?” His nose is nearly touching yours at this point. One hand on your thigh and the other one reaching for your face. Thumb running across your jaw as you lean in.

You’re voice is quiet when you finally speak.

“I want you.”

He lips graze yours and you have a feeling that he heard you this time. Like, really fucking heard you. Not just the words leaving your mouth, but everything else that you’re trying to say. The way your heart is beating fast and you’re breathing is all shallowed. How he can see every nervous little tic that goes through you as he leans in to kiss you.

So he gives in. Reluctantly of course. If asking, “you sure about this?,” while peeling your panties down your legs is considered reluctant. Or worriedly whispering that “we could get caught,” while tossing your shirt across the room and leaning down to suckle at your breasts, nipping and sucking a few little love bites where no one else will see but him. Because that’s so very reluctant of him.

His hands are wrapped around your waist as he kisses down your stomach. Soft lips making their way down between your legs, propping one of your legs up and kissing your inner thigh. He takes his time, biting your leg and dragging his teeth down your sensitive skin. The action makes you whine, hands going straight to his curls.

“Rick just- c’mon,”

“Why don’t you just lay back and look pretty, huh?”

“Rick-” you’re on fire. Need pulsing through your bloodstream with every touch. His hands are holding your hips to the mattress, preventing them from squirming around. The featherlight kisses he’s peppering over your clit are bordering on the side of torture. You know he’s just trying to take his time. To savour the feeling and drag it on. Make it last and make it special. But he doesn’t realize how badly you need him to push your knees to your chest and fuck you til you’re a moaning mess.

“Rick.” You tug on his hair, trying to get him to just fuck you already. You’ve been waiting over a month for this. And judging by the arousal dripping onto your pink, cotton sheets, you definitely don’t need the foreplay.

“Maybe you’d get what you want if you used your manners a little more. Ever thought of that?” He looks up at you. And despite his words, he follows the hand urging him to come up and kiss your lips. To replace his shoulders with his hips in between your legs.

“Please,” you breath out. If manners is all he wants, then you’re a lucky girl. You’d tell him whatever he wants to hear if it mean he’ll fuck you. “Please, please, just fuck me, just-”

“God, you’re such a brat,” he cuts you off with a kiss, you’re legs instinctively wrapping around his clothed torso. And the feeling of his denim against your bare clit isn’t helping your incredibly desperate situation.

You reach for his belt mid kiss and you can tell that his instincts are telling him to stop you. To tell you that you’re dad’s downstairs and that it’s wrong. But with his forehead pressed against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips he dips down to kiss your neck. He doesn’t stop you. He lets you unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down, enough to reach his cock, standing tall and eager. You tug on his tee shirt and he helps you take it off, throwing it onto the pile of both your clothes building on your floor. You pull him in close with your legs, knitted socks all soft against his bare back, almost locking him into place. Your hands are on his jaw, pulling him in as you bite his bottom lip, gently dragging it out and earning a groan. At the same time, he lines himself up with your aching cunt. He enters you slowly with a muffled moan. A gasp leaves your lips at the stretch. He’s much bigger than anyone you’ve been with. In length and in girth.

Once every thick inch is completely inside of you, he can tell that you need a minute. Your breath is caught in your throat as you adjust to his size.

Well, no going back now.

“You okay?” He asks in between kisses. Keeping his hips still as you get used to the feeling.

You nod, “Just- go slow, ok?”

You can’t help the moan that’s crawling up your throat when he does as you say. Slow, intentional movements in and out. Fuck he’s big. But fuck, does it ever feel good.

“You feel so good,” you tell him. You need to tell him. To let him know how much you love it. How much you needed it. Needed him. “Please don’t ever stop.”

His breathing is heavy. Pushing down the groans and sounds you so desperately wish he would let you hear. He’s trying so hard not to come. You’re so wet. So warm. So tight around his cock and so fucking pretty laying there underneath him. Moaning all sorts of praise.

“You’re so big,”

“Rick, yes.”

“Right there, please.”

“Feels so good,”

And your words add fuel to the fire burning inside of him. The way you’re holding onto his neck, legs locked behind his back. Lips parted in the long awaited bliss of being filled right up. Taking him so well. And he makes sure to tell you it, too.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good,” he kisses you again, “taking me so well.”

There’s a lot of hands. Grabbing at arms, necks, hair, faces. Whatever either of you can reach as he snaps his hips against yours. He’s done going slow. His pace is making your back arch off the bed and guttural, almost pornographic noises start to pour from your lips. Swollen and rosy and constantly catching his with every opportunity.

“Shhhh-“ Rick brings a hand up to your face. Forehead still pressed agains yours as he covers your mouth. “Gonna wake em’ up if you keep making so much noise.”

That’s not the only reason he needs you to shut up. It’s true, but it’s not the only reason.

He can’t take it. Well, at least he doesn’t think he can.

When he pulls out, your eyes go wide. No. Don’t stop. Why the hell is he stopping?

“What- oh.” your head falls back to the pillow at the feeling of his tongue on your clit. His fingers already knuckle deep and curling upwards to hit your sweet spot. Those fucking sounds you’re making are driving him crazy. But at least he knows he can last a little longer this way. Maybe make you come before he fucks you again. A little less pressure to perform when you’re already dumb from his fingers. From his tongue. From the way he’s sucking on your clit and pushing up on your thigh, fingers driving into you so hard you could scream.

You have to cover your own mouth. You know you’re being too noisy. And you also know the last thing either of you want is for your father to wake up to the sound of his daughter getting finger fucked by his best friend. By his friend who’s at least 15 years older than you. The one he’s been suspicious of for a few weeks now, over analyzing the way he looks at you. The way he listens to you. The way he brings you up and asks what you’re up to. All of it. And then earlier. The flushed faces of guilt and embarrassment when he got home in the middle of your moment.

You don’t need any kind of interruption. Anything that might put off the thing you’ve been pining for so badly for so long. But you definitely don’t need the interruption to come hurling up the stairs, drunk and careless and ready to fight.

So you bite your lip til it bleeds. A hot wave of pleasure erupts from your core, and spreads through you like a wildfire. Fuck. Those damn fingers.

Before you can even catch your breath, while your muscles are still twitching from your orgasm, his forearms find their way to either side of your face and he pushes inside of you once again.

“Ohmygod,”

You’re soaking. Both of you can hear it. The sounds of your slick, wet cunt perfectly taking every single thrust. So wet. And all for him.

“Ohmygod,” you repeat, nails raking down his back as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle to something otherworldly. Heaven or paradise or whatever utopia you can think up, couldn’t even compare. Not to this. Not to him. The way his cock kisses your cervix with every snap of his hips. The way his hands are roaming over your body. Trying to touch every square inch he can. The way he’s whispering all that dirty praise, telling you how good you feel. How wet you are for him. How fucking perfect you are. For him. The way he kisses the leg propped up on his shoulder, leaning back to admire what a mess he’s made out of his best friends daughter. So pretty and perfect. All flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat coating your chest. Eyes glossed over in complete and utter ecstasy.

Nothing can compare.

“Rick, I- I-” your voice keeps catching in your throat.

“What? What is it?”

“Rick I- uh,” Ricks thumb runs over your bottom lip, dragging it out.

“I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hushed but your words don’t go unnoticed. Your grip tightens on his shoulders as his long fingers make their way down your body, pushing down on your lower stomach. It’s an intense pressure, sweet and comforting and so fucking enraptured that it brings tears to your eyes.

“God, you’re so pretty. Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock. ” He coaxes it out of you. Sultry moans leave your lips as you both reach your climax. Locking your leg around his waist as he fills you with his seed. Dipping down to press a passionate kiss to your mouth. Tongue tracing your own as his hips stutter to a stop. Heavy breathing with your chests pressed together. Thigh muscles straining from the angle but you can’t find it in you to care. Too overwhelmed by such an incredible high.

He whispers your name against your lips.

“Yeah?” You’re out of breath, doe eyes glancing up at him like he’s some kind of god.

“You are so fucking perfect.”

You know that while he means it, it’s not what he really wants to say. As if it might scare you off if he speaks the truth. If he tells you what he’s really thinking. It won’t. But he doesn’t know that.

Slowly, he pulls out of you. You can’t help but wince at the loss of contact. Leaned back on his knees, Rick tucks himself back into his jeans, forgetting all about his belt at the hypnotic sight of his cum dripping out of you. Both of you too caught up in the moment to think about a condom. And too blissed out now to find it in yourselves to care. His fingers trace through the warm liquid. You find yourself flinching at the sensitivity when he brushes over your clit.

“I’ll uh- I’ll grab a washcloth. Just- stay here, ok?”

You smile up at him. So predictably sweet and caring and clearly starting to overthink as he comes down from his high. Mind racing with “what if’s” and the overwhelming fear that you might regret it. Regret him.

But you don’t.

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he starts to stand up, heading for the bathroom to clean you up. To take care of you.

“Can we go again?”

A flash of surprise and then a wave of relief washes over his face as he sits back down.

“Jesus, kid.” He smiles and settles back in between your legs.

Right where he belongs.

-

taglist- @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @miinbun @murder-jacket @ankhmutes @grimesthinker @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @whatthefuuuck @olive3oil @taylormarieee @imyourbratzdoll @fanngirl19 @spidermonkey2423 @belaballs @virtualreader @darylsdix0nn @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @cavillsgirl105 @movidita @flomrpus @summergirl37

(crossed out means I couldn’t tag)

[joelscruff]

one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART ONE

hi there ! i'm new to the tlou fandom but not new to fic, and watching the show over the past few months inspired me to return to fic writing. the idea for this has been milling around in my head for a good chunk of time now and i finally felt ready to put pen to paper and get this thing started. i've already posted this to ao3 if you prefer that medium, but i'll also be posting it here now. let me know what you think!

summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (this part is not explicit but this fic will be) warnings: (for future parts) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink - will add more as fic progresses word count: about 2.6k

You don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

It started about a month ago, after all the shit that happened with that monster, David. After Ellie had decided she wanted to start sleeping alone.

It hadn't really been a conscious decision on her part, but you'd noticed that first night how she'd distanced herself from you and Joel when it was time to sleep. She'd curled up against the far wall of the basement with barely a word, shutting herself off entirely while you'd tended to Joel's injury. Prior to this – ever since Joel was stabbed – Ellie had started sleeping at his side, head on his chest, listening to his heart and hoping against all hope that it kept beating. You'd slept a few feet away, hoping desperately for the same thing.

After David, she avoided physical contact entirely. You and Joel wordlessly understood, though you could tell it alarmed and concerned him. Though he'd been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks you know he'd become accustomed to having her at his side, curled into him with that familiar daughterly affection he'd been missing for twenty years. Seeing her ultimately decide that she no longer wanted that closeness, probably feared it, distressed him greatly.

“Fuckin' bastard,” Joel had murmured to himself that first night as you cleaned his wound – you'd learned what to do from watching Ellie, “I'll fucking kill him.”

“Shhh,” you'd hushed him, keeping your voice low in case Ellie was still awake, “He's dead and gone, she took care of it.”

“Shouldn't have had to,” he'd hissed, “Fuckin' bastard.”

He'd slept poorly. You knew because every so often you'd hear him mutter something else to himself about David between short fits of sleep. You didn't sleep much either, partly because in the wake of Ellie's sudden distance it was now your job to monitor Joel's wound, but also because you felt the same way Joel did. The thought of that monster... what he'd done to Ellie and what he'd tried to do... you'd never felt so much disdain and hatred for one person in your life. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was the look on her blood-spattered face when you'd both found her, the way she'd barely been able to speak... you could only imagine how much worse the images behind Ellie's eyelids were.

So she slept alone now, which meant Joel slept alone.

For a little while, that is.

-

After a few days of short spurts of travel and staying in more abandoned houses (Joel wasn't well enough to walk much, though he tried to deny it, much to the frustration of you and Ellie) you'd set up camp on the outskirts of a small community. Ellie hadn't talked much and Joel hadn't been fully in his right mind since you left that first house, so the decision-making had fallen to you for the time being. Truthfully, you were done with the mouldy mattresses and hard concrete of those suburban basements, the smell of rotting food and being bothered by mice and cockroaches while you tried – and failed – to fall asleep. Neither Joel nor Ellie argued when you suggested setting up a campsite in the woods for a change of scenery.

The snow had melted quite a bit and there hadn't been anything fresh in almost a week, the temperature rising rapidly the further you walked. The idea of sleeping underneath the stars again with fresh air in your lungs and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was enough to keep you going that day. That night, you'd watched as Joel made a fire with the materials you'd collected, Ellie already bundled up inside her sleeping bag a few meters away.

“Hey, you sure you're not gonna be cold over there?” you'd called to her gently, already knowing the answer.

“I'm good,” she'd replied, sounding earnest enough, “If I get cold I'll move.”

You'd sighed quietly, turning back toward the fire. Joel was blowing lightly on some kindling, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You used this rare moment of him being distracted to analyze his face; the dark circles beneath his eyes had been growing more prominent over the past few days, and he'd gotten into the unconscious habit of blinking very slowly, like he was always just a few seconds from sleep. You'd never seen him look this exhausted.

“You need to sleep,” you'd murmured, and his eyes had snapped up to meet yours instantly, “I'm serious, Joel, you look...”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” you shifted your eyesight to the fire, lifting your hands to warm your palms, “You look like you haven't slept in days, which you literally haven't, by the way.”

“I've slept,” he'd grunted, turning his attention back to the fire as well.

“Yeah, for maybe twenty minutes at a time.”

“Well, maybe if I wasn't bein' woken up every twenty minutes by you checking if I'm still breathin',” his voice was hard and cold, but you were used to it.

“Don't be dramatic,” you'd snapped back, “I check you maybe twice a night now, if even that. Sorry for wanting to make sure you're okay.” The last few words had come out shakier than you'd intended.

He'd inhaled deeply, and you could see him looking at you again in your peripheral vision, “You're right, I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole. As usual.”

“You're not an asshole,” you'd muttered, “you're tired. And so am I.”

You'd sat together in silence for a few moments before Joel had reached behind him for his pack, digging out the blanket he'd started using in lieu of his old sleeping bag. He'd decided to leave that behind; it was what you and Ellie had used to get him back to that first house, the one Callus had dragged across the icy terrain with a bloodied and near-death Joel as its only occupant. He'd pissed himself in it, which he'd attributed as the main reason for leaving it. But you knew the truth: he'd spent too long wrapped up inside of it during that period of time to ever get a good night's sleep from it again. It needed to be put out of its misery.

Both you and Ellie had offered to give him your own but he refused every time, repeatedly stating that the blanket Ellie had found was warm enough, if not even warmer than the sleeping bag had been. You honestly didn't know if he was telling the truth, but he gave you no choice but to believe him.

“You take first watch, then.” he said quietly, “We're out in the open again, gonna have to stay alert.”

“Got it,” you were a bit embarrassed by your brief moment of vulnerability, but you'd quickly busied yourself with picking up the rifle to hold it in your lap.

You'd watched as he spread out the blanket on the ground, carefully kneeling down and wincing at the pull of his stitches. He laid down on the edge of it, then reached over and pulled the other side over his body like a makeshift sleeping bag. Sighing contentedly, he'd closed his eyes.

Despite how much older than you he was, the word adorable couldn't help but cross your mind.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled quietly to you, and you'd forced yourself to look down at the rifle so he wouldn't catch you staring.

“Night, Joel.”

-

You'd quickly learned that Joel's new blanket was in fact not warmer than his sleeping bag. After a few hours of keeping watch, you decided to check on both Ellie and Joel to make sure they were doing alright. Ellie was fast asleep and didn't look to be shivering or experiencing a bad night's sleep; she actually looked more peaceful than you'd seen her for a long time. You'd smiled fondly, fighting back the urge to push her hair out of her eyes; she'd made things very clear and you weren't going to overstep.

You wandered over to Joel and the contrast between he and Ellie was staggering; there was no peace here. He was wide awake, shivering ferociously and hunched in on himself with his hands cupped around his mouth as he blew on them for warmth.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you'd immediately dropped the rifle and leaned down to him, “why the fuck didn't you tell me you were freezing?”

It actually wasn't a very cold night, but the combination of Joel's thin blanket, his injury, and the fact that he was overwhelmingly exhausted were just making everything ten times worse. He also hadn't slept outside for weeks. You immediately began to regret the decision to camp tonight.

“Hold on,” you'd said quickly, scrambling back up to grab your own sleeping bag. You unzipped it so it was wide, then draped it over Joel's shivering form, “I'm gonna give you some body heat, okay? Don't make it weird.” You'd only said the last part because you knew he would protest.

You'd crawled underneath both layers of material and without any hesitation wrapped your arms around Joel, ignoring his shaky mutterings of “I'm okay” and “you don't need to”. He'd surrendered very quickly, relaxing into your embrace as you ran your hands up and down his arms at the fastest pace you could muster. You alternated between his arms and hands, taking them in yours and rubbing your palms against them like you were trying to start a fire, huffing hot breath against his skin. Beneath the blanket, you entwined your legs with his, pulling his socked feet against your ankles and trapping them there to warm them up.

It only took a few moments for the heavy shakes to stop and for Joel's breath to even out again. Despite this, you stayed where you were and kept doing what you could to keep his temperature stable. As he warmed up, he began to feel more like himself; he was no longer a cold statue but the warm and solid man you'd come to recognize, and you were hyper-aware of the fact that despite spending so much time with each other you'd never actually been this close to him. His arms, strong and steady beneath his coat, the same arms that carried around that heavy pack all day, the arms that cradled the rifle, they now laid loose and tender under your touch. His hands, calloused and rough around the edges but soft at the palms, the same hands that set the fire still burning a few feet away, the hands that once held his daughter and had learned to hold Ellie's – and now yours, feeling like in some way they belonged there.

You'd known you felt something for Joel, but you'd never realized how strong and real that something was until it was literally in your embrace.

Without speaking you'd laid your head on his chest, closing your eyes and doing your damnedest to fight back the sudden tears that were threatening to well up. Holy shit, was all you could think, a warmth you'd never felt in your entire life radiating in your chest and somehow extending toward him. Holy fucking shit. It was like time had stopped and all you could feel was him.

You'd looked up at his face, needing to see if he felt it too, felt you the way you felt him, but your eyes widened slightly when you saw that his were closed, mouth slightly agape. There it was, that peace you'd seen on Ellie's face, now transferred to Joel's. For a brief second you felt panic, but it was immediately interrupted by the light snore that emitted from his open mouth. He'd fallen asleep.

And a few moments later, so had you.

-

That was the first night you'd slept solid without waking up even once. Not just since Joel had been stabbed, but since the pandemic had started to begin with. You can't recall ever having such a peaceful, dreamless, absolutely soul-refreshing sleep. And neither had Joel; when you woke the next morning he was still fast asleep in your embrace, that peaceful expression still sculpted on his face like he was a living Michelangelo. In the night you'd only gotten closer to him, legs still entwined and head still on his chest. The only difference was that your arms had obviously stopped their rapid movements to keep him warm, and they'd ended up snaked around his torso, the palm of your left hand laying flat against the hot skin of his waist, just above where his stitches were.

Maybe you should have pulled away when you realized, gotten up and pretended it didn't happen. The thought did cross your mind, but then Joel had shuffled a bit in his sleep and you'd become aware of the fact that his arms were around you, hand pressed flush against your bare back underneath your jacket and shirt, holding you to him. And that was enough to make you stay.

About fifteen minutes later, he'd woken up.

He didn't flinch or yank himself away when he realized the position you were in. He'd blinked slowly at you, and you'd peered up at him just as quietly. His lips had parted and then closed again, as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, he just kept staring at you, and you started to feel his hand on your back slowly and tenderly stroke the skin there. In return, you gently brushed your thumb against the bare skin of his waist. It was a moment that felt like it went on forever, both of you touching those small intimate parts of each other without saying so much as one word.

You felt butterflies in your belly when the hint of a smile twitched at his mouth, and you smiled back, sleepy and soft. You never wanted to leave this small piece of existence. You just wanted him to keep looking at you like that, his gaze holding yours with an expression you could only describe as contentedness. You'd never seen him look so relaxed; the dark circles had faded and even the lines on his face had receded into his skin. He looked younger, healthier, like all the bad things that had happened to him had vanished in one good sleep.

“Uggghhhh,” Ellie moaned a few meters away, and both your heads snapped in her direction. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, back facing you. You could see her arms stretching above her head as she began her typical morning wake-up routine: stretch, groan, flop, repeat.

Without saying anything you'd both untangled yourselves simultaneously before she could see the sleeping arrangement you'd found yourselves in. The loss of warmth and familiarity was palpable as you quickly stood up and grabbed the rifle, walking over to the now completely burnt out fire. Joel silently folded up his blanket and your sleeping bag behind you, then muttered something about needing to look for more shit to burn.

That's how it started.

And you don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

[pigfartsviatardis]

Was discussing queerbaiting recently with a friend because we’re watching Once Upon A Time (trash, but shockingly well written trash in the first 3 seasons) and obs we both ship swan queen. I mean. Come on.

But we noticed that from the start of s3 onwards, there was noticeably less shippy stuff between these two. There’s still a bit here and there because a) lesbian mums and b) chemistryyyy… but it felt like the writers were intentionally backing off from that pairing and putting genuine effort into the male love interests for both characters.

You might think that becalming the swan queen ship would have annoyed or disappointed my friend and myself, the shippers. But tbh we both agreed that it was actually nice to see a writing team see a popular queer fandom ship, go ‘oh whoops that’s not endgame’, and actively NOT bait it.

Obviously everyone here is aware of the Golden Age Of Queerbaiting, the late 2000s/early 2010s; even if you’re too young to have actually battled through it, it’s deep tumblr lore. We all know the repeat and egregious offenders from that time - destiel, merthur, johnlock, whatever the main one was on teen wolf - and how gleefully these shows would dangle queer rep in front of our twitching little noses.

Recently, I’ve noticed a more insidious trend: the Male Friendship Scarcity Myth. The most glaring recent examples are nandermo (WWDITS) and jayvik (arcane), both of which were popular ships after the first season(s) of their shows aired and were subsequently given increased screen time and shippy scenes/storylines. In the case of nandermo, the romantic feelings (at least from Guillermo) were textual. Both pairings were given ambiguous endings where they were together, but not confirmed as, yknow, together.

And then both showrunners, after the shows ended, decided to step up to the mic and give a heartfelt little speech along the lines of ‘men are allowed to be friends without it being sexual, and it’s actually really important that we show this, because we need more representation of close platonic brotherly male friendship in media’.

Anyone who was around during the aforementioned Golden Age Of Queerbaiting, or in fact anyone who consumes popular media at all, knows that this is horseshit.

It’s only ever close platonic brotherly male friendship. Or at least, 95% of the time. Everywhere you look, from major fandom shows to mcu movies, platonic male relationships are often front and centre. That’s nearly always the canon. How often does a major mlm ship actually go canon??? Hardly ever. Even destiel didn’t; cas’s feelings were confirmed last minute, but the official canon dynamic between him and dean is still brotherly bffs.

Are these friendships often the subject of intense fandom shipping? Yes, as literally any close relationship between any two characters of any gender always will be. People like shipping! But the official canon, and the gospel truth held up by poorly disguised homophobes in fandom, is nearly always strictly platonic bros.

Anyway. All this to say, I’ve been disillusioned recently seeing this myth pop up in every comments section on any jayvik-related content, that we have a lack of male friendship in media (we don’t, we have a lack of male friendship that isn’t queer coded to super turbo gay hell and back in media). I was even more disillusioned seeing the exact same rhetoric being spewed by those involved with WWDITS, which is ironically a show jam packed full of close male friendships THAT INVOLVE CASUAL SEX. The call was truly coming from inside the coffin on that one.

So, unexpectedly and somewhat depressingly, swan queen and OUAT have been a balm for the soul in the midst of all this. No queerbaiting (at least not where I’m up to), just good old fashioned straightwashing. At least it’s honest 🤷‍♀️

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Lost and Found (dp x dc)

Alfred sighed as he looked over the wide gymnasium, thinking to himself that he shouldn’t have listened to Leslie. Community service was all well and good as a way to connect with people, but overseeing an inter-school bakery-sale-and-science-fair combined event was proving to be more chaotic than anything else.

As another child dropped yet another just-bought desert on the floor, Alfred slunk into the shadows deciding to let the clean-up be someone else’s task for once. As he got further and further from the main hubbub, the ex(?)-butler arrived near a small exit door and snuck out quitely. As the fresh air hit his face, Alfred let out a breath. Seeing so many children around had him thinking of his charge and where he could possibly be.

The older man hadn’t brought a pack, since he’s been going to a school, but in the moment he wished he had. Sighing once again, Alfred shook off the craving as he took a few steps towards the communal school garden when the sight of a black-haired boy sitting with his back to him had him freezing. A second later his brain caught up to him, reminding him that this was not young master Bruce. The crushing disappointment he felt as he recognized the boy in front of him was much to small to be his little master Bruce surprised him by its intensity.

Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat. The noise had the figure flinching and turning their head towards the older man. Then, as the boy caught sight of the older man, he seemed to slump. Seeing that he was unlikely to speak up first, Alfred took it upon himself to start the conversation.

“Might I inquire what you are doing outside, young man?”

The boy’s shoulder slumped even more though he still answered. “Haven’t got any sweets to sell,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Alfred sounded out. “Why is that?”

“My cookies ate my homework so I had to put them down,” said the boy as he finally raised his head, long-suffering

But Alfred could only breathe a faint “Indeed?” as the boy’s features were exposed. The resemblance with master Bruce was so uncanny that the butler had trouble looking away. But as he examined him more closely he could see some minute differences. The boy didn’t have the sharp jawline both mister Wayne and master Bruce had shared. His nose was smaller than master Bruce’s and his eyes were paler than the darker blue passed down through the Wayne line. The sight of a face so similar and yet not quite like master Bruce had his mind jumping to the portrait hung above the manor’s fireplace and the face of the toddler sitting on his mother’s lap as a slightly older child stood beside her with his father’s hand on his shoulder.

Everyone had bemoaned the two-fold tragedy of the Waynes. First to lose their youngest son at such a young age, only to be themselves brutally murdered only a few months later. All was left of the previously illustrious Waynes was a grief-stricken eight-year-old who had just lost his brother and parents in such a short period of time. Alfred sighed as he remembered how angry master Bruce was at his inability to find out to this day what had happened to his brother. The man half-suspected this was how the young man had developed such an obsession with solving mysteries.

Once again having to focus back on the boy in front of him, Alfred smiled at the boy. Then, the boy’s word registered and the man let out an amused huff. “You had no choice but to put an end to that, I suppose. Cookies as spirited as yours would sell poorly in any case.”

“Oh you’ve got no idea,” muttered the young man as he pushed himself to his feet only for his hand to slip on the wet wood surrounding the gardening plots and falling face-first onto the hard wooden surface.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Alfred as he darted to assist the boy in straightening up. The boy groaned in pain as he held his nose and Alfred could see drops of red falling down.

“Here,” said the older man as he handed the boy a fabric handkerchief.

“Thanks,” the teen croaked as he accepted it.

“Put your head between your knees,” Alfred instructed. “Breathe through your mouth.”

The boy offered a thumbs-up as he complied. Alfred waited patiently by the teen as he kept the handkerchief held against his nose. After a moment, the boy held it away experimentally and when he felt no more blood flowing he turned towards Alfred.

“Thanks,” he said before he looked down at the red-stained white fabric. “I can wash it and return it if you give me a return address.”

“It’s alright,” Alfred refused. “I don’t mind washing it.”

“Thanks,” repeated the boy as he handed the older man the handkerchief back, as he got to his feet, this time more gingerly. “I best get back before my friends start looking for me.”

“Be careful on the way back,” Alfred couldn’t help saying.

The boy hummed and as he turned around for a final wave goodbye, their eyes connected and Alfred felt a jolt travel through his body. Though the pale blue of Danny’s eyes was not the distinctive shade of the Waynes, it was however identical to the color of the late Martha Wayne’s eyes. As the boy opened the exit door and disappeared in the crowd of people, Alfred looked down at the blood-stained handkerchief.

He knew there was a less than infinitesimal chance. Still. What would it hurt to make absolutely sure?

[sharklovingaquarist]

It's kinda crazy to me how many people hate their mom, especially since fathers suck so much. Like, I don't think there's many cases where a father has done more than a mother even if she's not #1 mommy robot to everyone (and is obviously a valuable woman because of it!) Yet all you hear is "my ex-mother." It always has a poorly hidden scent of gender bias in it. The emphasis on mother, not the parent aspect of it. A lot of times, it seems the word "mother" is used as an insult by people against their moms, judging by the tone they use it in. Another trend I see with the "mommy issue" crowd is blaming their mothers for their fathers abuse. The constant "she allowed him to hurt me" as if women aren't often being hurt, too. Especially with step fathers. You all focus more on the mother than the stepfather, but change it to father and stepmother, and it's still on the women. And don't get me started on emotional labor. "I was emotionally neglected" and they only blame their mother.... girl.... you do realize your father should've been providing half of that labor right? And that's exactly why they get more angry at their mom. What men lack is pinned on women.

The mommy issues crowd also love to downplay people who have issues with their father. "Well, it's just not as serious. Mommy issues change your brain chemistry 😔🥀⚰️🖤"... like, is this a "✨️trauma✨️" off to millennials and chronically online gen z queers? It just tells me everything I need to know about average parental relationships and gender roles within them. Children hurt moms, and moms hurt children, but the father who throws the kindling into the fire sits back and enjoys the show. The father is the one who hasnt lifted a single FINGER in his life, or when he has its hurt even MORE than the petty things the mother has done.

I used to be in this position. You're told that your mom is the primary parent, so everything falls on her. But I think it takes a certain maturity and self-awareness. When you get to that in between age where you are approaching being thrown into the hellscape of modern heterosexuality, you start to humanize your mother again. Start to see the trap and how she fell into it. Start to see how no human can survive it without cracking at least a bit. It gets dark. You see how you fueled a situation that could very possibly resemble your future life. You see how you saw your mother as a robot. We are taught that she's supposed to be robotic. So when the mommy persona cannot be held up... shes defective. You see how your father was just an audience member. And some women don't wake up like that. The start of internalized misogyny, within all women, is with your mother. Frankly, I'm impressed women don't murder families more than men due to the dynamic, but lord, when they do, you don't hear the end of it. It all reminds me of why I'll never allow myself to be a mother. Youre either a good girl who gets pat on the head or an evil bitch who will rot in hell.

Last time I said something like this I was called a child abuser apologist so 🤷‍♀️ ig I'll embrace it. I dont think there's no such thing as an abusive mom, but that shit is so rare compared to dad's. But yall are absolute silence on that end.

And to add on, it's the attitude with how gender changes a parents role. People see mothers as someone who services, while fathers are someone to be proud of. Mommy loves me and daddy is cool and proud. Women are not cherished within the dynamic, we are just taken from. So, Imma be real, when I hear someone talk about how they cut their mother off because of this new wave of "parents (and by that we mean moms) have to be perfect and you have every right to cut them off!" I automatically assume it's some petty shit. Yall see moms as hivemind maids. Any little screw up means she's not your servant. Meanwhile ur dad could slam you into a wall and he's dad of the year haha you know how dad's are. MOMMY YOU HAVE TO BE MY EMOTIONLESS ROBOT WHILST ALSO PUTTING ON THE MOST RIDICULOUS EMOTIONAL PERSONA IN THE WORLD YOU REVOLVE MEEEEEEE 🥺

[kjwaikiki]

Joffron ahead, au idea where Joffrey and Daeron grow up together:

He hadn’t been paying attention.

Joffrey thinks that he can be forgiven for forgetting where he was and trusting in his family’s ability to overlook him when he actually needed them to. His family often forgot about him when he wasn’t in their direct line of sight.

He isn’t bitter about that fact, has had 18 years to come to terms with the fact that while his family loves him they usually have something else taking up their time. Luke’s relationship drama, Jace’s latest achievement, Baela’s latest stunt, Rhaena’s infrequent updates from the Vale, or even just the latest childhood milestone with Aegon and Viserys.

Joffrey loves his mom, his siblings, and his stepfather but being the middle child with an age gap between each set of children means that Joffrey often was left in a weird space where he was either too old or too young to participate in what his siblings were doing. It often left him with a lot of free time and little supervision and with the constant drama his family’s life has been since he was a toddler his parents are too busy putting out fires to ask why he was out so late or why he was wearing a high necked blouse in June.

Which is why he is so disgruntled that his parents freaked out over what he deemed to be none of their business. Joffrey has been ….. involved with Daeron since he was 14 and while nothing happened until he was 17 that was more Daeron’s decision than his. Joffrey has always had to coax and nudge Daeron into doing anything beyond cuddling and a few chaste kisses which might be why they are in this mess in the first place.

Joffrey hadn’t stopped to think about where they were or who was watching when he tugged Daeron into a spare room in the Red Keep after a disastrous family dinner. All Joffrey could think about was how the light from the candles and torches bounced off of Daeron’s wavy hair or how his eyes softened whenever he caught Joffrey staring at him. The need to kiss the man he loved was like a physical ache under his skin so he hadn’t stopped to scan the room to see who was looking before he pulled Daeron away.

This was a mistake as both his parents, his older siblings, uncles, and Lady Alicent all barged in on them as Daeron was working the ties to his shirt open. Joffrey had long done away with Daeron’s shirt by tearing it down the middle and casting the sides away and was kissing his lover’s neck when they were rudely interrupted.

Joffrey didn’t quite realize just how poorly his parents would take the whole event due to the aforementioned lack of supervision. He figured Daemon would rant about him being with a Hightower and mother would make threatening eyes at Daeron as she used her son’s relationship to have another fight with Lady Alicent. Instead Joffrey was greeted to stony silence and his stepfather tugging him up off of Daeron rather harshly.

He was rushed out of the room, out of the Red Keep quickly after that, barely able to get a single glance back at Daeron sitting on the ground surrounded by the Greens before Daemon and mother hustled him through the hallways and to the dragon pit. It wasn’t until they arrived back at Dragonstone that Joffrey got the first inkling that he was not going to be able to maneuver his way out of this situation.

Joffrey had always figured that when his parents did find out it would be in the midsts of a crisis that eclipsed any misgivings about his relationship with Daeron. He figured he would have to avoid and subvert the conversation for a week or two before the next family drama inevitably pulled their focus away.

This was not the case now. The family dinner had not gone well but there had been no real crisis to demand his parents attention. Standing in front of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen now with his older siblings lining the walls like pale spectators at a tourney Joffrey felt the need to reevaluate how he was going to tackle this problem.

Of course Daemon didn’t give him the chance.

“How long has this been going on?”

As soon as the word were out of his stepfather’s mouth Rhaenyra whipped her head to stare at Daemon in mute shock.

“Surely this has not been going on long.”

It was not a question so much as a desperate grasp for confirmation and even as his mother stared at her husband Joffrey knew it was addressed to him.

In this instance Joffrey decided discretion was the better part of valor.

“We have been intimate with each other since I turned 17.”

Something flickered behind Daemon’s eyes as he stared at him. Joffrey fought the urge to fidget.

Surprisingly the next person to speak wasn’t either one of his parents but Jace.

“Aegon told me that you are Daeron used to disappear together, as far back as when you were 13.”

Joffrey stared at his brother, the firm set of his jaw and scanned the rest of his siblings. They had all lined themselves behind Jace as if they were soldiers heading to battle with Baela and Rhaena on either side of Jace and Luke slightly behind his older brother’s left shoulder.

There would be no getting out of this now/

“We’ve been …. involved since I was 14 but nothing ….. drastic until I was 17.”

Everyone turned their eyes to him at that and Joffrey struggled to keep his eyes fixed on the way his mother’s braid trailed over her right shoulder the ends almost touching the red embroidered dragon by her waist.

“You’re too young.” His mother’s feeble voice caused him to glance at her eyes. The worry and even slight regret inflamed Joffrey’s temper that had slowly built on the the journey back to Dragonstone into a roaring fire.

“I am a man grown,” he grit out, and before he could stop himself spat “it is far to late to start meddling in my affairs now mother. Maybe 5 years ago you would have been successful but not now.”

His mother stared at him with a deep hurt swimming in her violet eyes, but before she could utter a word Daemon voice chilled the room:

“You would pick that Hightower runt over your family.”

His next words came out closer to a dragon’s roar than anything human.

“HE IS MY FAMiLY! When the squires would wait after training to ambush me Daeron was the one who saw to my bruises and showed me how to fight back against multiple opponents so they would never get the better of me again! When that Pentoshi merchant made remarks about how I’d make a fine bride and tried to force some foul ale down my throat Daeron was the one to threaten to geld him should he ever so much as look at me!”

With each sentence his parents and siblings seemed to shrink and press away from him to the outskirts of the room, but that only added fuel to the fire as more words burst forth.

“He was the one who came up with me on my first flight with Tyraxes. Daeron was the one to sneak me sweets and insist I take the maester’s concoctions when I was sick three winter’s ago. Daeron was the one to”

“ENOUGH!” His mother’s voice pierced through his tirade:

“Enough Joffrey.” Her voice was worn like a pierce of cloth made translucent after too many washes. She was crying, and suddenly Joffrey realized he was crying too:

As his mother approached him with hands outstretched towards his wet cheeks it all became too much. Joffrey felt outnumbered and overwhelmed like he had stood too close to the Sept’s bells as they rung and now his whole world was vibrating.

Before his mother could touch him he turned and fled through the hallways and back to his typical quarters in Dragonstone. He barred the door and pressed his shaking hands to his face and he sun down to the ground.

Joffrey stayed there on the ground as his family came and banged on his door. He heard his mother shouting for the guards before Daemon convinced her to let him be. Eventually his family petered off after there was no response from Joffrey for hours.

Eventually a single bright line came in the guise of a letter slipped under his door before the hour of the wolf. He broke the blue wax seal embossed with two twirling dragons. He scanned the letter quickly before standing up and casting it into the fire. As the parchment was consumed by flames Joffrey wondered if mother and Kepa’s Valyria wedding robes were still in the trunk in his mother’s solar.

[asheepinfrance]

i felt like trying out angst and decided on this. art was second on the poll so he was my victim oops. but also so are you! double homicide. anyways, like usual, please feel free to let me know any comments, critiques, concerns and/or silly little anecdotes. If you have any tips on how to properly express pain without sounding as goofy as this does, drop. that. shit. I'll be needing it. Thanks :)

He did this just about every time this happened, and it happened quite a bit. The routine has become well-worn the way a childhood stuffed animal does, fading what-used-to-be pinks and pastels now spattered brown with age. You’ve both got it down to the finest details: Art meets girl, he does his usual courtship strategy (following her around like a lost puppy), they go on a date that’s never followed up with a second one, and he cries into your lap about it. He claims he loves them, not that he knows exactly what that means. He certainly loves things, it’s not that that’s the issue. He loves tennis, Patrick, his grandma, you, and that’s all fine. He can never seem to pinpoint what being in love was, he just assumed he was smart enough to know. Most things came naturally to him, so why shouldn’t this?

He always apologizes when his breaths are no longer heaving, when he’s stopped wetting the cotton of your shorts with his tears and probably just a bit of snot. You always tell him not to worry, it’s not a problem, you love taking care of him and that’s all true. There is a problem, though, and it’s that this routine is about two seconds from driving you mental. You and Art have one key difference when it comes to this little dance: Art thinks he knows what love is and doesn’t, you know exactly what it is and you know he’ll never feel it back. So when he leaves, like he always does, with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and a kiss to the cheek, you have to close your eyes and pretend. Pretend to be this month’s object of affection. The latest Emily, Jessica, or whatever it may be that catches his attention.

For all your life, you can’t understand how Art doesn’t see what you do. Not necessarily in yourself, but in the two of you. After all, you two were always matching each other in some way. He found your dry humor hilarious, you found yourself giggling at just about every other word he said. He sought you out for comfort like you were a lifeline, you held him like it was a gift to have that privilege. And he knows this, because it’s what, in his head, makes you such a great friend.

When Art starts telling you about some girl named Tashi, you assume that the case will be a similar one. You prepare yourself to suit the name of Tashi, the way you’ve prepared yourself to suit all these other names. All these girls who don’t quite understand that his awkwardness is charming, and his sometimes poorly timed jokes are endearing. It almost kills you when he comes back from that stupid date and he wasn’t crying. He was beaming like he’d just seen the most gorgeous thing in the world. According to him, he had. When he sat himself on the edge of your bed, rambling on and on with moving hands and gleaming eyes, about how wonderful his stupid, saccharine life was, you pretended to listen. You gave him courtesy nods and little ‘Wow, she sounds great’s because that’s what a good, normal-feeling friend does, and he doesn’t seem to care that there’s no sign of you actually paying attention. You sit and stare at your full-length mirror, and observe. You grab your hair into a ponytail, turn side to side, observe the curve of your jaw, and decide that you’d never suit the name Tashi.

Tashi lasted months. Tashi never spoke to you outside of greetings. Tashi never laughed at him the way you did, and you could see it deflate his spirit just a little, though he’d regain it if she just looked his way. You wanted to hate her so badly, but you couldn’t. She’d done nothing wrong, technically, besides take from you what was never yours to keep. But it was yours to hold and covet during late-night movie watches, extra meal credit binge lunches, nights spent stargazing when the sky was just clear enough. He claimed to have never really noticed the stars until you made him look their way. He felt like he was yours to have in those moments of visible breaths in cold air. The worst part of it was that you understood where he was coming from, as much as you didn’t want to. She had something intangible to her, and everyone could feel it the second she walked into a room. He told you he loved her and you finally thought he was right. He told you, later that week, that they had gone stargazing when he told her so and you didn’t get a wink of sleep.

You stopped waiting on dreams that eluded you. You stopped waiting on Art to come to his senses, or maybe he had. Maybe that epiphany had been Tashi. For your own sake, you hope it was. At least she seemed worth the pain it’d cause you. Still, Tashi and Art fizzled out on their own time, not that you stayed to watch that fire burn out. Art texted you, as he always did, when they ended things, amicably and painfully bittersweet. ‘Out with friends sorry :))’ was your response, sent from the corner booth of some bar that you didn’t really want to be in. He finally started caring that night.

You and Art always matched, and he’d always noticed. He supported you in everything you did, you were front row to each and every one of his matches, screaming your head off. You bring him the pencils he always forgets to grab for notes, he brings you that spearmint gum you always snag a piece of from his room. You’d been in love with him, and he’d only just found that capacity to love you back.

You and Art always matched, even at the worst of times, because he saw the way you look at him lose that softness he’d always felt so protected by. He saw the way that mystery guy took the seat across from you at the table you both used to eat in every night, and you didn’t seem to fight him off. He saw that he got the permission to lean over and press a less-than-satisfying looking kiss to your lips, and he didn’t feel hungry anymore. You and Art always matched, because you had been left hanging in your love for him, and he was now stranded in his love for you.

[milklovesbyler]

HOW AND WHY AND WHEN DID THE BYLER REALISATION HIT ME - RANT

okay this is long so skip to S4 section for the more interesting stuff/when i found out about byler!

hii okay my first post on this blog! im still pretty new to tumblr but learned that u can have multiple blogs and my mind is blown. i also have an art blog i post on once a millenia @milkymetari !

Ive been a stranger things fan since 2019 when i was 13!

So i started watching stranger things in 2019 after season 3 had came out and the series peaked my interest, ive always been a fan of scifi stuff and oh boy stranger things is so cool and (mostly) well written!

When i say i LOVED mileven im not kidding, I WAS OBSESSED. On the outside theyre a picture perfect cute teenage couple, and my idealisation of that (and cmon guys eleven is like the coolest character ever) and els badassness and powers, i loved mileven.

I mean as a concept their relationship is really cute if we read it as that but yeah i do NOT ship them anymore like that 😭

Yeah i remember myself sometimes wondering about the weird things in their relationship (the way they dont share almost any interests, only kiss and mikes weird actions) but i think due to heteronormativity (toxic ships are wayy too normalized also in lgbt media) and how poorly usually female characters (but in this case mike lmao) and their relationships are written in media so i guess i had just grown to try not to care, and yeah i was just 13.

So honestly i didnt see/know byler back then AT ALL! I grew up as a semi homophobic kid because thats what i was taught, but around the time i started watching ST i grew as a person a lot and i realised maybe my ass isnt as straight as i thought ☠️ Honestly wish i did know about byler since i think seeing mikes struggles (and wills) wouldve helped me a lot! 💔

I didnt think too deeply about any media i consumed at that age, and i was already used to just not care about bad writing so i thought flaws in mileven were normal writing mistakes etc. Or how the byler fight was clearly more intense than the mileven break up 😭😭

But again i did not catch onto it.

ST 4 in 2022!!

So the year is 2022 and i excitesly watch season 4 part 1. I usually try to avoid spoilers etc on the internet so i kept myself away from st tiktok and other platforms. After i finished it i saw like a shit ton of edits of all the characters and speculation about the last 2 eps.. THEN somewhere around that time it happened, i stumbled upon byler.

okay first, i need to talk about mileven a bit, the first few episodes it was sweet, but it was obvious el was lying and unhappy, i was hoping that mike would grow and learn to be a better boyfriend and theyd end up back together.

so about byler, first i thought it was like any other ship as usual and i wasnt as blind to homoerotic chemistry anymore so it wasnt anything new or surpricing.

well, what was surpricing was HOW FUCKING BLIND I HAD BEEN TO HOW MIKE AND WILL ACTED

i mean i was confused while watching part 1 for the first time but closeness between the two was nothing unusual, and mike lashing out on will had already happened in s3 too, but yeah i was so flabbergasted and embarrased how i hadnt noticed 😭 like girl, the lip staring, yearning gazes and awkward conversations

down the rabbit hole i went and hehe😈 i got my bestie into it too and she was like omg ur so right we both agree they are endgame bbecause like theres so much evidence its not a coincidence.

ill probably make a separate post on some of the genious thoughts we had about mileven and byler in 2022 lol

i hope someone read this all, thank you <3

[w0rldclassjelly]

An Extensive Essay About Childe...by me, Jelly :]

warnings: I can be a bit mean to him, all out of love ofc!, discussion of traumas, SPOILERS for the Liyue and Fontaine Archon Quests, info on the Abyss, and obvi his lore ^^7

I do my best to keep everything as accurate to his canonical lore, but I do sprinkle in my own opinions and conclusions sometimes!! Unless I say it is canon or in game, take everything i say with some salt, and do your own research if you are interested in his story and lore!

-Topic Divider: His History and Current Being-

Even after falling into the Abyss as a child, a plane with Teyvat's strongest monsters, and being sent to the [technical, the Fatui seems to be structured a lot like a real life military, serving their country (in this case, The Tsaritsa too)] military to calm his energy and for his own goal of getting stronger, he never mentions having a close bond with anyone but his family, mainly his siblings.

He looks to be very friendly and loyal to those he considers himself close to, but in his mind, it's all fueled by the desire to get stronger. He wouldn't have met anyone in the Archon Quests, and even beyond them!, if it wasn't for his liking of fighting and want for violence after all! Though, seeing as the Traveler/MC always gets tied up in everyone's issues, it would be inevitable anyway ^^7

I do not believe we have a canon age for him, but considering he is the youngest ever Harbinger, and he is old enough to drink [i think 21 is a good age for it to be legal to drink!], I think of him as about 24! So, before the events of the Liyue Archon Quest, he was really just doing his own thing, by himself. How was this any different than being in the Abyss?

In both instances, he is alone, has a desire to be stronger than he was at the time, with only himself to fully rely on. He doesn't have much time to spend with his family, seeing as he is a Harbinger, a high position in the Fatui. And regardless of what his lore in game states, I don't think he likes any of it.

I strongly believe that if he wasn't as strong as he is [which is very much so! Do not forget he has the gall to pick fights with anyone! Most people wouldn't have the self confidence to go through with that ^_^ Plus, he has the goal to take over the world because of the challenges it poses for him. He LOVES to challenge himself], His fellow Harbingers would kill him. They don't seem to like him, they as in the ones we have heard from. Arlecchino speaks poorly of him, Skirk, even if we don't know too much about her, doesn't look to care for him at all, tossing him thru her weird portal at the end of the Fontaine Quest like he is actual trash. And hearing his voicelines on his colleagues, he doesn't seem to care much for them either, speaking of them like they're scary, actually evil, or up to something. He's only there to get strong after all. BUT, I can understand why the others wouldn't like him.

The Harbingers, as individuals, have gone through nothing but hardships and traumas in their lives. They are, from what we have seen so far, cold and hardened by what they have gone through, they will never have a chance to live a normal life, especially not so because of their Harbinger status. But Childe? He does his best to be happy with his life. He loves, care for his family while he is away, and takes good care of those he keeps close to his heart. He cooks and cleans and watches performances, even joining in on them! He is trying to remain happy despite his trauma [that, in my opinion, his lore bits and personal quest doesn't touch on well >:( ]

Another bit I would like to add is about his eyes. In every picture of him, whether in game model or artwork, he has no shine in his eyes. While I don't really know whyyyy, he is the only character like that [A bit of a lie! Skrik, the one who trained him in the Abyss has none either. But by a shine, i mean the white orb that most anime type characters have, and many beyond anime ^^ Skirk DOES have a vibrant pink crest in her eyes, giving some sort of life to her eyes. But that's more than Childe has!!!! He has nothing, just normal eye things, an iris and pupil. No light or shine, no matter how wide his eyes will ever be.

-Topic Divider: Archon Quests-

In every Archon Quest, fate is always cruel to him. In Liyue, his efforts were always in vail to complete his mission to get the Gnosis. He failed to do so, so much so that another Harbinger had to step in and do it for him. It not only hurt his pride as a warrior and Harbinger, but knowing he failed at the one thing he was told by the Tsarista herself, I can't imagine that felt good on his psyche.

The Fontaine Archon Quest [which was obvious PEAK] was worse for him, in my opinion. He said he wasn't feeling well to the Traveler, and that he went to Fontaine to help himself. e even scheduled a duel with the best Champion Duelist in Fontaine in an attempt to regain his fervor. Hs Vision, an item of people given by the gods to beings that hold strong values or goals, stopped working??? A while later, he is placed in PRISION [it really is a good story quest! But I wont get into why he was imprisoned, it just wasn't his fault ;D], and broke out, because he heard something calling for him. After escaping, he ended up in the Primordial Sea, a place where I think is very similar to the Abyss. And he met the All Devouring Narwhal.

This creature is a powerful one, and one engraved on his very being. He saw and dreamt of it while in the Abyss as a child, something he tells the Traveler at the beginning of the quest. All the whale knows is eat and destroy. hmm.... A beast that only knows to devour tear, cause chaos, and it considered unruly and not a "good pet to have" by Skrik....how curious! And it's his constellation, something personal to every character in the game? He mimics it in his weekly boss fight, he is always shown and drawn with it, or it even represents him in some cases? Hm.

-Topic Divider: End of the essay and His Future-

As someone who has held this man in a vice grip ever since he was shown on screen, I can believe that he needs a close companion. Not a friend or buddy, and not a romantic partner [i do still like to look at ships! don't be mad at me >.<], but someone that will listen to him. One who will care for him beyond his strength and status as a Harbinger. One that will be willing to help him no matter who he is or what he's done. One that will genuinely be there for him. But, seeing how he doesn't have anyone [in canon], I don't think he will get better without that soft guidance he desperately needs.

[thefangirlfever]

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 4)

Tags: angst, fluff, slow burn, F/M, age gap, taboo relationship, mention of death and grief, hint at depression, reader is a woman of color

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. See the end for notes.

==============================================

One week after your arrival, you had already fallen into a comforting routine. You woke up around 6 am, drank your first coffee of the day, Miguel would come and drop by one of his delicious dishes only he had the secret of, second coffee with your dad at 8 am and then you would work all day on your computer. Miguel would join you for dinner from time to time and your father was more than happy to see his friend joining in more often.

Needless to say that you were still sleeping poorly. At least you had enough coffee to still play an act of being fine in front of your father. But there was someone else who could see that you were far from fine.

Not only did Miguel take part in most of your dinners, he would also take the habit to join you for a coffee early in the morning. It began the morning of your third day in the house. The night you had just spend was one of the worst so far. Not only did you sleep poorly but you also remembered having a nightmare. Even if the details of the nightmare were quite blurred in your mind, you still remembered clearly the feeling of falling. You were falling deep, fast and your heavy body didn’t prevent you from falling. The fall was endless as if a hand under you was pulling your body down.

Miguel may have seen your face and the last remains of fear in your eyes when you opened the door for him, because he didn’t dare making a joke on your looks this time. And when you asked him if he would like to stay for a small coffee before going to work, he found himself accepting with more enthusiasm than needed. And that’s how you started your day with him for the last week.

This morning, the two of you had settled on the patio. After the rain of the last few days, the sky was finally clear despite the frisky air. The garden was still a mess however and the rain didn’t help. The ground looked muddy, the wind had dragged more dead leaves all around the place and the branches of the trees looked more and more like the arms of a defeated man with swining arms. It couldn’t be any more different than the vibrant garden you used to know and you couldn’t help but feel slightly depressed looking at this sight.

Miguel must have sensed that you were not satisfied with the way the place looked because he said in a low voice:

“Don’t make this face. It’s the same for every garden right now. Winter is coming and it’s perfectly normal.”

You didn’t realize you were frowning until he made a comment about it. He seemed more amused than anything seeing your brows tightly knit together and the crease on your forehead.

“Well, there used to be a time where it wasn’t the case…”, you took an other sip of your coffee, remembering how devoted your mother was to that place. And yet, nothing remained of the endless hours of work she invested there. Maybe that was what bothered you the most. If you were not certain about it, now you were: nothing stayed in this world.

“Your father told me that your mother used to take care of the garden…”, Miguel says in a soft voice. You can’t hide the fact that his comment startled you a bit. Just how much does he know about your mother? There were still pictures of her in the house but you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that your father talked to him about your mother. It’s been a week since you’ve been back home and you didn’t have a singular conversation about her.

But, was there anything to say really?

What did your father tell him?

Miguel thought he had made a stupid mistake, wouldn’t be the first one. Even after a week, he still had some trouble figuring you out. He was about to apologize when you replied in a whisper:

“Yes, she did. She was the type of person who really had a green thumb…”

An awkward silence settled between you and in this moment he really wishes he could change the conversation. Your father had told him about your mother, her disease… and he had heard the same unresolved grief in his voice when talking about her. He was about to apologize for bringing up these memories but you took him by surprise, adding:

“The Rhododendrons were her favorite.”

There was nothing left of these flowers anymore but by the tone of your voice, he knew they must have looked beautiful.

“Well, your mother had a really great taste.”

This was not a comment made to sound polite and it caused a small smile to cross your lips. The two of you stayed quiet for a few more minutes, you sipping on your mint tea and Miguel on his black coffee.

“I wish you could have seen the garden back then.”, you finally said and that really surprised him for two main reasons. First of all, he was not expecting you to say this about such an intimate part of your life and second of all, he found himself wishing for the same thing. And his gentle smile made it quite clear.

An idea slowly crept up in the back of your mind and even if you were not sure you could bring it back to life, you knew you had to try.

That’s how you found yourself on the next afternoon, alone in the middle of a hardware store, the only one of the town in fact. Even if it felt nice to finally step a foot outside of the house and away from your computer and work, you couldn’t help but feel a bit lost. The town has never been a big one but after all these years, it took you some time to recognize it. The church was still in the same place, not that you ever visited it frequently, there was still that small bookshop on Main Street that you really liked back in high school, the small market on the main square every Sunday… Otherwise you couldn’t recognize the new fancy coffee that opened near the bookshop, or the new bright sign on the flower shop… And those were only details.

After bickering around the town for approximately an hour, you finally ended up inside the small store filled to the brim with hammers, nails and other things you were unable to recognize. It was a Tuesday afternoon so it was rather quiet. Mercifully, no one seemed to recognize you and you could move easily through the empty alley, following the list you’ve made carefully the night before. A very apathetic cashier took your order at the register and as much as you wanted to avoid talking too much, you couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t the same cashier that it was last time you went in. Your mother was a regular at this store and you knew everyone who worked here.

Getting back home wasn’t easy since your arms were filled with many bags of seeds, a new watering can (for some reason, your father had kept the last one despite the holes inside the pink plastic of it. You assumed it was as a memory of your mother) and two bags of potting soil in a wheelbarrow. It was a rather pleasant afternoon for a later September and after dragging this heavy wheelbarrow, you were covered in sweat in a short time. Your feet crunched down on the dead leaves when you finally came back into the garden and began your work.

Unfortunately things always seemed easier in your memory. You hadn’t expected the soil to be this muddy after days of rain, neither were you expecting the wind to blow this strongly, clearly been fooled by the bright sun. Speaking of it, you quickly found yourself a sweaty mess under the harsh rays of the sun.

But you had your determination for yourself. At least in the beginning. Pushing away the dead leaves had already taken you quite a lot of the time and you had barely began the real work that you were already tired. For your defense, it’s been quite a long time since you’ve hit the gym or done anything physical. And your body resented it. After two hours of work, your back began to hurt and pain stirred at the top of your arms. Your resolution did falter a bit as gloomy thoughts took over your mind. It always looked easier when your mom did it. There used to be a time when the two of you would work in this garden for hours. You remember these spring days when you would wake up to the sound of birds chirping, under a warm breeze and she was already there...She would help you put on your gardening gloves and guide you through the process. If only you could remember her advice and what she taught you… But all you could remember was the jokes she would crack up, how she would tie your hair, how she would make you smell the flowers…

You should have known it was a mistake doing this. Somehow, being in the garden felt worse than looking at her pictures. This place was her place, it radiated her energy and there wasn’t a part of the garden she hadn’t stepped on or worked on…

A gush of wind blew over the garden and the dead leaves flew around you. You were close to give up and just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, a large silhouette appeared on the edge of the patio. His brown eyes scanned the garden and locked on you. Miguel’s expression softened upon your scruffy look and your stomach twisted in knots. This was the look of pity that made you run away from this town. This was a look that meant “Poor little thing” and you wished you could have never seen in his eyes. Even if you couldn’t explain it, this was not the look you wanted to get from him, nor the feelings you wanted to inspire him.

Miguel joined you under the large oak in the back of the garden. He must have just left work , you realized as you noticed his clothes. He looked really put-together and elegant with a beige trench coat, cashmire sweater and leather shoes... You cringed when the said shoes stepped into a pile of mud. A tinge of guilt piqued your heart.

“Hey...you alright?”

You slowly nodded your head, even though you were far from alright. You were sitting down the muddy soil, just like when you used to fall from your bike when you were a kid… Miguel squatted down in front of you, his eyes at your level. With one simple look at the place, he understood what had happened…

“You want some help?”

You couldn’t really refuse his help, since you needed it but you couldn’t fight the sense of guilt that washed over you. He had just left work; he had already helped you more than he should have these last days…

“Thanks but…”

Before you could finish your sentence, he took his coat off, hanging it on one of the lowest branches of the tree before rolling up his sleeves. Your protestations didn’t make him flinch as he seemed really determined to help you. He quickly took the lead into the gardening, giving you indications on what to do and how to do it. You quickly realized how many deficiencies you had as he even corrected your posture. When his hands brushed against your back to make you stand straighter, you couldn’t control the blush that crept on the back of your neck. It was such an unexpected contact. He usually kept his distance with you but seeing you right now, Miguel struggled keeping his distance.

The moment he had seen you, sitting on the ground, a bit teary and looking like a mess, something shattered inside him. He knew something was wrong ever since the first time he had seen you on the doorstep of the house. The bags under your eyes, the small quivering of your lips whenever your eyes would look through the window or this fragility in the back of your eyes… Not weakness, but fragility. You were not weak, this he could easily tell. But there was no denying you needed help. He’d seen people like you before, people who looked broken, who were walking through the world like shadows of their old self, surviving more than living… He knew it too well for he had seen this look in your eyes for he had seen it a countless number of times in his own reflection. he knew he shouldn’t act like this in front of you, but you would trigger his protective side. It was his job protecting, saving people...but with you, it was different. He wanted to see you smile, a real genuine smile, he wanted to hear your laugh, to discover this woman he had so much heard of…

You both worked in silence, only troubled by the wind or a few indications from him. You were glad Miguel didn’t talk much more. You weren’t sure you would be able to engage in a proper conversation. Staying isolated in this house had deterred your social skills and you were still ashamed that he had seen you in such a position. Maybe you shouldn’t care that much about his opinion but the last thing you wanted was for him to assume you were… Your foot slipped over a pile of mud and you almost fell. His eyes opened wide in panic as he held your arms. It was the first time you realized just how strong his hands were. His cheeks were flushed from the effort he was providing and he had broken a sweat. Your eyes roamed his forearms for a few seconds before you forced yourself to look back at his eyes. He looked worried with his brows furrowed together:

“Maybe you should take a break...I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“I’m fine.”, you replied in your sternest voice. The wind was still blowing strongly, cold and harsh over your face, and your legs wobbled a bit. But nothing could make you stop. There was no way you would admit this weakness to anyone, especially him.

Miguel seemed to hesitate a bit before shrugging his shoulders. You tried to avert your gaze away from said shoulders. He may almost be in his early fifties but that man still had a lot of energy and strength. Overall he didn’t fit the image you had of a man of his age. If you compared him to your father, it was even more obvious. His shoulders were still wide and solid; you already saw him lifting up things and you knew he had a great strength. Despite a few gray hair, his hair was still mainly dark and always neatly combed, unlike yours. He still seemed very fit and the few wrinkles and marks on his face didn’t hide any of his charm, but rather accentuated it. You pulled yourself together when you realized what you were just thinking… That shouldn’t be something to think about one of your dad’s friends and a man of his age. You’ve heard a lot of people say that a person could be good-looking, still in good condition and not look like his age...and this was his case. It shouldn’t have made you so uneasy to realize this but it was never easy to realize something like this about yourself. For the first time in your life, you’ve had to admit that you could find someone older than you attractive. Not that you would act on it. But this definitely blurred the way you were seeing him…

You were lost in your small life-crisis, shattering thoughts when Miguel got a bit closer to you and without a warning, he wrapped his scarf around you. The soft wool gave you a comforting feeling and your neck immediately heats up from the contact, or maybe it was for a different reason you preferred not acknowledging.

“You seemed a bit cold….”, he sheepishly explained to you. Your fingers mindlessly brush against the fabric of the scarf; it smells like expensive cologne, a mix of sandalwood, spice and something zesty.

“Thanks...but you’re gonna catch a cold…” He shrugged his shoulders once again and looked you in the eyes:

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He quickly got back to work but you hadn’t moved yet, still preoccupied. Maybe it was the right time to address this… You cleared your throat, calling for his attention as a strong gust of wind brushed over the garden.

Miguel looked at you and for a second, something inside him, something sharp like a scythe stung. He didn’t want to make quick assumptions but it was likely due to the sight of you, wrapped in his own scarf with your colorful cheeks and the way your hair flew around you, untamed just like the leaves on the ground.

“Miguel...I appreciate your help but...I don’t want you to risk catching a cold over this…”

He was still silent for a few moments until he cocked one of his eyebrows in a curious way. Your voice was less steady when you continued:

“And it’s not just that...I don’t want to sound ungrateful and I appreciate what you’re doing for us, but…”

He sensed your hesitation and again, the stinging sensation in his chest intensified:

“But you think I’m a bit overbearing?”, he asked with a small smile, hoping he wouldn’t look too hurt.

“No...no! I don’t think that.”, which was the truth. It was more complicated. “I just… I just want you to know that if I can also do all of this. That’s why I came back here.”

His face softened and to your surprise, he even chuckled: “You’re just like your father…” When he noticed your slightly offended expression, he couldn’t help but chuckle even more. He tried to collect himself and took on a more serious expression, but the small creases around his eyes didn’t disappear just like the glint of amusement in his eyes:

“What I mean is that the two of you need to understand that it’s sometimes okay to ask for help.” He still remembered your dad’s offended face when he proposed to help him with the house. It’s only with much patience that he went against your dad’s resistance; and it was for the better.

“I know you can do all of this, trust me, I know”, he added and against his better judgment he went a little closer to you. The wind was no longer covering his voice and when he looked at your face, the stinging sensation in his chest made itself clearer. Something tightened behind his breastbone as if he had been hit there and he forced himself to look away from your eyes. Instead he focused his attention on the scarf and he tightened it a bit around your neck.

“But it’s okay to ask for help sometimes...and I’m not talking only about gardening.”

He almost instantly regretted what he said as he felt you tensing against him. You had caught what he meant and as much as you understood where he came from, this put you off a bit. You wondered just how much your father had told him about you and your past struggles and you hated the fact that he may only see you as some broken child or misfit adult.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about...”

The first droplets of rain fell on you and you had never been happier that it started raining. You took a step back and your eyes carefully avoided to look at him. Again, the pang in his chest stung a bit and this time he could clearly identify it as pain. It hurts him to see you so distant, so standoffish… The two of you went back in silence to the main house; Miguel having decided that he already said enough things that could trigger you for today. The last thing he wanted was for you to resent him…

You spend the night thinking about this conversation. It was rude to snap at him but you couldn’t stand the idea that you would be the small and broken thing in someone else’s eyes. Just when you thought that you were getting rid of this image and escaping that endless cycle, something pulled you back in, reminded you of how incomplete you were…

And you didn’t want Miguel, a man you barely knew anything off, to be that thing. Especially when he knew so many things about your past wounds when yourself, you didn’t know much about him…

When you woke up the next morning and headed toward the patio by the force of the habit, your head was heavy and your eyes puffy from the lack of sleep. A slight scratching in the back of your throat made you feel even more uncomfortable.

Miguel wasn’t there but to your surprise, you found your father looking at the garden through the large windows. He was sitting at Miguel’s usual place, his hands wrapped around his favorite mug. When he heard your footsteps on the wooden floor, a smile crossed his face:

“Looks like someone had a rough night.”, he joked while looking at your messy hair. You remembered a time as a kid when he would ruffle your hair while you were sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. Your mother spend hours making your hair, braiding, untangling, and yet, this always made you laugh how easily he could make a mess out of it, bringing out the wild nature of your curls and how untamed they looked, not making you ashamed of it.

But this belonged in the past…

You groaned a vague ‘hello’ and took a place on your seat. When you looked through the window, you understood why he looked so happy. Since you and Miguel had worked on it, the place looked a bit more welcoming. It was not perfect and it would probably never look the same again, but it was better than nothing.

A slight tinge of guilt hit you in the chest when you thought about Miguel and before you could ask your father about him, he gestured toward the small coffee table near the window. A large bouquet of colorful, pastel flowers lay there.

“Miguel dropped this off this morning. He couldn’t stay because of an emergency at work…”

You both recognized the flowers meticulously wrapped in some pink paper; large and bright rhododendron.

=============================================

Notes: Thank you for your patience for this new chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. Since I didn't publish this fic for a long time, I got ya'll a small surprise...

< part 3 / next part >

Masterlist

Surprise!

Taglist: @safixiovi

[thoninohere]

Childhood Crush - Donna Troy

Donna Troy x Neutral Gender

Warnings: None, just some teenage kisses.

Summary: Donna has her first crush since she arrived from Themiscyra and unfortunately it is your best friend Roy. You have spider powers here, but I give no hint of your backstory c;

You two are around 15-16 years old.

Song: Enamorado Tuyo-Cuarteto de Nos/Meaning and Lyrics :D(Don't worry, the video has lyrics translated into English)

A/N: Currently this is part of a new ff series that I am doing with the Titans, if you want to learn more about it you can enter here.

Word counter: 2055.

...

Donna's arrival was unexpected but not at all poorly handled. She was a new friend and companion who was as strong or even stronger than everyone else there, which wasn't so good for your age.

You reached the age where the issues of sexuality and attraction to anyone could arise out of nowhere; something that had you stressed because even though it was stupid for you that cliché of love at first sight, you could falter a little when shaking her hand to introduce yourself to her.

You tried to avoid her because even though at school didn't care much about liking one person or another, you completely avoided the idea of like Donna, and you weren't going to ruin your group of friends with that shit.

But the way Roy dragged you into talking to her and trying not to avoid her, couldn't avoid it. Also couldn't avoid her radiant (and strong) personality when she was in any case that could never truly evade her. You two slowly became what would be great best friends, it was weird in a way, you have Roy as your best friend -Male- not a girl, so you didn't avoid feeling that either strange tingling in the stomach.

Donna liked photography, she said that the next time came back to Themyscira she would show her sisters everything she had learned these past few months. Her eyes sparkled more than ever when you gave her a new camera... Which was definitely NOT the camera you saved all your allowances for a few weeks. You and Roy took her on a tour of many museums and places in Jump City after that.

Your feelings grew more and more as watched her photographing those times Roy wasn't with you both. She's photographing a brown squirrel and a black one, and you; are photographing her a few meters away, keeping that photo in your wallet since that day with the excuse you imposed on yourself that you were actually too lazy to get rid of the photo. (Cuarteto de Nos Reference) . . .

One time you both were sitting on her bed, you were confused to see how she had a little album of the whole team... Although well, were actually confused to see how had a few pages dedicated only to Roy, and only because she didn't agree to show you the other thing; which didn't push since you definitely didn't want to see how she had pages dedicated to Roy.

You understood that it was possibly some kind of first teenage crush or some shit like that, but it disturbed in some way that made you feel weird. Wondered why she didn't have a page dedicated to you if you were supposed to be her best friend, you even had a little album dedicated to her and only her, why doesn't she have one for you?

She stayed silent with a slight blush as she watched you stare at the already closed album she dedicated to Roy, knew that you two were quite close so she asked with a very soft voice which used when you went into little trances where had to be treated gently.

"Do you... Like Roy? " She looked into your eyes, looking for a mild answer while maintained a calm position.

You jumped a little and looked at her with a raised eyebrow "What?" You asked confused, to which she repeated the question a little slower. Immediately shook your head at that fact because no, you definitely didn't like Roy.

"Well, I was just a little alarmed when you stood there static when you saw my... Personal albums" You knew slightly and explained to her that you were just a little surprised, and explained to her that didn't expect her to like him. Although well, Roy was handsome, intelligent and too helpful, even more so with Donna than he was with any girl you two knew.

She smiled slightly at your correct assumption, so began to ramble about her crush on Roy almost the entire sleepover. And you? You couldn't understand why your chest burned in a strange way and why in the morning when you looked at Roy you avoided him.

Your friendship with Roy faltered every time you just avoided him after every sleepover with Donna (which were frequent) where had to force a smile every time she talked about how Roy gave her a new flower every week. While you just photographed her from afar and portrayed her in your notebook every night; but she, she was not aware of this, you thought.

Donna had noticed how every time you went out to take pictures you always kept a special roll for her. It was not worth hiding the fact that you took many photos of her, she mentioned it to you at some point and told you that it was a very nice detail; and friendly.

At 16 years old you and her were at one of your sleepovers. She told you about how Roy finally took a step and decided to ask her out on a date. She spent about two hours telling detail by detail, until stopped and looked at her special album and did not continue telling, you gave her space and she whispered to herself.

"I didn't know what to do at that moment. I imagined it a lot but I just couldn't take the step and I don't know what stopped me." You heard perfectly and stayed quiet for a few seconds before laughing softly. "Oh my God Donna, have you never kissed anyone, seriously?" Your laughter faltered when she raised an eyebrow and laughed in a sarcastic way.

"Sorry, yes, I forgot." It was obvious, she had never had anything with anyone and Roy was really the first person she had really experienced something close with; and your chest burned again. "Well, you know it's normal to be nervous when you don't know how to do something, don't force yourself Troy, it's something that must be 'magical' as some say."

Donna knew that you weren't a big fan of love and stuff like that, after all never heard anything about romance itself come out of your mouth. She sighs and then stares at you with a hint of fear at the situation "What if he tries to kiss me and I ruin it?" Your expression softened a little, even if you knew that Roy wouldn't try to be rough with her or anything like that.

But couldn't help or control a small thought that crossed your mind. Could have perfectly told her something else about friends like a "Donna don't worry it's something you'll learn in a moment" or something more like "Roy will teach you all those things don't worry I doubt it will go any further" instead, but your mouth opened involuntarily and whispered something lost in the thoughts, almost dissociated...

"I can help you with that."

She raised an eyebrow confused. You thought had thrown everything away until a small smile formed on her confused expression and a small crimson adorned her cheeks.

"Well I-... I really didn't mean to-" And silenced you with a slight -Shh-, laughing quietly. You thought she could make fun of you or even laugh so as not to feel uncomfortable, but Donna wasn't like that, much less with you. "It's fine with me Y/N."

Now it was you who had a confused expression and a nervous laugh. You wanted to tell her it was an intrusive thought or even a joke, but with her cheeks painted and eyes shining like that, because you or maybe for you... Were unable to back out. She sat up and patted the bed so you could sit down too, it was funny, it was you who came up with the idea but the way it is with her gently taking your hand makes it seem like the roles are reversed.

She knows how to read you, and you know how to read her. Your eyes telling that she can back out if she wants to, and her eyes telling that it's okay, that she gladly accepts your help. Even if don't know that she actually accepts it for some other thing she keeps inside herself.

Swallow and try not to get nervous as you bring your hands up to cup her cheeks. You had kissed other people, yes, but no one, definitely no one, even came close to the shadow of what Donna Troy was, no one.

Then you caressed her soft cheeks, wanting to save the feeling of her skin in your hands until you slowly approached her, being able to hear the breathing and even her heart beating rapidly.

The anxiety didn't let you move when both of your mouths were centimeters away, had already closed your eyes and your hands trembled a little until Donna took you by the shoulder and closed the gap between you. Her lips were somewhat sticky, possibly because of her lipstick, usual gloss or because your mind couldn't formulate the sensations well at this moment.

You gasped slightly at the contact and without thinking twice began to kiss her slowly. Donna got a little lost the first few seconds and when you tried to move away she pulled you in so you couldn't get out of the way. Then you did what your only functional neurons could at that moment, slide your hand down the back of her neck and melt more into the kiss.

Her hands traced your chest until they reached your waist, where she pulled you into a tight hug with a firm arm, which made you let out a slight gasp and she, without prior permission, slid her tongue in a slightly messy way. You pulled away a little when she did this and couldn't contain a slight giggle at that.

"That's not how it's done, Troy." Murmured against her mouth before moving away to stare at her and whisper to with a softness as if she were made of glass, how she should do it.

She smiled slightly blushed and nodded. At that moment it didn't even seem like you were just best friends, it felt strange but comfortable enough that neither of you had to really say anything.

Donna sighed and roughly pulled you back by the shirt, you were used to her being enormously stronger than you, so there really wasn't any complaint at all. But at this point, you're the one who melts when she merge her lips with yours like a puzzle. You open your mouth slightly for her to slide the tongue in, and this time in a more orderly manner.

After a few minutes you had gotten too used to Donna's mouth, the taste of her lipstick and how it can be a little sticky because it's combined with a bit of gloss. It was intoxicating, enough to make you stare at each other with your mouths stained a faint red after a somewhat heated session for two teenagers.

No one could say anything, and when one tried it only let out a small ecstatic sigh. Donna felt strange, she had imagined one or another scenario like the one that just happened, where she has no other option than to fix her lip gloss and be happy with the situation. But this is definitely different, she never imagined a possibility in which you would be the person who had her lipstick stained on the lips, nor the person she would have a session with, didn't even imagine that it could go further than giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Donna, I-." Whisper, but the tower alarm started ringing and you both became alarmed. Didn't bother to wipe your mouth as you rushed to put on the mask and go out with it to the call.

Saved by the bell some part of you would say when you threw spider webs between the buildings of Jump City while Wally ran beneath you and the boys ran between the buildings to go save the day... Or the night already "Crime has no time" as Robin usually says.. No ones hadn't seen Donna come out behind you.

You sigh lightly and banish any thoughts from a few minutes ago, it was time to be heroes.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Why was Isseya 'done dirty' in DAV?

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

Spoilers for Last Flight and the Gloom Stalker storyline.

CW on ableist language. I had to use it to be clear.

CW on strong language.

CW on tired writing tropes that hurt people.

This one is a little more personal. I've already been told to go touch grass because I have a problem with that game sequence. And dared to try to politely explain why a lot of people feel Isseya was done dirty in it. (By other mentally ill people because, y'know, back biting and infighting is exactly what we need to do to each other.) And someone defending that sequence hit me harder than I really thought it did. That's often the way with trauma.

I'm mentally ill. Not a surprise to many, I'm sure. I'm extremely mentally ill. (By which I mean I have several, and will be on life-long medication for them.) I'm an advocate for several things I live with, and mental illness is one of them.

But I'm doing my best to not slide into a pit of absolute depression, right now.

Just saw someone passionately defending the Gloom Stalker storyline.

It made me as physically nauseated as the actual storyline itself.

Look. You can like/love problematic material. Just understand it's problematic and maybe not defend it?

It's fine to just like trashy material, or poorly written, or whatever. But that doesn't mean you defend it!

You can even recommend it. (I usually choose not to, but it's a personal choice thing.) If you recommend it, just add the addendum that it's problematic and how! It’s truly simple.

Enjoyment is subjective. And what that means is that it's fine to like stuff. Even if it's not good, or it's problematic.

But I personally think it's kinda our responsibility as decent human beings to do our best not to harm people as well.

And defending the Isseya/Gloom stalker storyline in DAV is absolutely problematic and harmful. Even if you don't know why.

Other people might have different reasons for saying Isseya was done dirty in that sequence. But mine are for both story and ableism reasons.

I'll explain, in case you're not in the mood to read my play-by-play (long) review series about DAV.

Isseya is a Grey Warden character from the book Last Flight by Liane Merciel, released by TOR/Dark Horse books and set in the Dragon Age Franchise.

She's the sister of the Grey Warden, Garahel, who partnered with Crookytail. There's a statue of Crookytail in DAV. It was one of the very few emotional moments for me in that game (other than utter horror and rage at the shittiness). I teared up at seeing that statue. At least they honoured Crookytail.

Isseya is an elven mage who, over the course of the book, delves further into blood magic than she should. The wardens are losing the fight. Once she learned she could do it, and once the First Warden learned she could, she was ordered to blight all the living griffins. Griffins were/are semi-resistant to blight. This went so against the griffins instinct against darkspawn/blight that it utterly destroyed them. Isseya was heart broken, horrified, and very against it. But she, like other Grey Wardens, could see they were losing. She followed orders. Neglecting to blight a few of them. Hers, Crookytail. Maybe a few others, it's been a few since I read Last Flight. I've read it twice.

Garahel and Crookytail take down the arch demon of the fourth blight, Andoral. Sacrificing their lives to do it.

Isseya, grief stricken at several events in the book (death of close brother, death of Crookytail, being forced to blight the griffins, the blood magic hastening her own fall into blight and hurrying her calling along) goes to extreme lengths to save the last griffins. Hoping that, at some future point in time, Wardens will be worthy of griffins again. Because they'd proven themselves completely unworthy of them in the book by utterly destroying their species.

Isseya saves Crookytail's last fathered clutch of eggs. (By Garahel's lover's griffin, Revas, if I recall correctly?) Those are the griffins in DAV. Assan is Crookytail's and Revas' son. (Really hope I'm not mixing up Garahel's lover's name with the griffin's name. I'm terrible with names to start with and it must have been 2 years since I read Last Flight. Hells, Revas mighta been Isseya's griffin. I didn't enjoy Last Flight that much. And I'm too fucking tired to look it up.)

Because of their shame in destroying the entire griffin species (because they intentionally don't know that Isseya saved that last clutch of eggs) the Wardens created the pile of unhonoured, unremembered bones that we see in DAV in the Cauldron.

It's not my favourite of the books, but it is beautifully written, tragic, but with a gleaming golden line of hope running through it. (It’s also why I would never choose to allow Wardens to have griffins again. Ever. They don't deserve them and they've already proven it to the almost extinction of their species.)

They didn't even have the decency to honour the griffins they destroyed who fell defeating the fourth blight. Which was actually all of them except those thirteen? eggs that Isseya saved. It's utterly disgusting. I believe the Cauldron is meant to be. If I recall correctly, that arch-demon skeleton is the same one Garahel and Crookytail died to defeat.

That's where whoever wrote that ableist travesty of a storyline went wrong. Up until then, the story made some sort of sense.

I can actually see Isseya stealing the griffins. If, out of fear, she'd watched the Wardens who found them, and finds that, no, maybe they don't deserve them, yeah, I could see her stealing them. She'd already done so much to save them, you see.

Story wise, it's just shitty writing to have her stab a blade into the bones of a 400 year old arch-demon skeleton and get liquid blood.

It's shitty writing to use such a harmful fucking trope, too.

She then, because 'she went mad from grief and guilt' because she's 'crazy' intends to blight the griffins she fought so hard to save?

Excuse me, now? Does that make any kind of sense to anyone?

Oh, but it's because she's mad! Crazy!

Y'all do know that both mad and crazy mean mentally ill, right? That they're innately ableist words that have been weaponized against mentally ill people for centuries, right?

If you didn't, you do now, please do better.

So let's break that down.

1. There is no Lore that indicates that the blight makes someone crazy/mad. Nor automatically into rage monsters. A being can become blighted in two ways. One is the regrettably written Broodmothers that BioWare has been trying to get away from forever. A being can also become a darkspawn by being blighted. Usually it kills, but in a small percentage of intellectual beings, it turns them into darkspawn, instead. But BioWare replaced the whole Broodmother concept with the 'anyone can be blighted into turning into a darkspawn.' Meaning it is Canon. That's what Wardens willingly do to themselves. They turn themselves into darkspawn. It just takes a while to set in.

Blight, in the Lore, basically makes the blighted hear 'the song' and only the song. That's what The Calling is. A Warden hearing the song and becoming a darkspawn. That's how it's always been depicted. Anyone 'losing their mind' (and please, just stop and think about how ableist that concept is, too? For a second? Please?) to the blight is just overwhelmed by the song requiring them to dig for arch-demons. (Unless there's an ascended arch-demon, but I'll get to that.) This is clearly laid out in the Lore and even, IIRC the book Last Flight itself. There are a few darkspawn who can resist what must be the worst case of tinnitus ever. There's The Architect, blighted, completely sane, not a rage ridden beast, and also diametrically opposed to anything the unblighted want. There've been stories of Hurlocks (blighted humans) working on behalf of the unblighted. The blight doesn't drive people mad/crazy in the Lore. At all. That excuse doesn't hold water.

Darkspawn don't turn into raging, bloodthirsty monsters until an arch-demon rises. Again, this is well established in the Lore. It's something about the arch-demon that makes them like chad-bros with bad attitudes, testosterone poisoning, and probably steroid abuse on top of it. Without an arch-demon (who we now know is bound to an incredibly pissed off Evanuris) they basically dig. Dig, and dig some more. Sometimes they raid for supplies. That's how it is in the Lore. And yes, I can actually prove it. Am I going to? With specific links and references (which i really could do) no. Not unless someone wants to pay me. I just don't care enough. I have, unfortunately, marinated myself in the Lore for years. It's been a long standing autistic special interest. I honestly wish, after playing DAV, that I could forget it all. Alas, it's not likely.

2. The basic premise of Isseya being 'mad/crazy from 400 years of 'guilt and grief' is ableist from the start. Saying that grief and guilt can drive people to mental illness isn't problematic, because it can. But saying that she's driven to violence and horrific actions because of it is just harmful. Saying that the blight automatically drives someone mad with rage/anger is also ableist. There isn't anything wrong with rage or anger. It can drive us to do awful things, but also good things like political advocacy. And in one of the supplementary pieces, it's established that darkspawn don't usually feel anything. They just... dig. They dig even while they're starving to death. Rage and anger? Yeah, those are emotions. And they also don't make you insane. Oh, but there are ascended arch-demons in DAV, therefore it must be fine to say Isseya is mad because the arch-demons being free alter the darkspawn into raging, bloodthirsty beasts. Right?

Except that's not what was clearly said to be the reason Isseya is supposedly mad/crazy. That was grief and guilt. Ableism is fun, no? /s

I'm not even sure if Elgar'nan's and Ghilan'nain's dragons really count as arch-demons despite the game calling them that. The rage of an arch-demon was likely that of the Evanuris it was bound to. Ghilly and Eggy are free, and upset, yes, but not rage stricken anymore. I'd think the 'arch-demons' in DAV to be just blighted dragons. But we all know how poorly they actually adherred to the Lore, anyway.

3. There isn't any mental illness I'm aware of that could make someone who sacrificed so much trying to save the last griffins because of her part in destroying them, want to then destroy them. It's like saying that mental illness can make people completely ignore sacred, bone deep beliefs enough to do the exact opposite of what they've committed to doing with everything in them. It's problematic, harmful, and ableist as fuck.

It's always the crazy/mad (mentally ill) villain. Always. I'm so nauseatingly sick of it. It's a tired, harmful trope that gets mentally ill people killed every single day.

Violence isn't a part of most mental illnesses, you know. It just isn't. The most mentally ill people usually want is basic respect and dignity, no problems refilling our meds, maybe tea, fluffy socks, and a good bit of entertainment to distract us.

The 'mad/crazy villain' trope robs us of basic dignity and respect. I'm so very, very tired of it. Whoever wrote and Whoever approved that sequence in DAV should absolutely be ashamed of themselves for it. It hurt and nauseated me to play it. It probably hurt and nauseated a lot of mentally ill gamers. And we're not a small percentage of gamers, in general.

And yes, it absolutely did Isseya dirty. In the shitty writing, (blood from bones, really? Really really? Marrow would be dried to dust or a rocky texture, and it's not impossible to stab through bone, but it's certainly unrealistic). The usage of a tired, harmful, ableist trope, too. In the claim that she'd been driven so mad she'd turned eeeeevvvvviiiillll by...checks notes... grief and guilt. Okay then. Yeah. That's perfectly fine. (That was the ripest of sarcasm. It is not fine. It gets people killed.) And it completely obliterated a beautiful, tragic story with a gleaming thread of hope into... that. Having to kill the person responsible for saving the griffins and sacrificing so much to do it... it's grotesque as well as harmful and ableist.

Can someone please explain to me, using small words, how that's not doing Isseya dirty?

Do you know that mentally ill people are responsible for 3% of violent crime? The rest is on all you neurotypicals. The whole 97%.

Yet it's always, because of ham handed, harmful narratives like the Gloom Stalker sequence in DAV, the mentally ill who are first blamed for anything violent. If they don't say it's autistic people. Because that's the other group that is always blamed, again, because of harmful narratives in fiction and misunderstanding by people who don't bother to learn better. Autistic people are almost hard wired to avoid hurting others. We're generally your classic white knight, tilting at windmills type. Everyone can be driven to violence. Humans are an innately violent species. So, while yes, we can be driven to it, it takes so much more to do it than it would for a neurotypical that it's ridiculous to automatically accuse either mentally ill or autistic people of violence.

Lucky me, I'm both.

Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be part of such an abused minority? Two of them? Do you have any clue how much narratives like that one are overused? What ham-handed, harmful, ableist claptrap they are?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find media to enjoy that doesn't hurt when you happen to be mentally ill?

If you do know, I'm so, so sorry. I get it. And I deeply wish none of us had to.

So that's why Isseya was 'done dirty'. Other people's why might be different, but I bet a lot of people's are similar to mine.

My work of words is my only income. I'm recovering from a pulmonary embolism and my husband is recovering from a broken back. Money is so tight it squeaks. If my writing does anything for you, please consider a tip or buying my books. You might actually like them.

And I will never, ever, use 'mentaI illness turned me eeeevvvviiiilll' in my work.

I'm better than that. Oh, what... I'm supposed to not make a moral judgement about work that hurts people and gets them killed? Fuck that.

Did that offend your precious feelings? Go touch some grass.

[mako-the-zora]

I agree with you on the pregnancy fics. Weridly though, I am writing one myself. This is because of an idea I saw someone propose on here 2 years ago and nobody else wrote, and that I also thought about myself.

The concept is they did the act as a very poorly thought out coping mechanism before the calamity (though I don't want to get explicit, I'll probably just imply when it happened), there is consequences after the calamity, and then a lot of turmoil ensues. I'm more just wanting to put them in a specific shitty situation. I'm not even particularly married to the idea of her keeping it (although the fic might end quickly in that case). I just want to force them into a bad situation I haven't seen done before. Most all the pregnancy fics are very.... well, christian. Too simplistically upbeat about it. I want to go more for arguing, despair, tension, angst. Something that happened due to a mistake that now requires a choice to be made. It's through this bad situation that I want to explore their characters. For example, Link doesn't remember at all how this has happened. How would he take it? Zelda does... but takes it badly for all the reasons you mention.

It's not because I think it's a particularly good idea or even would happen in canon, or is in-character at all (for it to even happen I both have to make them a lot closer than they were before the calamity, and also kind of stupid. Or at least make a stupid choice in a moment), but because I want to explore this specific scenario and how would it cause problems and drive a plot forward.

I realize, however, that this is suuuper specific. Your point still stands as most people aren't doing it for drama but baby = cute.

see, you are actually asking the harsh questions something as scary as unplanned pregnancy that young could be, even more for them with all the unpacked trauma they have.

the fact that them not keeping it is an option is great! I've never seen a fic where the characters even though about it, any time I've seen unplanned pregnancy is always the "im scared, but i know that together we will able to do it!". like you are scared? really? doesn't look like it-

i just hate it when it's so blatantly this cookie-cutter christian conservative view of it.

when the fic never mentions pregnancy at all and then at the end it's just "surprise! zelda is pregnant now!" like...

for me pregnancy and having a whole ass humang being brought to the world seems like a really important decision, and they treat it like them just found an abandoned puppy and they felt so bad they brought it home.

but honestly the lack of awareness some people have when it comes to, yes you in fact are responsible fore a human being with their own thoughts, feelings and struggles, not a doll- is another conversation entirely.

anyway imma start yapping now, i could talk about this for ages💀

[thefrogdalorian]

Hello! 

You may (or may not... I don't like to presume) have noticed my little break from posting. I just wanted to share something in case anyone was worried about me and assure you there is no need to be :) 

There isn't really one reason for why I've been on hiatus, but I guess a collection of things. 

I was really poorly with covid but thankfully I'm feeling a lot better now! But being so sick and stuck in I guess made me reevaluate certain things. 

Since recovering I got to see a lot of people I really adore with my whole heart, as well as being lucky enough to experience so many things I love with them.

And it made me realise what truly makes me happy in life. I suppose it really put things into perspective for me. I'm thinking more and more that tumblr (and being online generally) is something which unfortunately does not spark joy any longer. 

To be honest, (as I'm sure many people who were given far too much unsupervised access to the internet at a young age also do), I have a complicated relationship with social media. It doesn't make me feel good most of the time. I don't know how to handle some of the things I read and some of the things people have said to me. And just like I do irl, if the vibes feel off, I usually retreat into my shell to regroup. 

While I have made so many friends over the years of being chronically online and spoken to plenty of great people, I can feel myself getting drained again. And I really haven't missed it during the time I've been away.

I've filled my time with a lot of reading (I read Pride and Prejudice THREE times... doing amazingly), some writing and lots of long walks in nature. It's been really good for me!

As a result, right now, I just don't feel like continuing to post on this blog.

This decision wasn't caused by anyone or anything in particular. But when I've made my mind up about something, it's pretty impossible to change it. I've been mulling it over for a few days and my heart is telling me to go.

Anyway, I'm going to continue working on my WIPs and most likely continue posting them to AO3. It's by far the least social media-ish platform out there, and I really like posting on it. 

I need to take a step back to remember why I started writing, which was really as a way to get emotions out and to scream into the void a little. I don't enjoy sharing my work on tumblr, I kind of felt like I had to rather than genuinely wanting to. 

Truthfully, I just want to create and consume others' work in peace. I don't want to feel like I need to market my writing or whatever or compare myself to others. As much as I try not to, I think it's only human nature. 

So, I guess I'm really making this post to say I'll be going on a hiatus from tumblr. But I don't intend to stop writing or posting to AO3 and I hope to see you over there! 

I have no idea how long I'll be away for. Who knows... when winter comes around and my seasonal depression returns, or perhaps there is a major Mando update, maybe I'll return! 

For now, all there's left to say is how much of a pleasure it was posting about Mando and talking with you lot all these months. 

If anyone (mutual or otherwise) would like to keep in touch, feel free to message me for my discord! I'd be happy to continue chatting to you on there.

For me, in the headspace I'm currently in, one on one conversation is far less intimidating than being perceived by lots of people lol. 

I'll likely drop in at some point soon-ish and check for any of those messages, but until then, it's not a goodbye, but a see you later! 

Please care of yourselves and be kind to others :) 

Love,

Spud 🐸🩷

[coff-in]

¡Hihihi!, Excuse my bad writing in English, it is not my native language and no matter how well you read my writing is terrible so I use the translator to make sure it's okay (it will probably end up unintelligible but I do what I can)😿

Sooo, I was thinking, what about a situation in which the reader is the middle sister of both graves?

I think that in this situation the dynamic could change a lot, that is, the reader (Fem reader if possible) would really suffer more than all the attachment to Andrew as he is the most present figure for her, but he would not suffer what would be the extreme and unhealthy obsession that Ashley would develop since she does not really suffer from any mental condition genetically, but still has a certain dependence on Andrew due to the lack of presence of her parents

and with his relationship with Ashley it would be more complicated, why would the reader try to do things to help Andrew with Ashley during parenting, but at the same time feeling this sense of jealousy why Andrew was giving attention and more care to Leyley so he could keep her out of it. But with the passage of time he would not notice that because in spite of everything the reader if he becomes more socially active with more children his age which helps in a certain way to that

I'm thinking that despite that Leyley (obviously as expected) is going to develop a dependency on the reader for seeing her as a mother figure in certain aspects, which would lead to annoyance, jealousy, etc. As in the case of Nina, at this point Ashley not only killed Nina because she did not want to lose Andrew, but also the reader who was a close friend of Nina, which the reader would be in the scene but would take a while to arrive. realize the situation since on this occasion, they made the reader be the one who was looking for them

The relationship with Ashley would be more platonic but equally toxic, like the fear of losing her older sister and her mother figure who, despite everything, continued to give her love and attention. And in the case of Andrew, more romantic and at the same time obsessive like Leyley would be but much more discreet and cautious, but he was in constant denial with his feelings for his relationship as brothers... but he would not avoid doing what would be things that he knows They will pass that limit discreetly but looking for ways to not feel so guilty until eventually you just accept it

notes from coff-in: omg... i loved this request!! thank you so much for requesting (and sorry for the late reply)!!

[fem] reader-insert, [reader] is 1 year older than ashley and 1 year younger than andrew, talk/mentions of incest

When middle sis [reader] was born a year after Andy, she was just little sis [reader]. She and Andy were close friends with each other (as much as you can be at one year old I guess). [reader] was a quiet child, like Andy was, and so Mrs Graves thought that it would be okay if she popped just one more child out. She learned quickly after that it was a bad idea, teehee.

Now dubbed “middle sis [reader]” she was expected to help raise Leyley along with Andy. She plays the middleman for the most part, used between Leyley and Andy to be the tiebreaker between fights they have. There are moments where her final say gets vetoed by the siblings, however; like in the case of Nina.

Middle sis [reader] didn’t want to lock Nina in a box overnight, just for a couple of hours maybe… she didn’t like the idea of Andy getting a girlfriend. His attention was so divided already, if he got a girlfriend it meant that there would be even less time for her! That’s not even mentioning how poorly Leyley would react.

So when she and her siblings go back to the warehouse to find a dead Nina, [reader] is reasonably scared and freaking out. She was an accomplice by not stopping them, right!? Burying Nina was truly a bonding experience for them all. 

Since Nina was out of the way now, Leyley didn’t have to worry about any other hussies trying to steal away her big brother and sister! And if they try to leave her, she’d just tell on them :) Middle sis [reader] would scold Leyley a lot due to her childish tantrums and overall recklessness, but when even she can’t reel Leyley in [reader] would turn to their big brother for help.

There are moments where middle sis [reader] would be a menace with Leyley, too, just to also get some more of Andy’s attention. Terrorizing other kids, getting into trouble at home, and then seeking Andy out for comfort. She’s his little sister also, isn’t she? He has to take care of her too, not just Leyley! Even when [reader] tries to get Andy’s undivided attention to herself, Leyley is always there to pester them both… they’re like three cramped peas in a pod!

As they get older, middle sis [reader] would be more independent like Andrew. Her attachment to her siblings was still there, obviously. [reader] would hang out with Andrew during his breaks to study and see him off to his classes. Whenever Ashley would get bullied [reader] would step in to beat up the bullies and also goof around with Ashley, too.

But middle sis [reader] would have her own friends to hang out with. She’d get a job or find some way to make money that would drag her away from her siblings. Ashley doesn’t fucking like this. You’d think after Nina that all these hussies would fuck off! [reader] wouldn’t let Ashley make her leave her job but she would let Ashley drive off her friends. 

“I don’t understand why you hang out with them.” Ashley groaned as she lay on the couch, a crappy horror movie played as white noise on the TV. “They’re a bunch of stupid whores! Did you see how they immediately ditched you at lunch today? They’re quitters!” She shot up in place and looked at [reader] who was bent over the back of the couch. [reader] sighed and chuckled lightly at Ashley’s comments.

“You are… very effective at scaring them, Ashley, but thanks for getting rid of the weeds.”

The quarantine wasn’t entirely unpleasant for the Graves siblings (minus the starvation). Middle sis [reader] took up their parents’ bedroom as her own but every once in a while, she’d sneak into Andrew and Ashley’s bedroom to sleep in their beds. She mostly sneaks into Andrew’s bed while he’s sleeping, hoping to not get caught acting so childish. 

I mean… who still sleeps in the same bed with their siblings at 21 years old? 

Cue to her sleeping next to Andrew in his small single bed, his hand wrapped around her in an attempt to not just full-on cuddle her. Maybe he’d spoon her a bit, trying to reason with himself why it’s okay, then trying to come up with excuses as to why she’d wake up to him snuggling her.

I bet Andrew is always acutely aware of where middle sis [reader] is in the apartment. I forgot where I saw someone say this (it was somewhere on Tumblr) but Andrew definitely takes any chance he can to move a sleeping or passed out [reader] or Ashley onto his lap. I bet he looks at her lips a lot, too. Wondering how they may feel on his lips or his skin… but he pushes them down with all the other thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

Ashley would go to middle sis [reader] for advice for cooking, since I think it’s canonically that she doesn’t cook well. She’d even look to [reader] for her opinion when they’re all eating their cultist neighbor.

“So? Did I cook him right, [reader]?”

“... uh… y-yeah. It’s… better than what I thought it’d be.”

----

coff-in